#but it is all worth it when i get messages like these

[alchemistc]

You never let me in, Buck sends, two of three sheets fully winded, and when he kicks his leg over the coffee table he nearly knocks over three empties.

They do this thing, right? Buck gets upset and before the tears can fall, because he's cried too many fucking times already, he makes himself angry. Picks at something that has come up every time he's done a post-mortem on the last six months.

And then he sends that shit to Tommy. Because - because who the fuck else is he supposed to talk to about it? The guy who'd sucked him off in the hallway of a nightclub two weeks ago? The woman who'd spent an hour quietly helping Buck understand that yeah, he was very much bi, and yeah, some people did not like that shit? Maddie, or Chim, or Hen or Eddie, who still might interact with him on the job? Bobby? Fuck, not Bobby.

Bobby who'd blinked at Buck and offered platitudes and apologized to Buck like it was somehow his fault Tommy was good people but he was the kind of good people who just walked out on something that could have been something.

I should have pushed more. I know I should have. I just thought since I was trying to share everything, you were too.

My mistake.

Three months and Buck isn't over it. He's far enough into the mourning process that he thinks this one is always gonna sting, and not for the reasons Tommy thinks.

That's not fair. I'm sorry.

The texts get delivered. Tommy reads them. Buck's had read receipts on since the first time Tommy went quiet on a call and Buck freaked out a little - but back then they were still working towards something. Back then, sometimes Tommy would pull out his phone and open the thread just to give Buck sign of life.

He was always doing that. Heading shit off at the pass.

Buck had just never realized he'd be able to do it to hurt him, just as well as take care of him.

Every four weeks like clockwork Buck gets a response. He has no fucking idea why it's four weeks, what the third Thursday of the month has to do with Tommy feeling gracious enough to give Buck some clarity. He'd never known enough about Tommy, is the thing he's coming around to. He'd done everything he could to bring Tommy in, make him a part, and Tommy had let him. Tommy had distracted him with quippy words and a clever tongue and with being so fucking willing to be integrated into Buck's life that Buck just - hadn't noticed.

No one will say it, but he Bucked It Up in the worst kind of way.

He's waited until Third Thursday to send these texts. He actually hasn't sent anything at all, until this moment, and he wonders if Tommy noticed. If he cared. Tommy picks and chooses from Buck's random thoughts, parses out details like he's reading from a manual and Buck is off topic two thirds of the time. Buck doesn't actually know why he's been answering, all this time. He wonders if, in the last four weeks of silence, he thought he was finally done with Buck.

He wonders if it had hurt.

Buck sets his phone down to stand, skating across to the kitchen in his socks for the pizza rolls in the oven.

His diet is shit. His body feels like crap. He's one more drunken nights sleep on the couch away from emptying the rack in his fridge down the drain and giving sobriety a try. The last person he'd slept with had hinted that they'd prefer not to use condoms and Buck had almost let them.

Buck has worth. He knows he does. It's just sometimes when he remembers that every person he's ever loved has either walked out on him or let him walk away when he needed them, he struggles to find that worth.

His life has meaning, and all that jazz.

Buck sort of wonders if Tommy hasn't finally blocked his number, as he tosses a too-hot pizza roll in his mouth and huffs on the lava cheese burning his tongue. After the last message Buck had sent, three weeks ago, he wouldn't exactly be surprised.

(This is basically just an unhinged grief journal with an unreliable second narrator. Do you know what it's like to realize you're still in love with someone who never let you know them?)

There's been no response to that. Fair. Buck hadn't even actually said the words. No, he'd jumped right into the sharing a life part, cart before the horse as always when emotions were high.

The pizza rolls get tipped onto a plate and are immediately swimming in the heavy pour of ranch he'd prepared after he set the oven to preheat.

It cools them off a lot quicker than popping a hole in each seam and waiting.

It's been eight years since Buck has really even thought about that little trick.

When he opens his phone there's no response. No receipt. Just stark words waiting to be acknowledged.

I gave you my family, Tommy. You didn't even introduce me to your team at Harbor.

It's startling to realize after the fact. He doubts Tommy had meant it that way, but he'd basically spent six months being love bombed only to have the rug ripped right out from under his feet.

And yet. Months later and he still wants to know. Know why. Know how he could have done it, with tears in his eyes, with full awareness that it was already gonna hurt. Know Tommy - anything he'd part with, really, that wasn't something every random acquaintance also knew.

Cool, he'd been jealous of what Buck and the 118 had. (Buck had tried to give him that. Or at least he thought he had.)

Great, he didn't talk to his dad and Gerrard was a shitty captain. (Buck had spent an hour once explaining the first time he and his dad had spoken about Daniel without screaming at each other. Tommy had listened to the rants about Gerrard and offered physical comfort and a 'sounds like him' and Buck had just been so relieved to have an ally amongst the 'life is just like this sometimes' crowd that he'd never examined that.)

He was a Kinsey six who'd been engaged to the first woman Buck had ever really loved and they'd never dug deeper than that.

And Buck had apparently interpreted some of the shit he'd said that night wrong, but he still doesn't think it's fucking fair that Tommy can't trust him to know his own fucking mind well enough to know he hates sleeping around and he'd found the sort of connection he was looking for. He'd found it. Even with the lack of reciprocation. Even with the quiet behind Tommy's eyes that he'd never let Buck in on. Even with the -

His phone buzzes on the coffee table.

Can we talk?

Buck kinda hates those words in that order now. They'd been the start of something twice, but they'd always been leading to an end, if Tommy had his way.

Once every four weeks, apparently, Buck sends back and takes a vicious bite.

His phone chimes with an incoming call.

Buck stares at the name he hasn't had the stomach to remove the little heart from. Lets it ring through to voicemail and then shoves three more pizza rolls into his mouth and doesn't care if they burn off his taste buds.

His phone rings again.

"What?"

"I'm outside your building. Didn't want to make any assumptions that I'd be welcome without asking first."

Buck can feel his ribs cracking under the lurch of angry laughter. "What the hell?"

"Well the parking around here is miserable again, so I figure that's a sign."

"Are you driving right now?"

"Hands off. I'm on Bluetooth. So. Should I circle the building a fifth time or call it now and go home?"

Buck gets stuck on fifth time.

There's no way he hadn't been driving since at least before Buck sent that first text.

Buck sighs. There's absolutely no reason to be hopeful about that. For all he knows, Tommy has just decided dousing any residual flames is just another thing he has to do in person.

"My Jeep's in the shop. I'll buzz you into the garage."

Tommy's silent for a long, long moment. The quip comes anyway. "I keep telling you that thing is a money pit."

"I'm not really feeling the flirty banter, right now, Tommy, so maybe just let me know when you're at the gate."

He does. He hangs up the phone twenty seconds later with a plain "See you soon."

Buck doesn't have time to change. Fix his hair. Hide the sheet pan with half a dozen pizza rolls still laying on it, because he'd cooked way too many again.

(He could absolutely do one of these things but if Tommy's gonna throw this at him, he's getting every little slovenly habit Bucks's picked up since he walked out that door.)

The knock comes while Buck's shoving the last two rolls on his plate into his mouth.

He's still chewing with his mouth open to blow out the steam when he swings the door open, and Buck feels the first inklings of pleasure ripple through him at the sight of Tommy.

He looks like shit.

"You look like shit."

Tommy's brow ticks up. He stares pointedly at the glob of not-cheese that's going to absolutely ruin this sweatshirt.

"That tends to happen when you spend an hour in an armchair two sizes too small picking at trauma you've been hiding from your therapist for six years."

Buck opens the door wider. Holy crap. Tommy might legitimately be more fucked up than Buck.

Tommy's smile is strained. "Can I come in?"

Buck holds his gaze. His eyes are a little red. He's got a red spot along the side of his neck, like he's been rubbing at it. Buck only recognizes it as a comforting motion because he's replayed him doing it half a million times right before he ended things.

"Depends. Is this the last time you respond to my mean, rude, asshole texts for an hour after therapy rubs you raw?" Third Thursday Therapy, is apparently what does it. Buck is - god. He just wants -

"God, I hope not," Tommy says, and Buck takes a step to the side to let Tommy in.

[anthropwashere]

THIS but fucking. MBTI. When I was still in the Air Force my... hell, I don't remember his position name. I'm so happy to realize I've brain dumped so much military minutiae after only three years out. Anyway. My supervisor's supervisor. This Master Sergeant (MSgt) was OBSESSED with MBTI. It was literally the first conversation I had with him when he took the position and was doing the rounds to meet all of us. We were working for a 3-letter agency AND working outside our unit in an almost wholly civilian org on top of that, so thankfully we didn't work in the same office, but good christ he took potshots at ANYBODY he ASSUMED was one flavor of alphabet soup or another that he didn't "agree with."

He did, for whatever it's worth, correctly guess my flavor of alphabet soup (I have never ever been able to remember or care what my MBTI is, it's fucking alphabet soup, leave me alone) after a 5-minute conversation. He also, however, failed to notice my far more aggressive and obvious extremely mentally and physically unwell signs thanks to my miserable recent divorce and far more miserable unfolding chronic illnesses that were going to end up with me getting a whole-ass 100% disability rank/pay with Veteran's Affairs and insisted on visiting my shit-ass cubicle EVERY. FUCKING. DAY. to CHAT. USUALLY DISCUSSING FUCKING THE MBTI OF VARIOUS OTHER DUDES IN OUR CHAIN OF COMMAND (COC). THAT I BARELY KNEW THE NAMES OF. NEVER MIND WHAT THEY LOOKED LIKE OR WHO THEY WERE AS LIKE. ACTUAL DUDES. BECAUSE. I MUST STRESS AGAIN. WE WORKED IN A MOSTLY CIVILIAN ORG. SO 90% OF THE MIL FOLK IN OUR COC DIDN'T WORK ANYWHERE NEAR ME. TO THE POINT WHERE I LITERALLY DIDN'T HAVE THE DOOR CODES TO ACCESS WHERE THEY WORKED. AND THE OTHER 10% DID LIKE. ACTUAL INTEL SHIT IN OTHER OFFICES I HAD RARELY ANY REASON TO EVER ENTER. AND THE ONES I DID HAVE REASON TO ENTER WITH MILITARY FOLK IN THEM WERE USUALLY FUCKING INSUFFERABLE. AND I AVOIDED THEM AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE. SO. I DID NOT. FUCKING KNOW. WHO HE WAS. EVER!!! TALKING!!! ABOUT!!!!!

Hngh. This is why I try not to think of those awful fucking 5 years of my life. I get caps-lock-y about it. Sorry.

Anyway, this motherfucker like. Trauma bonded? To me? Because of his also miserable recent divorce? And he wanted to fuck me SO HARD while also endlessly ranting to me about MBTI horseshit 60% of every conversation we had (the other 40% and his otherwise normal behavior did actually meet me compatibly on the Normal Human Scale and we got on well, and also he was my supervisor's supervisor so like, I had to be somewhat respectful of his stupid MSgt rank). It was an exhausting fucking. What. 8 months? A full year? MBTI this. MBTI that. Etc. Etc. Etc. ETC.!!!!!!

Anyway the SECOND I said "asexual" he entirely quit talking to me entirely, so I guess that's something.

Secondary anyway birthstone-obsessed people are wild to me. Us March folks got royally fucked over by boring-ass AQUAMARINE and you expect me to take that stuff seriously? Lol

Thirdly anyway I haven't dealt with any hardcore astrology people since high school, but she was my friend's mom and she and her husband were honestly the best role models in my life at that age? To the point my shit-fucking-terrible mom resented her otherwise a-okay positivity in my life for like? A decade?? Hell, she probably still does. It's wild how many times I had to remind my Chronic Gaslighting Bitch of a mom, "I haven't talked to Betty since I was 18, WHAT are you talking about."

Fourthly anyway shout-out to Civilian Megan (whose spelling variation I can never remember on account of having one of those Normal White American Girl names with 50 spelling variations, even with her full name on a paper name plate) who sat across from me and went out of her way to save me from Awkward Lengthy conversations with MSgt MBTI and SSgt Marvel Movies Nerd every goddamn day, she was a real one and I should probably shoot her a 'hi how are you' message on Steam today

“Bat swinging at wasp nest” post but I cannot be nice about astrology people. No you did not find the one good or cute or quirky way to believe the quality of someone’s character is biologically pre-determined. Just because you found a way to not base it on race or ethnicity or gender does not make judging someone’s character on an innate and uncontrolled attribute suddenly teehee fine.

I’m even more baffled by the people going “it’s just fun!” “It’s just a hobby!!” Sure if it was something harmless. It’s not. We are quite literally talking about how you intend to judge, treat, view, respect, and interact with someone entirely differently based on an inherent trait. How are you not aghast? How are you not embarrassed? Why are you so insistent on needing to operate on a hierarchy of pre-determined character judgement?

[shoezuki]

hi hello so for any people curious bout the dream beef i am talking about im gon chronicle it all here in a hopefully fully contextual way for both longterm weirdos and new people who dont know bout my parasocial beef w dream. ill try to keep my biases out of it somewhat but anyways,

this began with a podcast Tommyinnit and Jack Manifold have together in which they had philza as a guest. Episode 9 is currently behind a paywall on their patreon but they have a youtube channel where they post them publically as well. Not sure if they make all their episodes public eventually or not but i digress.

Twitter user _constel_ has posted 5 clips from the podcast in question that contain their discussion about dream. I have downloaded the videos but tumblr doesnt want me to put them in this post so i will try and sum up each clip as I go.

Clip 1: Phil starts talking about how once the dsmp was done people would joke about how their 'contracts' would be over and they would be allowed to talk about things behind the scenes. philza mentions the infamous philza tweet in response to dream.

for context, the main discussion is around this exchange from around february 2021, where dream 'jokingly' argues that he is responsible to tommy's high viewership on youtube:

Most of it the tweets are deleted by both parties but it was very much a whole thing. Phil has apparently joked about revealing the context of his reply 'when he retires' (mentioned clip 1).

Jack Manifold had apparently been in a call with tommyinnit when the exchange was happening and recalls tommy being extremely stressed. The context philza gives is that he was texted by tommy to look at the thread while he was going on a walk and tommy was panicking over if dream was genuine (mentioned clip 2). Philza says "I'll find out if he's fucking joking' and that he essentially vibe checked dream. Tommy also states that after the twitter exchange he legitimately wrote in his diary to never be rude to dream: "never be horrible to dream. It's not worth it. It makes me too sad". Additionally jack manifold establishes that he hated dream from the beginning, they hate each other, and that, although he acknowledges dream aided him through the dream smp, he hates how dream 'takes ownership of other people and their accomplishments because he was a guiding hand' (mentioned clip 3).

Jack manifold mentions that tommy was 16 during this exchange and philza additionally says it was out of line (Clip 4). Philza more openly talks about there being 'reds flag after red flags' with dream in clip 5.

OKAY thats honestly a vague description and theres a LOT more so watch the clips if u want. Heres another tweet 'summarizing' it as well. But anyways this of course had people talking about dream again, some people (accidentally?) acting like this is about dream smp lore, and a lot of people concerned about how tommy was afraid to upset dream and would blame himself when dream picked fights with him.

Dream's response on dreamwastaken was to tweet about how he appreciated everyone who was on the server dispite differences, as well as a zip file to download the dsmp server/world file.

Worth noting there is a limitation on how many people can download the file within 24 hours so now people are only getting an error message when trying to access it which is fucking funny. On his private he also tweeted "love and appreciate you guys <3 very happy to be uploading again :) hope to keep it rolling" (Im not cropping out the reply its funny)

Thats all hes said so far, I havent seen tommy or jack manifold talking about it either. technically it isnt outright in response to their podcast but obviously everyone is taking it as such.

final stuff/my thoughts: dream has obviously had a tendency to kinda 'take credit' for 'making' the streamers who were on the dsmp and its notable that in his tweet he still acts like his server was the reason for people's fame and relationships. Saying 'a group of creators most of which would never have collaborated under any other circumstance got together and made something really cool' is just his thinly veiled way of still taking credit for tommy's fame and the relationships he and others have made and its moronic. Not to mention dsmp was very much NOT the server that got these specific people together, i mean techno and phil met through minecraft mondays, tommy and jack manifold met both of them through smp earth i believe. Even if the dsmp wasnt a thing they probably would have collaborated with other members through mcc eventually. the idea that the dsmp was what brought them together and a bunch of minecraft clowns would 'never have collaborated under any other circumstance' is stupid.

anyways sorry this is long as shit. im going to pray dream doesnt let this go for at least 3 to 5 business days as per usual

[dreamsteddie]

Wowza. Part one blew up way more than I thought it would so here! Part two! I do have more thoughts about this so there might be a couple more parts to come. We'll see ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

------

Eddie takes half a second to consider just not answering. Maybe throwing his phone away and never going back to the restaurant they went to last night so he never has to confront whatever it is that's about to happen. Maybe even fleeing the country and living alone on a sheep farm with no friends and go relationships ever again so something like this never happens again.

But then he thinks of Steve. Kind, funny Steve with the bright eyes and soft skin who looked at Eddie like he could fall in love with him and he knows that whatever comes next, Steve deserves for Eddie to see it through with him.

New Message: Steve H.

Hey

Just that one word sends Eddie's heart into his throat. He can see that Steve is still typing, those little ellipses of doom popping on and off the screen. Realistically, Steve probably doesn't know what happened, right? Eddie's pretty sure Steve wasn't in on it and it's been less than an hour since Eddie himself found out, so probably not.

Steve H: Gareth called me

Fuck.

Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck.

If Eddie's heart was in his throat at the first text, the second one has it dropping through his body and out of his goddamned ass. It's not that he doesn't want Steve to know. He was always planning to tell him, he was just hoping he could be the one to do it. Gareth being a little shit and calling Steve first was not part of the plan.

Steve H: He told be about the prank. I'm sorry if I wasn't what you expected and you were just being nice. We can pretend it never happened. No hard feelings.

Eddie slams his head into his pillow. This is such a cluster fuck he can hardly bring himself to look at the text but he needs to come up with some kind of response, like, yesterday if he wants any chance of keeping the man of his dreams from running for the hills because apparently, Eddie's friends are trying to destroy his life. He takes a deep breath and starts typing.

Eddie: Hey, I'm so sorry about that. I just found out about what they did an hour ago at practice. I didn't think they would just call you out of the blue like that, I was just about to text you.

Not completely true, but Eddie was going to text him about it, just after screaming into his pillow and making a couple Vudu dolls first.

Eddie: For what it's worth I really do like you and I would love to still take you out on that second date, but I understand if my friends scared you off and you want nothing to do with me. I know it's fucked up.

It takes a minute for Steve to respond, the typing bubbles ebbing and flowing as Steve types and retypes whatever it is he wants to say. Eddie is about ready to call it a wash and start googling sheep farms for sale in Ireland when a new text comes in, dispelling all thoughts of learning to sheer wool.

Steve H: Are you sure?

And fuck if that doesn't hurt his heart. Eddie has spent all of two and a half hours with Steve, he's a virtual stranger, but Eddie can swear he can feel all of Steve's secondhand insecurity through that one lonely sentence. Before he even registers what he's asking, he send a quick reply.

Eddie: Can I Facetime you?

Before Eddie can try to rethink his decision, his screen lights up with a notification. Steve is calling him.

Eddie scrambles to answer, fumbling his phone a little in his haste and almost missing the call completely. He manages to get it on the last ring, breathing heavily in a way he knows can't be flattering.

All thoughts about his lack of dexterity fly out the window when he looks into his screen. On their date, Steve was perfectly put together. Hair meticulously done, clothes freshly pressed, and a light sheen of lipgloss accentuating the perfect curve of his mouth. While Steve is still beautiful through the lens of his camera, it's clear that he's been crying. His eyes are red and a little puffy, hair out of order in a way Eddie thinks is probably unusual for him, and Eddie can see that he's wearing a well-loved beige hoodie.

"Hi," Steve says, waving a shy hand almost the same way he had last night.

"Hey sweetheart," Eddie says, keeping his voice low and gentle, desperate to soothe Steve however he can through the distance of their phones.

For a minute they just look at each other, neither one knowing what to say in a situation like this. Eddie sees Steve gearing up to say something, but he cuts in before he starts. There's something he needs to say while Steve can see him face to face.

"I'm really sorry about what happened!" He says, much lounder than he intended. "My friends were being dicks. I haven't dated in a while and instead of being normal fucking people they set up this whole stupid prank but I swear I wasn't in on it!"

Something about what he says draws a small smile from the corner of Steve's mouth, so Eddie keeps talking. "Besides, if they wanted to prank me they should have picked someone that isn't a literal fucking model in disguise. There wasn't a chance in hell I wasn't going to beg you for that second date."

At that, Steve gives a little chuckle and it lifts Eddie's heart from where it'd fallen onto the floor and puts in back in his chest 10 times lighter than before.

"Jesus, are you always such a flirt Munson?" he says.

"Only when the boys are especially pretty," Eddie responds.

Steve gives another little laugh at that before sobering up. He gives Eddie a long look through the phone, and Eddie lets him.

"Are you sure you don't want to just call it quits here man? Gareth was pretty adamant that I'm not the kind of guy you usually go for. I don't want you to feel like you have to humor me out of kindness." There's a forced flippancy to Steve's words that Eddie knows well from his own Munson Coping Strategies Handbook. Steve is trying to give him an out, but Eddie can tell that he doesn't want to.

For the first time since this all started, Eddie is well and truly mad. Gareth and Jeff had absolutely no business poking around in his love life in the first place, but now they've reached out to the guy Eddie already told them he liked to what? Tell him never mind actually, we don't think you're the right guy for our friend even though he told us very explicitly how into you he is.

Eddie lets all the frustration, anger, and tenuous hope building up in his chest fuel his reply. This one has to count, he can feel it. It's a charisma saving throw with the whole campaign on the line. He can't miss this one.

"Honestly Steve, if you asked me two days ago what I was looking for in a partner, I probably would have said I wanted to date another alternative metalhead or punk who likes playing DnD and getting high on the weekend." Eddie can see Steve's shoulders slump as his eyes dart away, but he pushes on, determined to make his point.

"But, I haven't had as good a time as we had last night in a really long time." Steve looks back up, eyes alight with the same tentative hope Eddie himself is channeling. "I think you're funny and interesting, and you have the absolute worst takes on ice cream flavors, and you're hot as hell. Like, seriously the hottest guy I've ever seen in real life."

Steve smiles, the edges of his eyes crinkling.

Critical success.

"So, about that second date."

-------

Tag List

@wheneverfeasible @the-dark-hearts @sofadofax @wrenisfangirling @whatfinestandsfor @lilpomelito @raisedbylibrarians @ollyxar @mugloversonly @xxbottlecapx @hezaaxdexangelous @kimsnooks @that-one-gay-crow

[dukeofankh]

I mean, this is kinda the crux of things, isn't it? How do you change minds even when when folks are ostensibly part of the same group or the same movement? Sure I'm not gonna be able to reach this person, I'm a broadly cis white dude, but ask yourself seriously, even if you had every identity marker and oppressed identity in common, could you? Is just having big-picture things in common enough to override their radicalization and make them see things a different way? To crash through all the thought-terminating cliches and achieve actual consideration? Like...no? Probably not. Their whole page is all 4B stuff right now, they're clearly in separatist mode.

Like, does that make you responsible for them? Does it make it your life's mission to stop them? Is this something that will actually reach them, especially right now? Probably not. Hopefully soon we can give them something worth hoping for. Build something that's worth more than the faux-safety of cynicism. And along the way, yeah, words from people in their communities telling them to cut it out are helpful, especially to send the message to the targets of their words that they don't speak for you. But I'd be a massive hypocrite if I thought that men aren't capable of policing each other but women are. Good luck with this aspect of feminism, I think it's going to be the subject of some like, 1980s Feminist Sex Wars level fights and schisms over the next few years. I get the sentiment, and I hope we can come out the other side of it with a group that's more united in purpose and politically dangerous.

If your vision for the deradicalization of right-wing men begins and ends with "other men telling them that that's gross and to stop it" then I'm sorry, you do not understand how masculinity works.

"Men who hold patriarchal status" and "men who are feminists" are two groups who overlap less than you want them to. I'm sorry. That's not solely because men are so happy with patriarchal status that they don't want to risk it by policing misogyny/queerphobia/racism, It's because being misogynistic, queerphobic, and racist, end expressing other forms of toxic masculinity(and often abusively so) are part of how people establish and maintain patriarchal status. The men who have the ability to stop this via nothing but peer pressure are the very people who are doing it. That's by design. And engaging in feminist intervention is, in and of itself, usually the abrupt end of that status and its associated power to persuade misogynistic men.

Like, I have worked in blue collar jobs as a notably queer person. It was pretty much a constant deluge of verbal abuse. In my experience, most blue collar work environments are exploitative, abusive, and bigoted, and very gleefully so. On the occasions I have spoken up about someone saying something that was super fucking out of line (asking me which of the girls walking by was hottest. We were installing a portable classroom at a middle school), believe it or not, they completely failed to be shamed! Because nobody else on the crew gave a fuck. *I* was the weird one. They ghosted me. A full blown company ghosted me. I suddenly didn't have a job anymore because they just straightforwardly stopped telling me where the next job site was.

Like, this doesn't mean that it's your job to do it, but this vision you have of these big groups of men where everyone is on the fence and there is precisely one shit stirrer who can be shut down by a brave feminist man who can single handedly set the example for all these other guys...you are high. You are describing an "everybody clapped" level absurd scenario. Most of these truly virulent misogynistic guys either have zero friends, because, you know, our society is atomized to fuck, or they are in a group where the feminist guy is actually the weirdo who can be shut down and ostracized much, much easier than the misogynists, because there is no such thing as a man misogynists respect who stands up for women.

You might be saying "well, we're talking about longstanding personal relationships, actually. Like, they need to have to want to spend time with you and then, as a side effect, you can mind control them out of being a threat to us."

Problem with that being:

1: Many feminist men also have no friends, see the atomized society above.

2: Feminist men already stopped hanging out with men who make rape jokes because why the fuck would we want to spend time with them.

3: That isn't just because we respect women so hard. We are in many cases talking about men who are also deeply queerphobic, heirarchical, violent and abusive to other men. What initially drew me to feminism and women was a lack of heirarchical squabbling and constant bullying, and the ability to be openly queer. A lot of men who came to feminism did so because they knew that the patriarchy was not a place they would find success or acceptance. These are not the men who are gonna be able to change right wing minds.

4. Men do not view themselves as a monolith. There is no universal brotherhood of men. The actual meaning of the term "Fragile masculinity" is that men are constantly expected to prove that they are deserving of the status of being a member of their own gender. There are large swathes of men--including most of the men who you'd look to as examples of good, feminist men who you want to undertake this project--who are considered failed men, sissies, f****ts, soyboys, ect. They are. Not. Going. To. Convince. These. Men. Of. Jack. Shit. Much less successfully *shame* them. Jesus.

I know all of this sucks. I know it would be cool to be able to just point at a group and have them be responsible for the work. But nah. It's gonna have to be a societal project, one that will probably outlast all of us. Sorry. The thing you want these men to do is, absolutely, the morally correct thing to do. But presuming that it would be effective is, and once again I am so sorry about this, just ignorance of how these social groups function.

[communistkenobi]

I’m watching FD Signifier’s new video about edgelord white guy movies. He spends a decent amount of time talking about how creators have responded to their edgelord fanbases, using The Joker and The Boys as two examples, where these creators feel uncomfortable with how their art has been received and taken up by “angry white men,” and that in response to this, they have followed up these artistic products with sequels or new seasons of television that are incredibly blunt and obvious about how you shouldn’t think of Homelander as a based chad or Arthur Fleck as a motivational figure in your life. And like he ends the video saying this is insufficient because these audiences won’t care about the messages in these follow-ups (largely bc these are downstream of larger social issues), but his framing of it in terms of “the death of media literacy” is still really frustrating and annoying because it’s buying into the idea that the main problem with people “not getting” art is literacy/education. And its not just his video, this framing is a popular memetic phrase across social media, and he does a better job than most people in talking about it

But like I just straight up do not accept that the audience of these edgelord movies “didn’t get” that they are portraying bad people, that audiences of mass media are “taking the wrong message” of “very obvious” pieces of art. Not because I think they do secretly get what these films are ‘actually saying,’ I don’t care about what’s in their hearts, but because this concern with people ‘not getting it’ feels wildly off-topic. I think it has been demonstrated over and over again that mass media is not an educational tool where people go to “learn lessons” or “take away a particular message.” I think the very fact that we have a consumptive marketised relationship to these artistic products structures and produces a specific set of responses, which is, above all else, “getting my money’s worth.” Who gives a shit what the movie is ‘really’ trying to say! That’s unimportant when faced with the question of did I get what I paid for? And I don’t mean this in an annoying lib “consumerism is making us all stupider” way I mean the economic structure of artistic production is the primary determinant of how commodities on a market are received. The idea that, under these conditions, we can purchase a piece of art that will “teach us” something about the world is laughable, that art-by-itself contains the authority to impart political knowledge. The idea that we can purchase our way into good values, good politics, that we can buy a movie ticket and see the error of our ways is buying into this same exact consumptive framing.

“The death of media literacy” implies a point in recent history where this economic relationship to art was unimportant, that we used to be able to participate in mass standardised artistic production and be unaffected by this arrangement. I think about Adorno & Horkheimer’s argument in The Culture Industry, that the profit motive is itself an object of consumption under capitalism, that advertisements are themselves products & as a result, all mass standardised artistic products are advertisements for their own capitalist production processes and logics. 

I think when people “don’t get” that Starship Troopers is depicting a fascist society, when people “don’t get” that Travis Bickle is a bad, un-admirable person, they aren’t stricken by a sudden deficit of education or literacy, they are responding to the conditions under which these things get made. Being able to get art’s “true message,” no matter how supposedly clear or compellingly-articulated, is to argue that ‘message’ and ‘meaning’ can be made independent of the conditions under which those things are created and presented to people. The industrial capitalist machinery outputting standardised artistic products is itself an authority telling you how to interpret its own products, much the same way a cathedral is presented as evidence of god. There is a material & physical authority in their presence and social arrangement that are themselves arguments. Adorno talks about this with the radio - that this vast industrial infrastructure of radio towers, broadcast stations, systems of wires and cables, and the production of standardised radio receivers (available for purchase, of course) is utterly incomprehensible to most people and amounts to hearing the voice of god when you turn on the radio. The arrangement of artistic production & presentation is itself the structure through which you experience art, and that structure is an authority you can neither comprehend nor alter. And again as A&H say in The Culture Industry, the techniques, narratives, and genres of the culture industry become standardised themselves, cookie-cutters on a production line, and therefore dictate meaning above and beyond any particular semantic meaning injected into an individual film or story. “Romcoms” are a cultural authority above and beyond the sum total of every romcom film ever made, and it is these genres and techniques that transmit the justification for their own continued reproduction. Under this arrangement, the meaning of this film or that television show are rendered marginal - not unnoticeable or irrelevant, certainly, but secondary to the cookie-cutters they were produced from 

Now does this lead to a widespread ignorant, impoverished, reactionary view of art? Of course, but that is not because the guy who likes wearing V for Vendetta masks is illiterate. To place the blame on individual education, discipline, or literacy is to take Hollywood for granted as a natural eternal entity, to take it as just another church. It’s a goofy fucking argument! 

[uzumaki-rebellion]

A.N.: Content Warning, Blood, Violence, Religious Imagery.

"By the Christians, it is written

That in the black Myrthian age

There existed an addiction to blood, blood, blood, blood

Drink it up, fifty years 'bout enough, time to come back

They want to call the bluff

Ok then, time to come back (what up)"

Sam Waymon & Clipping – "Blood of the Fang"

Celeste stood in the doorway of her bathroom, stupefied.

Terry's red-rimmed eyes held her planted there until her brain-fog lifted by digesting the words he spoke.

He wanted to keep their baby.

She groaned internally as her acceptance of the lexicon shift—fetus to baby—snagged a hold in her heart and mind. Had he been a human and said those words, she would've shouted with joy and hugged him. Instead, she glimpsed the fangs in his parted lips, noticed how the lateral incisors of his bottom teeth were sharp, too.

Beastly.

That's how he appeared standing there, blocking her path out of the bathroom. Is that what their child would look like? A ferocious creature preying on people?

Terry's eyes darted from her face, and he took a deep breath. When he spoke to her again, his fangs retracted. The illusion had forever been broken. She could never see him as a human again.

"Please…keep my child. I'm sorry for putting hands on you…that wasn't right. It was uncalled for…I reacted blindly to Abai being here."

"They said they'd be waiting for you if you showed up again. They had a message for you, too. You can't hide from them forever."

"Pack some things. You're coming with me," he said.

"I'm not going anywhere with you."

Terry gripped her arms tight.

"Do you want to be here at nightfall when a deadly vampire clan shows up looking for me? Huh? They probably have one of their human familiars watching this house right now, ready to contact them because they've seen my face."

"They said they would protect me and the baby—"

"They don't give a damn about you!"

His voice reverberated in a tone not human. Celeste's eyes watered with fear. Terry stroked her arms gently and pressed his forehead against hers.

"You are carrying something they have been dreaming about for centuries. Our baby is their bargaining chip for something your human mind can't even conceive. If this child can go full term and be born…they will have no further use for you."

"If this child goes full term? You don't think she can?"

"No human woman has ever carried a damphir. There's no telling if your body will reject the foreign vampire genes along the way. I am a Daywalker, a vampire of the rarest kind. That means our child will be one, too. They will use her and kill you."

His eyes told no lies.

"Why do you want me to keep her? You make it sound like her life is beyond danger. Why would you want to bring a child into the world to face harm? Hmm? Why risk my life?"

Terry's eyes watered.

"She's my only chance to have a family that I can keep with me if she makes it through. She'll live a long, long time Celeste…and I won't be alone anymore. I love you, and if I can keep a part of you around to cherish like the other family members I've lost…then she's worth fighting for."

"What about me, Terry? Will you throw me away once you have what you want?"

"I want you both," he pleaded.

Celeste's eyes welled up. The pain and yearning in his voice weakened her. He cradled her face.

"I have to hide you in a safe place."

"Where will we go?"

"I need to get you to Mémé's place."

"We should take all of her things with us then."

"Go pack a few days' worth of clothes. I'll put her stuff in my truck bed. It has a retractable cover over it. Hurry!"

"Her boxes are in my sewing room, and some of her papers are on my desk in there."

Terry went to retrieve his great-great-granddaughter's belongings, and she ran into her bedroom and threw clothes and underwear into a small travel suitcase. She dumped toiletries from the bathroom into a plastic baggie and froze when the doorbell rang. It was only five thirty in the evening. The sun didn't set completely until seven thirty.

"Answer it," Terry said.

He stayed near her bookshelf.

Celeste held her breath. She made out the figure behind the colored glass and sighed.

"Micah," she said.

She opened the door, and her relief poured out in a nervous laugh. Micah stared at her with concern.

"I came to check on you. Took the night off instead of wondering if you were okay."

Terry came from behind her and Micah's face grew tense.

"The clouds…" Terry said.

He opened the security door and stepped past Micah. Celeste looked up at the sky the way Terry did.

Dark, steel blue rain clouds blotted out the sunlight, turning the sky a menacing shade of impending doom.

"Ohmigod," Celeste said.

Micah tilted his head to look at them.

Streaks of lightning appeared like white spider veins flashing across the sky. A flock of unknown black birds flew in the sky within a giant circle.

"It's too late. The sun is hidden. I can't get you far enough away without them tracking us," Terry said.

He ran back into the house and grabbed Miss Irma's boxes. Celeste grabbed her suitcase.

"What's going on? Where are you going?" Micah asked, grabbing her hand.

"I can't explain. I'll call you if I can," she said.

Micah squeezed her hand.

"Duchess…tell me. The truth."

Terry carried two boxes at a time and collected Miss Irma's life on two trips.

"Celeste, we have to leave…now!" Terry said.

Rain threatened to fall. From the corner of her eye, she noticed a slow moving low fog filling up the street. Celeste shook uncontrollably, remembering what happened the last time she got caught in a fast-moving fog. She locked her front door. Micah stayed on her.

"Duchess!" Micah said, his eyes full of fear.

"I have to hide from some people. We thought we had time, but the sun is gone," she said.

She jumped into Terry's truck. Micah tried to open the passenger door and drag her out. Terry rushed forward and shoved him against the truck bed, his fangs bared and ready to tear the life out of her cousin.

"Terry, don't! He's our baby's family," she shouted.

Micah held his hands up to protect his face.

"I knew you weren't shit!" Micah spat out.

He wrenched his eyes away from Terry and looked at her.

"Go to St. Augustine's. Father Mbenga can hide you," Micah said. "It's church, though. I don't know if he can go in."

Terry released Micah's shirt and looked at her.

"I can ask him to invite you in again. Will that work?" Celeste asked.

"He invited me in before. It should still be safe for me to enter," Terry said.

"I'll follow you guys over there," Micah said.

He carefully backed away from Terry and fumbled with his keys to press his key fob. Terry climbed into his truck quickly and took them several blocks through the Quarter to hide in the fog. He drove with one eye on the road, and the other watching the surroundings. Celeste kept expecting the white van with ghouls to sideswipe them, preventing their escape.

"Where are the people?" Celeste asked.

The empty streets blanketed with fog were an anomaly. There should've been plenty of people still walking around and filling the Quarter with life. They headed north and parked in front of St. Augustine's. The church stood like a gothic rendering of salvation.

Terry jumped out of the truck first and ran to Celeste's passenger side, helping her get out. He held her hand tight and kept her near his side. Micah pulled up behind them and ran to the locked church doors. He banged on them and pulled out his smartphone.

"I'm calling the church office number," Micah said.

"Can we break in?" Celeste asked.

The fog swirled higher, covering them in a thick layer. Visibility diminished and with it, the dampening of sound all around them. Their voices sounded like they were in a closed vacuum. The acute silence and shroud of whiteness around them gave Celeste the sense that they had entered another dimension where only the three of them existed. Micah's voice became loud on his phone.

"Father Mbenga? It's Micah Profitt…I'm outside the church with my cousin Celeste and her…boyfriend. We need your help right now! Please let us into the sanctuary!"

The longest seven minutes held Celeste in a vise grip as they waited for the priest to open the church doors.

"What is happening?" Father Mbenga said, swinging one of the double doors open.

Micah grabbed Celeste's hand and pulled her inside first. They turned to look at Terry.

The father of her child looked so helpless standing there with uncertainty in his eyes. Celeste wanted him with her.

"Invite him in, Father Mbenga," Celeste said with a calm and firm tone.

She didn't want to take any chances.

"Come inside, son," Father Mbenga said.

Terry took a step forward.

Celeste locked eyes with him. She clutched the priest's arm.

"I need you to say 'I invite you inside'," Celeste insisted.

Father Mbenga looked confused, but he glanced at Terry and spoke the words.

"I invite you inside the house of the Lord. Will that do?"

Terry walked across the threshold.

Nothing happened. Celeste hugged him.

"What's going on here?" Father Mbenga asked.

Micah ushered the priest past the vestibule and into the main sanctuary. Father Mbenga flicked on more lights and they moved to the front pews. Celeste sat next to Terry and Micah perched across from them in another pew. The priest stood in front of the tabernacle.

"What do you need help with?" Father Mbenga asked.

"Duchess got herself mixed up with a vampire. She's pregnant by him," Micah said matter-of-factly.

Celeste put a hand over her face.

Father Mbenga, thankfully, didn't laugh them out of the church. He stared at Terry thoughtfully and took off his glasses. Pulling a handkerchief from the pocket of his slacks, the priest wiped the lenses carefully and then placed the round glasses back on his kind face.

"Show me," Father Mbenga said.

Terry stared at the priest, doubt clouding his expression.

"Show you?" Terry said.

"Yes."

Terry glanced at Celeste, unsure. Micah jumped up and slammed his right hand into his left.

"Will you show Father Mbenga what you are?!" Micah shouted.

Celeste gripped the edge of her seat, feeling uneasy. Terry stood and faced the priest. His body blocked her view of the shorter man.

"Mother Mary…Father of God!" the priest shrieked.

Celeste lowered her head. She knew exactly what Father Mbenga experienced. The confirmation of something otherworldly brought on feelings of terror. It knocked all previously held beliefs out of whack. Father Mbenga backed away from Terry and ran to the tabernacle. He gathered himself together and slowly turned to face Terry again. He held out a six-inch gold cross.

"You are an abomination…a scourge upon the earth…." Father Mbenga said.

Terry confronted the frightened priest and took the cross from his hand, placing it back on the tabernacle.

"That doesn't do what you think," Terry said.

"But this does!" Micah shouted.

Micah rushed behind Terry and choked him with a long, silver-linked chain. The skin on Terry's neck sizzled and blistered. Celeste screamed. The odor of burning vampire flesh sickened her.

Terry fell to his knees. He grabbed the chain, but it burned his fingers and he cried out in horrible pain.

"Micah! Stop it!" she screamed.

She ran to her cousin to pull the thick, five-foot long chain off of Terry, but Father Mbenga grabbed her arms and yanked her away.

"What the fuck are you doing?!"

Father Mbenga shouted at Terry.

"In the Holy Name of Jesus, I invoke the keys of St. Peter and the Church's authority…I bind each and every demon in and around Celeste Profitt and around us…in Jesus' name I bind them all, and I bind any demons supporting them, their evil leaders, and any minions of Satan…"

Father Mbenga's voice rose to a crescendo and blood drenched the silver chain slicing Terry's throat. Micah gained the upper hand and looked victorious wearing Terry down.

"Please…stop this…we came here for help to save me and my baby!"

"You won't have that vampire's baby, Duchess! It will destroy you and give these demons more evil to use!" Micah yelled.

Celeste stared at her cousin as if she'd never seen him before.

She truly hadn't.

Paralyzed with shock, Celeste could only watch helplessly as her beloved cousin tried to murder her lover.

"Micah…please…he's not what you think—"

"I tried to warn you, Duchess. Back in the Quarter, I told you to leave him alone."

Her eyes watered, and Micah's face blurred.

"My job is to spot these bloodsuckers…but you ran into his arms like a fool. Now look at 'cha," Micah panted, "Pregnant with a demon's seed."

"She's innocent," Celeste pleaded.

"She?" Micah said.

Terry slumped forward onto his stomach, weakened and damaged by the silver chain. He still breathed, but Celeste heard the gurgling of blood in his throat. Micah draped the chains around Terry's arms, binding them together behind his back.

"It's a girl," she said.

"Blasphemous," Father Mbenga spat at her.

He released her once Terry was no longer a threat. The priest had a wild look behind his glasses. Celeste knelt down near Terry.

"Get away from that unclean thing!" Father Mbenga barked.

Micah pulled her from Terry and glared at her.

"Trust me, Duchess, we know what we're doing," Micah urged.

The double doors of the church blasted open. Celeste and Micah whipped their heads toward the entrance.

The Deacon, Abai, stood at the entrance with his long black coat flared out behind him. His clan flanked him, gnashing their teeth and frustrated by the barrier. Abai's gaze stayed on Father Mbenga.

"Stupid little priest," Abai barked out. "Nothing you do will stop us from taking what we want."

Father Mbenga pointed at Abai.

"You are not welcome here! Evil cannot enter God's house without my permission."

"Celeste…dear sweet, Celeste. Invite us in and we will save our brother."

"I alone have the power to invite others into the House of God," Father Mbenga yelled with conviction.

"She is a member of this church, therefore, she too can invite us in, Father," Abai said.

Father Mbenga and Micah stared at Celeste. She could nearly smell the fear on them. Jerking away from Micah, she knelt down and tugged on the silver chain. Terry groaned. She lowered her face to his.

"Celeste, get away from here if you can…save yourself…save our baby…" he whispered in agony.

Two firm hands wrapped around Celeste's throat. Father Mbenga threw her against the tabernacle and she spun around to claw his face with her nails. He choked her again, squeezing the life from her and the baby.

"The fuck are you doing? Leave her alone!" Micah shouted.

Micah grabbed Father Mbenga's arm and yanked him away. The priest reached for his gold cross again and pulled it apart, revealing a sharp blade beneath. He stabbed Micah in the side.

"You lil bitch!" Micah said.

He staggered back and fell to his knees with blood gushing out of his abdomen. Slamming his hands over the wound, Micah glared at Father Mbenga.

"We're supposed to wait for the others to come and handle this…not attack my cousin. Are you fucking crazy?!" Micah shrieked in a weakened voice.

Celeste gasped for air and fought not to pass out. She crawled on her hands and knees toward the open entrance doors. If she couldn't trust humans not to kill her, she had to run from them it seemed.

Father Mbenga jumped on her back and circled his thick fingers around her neck once more.

"You're a filthy whore lying down with them!"

Father Mbenga banged her face against the floor as he strangled her. Celeste reached out her right hand. She could barely make out the shape of Abai standing at the entrance.

"Celeste! Say the words! Let us save you and the baby!" Abai shouted.

Abai's voice sounded stressed and, more importantly…afraid for her. Could Terry be wrong about him?

"I…I…I invite you all in…." Celeste gasped out.

The world spun into a graying darkness as she watched swift obsidian shadows whip past her. A blood-curdling scream rang out and broke off abruptly. She could breathe freely again. The soreness in her throat pounded with the rush of blood in her veins.

Micah whimpered and wept quietly behind her. She rolled over and sat up. Rubbing her neck, she waited for her eyesight to clear.

"Don't kill my cousin," she said.

Her voice came out low and almost unintelligible.

Twelve strikingly beautiful Black vampires stood around Micah and Terry. Evenly six males to six females, they all stared at the floor. Father Mbenga's lifeless body was a crumpled heap in the center of them. She knew it was lifeless because the priest's head sat ten-feet away upon the tabernacle with a look of shock on its bespeckled face, the dead mouth wide open and frozen with the final breath of life that came out a scream. Blood dripped down the side of the tabernacle in long vermillion streaks, with the bladed gold cross impaled down the center of his forehead.

Micah kept his hand jammed against his stab wound, his expression woozy from the blood loss.

Abai glanced over at her.

"Come here Celeste…free our brother from his chains," Abai demanded.

Micah shook his head at her.

"Duchess…don't help them. They want us dead! We're food to them…stay back!" Micah begged.

The vampire named Mia crouched down and dug her claws into his side, ripping Micah's wound further. His cries of pain echoed throughout the church. Mia licked his blood from her claws and stomped over to Celeste.

"The Deacon gave you a command…do it!" Mia said.

She slapped Celeste across the face, leaving another scar that would need time to heal like the last time they met. Celeste lashed out and punched Mia in her legs. Mia lifted her by the throat and held her high.

"Mia…put…her…down," Abai said.

Mia dropped Celeste to her wobbly feet and punched her in the gut, knocking a loud breath out of her. Dominique flew at Mia and shoved her face back.

"Don't you harm it. Keep your jealousy in check," Dominique hissed.

Abai reached out toward Celeste.

"Free him for us," Abai said, his tone stern.

"Promise not to hurt my cousin," Celeste said.

She rubbed her belly and the pain there almost caused her to pass out. All the other vampires except for Abai and Dominique snarled at her, their monstrous fangs gleaming from the lights inside the church.

"No harm will come to him," Abai said.

"Don't believe them, Duchess. Don't worry about me. I'm good with God…I can die in peace and receive my salvation. You won't if you listen to them," Micah said.

The unexpected loud thud on the roof forced their eyes toward the ceiling. Other loud poundings struck the roof in different places.

A large winged creature crashed through the roof and landed on top of the tabernacle. Celeste's blood ran cold and fear gripped her even more than being surrounded by a vampire clan. At least they looked somewhat human.

The thing on the tabernacle was the stuff of childhood nightmares.

A gargoyle.

Skin the color of mottled stone with horns protruding from its forehead, the monstrosity had sharp fangs just as deadly looking as the vampires. To Celeste's catholic eyes, it looked like a grotesque mockery of an angel turned inside out. No genitalia was present.

"Gadreel," Abai said, with a touch of disdain. "Still simping for God, I see. Tell me forgotten brother…do you really think the most high…the most hypocritical Lord… will let you Old Ones return to heaven once you've done your penance for ten thousand years more?"

Abai glanced at the ceiling, listening to the movement above them. He talked tough, but Celeste sensed apprehension.

"You, Arakiel, Baraqiel, Kokabeel, Danuiel, and the others…don't you get weary of being used to go against us, your equally fallen siblings?" Abai sneered.

"WISHETACHIHU ĀYITAGEŠIMI!" Gadreel shouted.

Celeste and Micah both screamed and slammed their hands over their ears, the pain from the sound of the gargoyle speaking making their eardrums bleed.

"Gadreel, there are humans here. You can't speak the language of heaven without harming their weak ears. Aren't you breaking the rules of your penance? You vowed to protect them, remember?"

Gadreel focused his attention on Celeste. His deep-set eyes looked like pewter stones.

"Leave us, human woman. There is no need for us to deal with you until that sin in your womb has been born," Gadreel said.

He spoke to her in English, his voice sounding like the creaking of giant ancient doors that should remain closed. Celeste rose to her feet and used the pews to help keep her balance with all the anxious trembling she experienced in her limbs. Her stomach churned with so much fear she thought she might puke, but she had to be strong for her baby.

She started weeping.

Keeping the baby became a top priority. Father Mbenga turning on her, calling her a whore and even her own cousin calling the little one inside her a demon seed, shored up her resolve to keep it. Her upbringing in the church taught her that God had a purpose for everything in her life. Celeste chose to have faith of a mustard seed at that moment.

Stumbling over to Terry, she dropped weakly on her knees and pulled apart the knot in the chains, freeing him from bondage. She tossed the chain on the pew and tried to lift him up. Mia pushed her away and turned Terry over.

"Terry…Terry…" Mia murmured with soothing affection.

His eyelids fluttered and opened slowly. He looked up at Mia, who stroked his hair and touched his throat that clotted with blood. The woman had love in her eyes. She kissed him on the lips. Celeste's stomach tightened.

"Duchess?" Terry said.

He pushed Mia back, his eyes darting around, looking for her. Mia snarled, her fangs wet with saliva.

"I'll fucking kill you!" Mia shrieked.

The vampire lunged at Celeste, and all hell broke loose in the sanctuary.

Faster than the human eye could follow, more gargoyles crashed through the roof all over the church. Abai and the other vampires battled the gargoyles, but Celeste could not follow their unnatural speed fully. She caught glimpses of shadows or felt dark streaks moving, like the buzzing of mosquitoes flapping past her ears when she couldn't swat them fast enough. She sensed the whooshing of air above her and witnessed pews and the tabernacle crashing to pieces, destroyed with all the tussling and tearing of flesh. Blood rained around her from the vampires and gargoyles that were injured. Crimson blood dripped everywhere along with a dark orange fluid that had to be from the gargoyle's wounds.

Under great duress, Micah crawled to her, and she helped him get on his feet. They limped together toward the double doors. She paused in her steps to rest because Micah was so heavy. Glancing back, she caught a flash sighting of Terry sprinting toward her. Gadreel flew at him with an outstretched wingspan ten-feet across and lifted Terry off the ground. Terry used his claws and razor-sharp teeth to rip chunks out of the gargoyle's shoulder. Other gargoyles flew above them, fighting vampires who kept attacking even while they were being shaken like rags back and forth high above her. The horror flying about the church looked like a hideous medieval painting of Dante's inferno come to life.

Mia leaped high into the air and landed on Gadreel's back to help Terry knock him into a wall.

"Get out of here, Celeste!" Terry screamed.

Another gargoyle grabbed Mia mid-air, ripping her face to shreds. Gadreel burst through the rafters carrying Terry, making another gaping hole in the roof.

Celeste couldn't help him.

She could only help herself and her cousin.

Turning back to the entrance doors, Celeste's blood pressure dropped, and she passed out on the floor.

Micah toppled right over her.

Chapter 14 HERE.

Masterlist.

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[soaplickerrr]

Long Work Days and A Good Relationship

Idol! Park Jonseong / Jay Park x Reader

It had been a very long day, and Jay had been in the studio for several hours, recording and rehearsing for an upcoming performance. With all the lights and continual motion, it was impossible to find a moment of peace.

But right now, things felt different. The soft hum of the studio, the low chatter of his team in the background, it all felt quieter, almost more comforting. Since all he could think about was you.

He had barely left the recording booth when he immediately checked his phone. You'd sent a message earlier, a simple "Hope your day's going well," but it was enough to make him smile. He quickly typed out his reply in the hopes that he didn't text you after you fell asleep.

"Almost done! Can't wait to see you.”

He had felt exhausted, but somehow, the thought of coming home to you kept him going. Jay made his way out of the building, his jacket slung over his shoulder, the lights of the city flashing beyond.

He knew by now that you would most likely be sleeping, but he simply could not resist the thought of dialing your number.

His fingers danced over your contact name until his heart, lighter by a fraction with the thought of your voice on the other line, made him call you.

You picked up, and your voice was groggy, he chuckled at it. "Jay…? Is everything okay?”

"Yeah, just finished up. Wanted to hear your voice before I head home. You ok?" He said, leaning into the car door as his eyes gazed out into the dark street as he awaited your response.

"I'm good," you mumbled, well awake now. "Just missing you. How was the recording?"

"Tiring," he said, his voice low, but there was a warmth lacing it. "But hearing your voice? That makes it all worth it."

You give a soft laugh, your heart racing at the simple words. "You say that because you're probably just sleepy. Hurry up and come get some rest, Jay. You'll feel better tomorrow.”

Jay silenced for a second; his eyes on the street in the night's darkness. He could feel the sleepiness rising in his bones, but it was all nothing compared to how much he wanted to be next to you.

You smiled, though he couldn't see it. "Are you coming home soon?"

"Yeah, I’m just a few minutes away," he finally said, getting into the car. "I‘ll get there before you know it.”

He soon arrived, the lights off in the apartment, but he knew you still were awake, waiting. He made his way through the door quietly, slipping off his shoes.

He rounded the corner into the living room and found you curled up with a blanket on the couch. Your face lit up when you saw him, and suddenly the long day didn't feel so tiring anymore.

"You're home," you whispered, almost so you wouldn't disturb the peaceful moment.

A lazy grin twisted Jay's lips, and without another word, he shuffled to sit beside you. He leaned in, wrapping his arms around you, nuzzling his face into your hair as you let out a content sigh.

"Miss me?" he asked, his voice low.

"Always," you replied, your fingers delicately running up and down his arms.

He laughed low and slow, pulling back just enough to look at you. "I'll take that as my compliment for the day."

You smiled up at him, your heart swelling as that was all it took to simply be with him. Jay was always carving these moments out in his busy world, reminding him that no matter how apart or how tired he was, you guys always had each other.

"I missed you too, Y/N," he whispered, staring into your gaze.

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the top of your head before pulling you even closer. "Just want to be here with you. Forever.”

And in that moment, everything was great. No cameras. No bright lights. No staff or group members. Just you and Jay, and the peace of being together after a long, crazy day.

Thank you so much for the request!! I had fun writing this! :3

[mumblingsage]

I also think it's worth being pedantic about important things...and in that spirit I've spent like an hour writing and deleting various responses to this one (I found myself over-policing my tone and stopped that, so I'll just say right off I have no ill-will toward you and appreciate the contributions, even as I disagree on interpretation in several ways):

First, your tags - "for example a book can really kick off a delusion and set something off that can be traumatic." As I've said in another reblog thread, but it deserves repeating, triggering delusions, compulsions, or PTSD or adjustment disorder symptoms is not the same as causing trauma. We should try to accommodate people with triggers, and much of this accommodation will need to be individualized because the range of potential triggers is vast and often does not include things conventionally recognized as upsetting. I had a loved one make an irreversible error because of a delusion he had that was fueled by the due date on his library card being coincidentally the same as the date of his dentist appointment. That's not a reason for us to have a cultural conversation about the format of due date stickers. Though it could call for a discussion of how we can best support people who are experiencing delusional thinking or psychosis (we are currently doing very badly).

Re: vicarious trauma. Reading the Wikipedia article, I see that the examples given are of real life events reported on in the media, primarily social media and news coverage in the wake of terrorist attacks. I'm not going to get too deep into personal experience here, but let's just say this is not my first time hearing of vicarious trauma, and the important thing is that it is a real response to real harm and disaster. I wouldn't refuse evidence, but have not seen any, that it's caused by 13 Reasons Why or The Bridge to Terebithia or Outlander. (Bellingcat has useful advice for safety and 'metal hygiene' when engaging with firsthand sources of violence. I might use similar techniques when watching clips from a horror movie, but the stakes are not the same. Also, heads up that anyone who clicks through that link will read some text about distressing real-life events.)

"Books can have a significant impact on someone’s mind and outlook and that’s why they want them to be banned." < I agree and I think when people talk about how they don't want kids (or others) to read books about death, violence, sex, etc, they are participating in this. Authoritarians want us to have very particular ideas about these topics and resist any alternative information or thinking about them. When people go around saying "Learning or thinking about something upsetting is the same as being traumatized" they are doing the work of Christofascist Censorship Attempts, and I don't care if it's accidental. We don't need to compromise with them. (I don't have room to open this can of worms fully, but I also think too many people go around saying--for example--"13 Reasons Why traumatized me, I can't believe any library would let a kid read it" and thus send a message to the people around them with real-life experience with suicide, suicidal ideation, etc. that their experiences are unspeakable, untouchable. This social stigma is incredibly harmful.)

"I think it’s more productive to challenge the idea that a book that can potentially cause harm should be banned instead of the idea that books can potentially cause harm." < This is an interesting idea. I love its uncompromising stance. It's one I would adopt if I was convinced books can cause something that deserves to be called "harm" (the two of us may just have different definitions). I definitely believe we all have the God-given right to give ourselves nightmares and anyone trying to 'protect' us from that should be kicked in the fork of the legs.

I'm wondering if, as a society who cares about vulnerable people, we could stop saying "traumatize" when we truly mean "upset"?

I am sick of hearing sad books or movies "traumatize" their readers. I simply do not believe that happens. A traumatic experience might be adjacent to books (I have vivid memories of books I was reading around certain experiences and even how the contents of those books affected my processing of the experiences). But it's not caused by the book. And, y'know. The weather is Christofascist Censorship Attempts outside.

Meanwhile from the other side I continue to be surprised at just how badly people fail to understand trauma and traumatic experiences in general. Watering down the term isn't helping. Find other hyperbole to express that The Bridge to Terebithia gutted you, chewed on your heartstrings, and made you cry your first pair of contact lenses right out of your preteen eyes.

[daesdivination]

𓂃 𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗡𝗘𝗘𝗗 𝗥𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧 𝗡𝗢𝗪 ✧

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𓈒 ◌ ‎ ‎ something you need or want (to hear) right now.

notes/disclaimer: a general what you need or want to hear right now! struggled thinking of a topic to do a reading about, so here this is. cuz, i think that everyone should have a sort of little message from the cards about what they might need right now. take what resonates and what doesn't!

⎯⎯ 𝗣𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗘𝗡𝗖𝗘

seven of pentacles. it embodies perseverance.

what can the seven of pentacles mean? : it can mean things coming to fruition, hard work paying off, harvest, rewards, profits, results, pay-outs, manifestation of ideas or goals, inheritance, cultivation, growing, gestation, nurturing, perseverance, patience, planning, reviewing, taking stock, questioning, crossroads, approaching retirement, and finishing what you started.

you are doing the absolute best you can right now and i admire that for you. you’re very hard worker and it’s so easy to see, especially as the seven of pentacles come out, i think you’re a very structured person but you actually don’t know how hard you work for your goals and that’s frustrating. i can see that you have a lot of dreams and a lot of goals that you want to achieve and you put your entire self your entire mind into that. however, you question yourself and you have doubt when it comes to your skills. you shouldn’t doubt yourself, not at all! you’re amazing and you have all the abilities to achieve everything you want.

even so, i think you might be challenged when it comes to motivation to reach your goals and what i have to say to that is that when you actually want something, you have to persevere through it. you can’t just stop doing whatever it is that you’re doing and expect to get better at it, you have to really work for it and that goes into everything in your life. by pushing self doubt away, you'll be able to reap the rewards that you deserve and have been working so hard for.

you have everything you need to achieve your goals, you just have to put your mind to it. your self doubt is the only thing that’s harming you from getting what you want and i’m here to tell you, as well as whoever you might work with or just the universe itself, that you have strong capabilities and you can do what you want as long as you put your mind to it. there’s nothing wrong with taking breaks, just don’t be lazy. if you don’t put your mind to something, you will never get it done.

⎯⎯ 𝗛𝗢𝗣𝗘

the star. it embodies renewal.

what can the star ☆ mean? : it can mean hope, inspiration, creativity, calm, contentment, renewal, serenity, spirituality, healing, and positivity.

with the star, all i have to say is that you don’t know how much you’re worth. and i’m just here to tell you that you are amazing. i can’t believe that anyone would let you go while you’re the embodiment of the star. i can feel your personality and the way you act is very bright and charming all while being kind at the same time. i see passion and i see determination within you and that part of you is burning bright. however i feel like you’ve been dimmed by other people and that’s not what we want here. i want you shining and for you to know your worth. while you’re going through these tough times it’s definitely hard to be your charming happy self and i totally get that.

even stars need breaks and with that, you need to stick up for yourself a lot more because i can see your strength in you. you just need to find it in your own way. disrespect is not allowed here, especially when it comes from yourself. you need to know your worth because other people see it so clearly. i think you need to find peace and inspiration within sorts of media right now so you can bring the renewal into your life and positivity surround yourself with people who know your worth and can teach you how to love you without needing to dim your light and outshine you in the process. you all can shine together and don't be afraid to speak up for yourself because your ideas are words are solid.

also, don't be afraid to put yourself out there too! there's nothing wrong with taking risks and with a personality that big and positive like yours, you'll find friends, relationships, and connections anywhere. it's not hard once you start healing from your own negative self thoughts.

⎯⎯ 𝗖𝗨𝗥𝗜𝗢𝗦𝗜𝗧𝗬

page of swords. it embodies exploration.

what can the page of swords mean? : it can mean delayed news, patience needed, ideas, inspiration, planning, vigilance, protective, guarded, fairness, think before you speak, don’t get drawn into arguments, mental agility, using your head, inquisitive, curious, quick-witted, chatty, communicative, education, petty gossip, being truthful/ direct, speaking out, fighting injustice.

i can already see that you’re an impatient person and i’m not going to lie so am i. i think that you’re a very anxious person and you always feel as if you have to do things quickly and before anyone else just so you can get ahead of the game. that’s actually what stressing you out right now. what you need to hear right now that you need to slow down. also i have this feeling that you need to think before you speak because you speak without thinking at times and there are people listening that you might not want for them to be listening to you (also something i struggle with). there are always going to be people that are listening to you and they may be enemies you don't want to rile up even more.

i think you just have to keep to yourself sometimes and you need to be more guarded to protect yourself from others. especially when it comes to your emotions so you don’t get attached to people too quickly. i think you're very restless when it comes to people when it comes to maybe texting you back or not really paying attention to you. i think when it comes to those situations, you should find attention within yourself that you can provide entertainment to yourself without anyone else.

if someone doesn't text you back, it's not a big deal. wait for them to text you back instead, you can live without them. you're a very caring person and you taking up the fact that you have to change or help anyone is not healthy for you. take some time for yourself because you're the stronger and most important person in your world. make sure to ground yourself and let yourself take rests instead of worrying about things that may not even be so big to the other person.

final notes about this reading: did this kinda spiral.. yes... but i'm hoping it was still helpful or good to hear! dear curiosity, i kind of called you out... my bad chat..

links + things: https://daestarot.carrd.co to learn more about me (includes examples of paid and free readings, what i do read for + don't, and my discord for contact)!

[blamemma]

sorry for the grim vibes i brought to the dash this evening x

for whatever it's worth, i'll happily hold my hands up and apologise if my post felt pointed or aggressive. i'm sorry, if it made anyone sad or dismayed. like i said in that original, now deleted post, my feelings towards daniel have been complicated this past month. not going to get into the nitty gritty, but it's been weird no longer finding comfort in someone you once so easily used to find comfort within. i can't be here, because daniel doesn't bring me the joy i once felt. i see you all tagging new photos of him delightedly and i feel nothing. so maybe, me making that post was bitterness, retaliation, or idk what. but i do feel that way. i do feel like capitalism baby. but yeah, sorry for clicking post on that. because i acc don't wish for anyone to feel the way i do regarding daniel at the moment. what i do ask, is in the future, y'all act with nuance. don't react right away. it was kinda sad to see people i consider myself friends with, or friendly with at least, immediately go to bashing me. y'all could message me and go girl what kinda crazy take is that and i'd laugh. or go girl that's a little mean. kinda horrid to me just how quickly that all escalated. kinda horrid for me to look in my inbox and just see grim things. but i get it. i get it. it's calm it's cool. i'm gunna eat a sweet treat and be fine. and finally, i think maybe there was some misunderstanding when i said "we deserve something more". i know and respect that however hard we find this, daniel will find this much harder. we actually deserve nothing. he can take his time. 3 months 6 months 2 years whatever. or never. again, nuance missed by all, myself included. but yeah. idk. cool.

[rekino2114]

I love kanade I really really do, bjt Arei just wins out for me. So how about Arei from Despair time alphabet with J, L, V, Y

J,L,V and Y fluff alphabet prompts with arei nageishi and kanade otonokoji

A/n:I'll do you one better. Why choose when you can have both (yes, this is allowed. It's still 4 letters even with 2 characters)

Arei nageishi

🎳J=jealousy (how jealous do they get? What do they do when they're jealous?)

Arei gets jealous pretty easily. While she may appear to have a big ego, she knows better than anyone how her personality is, and she's very afraid that you'll get tired of it and leave her so when she sees a girl flirting with you she'll immediately start yelling at her and calling her every insult possible while telling her you're taken. She'll also start making out with you in front of her just to rub salt in the wound

🎳L=love confession(how did they confess to you?)

She invited you bowling and was planning to confess while comforting you for your loss, but she ended up getting distracted by you and her emotions and losing, so you comforted her instead and she blurted out that she loved you, she was very embarrassed at first but very surprised and happy when you accepted her confession

🎳V=value (How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?)

Your relationship and you in general mean so much to her, specifically the fact that you could see through and endure her personality, you and eden are the only people who see her for what she actually is:a person genuinely trying her best to make friends and change at least a little bit. She knows she probably will never be a good person, but she doesn't really care as long as you're with her

🎳Y=yes (how do they react to you proposing to them?)

"So, did you bring me here just to get destroyed at bowling? Hehe, sorry, but seriously, why did you play with me? You usually just watch me play"

"Well today is special"

"Really? How so?"

Arei watched as you got on one knee, pulled out a ring, and started your speech. Part of her genuinely couldn't believe this was happening. She wanted to pinch herself to make sure she wasn't dreaming, and before she knew it, she started crying.

She carefully listened to everything you told her and had the biggest smile you had ever seen on her face while still crying when you asked her the question

"Are you fucking serious? Of course I will, yes, yes,yes, do you need me to say it again? cause I will, yes I would love to marry you"

Kanade otonokoji

🎸J=jealousy (how jealous do they get? What do they do when they're jealous?)

Kanade is very much the jealous type just seeing you talking with another girl causes her to get violent thoughts, and if that girl starts flirting with you, you might as well say your goodbyes because that is the last conversation you're gonna have with her, she obviously trusts you and knows you're never gonna leave her but it's better to send a message to any possible competition.

🎸L=love confession(how did they confess to you?)

She wanted to go all out to show you just how much she loved you, so she asked hibiki to make a special song for you and make her sing it this time, she was very surprised by her sister's actually pretty good performance but didn't think too much about it. She made a private concert for you and after she finished singing she went over and told you that everything she had said in the song was for you. She then kissed and hugged you when you said you liked her too. She may have seemed blushy and nervous on the outside, but on the inside, she couldn't be happier that you said yes as that made things much easier for both of you

🎸V=value (How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?)

When kanade fell in love with you, any obsession she might have felt towards her sister was replaced by you. She couldn't think of anything but you. All her dreams were filled with her and you living a happy life together. She loved you so so so so much, and thankfully, you feel the same . She doesn't even have to break you to be with you. She would gladly kill everyone in the world, including her sister, to be with you or if you simply ask her to. So safe to say you mean a lot to her

🎸Y=yes (how do they react to you proposing to them?)

"The scenery is beautiful, darling, but why did you bring me here?"

Despite what her question might lead you to believe, she knew exactly why you were there, the recent searching for rings online and measuring of hibiki's finger (you didn't want her to know and they have the same fingers) made it obvious, it was a bit disappointing if she had to be honest, she wanted to be the one to propose, to make a perfect discourse on how much she truly loved you (as if she didn't do that every day) but she could never complain, it was an even greater sign that you wanted to be with her

"To do this"

You got on one knee and pulled the box out, kanade tried her best to look surprised, but the pure ecstasy that was filling her mind was too much to contain, she started drooling a bit and hearts replaced her pupils, her true self coming out for a bit, but she shrugged it off in time to answer your questions without you noticing

"O-of course my darling, I would love nothing more than to marry you, I want to live the rest of my life with you, I will love you forever and ever, that's a promise"

[sk-lumen]

This is actually a fascinating and very refreshing take, I never thought about it that way.

I think it's because in 2024 there's this overconsumption of information, being chronically online and plugged into every detail of people's lives, that some of us swing to the opposite extreme where we want to disappear and go off the grid. But as you said, that can actually be a trauma response signalling fear of vulnerability in a society that surrounds us 24/7 with highlight reels of how perfect everyone's life is (and how those that aren't picture-perfect inevitably get attacked).

It's easy to swing from one extreme to another, all you have to do is cave in to the feeling. But balance? Balance is the hardest. Because it requires you to fight both your need to share everything, and the need to run away and self-isolate. But how do you achieve that balance?

By learning to set boundaries, share only what's worth sharing, and knowing when to walk away and take a break. By prioritizing selfcare and your mental health. Recognizing when you need offline time. By being brave enough to share what matters, in a way that's beneficial for both you, the content creator, and your audience, those that consume it.

A bit off tangent, but that last point is something that I feel very strongly about. As content creators in this digital age I DO believe we're responsible (to a degree) for what we put out there. Morally and ethically. I do not resonate at all with creators that put out toxic, negative or shock-effect content for the sake of engagement/traffic, who then wash their hands of the inevitable negative impact this content has on their audience by saying "well that's their problem, it's just content, if they get triggered or depressed or upset I have zero responsibility to that." Like no. If you create weird performative videos of controversial, painful topics just for the sake of it, with no advice, no higher purpose, just for shock effect, it's not okay. Message matters. Intention matters. I believe karma is real and if you dabble in toxic energies like that, the waves of those effects will inevitably return back to you.

i have such mixed feelings about the idea of “moving in privacy”. i think there are seasons for it (certainly your late 20s/saturn return you will probably desire retreat for a while, or any time you feel uncertain). at the same time, moving in public with a thoughtful personal brand can be an incredible, powerful, and easy way to bring connection and opportunities to you. sometimes i think all this “disappear and move in privacy” talk is just a symptom of poor boundaries and rebranding the fear of being vulnerable… but if you can figure out boundaries and overcome the fear of actually being recognised for your gifts and strengths, well, the world is literally your oyster.

[nhlclover]

STAY AWAY FROM JULIET! JACK DRURY

pairing: brind'amour!daughter!reader x jack drury

summary: caught between your love for jack and your father's strict rules about dating players, you find yourself navigating the thrill and weight of a secret romance.

warnings: secret relationship, forbidden relationship, reader is coaches daughter + teammates sister, pretending that skylar isn't with the ahl team in chicago and is on the roster.

wc: 3.80k

notes: jack drury fic! i don't know a ton about him off the ice so i hope this is good. thank u to the anon who requested!

As everyone knows, the last thing you ever want to do is cross Rod Brind’Amour—a fact you understand all too well as his daughter. That’s why it’s a surprise, even to you, that you ended up in a relationship with Jack Drury, one of his players, breaking the strict ‘no fraternizing with the team’ rule he’d always imposed on you. You would feel bad for disobeying your father if it weren’t for the fact that you were head over heels for Jack.

Keeping the relationship under wraps wasn’t easy, but you both agreed it was for the best. The risk of your dad finding out — and the reaction that you knew would result from that — was enough to keep you both cautious. Growing up, you'd heard countless stories from your dad’s former teammates and players about his fierce dedication and unwavering standards. Those standards extended beyond the ice, especially when it came to you and Skylar.

It wasn’t that Jack wasn’t good enough. Far from it. He was everything your dad would probably want for you—loyal, kind, respectful, with a work ethic that rivaled your father’s own. But the idea of dating someone on the team went against every guideline Rod had set, a boundary he made clear for you and Skylar growing up.

Despite the careful hiding, sneaking around brought a thrill you hadn’t expected. Late-night meet-ups after practice, stolen kisses in hidden corridors, and text messages that had to be deleted as soon as you read them were all part of the secret that bound you and Jack even closer. And, to your surprise, you found that these stolen moments made you fall for him even more.

At first, sneaking around with Jack felt almost like a game. You both laughed about the lengths you’d go to keep everything hidden—timing phone calls to avoid your dad, coordinating schedules so you could “bump into each other” outside the rink without raising suspicion, and finding creative ways to communicate without leaving a digital trail. Every stolen glance or quick touch that no one else noticed made your heart race. The secrecy added an exhilarating spark, something just for the two of you that no one else could touch.

You joked with Jack about the lengths you went to: how you’d pretend not to notice each other at team events, how he’d throw you a subtle wink from across a room when no one else was looking, and how you’d meet up in empty stairwells of the Lenovo Centre. Jack always kept things light-hearted, his playful grin reassuring you that as long as you were together, it would be worth the risk.

But as the months passed, the thrill started to wear thin, replaced by a longing for something simpler. The constant need to look over your shoulder or keep your voice low when you talked about him to your friends began to feel more like a weight. You’d catch yourself daydreaming about what it would be like to hold his hand in public or just have him over for dinner without the worry of your dad or brother finding out.

And it wasn’t just the sneaking around that was exhausting; it was how much you missed out on. When the team had get-togethers, you couldn’t be by his side, even though you wanted to support him. Sometimes, he’d mention a charity event or team dinner, and you’d have to laugh it off, pretending it didn’t sting that you couldn’t be there openly. As his career milestones came and went, you wanted to celebrate with him, to be the one cheering the loudest. Instead, you found yourself watching from afar, silently, wishing things could be different.

And now not only was the hiding becoming a weight between you and Jack, it was getting harder and harder to manage, and the cracks began to show. You could feel the pressure building, the constant vigilance required to keep everything under wraps growing harder to manage.

There were moments when the secrecy felt like it was taking more than it was giving. Every time you saw Jack after practice, there was a part of you that wanted to shout your feelings from the rooftops. But, instead, you shared a fleeting smile or a brief touch, both of you hyper-aware of every passing moment. Whenever you were at the rink and you’d run into your dad, your stomach would twist in knots, and you’d pray that he wouldn’t catch sight of Jack or—worse—make the connection. The thought of your father, who had built his career on discipline and loyalty, discovering that you were breaking one of his cardinal rules, made your heart race with a mixture of dread and guilt.

But it wasn’t just your dad that made the situation complicated. It was Skylar. Your brother, who had always been protective of you, was starting to catch on to your avoidance. The way you always seemed to have an excuse to leave early when he invited you to hang out, the way you deflected questions about who you were spending time with outside of work — Skylar had always been perceptive, and he was no fool. You could see it in his eyes. He’d give you those knowing glances whenever you seemed a little too distracted, or when your phone would buzz with a text message from Jack and you’d panic, quickly pocketing it before he saw.

The strain was becoming too much, and you were growing worried that it wouldn’t be long before one of them, probably Skylar, would piece it together. Every time you met Jack in a secluded corner of the rink or snuck away for a quick coffee, there was a part of you that dreaded being caught. If your dad or brother saw you and Jack together, even for a moment, all your carefully constructed walls would come crashing down.

One night, with your dad out for a dinner meeting with Eric Tulsky and a few of the Hurricanes’ execs, you’d invited Jack over, excited to finally let him into your world a little deeper. You’d barely gotten him through the door before you were wrapped around each other, muffling laughter and eager whispers as you stumbled up the stairs to your bedroom. For once, he was in your space—somewhere that felt like an extension of yourself, familiar and intimate. Jack looked around, taking in the room he’d only heard about: the bulletin board crowded with photos, ticket stubs, and other keepsakes; shelves overflowing with books and childhood mementos; the whole room exuding a soft, cozy warmth.

As he wandered, his fingers traced along your cluttered desk, a slight smile on his lips as he absorbed the details. Then, his gaze landed on a photo pinned to the board, and he plucked it down before you could stop him. “Oh my gosh,” he teased, grinning as he held it up to inspect. “You with glasses, pigtails, and… are those sequins on your jeans?”

You rolled your eyes, laughing as you tried to grab the picture back. “It was a phase. And, anyway, I don’t think Mr. ‘neon-green frosted tips for the playoffs’ has any room to talk about style choices.”

He gasped, mock-offended, holding the photo just out of reach. “Hey, that was iconic. This, on the other hand…” He squinted at it, chuckling. “I need to know how many days you rocked the bedazzled denim look.”

With a smirk, you stepped closer, sliding your hands up his chest, pinning him with a look that was half-daring, half-teasing. “Do you really want to spend tonight making fun of my middle school fashion choices? Or… maybe we could get back to what we’re really here for?”

Jack’s laughter faded, replaced by that familiar, mischievous glint. He leaned down, voice softer, warmer. “Alright, you win,” he murmured, his hands settling around your waist. “You’re way more distracting than a photo ever could be.” With a gentle smile, he placed the photo back on the board and turned fully to you, and as he drew you in.

Your hands drifted to his shoulders, his fingers trailing up your sides, leaving little goosebumps in their wake. You pulled Jack to your bed, easing him back onto the plush comforter, propping one leg on either side of his hips. Jack’s lips brushed softly along your neck, and you tangled your fingers in his hair, feeling the closeness of him, the quiet thrill of sneaking him into your space. His hands traced under the hem of your top, tugging it up, and you broke apart just long enough to pull off your shirts, casting them aside as you reconnected in a kiss that deepened, stealing your breath.

You were so wrapped up in him, so blissfully unaware, that the sudden slam of a car door outside might as well have been thunder. You jolted, pulling away, and Jack’s lips left a small, bewildered whimper at the abrupt loss of contact. “Did you hear that?” you whispered, heart racing.

“Hear what?” he asked, clearly not wanting to hear anything but the steady hum of the moment between you.

You slipped off his lap, crept to the window, and pulled the curtain back just enough to peek through. There it was — your dad’s SUV parked once again in the driveway. Panic clawed at your stomach as you hissed, “Shit!”

Jack’s face went pale as the sound of keys jingling met your ears from downstairs. His expression mirrored yours — frozen panic — as he took in the narrow confines of your room, seeming to realize in real time that hiding nearly six feet of hockey player was no small feat.

“Closet,” you whispered sharply, tugging him in that direction. He stifled a laugh, squeezing himself into the cramped space, giving you a look that was somewhere between grateful and bewildered as you shut the doors.

You dashed back to the bed, frantically tugging your shirt back on and running a hand through your hair, grabbing your phone and slipping on your headphones. You quickly ran back to the closet, cracking open the doors. “Stay quiet,” you said. “Don’t come out until I come and get you and the coast is all clear.”

Just as you returned to the bed and threw the blanket over your legs, the door creaked open, and there was your dad, standing in the doorway, one eyebrow raised, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Hey,” he said, pausing, taking in the sight of you with the unmistakable air of someone who knew more than he was letting on. “Who were you talking to?”

You gave him what you hoped was an effortlessly casual smile, lifting your phone to show you were on a call. “Oh, just a friend from school. She’s, uh, going through some stuff, so I’m keeping her company on the phone,” you replied, praying he couldn’t hear your pulse thundering in your chest.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it entirely but also not wanting to pry too deeply. “Right, okay,” he said slowly. “Well, I’ll let you get back to it. But maybe keep it down, alright?”

You nodded, trying to look as unaffected as possible. “Will do,” you said with a small, too-casual smile, watching as he lingered for one last beat before closing the door.

As soon as you heard his footsteps fade down the hallway, you practically collapsed back onto the bed in relief. After a beat, the closet door creaked open, and Jack stepped out, eyes wide and lips pressed tightly together as he tried not to laugh.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, still grinning, “I thought I was going to get caught.”

You clapped a hand over your mouth, half-relieved, half-ready to burst into laughter at the situation. "I thought we were both done for," you muttered, letting out a soft, breathy laugh as Jack joined you on the bed. He flopped onto his back, staring at the ceiling, eyes still gleaming with barely restrained laughter.

Jack propped himself up on one elbow, glancing over at you. "You know, one day, we’re going to have to tell people. I mean, if I got caught hiding in your closet tonight, I don’t think I could ever live it down." He chuckled, but his words held a trace of seriousness, hinting at the future you both knew was looming.

You sighed, the humor fading a bit as reality set back in. "I know," you admitted quietly. "I just… I worry about how my dad and Skylar will react. I mean, they know you as a player, as a teammate. But as… as the guy I’m with?" You trailed off, unsure of how to put your feelings into words.

Jack reached over, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his expression softening. “They know me as the guy who’s dedicated to the team, who works hard. And I’d be dedicated to you, too. That’s all they need to know. Besides…” He smirked a little, trying to lighten the moment. “Skylar and I have been in a locker room together more than enough. He probably knows more about me than he ever wanted to.”

You laughed, shaking your head. "You don’t know my dad like I do. He’s seen me as his little girl for so long. And Skylar, well… he’s overprotective." You glanced down, picking at the blanket as the weight of their potential reactions settled on you. "I just don’t want them to think… I don’t know, that we’re crossing some sort of line."

“What? Rod would never overreact to anything!” Jack said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. You give him a shove but recognize that Jack would likely know exactly how your dad would react to finding out about the two of you.

Jack let out a small, sympathetic smile, and his fingers found yours, intertwining gently as he looked into your eyes. "Hey," he said softly, "no matter how it goes, I’m here. Even if Rod loses his mind or Skylar thinks he needs to 'protect' you from me — I'm not going anywhere." His voice was steady, his eyes holding a quiet confidence that made you feel both reassured and grounded.

You squeezed his hand, feeling your heart swell at his words. “You really mean that?”

“Absolutely,” he replied, his eyes steady and sincere. “I want them to know that you’re safe with me, that I’d do anything to make you happy. They deserve that reassurance, and I want to give it to them.” He paused, a playful glint returning to his gaze. “But maybe not when I’m sneaking out of your closet at two in the morning.”

You both burst out laughing again, the tension breaking as the comfort of the moment settled around you. Pulling Jack close, you rested your head on his shoulder, a sense of peace washing over you.

“One day” you murmured, almost to yourself. “But not tonight.”

Jack nodded, wrapping his arms around you in a gentle squeeze. “Whenever you’re ready. I’ll be here.”

As the days went on, though, the secrecy only grew harder. You’d thought you could keep your relationship under wraps with a bit of careful planning and a few white lies, but you hadn’t anticipated how deeply you’d crave being able to share your life with Jack openly. Every time you’d pass him in the halls of the Lenovo Centre having to pass by him like you didn’t know him as anyone more than one of your dad's players. Or every quick squeeze of his hand when no one was looking. It was beginning to feel like a delicate balancing act — one slip, and it would all come tumbling down.

Your dad had started to notice your little “disappearances,” the times you’d claim to be studying with friends or heading out to run an errand but were actually meeting Jack. And Skylar, perceptive as ever, kept teasing you, asking if your newfound happiness was because the Canes were doing so well or if someone was responsible for it. You’d brush it off with a laugh, but deep down, you knew it couldn’t go on like this.

So when Jack suggested a simple date — just the two of you at a small, out-of-the-way restaurant for dinner — you felt a rush of relief. No sneaking, no hiding in closets, just a normal evening where you could enjoy each other’s company without the pressure of prying eyes. The restaurant was quiet, candlelit, and tucked away, and for once, you almost allowed yourself to believe you were truly alone.

The two of you slipped into comfortable conversation, laughing over the menu as Jack exaggerated his disgust at any mention of seafood, and you felt that familiar warmth, that thrilling ease that made you wish every night could be like this. But as you raised your glass for another sip, you noticed Jack’s gaze shift from your face, over your shoulder, to somewhere behind you, his smile suddenly faltering.

Before you could turn around, Jack’s hand took yours that was resting on the table, giving a gentle squeeze, trying to soothe you as he leaned in and whispered, “Don’t freak out, okay? But I think… your dad and Skylar just walked in.”

Your heart plummeted, eyes wide as your head whipped around to confirm Jack’s words. Sure enough, there they were, standing with some friends of your family. They scanned the room, not seeming to have noticed you yet, but your carefully secret relationship was now hanging in the balance.

You quickly turned back to Jack, lifting your menu as if it could shield you from view, heart hammering in your chest. “Of all the restaurants…” you muttered under your breath, feeling the moment's weight settle heavily.

Jack looked at you with steady, gentle eyes. “Hey, it’s okay. If they see us, we’ll handle it,” he said softly, his thumb brushing soothing circles over the back of your hand. “No more hiding, right?”

You nodded, dropping the menu back to the table, feeling the words sink in and taking comfort in Jack’s reassuring touch. You both kept your heads down, focusing on each other and praying the waiter would come quickly to take your orders. But a few moments later, footsteps approached, and you knew it was too late to keep pretending.

“Hey, you two,” came a familiar voice. You looked up to see your dad and Skylar standing by your table. Your dad’s expression was stoic, with no reaction to the sight of you two showing. Skylar, however, had a shit-eating grin on his face. There was no escaping it now.

With a deep breath, you tightened your hold on Jack’s hand and mustered a smile. “Hi, Dad. Hi, Sky,” you greeted, hoping your voice didn’t sound as nervous as you felt.

Skylar folded his arms, raising an eyebrow as he glanced between you and Jack. “Care to explain?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. You glared at your older brother who was clearly finding enjoyment in this.

Jack cleared his throat, sitting up a little straighter. “Sir, I’d… We’ve been seeing each other for a while now, and we didn’t want you to hear about it from someone else. We just… wanted to be careful with how it might look, with the team and all.”

Your dad’s face remained unreadable for a moment, eyes flickering from you to Jack as he processed. You could see the wheels turning in his head, and you held your breath, waiting for some sign of his reaction. Finally, he sighed, his expression softening slightly as he looked back at you.

“As long as you’re happy, that’s all that matters,” he said, his tone calm but sincere. “It’s important that you’re with someone who respects you — someone who’s going to be good to you.”

A wave of relief washed over you, and you felt your shoulders relax as you smiled. “Thank you, Dad.”

You turned to look at Skylar who was now eyeing Jack, suddenly serious. Finally, he huffed, breaking the silence. “Alright, alright… I know Jack’s a good guy. But you know I’ll kick his ass if he ever does anything to hurt you, right?” He shot Jack a warning look, though there was a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Jack laughed softly, nodding. “Understood. I’ll make sure you don’t have to.”

A smile broke across your face, and you felt the last of your fears dissolve. “Thank you, both of you,” you said, your voice soft with gratitude. “I just… I don’t want this to affect anything between you guys as teammates or between you guys as coach and player.”

Your dad nodded thoughtfully, glancing at Jack. “We’ll figure it out. Just promise me you’ll be open with us going forward, okay? No more hiding in closets or pretending to study at friends’ houses.”

Your smile dropped, a bright red hue flashing across your cheeks as you remembered shoving Jack into your cramped closet a month ago when your dad suddenly came home. “You knew?”

Your dad raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement breaking through his usually serious demeanor. “I’m your father. Of course, I knew,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Also, he left his team jacket on your desk chair. It says Drury on the shoulder.”

Skylar snorted, unable to contain his laughter. “The closet? Really?” he teased, shaking his head.

“What did you want me to do? Tell him to jump out the window?” you argued.

Your dad rolled his eyes but softened, his gaze landing on you both with a newfound acceptance. “Just… next time, try a little honesty instead of extreme hiding tactics. I’d rather know than worry about you sneaking around.” His voice was gentle, a tone he rarely used outside of family moments, and it only reassured you that he was really okay with this.

You nodded, feeling more at ease than you had in months. “I promise. No more hiding, Dad.”

Your dad and Skylar exchanged a look, something unspoken but approving passing between them before they glanced back at you. “Alright, we’ll leave you two to your dinner,” your dad said, giving you a warm nod. “But I expect to see him at dinner on Sunday night and be properly introduced to your boyfriend.”

As they walked away, you and Jack exchanged a relieved laugh, your hands still intertwined. Jack lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss on your knuckles. “Well, that went better than expected,” he murmured, his eyes twinkling with both relief and affection.

You smiled, feeling lighter than ever. “Yeah, I think we’re officially in the clear.”

Jack leaned in, his voice low and teasing. “So, does that mean no more closets?”

You laughed, squeezing his hand. “No more closets,” you agreed.

[chahnniesroom]

HELLO AUTHOR NIM I absolutely love all of your works and I live for all of them <33

THE ANGST IN TENDERNESS MADE ME SCREAM AAAAAA my friends can testify how much I kept on ranting about it especially when chan was being an asshole that one chap >:( and of course the moments of fluff in between made me weak in the knees 😭

AND TILL DEATH DO US APART IS 💓💞💕💖♥️♥️💗 SO FLUFFY (except minho's fic) I LOVE READING THEM ALL hyunjin painting her a painting of their flowers even though he's busy AND THE "it's us" WBSOWNXOASON SO CUTE 😭😭 and seungmin picking her up and taking care of her 😭 sobbinh and there is the angst of the minho fic :( I loved it

I love how you write each fic and I'm so excited to read your next one, of course you can take your time writing each fic we'll all be waiting <33

anon-nim..... this is one of the nicest messages i have ever read,,,, i would do anything for you 🥹🥹

it's soo cute to hear that you talked to your friends about tenderness and i'm so glad you liked it and the rest of my fics!! it has been fun to try out different genres through the tddup collection and even more rewarding when i get such positive feedback. i really appeciate your detailed comment, no words can explain how nice it feels to receive such a heartfelt message 🥰🥰🥰

i have a lot of fics planned (like 5+ rn) but they will take time, thank you in advance for your patience!! for me, writing is a long process and my progress is often slow. taking so long to write can be discouraging, especially when i compare myself to other authors, but messages like yours really really motivate me and i am really grateful to have readers that enjoy what i create.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Happy Valentine's Day! (and this blog's first post anniversary!)