#i'm good when i can live my life the way i want to and be healthy

[honey-bitch]

Mars in the Ascendant Persona Chart - Houses

The mars in the ascendant persona chart can tell you how your raw sensuality can come across as or how your rage and anger can be expressed, when coming into contact with others. This is my 10th part of my ascendant persona chart series, so check out my masterlist to see my other posts.

1st house - This is a very intimidating and powerful place for mars to be in. People may have a tendency to step around you, especially those with weaker mars placements. You may be seen as a very strong and powerful person and may introduce yourself with a gust of power and force. Very action driven, and sexy however once again people may be a bit intimated by you. Use that to your advantage.

2nd house - This is such a girl boss placement to have being that you're seen very much as a go getter and ambitious in your desire to chase after material gains. You may be very picky on who you let touch your stuff and you may appear to be very possessive of what you own. But since the 2nd house doesn't aspect the ascendant on first meeting (unless this person is touching or helping you gain items), you may not be that intimidating, and that is something the people in your life have to learn.

3rd house - Very strong and powerful voice, you could be a good debater and love a bit of banter. However this could be taken in the wrong way being that you may make jokes that are too strong, that could cause offence. This could also be an indicator that you don't vibe with people of similar background to you and you want to explore other topics because of that mars energy. Very spunky energy 3rd house mars.

4th house - Since this is the deepest part of you a 4th house mars does indicate that you may come across very protective of your home and loved ones. This could be a person who's very adamant on following familiar traditions and therefore will these ideals will show when interacting with others. Very striking appearance with a 4th house mars being that it's square the 1st house, possibly strong features could manifest with this placement.

5th house - You may be very artistic and even a dancer, life is fun and you hold others hands and welcome them on a great ride of excitement. Very sexy placement to have being that this energy is trine the 1st house, and a persuasive house swell being it's the house of fun and dating. I would say that if you have this placement if you want something tease and make little jokes and you can get what you want.

6th house - Such a girl boss placement to have, very organised and practical. You may have a high level of energy when it comes to your job or personal health and wellness. This is the placement for people who live very focused and perhaps active lifestyle. It could be about being a workaholic or a gym junky. This placement indicates someone who is driven to be efficient, organised, and to take action to improve their physical well-being or work performance, so rock on. Very dependable and respectable person.

7th house - This placement indicates that when interacting one on one with others you may express a bit of force and aggression. This doesn't mean that you like to square up on others however you may like to make mean jokes or even want to experience the highlight with others. This placement is just screaming 'I'm a bad influence but you're going to have fun with me'. With this energy opposing the ascendant, very striking and powerful presence.

8th house - You hold secrets and may hesitate before expressing your lust or desire for others. There could be a sense of shame you carry which you hide however it's in the 8th house which brings a bit of mystery to your presence. You can appear to be calm and composed at one point however it's all or nothing and roaring passion in the next.

9th house - If you have this placement I would recommend you download reddit and just start arguing with people. Lolololol you are very passionate about your personal beliefs and ideologies, you could be very spiritual or the opposite. You may want to tackle and rip apart books and explore different cultures to understand how it functions and works. Yeah if you have this placement read books to back up your claims. Not to mention this firery energy is trine to the ascendant meaning that this fiery curiosity Is taken quite well.

10th house - Should we all bow down to you. You are naturally such a boss b*tch with a regal air of sophistication. Such a well placed mars. You guys are ambitious and know when to put your foot down and you mean it. Being that this is the house of career and public perception this could mean that you may know how to utilise your marsian energy and detach from anger and what not. Very powerful, not to mention sexy as It just reeks power.

11th house - You are all or nothing about their beliefs and goals (depends on sign etc etc though). You're are likely to be assertive and possibly even vocal about their personal ideas and strategies to help society. Being that this energy is in the 11th house of friends you may sometimes have the tendency to put your foot down and not listen to both sides as you may prioritise your ideas etc etc. Great placement for an social activist.

12th house - This is a somewhat of a cutesty placement for mars to be in, however since its a malefic in a malefic house, you may come across having a troubled mind, or the exact opposite. Being that the 12th house is a pisces house this could represent surrender and you fully understanding the dark truths of life, which is unfortunately translated into your behaviour and how you interact with others.

DISCLAIMER: this post is a great generalisation and may not resonate with you. I would recommend buying a reading from a professional astrologer (or me) to get more insight

If you want me to analyse your ascendant persona chart or what type of beauty you have Dm me for Paid Readings

©️ 2025 honey-bitch All Rights Reserved

[ekybrini]

slipping through my fingers| JACK HUGHES

— ⟡ summary | in which y/n and Jake childhood best friends who've always had something there for each other. But once jack gets drafted everything changed for both of them.

— ⟡ warnings | none (that I know of)

— ⟡ word count | 17.8k (GUYS IM SORRY)

— ⟡ gabs note | hiii!!! im so excited to finally start writing again! I apologizer if this seems rushed. also this is EXTREMELY INACCURATE!!! please don't think this is literal, I don't know how some of these things work. also i apologize if this is cringe bc I CANNOT write romance for the life of me. I'm currently on spring break so I'll be trying to take advantage of being able to write a few things! if anyone wants to request or suggest anything don't hesitate to go into my inbox . i'll try to get to it and write it as soon as I can :) after spring break I may be a little inactive as i'm trying to lock in, in some of my classes before the semesters is over (ap econ and living earth are actually kicking my ass)

⟡ slipping through your fingers | jack hughes (jacks pov)

You've known Jack since you were kids. Backyard games of street hockey, summer nights spent on the lake, and watching him skate around with his brothers. you were always there. best friends through and through. 

The first time you met Jack, you were about 10 years old. You had just moved into the neighborhood and the first thing you noticed was the street hockey that was happening right outside of your house. The kids from the neighborhood were scattered in every direction, sticks raised, yelling at each other. The one who caught your attention right away was the kid with the wild hair, darting around the group with such speed that it was almost impossible to keep up. He made it look effortless. He, of course, was jack. 

You were lonely at first, standing awkwardly by the curb or watching the game through your bedroom window . Jack, always the curious one, had spotted you one day as you were sitting on the curb and skated over with a big grin.

"You gonna watch all day, or do you wanna join us?" he’d asked, not missing a beat, despite being out of breath. his eyes were full of that contagious energy.

You'd hesitated, feeling unsure. “I don’t know. I’m not really good at this... I’ve never really played before.”

"Come on! I’ll teach you," Jack insisted. "It’s easy, you just gotta push the puck this way, and then..." He demonstrated, sending the puck flying past you. "See? Just like that!"

It wasn’t perfect, but you tried. And Jack, always encouraging, cheered you on even as you missed the puck completely a few times. "Don’t worry. You’ll get it. It’s all about having fun."

From that moment on, you and Jack were inseparable. Summer after summer, it was the same routine. Jack, with his scruffy hair and infectious smile, would be the one to drag you out onto the street, even if you were just coming off a bad day at school or feeling a little down.

One of your favorite memories came when you were both about 12 years old. It was a hot, sticky summer afternoon. Jack, as usual, had the game already set up, calling the shots while the other neighborhood kids were pretending to be superstars in a game that felt far more like a chaotic free for all than a real match.

"You in or what?" Jack shouted, holding out a stick. “This game’s going nowhere without you.”

You rolled your eyes, already seeing the sweat dripping from his forehead, his shirt clinging to his back. "You know, I was just thinking about going inside and having a popsicle."

"Are you really gonna let me down like this?" Jack raised an eyebrow, grinning from ear to ear. “you promised you'd play after school." 

"Fine," you said with a laugh, grabbing the stick. "But this time, I’m definitely winning."

You didn't win, at least not that day, but you had so much fun trying. Jack was so fast, his little tricks and turns keeping you on your toes, but every time he made a move, you were there to give it your best shot. You kept pushing him, running after the puck until the sun dipped below the horizon, and both of you were covered in dirt and sweat, laughing until your stomachs hurt.

That night, you sat side by side on the dock by the lake, feet dangling in the cool water as you two ate ice cream bars. The night was quiet except for the distant croak of frogs. 

“You were so close to getting me,” Jack said between breaths, a playful edge to his voice. He tilted his head back to look at the sky. “You’ll get me next time. Just wait.”

You chuckled, watching him with a teasing smile. "Yeah, sure, Jack. Maybe when I’m 18 and you’ve forgotten how to skate."

Jack laughed loudly, nudging you with his elbow. “Not a chance. I’ll always be better. But hey, I can teach you some moves if you want.”

“Oh, I bet you would,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Teach me how to win, too?”

"Obviously," he said with a grin, though there was a genuine warmth in his eyes. “I’ll make you into a skating legend if that's what you want.”

You didn't know it then, but those summers spent with Jack would become some of the best memories of your life. Even when the seasons changed and the street hockey games moved indoors. Jack’s determination never left. You spent every Saturday watching him at the rink, your nose pressed against the cold glass as he glided across the ice, his stick flashing, eyes full of focus. He was good. Too good, in fact. And with every game, the crowd cheered louder with his dreams growing bigger.

⟡

By the time you and Jack hit your early teens, things start to feel different. It’s not obvious at first just a lingering glance here, a nervous laugh there. Jack’s still Jack competitive, loud, always pulling you into whatever chaos he’s creating. But sometimes, when his hand brushes against yours, or when he looks at you a second too long after you’ve made a joke, it feels like something is shifting beneath the surface. You notice it, even if you don’t understand it yet.

The way he seems to notice you more, how he’s always trying to catch your eye in a group conversation, how his voice drops just a little when he says your name. It’s subtle, and you try to ignore it. He’s your best friend, right? Nothing has changed between you two. You’re still the same, pulling pranks on each other, laughing at dumb things, challenging each other to stupid games on long summer afternoons.

But the moments keep building like when he reaches across the table to grab something and his fingers graze the back of your hand, leaving a warmth that lingers far longer than it should. Or when you catch him staring at you when you’re talking, and his expression shifts just a fraction of something unreadable there for a brief second before he masks it with a grin.

And then there are those times when the air feels too quiet. Like when you’re lying next to each other on the grass, watching the stars, and the silence stretches between you two in a way it never has before. It’s not comfortable anymore, this space. It’s heavy.

You’re 14 when you notice it for real. You’re both sitting on the dock, summer sun dipping low behind the trees, casting everything in a golden haze. Jack’s freshly showered from practice, hair still damp, the scent of soap and fresh air clinging to him. You’re half listening to him ramble on about a play he’s been trying to perfect, his words weaving in and out of the soft, distant hum of the lake’s waves against the dock.

But something in the air is different. It feels thicker. The kind of tension you get when you can’t tell whether the storm is coming, or if it’s already here and you’re just waiting for it to break. You can feel the weight of the evening sun on your skin, but your heart feels heavy, like it’s pounding against your ribs, a rhythm you’re trying to ignore.

“You’re not even listening,” he accuses, nudging you with his knee, and you startle, realizing you haven’t heard a word he’s said for the last few minutes.

“I’m listening,” you argue, even though you weren’t.

Jack raises an eyebrow, the smallest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “No, you’re not. You’ve been all quiet. What's up with you?”

You scoff, trying to brush it off. “Me? You’re the one who’s weird,” you tease, attempting to lighten the mood, but your words feel hollow, even to you.

He doesn’t laugh. Instead, he studies you, his expression more serious than usual. His gaze shifts from your face to your hands, and then back to your eyes like he’s trying to figure something out that you aren’t even aware of.

“Yeah, maybe.” He shrugs, leaning back on his elbows, staring out across the lake with a far-off look in his eyes. “Or maybe it’s just us.”

The words hang in the air heavy with meaning you don’t fully understand. You freeze trying to process what he’s said. It isn’t just the words, it's the way he said them. The tone in his voice is softer than usual almost uncertain. There’s something fragile in his eyes, like he’s letting a piece of himself slip past you hoping you’ll catch it, but not quite trusting you to. You don’t know how to respond.

You try to shake off the discomfort. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jack glances at you, his lips quivering at the edges, but there’s a heaviness in his gaze now. “I don’t know,” he mutters. “Just growing up.” He pauses, his voice quieter now almost too soft for the space between you two. He looks at you then, really looks at you his eyes searching for something in yours like he’s asking a question that doesn’t have an easy answer. Something you’re not ready to answer not sure you even can.

You want to say something to reach out and close that space but you can’t find the words. Everything that’s been building between you two feels like it’s teetering on the edge of something unspoken. And the closer Jack gets to this new world he’s creating for himself this future that’s already starting to pull him away from you the more it feels like you’re both standing on the precipice of it.

You don’t have an answer, so you reach over and grab his hand. It’s instinctual, a reflex more than anything else. His fingers slide easily between yours, like they’ve always belonged there. It’s familiar, comforting even. But there’s something different in the way he holds your hand this time. He doesn’t let go immediately like he always does. He holds on for just a moment longer, and in that brief pause, the weight of it hits you.

His gaze drops to your joined hands, and you see a flicker in his eyes something unreadable, maybe even a little vulnerable before he looks back up at you. The quiet between you two stretches longer than it should, and you’re not sure if it’s because of the summer air, or because of the uncertainty that’s silently wrapping itself around both of you.

“I think we’ll figure it out,” you say softly, trying to anchor this moment, even though the ground beneath you feels like it’s shifting.

Jack’s smile is small, unsure. It’s not his usual confident grin, but it’s there. Barely, but it’s there. He doesn’t let go of your hand. Not yet. 

You don’t know what “figuring it out” means, or if you even can figure it out. All you know is that in this moment, with the sun setting behind the trees and the sound of water lapping against the dock beneath you, everything feels poised on the edge of something you don’t understand.

But you’re scared that the moment you try to reach for it, Jack might pull away.

⟡

It’s late, the fire has burned down to a few glowing embers, and the crickets are the only sound beside the occasional splash of water against the dock. You’re sitting with Jack, your legs hanging over the side, toes brushing the cool surface of the lake. The night is quiet, almost too quiet, and for the first time in a long time, there’s a distance between you that wasn’t there before.

Jack’s usually carefree, his humor quick, his energy contagious. But tonight, he’s different. He’s quieter, eyes lost somewhere beyond the horizon. You’ve known him long enough to know when something’s off.

"Jack, you okay?" you ask, not pushing, just asking.

"Do you ever feel like things are changing?" His voice is low, almost hesitant, and you turn to look at him, your heart skipping a beat.

You nod slowly, sensing that this conversation is heading somewhere you’ve both been avoiding for too long. "Yeah, I’ve been feeling it." You pause, meeting his eyes, and for the first time, you really see him. His face, the way his eyes linger on you, the way his lips part like he’s about to say something more. It’s all so familiar, and yet, everything feels new. "It’s been hard to ignore."

Jack exhales sharply, as if he’s been holding his breath. He leans back, letting his head rest against the wood of the dock, looking up at the stars above. "I’ve been trying to figure it out. For a while now. What’s going on between us."

You swallow, the weight of his words settling in your chest. Your voice is barely a whisper when you respond. "What do you mean?"

Jack doesn’t look at you right away, but you see his jaw tense, like he’s trying to gather his thoughts. Finally, he glances over at you, his gaze intense. "I think I’ve been avoiding it. The way things have felt. I’ve always known you meant a lot to me. But it’s more than that now. And I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel it."

Your heart races. This isn’t just a fleeting moment, this is him, telling you exactly what you’ve been feeling. Your stomach flips as the words finally hit you.

"I’ve been feeling it too," you admit, your voice steady but your pulse thundering in your ears. "It’s different now, Jack. And I can’t pretend it’s not."

There’s a long silence between you two as the words settle in the space around you. You both know it’s out there now the truth that neither of you could avoid forever. The air feels thick, charged with everything you’ve been holding back.

Jack’s gaze softens as he turns fully toward you. He reaches out, his hand brushing against yours. "I’ve tried not to think about it, but it’s impossible," he admits, his thumb tracing along the back of your hand. "I don’t know when it happened, but somewhere along the way, I stopped thinking of you as just my best friend. And now I don’t know how to go back."

You feel your breath catch in your throat. This is it. The thing you’ve both been dancing around for so long, the thing neither of you knew how to say. But now, here it is, raw and real.

"I don’t want to go back," you say, your voice soft but certain. "I’ve felt the same way, Jack. For a while now."

"You know, I keep thinking back to when we were kids," he says quietly, almost as if he’s talking to himself. "Back when things were simpler. We used to hang out, play hockey, talk about everything and nothing. I always thought that was enough."

You smile, remembering those simpler times. "It was enough. It still is."

Jack laughs under his breath, but there’s something different in it. "Yeah. But now... I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about how things feel between us lately. And I don’t know how to handle it."

Your heart picks up a little pace, and you look at him, feeling a shift in the air between you two. It’s subtle, but it's there. His eyes are locked on you now, and the usual teasing glint is gone.

"I think I’ve known for a while," you admit, voice barely above a whisper. "That things have changed. That maybe… we’ve changed."

Jack’s gaze softens, and for a second, everything feels like it’s falling into place, like the puzzle pieces are finally lining up. "I’ve been thinking about it too," he says, his voice low. "And I don’t know if I’m ready for this to be weird between us. I don’t want it to be weird."

Your stomach flips at the vulnerability in his voice. "I don’t think it has to be. It doesn’t have to be weird, Jack."

He looks at you for a long moment, and you can tell he’s weighing his next words carefully. He reaches over, brushing a strand of hair from your face, and that simple touch feels like the universe’s nudge, reminding you that things have always been easy with him. There’s no pretending with Jack. There’s never been any pretending.

"I guess we’ve always been able to figure things out," Jack says, his voice steady now. "And maybe this is just… one of those times."

You nod, your chest tight as you try to put into words what you’ve been feeling for so long. But nothing really needs to be said. This moment, this quiet understanding between you two, is enough.

Jack leans in just a little, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him, but not enough to cross the final line. His gaze flickers between your eyes, lingering on your lips before returning to your eyes again, as if he’s waiting for something. The space between you both seems impossibly small, charged with everything that’s unsaid.

You can’t deny it anymore the way your heart races in your chest, the way your breath feels shallow, as if you’ve been holding it in all this time. This moment, this change between you, feels like it could either break everything or put it all back together.

His hand hovers just inches from yours, like he’s unsure whether to close the distance, like he’s waiting for you to decide. The air is thick with the weight of it. You’ve both danced around this for so long, carefully, quietly, but now it feels like everything is teetering on the edge. One move, one step, and it’ll change everything.

“You’re not nervous, are you?” Jack’s voice is almost a whisper, his usual teasing gone. There’s something softer in the way he says it, like he’s genuinely asking, genuinely uncertain for the first time.

You laugh quietly, but it doesn’t feel like the teasing kind of laugh you’re used to. It’s shaky, full of nerves. “No... Just a little confused, I guess. Not sure if this is all too much.”

Jack shifts closer, and his hand brushes against yours, the lightest touch that sends a jolt through you. It’s a simple gesture, but it speaks volumes. He doesn’t look away now, and neither do you. His breath is slow, steady, and in the stillness, you hear his heart beating in time with yours.

“I’m not sure either,” he admits, his voice low. “But I think I’ve known for a while… I don’t think we can keep pretending things are the same. I can’t. And I’m not sure what will happen next, but I know I don’t want to screw it up.”

You swallow, your own uncertainty mirrored in his eyes. Everything that’s been left unsaid finally hangs in the air between you two, heavy and undeniable. The fear of what could change, of what could be lost, and the quiet hope that maybe just maybe it could work.

"Jack…” You start to say something, anything, but the words stick in your throat. You want to say that you’ve been feeling it too, that you’re terrified of losing this, of messing it all up. But the weight of it all is too much. So instead, you just shake your head, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the uncertainty in your chest. “I don’t know what happens next either.”

You hold his gaze for a beat longer, everything inside you pulling toward him, wanting to close the space between you both. And with that final breath, that quiet understanding, you realize it doesn’t have to be perfect. It doesn’t have to be figured out right now.

You lean in the rest of the way, tilting your head slightly, and then Jack’s lips meet yours.

It’s nothing like you expected. It’s soft, hesitant at first, like you both are testing the waters. But it’s real. And for the first time in a long time, you feel like you’re finally on the same page. It’s not about the future or the fear of change it’s just about right now, and the way everything feels when it’s just the two of you.

When you pull away, there’s a breathless pause, but it’s not awkward. It’s not forced. It’s just you, and him, and everything that’s been building between you finally making sense.

Jack’s forehead rests gently against yours. His eyes are still closed, and there’s a quiet smile playing on his lips. “I think I could get used to this,” he says, voice low, almost like he’s speaking to himself.

You let out a soft laugh, the tension between you both easing, and for the first time, it feels like you don’t need to say anything more. You both know. It’s not perfect, it’s not figured out yet but it’s real, and maybe that’s enough for now.

⟡

It’s almost midnight when your phone buzzes on your nightstand. You’re half asleep, barely registering the sound until it buzzes again. You squint at the screen, the glow too harsh in the dark room. It’s a text from Jack. “are you up?” 

You rub your eyes and sit up the sleepiness fading as you type back. “yeah, what’s up? Are you okay?its midnight.” The dots appear and disappear. Then nothing. You frown, already knowing where this is going. “ want me to come over?” This time, the dots stay. “You don’t have too, just want to talk to you.”

You slip out of bed, grabbing a sweatshirt and slipping on your shoes without even thinking about it. Your house is quiet as you head out the back door and cut across the yard. Jack’s house is familiar, the kind of place you could walk to blindfolded. The back door is unlocked like it always is.

You find him on the couch, the TV on low, playing some old hockey highlights. His head is tipped back against the cushion but his eyes are open dark circles shadowing his face. He looks up when he hears you, his expression softening in a way that makes your heart ache a little.

“You didn’t have to come,” Jack says, sitting up.

“You knew I would,” you reply, kicking off your shoes and sitting down beside him. Your knee bumps against his. He’s in sweats and an old usa hockey hoodie, and his hair’s still damp from a shower. He looks tired.

Jack doesn’t say anything for a long time. His eyes stay on the screen, but you can tell he’s not really watching. The hum of the commentary blends into the background. You wait, not pushing you’ve always known how to give him space when he needs it.

“I can’t sleep,” he says finally, voice low. His knee bounces restlessly. “I keep thinking about the combine.”

You lean back against the couch, watching the screen as a highlight reel of some playoff game flickers by. “What about it?”

Jack sighs. “Everything. The tests. The interviews. The scouts. If I screw up, it’s going to be everywhere.” His hand runs through his hair, leaving it messy. “I mean, I’ve trained for this my whole life, right? But now that it’s actually here I don’t know.”

“You’re not going to screw up,” you say softly.

Jack lets out a hollow laugh. “Yeah? What if I do?”

You nudge his leg with your foot. “You won’t. But even if you did it wouldn’t change anything. Not with me.”

Jack’s eyes flick toward you, guarded but searching. He’s quiet for a beat. Then, so quietly you almost don’t catch it, “It’d change everything else.”

You shift toward him, turning so your knee presses more firmly against his. “Jack, you’ve worked your ass off for this. One bad day at the combine isn’t going to erase years of training and games and scouts already knowing you’re good enough.”

Jack’s jaw tightens, his eyes falling to his hands. His thumb rubs absently along the inside of his palm. “Yeah, but what if I’m not enough?”

You don’t hesitate. You reach over, lacing your fingers through his. His hand is warm, his skin rough from years of hockey sticks and gloves. He tenses for half a second, then relaxes into the touch.

“You’re enough,” you say, quiet but steady. “You’ve always been enough, Jack. Even if you didn’t have hockey.”

Jack’s eyes lift to meet yours, wide and a little raw. His thumb grazes the side of your hand, slow and deliberate.

“You really believe that?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

Jack’s mouth curves into the smallest smile. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but it’s something. His gaze drops back to the screen, though his hand stays in yours, his thumb running over your knuckles.

For a while, neither of you speak. The silence isn’t uncomfortable it’s the kind of quiet that feels like home. Jack’s breathing evens out, his knee resting against yours. The highlights on the screen blur together.

“Stay?” Jack asks after a long moment. His voice is quiet, almost hesitant.

You squeeze his hand. “Yeah.”

Jack shifts, leaning back against the couch. You lean into him, letting your head rest against his shoulder. His hand stays tangled with yours, his thumb brushing back and forth along your knuckles in a steady rhythm. Slowly, the tension in his body eases.

“Thanks,” Jack murmurs. His head tips toward yours, his breath warm against your hair.

“You don’t have to thank me,” you say, eyes drifting shut. “Just remember this. When it gets hard, when the pressure’s too much, remember you don’t have to do it alone.”

Jack’s hand tightens around yours, his breath catching for half a second. Then he relaxes.

“I’ll remember,” he promises, voice low and sure.

You smile, your heart steady now as you let the sound of his breathing and the flicker of the TV lull you toward sleep. You know there’s still a long road ahead, the combine, the draft, Jack’s rookie year  but for now, this is enough.

It’s late afternoon when you find Jack on the ice, alone.

The rink is almost empty and quite the kind of quiet that makes the sound of skates cutting into the ice seem louder. Jack’s in a plain grey hoodie, a puck sliding back and forth between his stick blade as he moves through the neutral zone. His head is down, shoulders tense, and even from the stands, you can tell he’s overthinking it. His movements are sharp, almost mechanical like he’s trying too hard to be perfect.

You sit down on the bleachers, the cold from the rink seeping through your jeans. Jack’s been like this all week quiet, short answers, disappearing for extra hours at the rink. You didn’t have to ask why. The NHL Combine is in two weeks. The pressure’s been building, and Jack’s not the type to admit when it’s too much.

A sharp slap of the puck against the glass pulls you from your thoughts. Jack’s skating toward the blue line, his stick dragging behind him as he breathes heavily, a little unsteady. He circles back toward center ice, but his stride falters slightly just enough for you to notice.

“You’re overthinking it,” you call out, standing.

Jack glances up, his expression closed off but his eyes soften when he sees you. He coasts toward the boards, resting his forearms against the top. His breath comes out in sharp clouds of condensation.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he says but there’s no bite to his words.

You shrug. “Figured you’d need moral support.”

Jack huffs a soft laugh but it doesn’t reach his eyes. His gaze drops to the ice. “Not really playing like someone who deserves it.”

You step closer, your hands resting on the edge of the boards. “Jack, you’re allowed to have a bad practice.”

Jack shakes his head. “Not now. Not this close.” His hands flex around his stick. “I can’t screw this up.”

“You won’t.”

Jack’s eyes flick toward you. There’s something guarded in his expression the same look he gets when he’s trying not to show how much it’s getting to him. His eyes are dark under the shadows of his helmet.

“You don’t know that,” he says quietly.

You swallow, searching for the right words. “Yeah, I do.”

Jack exhales sharply, his gaze drifting to the ice. He’s quiet for a long time before he speaks again, his voice low. “What if I’m not good enough?”

Your chest tightens at the vulnerability in his voice. He’s always been confident, cocky, even but this is different. This is the fear he doesn’t let other people see.

You rest your hand over his where it grips the top of the boards. His fingers twitch beneath yours, but he doesn’t pull away. “Jack” Your voice softens. “You’ve been working for this since you were a kid. One bad practice isn’t going to change the fact that you belong there.”

Jack’s mouth pulls into a thin line. His eyes stay locked on the ice.

“You know that, right?” you press.

Jack’s jaw tenses. He exhales through his nose and finally meets your eyes. “Yeah. I know.” But his voice is tight, like he’s still trying to convince himself.

You squeeze his hand lightly. “Come on. Take the helmet off. Let’s reset.”

Jack hesitates for a second before unbuckling his chin strap. His hair falls into messy waves as he pulls the helmet off, and you smile despite yourself.

“There’s the Jack I know,” you say softly.

Jack’s mouth tugs at the corner, the smallest hint of a smile breaking through the tension in his face. He sets the helmet down on the boards and rests his forehead against the glass, his eyes closed for a long moment. His breath fogs up the glass in front of him.

“Why are you so calm about this?” Jack murmurs.

You smile, even though he can’t see it. “Because I know you. And I know you’re going to be fine.”

Jack’s eyes open. He tilts his head toward you, his cheek pressed against the glass. His gaze lingers on you longer than it probably should. His expression softens, his mouth curving into something more familiar less guarded.

“You always know what to say,” Jack says quietly.

You shrug. “It’s part of the job description.”

Jack’s mouth tugs at the corner. He leans back from the glass, turning toward you. “And what job is that?”

“girlfriend” you say lightly, even though the words feel heavier than they should.

Jack’s gaze drops to your mouth for half a second before he catches himself. shaking his head slightly. “You’ve been overpaid.”

You laugh. “I don’t know. Pretty sure I’ve earned it.”

Jack’s hand slides from the boards, brushing against yours as he steps back onto the ice. The contact is brief a split second  but it’s enough to make your breath hitch.

He skates backward, his eyes never leaving yours. “Stay?”

You smile. “Always.”

Jack nods, his jaw unclenching slightly. His shoulders relax as he turns and skates toward the far side of the ice. He moves differently now, smoother, looser. It’s not perfect, but it’s him.

⟡

Jack’s in Buffalo for the Combine. He’d been gone for almost a week now, thrown into a blur of interviews, medical tests, and physical evaluations. You’d been following the coverage clips of him flashing across social media, a quick shot of him stepping into the arena or walking down a hallway with other top prospects. He looked calm on the surface, but you knew better.  The absence of him is starting to feel like a hollow ache beneath your ribs. You’ve talked to him every day, quick texts in the morning, rushed calls at night  but it’s not the same as having him there next to you. He’s exhausted you can tell even through the phone but he’s not the type to admit when it’s too much.

You’re half asleep when your phone buzzes on the nightstand. It takes you a second to realize what’s happening, the glow from the screen sharp against the dark. You blink, rubbing your eyes as you reach for it for the sixth time this week knowing it was a text from Jack “are you awake?”

You sit up, sleep slipping away as you type back. “yeah. What's wrong? it’s late.” The typing bubbles appear, then disappear. Then nothing. You frown, already feeling the tightness in your chest. “want me to call?” A pause. “I just need to hear your voice.” Jack replied. 

You hit the call button without even looking at his message. Jack answers on the second ring. “Hey,” you say softly. “Hey,” Jack’s voice is rough, low. He sounds tired.

“Did you just finish?”

“Yeah.” He exhales sharply. “Got back to my room like five minutes ago.”

“What happened?”

Jack lets out a humorless laugh. “Where do I start?” His voice is tight, and you picture the way he probably looks right now sprawled out on the hotel bed, arm draped over his eyes. “The bike test was brutal. My legs were shaking so bad I thought I was going to fall off.”

You wince. “That bad?”

“They crank up the resistance until you physically can’t pedal anymore,” Jack says. “I could barely stand afterward.” Your chest tightens. “Jack” he cuts you off. “And the VO2 max test?” Jack groans. “I thought I was gonna puke. I was seeing spots by the end.” You frown. “Did anyone else struggle that much?”

“Yeah, but I’m supposed to be better than that.” His voice sharpens. “I can’t afford to screw this up.”

“You didn’t,” you say quickly. “You weren’t there,” Jack says, his tone edged with something close to frustration. But then his breath catches, and his voice softens. “Sorry. I didn’t mean”

“It’s okay,” you interrupt gently. “What else happened?” Jack sighs. “Wingate test. They make you sprint all out on the bike for 30 seconds. My legs were already toast, so I tanked it.”

“Jack” you say once again, getting cut off “And the long jump?” He laughs under his breath, but there’s no humor in it. “I swear I’ve never jumped that short in my life.”

“Did Quinn do better?” you ask carefully. “Of course he did,” Jack mutters. “The scouts loved him.” Your heart aches at the sharpness in his tone. You know how much Jack admires Quinn, but that admiration is tangled up with the constant pressure to keep up.

“And then,” Jack’s voice lowers, frustration leaking through, “they threw me into interviews while I could barely breathe. One scout asked if I thought I deserved to go first overall.” Your mouth tightens. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Another one asked if I think I’m better than Quinn.” You sit up straighter. “What the hell?” Jack mutters “I didn’t even know what to say,” His voice is low and tight. “I think I screwed it up.”

“You didn’t,” you say firmly. Jack doesn’t respond right away. You hear the rustling of sheets, the muffled sound of the TV in the background probably an old hockey game. “I don’t know,” Jack murmurs. “I need to be better.”

“Jack.” Your voice softens. “You’ve done enough. You’ve been working for this since you were a kid. You’re too hard on yourself” Jack’s quiet for a moment. Then, so soft you almost miss it “What if it’s not enough?” Your chest tightens. This is the fear he doesn’t let other people see.

“Hey,” you say softly. “Close your eyes.” Jack’s quiet for a second. “What?” 

“Just trust me.” 

A long breath. “Okay.”

“You’re on the ice,” you say. “Just you. The rink’s empty.” Jack’s breath steadies. “You’ve got the puck,” you continue. “Skating down center ice. No pressure, no scouts, no cameras. Just you.”Jack hums quietly, like he can almost see it.“You make the shot,” you say. “Bar down. Clean.” Jack exhales. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say. “And you don’t even need to look, because you already know it’s in.”There’s a long stretch of quiet on the other end of the line. Then, so soft you almost miss it “I wish you were here.”

“I know,” you whisper, throat tightening. “Me too.” Jack sighs, and you hear the rustling of sheets as he shifts. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’re not going to find out,” you say, trying to sound light, but it comes out more fragile than you mean it to. Jack’s quiet for a long time. You think he might have fallen asleep until you hear him murmur, “You’re the only thing keeping me sane right now.” You press the phone closer to your ear, even though it won’t bring him any closer. “You’ve got this,” you whisper. “You’re going to be fine.”

Jack breathes out, low and even. “Stay on the phone with me?”

“Yeah,” you say, curling into your pillow. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Jack’s quiet for a while after that, but you don’t hang up. You stay there, listening to the sound of his breathing as it evens out, until the line finally goes quiet and you know he’s asleep. You don’t hang up. Not yet.

⟡

Jack’s been quiet all morning. His usual easy smile is nowhere to be found, replaced by a tight line of tension in his jaw. He’s been bouncing his knee relentlessly, his leg jittering under the table during breakfast at the hotel. He barely touched his food, pushing scrambled eggs around his plate until Quinn took it away and told him to stop torturing it. Now, he’s sitting next to you on the edge of the bed, his head tipped back against the wall, his fingers tapping absently against his knee. The hotel room is bright from the mid-morning sun filtering through the sheer curtains, but it feels too quiet  too still  like the entire day is holding its breath.

Jack’s name has been everywhere since the Combine. Every hockey account, every sports network, every mock draft all saying the same thing. First overall. Franchise player. Generational talent. He should be used to it by now, but it feels different this time. Closer. Like the weight of it all is pressing down on his chest. And you feel it too, even from miles away. You saw it during the Combine  the way he tensed when people mentioned the draft, how he downplayed his scores and his interviews even when you knew he’d crushed them. Jack’s always been good at brushing things off, but this feels different. Bigger. Like it’s not just about hockey anymore. It’s about living up to something.

The draft isn’t until later tonight, but the weight of it is already pressing down. Jack’s been working toward this moment his whole life, the moment his name is called, the moment his future in the NHL becomes real and now that it’s finally here, it’s like he can’t figure out how to breathe through it.

You shift closer until your knee bumps his. “You’re thinking too hard.”

Jack’s eyes slide toward you, dark under the shadows of his lashes. He huffs out a breath. “How am I supposed to not think about it?” His voice is quiet, frayed at the edges.

You reach for his hand, your fingers slipping between his. He’s warm always is, but his hand is stiff, tense. “I don’t know. Maybe stop overthinking it.”

Jack lets out a shaky breath, his thumb brushing along your knuckles. His gaze drifts toward the window, but you can tell he’s not really seeing it. His mind is already at Rogers Arena, already running through every possible outcome. He’s been carrying the weight of this for months the expectations, the pressure, the comparisons to Quinn, to his dad and you know it’s only gotten heavier.

“Jack.” You squeeze his hand. He doesn’t look at you right away, but when he does, his eyes are wide, a little raw around the edges. You offer him a small smile. “You’ve got this.”

Jack’s mouth twitches like he wants to smile back, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “And what if I don’t?”

“You will.” You don’t hesitate, don’t even think about it. You just know. Jack’s been skating since before he could walk. He’s trained for this put in the work, put in the hours. He’s ready. Even if he can’t see it right now.

Jack’s gaze stays on you, his brow furrowing slightly. His hand tightens around yours. “I’m scared,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

You shift closer until your shoulder presses against his. “That’s normal.”

Jack’s eyes darken. “What if I’m not good enough?”

“You are.”

Jack swallows hard, his jaw working. He looks away, his throat bobbing as he tries to steady his breathing. You can feel the tension radiating off of him, the way his chest rises and falls too quickly. His thumb rubs absently against the back of your hand.

You lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder. “It’s going to be okay,” you say softly. “Even if you don’t go first. Even if it doesn’t go the way you expect  you’ll still have hockey. You’ll still have me.”

Jack’s breath stutters. He turns his head slightly, his cheek brushing against your hair. “You mean that?”

You lift your head and meet his gaze. “Of course I do.”

Jack’s hand slides from your hand to your knee, his fingers curling around it like he’s grounding himself there. His eyes search yours, and for a moment, it feels like the weight of the room shifts. The nerves are still there, the pressure, the uncertainty but some of the tension in his face softens. His eyes flick toward your mouth, then back to your eyes. He exhales slowly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’ll never have to find out,” you say, just as softly.

Jack’s mouth tugs at the corner. He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours. “Promise?”

You smile, your hand lifting to his jaw. “Promise.”

Jack lets out a shaky breath and closes his eyes for a moment, his hand tightening on your knee. The quiet settles around you both, not the heavy kind, not the tense kind  just quiet.

“Jack?” Quinn’s voice breaks the silence, followed by a knock at the door. “We’ve gotta go soon.”

Jack sighs. He lifts his head, his eyes lingering on you for a second longer before he pulls away. “Yeah, okay.”

Jack stands, adjusting his shirt and brushing his hands down his pants. His gaze flicks toward you, hesitant. “You’re coming with us, right?”

You stand too, straightening his collar. “Obviously.”

Jack’s mouth curves into something close to a real smile, small but genuine. He takes your hand again, linking your fingers as he leads you toward the door.

The car ride to Rogers Arena is quiet. Jack sits next to you in the backseat, his knee bouncing, his fingers tapping against his thigh. He’s wearing a fitted suit, his hair styled but still a little messy at the top. You can tell he’s trying not to overthink it, but the tension in his jaw gives him away.

Quinn and Luke sit in the back of the car, phone in their hand, scrolling through Twitter. The whole car feels charged, the anticipation building the closer you get to the arena. When you pull up, Jack hesitates for half a second before stepping out. His hand brushes against yours as you follow him out of the car.

Inside, the energy is palpable. The arena is packed with media, fans, scouts, the low hum of conversations mixing with the occasional burst of camera flashes. Jack tugs at the cuff of his jacket, his mouth pulling into a thin line. His eyes flick toward you.

You slip your hand into his, squeezing gently. “Deep breath,” you say.

Jack’s jaw relaxes slightly. He squeezes your hand back. His eyes linger on you for a beat before he nods. “Yeah. Okay.”

Quinn steps up behind him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve got this”

Jack’s mouth twitches. He looks toward the draft stage, toward the rows of seats, the cameras, the scouts and then back at you. His hand tightens around yours.

“You’re with me, right?” Jack asks quietly.

You smile. “Always.”

Jack breathes out. And this time, when he looks toward the stage, the tension in his jaw fades just a little.

Jack’s heart is hammering. It’s too loud in here the buzz of conversation, the hum of the arena speakers, the occasional burst of laughter from a family. His suit jacket feels too tight across his shoulders, his tie choking him a little more with each second that passes. His name has been circling the draft floor for months, repeated on every broadcast and in every article first overall, franchise player, generational talent  but none of it feels real right now. It feels heavy. Like the weight of the entire league is resting on his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs.

He shifts in his seat, his hand resting against his thigh, and feels your fingers slip between his. His head turns toward you automatically. You’re sitting beside him, close enough that your knee is pressed against his. Your hand is steady, your thumb brushing lightly over his knuckles. He doesn’t realize how hard he’s gripping you until you adjust your hand slightly, your grip soft but certain.

“You’re okay,” you whisper, low enough that only he can hear. Jack breathes out shakily. “Am I?” You smile soft, sure. “Yeah. You are.”

Jack’s gaze drops to the floor, his thumb smoothing over the inside of your wrist. He can feel the pulse there, steady beneath his touch. His heart’s not steady. It’s racing. He doesn’t know if it’ll settle until this is over until he hears his name.

Quinn is watching him. He’s sitting straight in his chair, hands resting on his thighs, but his eyes are soft when they meet Jack’s. “You’ve got this,” Quinn says quietly. Jack’s mouth twitches. He starts to nod, but then Luke leans across from Quinn. 

“Yeah,” Luke adds, his grin lopsided, a little nervous but bright. “And if you don’t, you can always blame it on Quinn.”

Quinn rolls his eyes. 

Jack huffs a soft laugh, but it fades quickly. His gaze shifts toward the stage, where the Devils’ management team is already gathering. The nerves coil tighter in his chest. His hand tightens around yours.

“You’re with me, right?” Jack asks quietly. 

You don’t even hesitate. “Always.”

Jack’s eyes soften, some of the tension fading from his expression. He breathes out and shifts closer, his knee pressing into yours beneath the table. He doesn’t have time to say anything else before the commissioner steps up to the microphone.

Jack’s stomach drops. The noise in the arena swells as the camera swings toward the Devils’ table. The commissioner is still talking, but Jack barely hears it over the blood rushing in his ears. His legs feel locked beneath the table. His chest is tight.

“And with the first overall pick, the New Jersey Devils are proud to select from the US National Team Development Program… Jack Hughes.”

Your hand squeezes his.

Jack exhales. He stands on shaky legs as Quinn claps him on the back, Luke grinning wide as he jumps up to hug him. “Dude!” Luke laughs, his arms tight around Jack’s waist. Quinn pulls them both in, his head knocking against Jack’s shoulder. Jack’s laugh comes out a little breathless.

“Go get your jersey,” Quinn says, his voice thick with pride.

Jack’s hand is still locked with yours as he turns toward you. His expression is soft, his eyes dark and bright all at once. “You’re coming with me after this, right?”

You smile. “Try and stop me.”

Jack hesitates for half a second, then leans in. He kisses you quickly  just a press of his lips against your cheek  but it’s enough to make your breath hitch. His thumb brushes over your knuckles once more before he finally lets go and steps away.

Jack walks toward the stage, his heart still pounding but his legs moving steady beneath him. He can feel Quinn and Luke’s eyes on him, your smile burned into the back of his mind. He shakes hands with the commissioner, pulls on the Devils jersey, and lifts the hat onto his head. Cameras flash. The noise swells. His chest is tight again  but this time, it’s not nerves. It’s something else. Something warmer.

He looks back toward the floor, toward the row of seats where Quinn, Luke, and you are sitting. You’re still watching him. Your hand rests against your heart. Quinn’s arms are crossed, smiling like he knew this would happen all along. Luke is grinning wide, already pointing toward the Devils logo on Jack’s chest.

Jack breathes out. And this time, he smiles.

After the photos and the handshakes, Jack ushered toward the media pit. Questions are thrown at him from every angle about expectations, about his future with the Devils, about being a franchise player. He answers them as best as he can, his gaze flicking toward the crowd every so often, searching for you. When it’s over, the team staff directs him toward the tunnel, and he barely makes it a few steps before he hears someone yell his name.

“Jack!”

He turns just in time to see you barreling toward him, arms outstretched. Jack’s barely able to brace himself before you crash into his chest, wrapping your arms around his neck. His arms come up automatically, locking around your waist. You’re laughing and crying at the same time, your face buried in his shoulder. Jack breathes out, his chin resting on top of your head.

“You did it,” you whisper.

Jack’s arms tighten around you. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You could’ve,” you mumble, pulling back enough to look at him. “But I’m glad you didn’t.”

Jack’s gaze drops to your mouth. His hands settle at your waist, his thumbs brushing lightly over the hem of your sweater. His chest is still pounding, but this feels steadier somehow. Grounding.

“Hey,” Quinn’s voice cuts in. Jack glances up to see Quinn and Luke standing nearby, Luke practically vibrating with excitement. Quinn’s got that proud but pretending to be casual look on his face.

Luke steps forward first, grinning. “Dude! First overall!” He throws his arms around Jack’s waist, nearly knocking him over. Jack laughs, ruffling Luke’s hair.

“Couldn’t have done it without you either,” Jack says.

Luke pulls back, his smile wide. Quinn rolls his eyes, but his smile doesn’t fade. “Congrats, Jack.” He steps in, pulling Jack into a one armed hug and clapping him on the back. “Knew you had it in you.”

Jack’s throat feels tight. He pulls back and looks between Quinn, Luke, and you. His family. His people. His hand finds yours again, his fingers threading through yours like it’s instinct. Your gaze softens, and Jack feels his heartbeat finally settle.

“Come on,” Quinn says, nodding toward the tunnel. “Let’s go celebrate.”

“Yeah,” Jack says. “Let’s go.”

⟡

It’s been a whirlwind since the draft. Jack signed his contract with the Devils two weeks ago, and now he’s leaving to New Jersey for rookie camp. Jack’s flight to New Jersey is early. Too early. You’re still wrapped in blankets on the couch when he stands in the doorway, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. His Devils hat is pulled low over his eyes, casting a shadow across his face. His mouth pulls into a thin line as he looks at you, hesitation flickering in his eyes.

“I should get going,” Jack says quietly.

You push yourself up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you cross the room toward him. “Are you sure you have everything?”

Jack nods, but his gaze stays on the floor. His hand tightens around the strap of his bag. “Yeah.”

You hesitate for half a second before stepping closer. Your arms wrap around his waist, and Jack exhales sharply as he melts into you. His chin rests on top of your head, and his heartbeat thrums against your cheek.

“I’m gonna miss you,” you murmur.

Jack’s hand slides up your back. “It’s not like we’ve never done long distance before.”

“Yeah, but” You trail off, the words sticking in your throat. It feels different this time. You pull back, your hands lingering on the hem of his hoodie. “Just don’t forget about me when you’re a big NHL star.”

Jack’s mouth twitches. “That’s not gonna happen.”

“You don’t know that.”

Jack’s eyes soften. He leans down, brushing his nose against yours. “I do.”

You smile, even though your chest feels tight. Jack kisses you softly with a lingering brush of lips  and then pulls back too soon. His hand stays on your waist for an extra second before he steps away, his expression shifting into something steadier, more composed.

“Call me when you land?” you ask.

Jack’s mouth tugs at the corner. “Always.”

You walk him to the door, watching as he disappears down the driveway and into the early morning light. Your chest feels hollow by the time his car pulls away. The silence that follows is heavier than you expect.

You try to keep busy over the next week  spending time with friends, picking up extra shifts but it’s hard to ignore how quiet it feels without Jack around. He calls every night, though, and you fall into a familiar rhythm. Jack fills you in on the details of rookie camp, the fitness tests, the long practices, and the media. He tells you about the other guys, how Nico seems nice, how Bratt’s already chirping at him like they’ve known each other for years. He tells you how much faster the game feels, how much stronger the guys are. You can hear it in his voice, the strain beneath his usual confidence.

“Hard day?” you ask one night, curled up in bed with your phone pressed to your ear.

Jack sighs. “Yeah.”

“Wanna talk about it?” Jack’s quiet for a long moment. “I just don't know. I feel like I’m playing catch up. Like everyone’s two steps ahead.”

“You’ve barely been there for a few days, Jack.”

“I know,” Jack says. “But it’s not supposed to feel this hard.”

“You put too much pressure on yourself.” Jack huffs a soft laugh, but there’s no real humor in it. “It’s kinda hard not to.” You’re quiet for a beat. Then, “You’re not gonna figure it out overnight.”

“I know.”

“But you’ll figure it out. You always do.” Jack doesn’t say anything for a second. Then, quietly, “I hope you’re right.” You close your eyes. “I always am.” Jack’s breath crackles over the line. “Can I call you tomorrow?”

“You don’t have to ask.”

Jack’s quiet for another moment. “I love you and I miss you .”

Your heart clenches. “I miss and love you too.”

Jack sighs softly. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Jack.”

You keep the phone pressed to your ear until the line goes quiet.

Jack calls you after his full day of rookie camp, his voice low and tired through the phone. He sounds exhausted, more than you expected. You’re sitting on the floor of your bedroom, your knees pulled to your chest, the phone pressed to your ear. 

“Hey,” Jack says, his voice scratchy. “Hey,” you say softly. “How was it?” Jack exhales a sharp breath. “Brutal.”  

“What happened?”  

“Fitness testing.” Jack huffs a soft, humorless laugh. “Like the Combine but worse.”  You sit up a little straighter. “Worse?”  

“Longer. Harder.” Jack’s voice dips lower. “I thought I was ready for it, but I don’t know.” He sounds frustrated, and that’s what gets you. Jack rarely admits when something’s hard. 

“You’re gonna be fine,” you say quietly.  “I don’t know,” Jack says again. “It’s not just the testing. The practices everyone’s so fast. So strong. I’m trying to keep up, but it feels like I’m a step behind.”  

You can almost picture him  sprawled across his bed, running a hand through his hair the way he does when he’s stressed. Your chest tightens. “You’ve been there for what five days?”  

“ a week.”  

“A week” you repeat. “Jack, you need to give yourself some time.”  

“I don’t have time,” Jack says. His voice sharpens, the frustration cracking through. “This is the NHL. Everyone’s watching.” 

You know that’s true you’ve seen the articles, the highlight reels on social media. It’s a lot for anyone especially for Jack, who’s always carried the weight of expectation like it’s part of his DNA.  

“Hey,” you say softly. “You don’t have to figure everything out right away. This isn’t going to be easy it’s not supposed to be. But you wouldn’t be there if you couldn’t handle it.”  

Jack’s quiet for a long moment. Then, barely above a whisper: “I don’t know if I can.” You close your eyes, your heart tightening. “Jack.” 

“I’m serious,” Jack says. His voice cracks a little at the edges. “What if I’m not as good as everyone thinks I am?”  

“You are,” you say immediately. “Jack, you’ve been working toward this your whole life. You belong there.”  

“Do I?” 

“Yes,” you say. “And if you can’t believe that yet let me believe it for you.”  Jack doesn’t answer right away. His breath crackles over the line. “What would I do without you?”  You smile faintly, even though your chest aches. “You’d figure it out.”  

“Maybe,” Jack says. “But I’m glad I don’t have to.”  

Jack starts texting you more after that. Sometimes it’s a quick message in the morning on the ice or a random photo of his new locker with his nameplate above it. Sometimes it’s a rant about drills, or a chirp about one of the guys. Jesper seems to be his favorite target. 

Bratt tripped me in practice today. little rat  

What'd you do? you text back.  

chirped him about his hair  

You can’t help but smile. But there are harder messages too.  

Bag skate this morning. Thought I was going to pass out.  

Coach isn’t happy with me.  

Everyone’s so much stronger. 

You know Jack doesn’t say these things to anyone else. With the media, with his teammates he’s steady. Confident. But with you he lets the cracks show. And when he calls you late at night, his voice low and rough, you know that’s when he’s feeling it the most.  

One night, it’s past midnight when your phone buzzes on your nightstand. You’re half asleep, barely registering the sound until it buzzes again. You squint at the screen. Jack.  

“Hey,” you answer, your voice thick with sleep.  “Did I wake you?” Jack asks. “No,” you lie. “What’s wrong?”  

Jack sighs, and you can hear the tension in it. “Nothing.”  You wait. Jack’s quiet for so long you think maybe he’s about to hang up. Then he says, “I just needed to hear your voice.”  

You sit up, rubbing at your eyes. “Rough day?”  

Jack’s breath catches. “Yeah.” 

“What happened?”  

Jack’s quiet for another long moment. “Coach ripped into me.”  

You frown. “Why?”  

“Made a bad play during the scrimmage,” Jack says. “Got caught flat footed on the backcheck. Then I missed the net on a breakaway.” 

“That doesn’t sound like you.”  

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Jack says. His voice drops lower, almost shaky. “I’m trying. It’s just everything’s so much faster than I expected. I feel like I’m drowning.”  

“You’re not,” you say quietly. “You’re adjusting.”  

Jack’s breath hitches. “What if I don’t?”  

“You will.”  

Jack doesn’t answer for a long time. You hear rustling on the other end of the line, like he’s lying down. “I miss you,” he says finally.  

Your chest tightens. “I miss you too.”  

Jack’s voice gets softer. “Will you stay on the phone with me? Just for a little while?”  

You slide down beneath the covers, resting your head against the pillow. “Of course.”  

Jack breathes out. “Thanks.”  

You don’t say anything after that. Jack’s breathing evens out eventually, and you think he’s starting to fall asleep when you hear him murmur, barely audible “Love you.”  

You don’t know if he’s even awake enough to remember saying it. But your heart thuds painfully against your ribs.  

“I love you too,” you whisper.

⟡

Jack’s first game in the NHL is at home, and the crowd is louder than he expected. He steps onto the ice at Prudential Center, the Devils logo bright under the lights. The noise is deafening, the kind of sound that hits you square in the chest  and for a second it’s hard to breathe. His legs feel shaky as he skates through warmups, the ice cutting beneath his skates with every push. The energy is electric, but it’s not enough to drown out the knot in his chest. He knows everyone’s watching him, the first overall pick, the franchise’s future. He tries not to think about it but it’s impossible to ignore the weight of it.

You’re watching from Michigan. The game’s on TV in your room, your laptop balanced on your knees. Jack looks smaller on the screen somehow swallowed up by the bright lights and the size of the arena. He’s wearing number 86, and it still feels surreal seeing it on an NHL jersey. He’s buzzing with nerves  you can tell by the way he’s gripping his stick too tightly during warmups. He’s always done that when he’s nervous.

Jack texts you after warmups while the Zamboni is still clearing the ice. “Starting on the second line. My hands are shaking.”

You smile, already typing back. “You’ve got this. Just play your game.”

Jack’s response comes quickly. “I feel like I’m going to throw up.”

“You won’t.” You pause before adding, “But maybe don’t sit next to Nico if you do.”

A minute passes before the dots appear again. “Not funny.”

“A little funny.”

Jack doesn’t respond, but the small, shaky smile he gives the camera when it passes by his bench tells you he saw it.

The game itself is rough. Jack looks fast, quick on his feet, but the Devils’ offense struggles to keep up. He gets knocked down hard in the first period, bouncing off the boards and coming up wincing. He pushes through it, but you can tell he’s frustrated the way he shakes his head after a shift, the way he skates to the bench with his head down. The Devils lose 4-1, and Jack finishes with a minus-two rating. His line gets hemmed in the defensive zone more than once, and even though it’s just one game, the postgame interviews are already talking about whether he can handle the league’s size and speed.

He calls you after the game, his voice flat. “That sucked.”

“You knew it wasn’t going to be easy,” you say softly.

“I didn’t think it would be this bad,” Jack mutters. He sighs, and you can hear the exhaustion in his voice. “I was minus-two. Do you know how bad that is?”

“Jack”

“Everyone’s already talking about it,” he cuts you off. His voice tightens, the frustration bubbling to the surface. “I can’t screw this up” He trails off, his breath shaky.

“You’re not screwing anything up,” you say firmly. “It’s one game.”

“It’s not just one game.” Jack exhales through his nose, and you can hear the tension in it. “This is what I’ve been working toward my whole life. And what if I’m not good enough?”

You close your eyes, pressing your forehead to your hand. “Jack. You are good enough. You belong here.”

Jack’s quiet for a moment. “Yeah,” he says eventually. But he doesn’t sound like he believes it.

The first few weeks are more of the same. Jack gets pushed around a lot, the physicality wearing on him. He’s getting hit hard, knocked off the puck more than he’s used to. He’s fast, but the guys he’s playing against are bigger, more experienced. He’s trying, you can see it but it’s not coming together the way he wants it to.

Your phone buzzes constantly after games. Jack’s name lights up the screen with texts “Minus-three. Fucking embarrassing.” “I can’t score.” “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

You try to reassure him, but the losses are piling up. The Devils are 0-4-2 to start the season, and Jack’s still scoreless. The media’s already running with it  headlines about whether he was overhyped, if he’s too small for the league. Jack tries to brush it off, but you know it’s getting to him.

It’s late one night when he calls you, his voice quiet. “I don’t know how to fix this.” You sit up in bed, clutching the phone to your ear. “You will.” 

Jack doesn’t say anything for a while. “I just” He sighs. “I miss you.”

Your chest tightens. “I miss you too.”

Jack’s breath hitches. “I hate it here,” he says quietly.

Your eyes burn. “I know.”

“I don’t know how to do this without you.”

“You’re not doing this without me,” you whisper.

Jack’s quiet for a long time. His breathing is steady in your ear. Eventually, he says, “I just want to come home.”

You close your eyes, swallowing down the ache in your chest. “I know,” you say softly. “But you can’t.”

Jack doesn’t answer, but you know he’s still there. After a while, his breathing evens out, and you realize he’s fallen asleep on the line. You stay there for a while, the phone pressed to your ear, listening to his quiet breathing.

Jack finally scores his first goal two weeks into the season, a breakaway against Vancouver. Quinn’s on the ice when it happens, and you see the way Quinn hugs him against the glass after the puck crosses the line. Jack looks lighter for a moment, his smile big and bright, but it fades quickly after the game ends. The Devils still lost 5-2.

He calls you that night, and he sounds more tired than happy. “It doesn’t matter if we keep losing,” Jack mutters.

“Yes, it does,” you say. “Jack, you scored. That’s huge.”

Jack sighs. “Yeah.” He’s quiet for a second before adding, “Quinn said you screamed when it went in.”

You laugh. “Maybe.”

Jack’s breath softens. “I miss you.”

Your heart squeezes. “I miss you too.”

Jack’s quiet for a long time before he says, “I don’t know how long I can keep doing this.”

You don’t know how to answer that. So you don’t.

⟡

Jack’s rookie season should’ve been exciting. It should’ve been everything he’s worked for. Instead, it’s November, and the Devils are on a six-game losing streak. Jack’s gone nine games without a goal, and the media’s not holding back. Every headline is brutal. Every post game interview is worse. He’s not smiling as much anymore. He’s quiet when you call, sometimes too tired to even talk. And when you visit, it feels like he’s somewhere else entirely.

The last time you saw him in person was two weeks ago. You’d flown from Michigan to see him play in Newark the first time you’d been able to since the season started. Jack had barely looked at you when you met him outside the locker room. His face was tight, his eyes tired. He’d hugged you, but it was quick. Impersonal. And when you sat with his family during the game, you saw the tension in his shoulders, the way he carried himself on the ice like the weight of it all was pressing down too hard. He’d been the last one off the ice after the loss, his head down, his mouth pulled tight.

He called you that night late, when you were already back at the hotel and apologized. “I just I’m sorry I couldn’t see you more,” Jack had said, his voice low. He’d sounded exhausted. “I’m just tired.”

Now, it’s almost midnight again, and you’re staring at your phone, waiting for him to call. He hasn’t. You’ve texted twice with no answer. You know he’s probably at home by now, maybe asleep. Or maybe not. He’s started turning his phone off after games. Less noise, he’d said. Less pressure. But you don’t know if it’s helping.

It’s hard to know what to say when you do talk to him. When he tells you he’s doing fine, even though you can hear it in his voice that he isn’t. When he tells you, “I’ll figure it out,” even though you can see him unraveling.

The next morning, you call him before class. He answers on the third ring, his voice rough with sleep. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” you say softly. “You okay?”

Jack sighs. You can hear the sound of him rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah. Just tired.”

“You’ve been saying that a lot.”

Jack’s quiet for a long time. “Yeah.”

You sit down on the edge of your bed, clutching the phone a little tighter. “Jack”

“I’m fine,” he says quickly. Too quickly.

“You’re not,” you say gently. “You don’t have to-”

“I said I’m fine,” Jack cuts in. His tone is sharper than you’ve ever heard it.

You go quiet. Jack exhales. “Sorry,” he mutters. “I just don't know.”

“It’s okay,” you say softly.

Jack doesn’t say anything for a while. You can hear his breathing over the line, steady but heavy. Finally, he speaks again, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “You don’t have to fix it alone.”

Jack doesn’t answer. And after a while, the line goes quiet.

The next time you talk to Jack, it’s after another loss. This time to Toronto. Another night of him leaving the rink without a point. Another night of reporters asking him what’s wrong, why he isn’t producing.

“I’m trying,” Jack says, his voice tight. “I’m trying and it’s not, it's not working.”

“I know,” you say softly. “But it’s not your fault. It’s a team-”

“I don’t care if it’s a team thing,” Jack snaps. “I’m the first pick. I’m supposed to be the one fixing it.”

“Jack-”

“I have to be better.” His voice cracks. “I just I don’t know how.”

Your heart aches. You want to reach through the phone and pull him into you. Hold him until the tension melts away. But you can’t. You’re too far away. And Jack’s already starting to pull back.

“You’re not alone im with you,” you say quietly.

Jack doesn’t answer.

You hear him breathe out. Then the call ends.

The worst part is that you don’t know how to help him. Jack’s not letting you in the way he used to. And you can feel it the distance growing between you, like something fraying at the edges. You want to fix it. You want to be enough to hold him together.But Jack’s starting to slip through your fingers.

⟡

After a while, you notice that not only jack started to drift from you, but also your relationship with him. It starts with the little things.

The missed calls. The delayed replies. The way Jack’s voice sounds a little too thin over the phone, his laugh not quite reaching the places it usually does. He’s tired you can hear it even when he tries to hide it.

At first, you don’t think much of it. Jack’s schedule is brutal, and it’s not like he’s never missed a call before. But then it starts happening more often. You’ll text him after a game Proud of you, call me when you can? and it’ll sit there for hours. Sometimes until the next day. Or he’ll call you late, hours after he said he would, with a rushed apology and a tired “I’m sorry, babe. I just passed out after practice.”

You get it. You do.  He’s in the middle of his rookie season, grinding through the hardest stretch of hockey he’s ever played, and he’s under more pressure than he’ll ever admit. But that doesn’t make it sting any less when you see his name light up your phone after midnight and realize you’ve already given up hope of hearing from him that night. 

Or when you do pick up, and it’s not the Jack you’re used to hearing.

“Hey,” you say softly, curling up under the covers. “You okay?”

Jack’s voice is thin over the line. “Yeah. Just tired.”

He always says that. Just tired. Even when it sounds like more than that.

“You played well tonight,” you offer. “Had that sick pass in the second.”

Jack’s breath crackles faintly through the speaker. “Didn’t matter. We still lost.”

“It’s not on you.”

Jack hums. You can picture the way he’s probably lying there  head buried in the pillow, hand resting over his face, the line of his jaw tight. He’s always been hard on himself. But lately, it's gotten worse.

The games aren’t going well. The media’s been tearing into him —first overall pick and only four goals? The disappointment in the headlines is almost palpable. You’ve stopped reading the articles, but you know Jack hasn’t. He doesn’t talk about it, but you can tell from the way he’s quieter now. The way his texts have dwindled from paragraphs to one word answers. 

The last time you FaceTimed, Jack barely looked at you. He was lying in bed, hair damp from his post-game shower, and you could see the crease between his brows even when he wasn’t talking. You tried to make him smile made a dumb joke about how you’d start training to become the Devils' new enforcer but all you got was a faint chuckle and, “Sorry, I’m just-”

“Tired,” you’d finished for him, and Jack had sighed, rubbing his hand over his face.

It’s been like this for a while now. He’s slipping  or maybe you’re the one slipping away. You don’t know how to fix it when Jack’s over 600 miles away, and every conversation feels like trying to grasp sand in your hands the harder you try to hold on, the faster it slips through your fingers.  

You’re curled up in bed now, phone pressed to your ear as Jack’s voice filters through the speaker. 

“It was bad,” Jack says. His voice is quiet. Defeated. “I just I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

You sit up a little, pushing back the tight feeling in your chest. “Jack, it’s not you. The whole team’s struggling right now.”

“Yeah, but” He cuts himself off. You can hear the frustrated exhale on the other end. “I should be better. I was the first overall pick  I’m supposed to make a difference.”

“You are making a difference,” you say gently. “It’s your rookie year. No one expects you to carry the team.”

Jack’s silent for a beat too long. 

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Jack?”

“Yeah,” he says, but his voice sounds distant. “I know.”

You hesitate. “Do you, though?”

His breath hitches. “I just I don’t know. Feels like I’m trying, but nothing’s working. And people are starting to talk, you know? About how maybe I wasn’t ready, maybe I’m not”

“Jack,” you cut in. “Stop.”

He doesn’t respond.

“You’re not a mistake,” you say, because you know that’s what he’s thinking. “You deserve to be there. You worked your ass off for this.”

“I guess.”

“Not ‘I guess,’” you press. “Jack, you”

“I know,” he snaps, and the sharpness of it cuts through the space between you. You freeze, swallowing the knot in your throat. Jack exhales shakily. His voice softens. “Sorry. I’m just tired.”

You force a small smile even though he can’t see it. “You’re allowed to be tired.”

“Yeah,” Jack says, but it doesn’t sound like he believes it.

Another stretch of silence presses down between you. You wait for Jack to fill it, but he doesn’t.

“You want me to stay on the phone with you?” you ask quietly.

Jack’s quiet for a second. “No its okay”

“I’ll stay” 

“Okay.”

So you stay. Jack doesn’t say much after that. You can hear the rustle of his comforter as he shifts around, settling into bed. His breathing starts to even out. You stay awake longer than you probably should, listening to the soft sound of him breathing on the other end of the line, wondering how much longer you’ll be able to reach him like this.

Because lately, even when he’s right there, yet he feels so far away.

⟡

It’s been months of missed calls, delayed texts, and half-hearted conversations. Jack’s always tired. Or busy. Or distracted. And when you do talk, it’s like he’s only halfway there like some part of him is already pulling away. You’ve tried not to read into it, tried to convince yourself it’s just the pressure of his rookie season, that things will settle once he finds his rhythm. But deep down, you know better. It’s not just hockey. It’s him. It’s you. It’s the quiet space growing between you, the way it stretches wider with every unanswered text and every empty conversation.

So you book a flight to New Jersey because you need to know if this is still something you can save or if you lost him completely

DAY ONE  

The cab ride from the airport to Jack’s apartment is quiet. Too quiet. The city outside the window passes in a blur of gray and headlights, but you don’t really see it. Your phone sits heavy in your lap, the screen dark except for the faint reflection of the passing streetlights. You tap your thumb against the side of it like you're expecting a message that you know isn’t coming. Jack texted you earlier to confirm he’d be home when you arrived, but that was three hours ago. No follow-up. No “Can’t wait to see you.” No little heart emoji like he used to send.  

It’s not that he’s ignoring you  at least, not outright. He’s busy, you’ve told yourself a hundred times over the last few weeks. Rookie season is demanding. New city, new team, new pressure. He’s adjusting. You should understand that. And you do. You swear you do. But understanding it doesn’t make the silence feel any less heavy.  

When the cab pulls up in front of Jack’s building, you hesitate for a second before stepping out. You’re not sure why  it’s not like you’ve never been here before but the weight sitting low in your stomach makes it hard to breathe. The driver sets your bag on the curb, and you force yourself to pick it up, shoulders tensing under the weight of it as you walk toward the entrance.  

Jack opens the door when you knock. He’s in a plain Devils hoodie and sweatpants, his hair damp like he just showered. He smiles, but it’s thin, barely reaching his eyes. 

“Hey,” he says. His voice is soft, like he's already tired.  

You smile, forcing brightness into your voice. “Hey.”  

Jack leans down to kiss you, but it’s brief. Quick. Like he’s already pulling away before it starts. His hand finds the small of your back and guides you into the apartment, but it drops as soon as the door closes behind you.  

The apartment looks the same cleaner than you expected, probably because Ellen came to visit last week but it feels off. Like someone came through and rearranged all the furniture just enough to make you notice. Jack’s shoes are in a neat row by the door. There’s a half empty coffee mug sitting on the counter. His phone is face down on the couch.  

Jack sits down on the couch, leaving a noticeable gap beside him. You sit too, trying to close it, but he doesn’t shift toward you.  

“So,” you start, your voice too bright, too forced, “how was practice today?”  

“Fine.”  

Your stomach twists. “Just fine?”  

Jack shrugs, eyes fixed on the muted TV. “Yeah.”  

You watch him for a second, the sharp line of his jaw and the way his hand rests against his knee. Normally, he'd have his arm around you by now. Normally, you’d be tangled together and he’d be rambling about plays and drills and how Nico wouldn’t stop chirping him today.  

But he’s quiet. Detached.  

And you’re hyper aware of the space between you.  

Jack reaches for the remote and starts flipping through channels. His brows furrowed in concentration, but he’s not really watching anything. It’s like his body is here, but the rest of him is somewhere else.  

“Hungry?” he asks after a minute.  

“Yeah, I could eat.”  

“Cool.” He stands. “I’ll order something.”  

And that’s it. He disappears into the kitchen without asking what you want. A minute later, you hear the soft murmur of his voice on the phone.   

You sit there, your heart beating loud in your ears, and wonder why it feels like you’ve already lost him.  

Jack comes back a few minutes later and drops onto the couch, his knee brushing against yours for half a second before he shifts away.  

“Food should be here in, like, twenty minutes,” he says.  

You nod. “okay”  

More silence. The TV hums in the background, the flicker of light reflecting off Jack’s face. You glance at him, hoping he’ll look over at you, but his gaze stays fixed on the screen. His hand is resting between his knees, his fingers pulling at a loose thread in the fabric of his sweatpants.  

You clear your throat. “Did you, um talk to Quinn today he was asking me about you?”  

Jack’s mouth tightens. “Yeah.”  

“And?”  

“He’s good.”  

You wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. The seconds stretch out between you, long and tense and uncomfortable.  

“Jack.” You lean toward him, lowering your voice. “What’s going on?” Jack’s jaw twitches. “Nothing.”  

“It doesn’t feel like nothing.”  

Jack sighs, running a hand through his hair. “It’s just been a long week.”  

You search his face, the dark circles under his eyes, the faint crease in his forehead and you know he’s not lying. But you also know he’s not telling you the whole truth.   

“You know you can talk to me, right?” you say, your voice soft.  

Jack’s gaze flickers toward you, and for a second, you see it  the familiar warmth, the quiet vulnerability you’ve always known how to reach. His eyes soften, and he looks like he might actually say something.  

But then the buzzer for the front door sounds, and the moment evaporates.  

Jack stands quickly. “That’s the food.”  

You watch him cross the room, feeling the distance stretch wider with every step.  

He comes back with a brown takeout bag, setting it on the coffee table before sitting down. He opens the bag and pulls out containers of food  sushi, not your favorite  and hands you a pair of chopsticks without looking at you. 

You stare down at the food. “Did you know what I wanted?”  

Jack hesitates. “I just ordered something quick.”  

Your chest tightens. Jack always knows what you want. He knows you like avocado rolls, not spicy tuna. He knows you like extra soy sauce on the side and that you don’t like wasabi. But tonight, it’s like he didn’t even think about it.  

You pick at the sushi, appetite gone. Jack eats quietly, his eyes back on the TV. The sound of the game commentator fills the air, too loud, pressing into your skull.  

After a few minutes, Jack stands and starts cleaning up. He takes your barely touched container and tosses it in the trash without a word.  

“I’m gonna shower,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.  

“Oh. Okay.”  

Jack hesitates in the doorway. His eyes flick toward you, and for a second, you think he might come back, sit down, pull you into his arms, tell you he’s just tired and that everything is fine.  

But he doesn’t. He disappears down the hall, and a minute later, you hear the sound of the shower running.  

You sit there, hands clasped in your lap, listening to the water hit the tile. Your heart feels too big and too small at the same time, pressing against the walls of your chest.   

Jack’s phone buzzes on the table, and you glance at it. A text from Nico lights up the screen:  

Good skate today. 

 You stare at the message for a long time. 

The shower runs in the background, and you sit alone on the couch, feeling the emptiness stretch out around you.

DAY TWO

Jack sleeps with his back to you.  

It’s not the first time, but it feels different tonight. Final. His side of the bed feels miles away, the sheets cool and untouched where his body should be. You lie there for a long time, staring at the ceiling, listening to the sound of his breathing. It’s shallow, restless. Every few minutes, he shifts, the mattress dipping under his weight.  

You think about reaching for him, curling up into his side like you always do. Your hand twitches under the blanket, fingers itching to brush over his back, to anchor yourself to the steady rhythm of his breathing. But something stops you. Fear, maybe or just the quiet certainty that if you reach for him, he’ll pull away.  

So you stay still, the space between you cold and unforgiving.  

You wake up sometime in the middle of the night to find him half hanging off the edge of the bed, his face turned toward the wall. His arm is curled beneath his head, his breathing uneven. You watch the rise and fall of his back, the way his shoulders tense even in sleep. He’s not resting, not really.   

You swallow hard and sit up slightly, brushing your hair away from your face. For a second, you think about touching him, coaxing him back toward you. But you don’t. You can’t.   

In the morning, Jack wakes up first. You know this because you hear him moving around the apartment while you lie there, eyes closed, hoping he’ll come back to bed. He doesn’t.  

Instead, you hear the distant sound of water running in the bathroom, the clink of glass in the kitchen. The low hum of the TV. You press your face into the pillow and try to breathe through the tightness in your chest.  

When you finally get up, Jack’s sitting at the kitchen counter with a protein shake. He’s already dressed in workout gear Devils issued shorts and a long-sleeve shirt that fits snug around his arms. His hair is damp, curling slightly at the ends. He glances up when you enter the room.  

“Morning,” you say, your voice coming out softer than you meant.  

“Hey.”  

You sit across from him, pulling your knees up and wrapping your arms around them. Jack’s gaze flickers toward you briefly, then drops back down to his protein shake. He spins the cup slowly in his hands, condensation trailing down the side.  

You try to find his eyes. “Sleep okay?”  

Jack nods, distracted. He taps his thumb against the edge of the cup. “Yeah.”  

“You sure?”  

“Mmhmm.” His gaze darts toward the window.  

You glance at the clock on the microwave. “What time’s practice?”  

“Ten.”  

“You want to grab coffee after?”  

Jack hesitates. His shoulders tighten. “I don’t know. We’ve got media stuff later.”  

“Oh.”  

You feel stupid for asking.  

Jack stands and rinses out his cup in the sink. His back is to you, but you see the tension in his shoulders. He’s holding it all in  the pressure, the frustration, the weight of everything this year has asked of him. Normally, he’d tell you about it. He’d talk through it, let you hold it with him for a little while.  

But now it feels like he’s trying to keep the distance intact.  

“You okay?” you ask quietly.  

“Yeah.”  

“Jack.”  

He sighs and rubs a hand over his face. When he speaks, his voice is tight. “It’s just a lot right now.”  

You nod, even though he’s not looking at you.  

Jack’s hand curls over the edge of the counter. His knuckles turn white for half a second before he exhales and grabs his keys from the hook by the door.  

“I’ll see you later, okay?” His tone is light  too light. Like he’s trying to make this feel normal.  

You sit up straighter. “We could go out tonight. Dinner or something.”  

Jack pauses with his hand on the handle. His eyes flick toward you, guarded. “Yeah. We’ll figure something out.”  

Then he’s gone.  

The door clicks shut behind him, and the quiet of the apartment closes in around you.  

You sit there for a long time, staring at the spot where he stood. The sunlight spills in through the thin curtains, cutting pale lines across the hardwood floor. You think about the way he used to kiss you in the mornings, sleepy and warm, his hand curled over the back of your neck. You think about the way he used to tug you into his chest after a restless night, murmuring sleepy nonsense into your hair.  

And then you think about last night about the empty side of the bed and the quiet wall of his back facing you.  

Your phone buzzes on the table. You grab it quickly, your heart leaping in your chest. But it’s not Jack. It’s a text from quinn  

"Hope you’re having a good time! How’s Jack?" 

You stare at the message for a long moment before typing back:  

"Good. Everything’s good." 

The lie tastes bitter on your tongue.   

You sit there for a while longer, the phone still in your hand, before pushing yourself to your feet. You grab the half-empty protein shake Jack left on the counter and dump it down the sink. The hum of the refrigerator fills the silence.  

It’s only nine o’clock, but it feels later. Your eyes drift toward the bedroom  the sheets still rumpled from sleep and you wonder if you should crawl back into bed and wait for him to come home.  

But you know better.  

Instead, you curl up on the couch and pull the blanket over your legs. Jack’s sweatshirt is draped over the arm of the couch, and you pull it onto your lap, bunching the sleeves in your hands. It smells like his laundry detergent and something warmer, more familiar.  

you press your face into the fabric and close your eyes, trying to remember the last time he held you like he meant it.  

You think about how he used to look at you and really look at you like you were the only thing in the room that mattered.  

But that was months ago. Now, when Jack looks at you, it’s like he’s looking through you. Or worse like he’s already decided what happens next.  

Your phone buzzes again. This time, it’s Jack.  

“Practice ran long. Gonna be late.” 

You type out a quick response  "Okay."  but don’t hit send right away.  

Instead, you sit there with the message glowing on the screen, wondering when it started feeling like this. Like you’re holding onto something that’s already slipping away.

DAY THREE

It was worse the next day. The air felt thicker, like it was weighing down every conversation. Jack seemed distracted, his gaze always drifting toward his phone or the TV. When you asked if he wanted to grab lunch, he hesitated for a second before saying, "Yeah, sure," like he was doing you a favor.

At lunch, he kept glancing around, not meeting your eyes. You watched him scroll through his phone between bites of his sandwich. You tapped your nails against the table.

"Jack."

"Hmm?" His eyes didn’t lift from his phone.

"Can you put that down?"

He sighed but set the phone face down. "Okay."

You wanted to ask if he even wanted you here. You wanted to ask why he wasn’t looking at you like he used to, why you felt like a ghost in his apartment. But you swallowed it all down and smiled when Jack forced another conversation about hockey that you could barely focus on.

That night, he sat at the edge of the bed, scrolling on his phone again while you sat behind him. You reached out, resting a hand on his back. He tensed.

"Are you okay?" you asked.

"Yeah," he said quickly.

"You don’t seem like it."

"I’m fine, okay?" His tone was sharp. He stood up and walked toward the bathroom without looking back.

You stared at the empty space he left behind.

DAY FOUR

You woke up before Jack.  

He was lying on his stomach, face half-buried in the pillow, hair sticking up in every direction. You watched him for a moment, chest rising and falling steadily. He looked peaceful like this like the Jack you used to know. The Jack who used to roll over and pull you into his arms the second he woke up.  

You shifted closer, brushing your hand over his back. His skin was warm under your fingertips. He stirred, groaning softly into the pillow.  

"Morning," you whispered.  

Jack’s eyes fluttered open. He blinked at you sleepily, then rubbed a hand over his face. "Morning."  

You smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to his bare shoulder. He didn’t react. Just sat up and ran a hand through his hair.  

"What time is it?"  

"Almost nine."  

Jack nodded, already swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "I should get going soon."  

"Going where?I thought you had today off"  

Jack stood, stretching. "I do, I'm just going to go workout with some of the guys."  

"Oh." You sat up, the sheets pooling around your waist. "Can I come?"  

Jack paused, looking at you over his shoulder. "I mean it’s just going to be boring."  

"I don’t care."  

Jack hesitated. "I think we’re just gonna grab lunch after. Probably end up hanging out at Nico’s."  

You bit the inside of your cheek. "So you don’t want me there?"  

Jack’s gaze darted to the floor. "It’s not that."  

"Then what is it?"  

Jack sighed. "I don’t know. Just feels like a guys' thing, you know?"  

You swallowed. "Right."  

Jack’s phone buzzed on the nightstand. He grabbed it, checking the screen. A faint smile tugged at his mouth.  

"Who is it?" you asked.  

“Nico," Jack said, texting back quickly. He tossed his phone onto the bed, already moving toward the bathroom.  

You sat there for a moment, heart sinking.  

"I’ll be back later," Jack called over his shoulder.  

"Cool," you murmured. But Jack had already closed the door behind him.  

You sat there for a long time, listening to the shower running.  

When Jack got back that afternoon, you were curled up on the couch, knees pulled to your chest. He walked in, tossed his keys onto the counter, and sat down across from you. He scrolled through his phone without saying anything.  

You watched him for a moment.  

"How was it?" you asked.  

"Hmm?"  

"Your workout."  

Jack shrugged. "Good."  

"Anything else?"  

Jack didn’t look up. "Nope."  

Your jaw tightened.  

You shifted closer, resting a hand on his arm. "Jack."  

He tensed. "What?"  

You hated how sharp his voice sounded. Like you were annoying him.  

"Do you want to do something tonight?" you asked quietly.  

Jack sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I don’t know. I’m kind of tired."  

"Oh."  

Jack’s gaze flicked toward you. "What?"  

"Nothing," you said quickly, even though it wasn’t nothing.  

Jack’s phone buzzed again. He picked it up without hesitation. You sat there, heart sinking as he smiled at the screen. He didn’t even notice the way your hand fell away from his arm.  

And that’s when it hit you.  

You weren’t the person he wanted to talk to anymore.  

You weren’t the person who made him smile like that anymore.  

You took a breath, swallowing hard. "Jack."  

"Hmm?"  

You sat up straighter, heart hammering painfully against your ribs. "Do you even want me here?"  

Jack’s head jerked toward you, brows furrowing. "What kind of question is that?"  

"You’re barely looking at me." Your voice cracked. "You don’t talk to me. When you do, it feels like you’re trying to get through it so you can go back to your phone. Just say it if you don’t want me here."  

Jack’s jaw tightened. "Jesus, you’re making this a bigger deal than it is."  

"A bigger deal?" you echoed. Your voice sharpened. "Jack, I flew to new jersey to see you. I’m trying so hard to hold this together, but you’re not even meeting me halfway. If you don’t want this anymore, just"  

"I didn’t ask you to come."  

You froze.  

Jack’s eyes widened, but the words were already out there.  

Your heart hammered in your chest. "What?"  

"I didn’t ask you to come," he repeated, softer this time. His gaze fell to the floor. "You decided to."  

You blinked hard, your throat tightening painfully. "Wow."  

Jack ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. "I didn’t mean it like that"  

"You did."  

Jack’s mouth opened, but no words came out.  

You stood up, shaking. "I can't, I can't do this anymore."  

Jack’s head snapped toward you. "What does that mean?"  

"It means I’m done." Your voice broke, but you kept going. "I’m tired of feeling like I’m the only one fighting for this. If you’re not going to try, then why am I even here?"  

Jack’s eyes darkened. "So that’s it? You’re giving up?"  

You laughed bitterly. "You gave up first."  

Jack’s mouth twisted. "Right. So now it’s my fault?"  

"You know what?" you said, your breath shaking. "Yeah. It is."  

Jack stood up, his eyes hard now. "Fine. If you want to go, then go."  

"That’s it?" You took a step toward him, tears blurring your vision. "You’re not even going to try to stop me?"  

Jack’s eyes flashed. "What do you want me to say? That I miss you? That I love you? You already know that, but it’s not enough, is it?"  

"It’s not enough if you’re not going to show it!" you shot back. "You say you love me, but you act like I’m just here. Like I don’t matter."  

Jack’s expression darkened. "Yeah? Well, maybe you don’t."  

You sucked in a sharp breath.  

Jack’s face paled instantly. "I—"  

"No." You shook your head, tears spilling down your cheeks. "You said it. And you know what? Maybe you’re right."  

"Don’t twist this"  

"I’m not twisting anything! I’m done!" Your voice cracked, but you held your ground. "I’m not going to sit here and beg for you to care about me. I deserve better than that."  

Jack’s jaw flexed.  

Your breath hitched. You waited for him to take it back to tell you to stay. But Jack just stood there, eyes stormy, hands clenched into fists at his sides.  

You nodded slowly. "Okay."  

You grabbed your bag from the floor. Jack didn’t say anything as you walked toward the door. Your hand trembled as you opened it.  

You hesitated. Just for a second.  

"Bye, Jack," you whispered.  

Jack didn’t reply.  

You closed the door behind you.  

The flight home feels like a blur. You don’t cry at least not yet  but the numbness sets in as soon as the plane takes off. Jack didn’t text you before you boarded. He didn’t call. He didn’t say anything after the door shut behind you.   

You stare out the window, watching the clouds blur beneath you, but your chest feels hollow. Four years. Gone in a single weekend. Your friendship since you were 10 of growing up together, of loving each other through every awkward phase and milestone  shattered in one conversation.  

You scroll through your phone without really seeing it. His contact sits at the top of your recent messages, the last one marked as read. I’m sorry. He hasn’t sent anything since.   

And honestly, you don’t expect him to.  

Your phone vibrates, and for half a second your heart leaps. But it’s just your mom, checking in. You let the message sit unopened and slide your phone facedown on the tray table.  

When you get home, everything feels wrong. Your room looks the same, but it’s too quiet. No FaceTime calls from Jack lighting up your phone. No goodnight texts. No “Miss you” or “Wish you were here.” The absence is deafening.   

You lie in bed that night, scrolling through old pictures, ones from Vancouver, from Michigan, from all those summers at the lake house. Jack’s smile frozen in time. Your hand in his. Quinn and Luke in the background, laughing at something Jack had said.   

Your chest tightens.  

You think about how easy it used to be how you could sit in silence for hours and still feel connected. How you could tell what Jack was thinking just from a look. How his hand would instinctively find yours without either of you thinking about it.   

But somewhere along the way, you both stopped reaching for each other. Mostly him. 

Your phone buzzes again. This time, it’s Quinn.  

“You okay?” 

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard, but you don’t know how to answer that.

“Yeah. Just tired.”  

Quinn’s reply comes quickly. “Jack didn’t mean it.”   

Your breath catches. A hollow feeling sinks deeper into your chest.   

You don’t answer.  

Because the worst part is maybe he did.

[writingwithciara]

you make me wanna fall in love -jack hughes-

summary: y/n is done trying to fall in love. but life isn't giving up. and her biggest adversary? jack hughes.

word count: 1.4k

pairing: jack hughes x reader

notes:

"we're going to get married one day."

jack was 9 years old when he told y/n he was going to marry her. it had been after she stood up for him against a kid who was picking on him. he had known y/n his whole life, having grown up next to her. she had always been the quiet kid, never engaging in any conflict. so when she yelled at the 11 year old kid, jack fell in love.

but since he was 9, nobody took what he said seriously.

----------

he moved to new jersey when he was 18 and y/n moved to new york. they weren't in the same state but that didn't stop them from visiting each other whenever they could.

being away from her family was tough but just knowing jack wasn't across the country made y/n feel a little safer. their friendship was the most important thing to her.

and because he lived a good enough distance away from her, she was able to date freely in new york.

she dated at least 6 different guys throughout her 5 years in new york but none of them ever lasted. her quest to find true love was testing her patience and she hated it.

meaningful relationships were starting to mean nothing to her when all she had wanted her whole life was to find the one person she was meant to spend her future with. and how was she supposed to do that when every guy she went on a date with ended up hurting her in some way?

when each relationship failed, she turned to jack. he was her most trusted friend, after all.

he hated hearing about her dating life, but he hated it even more when she was upset. and it seemed he was the only one who remembered what he had said when he was 9.

"we're going to get married one day."

he had been repeating it in his mind more than once a week ever since the words left his mouth. sure people never took him seriously because he was 9, but he knew he loved her. in more ways than one. he just wanted his chance.

so when she called him to tell him about her most recent heartbreak, he took the opportunity to travel to new york to convince her she needed to be with him.

and it couldn't have come at a more perfect time, since his shoulder injury had taken him out for the rest of the season.

y/n was sitting on her couch, ready to completely give up on relationships. she hadn't heard the knock so when jack was suddenly standing on front of her, it caused her to jump.

"jesus, jack. how did you get in?"

"i used my emergency key." he took a seat next to her. "i came as soon as you ended our call. tried to get here as fast as i could."

"what about the team?"

"i'm out for the rest of the season. and i needed to see you. nothing could ever keep me from being here for you whenever you need me, you know that."

"i know. but there's gonna have to be a time when i have to turn to someone else. i know i can't keep relying on you every single time my relationship falls apart."

"yes you can, y/n. i swear. do not hesitate to call me when this happens. you know i love you enough to do what i can for you, no matter what." jack held her hand. "we made that promise when we were 12, remember?"

"yeah. i remember. but what about when you have your own girlfriend to take care of? she'll hate me for coming to you."

"if my girlfriend ever hates you, then she's not someone i want to be with. and i think it's important to remind you that i made a declaration to you when i was 9 years old. remember what i said?"

"you told me we were gonna get married one day." y/n smiled while avoiding his gaze. "but you were 9. you couldn't have meant it."

"i did, actually. the fact that i was only 9 is insignificant. i told you i was gonna marry you and i'm going to. there's not a doubt in my mind."

"jack."

"no. i'm serious. i have been in love with you since i was 9 and there's nothing you can say or do that is going to change my mind, y/n." he dropped her hand but held her gaze. "i know you're not ready for another relationship but i can wait. i've waited 14 years, y/n. i can wait a little longer."

and he waited. for 11 months. every day since that night on her couch, he waited but he also did everything he could to show her he meant what he said. he truly loved her and he definitely saw himself marrying her.

she fought hard against his efforts because if her history of bad relationships had taught her anything, it was that she wasn't meant to be in love.

but he got her.

it was the night the devils won the stanley cup. jack had been named the mvp of the playoffs and when he was given the conn smythe trophy, he knew he had to say something.

"you know, this is such an honor and obviously i wouldn't have been able to do it without these guys. but, aside from the team and my parents, there's another special person in my life who has pushed me to be the best i can be. she never lost faith in me, no matter how many times i got frustrated with the way i was playing the game. she stood by me through every injury and helped shape me into who i am today, on and off the ice. i've known her my whole life but i've loved her since i was 9. she'd my hero as much as i am hers. without her, i don't know where i'd be." jack looked at his team and smiled. "can't wait for next year."

after the big celebration on the ice, jack skated off with the team. he went into the locker room, celebrated with the team privately for a few minutes and then headed out. he was eager to get to y/n's apartment to talk to her. it still shocked him how he had somehow convinced her to relocate to new jersey, but he was happy it happened. it felt like he was one step closer to convincing her he had always meant what he said.

just as he was making his way to the parking garage, his phone went off. he pulled it out and answered it without looking at the screen. "hey."

"hey. congrats on the win. you were great out there. and no surprise that you won the conn smythe. you're always the mvp."

"you actually watched it?"

"of course. i wouldn't miss the biggest game of your career, jack." y/n giggled and it was like music to his ears.

"so you saw that speech?"

"i did indeed."

"okay well i'm just about to head to your place. we can talk when i get there."

"there's no need for that."

"y/n, please?"

"no. i meant," y/n sighed. "turn around, jack."

jack turned around and y/n was standing in front of him. he locked his phone and walked over to her. "you're actually here. i can't believe you actually came."

"i had to. most important game of your career, remember?" y/n smiled and wrapped her arms around him. jack didn't hesitate to return the hug. "and that speech was incredible. made me do some thinking."

"about what?"

"love and what it means. and what my future truly holds."

"and your conclusion?"

"i think the reason why all my relationships had failed before was because, unknowingly, my heart had already been given to someone else. someone who has protected it and showed it the love i know i deserve. love is crazy when you think about it. but i love you, jack. i'm finally ready to accept it." y/n looked up at him. "i'm sorry i made you wait so long."

"hey, you are 100% worth the wait. i'd wait forever for you if that's what was needed." he smiled widely.

"so, do you still want to marry me?"

"every second of every day if that was possible."

"how about just once, hmm? is that enough?"

"if it means forever, then yes. marrying you once is definitely enough for me."

"okay. let's do this then."

"right now?" jack's eyes widened.

"why wait? you love me and i love you. that's as good a reason as any, right?"

"okay. fair point." jack chuckled and held his hand out for her. "alright. let's do it."

[nobecausecheese]

This is Sammy. He was found in the woods after being attacked by dogs and having a stroke and several seizures. I had recently lost my childhood cat, the lockdown was going on, and my mental health problems were getting a lot worse.

My dad saw a lady trying to find a good home for this guy, since she already had 4 cats and couldn't support another one. I begged him to let me adopt him. I knew he would be a little odd, and had no idea how he would react to being in a new environment.

I've had Sammy for around five years now. He's curled up in bed with me as I write this. He purrs too loud, he drools, his face droops on one side when he isn't paying attention, he's afraid of the dark, he doesn't like stagnant water, he refuses to be picked up unless you hold him so tight it feels like you're about to crush him, he begs to be pet and then runs away when you get close, he trips on his own feet, he gets lost in the singular hallway in my house, he meows when he can't find anyone, he chirps instead of making regular cat sounds when he wants to cuddle, his claws are permanently out because he can't retract them, he refuses to move unless you physically shove him out of the way

He's my best bud. I'm so grateful to have this little idiot in my life. He's gotten me through a lot by just being there for me. Sad? Don't worry, there's a brick ready to sit on your neck and drool in your eyes because he wants you to be happy.

I'll be moving out over the summer, and I don't think I'll be able to take him with me. He doesn't have the processing power to understand a move across the country, and he's bonded to my brother's cat so he can't be separated from him. He's the thing I'm most upset to leave behind. Every day, I'm grateful he's in my life, and I'm grateful I found him.

I've given him the best life I can. If we hadn't adopted him, poor Maggie wouldn't have been able to take care of him, and he'd have to go to a shelter (where he would be deemed unhousable most likely), or back outside.

Adopt special needs cats, adopt adult cats, adopt the cats people have turned down again and again. You never know how much you Kay change each other's lives for the better.

This was meant to be a quick warm up, but it turned into a comic that I’ve wanted to draw for a while. This is something that is extremely important to me, and I appreciate it if you read it.

A while ago, I heard a story that broke my heart. A family went a cat shelter to adopt. The daughter fell in love with a 3-legged cat. The father straight up said “absolutely not”. Because he was missing a leg. That cat was that close to having a family that loved him, but the missing leg held him back. Why?!

Many people have the initial instinct of “nope” when they see an imperfect animal. I get it, but less-adoptable does NOT mean less loveable. 9 out of 10 people will choose a kitten over an adult cat. And those 10% that would get an adult cat often overlook “different” animals.

All I want people to do is be open to the idea of having a “different” pet in their lives. Choose the pet that you fall in love with, but at least give all of them a fair shot at winning your heart.

Don’t dismiss them, they deserve a loving home just as much as any other cat. They still purr, they still love a warm lap, they still play, they still love you. Trust me, next time you are in the market for a new kitty, just go over to that one cat that’s missing an eye and see what he’s all about!

[dazed--xx]

Too Far....

Member: Changbin x Reader

Genre: Angst

T/W: Jokes at a friends expense, insecurity, groveling

A/N: I've officially moved and have wifi I'm also in the process of getting furniture and stuff but I'm excited for what the future hold hope you guys enjoy this one wanted to make one basically full of groveling. Also don't mind these little things for a while like the word count I plan to go through and fix everything

When do jokes go too far?

Y/N wondered, as she sat in this diner across from her boyfriend of 4 years best friends who continue to make subtle jestful jabs at her expense. Could it be when the punch line is hurtful? She bit her cheek as she stared at the table as the pair continue to laugh together at an embarrassing moment Y/N when she first met the pair. While Sol-i's beauty was enough to make any woman insecure with her closeness to their boyfriend, Y/N had apologized over and over about her rude remarks when she first met her. Daehyun hadn't been there, yet he speaks about it like he was. Y/N couldn't understand the dynamic of this friend group.

While she knew her boyfriend was the glue that held this group together, she couldn't understand the appeal. They constantly belittled each other and stabbed each other in the back. Especially the pair that sat in front of her at this moment. "I'm just saying though, Y/N you were just so adorable with that little jealous pout on your face" Sol-i states condescendingly. Her hand slowly brushes her brunette locks off her shoulder as she takes a sip of the soda sat infront of her. Daehyun chuckles slightly "I bet it was, especially with her tiny self like what was she going to do?"

Y/N couldn't stand them at this point, no matter when she saw them; No matter what was going on in her life these two just never let things go. "Honestly Y/N, you're kind of lucky you're cute and smart" Sol-i says arrogantly. "Otherwise Changbin would have probably left your adorable ass in the dust by now" she continued with a proud honest smirk on her lips as Daehyun decides to input his own opinion as well, "True, with her temperament it's not like she'd be able to find someone as good as Binnie"

Y/N's eyebrows furrow "Coming from the pair that take turns fucking each other's boyfriends?" Her voice laced with venom "I'm sorry, Sol-i when did you study relationship counseling? Also what about your pathetic crappy relationships that always ends with the guy cheating on you? Do you really believe you have the qualifications to make assessments about me and my relationship?" She growls before turning to Daehyun "And you...a queen who's in fucking denial about the fact that they live vicariously through their best friend and can't stop seducing her boyfriends because that's how badly you wish you were Sol-i? You have no right to make a judgement about me when you both have never once even taken the time to actually get to know me." Y/N's voice was laced with venom as she felt her body growing hot.

The pair sat quiet, bewildered, as Y/N began to grab her things. "What the fuck did you just say to them?" Y/N hears from behind her. Rolling her eyes, as she turns to look at her boyfriend. He stood their with a fire in his eyes as he clenched his fists at his side. His eyebrows furrowed as he glared at her. Scoffing she crossed her arms over her chest and shrugs "You heard me..." Changbin looks even more angry at her nonchalance.

"Did you think this shit was okay?" He questioned trying to maintain his calm.

Y/N scoffs "Of course you're going to defend them"

"Yeah! I'm going to defend them, not everyone is some selfish bitch that can just shit on people the way you do, Y/N. Not everyone would be cool with you talking to their friends like their beneath you"

She stares at him stunned as she jumps up from her seat "I've been telling you for years the horrible shit they've said to and about me!" She exclaims in frustration before stopping herself, feeling no point in explaining herself as Sol-i tries to interject in their conversation. Her voice hesitant and small "B-Bin, w-we may have crossed a li--I don't care shut up and stay out of this" Changbin cuts her off before turning back to his girlfriend who was in the process of grabbing her things. "Yup. Leave....run away like you always fucking do when shit gets hard for you, Y/N."

"I'm not fucking dealing with this shit right now changbin. You want to be an asshole then fine but I'm done" She growls at him as she shoves her purse onto her shoulder and pushes past Changbin and out of the diner door. Changbin stood there confused but resigning to letting his girlfriend calm down a bit then talking to her. Sol-i stared at her friend feeling guilty as she looked at Daehyun who sat there bewildered by the whole situation and how a small simple joke went too far.

Changbin went too far this time...

He felt it in his stomach, he had been torturing himself for the past 6 weeks. That night after the huge argument with Y/N, he had to hop on a plane and go on a 6 week tour. During that time he hadn't heard a peep from his girlfriend. At first he was angry, how could she not even come to say goodbye the next morning? But as the time passed and her responses continue to not come in, he felt worried. Worried about her never responding again. Worried he had ruined things forever with his hot headedness. Worried she was serious about being done...

He couldn't go on not knowing. If things were over he needed to hear it from her. Just the thought alone sent a sharp pain through his chest. He felt so guilty, he'd understand if she did choose to end things but he prayed every night she didn't. He didn't want to--No, he couldn't lose her. So as soon as his feet touched the ground in Korea, he rushed to her apartment. He needed to see her, to hear her voice. He'd never been this desperate for another person's presence as he was at this very moment.

As her building pulled into his view his heart raced with excitement. He was going to see her again. He was going to fix things and let this 6-week bump in the road be just that in the story of the rest of their lives. As he stood infront of her door he felt nervous. What would she say? What would he say? Is she doing okay? His mind raced a mile a minute. He brings his hand up to knock when the door opens and a dressed-up Y/N exits her apartment.

Changbin's heart soars as she stood in front of him surprise etched on her features. "Baby...hey" He breathes out as he stares at her lovestruck. "What are you doing here, Changbin?" Y/N questioned taking a small step back away from him and looking away. Her hands shift behind her back as she bit her plush bottom lip. "What do you mean? I just got back. I thought we could hang out...like we always do" he states hopeful.

Y/N stares at him confused "What? Why would I want to do that?"

Changbin feels his heart crack at her harshness "I'm your boyfriend..a-and I just got back from tour. Didn't you miss me, babe?" He asks sadly as he takes a small step toward her. His hand caresses her forearm and slowly runs down to capture her hand in his. Y/N stares at where they meet.

"You should go home, Changbin."

Changbin stares at her in disbelief "Y/N...Are you breaking up with me?"

Her eyebrows furrow in confusion "We broke up that day before you left for tour" Changbin shakes his head in denial "No. No we didn't...y-you were just mad a-and said stuff you didn't mean like I did" Y/N crosses her arms over her chest as she scoffs "No. I meant it when I said I was done. Your friends were blatantly being rude to me whether they were joking or not I don't care and like I told Sol-i when she reached out to me 'I don't care what you have to say you should have listened to what I had to say instead of being such a dick.' Because you would have known that your friends crossed a line." Y/N states ferociously as she looks away from Changbin. Her arms crossed over her chest as her blood boiled. They stood in silence for what felt like an eternity before a small sniffle pulls Y/Ns attention toward Changbin.

Her heart ached as her stomach sank at the look on Changbin's face. All the color was drained and tears filled his eyes. His shoulders were slumped as his breathing grew rapid. His hands reach out toward her. "B-Baby...p-please, I know I was wrong. Please don't--don't leave me. Don't do this. I'll do anything please give me a chance" he pleads desperately. She stood frozen in shock at his reaction to her words. His hands find hers as he drops to his knees resting his forehead against the back of her hands as his body trembled. "Please! I can change...I was wrong I should have listened to what happened instead of freaking out. I'm sorry please I'm so sorry. We've been together for 4 years please don't throw it away like this" He urges as he continues to sob harshly.

"Changbin...stop okay?

He shakes his head rapidly "N-No" He sobs, his cries growing more and more desperate "Why are you being like this? Why can't we talk about this? Please.." He urges. Y/N shakes her head softly "We should move on...you should be with someone you love. With the way I'm always thrown under the bus with you...I can't trust that I'm that person"

Changbin felt like his soul was ripped from his body at her words. "You are! Baby I love you...I want to be with you. I'm sorry if you feel like I've thrown you under the bus. I should have listened. I'll be better, I can fix this I promise you I can fix this please let me" his voice was laced with guilt and desperation as he wrapped his arms around her waist. "Changbin stop...you can't do this here" Y/N states looking around her parking lot hoping no one saw the idol knelt at her feet.

"You think I care about that? Do you think I care if people see us together? Y/N I've never hid you...I love you and I will do anything to make this right please give me a chance...we've been together for 4 years that has to count for something right? We can't just end like this. I'm so fucking sorry" his face was glistening with his tears as he stared up at her like a kicked puppy. "What will I do without you? I'm sorry I was an ass I won't do it again" Y/N felt her heartache at his pain. While his words hurt 6 weeks ago, she could see the pain she was causing Changbin was almost worse.

She felt guilty for doing this to him, she knew she would forgive him eventually so why did she feel the need to dig the knife in deeper to his heart? Maybe it was her way of getting back at him for all his backhanded compliments and insulting jokes throughout the years. But now? She felt sick to her stomach at her actions, how could they move past this? Why did she bring it this far?

As she stared at the tears streaming down his cheeks her resolve began to crack. "D-don't be like this..." she muttered and Changbin looked at her even more hurt. "Y/N, please don't end things like this...I-I'll do anything I didn't mean to hurt you or upset you please just give me a chance..." He sobs as he clung to her hips, his face soaking her shirt as his body trembled. "I'm stupid and terrible at communicating and I don't think I just act most of the time and I'm so fucking sorry please don't leave me...I can be better. I'll never do this again please give me a chance..." he plead as she felt tears streaming down her cheeks.

"I-I'll think about it...."

Taglist: @yangbbokari @lovesunshinefelix @threeopossumsinacoat @isabellah29 @hope-maine @minhwa @tr-mha-fan @whoa-jo @kibs-and-bits @your-favorite-pirate @summercoldstuff @bx-lov3 @multi-fandommaniac @yunho-leeknow @ka0ila @seungminsteddybear @jaquisos @nchhuhi @havenwithleeknow @galaxy4489 @hannahhhhs-things @captainchrisstan @skzfairyyydreamz @kyrennetwork

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Dark Humor

Dark or twisted humor is an acquired taste, as not everyone appreciates the taboo humor others find in disturbing subject matter. But, for people who experience stressful jobs or complicated family dynamics, dark humor often serves as an important protective mechanism.

This concept is exemplified by the ability of healthcare workers to employ dark humor as a way of coping with chronic job stress (e.g., Schulman-Green, 2003; Talbot & Lumden, 2000; Wanzer et al., 2005).

Importantly, gallows humor used in this way is not aggressive or hurtful to others. This idea is explained by Wanzer et al. (2005) in their aptly titled article If We Didn’t Use Humor, We’d Cry.

The authors note that nurses use humor to deal with specific situations such as daily medical routines, difficult patients/families, and even death. And while approaching such situations with humor may not make sense to others, humor helps nurses deal with their distress when encountering extremely difficult situations regularly (Wanzer et al., 2005).

Dark humor has also been found to enhance resilience during some of the most horrible events in human history.

For example, during the Holocaust, victims reported using humor in ghettos, concentration, and death camps to better cope with extreme trauma and adversity (Ostrower, 2015).

Ostrower (2015, p. 184) describes humor coping within this context as a defense mechanism that “under the nightmare circumstances of living in the ghettos and camps during the Holocaust, laughter was a form of rebellion against reality. Humor was the weapon of those whose lives were utterly in the hands of the executioners, those who were powerless to rebel or resist in any other way.”

Along with the Holocaust, dark humor has been used as a coping and survival mechanism across a broad range of life-threatening situations.

Gallows Humor - is, by definition, from the perspective of the victim or at least expressing empathy. If anyone else laughs at the victim or the author tries to make the situation funny, it's some other form of Black Comedy, hence the phrase "it's only gallows humor if you are on the gallows". This trope is generally when the joke itself or simple laughter allows you to deal with your problems.

The term itself refers to the wooden frame used to hang people from in Public Executions and it is still quite common to see creators make use of Gallows Humor in scenes between characters awaiting their hanging.

However the term has broadened to apply to the making light of any bleak, morose, or deadly occurrence.

This trope is when you are able to make the best of a bad situation - this is finding something funny even in Hell itself. "Laughter is the best medicine", says the age-old adage. Therefore, these tend to be stories that focus on a select group of individuals who are in recovery or surviving an ordeal. It is highly unlikely for a gag of the week format to be Gallows Humor. It is also likely that the main character suffers from depression and is cheering himself up.

Some Examples

I’d say at least I’m alive, but currently that’s one of my biggest problems.

"Stop telling the suicidal jokes." "Don't worry, suicide would be the last thing I'd do."

"When is the best time to commit suicide?" "Ate a glock in the morning."

"Suicide is not a joke, get help." "I can pay someone to shoot me."

When I die, I want to die like my grandfather who died peacefully in his sleep. Not screaming like all the passengers in his car.

“I'm thinking about killing off the main character in this book I'm writing.” “What type of book is it?” “An autobiography.”

Someone asked me if I've ever tried to kill myself. I responded, "Absolutely. A few times actually. I'm just not very good at it."

There are going so many things through my head. Sadly none of it is a 9mm.

Forky in Toy Story 4 knows that he is indeed a piece of trash and constantly tries to throw himself in a garbage can.

This exchange in Romeo and Juliet after Mercutio has been (mortally) wounded in a duel: Romeo: Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much. Mercutio: No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church-door; but 'tis enough, 'twill serve: ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave man.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[puppysuke]

hiii! this is my first time requesting anything on tumblr so I'm a bit nervous...but I wanted to request mouthwashing crew hcs of how they act with spoiling their partner with gifts and all that if that makes sense? THIS IS SO NERVE WRACKING IM SORRY. thank you

hello, anon! thank you so much for the request! no need to be nervous, i don't bite hard :3 such a cute request <3

notes: gn reader, sfw, continue reading under the cut! art credits to iidentifyasgrass on pinterest!

tulpar crew spoiling reader!

{ curly ! }

★— he really likes to spoil you, whether you like it or not. it's one of his favorite things ever to just buy you things he think you'd like.

★— he definitely has the money to spoil you too! he has a very nice house, i think and a super nice car, like a really nice bmw or something.

★— if you scold him for getting you something so expensive, he'll make up some fake sale price he got it for. maybe he did lie, sue him.

★— if you're on a date with him and walk past a shop where you see something you'd like in the window, he immediately walks you in and gets whatever it was.

★— he likes to get you jewelry a lot. he's definitely the kinda guy to almost always tease you with marriage, handing you little boxes with earrings or necklaces in them.

★— when he finally DOES propose to you, this man does not skimp on it at all. he gets you something with a huge diamond and a beautiful design engraved on the band, your guys initials on it too!

★— he also knows to get one that isn't as flashy to wear in public since people can "steal pretty things off of pretty people like yourself," in his words.

★— i feel like he is totally into having a very independent partner who knows what they want in life, but part of him likes the idea of you being some what dependant on him since he wants to take care of you.

★— maybe he has connections to a guy who knows a guy who knows your favorite band / music artist and gets them to perform at your wedding.... sorry a little off topic but!

★— oh he also constantly is taking you fancy places to eat ans taking you to a nice store afterwards to get some things you like.

{ jimmy ! }

★— he is not rich by any means. he lives in a shitty apartment with a shitty truck that constantly breaks down, but maybe he sets aside money to get you nice things.

★— hear me out, he spoils you a lot in home cooked meals, thrift store dates, and most definitely gets a pair of pretty expensive matching necklaces.

★— the necklaces are half a heart for each of you with your name's carved on that open and have a photo of you two together inside. he never takes it off. ever.

★— he lessens his alcohol and cigarette intake to save more money to get you nice things, tbh. he totally struggled doing so, but he ended up only having a beer when he was super upset and smoking way less.

★— when you start to live together, he moves out of said shitty apartment and you move into a nice house together, but he does have to put more time into work.

★— he gets you a pet! i like to think he stole a k9 dog that was gonna be put down and names the dog beef wellington, bee for short.

★— he likes to take you to the mall and he carried all your bags around. he rolls his eyes and complains that you're taking forever, but he actually really likes going to the mall with you.

★— gets mistaken for your sugar daddy a few times and gets unreasonably upset about it. "what, they don't think i'm good enough to be with you? i don't have to pay you to stay...right?"

★— was never the type for marriage, but he gets you a darry ring as a promise he'll be with you forever whether he marries you or not.

★— spoiler, he DOES marry you and it's awesome. it's at night, under the stars with just the two of you. he's not religious, so no preist or anything. it's mainly just you guys having a cute little night to yourself and heading to get the papers the next day.

★— sorry im getting off topic again.

{ daisuke ! }

★— he's from a pretty well off family, so he doesn't have any issues with spoiling you. maybe his parents scold him a little, but they love you too, so they don't mind much.

★— spoils you with everything under the sun. clothes, jewelry, food, dates, makeup, etc. anything you want, you get.

★— he really likes to spoil you with clothes because you give him a little fashion show after and he gets to just sit on the bed and admire you with heart eyes.

★— daisuke takes you to baseball games, no questions asked. he spends money to get you the guys the best tickets. idk if baseball has kiss cams, but you've definitely ended up on them before.

★— he pays for like...300 us dollars worth of streaming services on the tv. hulu, netflix, amazon prime, disney plus, paramount. everything else to watch stuff with you.

★— he does have a job, so with his parent's help, he saves up for a nice house and i'm sorry, i can't resist it. he marries you haha. gets a really fancy ring and has a huge ceremony.

★— takes you on the nicest honey moon. like to a ton of different places no matter how expensive it is.

★— oh my gods bonus point if you're a witch like me and he buys you crystals and candles and herbs. if you do deity work, he gets you statues for deities and other things for their altars.

{ anya ! }

★— she mainly spoils you with actions, i think. yes, she spends money on you, but she likes to treat you like royalty.

★— you want a cup of coffee? already done. need to do the dishes? hands are already scrubbing a plate. you need something to eat? sit at the table! she's almost done cooking.

★— she very much wants to move you in with her as fast as possible. she wants to have an eye on you at all time and make sure you don't have to do something she can do.

★— she ends up getting sick and you have to take care of her and after that she most definitely will not let you lift a finger and she makes sure to buy you tona of things you'd like.

★— she really just likes to provide for you, i dunno why but i see anya as a huge provider!

★— she's like curly and gets you jewelry a lot, mainly earrings or rings, she always checks in with you first before getting them.

{ swansea ! }

★— he isn't super well, of but he has enough to take good care of you! he sets aside a few of his things to get you things!

★— he likes to take you to get your hair done, your nails done, piercings if you want them, that kinda thing.

★— he's a really good cook ok and he likes to spoil you with food, he loves to cook for you and have you hand on his shoulder as he cooks :3

★— sometimes he'll just give you money to go get you things because he's just cool like that ok!

★— he lets you take his car places but you have to have your location on then because he doesn't trust other drivers ok? ok!

---

hopefully you enjoyed! req are open, thank you so much for reading <3

[erinwantstowrite]

Please yap more about the Psych AU! I just started watching season 7!! Also, who is your favorite character from Psych?

Hmmm well i don't wanna spoil too much... So i guess i'll yap about some general premise stuff?

I should clarify that LoF peter and Psych peter are pretty different backstory wise. I kept the sameish design because i just like drawing peter, but they have some variations between them. Like: uncle ben died, aunt may didn't. she actually gets transported with peter to this alt universe, so she's very involved in this au. i just haven't drawn her yet.

I also chose harry osborn instead of ned because i didn't want every au to be the same. I would have loved writing ned in this au, but he gets a lot of chance to shine in LoF. harry is in more spider-man iterations as peter's best friend and i feel like he fit that shawn and gus dynamic more with peter. (I see them as platonic in most universes.) ((I also see shawn and gus as platonic). in this au, harry and peter met when they were pretty young, sometime after peter's parents died (which would still be when he was around four years old). Norman is a pretty good dad at this time so he helps peter get into a good school so he and harry can have classes together (and also cause he thinks peter deserves a good school too). But harry and norman, over time, end up with a terrible relationship. Mostly caused by Norman slowly slipping into the Green Goblin role. so, he spends a lot of time with the Parkers. After ben's death, harry vows to take care of peter and may both. he ends up being the reason they accidentally find themselves in an alternate universe, but no one is really mad at him about it because May and Peter hit hard times and were about to lose their house, etc. don't want to tell y'all too much because i wanna save it, but that's our basics with backstory and set up

currently, i'm not sure if i want them to start in metropolis and end up in gotham, or start in gotham and end up in metropolis. I kind of lean towards them living in gotham but having a lot of business in metropolis

And by business, i mean that Peter gets into the photography business. He captures photos of all kinds of heroes and vigilantes, and sells them to newspapers for the highest pay. As Peter becomes more sure of his spider powers, he also becomes spider-man but with way more of a journalist vibe. I want him catching crooks in the act and exposing them with the pictures, becoming a mysterious freelance writer/photographer as well as vigilante. You can imagine how Clark Kent and Lois Lane are going to react lmfao

But then you also have the actual premise of the fic itself: Psych. Peter and Harry are both investigating something when they run into someone (at this point in time, i'm thinking Superboy aka Kon-El), and to get out of saying what the real deal is, he pretends to be psychic. Harry is mortified but he decides to roll with it. So now Peter has to pretend to be psychic, and Harry starts up a whole business about it. That means we're getting both of these businesses at once, which will converge that Bats and the Supers both into the storyline.

Why are they putting all this effort in for money? Well, one reason being duh, they need money in this new world. But mostly because it's gonna help take care of May, and they'll also get to start a new life in this alt universe

Also, my favorite Psych character is Gus. I love him so much, he's so stupid and so smart at the same time. Have you heard about pluto?

[jessicafangirl]

The Birthday Gift

Ah, we're back with more self indulgent Frater Copia story time filled with angst, spice, and Copia having some teeny tiny murderous tendencies...all in the name of love. This one is being split into a couple of chapters because I'm not completely out to kill myself. Just know I hope it's worth the wait for you. Nothing spicy here yet, just some fluffy and angsty times while we learn more about you.

That pic of Copia is like the perfect image. Thank you internet.

A few months after Valentine's Day it's your birthday and Copia asks you what you'd like as a gift. Your response surprises him as much as it does you. What follows is a chance for you to exorcise your past and live a fantasy that Copia is all too willing to provide.

You can also read this on AO3

Please let me know if you like this. Kudos, reblogs, and little mini chocolate Fraters accepted. Let me know if you'd like to be @'d for the next chapter.

“You want to do what?” Copia’s voice as it met your blushing ears was a mix of shock and disbelief.

“You asked me what I wanted for my birthday…and well…” You replied staring down into your Walking Dead coffee mug, the one with the zombie holding a coffee cup in the one hand it had remaining. Now you wished you’d kept your mouth shut. You should have said something normal like a nice dinner, or anything else.

But instead you’d told him the idea that had been rattling around your now soon to be even more aged head. Thoughts of losing control of so much in your life had been nagging you, hitting you of late as you pondered where you were and how you got there. You’d been a good little girl most of your life and never had a chance to do something…really naughty. At least not until Copia had come into the picture.

And even then, you could tell he held back quite a bit for you. He didn’t want to overwhelm you, even though he was able to do that often. He was far more worldly than you were, and you never asked him about his past history. Partly because you didn’t want to know how much you weren’t living up to it and partly because it was the past, his past. It wasn’t your place to pry. He was your right here, right now and you were his…somehow.

But you wanted to live out one of these little fantasies if you could. To see if you could live up to your own heads expectations. So…you’d told him what you’d been thinking about. Honestly, in a place where demons walked the halls and apparently real ghosts were haunting corridors, this shouldn’t be that overt, right?

Copia’s dual-colored eyes were still wide in surprise as they looked at you over the table top of his dining nook. He’d all but forgotten the half-eaten breakfast in front of him. “Amore…let me make sure I heard you right again.” He took a breath, steadying himself for your answer. “You want to…chain me up?”

You turned, placing the now shaking mug on the table. “No…no not…really. Just..” Oh just get it all out there now idiot, you’ve already dug the hole this deep. “I wanted to…handcuff you to the bed and…uhm…(mumble).”

One of Copia’s dark brows rose. He was shocked by this of course, but it was more surprising than anything else and amusement. His tesoro had a bit of a dark side and it was intriguing him. But it was more he wanted her to embrace whatever it was she had been fantasizing about without shame or fear. That wasn’t how the ministry behaved. If everyone was consenting and no one was hurt…enjoy your pleasure, celebrate your sin.

He could sense your upbringing coming out here. The way you blushed, hid your lovely eyes, and now weren’t even able to speak aloud about what you wanted to try. He was honored to be the focus and possible reason for these thoughts and ideas. And actually this would be a new experience for him as well, in a way.

“Mi amore…look at me.” He said reaching out a gloved hand to grasp yours. When your worried gaze finally met his he gave you a smile. “You have no need to be ashamed la mia rosa arrossata. You have a desire, and it is my joy to feed any desire you have…unless it is for a rival for your affections. Then that’s another story.”

“Copia…you know better than that.” You told him shaking your head.

“Si, I do…but I just wanted to be clear.” He lifted your hand to his lips and kissed it. “Also, what else is this scenario entailing…you were…mumbling.” He kept hold of your fingers. “Tell me what you wish of me.”

You knew you were still blushing. This wasn’t going to help. You looked over at him, biting your lip nervously. “I…wanted to blindfold you.”

His eyes widened again. Satanus she was broadening her horizons. “Dolce you are full of surprises today.” Copia squeezed your fingers. “So you wish for me to be completely at your mercy la mia bella padrona.”

You glanced away, trying to arrange your thoughts from the crazy they’d been stirred into. “It’s…this is silly…forget I said anything.” You said at last. Why you even thought this was something you could even do was insane. Why would he even go along with it? You pulled your hand from his and stood, heading for the door to join Phil for a pow wow session about the best interview tactics for Papa V.

Copia was shocked by the sudden change of heart, but quickly stood, grabbing your arm and pulling you into both of his. His face was serious, his eyes staring down into yours. He lifted a gloved hand to your chin, grasping it to make sure you weren’t turning away or trying to hide from him. You tried often to do this when your thoughts were at war with your heart.

“Now that you’ve said it, I can never forget it dolcezza. The idea of what you might want to do to me is all I can think of now. So no, I don’t think it is as you say, silly.” His voice grew deeper as he spoke, purring into your ears. “You wish to live out a fantasy with me amore, then you shall do it, and I will thank Satan for the privilege.” Copia leaned down and kissed you slowly, savoring the sweet taste of coffee on your lips.

After a few moments he pulled away to see you still flushed, only now your lips were parted and your eyes were closed, lashes laying like lace on your cheeks. He did love leaving you breathless and was happy to see he still had the ability to do so. When your eyes did open, they were glossy, so lovely he found himself a bit breathless too.

He used his glove to swipe away a little smear of black that his kiss had left behind. “Tell me cara, why do you run away from your desire?” He asked gently. “Even now after all we have shared, you still run.”

You blinked, lips still buzzing from his kiss. Copia was easy to talk to, even when it was some of the most private things in your life. It came with the job you supposed, he needed to be there to help guide his flock. He was caring and understanding but also fiercely protective. It’s part of the reason you loved him so much.

But this was hard, there were so many things rolling around in your brain. So many things you just didn’t know if you could sort them all. “Copia, that’s a…complicated answer I suppose. Or a long one.” You pulled your eyes from his, unable to stop the shame from welling up in you.

Copia saw it begin again, the pulling away. He felt so often like he was in a tug of war battle with your feelings, your past history as they tried to drag you away from him. He would win this battle eventually, but he was prepared for the fight because you were worth it.

“Eyes here amore.” He said gently, tilting your face back to his. “I have time. Tell me why you run away from what you want. Why do you run from me?” He couldn’t help the sound of hurt in his voice. It did hurt him, little bruises on his heart when it would happen. He knew it wasn’t him; it was the ghosts of those who had beaten you down before he could be there to keep you safe. He’d seen it in so many who came to the ministry and who would be in awe of there being no judgements, no harsh words, only love and acceptance. Sometimes those two things were the hardest to accept after a life of not having them.

You reached up and let your fingers trace his strong jaw down to his chin, letting your thumb run down the dimple there you loved so much. His gaze never left yours, warm and patient, simply waiting. You took a breath. “For most of my life and especially growing up I was told that sex or anything to do with it was either not to be spoken of, thought about, or just wrong. The wonders of growing up Baptist I guess.”

You saw his face grow tight, his gaze darken with anger. “It’s not the first time I have heard this mi amore.” His voice carried the disgust he felt at the treatment. His arm tightened around your waist.

You gave him a sad smile, wrapping your arms around him then, resting your cheek against the satin of his dress shirt. The scent of his cologne mixed with the ever-present spice of incense familiar. “Later on in life…I guess I never could shake that feeling, the shame. It was wrong and how dare I have questions. When I thought I was going to settle down it was with a guy who made me feel like I was some sort of pariah if I ever tried to initiate anything. If I wanted something more, I was a harlot. I made it all about me, no matter what it was. Even when I just wanted to spend time doing something together. I didn’t know any better Copia. I just thought okay…well…that’s how it is I guess. I’m wrong for wanting to feel this…to want to be with someone like that too often because I was interrupting something more important…like a ballgame.”

Copia felt his anger seethe under his skin. He could hear the rejection, the hurt, the doubt within your words. If he could find the man responsible, he’d…well…maybe…later. He pulled you closer, holding you tight. “Tesoro, you are what is important. I can only imagine what sort of maledetto idiota would prefer watching men throw a ball around over being in your arms.”

You laughed. “You’d be surprised.” You pressed your face into his chest, finding comfort in the familiar warmth and steady beat of his heart.

“Si, I would be.” He pressed a kiss to your hair.

You looked up at him, the melancholy expression still on your face. “You hear it long enough you believe it. It’s hard to break free of the feeling that I’m…well…wrong. The shame is so deep. Coming here for the job, even with the problems when I got promoted, I was just happy to see so many people so open. You…you were so kind and open. I…I still don’t believe it’s real sometimes.”

Copia felt his heart give a squeeze within his chest at how you gazed at him now, as though he were some sort of special creature, some magical being simply because he cared. He rested his palm against your cheek, tracing your skin with his thumb, cradling your face. “The dark lord smiled upon me the day you walked through our doors dolcezza. You brought a light into my world I did not know I needed to guide me on my journey. I hope I have done the same for you. That would be my truest wish.”

The melancholy slipped further away at his smile. You leaned up and kissed him again, the flavor of maple from his liege waffles addictive on your tongue. “You’ve helped me in so many ways.” You whispered against his lips. You leaned your forehead against his for a moment, sighing softly. “I don’t mean to run away from you Copia, I swear I don’t.”

Copia sighed, a smile on his lips as he brushed his nose against yours. “I know tesoro. I know you don’t want to run away. And when you do, know I will always follow si? I will always bring you home to me, because that is where you are. This is your home.” He kissed you again, slow and soft, but with a heat that could melt iron. He whispered against your cheek as his lips trailed along the flushed skin. “I’m your home tesoro…and you are mine. Here there are no judgements, here we show how much we love one another with no shame.”

You felt the first trace of a tear forming in your eyes at his sweet words, a trembling along your nerves at his kiss and caress. You buried your face against his shoulder, holding tighter. “Ti amo.” You whispered against the fabric of his shirt.

Copia pressed his lips near your ear. “Ti amo dolcezza.” He replied, feeling his own tears start to well up at the sweetest words he never thought he’d hear. He vowed to himself that you would never feel this shame again. He vowed no one would ever make you feel like this again.

He’d dealt with others recently that had dared hurt you. None would be allowed to do so on his watch. He’d noticed since then that many had become far more welcoming to you without the influence of the bastardos. Even if you still hadn’t joined the church, Copia did have patience when the need was there. He felt eventually you’d join him in his form of worship. But he could understand the hesitation you felt, another remainder from your upbringing at the hands of those who felt anything or anyone different was an aberration. That hatred was easier than love. You didn’t need to tell him all the stories, he could guess from experience.

The Frater sighed content in your embrace. “I wish we had found each other sooner my baby.” His voice was soft, “I would have stolen you away like a thief in the night.”

You lifted your head to look at him with a winsome grin. “I would have let you.” You widened your eyes, blinking innocently. “Oh, mysterious and handsome stranger, where are you taking me?” You spoke with a convincing southern belle accent.

Copia’s green and white eyes glinted with mischief. “Away to my lair with its very large bed la mia bellezza innocente…to do all the devilish things.” He replied, growling out the words while his hands wandered down to squeeze your denim clad behind.

You yelped and giggled. “Devilish indeed.” You said, playfully smacking his arm.

He grinned back, his expression growing wistful as he looked into your eyes. “I do mean it baby. I would have saved you from all of it.” He traced your lower lip with his thumb. “I wish I could have taken you away. You deserved to be happy.”

You kissed the tip of his gloved finger, feeling the welcomed little pain in your chest at how much you loved him. “You’ve made me happy. And I wouldn’t want you to have seen me back then anyway…or be around any of…that.” You felt embarrassed at the thought of how he would have reacted seeing your family and their attitudes, their bigotry and hate on display for everyone. How even more timid you were, how you felt like a bumpkin that had to hide anything you were interested in that might spark their anger at you. It hadn’t gotten any better with your ex. After years of not dating because of your family’s bizarre attitudes, the guy you’d wound up with wasn’t really any different. It had been a desperation play really. All those years, all that time wasted. It hurt to think about what might have been if you’d ran into Copia before, both of you younger and yet so different. It could have been a fairy tale or a nightmare.

Copia’s arms tightened around you, hearing you falling back into the past with the sound of your voice. He’d not pried into it. It was your past, your story to tell when you were ready. And he’d be there to help you tell it. To listen. But he knew enough. He seethed silently in his damned soul at the ones who you’d been cursed with as family. While the Emeritus clan wasn’t the best either, his own mother had done her what she could and still did to love him. She’d not limited him, not raised him to hate or harm unless that first blow was struck by the other. And then it was game on. She’d given him the kingdom in the end, even if it stung losing his place on the main stage, he was the one with the keys to the castle now.

“Be that as it may dolcezza, I would have stopped it.” He kissed your temple, fingers moving up and down your back soothingly. He smiled then as you looked up at him, your glossy eyes far away. “I was a dashing young cardinal you know. A chance meeting somewhere, perhaps at a funeral for a member of the ministry while you were walking home. I would have pounced so very quickly amore.”

His scenario did its work, and you laughed. “A boy, a girl, an empty grave…how very Addams Family of you Copia.” You replied grinning. “And you’re still dashing.”

The Frater sighed, leaning down and kissing your cheek. “Well…cara mia…you are as radiant as Morticia could ever hope to be. And yes, I would die for you…or kill for you…bliss on both outcomes.” He purred, letting his accent roll through the words knowing what it did to you. “Perhaps I should grow back the mustache thinking on it…no more paints to get in the way.”

A clock chimed in the room, one that had been a part of the office when he’d moved in. You let out a huff of annoyance. “Oh I’m going to be late.” You said, reluctant to leave him.

Copia was reluctant to let you go. But he was happy knowing that your work had no longer become the strain it was months prior. You weren’t killing yourself to prove a point. You were accepted and rather celebrated for the gains the Ghost Project had been making. Be that as it may, he still wanted to have you to himself though he knew that wasn’t fair…it didn’t make it easier to let you go though.

“Si, mi scusi amore…I would spend the day holding you in my arms if I could.” He let you go, taking your hand and placing a kiss against your knuckles. “Go and work your magic and I will go trudge through the church’s leadership. Tonight we talk of your birthday gift.”

He winked at you, and you flushed ten shades of red. “Oh…okay…” With that stutter of anticipation and nerves you headed out the door.

[masoncantthinkofaname]

Hiii!! first of all, finding ur tiktok felt like my prayers have been answered😭 You ARE genuinely the most open-minded person i have seen about shifting. The way you talk and approach shifting in itself shows your experience and I'm all here for it😈

Sometimes it feels like time is the most imp factor in shifting when it's not even real. You and so many others have spoken about this already, but that feeling of being so close to making this crazy discovery but then i look back and see everyone (my closest friends) have moved on in life cuz they didn't have to become that crazy scientist. Maybe because i have shifted before (but that was a WHILE ago), that feel even more crazed because i know i can do it. But it's not happening. I know this kind of mindset will do me no good but I'm just girl:(

You know how people say "u should find perfect balance between your cr and dr" and "shifting should not be a form of escapism". Now although that is true to a certain extent, I kinda don't want to do that!? But since i don't want to ""get behind"" i try to compromise with cr just to realize that i am meant for everything not something, and it's continues to cycle.

Thank you so much for your kind words! It makes me incredibly happy that my posts can help people, even if a little!

It's really frustrating to know that you can shift, but it feels like something is just holding you back from actually getting there. I understand. I've said this a million times, but people see time as this terrifying thing. Telling a shifter it might take them another month is seen as incredibly demotivating. And although I get why, I really think people need to get more comfortable with time itself.

It took you a few years, but in the end, does it really matter? I can only imagine how much you have grown as a person, how much you have learned and matured into your choices. In the off chance that it will take you a couple more years to fully shift to your dr, would that really change that much?

If you were told that you were absolutely, 100% guaranteed to shift within the next year or two, you would gladly wait all that time, knowing that, no matter what, you'll make it to your dr at the end of it.

But technically speaking you already have that guarantee. Shifting is already yours. Whether it's going to be today, next week, next month, the one thing you know for sure is that you're going to shift.

Time is nothing to be scared of at all. In this reality it's made out to be a huge deal, a clock you're always racing. But there is no clock, only eternity. You can redo, change, rewind, skip past anything you want. I promise you, you're not behind.

The more you embrace that shifting is already yours, and that it's nothing you're fighting to achieve, the easier it becomes. You have the promise of living any and as many lives as you want. Time here on earth is so incredibly short. Even if you would only shift when you're 70, it's nothing compared to how many years you'll live, to everything that's waiting for you.

You're okay, you're doing amazing. Allow your journey to unfold itself however suits you best. You know the end result is guaranteed, so don't worry about the time it takes you to get there💚

[purplesaline]

It's because you've run out of resilience.

Resilience isn't a set thing, it's more like a well and every stressor in your life, whether bad or good, requires you to drink from the well.

The well refills over time so for most people the well never runs dry but when there are too many stressors you can drain all the water from the well and if you need to drink before more water has seeped in you're going to start suffering. When that happens for too long... The metaphor is pretty apt.

Some people start life with pretty shallow wells, others have deeper wells. The good news is that it's totally possible to dig your well deeper! It'll mean drinking more of the water of course so it's a good thing to do when you have lots of reserves and not many stressors. That's things like learning new coping skills such as distress tolerance, mindfulness, radical acceptance, for example.

You can also pour water into it from other sources to tide you over until it refills on its own. Things like making art or crafting, visiting good friends, eating a really nice meal. Basically the self care things. And of course you can try to limit the stressors in your life. Taking care of tasks before they vet bigger, asking for help and accepting it when offered, reducing your responsibilities as much as possible, etc.

I've drained my well more than once and I'm not gonna lie, it can be really, really scary not having the ability to cope with anything life throws at you, even the good stuff. When your down at the bottom licking the walls for any moisture you can find you want to focus on reducing your stressors and getting water from elsewhere. I did a lot of art/craft type things during these periods and was pretty socially solitary save for one or two friends that spending time with energized me rather than drained me. When I went to bed at night I looked forward to working on my project more the next day. I didn't think further ahead than that.

Eventually I was able to white knuckle my way through until my well was filling faster than I could drain it.

Next time you're having a hard time explaining this feeling to a therapist try this "I don't want to die, I just feel like I don't have the energy to keep fighting to live.", or you can just tell them you don't have enough resilience left to cope with stressors. Hopefully they'll be better able to understand what you're going through because yeah, it's absolutely a different thing than being suicidal and it requires a different therapeutic approach.

you ever get tired of living but in a non-suicidal way

[yujiimybeloved]

Has Anyone Else Died For You? | Megumi Fushiguro

06: S. L. U. T

Words: 2.7 k

Mainlist

Things are not going any better, maybe you should stay away from him.

"Damn, you look terrible."

You rolled your eyes in annoyance, you couldn't complain, your dark circles were noticeable, you were in my pajamas and you were clearly tired. "You are so kind Megumi."

"I know, it's like a god's Gift."

You let him in and he followed you into your room, plopping down on your bed as if it were his own. He was bipolar and changeable, days ago he had threatened you and now he acted as if nothing had happened.

"What happened?"

"I don't know, I just- aghhh." It was frustrating how hard it was for you to talk about what you felt, you were in a constant conflict about what you were and what you wanted to prove. You were supposed to be the good girl, but good girls don't make out with the best friend of the guy they're dating and then call him because they need someone to talk to. "It's complicated."

"What's so complicated?"

"It doesn't matter, what did you bring?" You walked over and sat across from him. Before August you hadn't tried a single drug and now here you were.

"Well, I don't have PCP anymore, but I brought some weed and cocaine, we can use whatever you want." While you were still slightly embarrassed to resort to this, he spoke it completely naturally.

"Which one is better?"

"It depends on what you want."

"I just want to relax, I've been feeling too overwhelmed the last few days." or rather your whole life.

"Have you ever smoked?"

"never."

"Okay, then we'll use cocaine." He took out a small bag from his pocket and spread the white powder on your bedside table in four lines.

"Is it safe?" There was the sanctimonious one again, you had already done it came this far, you couldn't back down just because you were a coward.

"Nothing is, but we're already here, so give it a try."

"What should I do?" You got out of bed and knelt in front of the bedside table.

"Whatever you want, you can lick it or snort it, it's probably easier if you eat it since you've never put anything in your nose." You nodded and ran your tongue over one of the lines before giving yourself a chance to regret it, as you licked your eyes they went up like this megumi just to look for some sign that you were doing well, he didn't say anything but kept his deep blue eyes fixed on you, the feeling of Numbness was practically immediate, you swallowed saliva and your eyes remained on him while he bent down and inhaled one of the lines he wiped the remains with the back of his hand, he did not seem surprised by the sensation. "Do you want to talk about what's wrong with you or...?" 

"I think Yuji is going to ask me to be his girlfriend tomorrow." You knew this was putting you on dangerous ground after everything that had happened but you had practically vomited it, you needed to get it out. His expression immediately warmed at the mention of his best friend, you had made him angry but he was far from having the manic expression he had when he threatened you, it was not good but it was not so bad either.

"And? Shouldn't you be happy? That's supposed to be what you wanted."

"I'm not saying that- well... I don't know, it's confusing."

"Why? Do you like him or not?"

"Yes, but not that way."

"Then you're just playing with him."

"I'm not, but I don't want to hurt him." Even you were aware of how stupid you sounded, but this time you hadn't planned an excuse. You were making a big mess and you knew it.

"Or is it just because you like the attention he's giving you?" He grabbed your chin lifting your face and forcing you to look at him. "Look at you, you'd fall for anyone who gave you a little attention."

You frowned at his accusation, but you knew he was right, you lived for attention. "It's not true."

"It is, if you didn't want to hurt Yuji you would have made things clear to him from the beginning and you wouldn't be playing this way with him."

"I'm not playing with him." Maybe not, but you were getting a personal benefit from dating him. "I want to do things right but I still feel guilty." You loved Yuji, he was a great friend but you knew you weren't in love with him.

"Why?"

"Because you kissed me."

"No, you feel guilty because you liked me kissing you."

"No, that's not true."

"It is." He leaned toward you, his face a few inches from yours. "Tell me to stop and I'll do it." Silence flooded your room, you didn't say anything, your eyes locked on him trying to replicate the same defiant attitude he had, he kissed you once again, but now it was much softer than the first time.

It was just a tiny, almost chaste kiss, one that felt as good as it felt bad. He walked away from you and you were still on your knees on the floor, you rested your cheek on his thigh and he stroked your hair.

"Look at you, you desperate puppy, you're an attention slut."

You blamed the drug for what you were feeling even if you knew you had been conscious enough to have denied that kiss.

"Do you want me to kiss you again?"

Your doe eyes staring down at him, shiny, so stupid and helpless, pretending to be drugged and vulnerable when in fact they both knew you weren't like that.

"Yes."

And who was he to deny it? At least not when you looked so pretty and willing.

Megumi took your hair into her fist and pulled it back, he leaned over you, his other hand went to your face, his fingers felt cold against your warm cheeks. His thumb gently stroked your soft skin.

He hated you, he hated you so much but he hated even more that if Yuji didn't give up his stupid idea of a romance he would have you all to himself.

Megumi had been obsessed with you for years and finally had you like this, on your knees and expentant to him, but it wasn't enough yet there were many things he wanted to do to you, but he knew he would have to wait.

Because he wanted to make you his but he also wanted to hurt you.

He leaned over you and kissed you again, instinctively you parted your lips to make way for his tongue, neither of you was in any hurry, they were savoring the moment, you were weak from attention, you were weak from the false sense of love, You were weak because of him, because you knew he was bad, that he was a treacherous bastard, but you didn't care because that's what you liked the most.

You spent hours sitting on Megumi's lap making out with him and for the first time in months you felt really relaxed. All your worries disappeared as he groped and practically ate you.

You felt great, really great but the next morning you woke up feeling like shit.

At least there was no black out and the raw physics were not so bad, but ultimately the raw morale felt even worse. You swore to yourself that you would never do it again, you knew that promise probably wouldn't last long but at least you would feel better, you didn't want to take the drug issue any further.

You tried not to think about Megumi but your mind came back to the kiss again and again, you hated yourself because that memory had been engraved in your mind and you doubted that it would come out soon.

As you could, you got out of bed, put on your prettiest dress and put on makeup, it took you almost two hours but later there you were in front of the restaurant completely dolled up and ready to act like you really wanted this. When you saw Yuji waiting for you wearing his best suit and playing with his fingers nervously you felt like vomiting and banging your head against the wall, but it was no longer time to regret it so instead of running out and going home you approached him.

He got up from his chair, put his arm around your waist, and left a kiss on your cheek. "You look beautiful." You sat down and then he sat down in front of you. "The most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

You would have preferred to be the best but you were quite far from that.

"Don't overdo it."

"I'm not doing it, I'm serious."

"Well, you look great, really handsome." Yuji was an excellent guy, he had everything to be the perfect boyfriend and you knew you didn't deserve it.

You both had dinner, he was talking and you were practically silent barely participating in the conversation, you could tell how nervous he was and that only made you just as nervous, when he finished he paused and cleared his throat.

"I know it may seem like a quick thing, but I'm pretty sure with this, I'd really like to formalize things with you." The more he talked, the more you wanted to die, disappear at that very moment and never be seen again. "Would you like to be my girlfriend?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

You had been officially dating Yuji for a week and knew that you should feel happy, but that strange feeling stayed with you.

Because you didn't like Yuji enough, because you saw sukuna in him, because you had kissed Megumi before making it official with him, because you kept inviting Megumi to your house, the list of reasons was long and in all of them the only one to blame was you.

"The sweet and a good guy and handsome and kind, but..." You sighed, you couldn't find a single flaw, not a single but that would make you not look so bad.

"But?"

"It's complicated."

"Have you slept with him?" You couldn't hide your grimace at such a question, you didn't know where that had come from but you could definitely imagine something like that from Megumi.

"Don't be weird."

A small smile appeared on his lips. "I'm not, he just hasn't told me anything about it and he usually tells me everything."

"Maybe he likes to keep his sex life private."

"Not with me, this is your way of telling me that nothing has happened? Maybe in fact you're a prude"

You rolled your eyes and a faint blush appeared on your cheeks. "Just shut up."

"Why?" Basically, because Yuji was a gentleman and you hadn't tried to make any moves either, you had already gone far enough to take another step. 

"I don't know, it would be weird."

"Don't you want to compare him to Sukuna?"

"Oh my God, don't be disgusting, Megumi." You threw a pillow at him and he laughed, it was weird how sometimes he could be really nice and other times mean as fuck.

"Well, I'm going to shut up." He raised his hands in surrender but the smile didn't disappear from his lips.

"You're horrible, I swear," you said as you shook your head and sighed before getting out of bed.

"You too, Angel. do you sleep with his brother, kiss his best friend, aren't you the nicest girlfriend?" Well, you must have assumed that it was a long time before Megumi would act like a bitch again but somehow you felt it less rough than before. "Every man would desire a woman like you."

You didn't answer anything, there wasn't much to say, you had made your decisions, you would have to face the consequences at some point.

"You look like a virgin and act like a whore. I wonder how well trained Sukuna left you."

Part of him loved to see the way you squirmed at his words, even if you tried to keep that hard façade he could see through all the layers you had put on.

But the other party hated the fact that he knew that another man had had what he hadn't, that you had given him what he hadn't. His stomach ached with jealousy and envy.

Then there was total silence you slapped him on the cheek as hard as you had available, you didn't want to be violent but He brought out the worst in you.

"Shut up, you're no better than me."

Although he held his cheek as his skin warmed and turned a deep red thanks to the blow, he did nothing.

"I'm not but I'm not playing at being the sanctimonious woman of the town, Angel." He sneered. "It's funny how much you hide the fact that you're just a big attention slut."

"You're a fucking stupid megumi." You didn't feel like fighting but you didn't feel like hearing him talk like that about you either, although the plan was to ignore him you couldn't stay silent either.

You hated Megumi especially because he wasn't a good person either, you'd dare to say he was worse than you but he always said he was better because he didn't hide it, he's just a big idiot who thinks being evil is fun.

"Maybe." You hated the way he always made fun of you. "and Maybe you should breakup with Yuji."

"No." the subject had you tired, he told you that every fucking day and you couldn't take it anymore, you hated it.

"Why? You don't even like it, you said it over and over again."

"Not that I don't like it, but-" He interrupted you even though you didn't even know what you were planning to say, you didn't have any lies planned and no credible excuses either.

"But you're an attention whore." Again with the same chant, if you had a cent for every day Megumi doesn't call you a whore you'd have 0 cents and that number wouldn't increase.

"Shut up."

"Don't be angry, I just say what I see, Angel, don't be offended" It was also annoying as I would say things like that completely calmly and then feel stupid for letting it get you out of your mind.

"You're being mean on purpose again.  Why do you insist on this so much?"

He was silent for a moment that felt eternal, you were tired of not having answers from Megumi, he was completely changeable, one moment you are both fine and the next it seems like he hates you again. 

"Because I know you're not good, you're not enough for Yuji. You slept with his brother, you talk and talk about how you don't like him and you kissed me twice." You hated him for being right, you hated him for kissing you, you hated yourself for kissing him.

"Shut up, I didn't even know him when I was with Sukuna, I'm just confused and YOU kissed me when he wasn't my boyfriend yet." You tried to justify yourself even though you knew it was a weak defense. 

"You're just trying to justify yourself, but you know you're wrong, you look terrible."

You rolled your eyes, you were frustrated and angry, and the last thing you needed was feedback on your appearance. "Thank you, how kind."

"I'm serious, do you really look bad, tired, sad, what's going on?"  He got out of bed and slowly approached you. "Isn't it that the remorse of conscience is consuming you?"

"Stop talking nonsense." Megumi stood in front of you and put his hand on your cheek, but you slapped it away, "don't come close."

"Because you know you're not going to turn me down."

"You have no idea what I'm going to do."

"You're predictable, I've already checked it more than once."

"Stop talking like you're a fucking mastermind, you don't know me, you never will." You hated that he talked like he knew you, you hated that he talked like he had some control over you, you hated when he gave orders like he knew you were going to obey him, you hated his threats, you hated his insults, but you didn't hate him... The hope that he would change had vanished, but you kept calling him whenever you felt lonely, whenever you wanted a friend.

"You're a psychopath, Megumi." You didn't know what was wrong with him, but you didn't have to be very smart to know he wasn't normal.

"And you're a lying whore, it seems like we all have our flaws, don't we?"

Notes area

>Thanks for reading

>Comments, Feedback and suggestions are welcome.

Taglist

@d4rlinxs @anonnieghost @linaaeatsfamilies @sheluvzeren

[morteraphan]

Hello, Forgive me for this sudden question, I hope it is appropriate. I think you might have some experience.

Straight to the point, I would like to know how you (how to) grow a presence online as an artist. The algorithm is really bad in this era, and it's hard to get someone to see your work if you are a nobody.

I have been on social media for 5 years and tried all the methods I could. everything. I could. At one point got so desperate for attention started clout chasing for an audience, which ended up regretting and deleting an account with 9k random people. It is impossible to grow an art account by just posting. And I personally don't think engaging with others is a good way now, the art community used to be nice, but now people are all just so... different.

When I am drawing alone, I enjoy the process, and I want to show my art to others. I don't have people to share in real life, so social media is the only option. Yet ironically because of the algorithm mostly (and my very unlucky fortune), I don't have anyone to see my art. Literally no one. ( maybe only that one/two guys, which I'm grateful) I am just so tired of trying and failing again.

Sometimes when I see artists get all the attention and support, I can't help but feel jealous. Especially those who live on their ocs and can get people to engage with their oc universe. I envy them because I want to share mine as well. I don't crave much and don't need a thousand people, I just want my work to be seen and make myself feel worthy. It's true they say 'Don't care about popularity do art for yourself' but it's hard.

It has been a vicious cycle, and it has seriously affected my mental health. I used to be a super active artist, yet now I realise I don't like drawing that much anymore. I don't enjoy the only hobby I like, drawing. Because I know no matter how much effort I put into the artwork, no one is going to see it. Even though I like to draw, I can't bring up /finish larger works like I used to. When I think about drawing, it feels like a chore without a reward (external validation).

What I think upset me the most, is when someone managed to see my work on social media, they only spam likes and not follow... ? Because I only have like 10 followers. I don't know how to react anymore.

I have a dream to become a comic artist. I am afraid no one will see my work because I am not a well-known artist. I am so disappointed about everything. I just wish there was someone who could truly appreciate my efforts, and support my work so I may feel I have a purpose to keep on creating.

I am so sorry this turned out to be a long vent, I never told anyone before, I hope someone can hear my inner thoughts as an artist struggling to survive. 🙏

Uh, anon, I'm so sorry to read this. I understand what you're saying and I agree that the internet is a very cruel place for artists right now. Too much competition, algorithms that make it impossible to get seen, AI crap, etc.

Unfortunately, I'm not the kind of person who can tell you how to be successful. I have always been very bad at it myself. I have been posting for over 15 years - and only now have I started to interest more people in my characters (and still, I regularly see artists who are much more successful than me, and who are 10-15 years younger than me). Probably, my first success was the designs of anthro characters, but even when I returned to drawing people, I lost a lot - followers, patrons, mutuals. Of course, I don't complain and am very grateful for what I have. And I'm grateful to those people who support my work. It's just that I'm really not the kind of person who makes successful decisions in my own promotion.

From what I can see, people like fanart, fandoms, some crossovers, DnD. I don't suggest drawing what you don't like - because this will only lead to burnout. But maybe if you find some interesting niche for yourself, you will be able to find people with similar interests and start building your social circle. It's sad that there are no art forums left now, because it was a cool thing. Sometimes I even think about starting my own little forum lol. But still, there are places like Bluesky where artists are now building a new community and helping each other in promotion.

If you want to draw comics - start right now! Draw comics, use hashtags, use all available platforms. Don't try to think of something global, start with something simple and something that will bring you joy. People like comics because they often help to reveal the character better than illustrations. For example, drawing silly little strips really helped me, I started them as a rough sketch after a migraine, and now it is one of the pillars of my art.

Anyway, sorry if this didn't help you at all and my message was useless. I myself am a person with burnout and a very gloomy outlook on the future, and I'm learning to love drawing again like before. I wish you success in your art and don't lose heart - sometimes the path can be very difficult and long, but if you do something for the soul, in the end it will bring results. ❤️

[la-gotica-fantasma]

25 Writing Prompts -

I’m still struggling to think of prompt ideas, so this is more of me testing myself and then spewing my erred, unorthodox ways onto you guys. :}

★ - 15 dialogue prompts - ★

1) “No matter what picture I look at, it never looks the way I remember you.”

2) “What are you doing here?” “Waiting for you, like I promised I would.” “No, no. You can’t be here.”

3) “I’m sorry I’m the one you are cursed to love.” “I’m sorry you think it’s a curse to love you.”

4) “I miss you when you aren’t even gone.” “I grieve you when you aren’t even dead.”

5) “The pleasure is all mine.” “Yeah, I thought someone was hogging it.”

6) “What do you think the next life has in store for us?” “I don’t think we’ll get a next life, after all we’ve done.”

7) “Why do you do that?” “Shut your damn mouth when you’re talking to me.”

8) “This is unfair.” “What’s unfair is me having to live a life without you with me.”

9) “No, your living is suffering.” “Don’t you dare tell me how to live.”

10) “You need to acknowledge this is an episode.” “Why can’t I just have feelings? Why won’t you let me feel!”

11) “You need help. Like, real help.” “This is help.” “No, that’s you hurting yourself.”

12) “I’m proud of you.” “You’re what?” “Proud.” “I didn’t do anything, why are you proud?” “Because you did it so well.”

13) “I miss you, but," "But what?" "I don't need to see you."

14) “There’s nothing left of you, but I still feel you all around.” “I’m not dead.” “You should be.”

15) “When we get home, I’m going to love you so well.” “We aren’t making it out of this alive.” “I can love you in Hell, my love for you is unconditional.”

★ - 10 prompts (with dialogue examples) - ★

1) Character X, who always felt love-starved, is given love by Character Y. And now that Character X feels full, they hate it.

"I believe I'm beginning to choke on your love."

2) Character Y goes missing, only when Character X finds them, something’s different about them.

"Are you ignoring my eyes or are you unable to meet them?"

3) Character X sees Character Y being accused of practicing witchcraft, rushing to the rescue only to find out Character Y really did practice witchcraft.

"I didn't know you were actually..." "Careful with what you say, I might just turn you into a frog." "Oh. No, no thank you." "Not actually, dummy."

4) Character X believes love doesn’t have requirements, while Character Y believes that nothing is free—especially something as intricate and seemingly indispensable as love.

"Love doesn't require you losing yourself! Love doesn't require anything but you!" "Nothing in life is free, and you're ignorant for thinking otherwise."

5) Character X preaches their love for Character Y in private, but in public Character X curses the ground Character Y walks on.

“I can’t tell if you love me, or just want to.”

6) Character X is an avid compulsive liar, they stumble upon Character Y, who is secretly a pathological liar. Character X lies and Character Y catches it, but instead of calling each other out; they work together to catch one another from getting caught.

“Lie for one another?” “You want safety in your lies? We can share.”

7) Character X being gentle with Character Y, leaving Character Y scared of when Character X will snap and hurt them.

“When does the façade drop?” “What ‘façade’?” “The that façade you are.”

8) Character Y falls into insanity, eventually being coined as a heretic. Character Y begins to doubt the existence of themselves, only with Character X to keep them afloat.

“It’s all good! You’re here, I’m here, everyone’s here.” “Where is ‘Here’..?”

9) Character X is overly pious, revolving their entire world around their belief system. Until they meet a very sacrilegious Character Y, who inadvertently makes Character X choose between their religion or Character Y.

"God, please do forgive me for rejecting Heaven's Gates. The love they preach to me is not only faith."

10) Character X has a savior complex, while Character Y doesn’t like to let shit slide.

“You’re not a savior! You just think you are!” “I’ve saved plenty of people!” “Yet none of them actually needed saving.”

[verdancy-hime]

It's trying to kill her.

She's trying to kill herself instead.

Her alarm clock says "It's not a fashion statement, it's a deathwish."

The first time you met her, she was yelling at the cars in the road to get her to hit her to buy her a computer. Or was it that she was wearing all different colors of lipgloss around her neck and coming out of a tunnel full of bats and thinking "I am suddenly certain that the best years of my life are all behind me. I am going to kill myself one day." And you thought "that's a weird thing for a second grader to be thinking. Girls usually aren't that depressed until they have tits."

One of them keeps talking about how she moved on and she's healthy now.

The other has been saying over and over that she tries not to think about it because she knows they'll lock her up one day. She knows they made her wrong on purpose. She knows they have been trying to fix her but she won't fix. There's always some battle of wits and will and they all accuse her of being greedy but she always wins and always wonders why they didn't try bribery when bribery always works. She is lying on a floor at a party among a group of beautiful girls and you don't know why you are listening to her say this instead of them. This keeps happening. You will find her next to a girl with a perfect face for this moment, the girl will lick your shoulder blade. You wind up having a conversation about some book you never read and how you would like it based on this movie you mentioned. The other girl crawls into your lap. She walks over to your friend and starts asking him questions. You buy the book the next day. It sits on the shelf for three years after the girl with the face and the lips and the... other assets is gone. There are other girls in the meantime. You don't read it but you don't throw it away. One night you are in a new place and nothing is unpacked and you can't sleep and you can't even look at any more liquor after the last three weeks and here is this book. And on the first page when you open it up, you are reintroduced to yourself that year back then. And you know which girl is the girl who is telling the truth about who she is because she dies in the book. Unmistakably, she dies. And it's not even the end of the story. It's not the point of it. It's like here you are on the night you met and she dies and here you are going through all these miseries that hadn't happened yet when the book was written. And here you are on the next page of your own life.

You know it was her because she wants to. She talks about wanting everything, how to do anything. How to get away with it. How to make ugly things beautiful and evil things good and stupid things smart. but the one thing that never changes is that she stares into a cup or a light for too long, she writes a story, she tells you about things she's done-

You go to admire her for her bravery or what she's done. She can lie and say what she's supposed to say- yes, I know , I'm great. Or she says "people think I'm brave but really I just already have to live with the things they're afraid of. I'm not afraid of losing the things they have because I don't have them. And If I get stuck, I always think 'I'll just kill myself if this doesn't work."

You know it's her because she keeps getting into cars with boys because she thinks maybe one will murder her. And when she realizes they want to take her home and keep her, she stops doing that and starts asking them why they don't love their empty houses. And when she gets urged to make a wish, everyone offers her things she wants but the only wish she will take is "I wish I was dead." And the only way to talk her out of it is to say someone else will also die. And one day, you turn on your TV and it has a girl and it's not her face and it's not her name and it's not her voice speaking in her register and she dies and says everyone else will live if she does it. And one day you, even you, turn on the car radio and here's a song about her sung by someone who looks like her and sounds like her and you don't remember the story about how she read a book about a vampire hunter with a harem and said she didn't like it because the girl always is smug and mean about other women's makeup but a girl named after a legend in Arthurian myth put it in her face when she went out into the snow and walked around screaming for hours when she fell asleep next to a girl her friends tried to set her up with at a party after finding out she was too young and wrapping her in a blanket and talking to her a while. The cute hacker girl with the knee socks she bought her who begged to be turned into a girl and rescued from her parents who wanted to be a boy was giggling with another teenage girl that if you drink rum and diet coke it tastes just like skittles. Neither one of them were wearing any clothes. She went outside and screamed and screamed and screamed and after that night she couldn't sing anymore. Before that she got compliments. Sometimes. So she went inside and this girl named after a boy who went insane and died as a tree after he drank some potion and fell in love with the king's girl handed her a book so she would have something to do other than throw up from crying. Her father used to yell at her for crying so hard it made her sick. She still does it. Singing or no singing, her lungs still do that. Too big for the rest of her. She tells you the only thing she remembered was "you don't give somebody to the monsters." And the rest was just bullshit. And she tells you that she doesn't want anyone else to die when she dies.

And she tells you that she used to talk to this person. One she made up.

So you know it's worse than the time where she lost her singing voice when one day you see her saying there was this cult that she thinks tricks people into exorcising their own souls, they say it's mindfulness and they used to say it was demons they cast out. But what happens if you have too many souls? What then? She says she beat them but they killed her cat, but now her cat brings the souls back. She says now they want to kill her, but that's okay. Because no one else will die with her.

You know the other her is fake because it's immortal, but it writes songs about how it doesn't want to die. Maybe she might develop jealousy or pettiness or insecurity or rage or grief or anything else. She would never give up her death.

But you turn on the television, you go to read a book

And all the monsters aren't monsters, they're just people she used to know.

"What's that even supposed to mean, 'It's not her'? If it looks like her, talks like her, acts like her, thinks like her, thinks it IS her, who's to say that it is NOT her?"

[bellysoupset]

Don't you guys just love when you start writing for funsies and then it turns into a mini therapy session? Anyway, this one is set in the future, as per usual will be in order in the masterlist.

----------------------------

For as long as Giuseppe had known his son, which was all twenty five years of his life, Vince had been stubborn. He wasn't arrogant, at least Beppe didn't think so, but goddammit if the kid wasn't stubborn.

Magda said it was because he had lived as an only child for seven years before being forced to share everything, which made sense, but Giuseppe thought was bullshit, because Ma was just as stubborn as Vince was. If anything, he was simply mimicking his mother.

Today, Vince's eyes were extra sparkly and his cheeks were flushed under the five o'clock shadow prickling his cheeks. Giuseppe didn't think he'd ever get used to the fact his son was just as tall as him and had a beard, urgh.

Whatever, his twenty five year old had a fever, that was a fact. Another fact was that he was vehemently denying it.

Sophia was putting all her stuff in boxes, which was a heartbreak on its own and Giuseppe was doing his damn best of not thinking about that, so his attention was focused on Vince, as he watched the man walk around his sister's room like an obedient puppy and gather all the items she solicited.

He'd be a good husband, Giuseppe snorted to himself, leaning against the doorway as he watched the scene.

"Babbo can I take it?" Sophia raised the leather jacket he had let her borrow four years before and had never seen again since. It was oversized on her, but the way her nails sank on the soft leather was a clear tell she was going to die before returning it.

"Of course, piccolina," he waved off her concerns. Hell, if she wanted to pack him and take him to college with her, Giuseppe was more than willing to go. Across the room, Vince muffled a string of hearty coughs in the crook of his elbow.

"Don't cough on my make up!" Sophia cried out, abandoning the leather jacket on top of her suitcase so she could rush to Vince's side and shove him away from her dresser, "you'll get your germs all over it!"

"I'm not sick," Vin grumbled, which would be a lot more convincing if it wasn't for his raspy voice and red cheeks. Giuseppe bit out a smile.

"You hear that, Soph? He's not sick."

"Yeah, right," Sophia rolled her eyes, "get my boots on the top shelf?"

Vince was stubborn and Sophia was bossy, Giuseppe rolled his eyes, thinking if they had made some big mistake raising them. He watched Vin walk inside of her cramped, not even a real walk-in, closet and start to remove all of the boots.

The repetitive movement of grabbing a pair and then crouching down to plant it carefully on the ground was clearly doing a number on him, as Giuseppe watched his son blink several times as if he was dizzy and gulp down.

"Vince, sit down before you topple over."

"I'm fine," he insisted, continuing at the task, "stop worrying."

"Not worried," Giuseppe shrugged, crossing his arms to his chest and leaning his head against the door. He looked around the room, searching for the trashcan just in case.

"Babbo," Sophia's tone was whiny and telling, "can we order in tonight?"

In other households Giuseppe knew kids didn't ask their parents these things and maybe it was for the best, self sufficient children and all that. However Vince had turned out fine, right?

"There's leftovers-"

"Babbo, per favore," she clasped her hands, pouting, and behind her Beppe saw Vince lean his back against her closet's door, planting his hands on his knees as he took measured breaths.

"What are you thinking? Sushi again?" Alright, maybe he was being a bit of a dick and if Ma was there she'd give him grief, but it was extremely amusing to see Vince's face drain of all color at the mention of food. Not sick, uh.

"Indian?" Sophia perked up, face flushing and a bright smile on, "chicken tikka masala sounds amazing, right?"

He pressed his lips together not to laugh as Vince gagged, silently, "it sounds delicious, piccolina. Vin, what do you want to order?"

Sophia turned to look at him, then let out a frustrated groan, "don't puke on my boots, oh my God!" she almost shrieked, jumping from her bed and rushing to him, grabbing his arm, "what's wrong with you, you're sick, go sit in the bathroom! It's like you're a little kid!"

Giuseppe tried really hard not to chuckle as he watched his 6'4 and wide as a refrigerator son be dragged away by his 5'5, cheerleader built daughter. What a sight.

"Babbo tell him to get out!"

"I am FINE-"

"Vicenzo," enough was enough, Giuseppe decided. Time to act like the responsible adult he was, "smettere," he reached in, so he could wrap his arm around Vin's back, pulling him closer, "c'mon, I'll help you to bed."

"He's like a big fucking baby," Sophia groaned, continuing to kick both of them out and Giuseppe glared at her over his shoulder.

"Be nice, he's sick."

"I'm not sick," Vince repeated, stumbling and almost falling and taking his father with him. Sophia rolled her eyes.

"See, he's not sick," she scoffed, just as Vin let out a groan, wrapping an arm around his stomach.

Fun over, Giuseppe thought, pulling him with all his force all the way to his suite at the end of the hallway. They barely made it inside, Vince falling with the grace of a drunk elephant, bringing the older man down with him as a big wave of vomit splattered inside the toilet, splashing on the seat.

"Fuck-" he gasped, spine curling as he retched again, "ugh..."

"Get it up, piccolino," Beppe sighed, moving so he could cup Vin's forehead, pushing back his curls. Vin was burning up and his father wasn't sure if the nausea was because it was a stomach flu or because of the high fever, "cazzo, Vince..."

"I'msorry," he slurred a burp bringing up more of his lunch. He sounded incredibly pathetic and Giuseppe's heart squeezed, causing him to plant a kiss on top of his son's curls.

"Nothing to be sorry," he promised, "get it out and I'll get you into bed."

"Sophia-"

"Will be able to pack just fine without your help," he rolled his eyes, but Vin shook his head, clumsily reaching for the toilet paper and wrinkling the whole roll as he grabbed a couple sheets and wiped his chin and the ropey saliva hanging from his bottom lip.

"Can't be sick," he groaned, throwing the tissues inside the toilet and pressing his forehead to the porcelain rim, "want to help-Uurp- her..."

Giuseppe was assaulted with a memory, Vince at the age of 10, sick with a sinus infection and crying because he had to stay home while his baby sister got to go to the daycare. Finding Sophia wrapped up in his arms like a teddy bear as soon as she got home.

"I know," he ran his fingers through Vince's curls, "I know it's hard to see her growing up, trust me, I know."

Vin let out another groan, breathing out slowly as a fresh wave of nausea rolled through him, "I'm pathetic," he decided, crumpling to the side so he was lying on the cold tiles of the bathroom and could press his heated face to his father's lap. Giuseppe let out a sigh at the position, not one bit happy that he hadn't managed to get him into bed before the collapse, but still he only shuffled around so they were more comfortable in the cramped space.

"Well, I think you might just get that from me," he teased, causing Vince to muffle a chuckle against his thigh, which morphed into a coughing fit. He rubbed his son's back, wondering if he should holler for Soph to get the first aid kit, since he clearly wasn't gonna move, "that's fine, growing up it's good, Vin," he pressed the back of his hand against Vin's heated cheeks, "one day you'll be trapped by your kid in the cold bathroom floor."

"I'm not trapping you," Vince grumbled, but instead of moving away, he only squirmed so they were pressed closer, "we're cuddling."

"Uh-hum," Giuseppe smiled, "cuddling, just like you're not sick."