#so i just decided to be An Adult and ask her for the album name and i found it LMAO

[todayisafridaynight]

You Be Tails, I’ll Be Sonic by adtr is also very masadai to me, which is hilarious actually

most insane title for this song but you're also right so i'm putting it on the playlist

[oceandolores]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 2

Dbf! Joel Miller x female reader

"𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘺 𝘥𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘺 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘦,"

summary: as time progressed, Joel notice something's wrong and then at one night, You stood at his door, looking disheveled and distressed, your face streaked with tears and your clothes rumpled. 

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, ped0ph!l1a, cann1bal!sm, human traff1ck1ng, r4p3, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 2

masterlist of the series!

previous | chapter one

next | chapter three

Saturday arrived with a sense of dread you couldn’t shake. The dinner invitation at Tommy and Maria's hung over your head like a dark cloud. Joel had decided to come, partly due to Ellie and Tommy's insistence, and also because it was a chance to catch up with your family, the Gibsons.

The aftermath of last Sunday's beating from your father for abandoning your duty at church service had left you changed. The light in your eyes had dimmed, replaced by a quiet resilience. Your body was still sore, the bruises and scars not fully healed, making even the simplest movements painful.

You worried some of the wounds might be infected, as you had been running a high fever and coughing for days. Your mother was concerned but too scared to take you to the hospital. In this small town, everyone knew each other, and a trip to the doctor would raise questions. Your family's reputation, especially with your father being the town preacher, was paramount. So, your mother did her best to care for you at home, but it wasn't enough.

You still went to school, hiding your condition under oversized sweaters. You had no close friends, just a few acquaintances, but you were well-known as one of the prettiest girls and the preacher's daughter. Boys liked you, always trying to get close, but you kept your distance. One day at school, Ellie noticed you didn't look well and asked if you were sick. You lied, saying you were fine.

"You sure? You don't look so good," Ellie said, her eyes filled with concern.

"I'm fine, Ellie, really. Just tired from studying for finals," you replied, forcing a smile.

Ellie frowned, clearly unconvinced. "If you say so. Just... take care of yourself, okay?"

"I will," you promised, though you weren't sure if it was a promise you could keep.

As one of the smartest students, your teachers noticed your decline and sent you to the school's psychologist. The psychologist observed your physical and mental changes, but you lied again, blaming sleepless nights spent preparing for graduation.

As your family prepared to go to the Millers, you told your mother you might not be able to go because your body was still sore. The scars hadn't healed, and you worried about infection. You'd had a high fever for days.

"Mama, I don't think I can go tonight. My body still hurts so much," you said, your voice weak.

Your mother, worried but too afraid to confront your father, insisted you come. "You know your father will be angry if you don't come. It's better if you come, even if you're not feeling well," she said, her voice trembling.

Reluctantly, you agreed. For the first time in a while, you applied makeup to cover the bruises on your skin, arms, and the corners of your eyes and cheeks. Your father reminded you to behave, to maintain decorum as a preacher's daughter, and not to embarrass him.

"Remember, you represent this family. Behave yourself and don't cause any trouble," your father said sternly.

"Yes, Father," you replied, obedient as always, though the words felt heavy on your tongue. The weight of his expectations bore down on you, threatening to crush the fragile strength you had left.

At Tommy and Maria's house, Joel and Ellie were already there. Your family arrived at their front door, your mother's grip on the pasta dish tightening as if it were a lifeline.

Maria opened the door with a warm smile, her eyes lighting up at the sight of your family. "Oh, Evelyn! Father Gibson! It's so good to see you all. Come in, come in!"

Your mother returned the smile, albeit a bit strained. "Thank you, Maria. We brought some pasta for adding some to the dishes."

"Oh, Evelyn, this pasta looks amazing. Thank you so much," Maria said, taking the dish and placing a gentle hand on your mother's arm. "You didn't have to go through all this trouble."

"It's no trouble at all," your mother replied, her voice soft. "It's the least we could do."

Maria led you all inside, the house filled with the comforting aroma of home-cooked food. You stepped in and immediately met Ellie.

"Hey, how are you? You didn't look so good at school the other day," she said, her voice full of concern.

"I'm okay, just a bit under the weather," you lied, trying to sound convincing.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Ellie asked again, her eyes narrowing with worry. "You really didn't look well. Are you getting enough rest?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," you insisted, forcing a smile. "Just tired from all the studying for finals."

Ellie wasn't convinced but nodded. "Alright, but if you need anything, just let me know, okay? We can study together if that helps."

"Thank you, Ellie. I appreciate it," you said, grateful for her concern but knowing you had to keep your secrets hidden.

Maria, finishing her conversation with your mother, turned her attention to you. "Sweetheart, you look a bit pale. Are you feeling alright?"

In front of your parents, you forced another smile. "I'm fine, really. Just a bit tired," you said, your voice steady but hollow.

Your mother quickly added to the lie, her voice filled with false cheerfulness. "Oh, you know Maria. She's almost graduate and been working so hard on her studies. It's just stress, really, right honey?" You nodded to your mother.

Your father, ever the manipulator, chimed in with a practiced smile. "She's fine, just been studying hard for her finals. Nothing to worry about."

Maria looked unconvinced but didn't press further. It was just another sad reminder of the facade your family maintained, the preacher's household hiding its cracks beneath a veneer of perfection.

You moved further into the house, your father's charm offensive continuing as he greeted Tommy. "Tommy, good to see you! How's everything going?"

"Going well, Tony. Just keeping busy with the business and this little guy," Tommy said, gesturing to his newborn son, Luke.

"He's adorable," you said, managing a genuine smile as you looked at the baby. For a moment, the weight on your shoulders lightened.

"Thank you," Tommy said proudly. "He's a handful, but we're loving every minute."

As you continued to mingle, you felt Joel's eyes on you. He was helping Tommy with the food, but his concern was palpable. He approached you, his expression serious.

You smiled at Joel, remembering the last time you interacted with him by the lake. That memory was a rare bright spot amidst the pain your father had caused after it.

"Hey, Joel. Good to see you here," you said, wondering why he decided to come. You tried to lighten the mood, despite the pain radiating through your body with every movement. The fabric of your clothes rubbed against your skin, irritating the unhealed scars, but you did your best to endure it.

"Ellie and Tommy wouldn't take no for an answer," Joel replied, his tone a mix of annoyance and warmth.

You chuckled softly, though the motion sent a sharp pain through your ribs. "They can be pretty persuasive."

Joel's eyes softened slightly, but his concern remained. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm fine," you lied, forcing a smile. "Just tired from all the studying. It's near my graduation, and I have to prepare for the finals."

Joel's eyes lingered on you, taking in the pallor of your skin and the dark circles under your eyes. "You look sick. Are you okay?" he asked, his voice tinged with worry.

You hesitated, feeling the weight of his concern. Joel was a man of few words, often letting his actions speak for him. His gruff exterior hid a deeply protective nature, one that he rarely showed to anyone. "I'm okay, really. Just a bit run down," you replied, trying to sound convincing.

Joel frowned, clearly not convinced, but he decided to lighten the mood. "So, how's school going? When are the big finals?"

You forced a smile, trying to ease the tension. "Yeah, finals are coming up. Lots of studying and late nights."

Joel nodded, his eyes never leaving your face. "I remember those days. Ellie gives me a hard time about studying too. But she's a smart kid, just like you."

"Thanks, Joel," you said softly, appreciating his attempt to comfort you. You cracked a small joke, trying to lighten the mood. "I just hope I don't end up like a zombie by the end of it."

Joel chuckled, though his eyes remained serious. He noticed how you occasionally winced and shifted your weight, clearly in pain. "You sure everything's okay at home?" he asked gently.

"Everything's great," you lied, remembering your father's stern warning. "Just the usual stress of school and stuff."

Joel's concern deepened, but he didn't push further. But before Joel could probe further, your father suddenly joined the conversation, his presence commanding attention.

"Joel, good to see you," he said with a broad smile that didn't reach his eyes. "What are you two talking about?"

Joel straightened, his demeanor shifting. "Just catching up, Reverend."

Your father chuckled, waving his hand dismissively. "Joel, we’re at dinner. Call me Tony. We’re friends, remember?"

"Sure, Tony," Joel said, though the familiarity felt forced.

"How's the construction business going, Joel?" your father asked, his tone amiable.

"Busy as always," Joel replied, his eyes drifting back to you occasionally. "But it's good. Keeps me occupied."

Your father nodded, pretending to be interested. "That's great to hear. We should get together sometime, reminisce about the old days."

Joel's gaze met yours briefly, and you felt a flutter of something in your chest. "Yeah, that sounds good," he said, his voice lacking enthusiasm but polite nonetheless.

As they continued to talk, you couldn't help but steal glances at Joel, feeling a strange sense of longing. His concern was genuine, unlike the superficial care your father displayed. It made you yearn for something more, something real.

Joel's eyes met yours again, and for a moment, it felt like he could see everything you were hiding. His concern was like a warm blanket on a cold night, a small comfort in the midst of your storm. You smiled at him, a silent thank you for his kindness, and he returned the gesture with a slight nod.

"You remember the time we went fishing at the lake, Joel?" your father said, trying to sound nostalgic. "We caught that huge bass, and you almost fell in trying to reel it in."

Joel smiled, though it was a shadow of his usual warmth. "Yeah, I remember. Good times."

You watched the exchange, feeling a pang of longing. Joel's presence was a reminder of what you were missing – genuine care and concern, something your father could never provide.

As dinner progressed, everyone was making conversations and catching up. You remained silent, but to avoid suspicion, you occasionally joined in, talking to Ellie and responding when someone addressed you. Joel observed quietly, speaking only when necessary or when someone engaged him directly. His occasional glances toward you felt like anchors, ensuring you didn’t drift too far into the depths of your own discomfort.

When it was time to sit down for the meal, you ended up seated across from Joel. Your father, ever the sociable one, continued to dominate the conversation, regaling everyone with stories and jokes. You picked at your food, the pain in your body making it hard to eat.

Joel noticed your discomfort, his eyes filled with quiet concern. He whispered after you shifted uncomfortably for the umpteenth time, "You sure you're okay?" this time in a whisper so your father wouldn’t hear.

You forced another smile. "I'm fine, Joel. Just tired."

He didn't look convinced, but he let it go, respecting your space. His presence, though, was a constant reminder that someone cared, even if you couldn't fully accept it.

The conversation flowed around you, snippets of dialogue filling the air.

"So, Ellie," your mother said, smiling warmly, "how's school treating you?"

"It's good, Mrs. Gibson. A lot of work, but I'm managing," Ellie replied, glancing at you with a reassuring smile.

Your father, ever the charming host, turned to Tommy. "And how's the construction business? Keeping you busy, I hope?"

Tommy laughed. "Busy doesn't even begin to cover it. We're swamped, but that's a good problem to have."

Joel's eyes flicked back to you as you winced slightly, shifting in your seat. He could see the struggle in your movements, the way you tried to hide your pain. His gaze softened, but he remained silent, respecting your space.

Tommy, clearly enjoying the topic, continued with enthusiasm. "We’re working on this big project downtown. It’s a major redevelopment of an old warehouse into luxury apartments. It's been a challenge, but it’s rewarding. We’re talking high-end finishes, state-of-the-art amenities. It’s a bit of a tightrope walk between maintaining the budget and meeting the client’s vision."

Your father, clearly interested, responded with a knowing nod. "Sounds like a big undertaking. How’s the team handling the pressure?"

Tommy grinned. "We’ve got a solid crew, but it’s been intense. Lots of late nights and early mornings. Joel’s seen the stress firsthand. He’s been around to lend a hand whenever things get tight."

Tommy’s gaze turned to Joel, as if inviting him to elaborate. "Right, Joel? You’ve had your fair share of those late nights, haven’t you?"

Joel nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Yeah, late nights and long days. It’s all part of the job. We keep pushing through because, in the end, it’s worth it."

Your father leaned in, his curiosity piqued. "You’ve been in the business a long time, Joel. What’s been the biggest challenge for you lately?"

Joel paused for a moment, thinking. "The biggest challenge is always adapting to new demands. Clients want more, and sometimes it feels like we’re racing against the clock. But we get it done."

Tommy, sensing an opportunity to keep the conversation lively, added, "Joel’s been great about handling the unexpected. I remember one time we had a major issue with a contractor, and Joel stepped in and saved the day."

Joel’s expression remained neutral, but there was a glimmer of appreciation in his eyes for Tommy’s support. "Just doing what needs to be done," he said.

Your mother’s voice was bright and enthusiastic as she shifted the topic. "Tommy, Maria, how’s little Luke doing? I can't believe how quickly he's growing."

Maria’s face lit up with pride. "He’s amazing. It’s been an adjustment, but we’re loving every moment of it. He’s starting to smile more, and it's just the sweetest thing."

Your mother nodded approvingly, her smile wide. "Oh, that’s wonderful! It’s such a joy to watch them grow. We’ve always said that parenting is the most rewarding experience."

The words felt like a raw wound being picked at, each one a reminder of the dissonance between their image of perfect parenting and your own reality. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, feeling the sharp pangs of pain that only seemed to intensify with every sugary comment.

Your father, ever the performer, joined in with his own brand of parental wisdom. "Yes, it’s true. Parenting brings out the best in you. It's about guiding them, teaching them right from wrong, and showing them how to navigate the world."

Tommy, clearly enjoying the turn of conversation, added, "Absolutely. We’ve had our challenges, but it’s worth it to see Luke grow and thrive. Every milestone is a victory."

Your mother leaned in with an air of authority. "And don’t forget the importance of structure and discipline. It’s all about finding that balance and being consistent. We always said that’s key to raising well-rounded children."

As the conversation continued, your parents spoke in glowing terms about their parenting philosophy, each statement reinforcing the image of perfection they projected. The more they spoke, the more you felt the weight of their insincerity.

The pain you were trying to suppress seemed to magnify with every word. You gripped your fork tighter, the effort making your knuckles white. You wanted to scream at the facade, the false sense of superiority they exuded while completely ignoring the reality of your struggles.

Joel’s eyes flicked back to you repeatedly, his concern growing more evident with each shift in your posture. He watched as you tried to mask your discomfort, his gaze softening as he saw the strain on your face.

Maria, ever perceptive, noticed the change in your demeanor as well. "Everything alright, sweetheart?" she asked gently, her voice filled with genuine concern.

You forced another smile, though it felt like a mask slipping off. "Just a bit tired, Maria. Nothing to worry about."

Maria didn’t press further but her gaze remained concerned. She glanced at Joel, who gave a subtle nod, acknowledging her unspoken question. Joel’s eyes continued to linger on you, the concern etched deeply into his expression.

As the conversation shifted to a more religious tone, your father, ever the preacher, began to elaborate on his views. His voice took on that familiar, reverent cadence. "Children are a gift from God," he said, his eyes sweeping over the table as if to bless it with his words. "They are entrusted to us to guide, nurture, and instill the values that will shape their futures. It's a sacred duty, one that brings us closer to our faith and to each other."

He continued, the fervor in his voice rising, "The Bible teaches us that we are stewards of these precious souls. Our responsibility is not just to provide for their physical needs, but to mold their character, teach them right from wrong, and guide them in the ways of the Lord."

The words, so full of sanctimonious zeal, felt like a punch to your gut. Each statement was a cruel reminder of the gap between his idealized view of parenting and the harsh reality of your own life. You could feel your discomfort intensify, a wave of nausea threatening to overwhelm you.

Joel’s gaze shifted between your father’s preachy sermon and your growing distress. His brow furrowed, sensing the tension in the room. He saw you clutching your stomach, your face growing pale. Maria’s concern mirrored his as she glanced at you, her eyes filled with empathy.

Feeling trapped, you struggled to maintain composure, but the discomfort was becoming unbearable. You gripped the edge of the table, your knuckles turning white. The facade of your father's perfect parenting began to feel like a cruel joke, and the more he spoke, the harder it became to stay seated.

Finally, unable to endure any more, you excused yourself. "Excuse me, I need to use the bathroom," you said, standing up quickly. Your voice was strained, but you tried to keep it steady.

Your father’s smile didn’t waver, but there was a coldness in his eyes that made you shiver. "Sit down, dear. It’s not polite to excuse yourself while others are speaking. We’re all here to enjoy each other’s company." The reprimand felt like a vise tightening around you.

You glanced around the table, feeling the pressure of everyone’s gaze. "I really need to go," you said, your voice trembling slightly as you tried to hold your ground.

Your father’s smile turned colder, and the sharpness in his tone cut through the tension. "If you must go," he said, his eyes narrowing slightly as if warning you not to embarrass him further. "But do you know where the bathroom is? Don't want to bother Tommy and Maria, they are still eating,"

Before you or Tommy an Maria could respond, Joel’s voice cut in, low and steady. "I can show her where it is. I’m finished eating, so I can walk her there."

Your father’s eyes flicked to Joel, his expression softening slightly in a forced show of graciousness. "Thank you, Joel."

You nodded gratefully, feeling a small measure of relief as you met Joel’s concerned gaze. He stood up, his movements deliberate and calm. Maria was occupied with Evelyn, and Ellie was still eating, leaving Joel as the most suitable candidate to help you.

Joel approached you quietly, his demeanor gentle as he offered a reassuring smile. "Come on, I'll show you the way."

You nodded, standing up with a sense of cautious relief. As you walked toward the hallway with Joel, you could feel the weight of the conversation still hanging over you. Joel’s presence was a quiet comfort, his concern a stark contrast to the harshness of your father’s demeanor.

As you made your way down the hall, Joel glanced at you, his eyes filled with genuine worry. "You feeling okay, kid?"

You managed a small, appreciative smile. "I'm good, thanks, Joel."

He gave a reassuring nod as you approached the bathroom door. "I’ll be right here if you need anything. Just take your time."

As you stepped inside the bathroom, the coolness of the tile against your skin was a brief respite from the tension. You leaned against the sink, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. The solitude offered a momentary escape from the scrutiny and discomfort you’d felt at the table.

With trembling hands, you slowly opened your dress to check the scars, the ones that had been worsening over the past few days. The sight of them made your heart sink further. They were inflamed, bruised, and itching painfully. You traced the edges with your fingertips, and the pain was sharp and immediate. A stifled hiss escaped your lips as tears welled up in your eyes. The physical agony was overwhelming, but it was compounded by the emotional turmoil of the evening.

You tried to steady your breathing, but the pain made it difficult. Your fingers brushed the scars again, and a small, anguished cry escaped you. The pain was almost unbearable, and you felt the tears streaming down your face uncontrollably.

From outside the door, Joel’s voice cut through the quiet. "Kid, is everything alright in there?"

His voice, tinged with concern, snapped you back to reality. You quickly wiped your tears, trying to compose yourself. "I’m fine, Joel. Just... give me a minute."

There was a moment of silence before Joel spoke again, his voice gentle but firm. "If something’s wrong, you can tell me. I’m here to help."

You hesitated, the pain and fear making it hard to respond. "I... it’s just—it's nothing serious. I’ll be out in a second."

After a few deep breaths and a final check, you composed yourself as best as you could. You pulled your dress back into place, the physical discomfort still sharp but slightly more manageable. You wiped away the remaining tears, trying to regain your composure.

Opening the bathroom door, you found Joel still standing there, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of concern and patience. You offered him a shaky smile, hoping to convey that you were alright. "Thanks for waiting."

Joel’s gaze lingered on you, his concern deepening as he took in the faint tremble in your hands and the redness in your eyes. "You okay, kid?"

You nodded and smiled, trying to appear nonchalant. "Yeah, why wouldn't I?"

Joel didn't respond immediately, his eyes searching yours for the truth. “You sure? You look...like you're in pain."

Your smile faltered, and you looked down, unable to maintain the facade under his steady gaze. “It’s nothing,” you mumbled, trying to deflect. “Just...school stress."

Joel's eyes narrowed slightly, but he decided not to push further. "Alright, if you say so. Let’s get back to dinner.”

You both returned to the dining room, where the atmosphere had lightened considerably. The meal continued with lively conversation, the clinking of silverware, and the warm glow of shared company.

After dinner, your mom joined Maria in the kitchen to help with the dishes, their laughter and chatter floating through the house. Outside, your father, Tommy, and Joel settled on the backyard porch, their conversation punctuated by the occasional sound of a beer bottle opening or the murmur of crickets.

You found yourself in the living room with Ellie, who was scrolling through her phone while little Luke slept peacefully on the couch. You took a seat next to her, and she looked up, smiling.

"Hey," you said, leaning back into the cushions. "How's school been for you?"

Ellie shrugged, putting her phone down. "It's alright, I guess. Same old stuff. How about you? Finals must be tough, huh?"

"Yeah, they are," you admitted. "But it's almost over. Just a few more months, and then we're done."

Ellie grinned. "Bet you can't wait to get out of here."

You laughed softly. "Yeah, it's definitely time for a change. How about you? Any plans after high school?"

"Maybe college, if I can figure out what I want to do," Ellie replied. "So...Tell me, are there any boys at school you've got your eye on?" She tease giving you a smirk.

You blushed, shaking your head. "No, not really."

Ellie rolled her eyes playfully. "Oh, come on. Everyone knows you're like the most popular girl in school. The boys are all over you."

You sighed, feeling a mix of amusement and exasperation. "I can't say I'm like that and it's not quite like that. They're just...curious, I guess."

"Curious about what?" Ellie asked, raising an eyebrow.

You hesitated, then shrugged. "I don't know, it seems like they're curious about me."

Ellie then brought up what she saw a week ago. "So...don't want to be nosy, but I saw you with Jamie the other day. Is he the one?" She gave you a smirk, clearly enjoying teasing you.

You rolled your eyes and shook your head. "No, he's just a friend."

"Come on, you can tell me," Ellie insisted, nudging you playfully.

You blushed and tried to deflect, but Ellie wasn't letting up. "Stop, Ellie. It was nothing."

Ellie grinned, leaning in closer. "Okay, but don't tell anyone. Jamie's been trying to get close to me. It's been going on for two months now. We’ve gone out a few times. He’s kissed me, but it hasn’t gone beyond that."

Ellie raised an eyebrow, looking more serious. “And he’s asking for more, isn’t he?”

You nodded, feeling a knot of confusion and frustration in your chest. “Yeah. He keeps bringing up sex, but I’ve told him I’m not ready. He said he’d wait, but he keeps asking. I don’t know what to do.”

Ellie leaned back, her expression thoughtful. “Jamie’s the captain of the football team, right? Popular, blonde, not too smart?”

“Yeah, that’s him,” you confirmed, sighing. “He’s nice, but this pressure... I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”

Ellie nodded understandingly. “You shouldn’t feel pressured to do anything you’re not ready for. If Jamie really cares about you, he’ll respect your boundaries. And if he doesn’t, then he’s not worth it.”

You sighed again, the weight of your father's teachings pressing down on you. "But... I’m afraid he’ll be disappointed if I don’t do what he wants. Jamie is nice and polite. His family has giving our church a lot...he also giving me a lot of nice stuff, like dress, necklace and all. My dad always said if someone’s nice to you, you should be nice back. And always obey men because they’re higher in status than women."

Ellie’s eyes widened in disbelief. "Who told you that?"

You shrugged, feeling a bit defensive. "My father."

Ellie shook her head, her expression turning serious. "That’s...kinda messed up. Just because someone’s nice doesn’t mean you owe them anything, especially not your body. And men aren’t superior to women. We’re all equal."

You bit your lip, considering her words. "But that’s how my daddy raised me, Ellie. He always says women should obey men."

Ellie leaned forward, her eyes filled with conviction. "Well, according on how Joel raise me. He taught me to stand up for myself and that I’m just as important as any man. It’s about respect, not obedience. You don’t owe Jamie anything just because he’s nice. If he can’t respect your boundaries, he’s not worth your time."

You felt a flicker of hope at her words. "I... I guess you’re right. It’s just hard to go against everything I’ve been taught."

Ellie reached out and squeezed your hand. "I know it’s hard, but you deserve to be with someone who respects you and your choices. Don’t let anyone, not even your father, make you feel less than you are."

When Ellie said that, it felt like a hit to the chest. "Don't let anyone, not even your father, make you feel less..." Her words echoed in your mind, resonating with a truth that was both comforting and terrifying. You wished you could believe it, wished you had the strength to stand up to your father. But the reality of your life loomed large and unyielding. Defiance meant danger. Defiance meant pain.

As Ellie's words replayed in your head, you felt a knot tightening in your stomach. You imagined standing up to your father, telling him that you were more than his expectations, more than his strict rules and harsh punishments. The thought made your heart race with a blend of hope and fear.

You glanced at Ellie, her eyes filled with a fierce, protective light. She believed in you, saw your worth even when you couldn't. It was a beacon in the darkness of your doubt, a small but vital spark of hope.

Yet, the idea of challenging your father felt insurmountable. His shadow stretched long over your life, dictating your every move, every thought. You had been molded by his will, taught to obey without question, to live in the confines of his rigid beliefs.

You had to pretend to be the perfect daughter, maintaining the facade that your father was the saintly preacher everyone believed him to be. The weight of this pretense was suffocating, but it was the only way you knew to survive.

Outside, the conversation between Tommy and your father continued, their voices a low hum against the backdrop of the evening. Joel, on the other hand, was mostly silent, nursing his beer as he leaned against the porch railing. His eyes flicked occasionally to the living room, where you and Ellie were talking.

Joel's expression was hard to read, but there was a tension in his jaw, a tightness in his grip on the beer bottle that hinted at his unease. He listened more to your conversation than to Tommy and your father's, though he tried to appear disinterested. Something about you drew him in, made him care more than he wanted to admit. He told himself it was none of his business, that he had no right to interfere in someone else’s family matters. But still, there was a nagging feeling in his gut, an instinct honed by years of protecting those he loved.

As Joel watched you, he saw the way your shoulders slumped slightly when you thought no one was looking, the way your eyes darted nervously to the doorway whenever a noise came from the kitchen. You were like a skittish animal, always on alert, always ready to flee or freeze. It reminded him too much of the broken children he'd seen in the aftermath of tragedy, children who had learned too young that the world was a dangerous place.

He took another sip of his beer, trying to push the thoughts away. He didn't need more complications in his life. He had enough to deal with, enough to protect. But damn it, there was something about you, something that called out to the part of him that had once been a father, that still is a father to Ellie. It was a part of him that couldn't ignore the signs of distress, the silent cries for help.

In the living room, Ellie continued to speak softly, her words a balm to your troubled heart. "You know," she said, squeezing your hand, "no matter what, you've got me. If you ever need to get away, to take a break, my door's always open."

You looked at her, the warmth in her eyes contrasting sharply with the cold dread that usually filled your days. "Thank you, Ellie," you whispered, your voice barely holding back the tears. "It means more than you know."

Joel caught that moment, saw the brief glimpse of vulnerability and the strength it took for you to accept Ellie’s offer of support. It stirred something deep within him, a protective instinct he hadn't felt in a long time.

He tried to shake it off, focusing back on the conversation outside. Tommy was laughing at something your father said, their voices blending into the background noise of the night. But even as he tried to tune them out, his mind kept drifting back to you. He didn't know what he could do, or if he should do anything at all.

As the evening wore on, Joel glanced back at you one last time, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment. Maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to help, without overstepping the boundaries he was so careful to maintain.

***

The last few weeks had been a blur of routine and unspoken tension. Each day felt like a balancing act, with you trying to maintain the perfect image your father demanded while wrestling with your own growing doubts and fears. The only moments of relief came when you could steal a few minutes alone with Ellie, her unwavering support a lifeline in the storm.

One evening after school, you found yourself in your usual spot on the porch, the soft hum of cicadas filling the air. You hugged your knees to your chest, staring out at the darkening sky, your thoughts a tangled mess. You were wearing a nice white mini dress, modest yet elegant, with your hair braided into two sides and adorned with white ribbons.

You had managed to keep up appearances at church, attending every service, helping with every event, but the pressure was becoming unbearable. The weight of your father's expectations pressed down on you like a vise, and each day it grew tighter.

Suddenly, an unfamiliar truck parked in your driveway. You watched as a middle-aged man with a salt-and-pepper beard and black hair stepped out. He had a ruggedly handsome look about him, and as he saw you, a charming smile spread across his face. He stood there for a moment, then walked towards you with an air of confidence.

“Evenin’,” he said, his voice a smooth drawl. “Is this Father Gibson’s house?”

You nodded, standing up and smoothing your dress. “Yes, it is. Can I help you with something?”

He chuckled, the sound deep and rich. “Well, aren’t you a polite one? I’m lookin’ for the Reverend. Is he around?”

You nodded again, trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach. “He’s inside. I can get him for you.”

As you turned to go inside, he called after you, his voice teasing. “You know, you’ve got a real pretty smile. Brightens up the whole place.”

You felt your cheeks heat up and forced a polite smile. “Thank you, sir. I’ll be right back.”

Inside, you found your father in his study, poring over his notes for Sunday’s sermon. “Dad, there’s someone here to see you.”

Your father looked up, frowning slightly. “Who is it?”

“I don’t know his name, but he’s outside waiting,” you replied.

Your father nodded, rising from his chair and heading towards the door. You followed him, your curiosity piqued.

The man was waiting patiently on the porch, his hands in his pockets. As your father approached, he extended a hand with a broad smile. “Reverend Gibson, pleasure to meet you. I'm Naomi's cousin, I assume she already told you?"

Your father shook his hand, a wary look in his eyes. “Ah, yes. Nice to meet you, Mr. Smith."

The man leaned in slightly, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “I was hopin’ we could have a little chat. Got some things I’d like to discuss."

Your father glanced at you, then back at him. “Of course. Let’s step inside.”

As they moved inside, the man glanced back at you, giving you a wink. You watched them disappear into the house, a strange mix of apprehension and curiosity swirling inside you.

Not long after, you heard the rumble of Jamie's truck pulling up. Your heart lightened, and you smiled, walking towards the driveway with an eagerness that belied the tension you had been feeling all day. You hung by the fences, your fingers curling around the cool metal as Jamie got out of his truck.

"Hi, Jamie," you said, your voice bright with excitement.

Jamie grinned, his eyes lighting up at the sight of you. "Hey sweetpie, how are ya doing? looking beautiful as ever,"

Jamie’s compliment made your cheeks flush, and you smiled shyly. “Thanks, Jamie. I’m doing alright. How about you?”

Jamie’s grin widened. “Can’t complain. I was thinking maybe we could catch that new movie tonight. What do you say?”

The thought of escaping the confines of home and spending a carefree evening with Jamie was a welcome distraction. “That sounds great. But I need to ask my dad first.”

Jamie nodded, settling back into the truck as you approached the front door. The door swung open, and you saw your father still deep in conversation with the man you didn’t know, whose gaze was fixed intently on you.

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the unnerving feeling that his eyes were tracing every inch of you.

You spoke to your father, trying to keep your tone as casual as possible. “Father, Jamie asked if I could go to the cinema with him tonight. Is it okay?”

Your father glanced at you briefly, then at the man, whose expression was inscrutable but decidedly interested. “Jamie Lee?” your father asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” you replied.

Your father’s eyes flickered with annoyance at being interrupted but softened as he looked at you. “It’s not ideal to leave while we have a guest here, but alright, you can go. Be back by eight.”

You thanked him and turned to leave, but as you did, you couldn’t help but notice how the man’s gaze lingered on you. His eyes, though polite, seemed to hold a predatory glint, scanning you with an intensity that made you shiver slightly.

You gave a nervous smile as you rejoined Jamie at the truck, who was looking at you with a hopeful expression. “Dad said it’s fine. Let’s go.”

Jamie’s face lit up, and he slid into the driver’s seat with an easy grin. As he started the engine, he turned on some country music, the tunes filling the truck and momentarily lifting your spirits. The drive was smooth, and you found yourself relaxing, your earlier worries momentarily forgotten.

After the movie, Jamie suggested a detour. “How about we grab a drink? There’s a little bar outside of town where we can chill for a bit. What do you say?”

You hesitated, not entirely sure about the idea but wanting to enjoy the evening. “I don’t know… I’m not really into drinking.”

Jamie reassured you with a charming smile. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fun. Just one drink, I promise.”

When you arrived at the bar, a dimly lit place with a cozy, rustic feel, you felt a mix of excitement and nervousness. Jamie led you inside, and you slid onto a barstool. Jamie ordered whiskey for himself and told you he’d get you something sweet.

The bartender handed you a glass, and you took a tentative sip, expecting a cherry cola. Instead, the liquid was warm and had a strong, unfamiliar bite. You grimaced, looking at Jamie with confusion. “This doesn’t taste like cherry cola. Are you sure this is what I ordered?”

Jamie leaned in, his voice low and soothing. “Nah, it’s whiskey, babe. I thought you might want to try something a bit more adventurous.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “I can’t drink whiskey. I’ve never had it before, and my dad would be really angry if he found out.”

Jamie gave you a reassuring smile, placing a hand on your back. “Relax. It’s just a drink. No one’s gonna know. Besides, it’s just one drink. You’ll be fine.”

You hesitated, glancing around the bar. The atmosphere was relaxed, but you couldn’t shake the nervous feeling in your stomach. Jamie’s insistence and easy demeanor made it hard to say no. You took another small sip, trying to convince yourself it wasn’t a big deal.

Jamie’s eyes twinkled with mischief as he watched you. “Just have a little more. You might actually like it. It’s good for loosening up, you know?”

Reluctantly, you took another sip, feeling the warmth spread through you. The whiskey tasted harsh and made you cough slightly. “I don’t think I’m cut out for this.”

Jamie laughed, a bit too loudly, but with a genuine affection in his voice. “Don’t worry about it. Just relax and have fun. We’re here to enjoy ourselves.”

Despite the alcohol, you felt an uneasy flutter in your stomach, the drink making you feel lightheaded. Jamie encouraged you to drink more, and you found yourself gradually giving in, the whiskey dulling the edges of your anxiety.

As the evening wore on, you felt the effects of the alcohol more clearly. Your thoughts became hazy, and the room seemed to spin slightly. Jamie’s presence became more comforting, and his laughter more infectious. He kept encouraging you to drink, telling you it was all in good fun.

The bar buzzed with life around you, but the world felt distant, the sounds muffled by the warmth and haze of whiskey. Jamie’s arm around your shoulders was a constant presence, a mix of comfort and tension that made your skin tingle.

As he helped you into the truck, his touch was firm, and you leaned against him, inhaling the potent blend of whiskey and his cologne. The city lights outside blurred, a streak of neon against the dark sky, but Jamie abruptly pulled over to a quiet, secluded road.

“Jamie, where are we going?” you asked, your voice trembling with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

Jamie’s gaze was intense, a smoldering look that seemed to pierce through the fog of your mind. “I just wanted to be alone with you,” he murmured, his voice low and slightly slurred. His fingers traced your jawline, his touch both tender and possessive.

The air in the truck was thick with anticipation, charged with an electric tension that you couldn’t ignore. Jamie leaned in, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “You’re so incredibly beautiful. I’ve been wanting you for so long.”

A shiver cascaded down your spine at his words, a confusing mix of desire and trepidation swirling within you. The whiskey had softened your inhibitions, making you feel exposed and vulnerable.

His words were like a seductive caress, stirring a deep, unsettling need. “Jamie, I can't,” you began to say, but his lips silenced you, capturing yours in a slow, deliberate kiss.

His lips were rough, demanding, and they moved with an intensity that set your senses alight. His hands roamed over your body, finding the buttons of your blouse with a hunger that made your heart race. he's messaging your boobs you slowly moan because it feels so good.

The kiss deepened, his tongue exploring your mouth with a passionate urgency. His hands were warm but rough, the contrast of his touch creating a mix of discomfort and electric thrill.

You felt a rising heat as he tugged at your blouse, the fabric yielding under his insistent fingers. “Just this once,” he murmured between kisses, his breath hot and ragged. “It’ll be everything you’ve ever wanted, I promise.”

A part of you wanted to resist, but the intoxicating mix of his touch and your own growing desire blurred your judgment. You felt a strange, almost reckless surrender, your boundaries melting away in the intensity of the moment.

"Stop, I-I can't," you said

"I promise, it will feel good, baby," he said

Jamie’s fingers moved with a deliberate skill, teasing and exploring your most sensitive spots. You gasped as his touch sent jolts of pleasure through your body, making your head swim with a mix of desire and confusion. The whiskey's lingering warmth mingled with the heat rising within you, clouding your ability to think clearly.

His other hand slid down your back, pulling you closer until you were almost on his lap. The friction between your bodies only intensified the sensations coursing through you. You could feel his arousal pressing against you, a hard, undeniable reminder of his desire.

“Jamie,” you breathed, your voice a mix of protest and longing. “I shouldn’t—”

But your words were cut off as his fingers found their mark, pressing and circling with just the right pressure. Your hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more of that delicious friction. A moan escaped your lips, unbidden and undeniable.

“Just let go,” he whispered, his voice husky with need. “I’ve got you.”

His mouth found yours again, the kiss deepening as he continued to work you with his fingers. Your body responded eagerly, every nerve ending on fire. You clung to him, your hands fisting in his shirt as you surrendered to the sensations overwhelming you.

With a deftness born of experience, he slipped your blouse off your shoulders, his lips trailing hot kisses down your neck and across your collarbone. Your skin tingled where he touched, each kiss sending a wave of heat through you.

His hands moved to your breasts, kneading and teasing, his mouth following close behind. The contrast of his rough fingers and the softness of his lips was intoxicating, making you arch into his touch. You could feel the last vestiges of your resistance crumbling, your body aching.

“Jamie,” you whispered, your voice a mix of wanting for more but you are scared, “Please, stop…”

His eyes darkened and he wasted no time in shedding his own clothes. The sight of him, bare and ready, sent a fresh wave of heat through you. He reached for you, pulling you close until you were both lying back on the seat, your bodies entwined.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he positioned himself at your entrance, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Jamie, please,” you begged, a note of panic creeping into your voice as his grip tightened and his movements became rougher. The initial pleasure was swiftly giving way to pain, each thrust sending shockwaves of discomfort through your body.

“Stop, Jamie, it hurts,” you pleaded, trying to push him away. But he was too strong, his body a heavy weight pinning you down. His eyes, glazed over with alcohol and desire, didn’t seem to register your distress. Instead, his anger flared, his thrusts becoming more forceful and unrelenting.

Tears streamed down your face as you cried out in pain, your voice breaking with each sob. “Please, stop! Jamie, please stop!” you screamed, your hands frantically pushing against his chest, but it was no use. He was lost to his own needs, driven by the alcohol coursing through his veins.

You felt a deep, pervasive sense of violation, your body and spirit shattering with each brutal movement. Desperation clawed at your insides as you prayed for an end to the torment. “God, please make him stop,” you whispered through your tears, your voice a broken, helpless plea.

But Jamie didn’t stop. His grip on you tightened, his fingers digging painfully into your skin. The pain was overwhelming, each thrust tearing through you, leaving you feeling dirty and used. Your cries for mercy fell on deaf ears, drowned out by the sound of his ragged breathing and the cruel rhythm of his assault.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly, every second an eternity of agony and despair. You felt yourself slipping into a numb, distant place, a coping mechanism to survive the relentless onslaught. Your body became a vessel of pain, your mind retreating to a place where the hurt couldn’t reach you.

Finally, with a shuddering groan, Jamie reached his climax, his body stilling as he released himself inside you. The moment he pulled out and rolled away, you curled into a ball, your body shaking with sobs. The physical pain was nothing compared to the emotional devastation, the sense of betrayal and violation that coursed through you.

Jamie lay beside you, panting and spent, seemingly oblivious to the trauma he had inflicted. His eyes slowly cleared as the effects of the alcohol began to wear off, but the damage was already done. You felt hollow, your trust shattered, your sense of self irreparably damaged.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," Jamie mumbled, his voice thick with regret as he reached out to touch you. You flinched violently, recoiling from his touch as if it burned.

"Get away from me!" you screamed, your voice raw with pain and anger. You felt so dirty, so violated, your mind reeling from the horror of what had just happened. You wanted to disappear, to vanish from the world and escape the unbearable weight of your trauma.

Jamie pulled back, his eyes wide with shock and guilt. "I didn't mean to... I was drunk... I—" His words were a pathetic jumble of excuses, falling on deaf ears.

"Just shut up," you spat, your voice trembling with rage. "Just shut up and take me back to town. I can't be here with you. I can't even look at you."

He nodded mutely, too ashamed to argue. As he started the truck, you pulled your clothes back on with shaking hands, each movement a reminder of the violation you'd endured. The drive back was silent, the air thick with a tension that neither of you dared to break.

When the truck finally came to a stop near the outskirts of town, you didn't wait for it to fully halt before you opened the door and stumbled out. "I can walk from here," you said coldly, not looking back. "I don't want to see you ever again."

Jamie opened his mouth as if to say something, but no words came out. He simply nodded, the look of regret and sorrow etched on his face as you slammed the door shut and started walking away.

As you walked, each step felt like an eternity, your mind a whirlwind of pain and confusion. You couldn’t go home, not like this. The thought of facing your family in your current state was unbearable. Instead, you turned your steps towards Ellie’s house. She was the only one who would understand, the only one you could trust to hold you through this nightmare.

You stumbled up the porch steps, your vision blurred by tears, your makeup smeared and your hair a tangled mess. Your dress was wrinkled and torn, a stark reminder of what had happened. You knocked on the door, hugging yourself tightly in a futile attempt to keep warm, to feel safe.

When the door opened, it wasn’t Ellie who stood there. It was Joel. You looked up at him, your eyes wide and filled with tears, your breath hitching in your chest.

Joel's eyes widened in shock and concern as he took in your disheveled appearance. "What happened?" he asked urgently, his voice trembling with worry. "What’s going on? Are you hurt?" Ellie wasn’t home; she was staying at a friend's house for the night.

The sight of him brought a fresh wave of tears, and you couldn't hold back the sobs any longer. You collapsed to the ground, your body shaking with the force of your cries. The world around you blurred into an indistinguishable mess of pain and despair.

Joel was beside you in an instant, his strong arms wrapping around you, pulling you close. "Hey, hey, it's okay," he whispered, his voice breaking as he held you. "You're safe now. I've got you."

As he held you, his heart raced, a sense of urgency fueling his every movement. He noticed the blood seeping through your legs, and panic gripped him. There was a raw, protective anger in his eyes, one that he usually kept buried deep beneath his calm exterior.

You buried your face in his chest, your tears soaking into his shirt. "Joel," you choked out, your voice barely more than a whisper. "He hurt me. He wouldn’t stop. I begged him, but he wouldn’t stop."

Joel’s body went rigid, his jaw clenching as he struggled to maintain his composure. "Who hurt you?" he demanded, his voice a mix of anger and sorrow.

"Jamie," you sobbed, the name tasting bitter on your tongue. "I told him to stop, but he wouldn't listen."

The silence that followed your confession was thick with tension. Joel’s face darkened, his eyes blazing with a fierce protectiveness that made you feel a flicker of safety amidst your despair. He took a deep breath, clearly fighting to keep his anger in check.

"Come on, let's get you inside," he said softly, helping you to your feet. His touch was gentle, but you could feel the barely restrained fury simmering beneath his calm exterior.

He led you into the living room, where the soft glow of the lamp cast a warm light on the room, a stark contrast to the cold emptiness you felt inside. Joel carefully sat you down on the couch. He needed to clean you up. The sight of your blood-soaked dress made his heart ache with a mix of sorrow and rage.

Joel disappeared for a moment, returning with a blanket and a cup of tea. He wrapped the blanket around your shoulders, his touch tender and reassuring, then handed you the tea.

"Here, drink this," he said softly, his eyes never leaving yours. "It’ll help."

You took the cup with trembling hands, the warmth seeping into your skin, offering a small measure of comfort. Joel sat beside you, his presence a solid anchor in the storm of your emotions.

"You don’t have to talk about it right now," he said quietly, his voice steady but filled with sorrow. "But I’m here to listen whenever you’re ready."

You looked at him, the tears still streaming down your face. "I feel so dirty," you whispered, your voice breaking. "I didn't want this. I didn’t want any of it."

Joel's face softened, his eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and fierce protectiveness. "You're not dirty," he said firmly, his voice filled with conviction. "Baby, it's not your fault."

The sincerity in his voice broke something loose inside you, and you sobbed harder, your body shaking with the force of your grief. Joel pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as you cried. “We’ll get through this,” he promised, his voice a steady anchor in the storm of your emotions. For the first time in a while, Joel opened his heart, letting his walls down to show you his unwavering support.

He held you for what felt like hours, his embrace a cocoon of safety and warmth. The tears seemed endless, each one carrying a fragment of your shattered soul. But Joel remained steadfast, his presence a constant reassurance that you were not alone in your suffering.

As he held you, Joel's thoughts churned with a mix of emotions. He was a man of few words, accustomed to keeping his feelings locked away, buried deep beneath a hardened exterior. But seeing you like this, broken and vulnerable, stirred something dark and primal within him.

It reminded him of his own past, the pain and loss that had shaped him into the man he was today. The memories of Sarah, his daughter, flashed through his mind – the way he had failed to protect her, the helplessness and rage that had consumed him. He had vowed never to let himself feel that kind of pain again, to never let anyone get close enough to hurt him.

Yet here he was, holding you, feeling an overwhelming need to protect you, to shield you from the world’s cruelty. The thought of Jamie, the man who had done this to you, ignited a fierce, burning anger within him. Joel's grip tightened around you, his jaw clenching as he fought to keep his emotions in check.

He would make Jamie pay for what he had done. There was a darkness inside Joel, a ruthless side that he rarely let see the light of day. But for you, he would unleash it. He would ensure that Jamie never hurt you – or anyone else – again. The thought of revenge, of justice, gave him a grim sense of purpose, a way to channel the turmoil inside him.

Joel's mind was a storm of conflicting emotions. He was deeply troubled by the sight of you in such pain, and his protective instincts surged to the forefront. He knew he had to keep himself under control, to focus on helping you heal. But the thought of Jamie’s actions ignited a cold, calculated fury within him.

[thatchickwiththecamera]

If I'm There

This is from a request sent to me by @lma1986

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Female Reader

TW: Death, Loss, Grief.  

Any and all feedback is appreciated!

Y/N groaned upon entering the hotel room and flung her body onto the crisply made king sized bed. The pelican case she had been holding was discarded somewhere along her journey. Noah, her boyfriend of two years, simply smiled at her antics as he rolled their remaining bags into the entryway. 

Noah’s band, Bad Omens, had just wrapped up their latest North American tour with a four day run of shows across central and eastern Canada. Y/N was a member of the band’s visuals team and worked as the lighting and video technician alongside Matt at Front of House. Her and Noah met four years ago when she was running visuals for one of the bands supporting Bad Omens on tour. 

Noah, Matt, and Nicholas liked her work and decided to extend an offer to join their growing team prior to the next tour. After two years of working with Bad Omens and two years of tip-toeing around shared feelings, Noah finally asked her on a date and as they say, the rest is history. 

With this tour coming to a close, it meant that they had the next two weeks off to do whatever they wanted before the guys had to be back in Los Angeles to finish tracking the new album. Everyone was scheduled to fly back to their respective home states at various times throughout the next day. While all of the gear was to be freighted back to the LA to either be stored in the warehouse until the next tour or to be moved into the awaiting studio space for recording. 

“I am so ready to sleep in my own bed,” She exclaimed, voice slightly muffled by the pillows. “I think the mattresses in the bunks are getting worse with each tour.”

“Either that or we’re just finally starting to feel older.” he said, flopping down next to her, “I mean, we are almost thirty.” 

“Don’t remind me.” She groans.

Before she can raise the question of who gets first dibs at the shower, she is interrupted by the familiar sound of her sister’s ringtone chirping from the phone in the front pocket of her hoodie. 

“Yellow!” She tiredly exclaims, placing the phone on speaker. 

“Y/N” the serious tone of her sister's voice cuts through the speaker. 

She immediately sits up and looks over at Noah, now sporting a concerned look on his face that she was sure matched her own. 

Her sister rarely called her by her first name. Mainly using childhood nicknames. Never her given name. 

“What’s wrong?” Y/N questions. 

“Y/N…it's Olivia.” Her sister continued, voice shaky. “There’s been an accident.”

She went on to explain that Olivia, Y/N’s best friend since as long as she could remember, had been hit head on by a drunk driver on her way home from dinner with friends from work. She had been rushed to the local trauma center where the medical team had managed to stabilize her but they stated that the next 24 hours were going to be critical. 

Noah was immediately on the phone with Matt, who five minutes later knocked on their door ready to drive them to the airport. 

The small airport chapel was dark and empty. The smell of incense lingered in the air from a Mass held earlier in the day. Y/N sat quietly in the last pew staring up at the large crucifix hanging on the wall above the altar and tabernacle. 

Despite eventually developing a vehement disinterest in organized religion as an adult, Y/N had been raised in the Bible Belt of the deep south and had grown up in and out of church as a child and young adult. She had witnessed and experienced enough over the course of her life that made her unable to completely let go of the notion that there was a greater power at play somewhere in the universe. 

Her grandmother always expressed belief in the power of prayer and when her usual sage advice fell on the deaf ears of a stubborn teenager, she always told Y/N to ultimately pray about it. 

“Give it up to God,” she would say, “Put it in his hands.” 

There were no direct flights out of Toronto, which left them stuck at JFK in New York City for the next three hours due to a layover. Noah’s many years on the road made it possible for him to sleep pretty much anywhere despite his tall frame. But her anxiety prevented her from finding any respite of sleep on the uncomfortable metal chairs outside the gate. 

Which is why she now found herself sitting in the Our Lady of the Skies chapel talking to a wooden crucifix. 

“I don’t know how to talk to you or if you even are actually there and listening,” She states, eyes stinging from the tears that threatened to form, “But at this point I’m desperate.”

“If there is one person in this lifetime that deserves to live a long and fulfilling life it is her,” she continued, “she can be one of the most naive people I know, but she has only ever brought kindness and love into this world because of it.” 

“You’ve already taken so many from me…,” she pleads, unable to hold back the tears as a few escape and trail down her cheeks. “Please don’t take her too.” 

A moment later she felt the warmth of an arm wrap around her and turned to see Noah sit down next to her, their carry-ons bags sitting on the floor in the aisle next to the pew. 

She buried her face in his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, placed a tender kiss on her head and held her close as she finally let the tears pour out. 

Upon landing in South Carolina, Y/N's sister met them at baggage claim. She looked as tired and spread thin as Y/N did. She knew just how much Olivia meant to her little sister, and also considered her a good friend. But her bond of friendship was no wear near as unbreakable as the one that had been built between Olivia and Y/N over the years.

She wrapped Y/N up into a tight hug and let her know that Olivia had been rushed back into emergency surgery about an hour before they had landed. They had found internal bleeding that was previously missed due to the severity of the initial trauma sustained in the crash, causing her previously stable condition to quickly deteriorate. 

Upon arriving at Columbia Memorial Hospital, they quickly located Olivia’s parents in the waiting room outside the Intensive Care Unit. Olivia’s mother, Mary grabbed Y/N in a  bone crushing hug the second she saw her, thanking them for coming as quickly as they did. She followed the band and knew the journey they had made to be there. Before they could speak further, a man dressed in surgical scrubs emerged from the large bay door. She felt Noah take her hand and give it a squeeze.

Mary walked over to the doctor. He grabbed her hands and shook his head. Y/N couldn’t hear the words he spoke, but Mary’s reaction to them told her all she needed to know. 

Olivia was gone.

Y/N felt numb. She felt her emotions shut down. She wanted to cry, to scream, to fall to her knees but her body just remained frozen in place for what felt like an eternity. Noah’s hand never left hers and his grip never faltered.

They briefly expressed their condolences to Mary and other member’s of their family before leaving them space to grieve. There was no reason for them to stay at the hospital while Mary began the heartbreaking task of preparing for her only child’s funeral. 

The drive to her sister’s house was silent. She showed Y/N and Noah to the guest room and left them to unpack and prepare for bed. 

Y/N found little sleep that night. As sunlight began to stream in through the bedroom window, she turned to peer at the clock on the nightstand. 

It read 6:00am. She quietly rose so as not to disturb Noah’s sleeping form in the bed next to her. She quickly dressed, grabbed her sneakers, and headed out the front door. 

Y/N ran. 

She ran until her lungs felt like broken shards of glass. 

She ran until her legs felt like they were made of jello.

She ran until her feet were numb and weighed heavy like cinder blocks.

In school, she ran after her first heartbreak, she ran when her father died of cancer, she ran when her mother became absent in her own grief leaving her and her sister to fend for themselves, until she would eventually pass as well. 

She ran when all of life's problems seemed to pile up as high as the peaks of Mount Everest and bare down on her shoulders. 

When life didn’t make sense, Y/N ran. 

Olivia had always been the one to run with her. When her own body would grow tired she would remain on the bench at the trailhead of the old high school cross country course, making sure Y/N knew she wasn’t alone. 

But now Olivia was gone and the bench by the trailhead sat empty save for the water bottle Y/N had discarded at the start of her run. She tried to ignore the empty spot as she set out on her second loop. 

As she circled around again she spotted a second water bottle sitting next to hers on the bench. She felt the already growing agitation stir inside her further at the idea of having to interact with a stranger on the course. She prayed they would just run their route and leave her alone. 

Halfway through her third loop she heard the sound of another person coming up from behind her and expected them to call out what side they would be passing her and continue their run. 

Instead the person fell into stride next to her. She turned her head, ready to tell the stranger to politely fuck off, but stopped when she saw Noah running next to her.

He didn’t say anything, just kept running, never leaving her side as they continued to complete two more loops. He knew this was something she had to do, and despite his own fatigue, he wasn’t going to let her do it alone. 

Toward the end of her fifth loop, she felt her legs start to give way. Her toes snagged on a root sticking up in the middle of the path and she waited for her body to hit the dirt. She thought that maybe she would just lay there for a while and let the earth swallow her whole, but the impact never came. 

Instead she felt Noah wrap his arms around her. Pulling her firmly into his chest. The weight of everything she tried to hold inside started to fracture and crumble around her. The emotion she tried to run from rebounded back like a lightning bolt striking her directly in the heart. She thrashed against his hold and hit the bottom of her fists against his chest. 

She screamed out in rage as the hot tears streamed down her face. But despite her best attempts at getting him to let go, his hold remained firm. Noah was sure that his chest was red by the time she finally relaxed in his arms. He took the opportunity to kneel down and scooped the sobbing figure of the woman he loved into his arms. She didn’t have the energy to protest as he carefully carried her home. 

The funeral took place four days later. It was held at St. Joseph's Cathedral downtown where four generations of Olivia’s family had been baptized, confirmed, married, and eulogized. She could not deny that the Mass her family prepared had been beautiful despite Y/N not knowing much about the ways and traditions of the Catholic Church. 

After the service, Mary came up to the both of them and thanked them again for traveling back like they did and for staying for the service. 

“You were the closest thing Olivia had to a sister and even though it may not have seemed like it at times, you were and still are like my second child.” She stated. “Thank you for being her friend and being in our lives.” 

Tears once again formed in her eyes as Mary pulled her in for one of her soul squeezing motherly hugs that Y/N learned to cherish over the years. 

“I love you so much” she said, reaching up to grab either side of Y/N’s face, wiping away the tears with the pads of her thumbs. “And I am so proud of you.”

“I love you too.” Y/N replied, before hugging the woman once again. 

The next day they were scheduled to fly back to LA, but not before visiting Olivia’s grave. It was covered in layers of floral arrangements and marked by a temporary placard with ‘Olivia Renee Barber” and her dates of birth and death engraved on dark metal. 

Noah stayed back as Y/N paid her respects. He wished that he could take all of her grief and carry it on his own shoulders so she didn’t have to weather the burden. He knew from his own experiences that she had to go through this process at her own pace. Loss was not linear and there were no magical boxes to check as you grieve and heal.

There was one thing he knew for absolute certain. As long as he was around, she would never go through anything in this world alone. He’d be there to catch her when she’d fall and just as he knew she’d do the same for him in return.

[gamerbearmira]

Rock band au - Backstory…kinda? 

Alma had already built her own following on her own youtube channel when the kids were like…teens? Many albums and such in her day. She toned it down a notch when she was 54, that’s when Dolores and Isa were born. (Her channel name was “Young Crimson” and changed to “Abuela Crimson”. She still drops some music from time to time.) She has done a world tour and released many albums and singles. 

Pepa had started her own music in her 20’s to mid 30’s. (And she happened to meet Felix at one of her small concerts). Her youtube channel name was “Thunderstorm” of course. She had done some world tours and whatnot as well. 

Isabela was ten when she took an interest in rock and frequently went to Pepa or Alma for music recommendations. Same for Mirabel as well, but she was nine when she started her love for rock/alternative music. Camilo was only eight when he started out. 

Over time their styles gradually changed the more they got into alternative fashion and such. Alma and Pepa mainly helped of course.

Isabela got her guitar at fourteen, Camilo got his drum set at eight (a year after her) and Mirabel got her guitar at nine (a year after them). 

I also wanna add the Pepa sometimes featured in Alma’s songs when she was in her teens + young adult years. So when she branched off to do her own stuff she already had a big following. Mirabel, Isabela, and Camilo kind of did the same when it came to her. They asked if they could be background vocals and she couldn’t say no, she folded like a wet paper towel. 

Three years passed and the three grandkids kind of worked up a good foundation in knowing how to use their instruments. Mirabel had an idea and decided to go to Alma about it first. Alma looked it over and she truly liked the idea and…made it into a full song with her daughter and three grandkids help. (Isa was nineteen and Camilo and Mirabel were twelve at the time the song was made.) 

The song was released on Pepa and Alma’s youtube channels. Since Mirabel made the song she was the lead singer. Everybody loved her voice seeing as it was a twelve year old singing at such a deep base and loud base.  

An Idea came to Mirabel’s mind…why not just be a full band? They already had the foundation for it and a huge following. It wouldn’t- well…starting a band was not easy but they already have a few things going for them. 

She asked her tia and abuela if they could be a full band and of course, both women were on board. Isabela and Camilo were absolutely ecstatic when they were told the idea. 

“Waiting on a Miracle” was released on April twelfth, four months later, “Illusions of identity” (written by Camilo) was released on August fourteenth. Four months later, “Flora and Rage” (written by Isabela) was released on December sixteenth. Each song had Pepa and/or Alma featured in them. 

Five songs by the second year; “Surface Pressure” (By Isa), “Thin ice” (by Pepa), “Hard Work that no one sees” (By Alma), “Shaken emotions” (By Mirabel), and “Constant heartache” (By Camilo). The youngest three had their first tour that year as well!

By the third year five more songs were made. Which made the band have a total of eighteen songs out! And they will be going on tour this year as well. All of which had music videos. 

-

I was thinking of Alma joining but…decided against it for some reason??? Anyway, her stage name is Abuela Crimson! The kids & young adults absolutely love her and see her as the coolest grandma in the world. 

I’m not sure what to do for a group name tho…maybe “The unwanted”? I’m not sure, I’m just going for somethin’ edgy with 2000’s flair. 

Also, I like the suggestions! More than what I thought of honestly. 

Other stuff-

Mira and Isa’s Parents (and sister) couldn’t be more proud to see them on stage with their Tia, Primo, and sometimes Abuela. Agustin and Luisa manage to cry every single time.  

Felix and Dolores love seeing them up there, even if Lolo has to wear headphones that muffle the sound a bit, she can still hear and loves every second of it. Felix a head bopper all the way through…to the point of getting whiplash.

The band mostly tours a few months before summer comes around. That way, when summer break comes, they can just have fun as a family. 

UNDERSTANDABLE‼️‼️ also. I was thinking, the time?? Is weird. So for Alma to have had a YouTube channel in her late 30’s/early 40’s, we’ll say when YouTube released, that means that this takes place farther into the future than now. Cause if she took a break at 54, Isabela and Dolores would’ve been born in like 2018 😭😭 BUT. A way around this is

A: Change the ages or Time screwing

B: Change the release of YT for this AU

C: Alma was popular before YT, but grew even bigger when YouTube came around. This could also let the AU take place in the mid 2000 and the 2020s.

Idk, just wanna understand the time <333

ANYWAYYYYY EVERYTHING ELSE IS SO COOL 💪💪 I like how they were pretty young when they got into the rock/alt music scene, that’s so rad <333 you know how loud they must’ve been when they got their instruments. All of them at different skill level for a minute and playing different songs. Like wow 😭

Also Mirabel proposing the band and being the first of the grand kids to release a song. THAT’S WOAM 🗣️🗣️ not surprising that they joined together and then got more popular. Song names are so cool, so creative 🦈🦈 ALSO ABUELA CRIMSON RAHHHHHHHHH 🦅🦅🦅

Glad you like the suggestions <333 another one. You know how for bands, especially rock and metal, people wear face paint to concerts based on the band theme or their favorite member? Like KISS and ICP?? Yeah they have that too <333 Antonio sometimes wears it, but it varies 🗣️🗣️

LOVE THE BAND NAME‼️‼️

Felíx is literally like. The most insane person at a concert. From row. Screaming Pepa’s name and stage name.

[a-friendly-fangirl]

Random thoughts on We're in Love (or "Your average Italian girl has had an awful week and Boygenius' love saves her ass again"):

So, I've been listening to the Boys and to their solo stuff the whole week (for the past 5 months, to be honest... but who's counting?) and I've been going crazy lately for the beauty of We're in Love.

I think we can all acknowledge that that song is one of the greatest songs in "The Record" and one of the best ever written. And then I started bawling, when my mind got stuck on its lyrics and realised just how heartbreaking and beautiful it is.

This will be kind of my personal analysis (also inspired by some suggestions here and there... thank you to all the geniuses around that have noticed certain things. I wish I could write down all your names, but my memory is awful), so if you disagree with it or feel the need to add something, do it. I'd be happy to meet more Boygenius fans!

Ok, I'd like to begin with the third and fourth line of the first verse, where Lucy sings: "I don't need the symbol of a scar/ So put down the knife, we're not swapping blood". And yet, in "The film", Julien still takes a blood oath with the young versions of Lucy and Phoebe. I think that this was such an interesting choice to make, considering the difference between the words and the actions. This actually makes sense though, when underlining that 20$ is Julien's song and these words belong to Lucy.

Julien, as her solo albums readily witness, has no real problem with hurting herself ('Cause I'm so good at hurting myself - Brittle Boned) both physically and psychologically. We also know, from 20$, that she does believe in being connected to Phoebe and Lucy in every universe or life (In another life we were arsonists). Lucy does too with them (And I told you of your past lives; In the next one [life], will you find me? - We're in Love). Same goes for Phoebe, even though it's a little more subtle with her. In fact, more than believing in other lives, she seems to believe in changing herself in the present life, so much that, even though Emily I'm Sorry is her song, she has decided to sing it with her best friends, because, maybe, she'd rather be someone that can be loved by them in particular and not someone only Emily "could want".

To better understand the scar line/imagery, I think it important to notice that Julien doesn't take the blood oath with her adult friends but with their younger selves. In my opinion, it's like a machine has brought them in Julien's universe or timeline to help her get out of her home, which, listening to her music, is a synonym of recovery or at least of a better state of mind (in Go Home and Please Stay, it is quite clear: "I wanna go home, I'm sick", while in Graceland Too she finally gets out once she's feeling better). But, not belonging there (and we know they don't thanks to Julien's surprised expression when she sees little Phoebe), pehaps she's afraid that she'll lose them once they're done with the car, therefore asking them to do that oath. Childhood scars never fully leave us, so Julien might be convinced that it'll help adult Phoebe and Lucy to remember her, once they meet as intended or hoped.

When you think about it, the layers here are so many that it's scary. Scars have always at least a touch of negativity, even when you get them for something not negative per se (I have so many scars I got from running around as a child...), because they always follow pain. Julien and Phoebe have dealt with it their whole life and have actively put themselves through it more than once, so of course Julien chooses to use a knife (which also brings us back again to Please Stay: "The hunting knife you kept by your bed". I don't think the mention in We're in Love is a coincidence) against herself if it means being sure Phoebe and Lucy know it's her. But Lucy stops her for two main reasons:

Julien won't have to wait for them to find her, because she and Phoebe will, according to Lucy, be the ones going to her, if they want to (Will you find me?);

Instead of remembering each other through something painful, they could use the happy and positive memories they've shared in this life. Lucy once again wants to do everything in her power to dismantle her friends' self-destructive tendencies and replace them with something good (even the "happy" in Letter to an Old Poet was her suggestion).

Moving on to the next lines (Isn't it enough that we stripped down to our skin?/ Cold and porcelain like bathers in a painting), the beauty of this specific portrait delivered by Lucy kind of proves the point just made. Saying that the skin is "cold" and "porcelain" delivers a poetic image of extreme fragility that could be both literal or figurative and it shows just how much they trust each other. What Lucy appears to be pointing out is that she doesn't need any more pain to believe they're in love with each other, since they've already done the great sacrifice of showing themselves when they were most vulnerable (something they're still learning to do, according to recent interviews).

In Lucy's specific case (And I told you of your past lives, every man you've ever been/ It wasn't flattering, but you listened like it mattered), I'd go as far as to think that she did that by letting Phoebe and Julien listen to the stories of her past friendships or even relationships, telling them whom she had had by her side before them. She sings that that tale wasn't flattering: why? If I had to express myself on that, I'd guess, by her albums, that, just like any other human being, even Lucy has had a lot of troubled bonds with people she might have wrongly thought were as true and loyal to her as the Boys are now (take Strange Torpedo, Nonbeliever or Brando as examples). My personal take on this part is that she hasn't tried to tell Phoebe and Julien who they've been in the past, but to confess them who had had their roles in her life previously, feeling perhaps embarassed by it. But they're in no way bored or mad at her for that, listening, however, "like it mattered" (quoting True Blue: "It doesn't matter anymore", 'cause they're together now, but it is still important to her that they are paying attention to this part of her story).

She also admits being open to them about her own insecurities, especially the fear of being or seeming crazy (I feel crazy in ways I never say/ Will you still love me if it turns out I'm insane?/ I know what you'll say, but it helps to hear you say it anyway), making herself vulnerable by exposing this side of her she usually keeps hidden in hope of being reassured by them, which they've probably done a thousand times already.

Long story short, coming to the end of the first chorus: Lucy loves and values them for the trust they've put in each other and no scar will ever match that feeling. I have a lot more to say about the rest of the song, but this is mostly me ranting about it, so I'll see how it goes. Sorry for all of this :P

[padfootastic]

One of my favorite semi-crack headcanons is that Narcissa actually does look like her relatives, she’s got naturally black hair and gray eyes, but she initially started wearing glamor charms/charms to change the color after the war to avoid the number of people giving her suspicious looks for her resemblance to two notorious Death Eaters and her husband who’d only avoided a conviction through Ministry ineptitude and legit everyone suspects him of lying or also lied but knows the truth, but then she just fell into habit of doing this (and uses relatively permanent charms. They can be undone, but they don’t need to be constantly reapplied). Bella escapes from prison and says “what the hell happened to your hair—and your eyes” straight away, first thing she says to her sister after over a decade; Narcissa shrugs and says looking like her convicted criminal cousin and sister wasn’t winning her any favors, better swing the opposite direction to see if that helps. Andromeda, who looks like Bella’s twin, still got suspicious looks but marrying a Muggleborn and having his kid went a long ways toward making people trust her; she has a scathing commentary on her sister deadass changing her appearance to try to dodge the DE allegations and it is one of the first things she says to Sirius after meeting him again. Draco genuinely cannot recognize younger photos of his mother and fully thinks this is her natural appearance; he gets a nasty shock when he learns otherwise and he only discovers the truth because Rabastan was telling his sort of nephew stories of what they all used to be like and found a photo album that had their old pictures. Rabastan watches the kid stare at 16 year old Narcissa Black with her little cousins at her side—all three looking near identical and laughing together—and wonders if he broke the kid and if so, can he fool Narcissa into thinking he didn’t play a role in this; he sadly decides he can’t and frantically tries to calm Draco down, because if Narcissa doesn’t hex him into next year, she’ll just tell Bella and Bella most certainly will. Sirius once saw a recent photo of Cissy and choked on his breakfast, pre-seeing Andy again, asking who the hell that woman was because it sure isn’t his cousin. Upon the younger lot confirming that’s just how she looks now, he hollers for Tonks to go get her mother, Sirius needs to find out what the hell her sister is up to. This is the first time the younger kids meet Andromeda and she makes a hell of an impression

ok but why is this actually hilarious lmao

i think i’ve seen something adjacent to this in a fic where someone (sirius?) makes a crack ab narcissa partially dying her hair blond a la the movies to try and fit in better w the maggots and the thought is honestly too funny.

some teenage girls get a tattoo of their bfs, some teenage boys carve their crush’ names into their hands, and narcissa black permanently colors her hair blond and staunchly stands by that decision well into her adult years (while resolutely cursing her fair skin for betraying her embarrassed flush)

[prismkat]

tell me about "the photography one", I'm curious!

You ask and you shall receive!! The photography one was a silly one shot I came up with where Dee finds the old Kennedy family photo album from before their parents died and sees that well, since it’s from before their parents deaths, she’s not in many of them. She becomes determined to change this and then picks up photography as a hobby, which then just led to a very wholesome fic

HOWEVER. I got a bit too carried away and ended up writing a fic about Jack Kennedy committing tax fraud. I have actually mentioned it before! Jack commits tax fraud in a totally normal way, by handing in his taxes like an overdue library book and running away before the police can find out he’s actually just giving them Monopoly money. Peter, afraid and concerned, constantly tries to prevent Jack from committing tax fraud, but no matter what he tries he can never get him to stop.

Tragically, Jack’s criminal past catches up to him, and he is confronted by the IRS. They take him to court and instead of giving him a fair trial, his fate is decided by the mayor of Reno and also newly elected president of the United States, Mayor Majig from hit Roblox game find everything.

He ended up in America through means that aren’t relevant, but only because ive never played find everything and dont even know if the stereotypical ‘getting hit by a truck’ would work.

Dee rushes into the courtroom, carrying the us constitution that she stole from the national archives museum on the way back from kindergarten and tells Mayor Majig that since nothing in the us constitution says that Jack can’t pay his taxes with Monopoly money, he should go free. Mayor Majig agrees with this verdict and proceeds to legalise gay marriage.

And if you want to read the short snippet I’ve actually written of this masterpiece, here you go:

Dee had always thought that the closet at the end of the hall had harbored some dark, mysterious secrets.

Jack had assured her again and again that it was just a storage closet, and that there was nothing more to it. But Dee knew better. Obviously.

After all, adults always had dark secrets in the tv shows she had seen. And she wasn’t oblivious to the demons that her older brothers faced without her involvement.

She knew they both had a common enemy, someone who went by the name of Taxes, and while she wasn’t quite sure who that was, she was sure she could beat them in a fight if they ever showed their face in her presence. She wasn’t crowned the champion of arm wrestling in her school for no reason! And of course, she was so good at fighting that one time the teachers even rewarded her for it by sending her home! And then Jack got her ice cream, and then he and Peter had a very serious conversation in another room. Likely, they were discussing defense systems against Taxes, but no matter.

It was late at night when she made her move. … Well, she couldn’t really be sure of that. It was either late at night, very early in the morning, or some sort of limbo time. It would have been beneficial to know how to read a clock, but a five-year-old has much deeper concerns than stupid maths.

Jack was working the nightshift, and Dee knew she wasn’t meant to be awake, but she needed to open the closet. She could never ever admit this to her brothers, but sometimes she would lay awake at night with her bedroom door open and stare down the hall. If she didn’t, then Taxes might creep out and eat Jack in his sleep.

But Dee wasn’t scared of Taxes hurting her, because she could defend herself. But Jack was weak. She knew this. She had beat him in a fight before, and she could do it again if she wanted to. However, she knew to pick on people her own size. It wasn’t right to fight people who didn’t stand a chance against her power. It was why she had stopped fighting Jack a while ago, much to his dismay. But if he wanted to get stronger, then he should fight someone on the same skill level as him and then come back.

Dee wasn’t scared of Taxes hurting her so she chose the night Jack was working to make her move. Finally, she would slay this monster once and for all.

She crawled out of bed, holding her toy gun close to her chest. She was very careful to not make a single sound, because she needed to have the element of surprise.

Gradually, she made her way down to the closet door.

Dee took in a deep breath, suddenly feeling nervous. What if Taxes had too many eyes and she couldn’t figure out which one to look at and then she lost the upper hand? What if Taxes had no eyes and stole hers?

No. She couldn’t let eyes be her downfall. Too many eyes or none at all, Dee was going to save her family! Even if it killed her.

Dee swung the closet door open, pointing her plastic gun upwards, only to see that there was no one there.

Now, Dee was little, but she wasn’t stupid. Jack was an infinitely cooler brother than Peter, and let her watch all of the scary movies with him that Peter didn’t allow her to. She knew that the moment she turned around, Taxes would be there.

They were right behind her, weren’t they? Well, she still could have the element of surprise. No one expects to get shot when they appear behind someone! She wasn’t going to slowly turn around, she was going to-

She shot around, firing her gun, remembering at the clicking sound that came from it that there wasn’t any ammo in it (of course there wasn’t, Jack wasn’t that irresponsible). She was lucky that Taxes wasn’t behind her after all. She turned back around to the storage closet.

Nothing there.

Taking a closer look, there didn’t seem to be any places to hide in there, either. Just boxes and boxes.

Wait.

Boxes.

Of course Taxes had to be a shapeshifter! Clearly, they were one of them. She had to end their reign of terror once and for all.

She thought for a moment about what she should do, before slowly backing into her bedroom, taking one of her teddy bears and placing it directly in front of the closet. She was sure he would keep an eye out if Taxes tried to come out of hiding.

Dee snuck to Jack’s bedroom, rummaging around in his drawers for a pair of scissors. When she found what she was looking for, she returned to the closet, grateful to see that not a single thing had moved.

She made her move.

[cassisanasshole]

this fucking poem i made on allpoetry.com at the age of 12 (cw SH)

in honor of 2024 being around the corner i would like to announce the first poem i ever wrote on allpoetry.com at the age of 12 years and 4 months. coming up on a fucking decade on this piece in which my little awful shitty emo angsty self decided to both start and end the poem with the word 'forevermore',

You are not Edgar Allan Poe, you are a 12 year old girl

i cannot emphasize this enough. i look back on this as an adult and go what in the sweet ever loving fuck. who else was like a super fucking mentally ill 12 year old? i swear to hades, i asked for fallen for my 11th birthday. when i was about that age i drew this picture:

it was a girl drowning in some sort of body of water, with what i can only describe as a traditional comically large drowning boulder attached to her ankle. her cartoonish face stared, panicked, at the viewer--as her mouth, losing air with bubbles and all--uttered one last phrase, scribbled into a curly-q speech bubble.

"I'm going under!"

a callback to the timeless classic going under by evanescence, first track on the aforementioned album fallen.

when i went to school in the fifth grade we had computer lab. sometimes we were graced with the sweet, sweet blessing of free time. in my infantile years as i perceived it then, i did silly things like webkinz. but now i was too old for webkinz (in public--not at home) i was onto bigger and better things such as:

listening to 2012 bangerz such as starships and party rock anthem on full blast with one headphone hanging out to prove i was normal. and then, on hard days when i could not resist the temptation, pulling up evanescence and linkin park and green day and listening to them very quietly.

Nobody could know i was an emo in the making.

once middle school hit though, this was where i found myself: the troubled pubescent experience of being a girl forming kik groups with her in real life friend and random internet strangers. some of whom were our age, some of whom significantly too old to be interacting with us (we know this story.)

staying up til like...2 am! (sleep, child!) to try and convince these essentially random people to not yoink themselves.

well one of these internet friends i don't even remember his name, says all of that and then just disappears, so i wrote this poem. i guess it was what this experience stirred up in me considering i had definitely never seen his smiling face

anyway uh yeah i don't know what the fuck you're meant to take from this but

HAVE IT!

[tobns]

all the lights went down in hollywood

from the writer’s desk: so, just right off the bat, for the full ~experience~ i recommend you read on ao3, as this is a multimedia fic and everything is formatted for that platform. but i know tumblr fics are slowly becoming a thing again, that’s where i came from and it’s who i’ll always be + i had some people asking, so here you guys go! disclaimer that there is adult material in this fic, so read at your own discretion. happy reading :’)

CHAPTER ONE: FEEL SO UNSTABLE, FUCKING HATE MY LABEL

"Gale is officially not coming back."

Clove wishes she could say this comes as a surprise, but it does not. If anything, it is a dull ringing in her ears, like someone's phone is bleating and they're just pretending to ignore it. The noise is akin to a nail-grating whine that digs underneath her skin.

Except the phone has been ringing for four weeks, and she is ready to rip her flesh off her body.

The suit sitting on the opposite side of the board table plows ahead, adjusting the lapels of his jacket as he speaks. "His team has finalized the paperwork, and as of tomorrow, March 13th, for all legal purposes, he will no longer be attached to The SeventyFourth."

Beside her, Glimmer rolls her eyes. "So why the hell did someone post the Twelve cover this morning to our Instagram?"

"Roxanne is contractually obligated to post to the band's Instagram at minimum once per month."

"Well why couldn't Foxy post that picture of Gale's bare ass? It's the least he deserves after he ditched us."

Across the table, the suit lowers his wire-rimmed glasses. "Ms. Dillon, Mr. Hawthorne provided you all with a formal resignation letter upon his entry into rehab. I'd hardly call that ditching."

Glimmer falls silent.

A formal resignation letter is pushing the envelope considerably. Emmett's still of the belief that Gale doesn't know how to form more than two complete sentences.

Really, they'd forced his hand. They couldn't keep pushing back tour rehearsals to accommodate for his broken heart. At some point, something had to give, and Clove would go to her grave with the truth if anyone decided to ask questions about her call history.

"You're drunk," Foxy warns as Clove starts fumbling with her phone, trying to get the face identification to do its singular job and recognize her as the owner. Apparently, when she's drunk, Apple tells too much of a difference between freckles and specks of glitter and deems her as another person entirely.

"Yeah, no shit."

Foxy's fingers start trying to pry the phone gently from Clove's grip, but Clove immediately swats her hand away, all but clocking her in the face with the point of her elbow as she wrestles herself out of Foxy's proximity. "Stop it," she spits venomously. "If no one else in this fuckin' group is gonna tell him the truth, then I will."

"Clove..."

Clove's face draws up into a tight line. "Foxy," she mimics. "It's bullshit."

"I'm not disagreeing with you, but—"

"But what?" Clove snaps. Her face falls, come on scrolling in her irises as she glares at her publicist. "Rox, this is shit and you know it. Katniss didn't do anything to him, he's a pussy who can't accept that he has always been and never will be anywhere but her friend zone. And now he's making the band suffer because he's suddenly twelve?" She huffs. "We named the album after the number of songs, not how old our fuckin' guitarist acts."

Foxy is silent, lips pressing together in an attempt to suppress the riot act she's dying to read Clove, but knows that ultimately, she cannot. As long as it doesn't grace the top searches of Google, it's out of her hands. Clove's always been a fish in her hands, slipping and darting from her grasp. Every time she thinks she's got Clove, there's a narrow escape back into the pond.

Clove manages to unlock her phone and gets into her contacts, finding Gale's name and violently pressing the call button. Every drone of the phone ringing only heightens her blood pressure.

"What the fuck do you want, Clove?" Gale answers on the third ring, his words slurred together. "'M not hashing this out with you."

"Oh, the hell you are," Clove snarls into the receiver. Beside her, Foxy is now physically biting down on her fist. "You're going to stop acting like a little bitch, you're going to pull your head out of your ass and you're going to be at rehearsal tomorrow. We are not waiting around on you to get over yourself."

"Fuck you," he groans.

"Know who else I fucked? Kat." The silence on the other end is so profound, she wonders if he hung up on her, but she knows she's got him by the throat. She almost wishes he could see the smug grin that so effortlessly drapes over her lips. "While you were whining after every show about whether or not she'd ever give you the time of day, I was with her in all those hotel rooms—"

"Shut up—"

"—and tour bunks, between her legs, making her say my name—"

"God, you are an insufferable cunt—"

"—and guess what? She didn't think about you once! Not one mention of you, ever!" Clove sneers into the receiver, a low laugh rumbling from her chest. "C'mon, Hawthorne, you didn't seriously think she and I wrote honey because we'd caught a marathon of the fuckin' L Word one night and thought it'd be a cute idea for a song."

There's more silence on Gale's end, so Clove takes that as her invitation to keep prattling on. "So if you're gonna be mad at anyone in the band, don't you dare be mad at Katniss for going out on dates with someone that is perfectly kind and normal and sane like she's got every right to. Be mad at the person who was fucking her behind your back for eight months knowing full well how you felt about her. I didn't give a shit about bro code, I don't regret it, and I'd fucking do it again."

"I can't believe you."

"Believe it." Clove switches hands, pulling the phone away from her ear and putting the receiver directly up to her mouth. "You better fucking be at rehearsal tomorrow morning, or you are out." Gale doesn't have an opportunity to protest; she forcefully ends the call and then throws the phone haphazardly over her shoulder. She hears the soft bounce it makes when it lands somewhere on the couch behind her.

Clove bends down, reaching for the shot glass she'd discarded and tossing it back. Foxy just stares at her with wide eyes, wordless. "What?" Clove asks calmly as the tequila carves a neat path down her throat. "I'm expediting the process."

"Yeah," is Foxy's hollow intonation, unsure of what the fuck to say. It's a good thing she said enough for the both of them, then.

Gale was never the favorite in the band. Once upon a time, he'd been tolerable. Those were the days when Madge was on keys, of few but meaningful words and they were opening for nobodies, when it didn't matter the way it does now. And then she left, and Emmett recommended they give one of his sister's friends a listen to see if she'd be a good fit. Katniss was, of course, and everyone loved her. Gale loved her the most, in a way that he was stuffing napalm into all of their cracks that he all but promised to come back and ignite later.

Clove knows she probably put more than just a toe or her neck out, telling Gale the truth, but it was just that: the truth. He never bothered to do anything about his insufferable crush on her, and that was far from Clove's problem. It became her problem when he dialed the dramatics up to an eleven and let the band get in the crosshairs. Twelve was their most successful record to date, got them nominated for three Grammys, and the Twelve tour sold out in minutes.

So, yes, it very much mattered when Gale started saying he couldn't be in the same room as Katniss and pushed tour rehearsals back. And then it really was her problem when he broke his hand after punching a wall, a direct result of their phone conversation, and pretended to go to rehab just so he could punish her by making everything screech to a grinding halt.

She really, really hated him.

"Furthermore—" Clove's never heard anyone use the word furthermore in a conversation that was not scripted by Shakespeare — "Within the terms of his release, Mr. Hawthorne would not be officially released from his contract within the band until a suitable replacement was lined up with the approval of the label."

"Yeah, what about the band's approval?" Marvel says, the steady rap of his fingers against the wooden table never faltering. "Imagine the label's still mad at me for that time I wrecked that golf cart—"

"—they probably are," Katniss chimes in.

"—and they give us someone worse than Gale as a dose of our medicine." He glances around the table at the rest of them, looking for support. "I mean, it's more than just a business arrangement. This is somebody we have to live with, in cramped conditions, for the next seven months. Do you want one of us to become a serial killer?"

"Mr. Dillon," the suit says in a disapproving tone, lowering the wire-rimmed glasses on his nose to glare. Marvel winces, slouching back into his seat; underneath the table, Glimmer has stomped on his foot as hard as she can manage, arms now folded across her chest and a triumphant smirk on her lips that she does her best to water down for appearance's sake. "Considering your own contract and moral clauses, I highly doubt that will be an issue."

"So, what are you saying?" Glimmer asks. "We don't get to pick our new guitarist?"

"It's not just a guitarist, from my understanding. If I'm correct, Mr. Hawthorne also did male lead vocals for the group's latest record."

"That's something Marv or Thresh can do." Clove sits up a little taller in her chair, finding herself nodding along with Katniss's suggestion.

The suit, on the other hand, is skeptical of this. "That may well be true, Ms. Everdeen, but it's of the label's perspective that Mr. Hawthorne's replacement should be able to replace him entirely."

Clove sighs. This is veering on the borderline of asinine and aggravating, and she's got shit to do. Namely, get her band in rehearsal, now that they are apparently back on track. "Okay," she interjects, lifting one of her hands. "So Gale's out, and now we've got to wait on the label to find someone to replace him, and we'll probably figure out who it is once Rox's contract obligates her to post it on the band Instagram. Is tour officially on?"

Suit clears his throat. "Tour is on, yes." He begins ruffling through the stack of papers he has spread out around him. "According to Mr. Abernathy and Ms. Trinket, replacement dates with the venues are in the process of being finalized. The European shows are, I believe, the only ones still up in the air. My understanding is that you will play Amsterdam instead of Po—"

"Okay then," Clove deduces with the clap of her hands. "So when do we start rehearsals? Is the plan still to open in Glendale?"

"Yes, but..."

"And do we have to actually wait for the label to tell us who's joining, or are we allowed to make recommendations and audition people we like?"

"I like that," Marvel nods fervently. "At least gives us some say in the matter."

"And that's how we found Katniss," Glimmer adds, thumb jambing in the direction of their now slightly blushing keyboardist. "She was a perfect fit."

Emmett shrugs. "Told y'all I had good taste."

"That you did, Threshie."

The suit looks visibly uncomfortable where he sits, Clove's sharp eye narrowing in on his body language. It takes only a second to conclude why he's behaving as though his tie is choking him. "We're not going to get to audition anyone, are we?"

Marvel's neck nearly breaks. "What? Why?"

Clove's eyebrows shift upward, and Suit opens his mouth. "Per the terms of his release from his contract, Mr. Hawthorne would not be able to officially leave the band until a replacement was lined up. It's my understanding that we are meeting today because the label signed a new lead guitarist to The SeventyFourth last night, and the paperwork for Mr. Hawthorne's departure was processed and finalized early this morning."

The dull ringing is back in her ears, but this time, everything around her sounds as though it has been plunged into water.

Quite a bit of her disdain for Gale stemmed back to the way that he made Katniss feel (read: like shit, and Clove hated to see her down), but the reason Clove could not stand him, even for the sake of professionalism, was the lack of control she was able to exercise regarding his mere presence. She's always in control, even when others think she's not.

It's why the rest of them throw the baton her way when it comes to leading the charge — and the band — without a complaint. It's because she gets shit done. She doesn't mind making hard decisions that must be made, starting difficult discussions that need to be had. Everyone in The SeventyFourth has always had a fair say, but typically it all boils down to Clove.

She's been doing this twice as long as the rest of them. She's seen shit, and while it doesn't make her better than any of them (she will never be able to play piano like Katniss, or make even the stoniest person crack a laugh like Marvel, or be half the woman Glimmer is or have the rationale Thresh has in any given moment) it incentivizes her to make sure The SeventyFourth is the best it can possibly be. And Gale was the weed that no matter how she tried to rearrange or disguise she simply could not prune. Gale was a force outside of the things she could control. She'd certainly thought about it, but there was no way to physically make him show up for rehearsals. There was no way to quell his broodiness. There was no legal way to be rid of him unless he did it on his own terms.

The only thing that could possibly be worse than having the tour continue to be delayed is hearing that they have already found his replacement, and Clove's got no fucking clue who they could've picked to invade her family.

Slowly, the conversation around her pokes and prods at her bubble.

"I'm calling Haymitch," is the first thing Clove hears clearly, Katniss spinning the chair around so her back is to Suit with her phone already out, unlocked, and mid-dial.

"That's not necessary, Ms. Everdeen, but if you'd like."

Marvel is halfway across the table with how far he is hunched over. "Why weren't we privy to that information? We should have at least been told that the label would be out looking for people; I mean, for fuck's sake, we've all been doing nothing for five weeks. We could've been looking on our own for someone to take his place."

Suit seems to be sweating, even if he's doing a damn fine job with his poker face. "These were terms mentioned in the contract when The SeventyFourth signed with Rose Garden."

"Are you telling me that I don't know how to read?"

"I'm saying that this should not come as a surprise had you read your contracts."

"Those are like the goddamn terms of service," Marvel grumbles. "Nobody reads them!"

"Marvel, shut up," Glimmer says in lieu of smashing his foot underneath her Louboutins for the second time. "You're making it sound like we're stupid."

"Well, we might as well be."

"How far are you from the Garden?" Katniss is saying into the phone, hand cupped around the receiver so Haymitch can hear her. "Did you know that they were finding someone to replace Gale?"

"When do we get to meet them?" Thresh asks, perhaps the calmest of them all. It's why he is the threshold for all of their bullshit: nothing rattles him. "Since they're officially part of the band, we shouldn't be left in the dark. If tour's back on, we need to get into rehearsals."

"I'm glad you asked." The voice does not belong to the suit, but rather a sandy haired man that has burst through the conference room doors with a phone still tucked against his cheek, broad smile across his face. He winks at Katniss, who is staring back at him with her mouth agape. "We wanted to make sure you all were in the same room first," he says, hanging up the call. "And here you all are."

Haymitch.

"What the fuck, Haymitch," are the first words out of Marvel's mouth. "You couldn't have told us?"

Both of Haymitch's hands lift in mock arrest. "Wasn't allowed to." The look he gives Marvel is utterly patronizing. "Can't read the contracts for you, I can only tell you to read 'em carefully." Marvel's eye is now twitching.

"Okay, so who is it?" Clove snaps, already nauseous with the back and forth and stalling. "Who's our new guitarist?"

If it were possible for Haymitch's smile to grow, the upward curve of his lips would be carved in his skin. "So glad you asked." He turns slightly, arms gestured out to the side. "May I introduce — or, for some, reintroduce to you..."

Clove's vision goes red, and she vaguely feels as though she might be sick.

"SeventyFourth's newest guitarist and male lead, Cato Hadley."

[katriniac]

IkeVamp OC Bio

Meet Katarina - Half human, half succubus.

All you see is a gorgeous woman with a big ol' tote bag of yarn and knitting needles. The horns and wings? She keeps those invisible. She decided to come back in time with le Comte and leave the 1980s because she couldn't stand all the synthetic fabric (No, really! That's the real reason! I promise it makes sense, LOL 😅)

Name: Katarina Koser

Gender: female

Race/Birthplace/Planet: Human female with Succubus bloodline, Hungary (ancestral home in Kiskunsagi Forest), Earth, 1890s

Current Home: Northern Italy, 1980s (but then she travels back in time with le Comte to 1890s Paris!)

Age (and how long does your race usually live?): 80-ish now. Lifespan varies. Because of her succubus lineage, the females of her family live much longer than humans, and therefore age more slowly. But they are not immortal. Their appearance will depend on the volume of life-force they recently absorbed. Some can retain the look of a young adult their entire life if they regularly take in adequate energy. They can always de-age from any elderly appearance if enough life-force is consumed, but they can never look younger than when puberty first hit them.

Build: voluptuous hourglass

Height: 5’8"

Hair: Deep reddish-mahogany. Long to mid-back, with slight wave/curl.

Eyes: Gray

Most Treasured Possessions: Thimble used by her grandmother, red headscarf with embroidery done by all her relatives.

Family: Two aunts, a sister, many cousins. Probably has male relatives but knows nothing of their existence.

Friend: Her cousin Lucia in Italy/Austria/Slovenia

Romantic Relationship History: In a rebellious streak at 17 eloped with her sweetheart Rolf. A mistake at that age, but she was revolting against the matriarchal rule and the anti-male mentality of the family. Divorced him two years later. Only dallies with men now when she’s feeling the urge for sex. Has come to accept that falling in love will only result in grief since she will outlive any man she chooses to stay with. Besides, she doesn't really need or want a partner; independence suits her globe-trotting lifestyle. (See *Deepest Secret* below)

Education/Training: communally raised so her basics were taught in an unorthodox manner, but as she traveled to more developed countries she was able to supplement/improve her education. Has a Masters of Fine Arts (just don’t ask to see what decade her degree was issued! LOL)

Things They’ve Done: Documented hundreds of diagrams/patterns/instructions for weaving/knitting/crocheting/embroidery techniques which had previously only been passed down through generations through oral tradition. Traveled to almost every country in Europe and South America, plus several key places in the Mediterranean, India, and North America. All for the sake of collecting artifacts, stories, and samples of the oldest thread-work. Once used her powers of charm to get unprecedented access to the 70-meter-long historial Bayeux Tapestry in a French museum.

Goals They Have: Preserve fiber craft traditions before they are lost.

What Motivates Them: Finding alternative ways of collecting/storing life-force without resorting to the traditional method of seduction and sex. And then somehow bringing that method to her clan and other succubi. So far she has developed a method that involves collecting and binding extra life force into plaits or knots to be used like batteries.

Favorite Entertainment (music, books, pastimes, etc.) : traditional European and Slavic folk music, music you can dance to. Sometimes has classical music records playing in the background while she knits. Doesn't watch much TV or film. Books are usually lace/knitting diagrams or research for weaving techniques. Reads some poetry. Loves to look through photo albums from world travels.

Favorite Food/Beverage: Enjoys cooking with lots of garlic and butter. Loves to eat berries and stone fruits of any kind, but raspberries and apricots are her favorites. Enjoys red licorice. Though she prefers cooking to baking, she is very proud of how her Paska bread and Sachertorte usually turn out perfect.

Personality: Confident, thoughtful listener, creative problem-solver, thinks outside the box, can appreciate the time/thought/skill that went into any effort (enthusiastically applauds her colleagues’ projects regardless of the size/scope), feminine/graceful, talks with her hands, cosmopolitan/worldly, unintentionally sensual in her mannerisms (unless she is deliberately mindful of maintaining a closed-off vibe), patient, is more likely to dive into deep discussions of how someone arrived at a decision/idea rather than be interested in the final decision itself, loves to travel, likes to help (is a bit of a “fixer”), can watch birds and spiders for hours at a time, can be a bit of a skeptic if a man begins “mansplaining”.

Note: At first glance she may appear kind and gregarious, but if watched closely over time you will see that she rarely offers any personal or private opinions/stories. She is friendly, but she doesn’t make friends. Katarina can be very invested in a person without letting that person get too close. This is an unconscious habit she has perfected over the decades while needing to move on from a place before they are suspicious of her not aging.

Deepest Secrets: Because Katarina rarely uses her power of seduction, she is out of practice. While she can usually keep it from seeping out, there is no way to put a cap on it 100%. Which means sometimes she will get VERY good service at a hotel or restaurant without even trying to charm them. The comedy starts when she actually DOES attempt to use her power for non-sexual purposes, such as getting through International check points quickly or convincing a cop to waive a parking ticket. In those instances, her inexperience often results in TOO MUCH power being used and the men throwing themselves at her or escaping with embarrassment at their sudden and unexplained erection (both predicaments are counter-productive to her reason for charming them in the first place!). Though she prefers to collect and absorb life-force that has been cast-off rather than feed off of a living human, she can perform seduction well and gets the job done quickly. However, this means she doesn’t have much experience enjoying sex inside the parameters of an established relationship. To elaborate even further: Katarina can’t recall the last time she was ever pampered or treated like a queen in bed. She is usually the one in control; just once it would be nice to feel treasured, to lie back and enjoy sex without having it feel like work. But that would mean having a lover she has a trusting connection with. She can’t have a normal relationship because she will outlive them. …Unless she finds someone worth giving up her immortality for. She doesn’t really believe there’s anyone out there like that. But that doesn’t stop her from wishing and fantasizing.

[sadie27]

Brazen Thoughts

It’s amazing how the remembrance of a core memory can spiral into a multitude of facets which don’t intertwine with each other. I sit here on this Wednesday night writing my first blog in over ten years, but my very first on Tumblr. I’ve always had a knack for writing my thoughts down, but before I knew it, adulting come along and what I once considered a save haven, became a chore.

Over the last few weeks I’ve contemplated re-starting to blog but I was (and remained) hesitant, until today. Why you may ask? The simple answer, Ms. Taylor Swift! It’s only fair I go back to tell this (not so) enthralling story of how the talented Ms. Swift gave me inspiration and motivation. 

It’s no secret Ms. Swift’s current tour has been all over the internet, Swifties are surely living their best life because of it, embrace it wholeheartedly! Seeing Ms. Swift’s clips from her tour thus far got me reminiscing on how I first really started caring about her music. 

Taking it back to 2014 (December), I found myself assessing my life, a habit I have when my birthday is approaching (December 27th), in that particular year I was about to turn twenty-six and felt somewhat stuck in a cycle which ultimately made me delve into a mild depression, the career aspect of my life was on track, but everything else just never seemed to align. 

I was never someone who zoned in on any one artist, when I heard something I liked, I just took a mental note of it. Nevertheless, Ms. Swift had already solidified herself into the music world, she was a name everyone knew, I knew her hits that played all over the radio but that’s as far as it went. But! 2014 changed that for me, 1989 was released and from hearing songs off it on the radio, I decided to purchase the album. It was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made to date.

While the whirlwind of emotions flooded my mind that December, I turned the music on and really took in word for word, that entire album. Personally, the track ‘Clean’ somehow made me feel that the struggle I’m currently facing will pass over time. Her way to put words together so beautifully, granted me some level of comfort.

Then and there, I became a fan of Ms. Swift and her mastery of the craft, what a talent she is to behold! Before I knew it, I was listening to all her previous albums, and without a doubt, for every mood, there’s a song! I’ve followed her musical journey and never regretted it. She became a role model, and nine years later for me, she still is. 

I was thrilled when her tour was announced (despite being from a tiny twin island knowing the reality of actually seeing her live is a far fetched dream), I’ve since lived vicariously through the videos posted and it literally makes my heart smile as her music continues to be my comfort. It still amazing me how an individual I know nothing about, wields such power with my emotions. (I’m not complaining though). I’ve followed her music, not her life. To each his own I presume? 

So, my inspiration today came from my TS playlist, which has ‘Clean’ on there and felt it necessary to share a summary of my story (for anyone willing to read this much). It was a great throwback for me, a welcomed trip down memory lane which led me to realize that people come and go, seasons change but never in my wildest dreams I’d think the constant in my life, is Taylor Swift’s music! And, I’d have it no other way. Cheers! @taylorswift

[highly-opinionated-art]

It's officially been a year of album of the week illustrations! Had a hard time taking pictures this time around but you get the point, right?

(2024 part 1) (2024 part 2) (2024 part 3)

Lyrics + albums + descriptions:

Week 40: We're letting the music speak for itself this time: this is the guitar solo from the song Smooth, from the album Supernatural by Santana. Easily one of the songs of all time, and it turns out the rest of that album was quite fun as well!

Week 41: "it's gonna happen when it's supposed to happen", from the song One Step At A Time, from Jordin Sparks' debut album. My only claim to fame is that when I marched in Macy's thanksgiving day parade, we were behind her and she waved at us. I almost cried.

Week 42: "start again from wherever you end" is from the song Time Is The Playground, and "everything that ends begins again" is from the song Catching Windmill. Both are from the album Time Is The Playground by one of my favorite bands, Carbon Leaf!

Week 43: "speak soft with a big stick, do what I say or die", from the song US History, from the album Flipsyde by the band of the same name, except those lyrics are actually WRONG! It's supposed to be "do what I say or be killed". I'm so mad that I messed that up, cause I really like how this little piece came out. I also became instantly obsessed with that song, it's so good

Week 44: "what a way to make a livin'!", from the song 9 to 5, from the album 9 to 5 and Odd Jobs, by Dolly Parton. Once at work I found a silver stamp pad on the floor, so I took it home, and then I smeared it all over this page to create a glittery silver background which is impossible to take a picture of. The album itself was eh.

Week 45: it's the chorus and the background vocals of the song I Won't Give Up, from the album Love Is A Four Letter Word, by Jason Mraz. Another hella nostalgic banger- I drew my adult and kid selves singing it together

Week 46: "don't think you knew you were in this song", from the song 5 Years, from the album The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars, by David Bowie. Sorry the art came out kind of bad this week, but not that sorry, cause what the hell was this album? Why, when I asked my parents which David Bowie album I should listen to, did they both recommend me this incomprehensible nonsense? It's so weird! You guys like this kind of thing???

Week 47: "it's been decided how we lose", from the song The Emptiness Machine, from the album From Zero, by Linkin Park. By contrast this whole album was absolutely incredible, I LOVED it. The art this time is my beloved Hector of Troy, duh!

Week 48: "show me to where there's music // with music, I just might go on", from the song I Gotta Have A Song, from the album Signed, Sealed, And Delivered, by Stevie Wonder. It was alright. Colored pencil drawing I'm pretty proud of this week of Kim, an old and also beloved oc

Week 49: "I've got laser vision, and I'm burning a hole in the wall", from the song The Lady and the Tiger, from the album Join Us, by They Might Be Giants. YES I fell victim to the same faulty red marker again. I threw it away this time. Also weird music, but weird in a way that was much easier for me to appreciate. Really liked this song in particular.

Week 50: "you can keep your body, I just want your place in the world", from the song Mantra, from the album Vicious Creature, by Lauren Mayberry. GOOD ALBUM! REALLY GOOD SONG! My mom was really confused by the background for some reason- it's of my broken car mirror. Duh.

BONUS ART: "little boys have action toys for brains // I'm living proof it can last a long time", from the song A Great Big Sled, from the album Don't Waste Your Wishes, by The Killers. Annual holiday listen to my favorite christmas album ever! Drawing is of an action figure I have- yes, he's blue, I call him Paintball Vader. Meant to make the words smaller but I like how this came out

Week 51: "I'm gonna set my feet on Southern soil and breathe that Southern air", from the song Hey Porter, from the album I Walk The Line by Johnny Cash. 'Why is it green' cause I don't have enough gray markers to make it grayscale instead. Next question. Was it a good album? Eh, it was fine.

Week 52: "whoever I was then, I can't ever be again", from the song Miami, from the album Louder Now, by Taking Back Sunday. I'm so mad because I had high hopes to like this album and I hate it. I picked an album I hated for the first AND last weeks of 2024, ugh!

Thanks for following along with this little project of mine so far- MORE TO COME IN 2025!!!

[theartofgrowingblog]

to those i used to know

I had a best friend all throughout high school. I won’t say her real name, so we will call her Holly. Holly and I were joined at the hip. At school events, we would huddle together on the bleachers, making fun of whatever happened or laughing at videos on our phones. We played the Sims and pretended like we knew how to do makeup. Lana Del Rey’s “Born To Die” album was the soundtrack of our teen years.

We met for ice cream last month. I wore an outfit I never would have dared to in high school. I drove my own car there and listened to Lana Del Rey for nostalgia. I hadn’t seen her in three years, not since our high school graduation. 

I remembered it. I had been an online student for my entire senior year because my mom is immunocompromised and I am an introvert. I also had no friends to spend the senior year with. So why would I bother? Everyone thought I had just homeschooled instead and was surprised to see me at graduation. I got a picture with a few of the people I remained acquaintances with and we talked about Dungeons & Dragons. 

I saw Holly there. I wasn’t quite myself yet, so I didn’t talk to her. I was scared that we had ended on bad terms I was not aware of, so I went to see my family instead.

She reached out to me early this year. We had brief exchanges of ‘you look great’s or ‘I love that game’s, but hadn’t had a real conversation in four years.

So we met for ice cream. It was awkward at first. We didn’t know how to talk to each other anymore. I am not 16 years old. I am nearly 21. 

I’m proud of her still. She has grown, just like I have. She is not 16 years old. She is 21. She is doing good things with her life. She has a good support system. She has fun. She has grown without me. And I am proud of it rather than sad.

We are planning on hanging out again soon. I had to re-give her my phone number. Maybe we can get to know each other as adults.

My childhood best friend was a girl named Taylor (not really, but you get the gist). We met when I was the new kid in third grade. I’d just transferred from a tiny public school to a sizable county school. I didn’t know anyone. I sat at lunch with a girl I didn’t know that well and moved seats when she puked on my sneakers.

I don’t remember how me and Taylor started hanging out, but we were fast friends. We basically lived at each other’s houses. Her grandmother was like my own. I tried Starbucks for the first time with her. That’s a big deal for a basic white girl like myself.

We went through a lot together, but we remained the strongest of friends. Most pictures of me between age 9 and age 13 have her in them in some way. We always made sure we were in the same class (her grandmother worked at the school, so we did utilize a bit of nepotism). 

We talked about boys and tried to learn to do makeup and painted each others’ nails. We played stupid long games of truth or dare. We were basically sisters. We couldn’t wait to get older and be able to go out by ourselves. We were girls together.

She has a baby now. I sent her a gift when he was born, but had to text her grandmother to ask for her address. We haven’t seen each other since 8th grade.

I decided it wasn’t cool to hang out with her anymore, since a more popular girl wanted to be my friend. She ate lunch with a mutual friend for about a month before transferring schools.

I didn’t feel guilty about what I did until a similar thing happened to me. It wasn’t a good thing to do. I know that. I was thirteen, but I knew better.

She seems like a wonderful mother. I’ve never met her son, but he is adorable and has the cutest chubby cheeks. I hope he liked the toy I sent him.

I have another friend, let’s call her Melanie. Melanie was my soul sister in ninth grade. We just clicked. We spent the night together and watched Riverdale and went to the mall together (unattended!). We took selfies in school bathrooms and she would help me fix my hair in seventh period. 

Being 14-years-old is hard enough as is, but having Melanie helped me more than she knows. She moved to Indiana the next year. I missed her so much, and we messaged and kept up with each other through Facebook and Snapchat. 

She still texts me “happy birthday” and sends me the Snapchat memories she gets of us. 

“Omg, we were babies!” was my most recent response to a picture of us with a very dated dog filter on. 

My saving grace in 11th grade was a boy I’ll call Devin. Devin was my best friend when I needed it most. I was the most alone I’d ever been. Holly and I weren’t talking anymore and I would either skip lunch in the bathroom or eat with my favorite teacher. We had mutual friends, but he noticed when I disappeared from the lunchroom. He started eating in the classroom with me. He would bring his Nintendo Switch and he would always beat me in Smash Bros. He tried to teach me how to play Yu-Gi-Oh! and I never caught on. We came up with a Dungeons & Dragons campaign. Devin helped me beat the permeating loneliness of being friendless in high school.

Devin and I don’t talk anymore. I ran into him in the university union the other day and it was distant.

I still carry pieces of every person I have ever known. I still play the Sims because Holly showed it to me. I eat Tostino’s Pizza Rolls because I tried them for the first time with Taylor and we loved them. I still have the perfume I bought while at the mall with Melanie. I play as the character that I made for Devin’s D&D campaign.

I crack jokes that old friends made first. I massage a popcorn bag before putting it in because a girl I went to elementary school with said that it gets butterier that way. I keep Marco’s ranch in my refrigerator just in case my best friend Brooke comes by and wants some. I hate ranch. I read text out loud in movies and TV shows because my mom can’t see it well from the couch. I didn’t even notice I did it until my boyfriend told me it’s cute when I do. 

I am more than myself. I am a mosaic of all that have loved me and all that will love me. When I hate myself, I hate the combination of thousands of years of love. When I get aggravated at something I do, it’s probably something I gained from an old friend or a distant relative. 

I am me because someone loved me.

[lizzygrantarchives]

Spin or Bin, October 27, 2012

At the luxurious Four Seasons Hotel in Singapore, Lana Del Rey, dressed in a simple yellow dress and red Vans shoes, welcomed me with open arms as I entered the room. The 26-year-old singer-songwriter shook my hands with a sweet smile. “Hey, how are you again?” she asked. She remembered me as I first met her when she played a show in Sydney three months ago. “Have you been busy? I hope you have been coping well,” smiled Del Rey as she sat down on the vacant couch. I really admire how down-to-earth she is despite being so successful. She made me feel calm and at ease, like a longtime friend of hers during the entire interview where she revealed that music is not her first passion and that the interview questions posed were ‘interesting’! (Thanks to our Twitter followers). Check out the full interview below!

How did you get the name Lana Del Rey?

When I was younger I felt like I wasn’t the person I was supposed to become yet. I had a vision for myself that was as beautiful as I wanted the music to be. I generally don’t deny my creative impulses so that was just one of those creative impulses that I had.

What can we expect after the release of Born To Die: The Paradise Edition, will you still be releasing another album?

The only thing I have really been working on is helping two directors score two different movies. It’s not too in-depth, just writing songs for two different films. Actually I have to call Universal to ask if I’m supposed to reveal the movies. One of the movies is coming out in June next year. What I really like to do is start writing music for films, it’s a really natural place for me. Most of the people I work with are already composers so it’s a good fit. That’s really the only ambition that I have.

You posed nude in British GQ magazine recently, what makes you do that?

I just like how beautiful naked women are. I love seeing girls’ skin in pictures. I have all the old Playboy magazines from the 60s and 70s. I love the look of girls with red lips and shiny skin. I am a big fan of the female form. So for me, it wasn’t uncomfortable.

Why did you decide for your latest music video Ride to be so lengthy like a 10 full minutes?

I really love movies as much as I love music. When I made my first record, I felt like I have to tell my stories through words and now I wanna wrap it up by telling my stories through pictures.

How were your teenage years like?

They were interesting. I stopped drinking 10 years ago just because I felt like a person who like trying new things and feel different. You do things so fast, you end up having so many different lifestyles all in one short time. Aside from that, I always felt like I have been around for a long time. My mother said that when I was seven, I used to think that I was an adult. When I was at all the parties, I talk to people like they were my friends.

Did you expect Born To Die to have so much success?

When I made that record, I brought it to a lot of different record labels and they weren’t interested in it because it was sort of weird. It wasn’t party music, my music was more down beat. People who got involved in it kind of got involved with it as a passion project. My photographer was my sister and my little brother was helping me. I was making my own movie stills from videos I took from YouTube. I have been doing that for a long time so I felt like if it was gonna work, it would have worked a long time ago. So no, I didn’t expect the success at all.

How do you feel when you feel like you got the attention of people?

I think the attention came with such a negative spin on the other side. It never really felt like it was something I could sit back and enjoy. I felt more like I have to guard the songs and protect them to make sure their future was protected. I really believed in the record, the music and the producers who have worked on it. I felt like I have no idea what is going to happen now.

How did you find this lush sound?

I found this young guy named Justin Parker and he always brought me different chords that he really likes. Originally when I started, I was just recording songs in my room and sending it to people to put music to. But then I found Justin, he started bringing me chords for Video Games and I started free styling. Eventually, I started free styling on all my songs like Video Games, Born To Die and Ride were all done on the spot in one take. But other songs like Summertime Sadness and Blue Jeans, I worked slowly with different composers.

What was it like working with ASAP Rocky on the National Anthem video?

I love him! When I told him I wanted him to play JFK in the video, he was totally down for it. ASAP Rocky and Azealia Banks are the only people I relate to these days.

What was the quirkiest item you received from a fan?

A crucifix necklace that is also a help whistle. I wore it for one of my videos although it was weird.

Do you have any special name for your fans?

No because all the other girls have such good names for their fans. I don’t have any names for them but they do run the show. They know they are in charge. (laughs)

How do you cope with fame?

I really hope I still feel inspired to write the way I used to a few years ago. When I first found writing, it was really new. I felt like I was doing something no one has ever done before. In California, I take a lot of walks and I drive on my own. No one ever said anything to me and I have my brother and sister with me there. When I leave America, it gets a little crazier. To be honest, when I’m talking to people with interesting questions like this interview, that is really good. And then the rest of it, I’m not sure about…

Some of your videos are controversial, what’s your take on controversy?

That’s a really good question! I think I wanted respect more than I wanted anything else. I considered myself a writer because writing is my passion. I hope I would have respect from journalists. I don’t welcome controversy as much as I welcome more creative collaboration with amazing people. When I wrote the record, it seemed more like I was trying to capture a moment in time. But with Ride was a little different, that would seem really fucking weird to people. The rest of it I don’t think it is that controversial.

Who is Lana Del Rey beyond music and all these attention from the public? Who are you really?

Although I love music, it is not my first passion. When I decided to stop drinking 10 years ago, my passion was working with homeless outreach, drugs and alcohol rehabilitation. I lived in New York for 10 years so that’s my job for real. I would say music doesn’t really feel like my true calling.

What are your all time three favourite movies?

Don’t Look Back by D.A. Pennebaker that covers Bob Dylan’s 1965 concert tour in the UK. It’s fucking crazy! I love American Beauty and The Godfather part one and two.

You wrote a song called Ghetto Baby for Cheryl Cole, how did that come about?

We have the same boss at Polydor and they thought Cheryl would like the song so they played it to her. She loved it and decided to record it.

Many people tried to define your music, what will you personally call it?

I would say it is film-made, really visual and reflective.

Originally published on spinorbinmusic.com with the headline Lana Del Rey Reveals All In Intimate Interview: “Music Is Not My First Passion.” Click here to view photos from the interview, conducted on October 25, 2012.

[briamichellewrites]

19

- I know I’m skipping ahead but I was too excited to wait!

February 23, 2000. Bria was at the Grammys waiting to hear who won the award for Best New Artist. She was nominated among Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, Macy Gray, Kid Rock, and Susan Tedeschi. Her album, Memories was doing well on the Adult Contemporary charts. It took months of writing, recording, and editing. It got Jeff’s approval before it was officially released. Critics gave it very good reviews. They liked everything about the album.

The day before, she was called upon to perform. The show had a last-minute cancellation and they needed an artist to cover for them. She met the producer in person to discuss what song she wanted to do. They decided on To Love You More by Celine Dion. He informed her that she would be in the audience. So, no pressure.

“Yep. No pressure”, she joked.

Brad and Mike had her practice the song after hearing of the situation. They had her practice with Celine’s vocals and then with the instrumental version. They even had her practice how she was going to stand and her movements. She nailed it every time! They were excited for her! She crossed her fingers. Was she nervous? Hell yeah! That was to be expected.

They would be at home watching her. Celine was informed that she would sing her song. She thought it would be a great opportunity for her to prove she could sing and promote her music. Both she and her husband, Rene heard her single, Better Days on the radio. Her voice sounded like she had years of training and experience. Brad and the band were at home watching the show, as Bon Jovi sat with her in the audience.

When her name was called, she took a second to process that she won! The band got up and took turns hugging her as she walked to the stage. The guys were excited about their best friend winning! No way! That’s Bria!

“I first want to thank Richie Sambora for telling me earlier that Britney Spears was going to win…”

The audience laughed.

“I also want to thank my parents for encouraging me and believing in me. If anyone here is drinking tonight, please get a sober ride home. Thank you.”

The audience clapped as she walked backstage. Melissa Etheridge, Sarah MacLachlan, and Sheryl Crow took turns giving her a hug and congratulations. She was photographed by the media holding her award. They also asked her questions before she sat back down in the audience.

Jon, Dorothea, and the other guys congratulated her. Thank you. When it was her time to sing, she gave her award to Jon to hang on to before going backstage again. She went on stage as she was introduced. The audience clapped for her. She took a deep breath as the music started. Everyone knew she could do it! Though, they could only imagine how nervous she was.

Celine listened to her singing her song. She held her breath, like a nervous parent watching her daughter. Her voice and performance was… there were no words to describe it. Tears of happiness were in her eyes. She had just started her career, but she sang like she was a true professional. She knew how to breathe, stand, project her voice, and keep time. The camera went over to see her reaction. It caught her with her hand over her heart. She had pride in her eyes.

She held her arms out at the last beat. The audience gave her a standing ovation, as she bowed. Celine blew her a kiss. She had proven herself as a singer and as a performer. Mike and the band were ecstatic! Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god!

At the after-party, they introduced themselves with a hug. She and Rene both congratulated her on her performance. Thank you! That meant a lot to her. How much training did she have? She did theater and voice lessons while away at school. They were impressed. She joked about practicing for about four hours the day before. They learned that she could play music by ear.

What instruments did she use? She played the guitar and piano. Initially, she wanted to be an alternative country singer but she fought with her label over that. They wanted her to be more pop. She was going to do that just to get them off her back. Then, they decided that her voice was more suited for Adult Contemporary, so they went with that. What label was she on? Warner Music. A couple of her friends were starting an independent label, so she was going to join them.

They had the same issues she had with not having creative control. So by joining them, she would be able to experiment and put out music she wanted to make. They understood what it was like to have to fight for control. Almost every artist did. They were excited to hear more music from her in the future. She thanked them. Before saying goodbye, they took a picture together.

She also got to talk to the Backstreet Boys, Britney Spears, Ricky Martin, who was very impressed she was fluent in Spanish; Whitney Houston, Chris Cornell and Bruce Springsteen. While talking to Chris, she mentioned her friend, Chester who was a fan of his. She took out her phone and called him.

“Hey, Chessy. It’s Bria. I have someone here who wants to talk to you.”

As he was asking her who it was, she handed the phone over to Chris. Did he freak out? Hell yeah! He was cool about it and he talked to him like an old friend. They talked for about twenty minutes. During their conversation, they agreed to meet up sometime. He handed her the phone back while asking if he was always that enthusiastic. Yes. Yes, he was. He laughed.

Phoenix called her and they both cried together tears of happiness after she went somewhere private. He was so proud of her! Was she proud of herself? Yes, she was. Good because she deserved it! The entire night was a dream come true! She didn’t care if it was cliché because it was true. For over a year, they had worked hard to put together an album and now, the hard work had paid off. She wiped her tears away and agreed that it had.

“I love you and I can’t wait to hear all about your night!”

“I love you too. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Faith Hill and her husband, Tim McGraw saw her coming back to everyone. They also noticed that she had been crying. Was she okay? She laughed. Yes, she had just been talking to her boyfriend on the phone and her tears were ones of happiness. They laughed with her before telling her how well she had done performing. Thank you.

Linkin Park was calling each other about her performance. To say they were proud of her was an understatement! They were all going to see her the following afternoon after she slept in. Mike was still working through his break up with Anna.

He learned her baby wasn’t his. After being caught together too many times, Brad and Rob were forced to come out as a couple. Rob came out as gay while Brad came out as bisexual. They congratulated them and apologized for forcing them to come out.

Chester was up and down, as was his marriage. It wasn’t going to last. He was looking at other women but he had yet to cross the line. Mike invited him to hang out, so he wasn’t alone. It was because of that, they became close friends. Joe was still single. He joked about liking his video games too much to have a girlfriend.

It was very late when Bria got home. She put her award on the kitchen counter before going upstairs, getting her pajamas on and hanging up her dress. After taking off her makeup, she crawled into bed exhausted. It wasn’t long before she fell asleep.

@zoeykaytesmom @feelingsofaithless @alina-dixon

[blueskrugs]

illicit affairs | Sidney Crosby

surprise! it's a new swift fic. I hit a wall with inspiration, so I gave up on getting through the albums in order. this got started for a different player, way back when folklore came out, long before I ever decided to plan the swift series. then it turned into this....anyway. I've been poking at this fic in some form for well over a year, and I can't wait for y'all to finally read it! as always thnks to @broadstbroskis for being another set of eyes when i was itching for someone else to read this.

for logistical reasons, this became an OC fic, rather than insert. this fic also details an eight-year age gap between characters, though, everyone is a consenting adult at all times. I followed a rough timeline for the 18-19 season, but don't look to closely at dates. please.

length: 9.5k words

November 2018

“I shouldn’t do this, but-”

That was how it started. Danielle Moore should have laughed and walked away the second Sidney Crosby walked up to her and said those words. If she were a smarter— or stronger— woman, she would have. She didn’t. Instead, more than a little starstruck, she allowed him to start a conversation. If only she knew what would come next.

“I’m Sid,” he added, grin shy and crooked, as if everyone in the room, in all of Pittsburgh, didn’t know exactly who he was.

“Danielle,” she said, instead of pointing that out, shifting her wine glass to her other hand so she could shake Crosby’s offered one.

“I haven’t seen you around one of these events before,” Sid said. He was still smiling softly at Danielle.

The event in question was a joint fundraiser for the Penguins Foundation and the Sarah Heinz House Association. The ballroom they were in was filled with some of Pittsburgh’s highest donors, as well as Pens players like Sid. Danielle was all dolled up in a new gown and heels, curls piled on top of her head. She might have looked like she belonged, but she’d never felt more out of place.

“That’s because this is my first one,” Danielle told him. “I only started volunteering at Heinz House at the beginning of the school year.”

Sid looked curious, or he was really good at feigning interest. “Yeah?” Danielle nodded, but Sid continued. “What do you do there?”

Danielle shrugged. She caught herself looking over Sid’s shoulder, waiting for someone to sweep him away, something better, more interesting to hold his attention. No one appeared.

“I just help with the after-school programs a couple times a week. Help kids with homework, teach the middle schoolers how to cook on Wednesdays, nothing crazy.”

Sid laughed softly. “It’s still impressive,” he told her.

Someone called Sid’s name from across the room, and he turned. Danielle felt her heart sink, though she’d been expecting it. It was only small talk, she told herself.

“I’m sorry,” Sid said. Danielle didn’t really know what he was apologizing for. “I’ll talk to you later?” he asked.

Danielle smiled and nodded, though they both knew it wasn’t likely. There’d always be someone for him to talk to.

Over an hour later, Danielle was getting another drink from the bar when Crosby found her again.

“Put that on my tab,” he said, leaning against the bar next to Danielle as she took her glass of wine.

She turned. “It’s an open bar, Crosby,” she huffed.

Sid grinned at her, big and crooked and genuine, eyes crinkling. “It’s the thought that counts, though, eh?” he asked.

Danielle rolled her eyes, but she found herself smiling, too. “Whatever you say,” she told him.

The bartender slid Sid another rum and coke. He murmured a thanks before turning back to Danielle. “I didn’t get to ask earlier, how did you end up volunteering at Heinz House?” he asked.

Danielle slid into one of the few barstools near them. Her heels may have looked beautiful, but she wasn’t used to wearing them, and her feet were killing her. Sid seemed geared up to turn this into a whole conversation again, and she needed to be sitting for that.

“Some of my kiddos were a part of some of their programs,” Danielle told him. “They talked about them all the time, so I wanted to see what it was all about, and then I ended up sticking around.” Sid’s eyebrows raised. “You have kids?”

Danielle laughed. “No, God. I’m a teacher at Logan Elementary in the East Allegheny district.” Danielle didn’t think it was possible, but Sid’s eyebrows inched higher on his forehead. “I started there in the fall.”

Sid was quiet for a moment. “Do you like teaching there?” he finally asked.

Danielle smiled in spite of herself. “I love it. It’s hard as hell and I could use about ten more hours in the week, but I love the kids, and they’re the ones I’m doing it for anyway.” Danielle took a sip of her wine. “And if I can make a difference in just one kid’s life, why not try, y’know?” she added.

Sid smiled softly at her. “Yeah,” he said, “I get that.”

Time passed quickly while Danielle was talking to Sid. He was surprisingly adept at holding a conversation, listening intently to the answers Danielle gave to his questions, before giving thoughtful responses of his own. In between getting to know him better, and laughing so hard at his stories of his teammates that her sides hurt, Danielle found herself wanting to stay sitting by Sid’s side forever— or, at least, for a few more hours.

As they announced last call, and people started filtering towards the doors, Kris Letang wandered over and clapped a hand on Sid’s shoulder.

“There you are,” he said. “No one’s seen you in hours, we all thought you’d ducked out early.”

Sid glanced at his watch and made a face, but he spun around on his barstool to face Letang, elbows resting on the bar behind him. “I saw you at practice this morning, and I’ll see you again tomorrow for the game,” he pointed out.

Letang rolled his eyes. “So unsocial,” he chided, in a tone that made it sound like it wasn’t the first time he’d complained about it. His eyes landed on Danielle for the first time, and his grin sharpened.

“I’m Kris,” he said, holding his hand out. Next to him, Sid groaned.

“Danielle,” she said, shaking his hand, but he was already rounding on Sid again.

“I see, now,” he said. “You can’t spend time with your friends because you’re too busy trying to flirt with a pretty girl.”

“Oh, come on, that’s not-”

“‘That’s not,’ what, Sid?” Letang said, still grinning wickedly. “True? Isn’t it?”

Sid glared. “That’s not fair,” he said. “I see you assholes all the time.” And I’ll never see Danielle again, none of them added, though they were probably all thinking it. At least, Danielle was.

Letang was still happily laying into Sid, so Danielle quietly excused herself and made her way towards the coat check. Purse in hand and coat draped over her shoulders, she joined the crowd of people making their way to the exit. Behind her, a voice called, “Wait!” but she didn’t turn around. Until a hand latched onto her arm, holding tightly just above her elbow. Danielle turned, but didn’t try to shake off the hand. The hand in question belonged to Sidney Crosby. His fingers were warm against her bare skin.

“Wait,” he repeated. He was panting a little, like he’d run across the ballroom. “I didn’t get your phone number.”

People were still making their way outside, parting around them as they both stood motionless. Danielle stared at Sid. He looked painfully earnest.

“You didn’t ask for my phone number,” she pointed out. He’d had plenty of opportunities. (Admittedly, so had Danielle, but she wasn’t really about to ask Sidney Crosby for his phone number.) Sid blinked like he hadn’t realized that part. She sighed and said, “Give me your phone.”

Sid let go of Danielle’s arm to fish in his suit pocket for his phone. Neither of them had moved still. Danielle knew they were getting some disgruntled and dirty looks. Sid unlocked his phone and handed it over to her. His hand was warm where their fingers brushed. Danielle quickly created herself a contact and passed Sid his phone back. She’d left it unlocked, and she saw Sid smile briefly and mouth her name to himself before he tucked his phone away again.

“Let me walk you out?” he asked. He extended an arm, a grin in his eyes.

They were a part of the stragglers now, not many people left but them. Danielle took Sid’s arm and let her lead her down the stairs, out to the valet line.

“Will I see you again?” Sid asked.

Danielle hesitated. She wasn’t naive enough to believe that anything would come of this, not really. It’d be a nice memory one day, a night spent chatting with Sidney Crosby, like they were the only two in the room, but she didn’t want to press her luck.

“We’ll see,” she settled on with a small smile. “Pittsburgh’s a big city.”

Sid laughed, but he was looking over Danielle’s shoulder at something. Danielle had a feeling that whatever moment they had been having was broken, left behind up at the bar upstairs.

“I want to see you again,” Sid said now. He met Danielle’s eyes.

And what else could Danielle say but: “Okay.”

What started in beautiful rooms Ends with meetings in parking lots

March 2019

Sidney Crosby was not a fighter, but he’d never been one to back down from a fight, either. Danielle liked to tease him sometimes for the way he got on the ice, stubborn and determined and bitchy, arguing with anyone in hearing distance. He tended to get caught up in it all, didn’t realize what he was doing until it was all over.

Danielle was at the game when it happened, sitting in the stands on the opposite side of the rink from the rest of the WAGs, surrounded by screaming fans who had no idea who she was or who she was going home with. She liked it that way, sometimes.

Her eyes tended to follow Sid whenever he was on the ice, and she watched as Matt Martin cross-checked him into the boards, then once more for good measure. The puck was in the other corner, the way Martin and Sid were glaring at each other going unnoticed by the refs. Sid yelled something, shoved at the logo on Martin’s chest. Martin grinned at him, then the gloves were off.

Sid was a decent enough fighter, but Martin was bigger than him, and had the experience of a lot more fights under his belt. Sid got a few good right hooks in, split his knuckles against Martin’s helmet, but it wasn’t really a fair fight. Danielle winced as Martin’s fist connected with Sid’s cheekbone, just before the refs managed to step in and break it up.

The crowd was screaming for blood, for Martin’s head, fired up by Sid’s fire. Danielle found herself yelling with them. It was easier than letting herself worry as Sid was ushered to the box, shaking out his hand. Geno skated up behind them, carrying Sid’s gloves. He was laughing as he tossed them to Sid. Sid grimaced as he held a towel to his bleeding hand, but he smiled sheepishly on the Jumbotron, eyes still hard with anger. There was blood streaked across the penguin on the front of his jersey, and Danielle thought she could already see a bruise blooming under his eye.

The rest of the game passed in a blur. The Pens won, Danielle was pretty sure, riding the energy boost that Sid’s fight had given them. Soon, Danielle was following the wave of fans through the halls of PPG, spilling out onto Centre Ave.

She waited by the statue of Mario, like always. Sid would have to be patched up by the trainers, would probably get tapped by Jen for media after the fight. It would be a while before he would pull up in his sleek SUV, unlock the doors and wait for Danielle to slide in. She was used to it; they did this every time she came to a game. Since they weren’t official, Danielle couldn’t wait in the family room with the rest of the girls, or greet him when he finally emerged from the locker room. She doubted any of them even knew she existed, much less that she and Sid had been, well, whatever they were, for almost five months now.

So she waited, in the cool March air, for the face of the Penguins franchise to pick up a faceless girl from the street.

The last stragglers of the evening were finally leaving when Sid’s car pulled around the corner. He came to a stop in front of Danielle, and she hurried to climb in. She’d barely fastened her seatbelt when Sid pulled away from the curb, no greeting, no smile, just stony silence in the driver’s seat. In the lights of the city as they crossed the Allegheny and headed north to Sewickley, Danielle could see the stained white gauze wrapped around Sid’s hand, the bruise darkening his cheekbone.

The radio was on, but Sid didn’t seem to be paying it any mind. Cautiously, Danielle reached out and changed the station, but he didn’t respond. Sid was silent for most of the drive, until he let out a huge sigh as they drove through the darkened streets of his neighborhood.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Just thinkin’ about a lot of things tonight.”

“It’s okay,” Danielle whispered, because what else was she supposed to say?

Sid had pulled into his driveway and put the car in park, but neither of them moved.

“It’s really not,” he said, leaning across the console to press a kiss to Danielle’s temple. “C’mon, you hungry?” he asked.

Danielle wasn’t, not really, had eaten during the second intermission, but she followed Sidney into the house, into the kitchen, anyway. The house was dark except for the light in the entryway, but Sid flipped light switches as he went, shedding bits of Sidney Crosby as he walked, slowly turning back into Sid, just Sid. His dress shoes lined up by the door, to be carried upstairs later, his suit jacket over a chair in the dining room, his phone and keys dumped on the island in the kitchen.

Danielle trailed after him. He winced when he pulled the fridge door open with his gauze-wrapped hand, before staring unseeingly into it for a long moment. Danielle sighed and went to bump him out of the way with her hip.

“Go change,” she said gently. “I’ll make you something to eat.”

Sid pressed a kiss to Danielle’s hair, and whispered, “Thank you,” before disappearing upstairs.

Danielle sighed again and rummaged through the fridge, searching for something acceptable. The fridge was pretty barren; Danielle knew the team was leaving on a road trip the day after tomorrow— well, tomorrow, now, she thought, checking her watch with a grimace— and it didn’t look like Sid had picked up fresh groceries. She found a Tupperware with what looked like vegetable lasagna underneath a mostly empty carton of eggs that didn’t look too old and stuck it on a plate in the microwave.

Sid came back down just as Danielle was pulling the plate out and setting it on the counter.

“Sit. Eat,” she said, sliding him a fork.

Sid made a face at her, but he dug into the admittedly lackluster meal. He’d unwrapped his hand while he was upstairs, his split knuckles still an angry red, dried blood streaked across them. The bruise high on his cheek highlighted the dark circles under his eyes, and, for the first time since she’d known him, Sid looked small, his Pens hoodie hanging off his hunched shoulders. If she looked hard enough, she could almost see the shadow of the kid who put the franchise on his back all those years ago. He looked tired.

“I should head out,” she said softly, when Sid was almost through his piece of lasagna.

His head shot up, and he dropped his fork on the plate with a clatter. “What?” he asked. He almost sounded...panicked. “You don’t have to leave.”

“Sid, you should get some sleep, babe,” Danielle said.

“No, stay,” Sid said. I sleep better with you by my side, he didn’t say. He pushed his plate away. “Please.”

So Danielle stayed.

And that's the thing about illicit affairs And clandestine meetings and longing stares

November 2018

Sidney Crosby was not the type for hookups or for booty calls. Which is why Danielle was surprised when he texted a simple, “Are you still awake?” late one night. They’d been texting some since that night at the gala, had even met up for coffee once, but this was unusual for Sid. (Even though the perfect grammar and punctuation in texts were not.) Danielle stared at her phone for several long minutes. Had the other shoe dropped at last? Is this what Sid had always been aiming for?

If Danielle remembered correctly, the Pens had been out on a short road trip, had probably gotten in late after losing to Ottawa. If she also remembered correctly, it had been a rather rough month for the Penguins, and they still had a few weeks until December.

Instead of trying to get a straight answer out of Sid through text, she pressed the call button on his contact and raised her phone to her ear, fighting back a yawn. Sid answered immediately.

“Shit, I woke you, didn’t I?”

He had, but Danielle hadn’t really been asleep long. She didn’t tell him that. “What do you want, Sidney?” she asked.

She could practically hear his wince on the other end of the line. “Just some company, I guess?”

“Company?” Danielle scoffed.

Sid was quiet for a long moment. “Please?” he asked finally.

Danielle didn’t point out that he had plenty of other friends or teammates who could keep him company. She scrubbed a hand over her face and glanced at the clock on her nightstand. It was just past 1 AM. “I’m already on my way to your apartment,” Sid added sheepishly. Danielle laughed in spite of herself.

“You owe me coffee in the morning,” she said. At least tomorrow—today?— was Sunday.

“Deal.”

It had been raining, and it was cold when Danielle made her way out of her apartment and down to the parking lot where Sid was waiting. He was leaning against his car, waiting for her, and he tossed her a hoodie before she could pull open the passenger door. Danielle squinted at him, but she tugged the hoodie over her head. Sid was already walking back around to the driver’s side, so she hurried to get in the passenger seat.

“Are we going anywhere in particular?” she asked, fastening her seatbelt with a click.

Sid shrugged, twisting around to back out of his parking spot. “Probably not.”

Danielle settled more comfortably in the passenger seat, sleeves tugged over her hands and hood pulled up over her ears. Sid glanced over at her and turned the heat up. He didn’t seem to be much in the mood for conversation, which was good, because Danielle wasn’t really awake enough to be a good conversation partner, anyway. She let her eyes unfocus a little as Sid drove, letting the lights reflecting in the wet pavement blur together. She lost track of time, the radio playing softly, and Sid winding his way through the city with no clear destination in mind, back and forth over bridges. She blinked herself awake after a while when she realized the car wasn’t moving. She looked over at Sid only to find him already looking at her. She held his gaze. They were stopped at a red light, even though there was no one else on the road at this time of morning, Sid’s features awash in the red glow. Danielle saw the light change out of the corner of her eye, the car turning green instead.

“Eyes on the road, Crosby,” she said softly. Sid turned back the windshield and kept driving.

Before long, Sid had pulled into his own driveway. Danielle hesitated. She’d never been to Sid’s house before. It felt like a step beyond what they were, not quite friends, but not anything else either. In the dark, the large house felt intimidating. It was late, though, and she could hardly ask Sid to turn around and drop her back off at her own apartment. Sid turned off the car and climbed out, and Danielle had no choice but to open her own door. She shivered as she watched Sid pull his suitcase from the back of the car.

“Shit, c’mon, it’s cold out,” Sid said.

Danielle followed him nervously to the front door and inside. Sid didn’t turn on many lights as he made his way upstairs, and Danielle had to follow close behind him. Her doubts from earlier were creeping back in. She had no idea what she was doing here. She wondered briefly at what she’d gotten herself into as Sid disappeared into his closet and reappeared in a pair of sweats and a T-shirt, hovering awkwardly in the doorway to his bedroom. She was beginning to feel like she was in way, way over her head.

Sid saw her still waiting by the door and offered her a tired smile. “Wanna come to bed?” he asked. When Danielle didn’t move, he added, “There’s no catch, I promise. Just sleep.” To emphasize his point, he yawned. Danielle had to fight back a yawn of her own, and Sid’s sleepy grin grew.

Sid pulled back the sheets and climbed into bed. Danielle made herself move, too. She’d kicked off her shoes by the front door, and her steps were quiet on the carpet as she padded towards the bed. The sheets were cool as she slid underneath them, but Sid was warm, and she could already feel his body heat warming her. He didn’t stop to ask if it was okay, but he moved slowly, reaching across the bed to pull Danielle close, until she was tucked up under his chin. His breath moved her hair when he breathed out.

Danielle expected to take a long time to fall asleep, thoughts spiraling, but she was out within minutes.

She woke to an empty bed the next morning, but to the smell of breakfast wafting up the stairs. Sid had left the door cracked when he’d gotten up. Danielle contemplated rolling over and going back to sleep for a moment—Sid’s bed was unfairly comfy— but the prospect of breakfast and coffee was too much. She pushed the sheets back with a sigh and climbed out of bed. She realized she was still wearing Sid’s hoodie from the night before. It smelled like him, and Danielle never wanted to take it off.

Sid had his back to Danielle when she found her way to the kitchen. He was busy unpacking a breakfast spread of takeout. Danielle whistled, and Sid startled. He turned to look at Danielle, already sheepish.

“What, is your whole team coming over?” she asked. She was exaggerating a little, but there was certainly more food on the table than two people could eat, regardless of the fact that one of them was a hockey player.

Sid blushed a little. ��Sorry, I didn’t know what you liked.” He paused, surveyed the table. “I may have gone a bit overboard,” he admitted. “Sorry.”

Danielle took the mug of coffee Sid offered her. “Relax, Sid, I’m just teasing.”

She looked over the food spread out across the table more closely: there were a couple kinds of breakfast sandwiches, what looked like a half dozen slices of quiche, and a couple containers of fresh fruit. Danielle wandered over to the fridge to hunt for milk to doctor her coffee. Sid hovered, waiting for her to slide into a seat at the table before he sat down himself. He waited, too, for Danielle to pile some food on her plate before he dug in. It was cute, Danielle thought helplessly.

They chatted some over breakfast, Sid asking Danielle about work and Heinz House, Danielle asking questions about the team. She had a decent understanding of hockey, especially after growing up in Pittsburgh, but she hadn’t ever paid too much attention to it over the years, except for during the playoffs. She’d started watching more games, when she could manage it, since meeting Sid, but he didn’t need to know that.

It was fun to listen to Sid talk about hockey, even if the intensity and earnestness with which he listened to Danielle talk was a little intimidating. She wasn’t sure she’d ever had anyone listen to her that intently, with that much genuine interest.

Sid insisted on packing up the leftovers and cleaning up the dirty dishes himself, so Danielle stayed in her seat to finish up her coffee (and maybe to check Sid out some).

“I should probably head back home,” Danielle said finally.

Sid turned, looking a little alarmed. He was still holding the dish towel. “You don’t have to. I don’t have anything to do today.”

“I’m still in pajamas, Sid,” Danielle pointed out. She hadn’t even considered the fact that she’d be spending the night at Sid’s when he’d picked her up, much less that she’d need a change of clothes.

Sid shrugged. “And my hoodie.” Danielle squinted at him. He looked smug.

“Either you drive me home, or I call an Uber,” Danielle said, pointing her empty coffee mug threateningly at Sid. It was mostly an empty threat.

Sid gently took the mug out of her hand and set it behind him on the counter. “I’m sure I have something you could wear,” he tried.

Danielle raised an eyebrow at him. The hoodie she was wearing hung off of her small frame. Sid had close to six inches on her and probably at least seventy pounds.

“You look fine,” Sid tried next. “We’re not going anywhere.” Danielle raised her other eyebrow at him. Her curls were tumbling out of the messy bun she’d put them up in before going to bed, hanging limply around her face. Sid sighed. “Fine.” He turned around to put Danielle’s mug in the dishwasher, and she could hear him grumbling under his breath.

“What was that, couldn’t hear you,” Danielle teased.

Sid shot her a glare on his way out of the kitchen. “I’ll be right back,” he told her.

He reappeared a few minutes later with a hat pulled over his hair and car keys in hand. He still looked distinctly grumpy, and Danielle stopped him with a hand on his elbow. She leaned up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to Sid’s cheek.

“Thanks for breakfast, Sid,” she murmured.

When she pulled away, Sid was blushing, and he ducked his head to hide it. Placated somewhat, Sid led the way to his car. He opened the passenger door for Danielle, and she offered him a smile as she slid in. It made Sid blush again.

“For what it’s worth,” Danielle started once they’d been on the road for a few minutes. Sid hummed, carefully switching lanes. “It’s not that I didn’t want to spend the day with you.” When Sid made another noncommittal noise, she continued. “I just haven’t done laundry in a week, and I don’t think I have anything to wear to work tomorrow.”

That got a laugh out of Sid. It also did the job of easing the last bit of tension from his shoulders. The rest of the drive was easy after that.

“Wait,” Sid said as Danielle made to get out of the car in front of her apartment. He tugged on the sleeve of the hoodie she was still wearing. “I’m never getting this back, am I?” he asked.

Danielle pretended to think. “Hmm, probably not,” she said. She leaned across the console to press another kiss to Sid’s cheek, only he turned his head at the last second, capturing her lips with his. “Oh,” Danielle whispered. Sid pulled her in for another kiss.

Leave the perfume on the shelf That you picked out just for him

DECEMBER 2018

Danielle and Sid hadn’t been doing their...whatever it was they were doing for long when the holidays rolled around. Danielle wouldn’t call it dating, exactly, but they were spending time together and doing date-y things—with plenty more kissing involved now. What are you supposed to get your millionaire, not-boyfriend, more-than-a-hookup for Christmas?

“You’re not getting me anything for Christmas,” Sid told Danielle firmly one night, only a week before Christmas, cutting off her lament that she still didn’t know what else to get her mom.

Danielle was pressed into Sid’s side on his couch, one of his arms draped across her shoulders. She craned her head around so she could look up at him.

“What if I already got you something?” she asked. She hadn’t, and Sid clearly knew that too, judging by the raised eyebrow he gave her. “Well, then you’re not allowed to get me anything, either,” Danielle argued. Sid chuckled, his shoulder moving beneath Danielle’s head. Danielle narrowed her eyes at him. “Sidney,” she whined.

Sid bumped Danielle’s head with his shoulder. “Lemme up for a sec, yeah?”

Danielle sighed, but she scooted over on the couch to let Sid up. Glaring at his back as he disappeared upstairs, she tried to count out the days in her head. With the Penguins’ schedule for the next week, this would probably be the last time they could spend together before Christmas.

Sid returned a few moments later, carrying a small, neatly wrapped box. He handed it to Danielle, hovering nervously in front of her.

“You didn’t wrap this, did you?” Danielle couldn’t resist teasing a little.

Sid blushed, scuffed his socked toes across the rug. “Nope,” he admitted. Danielle plucked at the tape. “Would you just open it already?” Sid complained.

Danielle grinned at him and ripped the paper off. In the box was a bottle of YSL Black Opium. It was Danielle’s favorite perfume.

She couldn’t resist one more tease. “Sidney, you know I’m not looking for a sugar daddy.”

Sid grimaced. “I, uh, remembered you said you were almost out, and i just, I thought-” Sid broke off, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

Danielle had mentioned that she was nearly out of perfume, when Sid had asked her what she’d been wearing that night they’d met at the gala. She hadn’t expected him to really remember that part. She set the bottle aside carefully and stood up. She twined her fingers with Sid’s across the back of his neck and pulled him in for a kiss.

“It’s perfect, Sid, I promise,” she told him.

“Yeah?” Sid asked, but he was grinning. He put his hands on Danielle’s waist and pulled her into him. “Promise you’ll only wear it for me from now on?”

Danielle laughed and let Sid press her into the couch cushions.

They show their truth one single time But they lie and they lie and they lie A million little times

February 2019

The Pens had an early afternoon practice out in Cranberry, and Danielle was meeting Sid for lunch after. She was already seated at a table in the restaurant Sid had picked when he came in with a blast of winter air, bundled up against the cold. He tossed his coat across the booth seat next to him before sliding in across from Danielle with a smile.

“Hey, sorry I took so long,” he said. “I got tapped for media.”

“It’s alright,” Danielle told him. She’d only been sitting for a few minutes anyway. She knew better than to lean across the table for a kiss, though she wanted to. The people of Pittsburgh were pretty good at leaving Sid alone, but she didn’t dare draw any more attention to the two of them.

A waitress wandered over and took their orders. Sid launched into a story from practice. He had his back to the door, so he couldn’t see when the door opened again and Kris Letang entered. Danielle hoped that he wouldn’t see them, but of course they weren’t so lucky. Danielle didn’t have time to warn Sid before Letang had reached their table and was clapping Sid on the shoulder. Sid startled. Danielle suddenly had a weird sense of deja vu.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Letang said. He noticed Danielle. “And who’s your friend?” he asked. “Wait…Danielle, right? From that event a few months ago?”

Danielle was so surprised Letang remembered her that she could only nod.

Sid turned to face Letang. “I recognized her when I came in and thought I’d come over and say hi, catch up for a few minutes,” he told him. The lie slipped off his tongue so easily that Danielle almost believed him herself. She fought to keep her face neutral as Letang glanced back over at her.

“Well, you two have fun,” he said, already heading towards a table of his own. He shot Danielle a wink over his shoulder.

Across the table, Sid was quiet. He wouldn’t meet Danielle’s eyes. Neither of them spoke until their food arrived.

“Actually, I’m really sorry, can I get a box for all this?” Danielle asked the waitress as she set her plate in front of her. “I don’t feel well, I think I’m gonna head home, actually,” she told Sid as the waitress disappeared again.

She was supposed to follow Sid back to his house, had a bag in the trunk of her car so she could spend the night. Suddenly she didn’t feel up to that at all. Something like hurt flashed across Sid’s face before he carefully schooled it back into something stoic. Danielle couldn’t find it in herself to feel bad for him. He nodded.

“Yeah, uh, of course,” he said. “I’ll see you, yeah?” he asked, quieter. Danielle pretended not to hear.

Food in hand, Danielle swept out of the restaurant. She forced herself to not look back over her shoulder at Sid as she went.

She just hoped no one saw her crying in her car in the parking lot.

When Sid called her to apologize later that night, she told him that it was fine, that she understood, though she wasn’t sure she did, not really. She didn’t tell him that she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep her love a secret. Sid’s relief felt palpable over the line, and she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to make of that, either.

Danielle took a chance a few days later. “Can I come visit you this summer?” she asked. “I’ve never been out of the country before, I think it would be cool to visit Canada.”

Sid, to his credit, did not choke on the sip of water he had been taking. He hesitated, and Danielle waited him out. “I don’t know,” he said. Danielle sighed. “I’m always pretty busy, between training and PR stuff I don’t have time for during the season, and I was thinking about spending a few weeks in Europe, y’know?”

No, Danielle did not know. She made herself shrug. “Without school,” she said, “I don’t have a lot going on, my time is pretty flexible.”

“I don’t know,” Sid said again, hedging. “We’ll see,” he settled on.

Danielle knew better.

Don't call me "kid," don't call me "baby" Look at this godforsaken mess that you made me

November 2019

They were in the kitchen, standing on opposite sides of the island. Danielle was slicing an apple, and Sid was sifting through his mail. It felt terribly domestic, and stupidly cliche, and Danielle hated it, all of a sudden. Sid was chatting as he tore open envelopes and ripped up junk mail— some story from practice, maybe, she thought she’d heard some teammates’ names— but she didn’t really hear a word of it.

She set her knife down in the sink, took a bite of apple.

“Are you ashamed of me?”

Sid stopped mid-sentence. He gaped at Danielle, truly at a loss for words, which was rare.

“What?” he finally got out.

Danielle crossed her arms, stared Sid down. “Are you ashamed of me?” she asked again.

Sid blinked, once, twice. “Why would you think that?” he asked, slowly, after a long few seconds of tense silence.

“Why wouldn’t I think that? Do any of your teammates know about us? Your friends? Your family? It’s been a year, and no one even knows I exist, Sidney.”

Sid winced. “Dani, baby, c’mon,” he said. “It’s complicated.”

“Don’t call me that,” Danielle hissed.

Sid blinked again, stunned. “What?”

“Don’t call me ‘baby’ like I’m being ridiculous, that this is just some dumb argument I can be talked down from,” she told him.

Sid’s brow furrowed. He’d crossed his arms, too. “That’s not-” he started, but Danielle wasn’t done.

“I’m so fucking tired of sneaking around, of waiting outside arenas for you, of watching you lie to all the people in your life, including me and you! Everyone else gets to wait in the wings for the man they love, I’m stuck in the nosebleeds, watching you on the ice just like everyone else.”

“Is that really what you want?” Sid asked. “To be another smiling, dutiful wife?”

Danielle made a frustrated noise. “I want you, you idiot!”

Sid scrubbed a hand over his face. “You’re practically the same age as my little sister,” he said.

“If that were really a problem for you, you wouldn’t have started this,” Danielle pointed out.

“It’s not about what I think,” Sid tried. “The fans, the media, if they find out-”

“If they find out, what, Sid? Who cares what they think?”

Sid leveled his gaze on Danielle. She’d always liked knowing that she could capture his attention like that, bright eyes focused only on her, but now, they sent a shiver down her spine. “They’ll tear you to shreds, Dani.”

“Like they haven’t done that to you for years? I think Flyers fans still call you Crybaby Crosby.”

Sid closed his eyes, tilted his chin up to the ceiling. His lips moved soundlessly for a moment. “That’s just part of the job. You never asked for that.”

“I never asked to fall in love with you either, but here we fucking are,” Danielle said, helpless.

Sid blinked at her. “Don’t say that,” he begged.

“Why? Because you can’t say it back?”

“Danielle,” Sid started.

“I can’t do this anymore, Sid, really,” Danielle said. Her eyes burned, but she blinked back the tears. “I love you. I’ve finally said it, and I’m going home. I think you’ve got some things to think about,” she told him.

“I didn’t know,” he said finally.

Danielle picked up her jacket from where she’d draped it over a chair in the kitchen the night before. “I know,” she said gently. “But you do now. You’re on your own from here, Crosby.”

“Dani, wait,” he called, but his only response was the click of the front door as it shut behind her.

And you know damn well For you, I would ruin myself A million little times

Sid called a few nights later, asked Danielle to come over for dinner. She agreed, not knowing what to expect. She felt like she never really knew what to expect with Sid.

She ended up having to rush over after work, dragging her school bag stuffed with ungraded papers and unfinished lesson plans in behind her.

“You could have canceled, you know,” Sid said, trailing after her as she dumped her bag in the living room and collapsed on the couch. He was wearing his nice jeans, she noticed, and a henley she hadn’t seen before.

“Do you have wine?” Danielle asked instead of saying that, no, she couldn’t have, because she needed to know where they stood, if this was really over. No, she couldn’t have, because she’d really missed Sid, probably more than she should have.

Sid chuckled, turning and heading for the kitchen. “Dinner will be ready soon,” he called over his shoulder. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Danielle had already kicked off her shoes. Sid came back in a few moments later, carrying two glasses of red wine. Danielle took the glass he offered her gratefully and took a long drink.

“That bad, huh?” Danielle grimaced, and looked pointedly at her overflowing school bag. Sid laughed, but it sounded a little forced. “Well, come into the kitchen, yeah? Forget about it for a little while.”

Truthfully, Danielle would rather stay here on Sid’s ridiculously comfy couch, and maybe take a nap, or just sleep for 12 straight hours, but she heaved a sigh and herself off the couch and trailed after Sid back into the kitchen.

“What’re you making?” Danielle asked.

Sid was over by the stove, and Danielle hopped up onto the island, swinging her feet into the cabinets as she took another drink of her wine. Sid turned, saw where Danielle had perched, and shot her a disapproving look. He came over and stood between Danielle’s legs, anyway.

“It’s a surprise,” he said.

“Sidney, I swear to God, if it’s spaghetti,” Danielle threatened, but didn’t finish.

That startled a giggle out of Sidney. He rested his hands on Danielle’s thighs, almost absently, familiar. Then he realized what he’d done and tensed.

Danielle placed one of her hands on top of Sid’s. He relaxed, but only a tiny bit. So she reached with her other hand and cupped Sid’s cheek, turning his face back towards her.

“Hey,” she said softly, but didn’t say anything else. She didn’t know what to say, where to start. There was so much still left unsaid between them. She was saved by the timer going off. Sid swore under his breath and turned, his hands leaving Danielle’s legs. She let her hand drop and picked up her glass of wine again.

Danielle watched as Sid moved through the kitchen. She’d seen him cook before, but he seemed tense tonight. He was nervous, she realized, as Sid absently tried to pick up a hot pan with his bare hand. She wasn’t sure he’d ever been nervous around her, definitely not like this.

“Can I help?” she asked, sliding off the island and trying to peer over Sid’s shoulder.

He swatted at her with a potholder. “Absolutely not,” he said.

Danielle giggled and stepped back, out of range of the hot tray Sid was now swinging around, trying to find where he’d set out their plates. Dinner turned out to be chicken spiedini and roast veggies. It was good, but Danielle knew Sid wasn’t quite that good of a cook. She speared a piece of chicken and pointed it at Sid.

“You cheated,” she said, teasing. She knew for a fact that there was a butcher in town Sid frequented that sold all sorts of ready-to-cook dinners just like the one they were eating; she’d been asked to pick them up for him often enough.

Sid shrugged, blushing. “Been a busy week, this was in the freezer already,” he said. It was a lame excuse, but Danielle let it slide.

They chatted while they ate, about work and the team and their families. Small talk. And it was...easy. The silences were a little awkward, but not tense. Danielle didn’t realize how much she’d missed talking about the latest books they’d each read with Sid until she was doing it again. They talked, but they didn’t talk. Everything felt normal, but Danielle felt wrongfooted, couldn’t let herself relax fully. Sid was avoiding the elephant in the room, but Danielle wasn’t going to be the one to address it, not this time.

Sid insisted that Danielle didn’t need to help clean up after they were finished eating, shooing her back out to the living room with another glass of wine. She’d put up a token fight, but, honestly, she was more than happy to curl up on the couch for a while, listening to the familiar sounds of Sid clattering around in the kitchen. He was humming, some song Danielle recognized from the radio, out of tune.

She was just pulling some papers out of her bag to work on when Sid came into the room. He shot her a look, raised a pointed eyebrow at the papers in her lap.

“Work, really?”

“Teaching isn’t a 9 to 5, Crosby,” Danielle said, pointing her pen at Sid.

He pushed the pen aside and sat down, on the opposite end of the couch from Danielle. He dug for the remote for a moment before saying, “I know.” And he did know, had been witness to Danielle working long hours outside of school many times before.

Danielle carefully stretched her legs out into the space between them. If she really stretched, she could just poke Sid’s thigh with her toes. Sid turned the TV on and dropped his free hand to rest on the top of Danielle’s foot. She watched as he opened Netflix and clicked through some titles before settling on Crazy, Stupid, Love. They’d watched it once before, when Danielle had wheedled Sid into it on a night in.

“I thought you hated this movie,” Danielle said. He’d made it through the whole film when Danielle had made him watch it, but he’d complained through most of it.

Sid shrugged. He squeezed Danielle’s foot where his hand still rested. “You like it,” was all he offered.

Danielle did like it, and it was easy to have on in the background, mindless but funny. Before she knew it, two hours had passed, and the credits were rolling. Sid turned off the TV, leaving the room in near complete darkness. He stretched and tossed the remote aside.

“I’m heading up to bed,” Sid said. Danielle hummed, focused on the test she was grading. Sid stood, but didn’t move, looking down at Danielle expectantly. Expecting what, exactly, Danielle didn’t know, she realized as she looked up at him. “You should get some sleep,” he added.

Danielle shrugged. “I will,” she said absently. Even in the dark, she could see the skeptical eyebrow Sid raised at her. “I’ll be up soon,” she promised.

Sid sighed. “I’ve got skate in the morning, I’ll try not to wake you.” Then, as an afterthought as he lingered in the doorway, “You can sleep wherever.” He was offering her an out and asking her to stay in the same sentence; You can sleep in my room, or the guest room down the hall, just please don’t leave.

Danielle was startled awake by the front door slamming. It took her a second to gather her bearings. She was on Sid’s couch surrounded by scattered lesson plans, a stack of her students’ ungraded papers next to her, morning sun filtering through the windows.

“Shit,” she hissed, scrambling to gather everything and stuff it back in her bag. She could hear heavy footsteps making their way through the house.

“Sid?” someone yelled. Geno. Oh, Danielle was screwed. She heard the footsteps stop, then the familiar sound of Sid’s bedroom door swinging open upstairs, his tread as he rushed down the hall.

“Coming, sorry,” he yelled.

Geno took a step closer to the living room. His eyes landed on Danielle, and he grinned. It reminded Danielle of Tanger’s grin on the first night she’d met Sid, sharp and teasing. Sid was making his way down the stairs now. They were both out of time.

“Sid, who this?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Huh?” Sid wasn’t paying attention, looking at something on his phone. He was in sweats and a hoodie, dressed for practice, a Pens hat tugged on over his messy bed head.“Shit, Danielle,” he realized. He looked up, locked eyes with Danielle over the back of the couch. She raised her eyebrows at him.

“You bring girl home, then make her sleep on couch?” Geno sounded delighted. He was still grinning in Danielle’s direction. She wanted to sink into Sid’s stupidly plush couch cushions until she disappeared.

“That’s not, God, G, no,” Sid said. His phone screen went dark in his hand. He was staring at Danielle still, like he couldn’t remember how she’d even ended up on his couch in the first place. “That’s-” he hesitated. Danielle felt her heart stop in her chest. “Danielle’s my girlfriend,” Sid said finally. He never looked away from Danielle.

Geno crowed, and Sid startled, nearly dropping his phone. He glared at Geno as he got wrapped in an aggressive hug. Geno was still yelling, but he’d switched to Russian, Danielle thought. She laughed, though she wasn’t sure if it was amusement or relief.

Sid shoved Geno off. “Go wait in the car, would ya?” he asked, shaking his head. “Why do I put up with you,” he muttered.

“Sure, sure, fine,” Geno said. He looked over at Danielle again. “But I’m tell Sully that it was you who make us late.” Sid grimaced over Geno’s shoulder, and Danielle laughed again. “Nice to meet you, Danielle,” he yelled as he strolled back to the front door.

Danielle smiled hesitantly up at Sid. He took his hat off and pushed a hand through his hair, sticking his curls up in every direction, before he shoved it back on, flattening them. Tragic, really.

“We’ll talk later, okay?” Sid said. He checked his phone and grimaced. “G and I really are going to be late for practice.” As if on cue, Geno honked his horn outside. Sid rolled his eyes. “Okay?” he asked again.

“I’ll still be here,” Danielle promised.

Sid smiled, soft and fond. He bent down to press a kiss to her forehead as Geno laid on the horn again. Sid left, muttering curses at his best friend under his breath.

Danielle pulled her bag closer to her, settling in to work and doing her best to not count down the minutes until Sid returned. She wandered upstairs after a while to steal a hoodie from Sid’s closet, still in her work clothes from yesterday. Sid hadn’t made the bed before he’d rushed out earlier, the sheets still pulled back and rumpled on one side. The other side— Danielle’s side— was untouched, except for the pillow Sid had apparently pulled close in the night. Danielle smiled at it before ducking into Sid’s closet.

Distantly, she heard the front door open and shut again. Danielle pulled an old Pens hoodie off a hanger. Sid had frayed the cuffs on the sleeves; it was one of Danielle’s favorites to wear. She thought she heard Sid call her name, but she stayed where she was, stripping off her shirt and throwing it in the hamper behind her. Sid was on the stairs now, footsteps just shy of a run.

He poked his head in the closet just as Danielle was pulling the sweatshirt over her head. He was out of breath, just a little, and trying hard to make it seem like he wasn’t. Danielle pulled her hair out from underneath the hood and raised her eyebrows at Sid.

“I didn’t know where you were,” he said.

“All of my stuff is still on the couch,” she pointed out. Sid’s cheeks went a little pink. “I said I’d still be here,” she reminded him gently. Sid ducked his head, pink all the way to his ears now.

“Yeah, you did,” he said.

They were still standing in his closet, but neither of them moved. Danielle shoved her hands deep into her hoodie pocket, taking a deep breath of Sid’s familiar laundry-detergent-and-aftershave scent that lingered on all of his clothes.

“That’s my hoodie,” Sid said dumbly, as if he was just noticing Danielle in it.

“Is that a problem?” she asked. Sid shook his head, still looking at Danielle like he’d never seen her before. “I can take it off,” she teased, reaching for the hem and pulling it up just enough that her stomach showed.

“You’re terrible,” Sid said, but he was grinning, eyes crinkling at the corners. Then, “I love you.”

Danielle froze. Sid took a step closer, took Danielle’s hands in his.

“I love you,” he repeated, squeezing Danielle’s hands.

She tore her hands away. “Sid, don’t,” she said. Her voice shook, and she hated herself for it. Sid reached for her again, but Danielle stepped backwards, deeper into the closet.

“Dani,” Sid said.

“Don’t- don’t say that,” she said. “Not if you don’t mean it, if you’re just saying it because you think it’s what I want to hear.”

Sid looked confused, and Danielle hated him a little bit, too. “Isn’t it what you want to hear, though?”

Danielle groaned. She was exhausted suddenly, and she slumped to the floor and buried her face in her hands. Sid followed, sitting close but not trying to touch her again. Danielle laid back and stared at the ceiling; there was a cobweb on the light fixture. They were surrounded by Sid’s clothes, but the closet was still half empty, racks and shelves waiting for someone to come into Sid’s life and fill in all the gaps. Danielle wasn’t sure if that person was supposed to be her or not.

She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes and said, “Guys are so fucking dumb.” Sid made an offended noise. Danielle sat back up and leveled a glare at Sid, who at least had the common sense to duck his head. “I want you to tell me you love me because you mean it, Sidney. That’s it.”

“What makes you think I don’t mean it?” Sid argued.

“Almost every single part of our relationship until now?” Danielle said. “A year of lying and hiding, and it takes me leaving for you to suddenly realize that you’re in love with me? It doesn’t work like that, Sid.”

“What about this morning?” Sid asked.

“What about it?” But even as she said it, Danielle remembered Sid telling Geno she was his girlfriend, the fondness in his eyes before he’d rushed out the door. He hadn’t needed to say that. He’d certainly lied about their relationship to his teammates before. “What about it?” she asked again, softer this time.

“I meant that,” Sid said. He was fidgeting, running his fingers through the carpet fibers. “I- I want that. I just don’t want to see you get hurt,” Sid whispered.

Danielle huffed. “And how’s that working out for you, bud?” she asked.

Sid grimaced. “I don’t want to keep hurting you,” he said.

“So what now?”

Sid hesitated. “I don’t know, I really don’t.” He was expecting Danielle to flinch, maybe, but she didn’t. Just nodded, resigned, and so, so tired.

He was Sidney Crosby, he was always supposed to know what the next play was. But he didn’t, not this time. Sid rested his hand on Danielle’s knee. Danielle stared at it for a long moment before resting her own on top of Sid’s. Sid flipped his hand over, pressed palm to palm now, and twined his fingers with Danielle’s.

“Can we try this again?” he asked.

“Sidney,” Danielle said, a warning in her voice. Sid’s grip tightened on her hand.

“No, I mean, start over, do it right this time.” Danielle didn’t respond, so he plowed on, rushing and tripping over his words. “I want to date you for real, to call you my girlfriend, and introduce you to everyone, and bring you to events and on dates, and, and-”

Danielle cut him off, laughing, and he looked up at her, startled. “Breathe, Crosby,” she said.

He huffed, but he was beginning to smile. He ducked his head. “Got a little carried away there, eh?” Danielle watched him take a deep breath, watched as he tried to figure out what to say next. “I mean it, though. I want you to be my girlfriend. I- Will you be my girlfriend, Dani?”

Sid was meeting Danielle’s eyes now, and he looked so earnest, so sincere that for a moment she remembered the night they’d first met. Sid had looked at her like that then, too, standing out in the cold and asking Danielle for her phone number. She’d been helpless at telling Sid no from the start. She realized she didn’t really want to say no.

“Yeah,” she said. Sid’s entire face brightened, and Danielle loved him so much. “Yeah, Sid, okay,” she said again.

Sid all but tackled her then, pressing her back onto the carpet. She giggled, breathless, as Sid leaned down to kiss her. He was still wearing his awful hat from that morning, and Danielle knocked it off so she could run her fingers through his hair. Sid hummed, pressing closer, most of his weight on Danielle.

Danielle moved her hands to Sid’s shoulders and pushed. Sid rested his weight back on his hands, on either side of Danielle’s head, brow furrowed, biting his bottom lip. Danielle wanted to kiss him again, so she did, pulling him down with a hand on his neck before separating again.

“What’s that for?” he asked.

“I love you, and I love kissing you, but I am not fucking you on a closet floor,” she said, pushing at Sid’s shoulders again.

Sid rolled his eyes, but he rolled off of Danielle and to his feet. “I wasn’t gonna,” he complained. He offered Danielle a hand and pulled her up. He stole another kiss.

“Whatever you say, Sid, whatever you say.”

Sid’s laugh led the way into the bedroom.