#song choir performance happy happiness church

[carpkoinobori]

[†] thursday girl — giselle x reader

[𖤐] 1/1 [please be aware this is all fiction! none of this is real and idols behavior is not accurately represented.]

song(s): abbey - mitski | wife - mitski | goodbye, my danish sweetheart - mitski | circle - mitski | shame - mitski | once more to see you - mitski | thursday girl - mitski | pink in the night - mitski |

summary: you debut in SM’s newest girl group. The industry isn’t what you thought it’d be. It’ll be fine, right? or , more accurately: a girl’s guide to breaking all ten commandments.

pairing: giselle x aespa member!reader

to be honest the dynamic is more like the apple x the snake x eve

tags: angst, happy and open ending, literally just angst though, reader is raised catholic

wc: 7.3k

cw: dieting, eating disorders, religious trauma, catholic guilt, homophobia, internalized homophobia, comphet, mild implied sexual content, creepy variety show hosts and fans mentioned, the mortifying ordeal of being a girl

ex: not beta read, reader is third oldest/youngest - middle of five. reader’s stage name is Eve.

a/n: leaving this warning here. I was raised catholic. if you find negative mentions of organized religion upsetting, this one isn’t for you. NOT BETA READ ONCE AGAIN

psalm 32:1-5 Blessed is he whose transgressions are forgiven, whose sins are covered. Blessed is the man whose sin the Lord does not count against him, and in whose spirit is no deceit. When I kept silent, my bones wasted away through my groaning all day long. For day and night your hand was heavy upon me; my strength was sapped as in the heat of summer. Then I acknowledged my sin to you, and did not cover up my iniquity. I said, ‘I will confess my transgressions to the Lord’— and you forgave the guilt of my sin.

——————————————————————————————————— debut.

that’s what you’ve been working towards your entire life, what you hungered for, what you wanted.

since your early teen years, you’ve dreamed of debuting. You loved to perform, to sing, to dance— that’s why you were in your church’s choir group. The advent show, the way of the cross, everything— you were there.

did your parents approve of you being an idol? Absolutely not. They tried to convince you to settle down with one of the nice churchboys, the son of one of their friends. He was.. nice, okay looking. But you just didn’t like him. You dreamt of falling in love, being swept off your feet into happily ever after— but for most of your life, you had never even had a real crush! You must just not have found the right guy yet. It only counted when it was with a boy.

you auditioned for SM, and miraculously, you got in. Your days were spent training, dancing, weighing, singing, dancing, showcasing, singing, training, dancing, weighing— a cycle, really.

you met Yu Jimin and Kim Minjeong pretty early on, and you got along great with Jimin. She was catholic, and so were you! She wasn’t as dedicated as you, of course, but it was nice to have something in common.

you all didn’t get the chance to talk with Ning Yizhou a whole lot, even if she did share a dorm with minjeong. You dormed with jimin, but there was an empty bed.

that bed would be filled by one Aeri Uchinaga.

and from that day, your life would also be filled by aeri uchinaga.

The five of you were called to a meeting. You were a little worried, of course, clutching your silver cross chain and pressing the tip of it into your chest. A nervous habit.

“Hello girls,” the man began, the five of you sitting and fidgeting nervously.

“I have good news for you all. You five will be debuting as SM’s newest girl group, Aespa. Congratulations,” he smiled, and it felt like your world had just crumbled and rebuilt itself, three times over.

“We’ll begin thinking of your stage names soon, so feel free to give us some ideas. We’ll be waiting,” the man continued, and like that, the meeting ended.

you all had to celebrate, right?

The five of you met in your dorm, as minjeong didn’t want to bother the other trainee living there. You all begin thinking of stage names, and your eyes drifted to the figurine of Mary that sat on your nightstand. Jimin was thinking of using Katarina, her baptismal name, anyway! Your confirmation name could also work, but you weren’t sure.

“What if I used Mary?” You thought out loud, the other four girls turning their heads to glance at you, and the figure just behind you.

“Mary?” Jimin began. “Like, the Virgin Mary? Our Lady of Naju?” She questioned.

“Yes, I quite like the idea, don’t you?” The other girls knew you spoke a little formally, never really speaking in slang or impolitely in the slightest. It was your parents, after all. You had grown up in a secluded, small town in America, but your parents had taught you Korean, along with your own interest, reading books to perfect grammar. Sadly, that didn’t really teach you many informal words— not that your parents would allow that. You had to be a lady, of course.

“It seems a bit.. outdated, doesn’t it?” Aeri voiced, tentatively, and the other girls agreed with her. They began giving suggestions.

“What about Lily?” Jimin offered.

“Eden— no, maybe Eve?” minjeong hummed.

“Lilith!” Ning exclaimed, much to the amusement of the other girls.

“Ning, that’s similar to Lily, though, isn’t it?” Minjeong gave an amused half-smile.

“I guess so,” she sighed.

“I like Eve,” Aeri voiced, and the other girls all mostly agreed, although more name suggestions were given out, for everyone.

You debuted with the names Karina, Giselle, Eve, Winter, and Ningning.

you said a prayer every morning and every night, with the rosary that was around the figurine. A small Our Father, a Hail Mary, an Act of Contrition— no matter what, you never missed your morning and nightly prayers, no matter how small. You attended mass on Sunday, and while you usually couldn’t go in person, you’d try to listen to it in the morning, before it was time for practice, or at night, before bed— it didn’t matter how much sleep you gave up for it.

You were moved into a group dorms a bit after debut, Black Mamba being a sensational hit. You dormed with aeri, while ning and minjeong dormed together, karina having pulled the leader and oldest card to secure the single-room.

You and aeri weren’t exactly close. There was no animosity, of course, you two just never really got the chance to talk. It was definitely by chance. Not because she made your heart beat just a little faster, your steps a little more uncoordinated, your words fail. It wasn’t that. It wasn’t that at all.

you just admired the other girl. It didn’t help that you two had more than one language in common— aeri had gone to an international school, you were raised in america. You just hadn't gotten the chance to approach her, that was all.

well, the first night before the debut stage, you couldn’t sleep. You tossed and turned, finally sitting up, when—

“Can’t sleep?” aeri’s voice was low with sleep, and she was speaking in english. You felt an uncomfortable skip in your heart.

“Oh, yes, I’m just a bit restless,” you laughed, definitely not nervously. “I am, too. Just a little,” she replied, making a pinching gesture with her fingers, and a smile.

“Why?” You asked, even if it was kind of a dumb question.

aeri was silent, for a beat. At one point, you started to wonder if she was even going to respond.

“I’m just kind of.. scared,” she admitted. “We’re gonna be on display to the whole world, and who knows what’ll happen?” She chuckled, throwing her arms up just a bit. “I’m just.. worried. And.. I mean obviously, I miss home,” she added.

you looked at her, slightly, turning your head just to glance at the dark haired girl. “I know,” you murmured. “I miss home too, even if it wasn’t.. the most exciting place. I just miss it,” you continued. You were just a little afraid you were speaking too quickly in english, but aeri seemed fine. “I mean, I understand. I miss my parents,” she agreed.

you wished you could say the same. It’s not that you didn’t love your parents, but they were a little.. much. They didn’t like the fact you hadn’t found a guy yet. They’d ask you if you.. liked girls. You denied it, you didn’t! You were steadfast in your faith, dedicated, you didn’t like girls. You couldn’t.

“I miss my friends, you know. Sometimes I worry I’ll forget english,” you admitted.

“Well,” aeri gave a grin. “I’ll talk to you in english all you want if you promise to talk to me in japanese,”

you didn’t even speak japanese, but for her? you’d learn.

You smiled. “Of course,”

the two of you tried your best to sleep, after that, but it was mostly you two continuing to talk about anything and everything.

You could tell aeri was going to be one of your best friends. A reminder of home, if anything.

the debut showcase went great, the song was a hit, everything was good.

you and aeri spoke before going to sleep every night— you’d even bought a book about japanese grammar, how to read, write and speak it. You tried your best, but aeri had a nice time correcting you. It was.. nice. You always loved to learn languages, and for some reason, having someone who spoke it already help you was.. a bit comforting, in a way.

you still prayed every night, and aeri would sometimes give you a look, but she never said anything.

everything was going great.

until the hate began

Every little thing you or your group did was criticized, nitpicked, blown out of proportion— and the stress was getting to you.

you had never handled stress very well. You didn’t have a reason to. There was really nothing for you to ever stress about— other than following god, of course, but that wasn’t stressful to you. You had no reason to be stressed about something like that! You were a good person, you hadn’t ever wanted to sin.

some of the comments were about your appearance. It started to chip away at you. The company was always happy when you lost weight, so why not just a little more? It’s not like it would kill you. you were three months into an eating disorder that you called a diet.

the second you got up, you’d pray as your sustenance, head to practice, do your schedules— the other girls would order lunch, you’d ask for a salad. No dressing, of course, you didn’t like the taste. then, as you’d all get to the dorm, again, if there was even an hour of free time, you’d head to the company gym. Sometimes, when you were just in a waiting room, or you couldn’t work out— you’d pace. Anything to keep moving, you just couldn’t sit still. It was taking over your mind.

you couldn’t even eat normally. Any food given to you on a variety show, any drink, anything— mentally, you were counting. You liked to be in the negatives, you liked to skip meals, anything to be better. This was for yourself, so people couldn’t comment on you. You started to come up with even more elaborate ways to prove you were okay, to be better, you practiced more, you stayed late, you slept in the practice room, at times. You begged the vocal coaches to tell you whether or not you were actually good, and as much as they said you were, you just couldn’t believe them.

it was starting to destroy you.

“y/n?” Aeri called, as you prayed right before bed. She stood by the open room door, looking at you with a concerned expression. Why would she be concerned?

“Yes?” You answered, setting down the rosary, putting it back around the statue of Mary that watched over you so carefully. Sometimes, you wondered if you’d made her proud. Maybe if you said the suffering was in the name of god, he’d forgive you. He’d forgive you for the things you had thought and done and wanted to do. He’d forgive you. You could punish yourself, already. You could pray for him to fix you quickly, maybe you could give up eating for lent entirely—

“You.. haven’t been sleeping here, lately. We haven’t gotten.. to talk,” aeri began, sitting down next to you, looking down at you from where she had sat on your bed, right next to where you knelt.

you had completely forgotten your promise. It had just slipped your mind, you never really were awake enough for it, lately, and—

“Are you okay? You’re kind of.. pale, and you have dark circles, and-“

“Oh, I’m fine,” you smiled, quickly. “It’s just.. lent,” you lied, quickly. “All catholics fast and give something up for lent, don’t worry,” you assured, waving a hand dismissively. While it was true, it didn’t call for someone to starve themselves. You were lying. That’s a sin. But it’s just a white lie, so they won’t worry, right? It’s okay, you told yourself.

“We’re worried about you,” aeri frowned, putting a hand on your shoulder, the weight making you go from a kneeling position to sitting with your legs crossed. “I’m worried about you,”

god damn aeri, and her kind personality, and her need to care for others, and she was just so good- she was such a good person, and here you were, about to ruin her, damn her to hell. You were a horrible, filthy, disgusting person. For some reason, your eyes grew hot, but you couldn’t cry. You simply stared at her, with wide eyes, like seeing god’s light, it blinded you. You wished she didn’t care about you. You wouldn’t blame her. Vaguely, you remembered the first commandment.

the first commandment. Exodus 20:1 I am the Lord your God.  You shall not have other gods beside me. You shall not make for yourself an idol or a likeness of anything in the heavens above or on the earth below or in the waters beneath the earth; you shall not bow down before them or serve them. For I, the Lord, your God, am a jealous God

“Aeri, I-” your voice cracked, and you were so determined not to cry, but you could feel your resolve breaking, because you were weak, you were weak to your vices and weak to aeri, you were so pathetic. The older girl let out a small sigh, sinking down onto the floor next to you, taking you into her arms. She was silent, for a bit, while you choked out words that were mostly incomprehensible. She ran a hand through your hair, and was a bit unsettled to feel how cold you were to the touch, but she pointedly ignored it.

“Y/n, you can’t let the words of those people get to you.. they won’t do you any good, and.. I know that’s hypocritical of me, I’m learning to ignore it too, but.. you can’t let it kill you like this,” she continued, voice soft. It made you sick how much you liked her comforting you. What would she do if she knew that you were so disgusting. You wanted aeri, you realized as you held her shirt, with some sense of finality hitting you. You didn’t want her to leave. You wanted her to hold you, and she wasn’t even aware of what you felt towards her. You were taking advantage of her. You were so disgusting.

“I’m sorry,” you croaked out, voice a little choked as you bit the inside of your cheek, trying not to cry. “I’m so sorry,” “It’s okay,” she said, a little confused on why you were apologizing, look of worry on her face. Not that you could see it. You had your head in the crook of her neck.

that’s why you were apologizing, really.

you were sorry that you loved her. You were sorry she wanted to help you. You she couldn’t fix you, no one could. you were defective, and wrong, and oh so selfish. Aeri was such a good person.

the presence of the statue on your nightstand caught your eye from the corner. You turned away. She shouldn’t have to see this.

you could feel the tears stinging at your eyes, the shame, the guilt, the hate— it was all too much. You needed to push aeri away, to get as far away from her as possible, to save what little integrity and goodness you had left—

but you didn’t.

you clutched her shirt tighter, breathed her in desperately, and let out a choked sound. You wanted to cry, but you screwed your eyes shut and bit your lip. The blood was heavy and sharp in your mouth.

You woke up the next day beyond exhausted, but in your bed and off the floor. You surmised that aeri had put you there. You held your head, and got down on your knees in front of your bed. You prayed.

“Mary, mother of God, please guide me away from sin, as you have for so many others. Help me to continue being steadfast in my faith, and to follow all commandments well. Allow me to be worthy of your son, and continue to protect me from sin. These thoughts have been given to me by the devil, as a challenge of my faith. Guide me out of temptation, and forgive my actions, in the Lord’s name, I ask for this mercy,”

you stood up. Your knees ached. Aeri was up, sitting cross legged on her bed, watching you with a concerned expression. “Why are you praying to Mary?” aeri asked, voice light but expression still a bit worried, if not a tad curious.

“Catholics pray to saints as well. Especially depending on their patronage— I mean, if I lose something, I usually pray to Saint Anthony,” you chuckled, explaining the concept.

“What’s Mary the patron Saint of?” aeri asked, softly, curiously.

“Many different things, depending on which version of her you choose to pray to. Our Lady of Lourdes is Mary, but when she appeared in Lourdes. She’s the patron saint of the sick. There’s Our Lady of Loreto, the patron Saint of pilots,”

“Which one do you have, then?”

“Our Lady of Sorrows,” you murmured, glancing towards the figure on your nightstand. The rosary was draped around her carefully. Her downcast, frowning face, her hands clasped together, the feeling of her porcelain eyes boring into your back nearly burned.

“What’s she the patron Saint of?”

“Sinners,”

the second commandment. Exodus 20:1-7 You shall not invoke the name of the Lord, your God, in vain. For the Lord will not leave unpunished anyone who invokes his name in vain.

practice that day went on for a long while. You were all practicing for next level. At one point, you took a small break, drinking water— your heart had been beating quite fast, that day, and your throat had been dry the entire practice.

during the beat change, it was nearly impossible for you to keep your eyes off aeri- or should you start calling her giselle, now? maybe it would be best to separate the two.

you shouldn’t be looking at aeri like that— but giselle was an idol. giselle was not your friend— she was someone untouchable, unattainable. It was okay to like her, to find her pretty, to want- no, no. You didn’t. You just envied her appearance, was all.

Your eyes were glued to her, the way she moved, her expression, everything, it was-

“Oh my God,” you mumbled, eyes locked onto her movements, before you heard the instructor call for you to get up and were immediately snapped out of your haze. You didn’t even remember the event before you went to sleep.

the third commandment. Exodus 20:1-11 Remember the sabbath day—keep it holy. Six days you may labor and do all your work, but the seventh day is a sabbath of the Lord your God.  You shall not do any work.  For in six days the Lord made the heavens and the earth, the sea and all that is in them; but on the seventh day he rested. That is why the Lord has blessed the sabbath day and made it holy.

It was Sunday. It was always a toss-up whether or not you’d have a schedule that day, and today you did not. You watched the six a.m. mass, while aeri slept a few feet away. You knelt when they knelt, stood when they stood, prayed when they prayed.

but you did not sing, no. That would wake aeri.

the girls usually used their rest days to sleep. You always woke up early. You were restless. You hated to sleep. In your dreams you’d see images of a life you could never live, of things you shouldn’t— couldn’t— do. You’d see aeri. No, not aeri— giselle. Aeri didn’t look your way on the stage, hold your gaze for a moment too long, send a wink. The company didn’t order aeri to hold you closer, smile at you more, intertwine your hands.

aeri would never look at you that way.

but giselle would.

you went to the practice room after you prayed. You rehearsed until you felt the world spin, your skin too hot- until you forgot about aeri, and giselle, and the figurine on your nightstand, and the pastor’s homilies, and the way your parents would never love you the same because of what you had done. You danced until your vision became blurry, so you couldn’t see your hands, so whatever or whoever you touched wasn’t your fault, so you couldn’t see their face. More likely, so you couldn’t see yourself, and the body you lived in. You danced until your ears rang, so you wouldn’t have to listen to the sounds, to how your members pleaded with you to stop doing this to yourself. Till you couldn’t hear the people telling you it wasn’t enough.

till you couldn’t hear yourself telling you it wasn’t enough.

till you couldn’t hear your parents words resounding in your head, the endless comments of it being unnatural, of being sent straight to the hellfire, to how it was the most hideous thing in the world.

till you didn’t hear the way fans leered after you, and your members— the stares they’d give you, as you walked, the way they’d clamber for you, so many hands reaching, reaching for you, to touch, to take. it ate you up inside, how badly you wanted to be pure. and how you knew, through it all, you never could be. they could imagine you any way, salivate, draw, take, write it in comments. They even had the confidence to say it out loud, passing comments on variety shows.

you danced till you could forget their words, their looks, what you knew so well that they thought, you danced till you thought your body would give out—

or, conversely, till the leader and main vocalist of red velvet opened the practice room door and rushed over to the the shaking body of their junior, nearly unable to breath, head in her hands and knees to her chest in the farthest corner of the room, brightly illuminated.

you wanted to assure them you were fine, but the cross chain you wore was too tight on your neck, the silver feeling like hot iron burning your throat. You swore if you looked down it would be burning into your skin, leaving a brand.

each breath felt like swallowing glass, and your eyes were unfocused, and your ears were ringing, and your body was screaming in protest of each movement, and your eyesight was blurring—

but you got up, bowed, apologized, assured them you were okay, thanked them, and left.

you had been lying a lot, lately. To your members, about how you were— to your managers, your staff, to your seniors, now. Lying was a sin. but you could excuse it, couldn’t you?

you hoped they wouldn’t mention it to your members.

the fourth commandment. Exodus 20:1-12 Honor your father and your mother, that you may have a long life in the land the Lord your God is giving you.

you rarely talked to your parents. You should call them, more. Or, more accurately, you should pick up their calls, more. Except, it was maddening. You hated talking to them. No matter how much you tried to convince yourself you didn’t, that they were your parents, and what they said was gospel, you couldn’t stand it. Their prying questions, asking how being an idol was, if you kept up with your faith, asking why the media would report on how “close” you were with your members— with Aeri. Asking why you had gotten so thin, and that you needed to gain weight. They would pick and pry at every little thing. You couldn’t stand it, you couldn’t-

the phone rang. Again. You picked up.

“Finally, you answer the phone, y/n,” the voice of your mother crackled, thousands of miles away.

“I’m sorry,” you respond, robotically, like a reflex. “I was in practice. We’re busy, since we’re preparing for a comeback,”

“You always have some excuse for us, don’t you? You can’t just talk to your parents? What a daughter, you are. We’re your parents, y/n, you should actually listen to us, more. I told you being an idol wouldn’t be good for you, and look at you now! Barely any respect for your parents, how horrible is that? I can’t believe you,” she ranted, going on and on about this and that and every failure and everything you should’ve done better.

“This is why I didn’t want you going away, I knew what it’d do to you.. we tried to fix you, but you are a sick, sick little girl,” she spat, accusingly. “You know what you did, you know what you did to this family— that I have to live with a daughter who’s-”

click.

You hung up.

her voice was so grating.

Your mother loved to spout silly little ideas, didn’t she? She was wrong. You didn’t do anything. You weren’t gay. You didn’t like girls, or a girl. They had just been confused. The reason you became an idol was because you loved to perform, not because it was your only way out— after they saw you with her. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t kiss her. You didn’t, you’d never-

the truth was that you had left your hometown because of an incident. Yes, you loved to perform, and being an idol was always on your mind. But you never thought you’d do it, how could you leave?

You soon found out what it was like to live outcasted, alone, treated like something wrong and filthy and horrible. Your parents didn’t help. So, you did what anyone would do— you ran away, off to Korea, off to the harsh idol system

because anything

anything

would be better than living with the guilt and shame, with the knowing eyes and hateful stares. anything would be better than being stuck in that suffocating smalll town, where everyone knew everyone, and all your secrets were magnified.

she had moved away, anyway. Her parents protected her. you protected yourself. You had to run.

so you did.

you had to kill that part of yourself, bury her more than six feet deep, deep enough so that the world would never find her.

You died the day your parents opened your bedroom door and found you with the daughter of a deacon, who helped at the church, who your parents had invited over for dinner, who they had been invited by for dinner. When they found you with the daughter of their friends.

they didn’t know whether to say if she corrupted you or you corrupted her.

they chose the latter, of course, they got to it first. They drove them out of town, blaming that girl for your transgressions. For your sin.

she kissed you, after all.

you just sat there and took it.

it wasn’t your fault, they said to the town. It was hers. You’re just too trusting and naïve.

if only they knew, the rest of the people. Your parents certainly did.

they forbid you from having any friends that were girls over, again.

and you understood. You knew. And you took it.

You killed that part of yourself, that day. Buried her, and tried to forget. But there’s dirt and blood on your hands and you’re still hollow. There’s nothing left of you, from before. Bright smiles and eyes, a cheery demeanor, giggling in secret with her- there’s none of that left.

You’re not a little kid anymore, a teenager with a crush, no.

You grew up. You had to.

and that little girl is dead.

dead and buried, underground.

you wished Aeri knew you when you were younger.

she would’ve loved the softer you.

the fifth commandment. Exodus 20:1-13 You shall not kill.

You know, there’s a reason priests and nuns can’t get married.

it’s because, allegedly, they’re married to god.

so, in that case, is it wrong for you, married to god since birth, by your parents— that anything, anyone other than a boy, was wrong?

you tried to understand, but you couldn’t. What was the consensus?

you knew, deep down. What you were was wrong.

and yet, you couldn’t stop. You tried. But you were weak, at heart. A sinner, with no control.

that was your downfall, you thought.

or maybe salvation.

You and Aeri were the last two in the practice room— you were near obsessive with your need to perfect choreography, and Aeri asked you for help, so— you were here. You had already released Next Level, but the practicing never stopped, obviously. You had to perfect it, make it yours, make it the best— so that’s where you were, right now.

it was late, honestly. Already dark out, and your other three members had long since left. You regretted saying yes to Aeri— you knew the choreography for next level, obviously, you knew the way Giselle moved made you feel something wrong, something dark and wanting. You tried to push it down, though— you ran through the moves together, you fixed some posturing and some other small timing issues, really, it was nothing major. You watched her run through those parts, and clenched your jaw.

you felt hot, and your hands itched to reach out and touch her. You couldn’t be making this up, could you? She was looking at you through the mirror, your flushed face barely visible from the darker corner you were sitting at. You swore you could see a smirk on Giselle’s face, for a split second, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

you hated it, hated how Giselle made you feel out of control, made you feel wanting, made that dark thing in you, shoved deep down, squirm and claw. You felt sick. You wanted her.

“I’ll be back,” you said, abruptly standing up and turning the door of the practice room, practically scrambling out. “Bathroom,” was what you supplied as reasoning, before you got out the door, rushing through the empty halls. They were weirdly eerie, at night.

you walked into the bathroom, the sound of your shoes clicking on the ground far too loud, the yellowed glow of the SM building’s bathrooms surrounding you. You gripped the sink, turning on the water and splashing some on your face. You felt dirty, and wrong. Your skin crawled in the suffocating space, the sound of running water driving you insane, the sound of your breathing almost too much. It seems you were in there for longer than you thought, though, as you stated into the mirror, lost in thought, knuckles turning white with the bruising grip you kept on the sink counter.

“Y/n?” Aeri called, opening the door.

You snapped your head to her— she was wearing just some white tanktop and sweatpants, with a black sports bra, but god.

Giselle walked over to you, with a concerned expression. “Are you okay? You’re breathing pretty hard,” she asked, walking closer, putting a hand on your hip, other hand touching your arm.

your composure snapped. You moved your hands to her face, holding it in them, looking at her with wide eyes. “Giselle, I-”

“Why are you calling me Giselle? That’s my stage name, y/n, just call me Aeri?” she said, a little confused and a little irritated. Why the hell were you calling her by her stage name?

you held her face a little tighter, taking in a sharp breath, mouth suddenly feeling dry.

“Aeri,” you murmured, voice low. You leaned in, and her eyes widened, slightly. She didn’t push you away, in fact, she met you in the middle, holding you tighter, moving her other hand to your waist, squeezing your hip, where she could feel the outline of your hipbone. You hated how much you needed her, the kiss messy and desperate, filled with an underlying sense of want and need.

“G- Aeri,” you mumbled, out of breath, panting against her mouth. You couldn’t reconcile the two, easily. Giselle was the one who was making you do this, right? Not Aeri, you didn’t like Aeri, right?

no, that wasn’t true. You liked Aeri. A lot more than you’d admit. You wanted her. You needed her. You couldn’t stop, now.

“Aeri, please-” you murmured, between kisses. They were more desperate, now, wanting, as she pushed you against the cold bathroom wall, the light flickering once. Twice. Three times.

“Yeah? What do you want?” She asked, lowly, eyes dark and pupils blown wide as she looked down at you.

“Lock the door,” you muttered, grabbing her wrist, tightly, and moving her hand upwards.

the sixth commandment. Exodus 20:1-14 You shall not commit adultery.

you and aeri never spoke about it.

but it became a thing, now.

you needed her like a drug, constantly wanting and waiting for the next time you could have her.

you and giselle shared a room, after all. you were pretty sure everyone knew. and by everyone you meant your members, of course. the public could never know, they’d ruin both your career and hers, and you couldn’t do that to her. you weren’t evil, just weak. just horrible, but not evil. you could never hurt her. you loved her, didn’t you? the way a friend doesn’t hurt a friend.

deep down, you knew. It was so much worse than that.

they couldn’t know the way you put concealer on, before practice. the way you were strangely hot and cold, terrified of her touch, but how the both of you would disappear into your room, or somewhere, together, always appearing back, more than a few minutes later, though the tension was always still there.

the way you had become a shell.

you were ashamed, really.

you felt so disgusting, all the time. here you were, dirty, filthy, robbing someone else, sullying them, damning her, all for your own selfish needs, desires, wants.

you had always wanted, too much.

giselle was your temptation and aeri was the sin, the collateral to the damage.

it’s not like she protested, either, the way giselle’s hands lingered, a beat too longer to be friendly. the way her fists would clench on those stupid variety shows, when the hosts mentioned your appearance, saying you were so pretty.

she hated how they’d look at you.

but you couldn’t see that, really.

you hated yourself, and you had stolen aeri’s sanctity.

it was giselle’s fault, though, you would think, sometimes.

but deep down, you knew the truth.

it was your doing. Your fault. You ruined everything you touched, everything you wanted would die and burn because you were a sinner. All because you couldn’t control yourself.

eve ate the apple, too, you’d think. but maybe, the snake wasn’t just the creature, no, but the whispers of lilith, beckoning her away, promising her everything she’d wanted. forbidden knowledge, godhood, becoming better— and maybe, even herself.

was biting the apple an act of naivety, of greed?

or the blind, blissful ignorance of trust? of love?

someone you loved wouldn’t damn you, would they?

but oh, you knew better. You knew.

you had stolen both of your chances of sanctity and holiness.

out of blind, ignorant, nearly all encompassing love.

it was love.

the seventh commandment. Exodus 20:1-15   You shall not steal.

The weeks went by, in this strange commitment.

you had just arrived back from yet another variety show, and Giselle was obviously annoyed at something. It was late, and everyone wanted to sleep. You made your way back to your room, the door open a crack—

giselle was changing into some sleep clothes. You didn’t really care which. the glimpse of her back, of skin, made you nearly feel ill. You shut the door, quickly, feeling like you couldn’t breathe. It made you feel sick.

you entered about a minute later, to see her scrolling on her phone, with a bored expression. You, instead, went and knelt in front of the small Mary statue you kept.

“Mary, mother of God, please hear my prayer. I’m asking you to give me the strength to-”

your breath hitched as you felt giselle put her hands on your shoulders, leaning into your back, feeling her smirk press against your neck.

“y/n,” she called, a mischievous lilt to her voice like this was a fucking game.

“y-yes?” was the reply.

Her hands moved, pressing along your collarbone.

“You know, I hate variety shows, sometimes,” she hummed, voice so unbelievably distracting. “I don’t like the way they talk about you,” she continued.

“I- I agree, I do, it’s quite-”

her blunt nails dug into your shoulder, slightly, as she pulled you back, just a bit, your back pressed to her front. Her head craned forward, to murmur into your ear. “It pisses me off,” she added.

of course, you tended to her anger. You had to, as penance.

later, when you were laying beside her, panting with tears in your eyes, saying anything that came to mind—

“I love you,” you choked out, reverently, like a prayer.

god never responded to those, usually. aeri didn’t love you back.

there’s no way god loved you. and aeri didn’t, either.

the eighth commandment Exodus 20:1-16 You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor.

“Tell me not to,” you begged, clutching onto giselle like a lifeline, holding her arms. “Tell me no, tell me not to love you. I can’t, I shouldn’t, I don’t want-”

girls never hungered. They never want, like a boy.

“And what if it’s what I want!” She spat back, acidly, pushing you off. “I love you, and I don’t know why you can’t accept that! I love you, not like a friend, or coworker, or whatever else you think! I’m in love with you, why can’t you get that!?” she asked, sharply, voice far too loud.

you didn’t know how to explain that you loved her, too, that you wished you could love her. You always wanted, so badly, to like a boy, and to love him, so you could hold his hand in public, and kiss him, and introduce him to your parents and they wouldn’t say a word, to be able to love him without just that fact being controversial, to love someone without it absolutely ruining your career. Idols couldn’t date, yes, but they’d survive if they were rumored to be with a man.

god forbid it was a girl.

you couldn’t ruin her career, or yours. You couldn’t damn her more, you couldn’t ruin everything, like you always did-

“I can’t,” you cried, desperately. “I’ll ruin everything, I’ll ruin you, I’d-”

“I don’t care!” she retorted. “I don’t care! I want you, and I love you. Is it that you can’t, or you won’t? You’re just scared,” she accused, rightly so.

“I am,” you admitted, pathetically. “I’m scared.”

She scoffed, clenching her fists. She turned, sharply, turning the door handle, wiping her eyes and slamming the room’s door.

You were alone.

god abandoned you, long ago.

you don’t know why it hurt more the second time.

the ninth commandment Exodus 20:1-17 You shall not covet your neighbor’s house. You shall not covet your neighbor’s wife, his ox or donkey, or anything that belongs to your neighbor.

it was a few days later, at night after an off day. You had been hiding in your room most of the day. Cowardly, yes, but the other members weren’t exactly thrilled with you. You couldn’t blame them. You were currently pretending to be asleep.

you heard aeri enter the room. She laid down, to sleep. The lights were off. It was dead silent. You turned.

“aeri,” you called. No response.

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry,” you continued, after surmising she was asleep. “I love you. I really do. I’m just so, so scared. I don’t know how to let myself love you. I feel wrong. I’m sorry. I want to. I don’t know how to love you how you deserve, I don’t even know how to love myself. Im weak and pathetic, really. If you knew the real me, I think you’d hate me,” you chuckled, without humor. “As long as you’re happy, though. I’ll be okay,” you murmured, finally.

“Im not happy, actually,” she informed, suddenly, and you felt your heart leap into your throat. “I love you, y/n. I don’t care if it’ll make everything more difficult, or if you think I’ll hate you. I won’t, by the way,”

you didn’t know how to respond. aeri did it, for you.

she got up, walked over to your bed, and made you sit up.

“so can you stop being scared? I love you, and-“

you cut her off.

you clutched her face, and kissed her, desperately. You felt tears well in your eyes, and this time, they fell. You pulled back.

“aeri, I love you, I love you so much. I love you, please forgive me. I’ll try, I swear. Please, just-”

she kissed you, again. nothing was completely fixed, yet, but you both loved each other. You were still scared, of course, but aeri had seen you at your worst, already, and was still here. so maybe, it was okay.

the tenth commandment. Genesis 1:1-Revelation 22:21 Love thy neighbor as I have loved you.

The last few weeks had been.. different.

You had started eating again, or, more frequently, was a better way to put it.

it was mostly because aeri had taken up cooking, and you could never say no to her, and it was kind of nice, really, to see her happy when you told her you liked the food.

you started to ignore the comments online, not even bothering to read them most of the time. You called your parents less, if that was even possible, and started talking with aeri and your members more.

it was nice, to have friends. To have people that you knew cared about you. It was nice to know that people didn’t view you as disgusting, or filthy, or wrong.

you had a hard time viewing yourself, differently, but if someone like aeri, someone so good, could stand you, then maybe, you weren’t as bad as your parents said you were. They were wrong about a lot, you’d come to learn.

on one of your breaks, you had found another statue.

it was of Saint Maria.

you put it next to the statue of Our Lady. You thought it fit, in a way.

you didn’t attend sunday mass, or hear it. You didn’t pray much, anymore, either. but you kept the statues as a reminder, of sorts.

aespa had been doing very well, as well, and you didn’t practice late into the night, as much, anymore.

all of you were currently deciding what takeout to order, and trying to pick a move. no one could really come to a final decision, and you watched the bickering amusedly. You got up, heading to the kitchen, filling a glass with water. Aeri appeared behind you, a sly smile on her face as she wrapped her arms around your waist. “Hey, y/n,” she hummed.

“Yeah?” you replied, turning your head. she had a smirk on her face.

“I got you somethinggg,” she grinned, tilting her head, a mischievous expression on her face, her hands clasped behind her back.

“what is it?”

she handed you a gold necklace, with rose quartz in the shape of a heart at the end, a bashful expression beginning to take place at your silence. “I didn’t know if you would like it, but it reminded me of you, so-”

“It’s perfect,” you interrupted, a genuine smile on your face. “Can you put it on for me?”

aeri removed the silver cross necklace you had worn for years, and years, placing it on the counter. She clasped the new necklace, the gold sitting pleasantly on your skin.

you turned to her, holding her face before kissing her, smiling into it. You left the chain on the counter, a smile plastered near permanently your face. “It’s beautiful, aeri, thank you,”

“Of course,” she replied, with a very self-satisfied grin on her face.

“I love you,” you added, wrapping your arms around her waist.

“I love you too, you sap,” she rolled her eyes, good naturedly, but still held you, too. “Come on, let’s go back— i’m not letting them watch a disney movie for the millionth time,”

“So what, you can watch Deadpool?” You teased, with a grin.

“Maybe,” she replied.

it was definitely certain, now, with the silver chain thrown in the garbage, easily.

you loved aeri uchinaga

and you hoped, prayed, even, that the rest of your life would be filled by aeri uchinaga.

A/N: hi guys… so I love aeri uchinaga btw. uhmm so basically the catholic version of the Ten Commandments the ninth commandment is separated into nine “don’t covet your neighbors wife” and ten “don’t covet your neighbors goods” but technically all Ten Commandments can be followed by following the one big rule which is “love thy neighbor as I have loved you” and basically symbolism forever eve breaks all nine commandments but follows the one big one which is like love everyone which means she never actually sinned she just thought she did because she is doomed yuri ☝️🤓

I LOVE TOXIC YURI AND DOOMED YURI FOREVERR pleek send asks+reqs btw I need ideas

[dk-wren]

Buddy Daddies & “Silent Night”

Happy holidays and Merry Christmas!

I’ve been busy working on other projects, so no time to write a fic for Christmas. However, I still wanted to do something, and thinking about the work I do outside of here, this is what I came up with. So, to celebrate the season, and the anniversary of Miri falling into the lives of Kazuki and Rei, I present a brief history of “Silent Night” and its relevance/connections to Buddy Daddies!

Brief History:

"Silent Night" was first performed in 1818 at the St. Nicholas Church in Oberndorf bei Salzburg, Austria. The lyrics were written by Father Joseph Mohr, which were originally adapted from a poem he had written two years previously, while the melody was composed by Franz Gruber. The song was originally written in German for two voices and an accompanying guitar, though an organ accompaniment was composed several years later (presumably along with an arrangement for a choir since it is traditionally performed in Austria during Christmas Eve Mass).

In Buddy Daddies, Miri is heard singing the first of six verses, which is probably the most well-known verse. When translated to English (first in 1858), and what I gather as the most common/used translation, or the one I am most familiar, only three verses are translated (verses 1, 6, and 2, in that order). Since its original performance/publication, "Silent Night" has been translated into over 300 languages and dialects.

Connections to Buddy Daddies:

(Just to be upfront, this is more my interpretation. I also want to acknowledge that there are a lot of religious elements in this song, which I do not feel I can adequately address/discuss. Though I may be wrong, I also don't think the religious elements are really at play in Buddy Daddies)

First things first, it is more than a little ironic how the first time "Silent Night" is heard in Buddy Daddies, or when Miri enters the hotel in ep. 1, an instrumental version is heard in the background, and in ep. 12 during Miri's Christmas recital (also kind of in ep. 11 when Miri is practicing), a gunfight precedes or succeeds this song.

That being said, it works since those moments then act like the calm before or after the storm. While there will always be some craziness or hecticness in raising a four/five year old, the moments that Kazuki and Rei spend with Miri, especially after these fights, act as moments of comfort or reassurance that their family is all together and they have each other.

The final line we hear Miri sing, and of the first verse, "Sleep in heavenly peace," arguably represents Kazuki and Rei's wish for Miri: that she is safe, has nothing to truly worry about, and knows she is loved. Their drive and desire to let Miri sleep soundly at the end of every night is what causes them to choose their family over the organization and to fight back knowing that the organization disapproves of such "attachments" or the idea of Rei, Kazuki, and Miri being a family. While this scene is not connected to one of the times "Silent Night" is heard in Buddy Daddies, this comfort of having each other and being able to rest easy because of this feeling is also clearly seen in the ep. 3 after credits scene. The events of ep. 3 is the first time Kazuki, Rei, and Miri all seem to acknowledge that they are a family and will be staying by each other's side in the long run, which may then be why Rei quickly falls asleep as they are all relatively on the same page about their relationships to one another (and everyone he loves, whether or not he fully processes this yet, is safe next to him).

In having Miri sing this song at the end of ep. 12, the lines "All is calm, all is bright" also stand out because that is how Kazuki and Rei are seeing their future now. They've done everything in their power to walk away from the organization for good, and they did it without losing their lives. Now, their sole mission is to look after Miri and raise their daughter to be the best person she can be. The two walking into Miri's concert and standing in the back (not just because they were late, but because of their injuries) may give them some time for reflection about what they did that day and how that provided them the opportunity to successfully go after the future they've dreamed of.

Not directly related to the song, but during my research, I also found that another big accomplishment for lyricist Joseph Mohr was his role in building the first school in one village and setting up a fund that would help to cover the cost of education so that children from poorer families could still attend/be educated. His work as a priest could be interpreted as him having an affinity for providing for or working to better the lives of children. Considering how much Kazuki and Rei do to look after Miri's happiness and well-being, the personal life of the lyricist of "Silent Night" then adds some more depth into this song being featured throughout Buddy Daddies given Mohr's connections to looking after and taking into consideration the needs of growing children.

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Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed this quick little exploration into "Silent Night." There were more things I wanted to include in the history section, but I felt it would have been too much or gotten too long. I hope the little bit I included was enough though and not too boring.

Happy holidays, everyone!

-Dakota Wren

(P.S. gonna slide this announcement into the bottom of my post, but you know how I wrote at the top I've been busy working on "other projects?" Well, that's because I am currently planning to do a celebration week leading up to the 1 year anniversary of Buddy Daddies premiere. If all goes according to plan, I will have something posted each day from Jan 1st-Jan 7th. If I need to switch to plan B, then expect a mega-post or multi-posts throughout the day on Jan 7th. So while I don't have any new content for the holiday season, expect some relatively soon with the new year. Thanks for reading and again, happy holidays!)

[denim-mixtapes]

Aren't We All Sinners? - Vol. II: People Write Songs About Girls Like You

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Female Reader Word Count: 10.4k Summary: It's a night full of firsts, and new feelings for Eddie start to surface when you go to see Corroded Coffin perform. After some less than stellar news from your mom, Eddie cheers you up with a late night call and your very first orgasm. Warnings: 18+ ONLY Heavy sexual themes + Explicit smut. Chapter specific: Alcohol consumption, drug use mention, Making out, reader insecurity, more in depth discussion of faith/loss of faith, more of Eddie being a Thigh Guy (TM), Phone sex, Guided Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Eddie's disgusting overuse of pet names (Specifically: sweetheart, angel, and baby).

[Series Masterlist] [Mixtape Playlist] <- This playlist, aesthetically, is NOT Eddie-centric. Ignore that. I was going more based on themes than the actual music genre.

You aren’t entirely sure how you got here. 

Lying has never really been your strong suit, obviously, but with a thinly veiled half truth about going to visit with your college roommate, Veronica, at her family home in Muncie and a promise to call as soon as you arrived, you were set free for the night. It cost extra volunteer hours at church, a promise to start coming to choir practice again, and what feels like your sanity, but you’re on your way to Muncie. 

In reality, it wasn’t entirely a lie. You are meeting your roommate at the bar, but the couch she offered you for the night was that of her boyfriend who you hadn’t yet met. You aren’t too keen on staying there, but the curiosity to see Eddie’s band and excitement to see your friend after weeks apart won out in the end. 

The Phoenix is a larger bar than you’re used to seeing in Hawkins, obviously built for live music and an expansive crowd, but still small enough to host local bands. After making your call home from the pay phone out front, you make your way to the door. House music and the sound of a crowd seep out from the open door as you approach, floating alongside the haze of cigarette smoke, and a large stoic bouncer stands just out front. When he asks for your ID, you panic, but a commotion from inside commands his attention and he waves you through without looking before walking away to break up the fight. 

Your arms wrap around your torso uncomfortably as you weave through the crowd toward the bar, and you breathe a sigh of relief when Veronica calls out your name and waves you over, happy to see a friendly face. 

“Ronnie!” You shout back, a bounce to your step now that you’ve seen her, making a beeline in her direction.

A quick hug, an introduction to her boyfriend, and then she’s in full judgment mode, scrutinizing your outfit. 

“The hell are you wearing, girl?” She giggles, already tipsy, holding out both of your hands to take a closer look at you. “You know you’re at a rock show, right?” 

“My parents thought we were going bowling!” You exclaim, embarrassed, “this was the best I could do if I wanted them to let me leave the house.” 

It’s not a completely hopeless outfit, you don’t think, a baggy pair of overalls over a long sleeve white ribbed tee and a pair of All Star sneakers. Nothing revealing, but nothing too church girly either. Clearly, your friend does not agree. She takes your hand and drags you to the bathroom and pushes you into a stall. 

“Trade me,” she says simply. You try to stutter a response, but she’s already throwing her black polyester miniskirt over the stall wall. “Keep your shirt, we’ll fix that next.” As you reluctantly strip your overalls and pass them to her over the stall, she adds, “If this boy means enough to you for you to drive out to Muncie and lie to your dictator parents, then you better look hot for him, that’s all I’m saying. How do you know him, anyway?” 

You huff in protest, pulling the skirt onto your hips with a wiggle and a jump and slamming the stall door open to meet her out in the main bathroom. “He doesn’t…mean anything to me. It’s not like that. He works at the record shop and has been showing me new music. That’s all this is, just another new band. It just happens to be his.” 

“Sure,” she scoffs, rooting in her purse to retrieve a pair of manicure scissors. She doesn’t even ask before she starts butchering your shirt, cutting off the bottom hem just above where the waist of the skirt sits and pulling, twisting, stretching it until it rolls. “The shade of red you’re turning right now suggests otherwise. Is he hot, at least?” Next, she snips the collar off of your shirt, leaving a raw edge, the same at the cuffs of your sleeves. You try to protest as she reaches to keep cutting but she bats your hand away, cutting a “V” into the neckline to reveal a little more of your decolletage. Thankfully she stops before anything too damning is revealed. 

“He’s…” you trail off. You’ve never called anyone hot before. It never felt fitting. But Eddie is decorated in too many tattoos and piercings, too much darkness for you to want to call him handsome. So you relent. “Yeah.” 

“Yeah? Yeah what?” 

She’s having too much fun trying to get you to admit it. 

“Yes, he’s hot, okay? Really hot.” Now that you’ve started you can’t stop the words from falling from your lips. “He’s got these eyes, gosh, they’re the most stunning thing you’ve ever seen. He has this way of speaking that just captivates you. And Ronnie, his hair. I just want to run my fingers through it.” 

She giggles, handing you a dark, brick red lipstick from her bag and urging you to put it on. “Jesus, even when you’re hot for someone it’s rated G.” 

You mumble a soft “shut up” and throw the lipstick back at her. You try to push past her to get to the door, but she grabs your shoulders and focuses an intense stare into your eyes. 

“You look sexy,” she says, reaching up to pull the scrunchie from your hair and muss it up just enough, “own it. Forget your parents for a night and show that rockstar what you’re made of.” 

It’s with all the love in your heart that you say, “you’re so lame.” Both of you laugh and make your way back out to meet her boyfriend at the bar. You order a water, much to her chagrin, and twist around in your seat excitedly when an emcee takes the stage to introduce the band. 

Three band members take their place and start playing, a long, slow build of music that introduces the first song. From somewhere off stage, a guitar riff sounds, and you perk up, eagerly waiting to see your friend (could you call him a friend?) take the stage. 

When he makes his entrance, Eddie is breathtaking. His staple black, ripped denim adorns his lower half, handcuffs locked at his waist to hold them up. Other than his battle vest, his torso is bare, a smattering of tattoos you’ve never seen before on full display under the harsh stage lights. A black bandana is wrapped around his forehead, holding back those enticing curls, and the same guitar from the flier hangs heavily on the strap across his shoulder. You can’t take your eyes off of his fingers as they glide up and down the fretboard, a speed and a talent you’ve never had the pleasure of seeing live. 

Not only does he look good, but they sound incredible. You can feel the bass in your chest as they play, and before you know it, you’re abandoning your post at the bar and joining the crowd that gathers in front of the stage. You feel electrified, not a drop of alcohol in your bloodstream but you’re drunk on the atmosphere, swaying with the beat and grinning stupidly up at the man who has yet to notice you. 

When he does, when his eyes lock on yours, it only amplifies the adrenaline in your system. As he strums the final, lasting note of their first song, his eyes meet yours and you forget how to breathe. 

Eddie isn’t so sure it’s you at first. You’ve never looked like this before. Plush thighs on full display in a skin tight mini skirt, torn tee shirt exposing your midriff, a brick red stain on your lips in lieu of your usual clear gloss; but your smile is wholly you, and the tiny, shy wave that you give confirms that this is real, you’re here, and you look like you were ripped straight from a wet dream. Silence overtakes the crowd. Eddie forgets that he’s supposed to speak, supposed to be putting on a show. He’s distracted at the first glimpse he catches of you in the crowd. Gareth gives two kicks of the bass drum to snap him back to reality. 

Your trancelike eye contact is broken when the drummer snags Eddie’s attention back and he introduces the band to the crowd once again. 

They put on one hell of a show. Not that you have much to compare it to, but the way your body is buzzing, moving with the crowd, prickling with excitement all night, you know they’re good. Toward the end of the show, there’s a song that showcases every member individually with a solo, a little bragging right for each of them. When it’s Eddie’s turn, he power slides to the edge of the stage, where the crowd has pushed you to the very front. He’s knelt in front of you, eyes wound shut in concentration and fingers playing at the strings sinfully. His tongue pokes between his lips, and that's when you find yourself screaming along with the others in the crowd. At the sound of your voice his eyes fly open, a cocky, sly grin gracing his face as his solo comes to an end. A guitar pick is flicked your way, and when you catch it, he shoots you another wink before standing back up and moving on with the show. 

The rest of the night is vibrating floors and sweaty bodies and ringing ears. The push and pull of the crowd around you, and a giggle caught in your throat when Eddie takes a dramatic bow at the end of the set. Your cheeks sting from smiling, and when you make it back to the bar and order another water, it’s the most refreshed you’ve ever felt in your life. 

Conversations swell around you, the hum of a satisfied crowd and the rattling of ice in cocktail shakers. You spot your friends at a table in the corner and wave, but at the same time, Eddie is pushing through the saloon doors to the side of the bar, denim vest now exchanged for a cropped muscle tee, and his eyes are locked on yours. He’s headed straight for you, so you stay put. 

“Hey!” He shouts, all of his excitement and a post-show high poured into one little word. Without hesitation, arms wrap around you, pulling your frame into his. One of his hands tangles in your hair and the other rests on the small of your back. You breathe him in, the acrid stink of pot and sweat masked by cheap bathroom cologne and leather. You should be disgusted, but you can’t be bothered. Pulling back to gauge your reaction, he holds onto your elbows, making sure not to let you get too far. You grip his forearms in return. “What did you think?” 

“Eddie!” You shout, at a loss for words but praise dripping from your tone. “So good! You guys killed it!” 

Speaking to your lips now instead of your eyes, he rolls his own bottom lip between his teeth, breathing, “fuck yeah we did.” The bartender stops in front of the pair of you. Eddie greets him by name, because of course he does. “Hey Joe, give me a PBR, and…” he trails off, looking sideways at you and dropping a hand to your waist with a squeeze. Your skin shouldn’t be tingling where his palm rests against it, but it is. “What’re you drinking, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. 

“Oh, uhm, just water.” 

SweetheartSweetheartSweetheart.

“Fuck that,” he laughs, “we’re celebrating! C’mon, it’s on me.” He narrows his eyes at you, calculating, before looking back to the bartender. “Give her an Amaretto Sour on the band’s tab.”

When the bartender, Joe, you assume, turns his back you widen your eyes at the man beside you. “Eddie! I’m not drinking-” 

“Shh,” he insists, holding a finger to his lips. “You’ll love it, I promise…and if you don’t, you don’t have to drink it. I’ll give it to Gareth, kid’s a bottomless pit.” 

He’s right, you suppose. You’ll be 21 soon enough anyway, what’s a few months?

When the drinks are passed across the bar, Eddie presses the cold glass of light amber liquid into your hand. The coolness is a reprieve against your warm skin even if you don’t end up drinking it, but you do give it the tiniest taste at the eager prompting of the man beside you. The sweet, nutty drink is nothing like what you expected and goes down easy, but you still nurse it slowly as Eddie introduces you to his bandmates, chats about the set and asks you which songs were your favorite. All of them, you want to say, but manage to recall a couple of titles. 

When your drink is almost gone, Ronnie approaches you, boyfriend in tow. You introduce them all, they praise the band on a great show, and your roommate pulls you aside. 

“So, we were thinking of heading home,” she says, looking from you to Eddie and back, leaving her statement open ended. 

“Oh…” You look over at Eddie yourself, liquor and adrenaline clouding your judgment. He’s talking to Jeff animatedly with his hands and smirks over the other boy’s shoulder when he catches you staring. “You know what, you guys go ahead. I’ll hang out for a little bit.” 

“Are you sure?” She asks, gripping your shoulders, “Have you had anything to drink?” 

“Just this one,” you say, “I’ll be fine, promise. I’ll stay a while and I can just head home. I’ll tell my parents I wasn’t feeling well if they ask.” 

“Okay,” she nods, “just be safe, and call me tomorrow to tell me everything.” Wrapping her in a tight goodbye hug, you promise to do so, and when she pulls from your embrace, her focus is behind you instead of on you. “I think someone else wants your attention now. Bye, Eddie!” She’s gone with a flutter of her fingers. 

Turning on your heel you find Eddie just behind you, thumbs hooked in his belt loops. He nods toward the door he came out of earlier. “Wanna go somewhere a little more quiet?” 

You only nod in response, and he grins victoriously, guiding you toward the back exit of the building with a commanding hand on the small of your back. 

He tries not to crowd you, he really does, but your skin is warm to the touch, soft where his fingertip slips beneath the hem of your shirt. You’re here, and you’re dressed so differently than you usually do, and he can’t help but wonder just what else you might do to rebel tonight. He only hopes he’ll be lucky enough to find out. 

Stepping outside into the balmy night air, he takes you past the band’s van being loaded up with their equipment and toward another slightly smaller van. You hesitate when he opens the back door and holds it open for you, but the laugh lines that crease around his eyes when he offers you an encouraging smile are enough to get you moving. As you climb in, his hand never leaves the small of your back for support, and you can practically feel the way his eyes linger on your backside, but aside from the rush of heat to your cheeks you don’t react. 

It’s clunky and awkward, getting yourselves situated in the back of Eddie’s van. Where he falls gracelessly into a pile of blankets with an air of confidence only Eddie Munson could manage, you’re still tripping over your own feet and hunching to accommodate the low ceiling, unsure of where to sit. He grins up at you, and if you didn’t know any better you’d say he found your anxiety amusing. His gaze is fixed on your skirt hem where your fingers idly fiddle with it, a glint in his eye and heave in his chest from where he still can’t catch his breath after an exhilarating show. 

“C’mon,” he murmurs, the word hanging quiet in the dusty air. He pats on the worn out, threadbare bean bag chair beside him and unsuccessfully tries to stifle his joyous laugh. “I won’t bite, sweetheart.” His smile flashes with mischief and it’s only when you give in and settle into the cushion next to him that he leans in closer and adds in a breath, “unless you want me to.” 

You pretend not to hear him.

“You guys really did kill it tonight,” you compliment instead, grinning and nudging his bent knee lightly with the rubber toe of your sneaker. “I don’t…I mean I guess I don’t know what the standard is, since this was my first concert and all, but it was seriously so good.”

“No fucking way,” he exclaims, savoring the way you blink involuntarily when he swears. Reaching out to catch your ankle before you can withdraw it, he squeezes gently and grins up at you. “You’ve never been to a show before?” 

A shrug. The press of your knees tighter together, hyper aware of your skirt riding up in this position. “Not unless you count the church choir’s Christmas performance or Worship before Sunday service.” 

He only manages a soft chuckle and another thoughtful, “no way,” when he releases his hold on you, playfully dropping your foot. A few moments of silence pass, interrupted only by a ruckus outside, two men arguing and then the slamming of car doors. When it passes, Eddie speaks up again. “So you’re really into all that, huh? Jesus and whatnot.” 

You can’t stop the giggle from coming out at his phrasing. “I guess, yeah?” You shrug again. “Although, I used to say I enjoyed worship because I could feel God moving me through the music…but now I’m starting to think that might just be what live music feels like, because I got the same rush in there as I used to during worship…maybe better.”

Eddie tries to not let it go to his head that you basically just equated him to God.

“You guess? You don’t sound so sure there, sweetheart..” His eyes fall from your own and trail downward, lingering on the crucifix around your neck before continuing on. You shy under his gaze, skin warming under his attention as you wrap your arms around yourself again. “But you still wear that cute little thing, so I’ll believe the good girl act for a while longer. ” 

He knows it’s not just an act, that you truly are as innocent as you seem, but there's curiosity and drive behind your eyes – a hunger to learn more and be more than just the church girl, and so help him, he’s determined to help you reach that potential.

“I don’t know,” you sigh, shrugging. Always shrugging. You fear you might develop a hunch from it. As you continue talking, Eddie leans across the front seat to turn on the radio, turning the volume down to a more appropriate background level. Still, you don’t miss the way he stiffens in reaction to your next sentence. “My dad is a pastor, so it’s kind of all I know. I grew up in the church, went to catholic school, the whole nine yards, so it’s just been kind of drilled into me.” 

“Seems like a good reason to believe in something, just ‘cause others told you you should.” He says, voice dry but not cruel judging by the hearty smile on his face. This time when he plops back down, it's on the beanbag beside you. 

“Yeah, yeah,” You try not to focus on the fact that the dip in the cushion has rolled your body in toward his, or on the way that his thigh presses into yours, or the heat that lingers there. “When I moved out for college, I kinda got the drift that things weren’t as black and white as I was raised to believe. Like for example,” nudging his shoulder playfully with your own, “not all secular music is made to worship the devil.” 

Eddie snorts, “right, only the good stuff.” 

Playfully punching his shoulder, you sarcastically agree. “Exactly! I dunno, it’s just hard sometimes, finding my place in the middle. I like to believe that there’s still some truth to the Word, but I also don’t think that I should be living life in fear of being labeled as a sinner for the kind of music I like, or the kind of company I keep, or the length of my skirt. Frankly the concept of sin just seems…I don’t know, like a threat nowadays? How are we supposed to let the promise of an eternity in Hell stop us from enjoying the life we’re living now if we don’t even know for sure that Hell exists!? I just– sorry. Sorry, I’m going off on a tangent.” 

“It’s okay,” he chuckles, and his voice is soft and earnest when he urges, “you have nothing to apologize for, I asked.” 

“I– I suppose.” 

Your eyes shine with worry when you meet his, and it only makes his smile even wider. 

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know the truth, your truth. And besides,” his expression is downright giddy when he lets his head lean back against the seat back behind you, eyes shifting to take a peek at you, “I get what you mean. Nobody is truly perfect, but that doesn’t make them inherently evil either. Sure I’m tatted up and swear by the word ‘fuck’ and play a game that society sees as devil worship, but there’s also like, murderers and people who beat the shit out of their kids and animals and rob banks. So it’s a spectrum, I’d say.” He takes your hearty laugh as a sign that he didn’t cross some sort of unspoken boundary and presses further. “Really, what’s the worst thing you’ve ever done? I find it hard to believe that you haven’t rebelled at least a little since leaving the nest.” 

“Uh…” you take in your surroundings and let out a chastising laugh. You could tell him about your sole experience at a frat party, but you hugged the wall and nursed a solo cup of water the entire time, so you wouldn’t say that counts. “This?” 

Eddie balks. “No!” He protests, voice thick with disbelief, “no, come on there was never any sneaking out in high school? No secret late night rendezvous with the quarterback?” 

You lean your head on his shoulder, unable to face him head on when you admit, “there was, at best, a peck on the lips with the captain of the debate team after prom.” Your laughter is dry and self deprecating. 

It makes no sense to open up like this to Eddie. Earlier in the night, you weren’t even certain you could call him a friend, but now here you are openly admitting your dirty little secrets…or lack thereof. There’s just something about him that offers you comfort. His charming presence, the confidence he carries that never feels judgemental, the arm around your shoulder holding you close to his chest as he chuckles at your admission. 

Wait– when did that get there? 

“Sorry, sorry, I should have known.” His laughter is more jovial than cruel, a dig at his own ignorance rather than your innocence. His free hand crosses both of your bodies to grab your left hand, holding it up and twisting so that the dull overhead light reflects off of the gold band on your ring finger. “That’s what this is, isn’t it? Promise ring? How far do the rules of that thing reach, anyway? Like does–” There’s a pause and a stutter in his breath. For the first time since you met him you can feel uncertainty wavering in his voice. “You know what, no that’s too far. Even I can recognize that.” 

The giggle in your voice is music to his ears when you press him to say what he wants to. The jab of your elbow in his ribs, your little playful smack to his chest. You lean into him with a raised brow, challenging him to continue.

Eddie stares you down, scrutinizing, narrowing his eyes as you continue to giggle innocently up at him. He’s begging every God he doesn’t believe in to forgive him when he gives in. “Okay, but only ‘cause I want to know if it’ll make you blink like swearing does.-” 

“ – I do not blink at swears!” 

“You definitely do,” he confirms, coolly ignoring your interruption with a smug grin. “Now do you wanna hear the question or not?” Doe eyes shine curiously back at him through the dim moonlight as you nod. Reaching for your hand again, he fidgets with the ring on your finger, with your fingers themselves, turning your hand about in his own with his gaze fixed on your joined hands. Quieter now in the still air of his van, his voice is even more gravelly than usual when he asks, “D’you take it off when you wanna touch yourself?”

You blink.

 He likely already knows the answer, but the image of you getting yourself off has already wormed its way into his brain and he just has to know.

“I-” your throat is suddenly the driest it’s ever been, and your attempt to clear it is only partially successful. The atmosphere in the van has shifted, your previous laughter and playfulness sucked out the cracked front windows and replaced with a sudden awareness of your proximity. You should chastise him for bringing it up. It’s inappropriate. You shouldn’t answer him, it’s inappropriate, but the way his Adam's apple bobs and his eyes dart up to meet yours as he patiently awaits your answer compels you to give it. You answer to his lips, unsure if it’s because you don’t want to meet his eye or because you simply can’t look away from the perfect cupid’s bow framed by late evening stubble. “I don’t do that.” 

“‘Cause it’s a sin?” He teases, and despite your earlier rant on sin, you give a shallow nod in response. 

“It’s like you said earlier,” the space between you is getting smaller, but neither of you are aware of who’s at fault for that. You feel drawn to him, the gravel of his voice, his own personal gravity curling around you and tugging. “We don’t know if heaven or hell exists,” closer, “and even if it does, aren’t we all sinners in the end?” Closer. He’s close enough now that his breath ghosts your collarbones, his free hand on the curve of your waist, his gaze drops to your own mouth as he finishes, “The way I see it, if you don’t sin a little, then doesn’t that mean Jesus died for nothing?” 

You’re close enough now to taste the beer and hope on his breath, and for a brief moment you think he might kiss you, but then another ruckus breaks out outside the van. Excited hollering and slamming of doors and a broken beer bottle against the concrete just outside the van startle you and Eddie apart. Your heart is racing when you look out the window to see the car that was parked next to you peeling away, and you take the moment to calm yourself. 

Shaking your head, you settle back into the bean bag an acceptable distance away from him once again, but he spreads his legs as he settles further into the cushion, pressing his thigh into yours and commanding the space. You convince yourself he’s just getting comfortable, not trying to stay close to you, but the way he smirks down at your naked thigh pressed against the black denim covering his own sends a shiver down your spine. 

You both wait out the moment, a beat of quiet passing between you, but when the tape that’s been playing in the background clicks to signal the end, he speaks up again, nudging his knee into yours. 

“For real, though, you’ve never even been curious about it?” He asks, turning to rest his arm against the seatback behind you. 

“About se…about sex?” 

God if that little stutter wasn’t endearing to Eddie and God if the curious pinch between your brows didn’t go straight to his cock because you aren’t denying it. He decides to test the waters, lean in a little closer again and gently push the hair out of your eyes, tucking it behind your ear. 

“Well, sure, yeah…but not even that far. Just like,” he pauses again. “Even the PG-13 stuff. Making out under the bleachers or missing half the movie and steaming up the windows at the drive in are essential to the teenage experience.”

You hum thoughtfully, his question bouncing around in your head. You can’t stop focusing on his hand that’s come to rest on the outside of your thigh, pulling you just slightly toward him. Your brain is foggy, you can’t for the life of you remember being curious about what you might be missing out on, but then again you’d never had anything to compare it to either. It’s not that you don’t know about sex. Sure, the schools you went to taught abstinence only sex ed, but you’re not stupid. You know the logistical side of things, you’ve just never experienced anything first hand so you don’t know how it feels. If the way your pulse races whenever Eddie meets your eye or the jolt of adrenaline you get when he touches you in a new unfamiliar way has anything to do with his so-called teenage experience, then you just might think you have been missing out. 

“Not really? I guess I never saw the point.” You finally say, shying under his attention. “But I also didn’t have any experience to inspire such curiosity.” The way you say it is like a question, meek voice lilting up towards the end of the statement and another shrug pulling at your shoulders. Then, turing from shy self-pity to the mask of self-deprecating humor you’re used to using with your roommate, you tack on, “y’know, ‘cause the captain of a catholic high school debate team is bound to be the object of every girl’s fantasies, right?”

Eddie’s face falls again, his fingers stilling where he was once stroking the exposed skin of your thigh. He tries to hide his shock, but you still catch a glimpse of it amongst the gleeful look of curiosity. “So you weren’t just being hyperbolic, huh? You’ve really never even been so much as kissed?” You’re about to jump in when he waves you off and rolls his eyes. “Yeah yeah, prom with Dorky McChristian, I know. But I don’t think that counts. I mean really, truly kissed. A toe curling, basement flooding kinda kiss that leaves you wanting more, you know?” 

“When you put it that way…” your laughter is soft and nervous. There’s no judgment from Eddie, not that you can feel. He’s leaning in and speaking with a genuine sort of curiosity that sparkles in his eyes, like he really wants to know what makes you tick and what hasn’t yet made you tick. It’s the same voice he uses when he asks if you’ve ever seen Evil Dead or listened to Kiss, like he’s just banking away another fact about you in his memory. So without that feeling of judgment, you confirm his statement. “...then no, I’ve never been kissed.”

He tries to keep his voice full of seduction and not the hope that swells in his chest when his gaze drops to your lips and he asks, “would you like to be?”  

Your heart is in your throat, caught there with the little gasp and exciting sort of uncertainty that bloomed in your chest at his offer. You should get going. You should make note of the time and tell him you’ll see him on Monday at the shop. 

Instead, you nod. 

“Uh-uh,” he murmurs, grinning proudly, the cat that caught the canary. The hand behind your head comes to rest on your jaw, two fingers pressing into the pulse point under your jawline and thumb tugging gently at your lower lip. He relishes in the way your pulse races under his fingertips, “gonna have to hear you say it, angel.”

“Yes.” 

It’s barely audible, the hint of a whisper on shaky breath but it’s enough for Eddie. Eddie, who crowds your space even further, his eyes heavy-lidded and fixated on your lips until he’s too close to focus. Not for the first time tonight, your breath hitches, fingers tingling, heart hammering, the thump thump thump against your ribcage rivaling the band’s earlier performance.  

Time seems to stop in this moment, surrounded by the scent of cheap cologne and musk and summertime air leaking in through the cracked windows. Minutes or hours or days pass there, breathing each other’s air, leeching body heat from tacky skin. 

When it finally happens, you’re surprised at how tender it is, the gentle press of lips against lips so quick you’re unsure who even finally closed the gap, but Eddie leaves no room for doubt. The moment you pull back enough to voice your confusion, near protesting that – while better than your prom kiss – that was still absolutely just a peck, his grin contorts into that self-assured smirk. The hand on your jaw shifts behind you again, working into the hair at your nape and pulling you back into his embrace with an involuntary squeak. 

It’s hard. Shoulders tense, teeth pressed tight against closed lips, eyes wound tight. 

You’re unsure what to think at first. 

But then Eddie breaks away just enough to mumble, “‘s okay,” and, “just follow my lead, sweetheart,” between another set of rushed kisses. You try to relax, and remember, oh, yeah, you should be kissing him back. That’s a thing. 

Eddie is soaring with pride when you relax enough to return the kiss, leaning up and into it, unknowingly pressing your chest up against his in an effort to get closer. Despite your obvious nerves and initial stiffness, you’re more than making up for it now. She’s a natural, he thinks smugly, a quick study, and when he coaxes your lips apart and hears the soft whine that comes with it, he can’t help but let his mind wander to all the other noises he might be able to get you to make. 

You don’t know how much time passes before he breaks the kiss, pulling away with reluctance and a tug of your lower lip between his teeth, but your breathlessness suggests it’s been a while. 

“How ya feelin’, angel?” He wears his smugness in the dimple of his smirk, tongue peeking out to wet his bottom lip, his own breath ragged but much more controlled than your own. “Like you wanna confess?” 

He swears he could live off of the flushed smile and bitten lip that you try so desperately to hide from him before carefully answering, “Not…necessarily.” 

There’s a soft thump when his head falls lazily against the seat back, smirk growing as he sizes you up. “No?” He teases, eyes raking across your features, taking in your rumpled clothes and heavy lidded gaze, the shy smile hiding behind the curtain of your hair. Nimble, calloused fingers hook into the space behind your knee, tugging until your legs drape over his lap. Your skin burns where his fingertips tickle just below the hem of your skirt, goosebumps forming in their wake. They stay there, dancing along your exposed thigh as he allows you a moment to catch your breath, and he can’t help but praise, “you look fucking perfect like this.” His touch teases higher, dipping under the polyester just enough to make you squirm. “Now don’t get me wrong, I love your usual look, but this…” Tugging on the hem, he shifts again to hover over you and nudges your nose with his own. You can feel the brush of his lips against yours as he speaks, “...worst part is you don’t even know what you were doin’ to me in there tonight.” There’s no time to answer before he kisses you again, a hungry growl in the back of his throat. 

You’d never given much thought to kissing before tonight. Truly, out of sight out of mind. When you’d overheard Veronica on the phone with one of her friends talking about the date who used too much tongue, you remember thinking any amount of tongue in a kiss must be too much, surely. 

But now, Eddie is coaxing your lips apart with his own, every move calculated and commanding, and when his tongue sweeps into your mouth to massage your own…oh.

Something akin to static settles deep in your stomach, tendrils of it curling from your chest and down to tingling fingertips. Reaching out, you fist a hand in the collar of Eddie’s tee shirt and pull, wanting him as close as possible. Betraying his suave demeanor, the action makes Eddie lose his balance, toppling him over with a joyous laugh and a hand on either side of your head. He drops his weight onto one elbow and reaches out for you with the other hand, tilting your chin with his thumb to make space for himself in the crook of your neck. 

“Feelin’ a little eager are we?” He murmurs into your ear, breath ghosting the shell and making you shudder at his closeness. “By all means, sweetheart, manhandle me all you want.” 

Teasing, always teasing, he noses along your jawline, savoring your shallow breath and the way he can feel you arch up into him. Your hand slips into his hair as he tests the waters, kissing, licking, sucking at little points across your neck. A nip of his teeth into the soft flesh just below your ear has you gasping and tightening your grip on his curls. You press your thighs together unknowingly as he soothes the sting with a pass of his tongue and continues on, latching onto another lower point on your neck. 

“E-Eddie, wait-” You gasp, gently pulling him away from you. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks gently, biting back a smile as he admires the sight of you flushed and pliant beneath him. “Not feelin’ it?” 

“No I – um, it’s not that. I mean it’s different. I feel weird, but…good weird?” Your voice falters, brows pinched, and you bring a hand up to rest on your own neck in the space he just occupied. 

“That’s called horny,” he teases, interrupting you. 

You choose to ignore the comment, finally eeking out,  “please don’t, um…I can’t have any hickeys. I’ll be dead. Literally six feet under if my dad sees anything.” You pout at your own statement, big, round eyes and a puffy lower lip that Christ, Eddie just wants to sink his teeth into. 

He’s about to do just that when a loud banging comes at the back door of the van. His face falls, head sinking, curls tickling your chest before you both look to the still-closed doors. Thankfully Gareth doesn’t open them, only yells through the layers of metal. 

“Ed, bar’s closed. We gotta get going!”

His voice is practically a growl that you can feel in his chest, “can’t you hitch a ride with the guys? ‘M a little occupied at the moment.”

There’s a long pause on the other side before he calls back, “...all the equipment…no room in the van, I’m sorry man.” 

He heaves a sigh and presses another hurried kiss to your lips, nipping at that pout just as he wanted to, but much more playfully quick than intended. He quietly murmurs an apology to you before yelling back, “fine! Give us a second, jackass. Take a lap around the block or somethin’!” Then turning to you with puppy eyes, “sorry, I am so sorry about that.” 

He kneels away from you, leaning on his heels to offer you a hand up, which you gladly take. 

“It’s okay,” you hum, not wanting the evening to end but knowing it might be a good idea to head home before things carry on further. “It’s, um…it’s quite late, I should probably be on the road already anyway.” 

You right yourself as he goes for the door, pulling your skirt down where it bunched up, finding your discarded purse in the corner and fishing out your car keys. By the time you’re situated, Eddie has already hopped down from inside the van and is offering his hand to help you down easily. 

With youreet secure on cracked asphalt, the real world settling in alongside the cool night breeze around you, you’re suddenly nervous again, shy. You find yourself worried that outside the comfort and closeness of his van, he’ll see you for what you really are; an inexperienced girl playing dress up with false confidence. The next time he sees you at the shop in your usual, modest getup, he’ll regret ever kissing you – or worse, forget it even happened. 

Dejected by your own thoughts, you nod at him in thanks and clutch the strap of your purse nervously. 

“It really was a good show,” you say in place of a farewell, “Eddie, tonight was really fun.” 

“Thanks, angel,” he says through upturned lips, lighting a fresh joint. He leans against the open door of the van, one foot propped up on the bumper, the free hand not pinching his smoke stuffed into the pocket of his jeans. He looks like he was ripped straight from the silver screen, the bad boy John Bender type in your own little coming of age flick. He exhales, billowing smoke into the air in the direction opposite you. “I had a pretty stellar time, myself.” He grabs you by the forearm before you can retreat to your car, pulling you into him for a much more chaste goodbye kiss, mumbling, “drive safe,” against your lips, not wanting to part even to share the sentiment. 

“Promise,” you assure him, pressing a final kiss high on his cheekbone and turning to start the journey to your car. You turn to say a final goodbye and are met with the flash of a Polaroid Spectra. “What was that for?” You ask, voice lilting, giggling musically. 

You can see Gareth returning from around the corner and wave, feeling floaty as you walk backwards to your car. 

Eddie simply says, “Told you you look fantastic like this. Wanted to remember it.” Like this, he thinks, hair a riot, skirt bunched up, flustered and breathless from nothing more than a kiss.

Shaking your head, you shout another goodbye before getting into your car and driving away. 

As the photo develops in Eddie’s hand and he’s joined by his drummer, he shakes the thoughts from his mind. You don’t know what you’re in for. 

Fuck Gareth for needing a ride.

—

Monday following the concert, you flit into Camelot music in your regular getup. Hair twisted into two messy braids, soft off-white tee shirt layered under a billowy thin denim dress. The forecast called for rain and a bit of a chill with it, so instead of sheer pantyhose you opted for a pair of over-the-knee socks, surely covered by the dress when you left the house, but now exposed by the knot you’d tied over one knee. 

Eddie’s with a customer when you walk in, but his attention is solely on the tops of those socks and the way they cut into your skin. You busy yourself by looking at a rack of new releases that don’t interest you as he finishes up, ringing out the cheerleader/letter jacket couple with a shallow nod and empty responses to their questions. 

As soon as the door shuts behind them, you’re joining him at the counter. 

“Hi,” whispered nervously, uncertain where you stand after the weekend. 

“Hi, angel.” Eyes dart over your shoulder briefly, ensuring there’s nobody around before he reaches over the counter to hold your face with both hands, pulling you in for a searing kiss. You squeak with surprise and he laughs into the kiss, breath ghosting your upper lip. “Thought about you all weekend.” 

You insist he’s trying to flatter you. 

He’s not lying. Only omitting the fact that most of those thoughts were lewd, obscene little brain worms. Images of you panting beneath him, your chest pressed against his, nipples perking under his attention. He kept returning to that damned thought of you touching yourself, of his name on your lips as you reached your peak. Every chance he got, every moment of alone time, his imagination ran wild, long, languid strokes of his cock spurred on by the memory of those perfect sounds you made for him from just one silly makeout session. It fueled him, how sensitive you were, so new to everything. Moreover, nothing turned him on more than the fact that he was, apparently, the first and only person to make those precious sounds, to make you feel that way, not even yourself. 

“You did not,” you accuse, rolling your eyes. 

“Cross my heart,” he mumbles, jaw slack at the memory. Then, ducking suddenly below the counter he adds, “Hey! Made you something.” 

You can’t help but giggle at the way his hair stays suspended in the air just a beat longer than he does, and you lean forward further to see him rooting around under the counter for something. He returns with another mixtape, this one labeled sloppily as People Write Songs About Girls Like You. 

Raising an eyebrow at the title, you turn the tape about in your hands. 

“Should I be worried about this one?” 

He quirks a single eyebrow, “only if Daddy finds it.” 

“Oh my gosh.” Mortified, you stuff the tape into your purse and hide your face in your hands. 

It’s a short visit this time. While a few Metallica tracks were featured on your first mixtape, he decides to play you their ‘86 album Master of Puppets in full over the store stereo, pointing out certain tracks and what they mean to him. He credits the title track for literally saving his life in his third (and final) senior year, says the dedication to learning to play it on the guitar by ear is what made it click for him that he wasn’t as stupid as everyone tried to convince him he was. It was that push that allowed him to finally cross that stage and inspired him to put a real honest effort into the band too. 

“I think this is my new favorite song, then,” you note with a soft smile as it comes to an end. 

“Softie,” he teases, throwing a balled up receipt at you. 

“Maybe,” you giggle. Then, noticing the time, “hey, I gotta get going, have to cut it short today. Mom said she wanted to talk about something when she got off of work. Sounded important.”

Ever dramatic, he mimes a dagger to the heart, twisting it, writhing with the pantomime of pain and falling limp against the cash register. “If you must,” he heaves. “Can I call you tonight at least?” 

You fiddle with the gold cross around your neck, and his eyes follow the movement. “It’s not that I don’t want you to,” you say uncomfortably and note all too quickly the hurt on his face. “It’s not!” You insist, shifting from foot to foot. “It’s just that if you call while my parents are awake, they’ll…ask questions. And probably listen in on the other end.” 

“Well,” he chuckles, “we don’t want that.” 

“Nope.” 

“Tell you what.” He pulls a sticky note from off the stack near the register and scribbles hastily, passing it to you when he’s done. “When do they hit the hay, what, nine? Ten at the latest?” You nod. “Give me a buzz when they’re out. I’ll be around.” 

Grinning, you plant both hands on the counter and lean across it to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, “sounds like a plan. Talk to you later!”

“I’ll be waiting!” 

—

As it turns out, your mother’s talk was not important. 

“I’ve arranged a date for you,” she says over the rim of her coffee mug, her post-work decaf practically a ritual at this point. 

“You what?” 

“A date!” She repeats, smiling sickly sweet like she’s doing you a favor. 

Dread swirls in your stomach, all color draining from your cheeks. “Mom, I- you didn’t have to do that.”

“I know I didn’t have to, silly. I just thought it might be nice for you to get out with a nice, respectable boy, and besides, Justine was practically begging me to make the arrangement, what with the way she was bragging about Tom’s doctorate studies and empty social calendar.” 

You balk with realization, “wait- Justine…? Mrs. Murray? You mean you set me up with Tommy Murray?” 

The Murray’s were well known in your parish. Charitable, well off…uptight. Tommy had been in the youth group with you for a few years, but he aged out in your 8th grade year. Janie had a massive crush on him, but you thought he was an arrogant jerk, a narcissist at best. He was smart but he knew it and that soured you to him immediately. 

“He goes by Tim now, honey.” Is all she manages in response, not acknowledging your disgust. 

“Mom,” you scoff, “I am not going out with that guy.”

“Don’t be rude,” she chastises, the mug in her hand thunking against the table harshly, dark, milky liquid threatening to slosh out from the force of her setting it down. “I’ve already made the plan so you will go through with it. Now I suppose you don’t have to continue to see him if you don’t like how it goes but I did you the favor of setting this up, the least you could do is show up. Respectably.” 

It’s almost painful, suppressing the eye roll, but you know you’ll be better off just giving in. At least maybe you’ll get a good meal out of it. Your voice is soft, obedient when you ask, “when and where?” 

“He’ll pick you up Thursday at noon for lunch.” 

“Can’t I drive myself?” She doesn’t have to answer. Her stern look is enough to have you sighing with defeat. “I’ll be ready by 11:45.” 

“That’s what I thought. Now go clean up for dinner.” 

—

By some miracle, your parents both manage to turn in before nine that night and you retire to you room, door cracked and handheld landline receiver tucked under your pillow, waiting for any sign that they’re asleep. By 9:20 the bedside lamp clicks off, the thin stream of light from under their door going dark. By 9:35 your father’s snoring indicates that they’re out. 

Still, you wait another twenty minutes to assure that they’re asleep for the night before you pad quietly across the room to shut your door and throw a blanket in front of the crack at the bottom. Just in case. 

Your heart skips a beat with each ring, until finally the other line clicks. 

Silky smooth and hushed, voice mottled by the crackling of the line, he answers, “hello?” 

“Eddie?” You ask hopefully…stupidly. You know who you dialed, he doesn’t know who is calling. You can’t see him smiling at your blunder over the phone, you just clear your throat and continue, identifying yourself. 

“Yeah, I knew it was you, sweetheart. Did you think I could forget your pretty voice?”

“You’re such a flatterer, you know that?” You tease, twirling the fringe of your throw blanket between the fingers of your free hand. 

“What!?” He’s all mock shock and dramatic gasps, the other line rustling as he gets comfortable in bed. “Me? Never. I haven’t even told you how nice you look tonight.” 

“Please,” This time you do snort through your laugh, shaking your head even though you know he can’t see. You settle back into your pillows, tucking the receiver between your ear and shoulder so you can free up your hands for idle fidgeting. “You can’t even see me.” 

“Just cause I can’t see you doesn’t mean you don’t look nice.” He argues, “I bet you’re a stunner. Describe it to me. What’re you wearing?” An overused line, a cliche for any late night phone call, he’s aware, but he’s dying to know what someone like you wears to bed. 

You hum into the phone, tucking your feet underneath you and hugging your knees to your chest. “You won’t laugh?” 

“I could never.” 

You think about lying, but something tells you he would be able to tell. 

“It’s a, um,” you giggle at how predictable your answer must seem to him. “A white nightgown.” He’s quiet on the other end, not much more than an encouraging mhm, trying to pry more details from you. You’re not sure exactly what he’s looking for, so you go for the obvious, describing the details of the garment. “It’s got, like, a french collar and this frilly lace on the hem and the straps…little bow on the neckline.” 

“Now why would I ever laugh at that? Sounds to me like you’re just living up to the nickname, angel.”

“Don’t be cruel,” you giggle, though his tone doesn’t hold any malice. 

“Wouldn’t dare. How long is it? Hittin’ the floor?”

“Nope.” Playing with the lacy hem of it, you correct him, “little bit above my knee.” 

You swear he groans on the other end. Eddie, who’s been playing shows in sleazy bars for years, who’s seen his fair share of scandalous outfits on girls much more sexual than you, is groaning over the mention of…your legs? No, that…that doesn’t add up. 

“So you’re letting those pretty legs out to play, hm?” His voice is rougher, gruff, and he takes note of the rustling of pillows behind you. “You in bed?” 

“Mhm,” you don’t know which question you’re answering. Both are true, you suppose. 

“Yeah? Me too. So…” Eddie sighs into the receiver, palming his growing erection through his jeans. He is far too into this already, and he’s getting ahead of himself. He doesn’t even know if this is pushing your boundaries too far yet, for fuck’s sake, but God, is he hoping you take the bait. “I was thinking.” 

“Don’t hurt yourself,” you tease. 

“Cute.” 

“Sorry,” you giggle, “couldn’t resist. What were you thinking about?” 

“...how unfair it is that you’re 20 goddamn years old and you don’t know what an orgasm is like.” Your fiddling fingers halt, the air sucked from your lungs at his boldness, that same churning, staticy feeling starting low in your stomach at the thought. “And I know you say you don’t know what you’re missing out on so it’s not that bad, but hear me out. I know what you’re missing out on, and I think it’s a fucking shame.”

“I’m…sorry?” 

There’s a long pause between you before he finally breaks down and joins in on your laughter. 

“No need to be sorry, angel. I just want to help you out.” 

“And that’s an entirely selfless offer, I'm sure.” 

“Baby, there’s lots of ways I’d love to be involved, but tonight’s about you. You need to learn about your body first, find out what you like.”

“You want me to…on the phone with you?” You know what he’s suggesting, but still can’t quite wrap your head around the idea. 

“Only if you want to. This is only good for me if you’re enjoying yourself.” His words settle right in between your legs, your thighs squeezing together and trapping them there with the growing heat between them. Against your will, a whimper makes its way past your lips at the thought. “Sounds like you’re into the idea.” 

Glaring down at the gold band on your finger, you sigh before ripping it off and shoving it in the drawer of your nightstand. You want this, you think, and you don’t need judgment from some dumb piece of symbolic jewelry. Still you hesitate. 

“I don’t…hate the idea, but I don’t know how to– I wouldn’t know what to do.” 

“That’s why I’m here. I’ll walk you through it. Just do as I say and tell me how you’re feeling. If you like something, don’t like something…if you change your mind all together. Just tell me and I’ll adjust accordingly. Think you can do that?”

“Yeah, I can do that.” 

“Good girl,” he murmurs, “we’ll start you off slow. Want you to play with those gorgeous tits for me, okay? Start over your nightgown, just do what feels right.” You shake away the nagging insecurity and oblige, running a hand across your chest, steadying the phone in the other. It takes a moment to find your rhythm, cupping, softly groping at your own flesh, but Eddie can tell the moment you relax into it, soft sighs and hitched breath like music to his ears. “Good, now don’t forget your nipples, sweetheart. Light touches, tease yourself a little, remember we’re just getting warmed up.” 

You settle further into your plush mattress, letting the down pillows and Eddies gravelly, rough voice envelop you. He continues to coach you until your muscles are loose, movements slow and careful, appreciating your body in a way you never considered. 

“When you’re ready, I want you to hike up that skirt and touch yourself through your panties. Don’t take them off yet, stroke that pretty cunt until you’re whining.”

“Eddie!” You don’t know if you’re scolding him or praising him, shallow breath stuttering as your touch ventures south, teasing through your underwear and letting out a soft moan when your fingers press against the damp cotton. 

“How’s it feel, angel?”

“F-feels good,” you simper, gasping when your touch focuses on that spot that makes your toes curl. 

“You want more?”

That gets him what he wants, a sharp whine disguised as a, “please,” and he’s finally giving in and unbuttoning his jeans, allowing his aching cock some reprieve from the denim confines with a satisfied grunt.

“Lose the panties, baby. Slide your fingers between your folds, tell me how wet you are for me.” The phone gets knocked aside in your haste to peel your panties off, kicking them off the edge of the bed, but you make sure it’s securely back in place on your shoulder before you follow his instruction. It’s obscene, the sound your arousal makes as you part your lower lips, sliding two fingers between them. “Fuck, don’t need you to tell me,” he groans, pulling his boxers down just enough to start stroking his cock in time with your moaning, “she’s telling me herself. Keep playing with your clit, baby, I could listen to those sounds you’re making forever. Might fuckin’ put ‘em on my next album.“

The line goes quiet for a few moments, just the sounds of wet, slapping skin and labored breath and needy mewls. 

Your pleasure floods your stomach, coiling tight and hot and as your fingers toy with your sex. Muscles tense, the sound of Eddie’s ragged breath on the other end of the line spurring you on further, faster, needier. You’re chasing a feeling you can’t even identify but you know you can’t wait to get there. 

“Mmh– Eddie, I-” You cut yourself off with a hand over your mouth, stifling the desperate keening sound threatening to come out. 

“You’ve been needing this, angel, I can tell. So desperate already. Haven’t even fingered yourself and you’re already about to cum, aren’t you? C’mon pretty baby, try a finger for me.” Without hesitation, your fingers dip down to tease at your entrance, forefinger curling in without much resistance. It’s tight, the feeling foreign but not unwelcome. You cry out at the intrusion, slowly pumping in and out and pushing yourself further toward the edge. “That’s it.” He croons, “doing so well.” 

Your hips have a mind of their own, grinding on your hand, seeking out that sweet friction that you lost from your clit. Thigh muscles tense even more, shaking, your back arching off the bed. You don’t have to warn him, he can tell that you’re just on the edge, all it’ll take is one little push, and he’s happy to give it.

“Let go, baby.” It’s practically a growl and you can feel it in your bones, mixing into your growing pleasure and making it boil over. Suddenly, your body can’t help but obey, tipping over its peak and tumbling toward sweet release. 

Eddie has to bite into the meat of his bicep to stop himself from shouting with his release, the muffled sound of it lost on your ringing ears because you’re still coming down from your own. 

It’s quiet again for a moment. You can hear what you think is Judas Priest playing from somewhere in the background on his end while you both catch your breath, until finally you break the near-silence with an involuntary giggle. Eddie can’t help but laugh with you, aimlessly, tittering over nothing on a late night phone call like you hadn’t just had your entire world turned upside down. 

“What’s so funny?” He asks after a moment. 

“Dunno,” you giggle, “you were right, I guess. I mean it really was pretty darn unfair that I went my whole adult life not experiencing that.” 

“Just you wait. That was nothing.” Then, despite himself, he laughs again. “Did you just say darn?”

“I– yeah?”

“You mean to tell me you just moaned an entire year’s worth of spank bank material into my ear and you still won’t swear?” 

You protest, “that’s different!” 

“How is that different! I would even argue that swearing is the lesser offense here! Shit, I’ll get you to swear for me one of these days. I guarantee it.”

Both of you stay like that a little while longer, joking and laughing and teasing as if you hadn’t just come undone in each other's ears. It’s comfortable, familiar, like you’ve known him much longer than a month. Eventually, when his tape comes to an end, he reaches for his acoustic guitar and starts to play a quiet tune, soundtracking your conversation. It starts to lull you to sleep, but just when you’re on the precipice Eddie's voice brings you back to reality again. 

“Hey, angel?” 

“Hmm?”

“You’re my girl, right?” 

He isn’t entirely sure why he asked, the thought burst from him like a Xenomorph before he could stop it. But there was something there, a pride that swells in his chest at the thought of claiming you as his.

“I’m your girl, Munson.” You confirm, sleepy and gleeful and satiated. 

[young-royals-confessions]

Everything has a meaning in YR.

When Simon sings ITAFTRS - he stands out for many reasons: he was made fun of and deliberately sang louder and in his manner, it was Wille's POV and Simon stood out for him (when they leave the church it's only Simon's voice Wille is hearing, no choir at all) and of course Simon doesn't feel like he belongs to this place and those people and doesn't blend in.

When he sings Remember, the choir is the same cause the life goes on, but Simon has different emotions - he sings for the person he likes who is grieving and he's worried for him (and Omar was sick) and Wille's in shambles, it's Erik's favorite song and he sees Simon knowing he will reject him after the performance to become a better prince.

We don't hear Simon standing out much while singing Hillerska song and Santa Lucia -he blended well with the choir when he was happy/calm and felt some unity with the environment after finding a soul interested in him or after he made peace with Wille. And Wille is calm or happy as well.

When Simon sings the last song of S1 he's hurt and mad at Wille who betrayed him, at the person who filmed them, at the school who didn't find and punish the culprit, at the people who gave him curious looks. How to blend here? It was his soul crying. Wille is looking at Simon singing and he's hurt as well, and mad at the Court, at August, at the Queen....

Simon's song is Simon's. He wrote it. He decided how the choir will sound to accompany his own singing.

Now imagine Simon's singing blending all the time and tell me if you are ready to trade all this for the perfect choir representation

.

[kitsoa]

I just finished up my 3 days of teacher training today (and there's more work days and meetings next week) but while I'm putting some finishing touches on my classroom, taping up the floors, stapling posters and loading up supply bins, I got an email.

My choir. The chorus that's I've been the proud Principal Alto for going 10 years now... the choir is dissolving. There will be no 51st season. They voted on it yesterday at the board meeting... the member enrollment is down. Ticket sales are low next to all the expenses. It's the standard excuse. I don't see the check books. I can't know.

But to say this was unexpected is an understatement. It's always been a small but passionate organization. It serves the metro-east side of my area, missing out on the competition but also patronage of the greater St. Louis arts scene. We get a lot of older airforce families and young music graduates in the fold. I'm one of the few paid singers, poached for the role while I was still a baby in college, but I take a lot of pride in it. And since I'm one of the younger people they all kinda dote on me. I love these people so much. They are passionate and supportive and appreciative. I love making music with them. They are the kindest people to ever surround me.

The director is someone dear to me. He's taken me in as his protege. He's a model of professionalism and respect. He never let's the many years and familial relationship between us get in the way of holding firm boundaries. He always asks to consent to additional projects and was keen to make sure I understand my professional value. He'd never let me do things for free and made a point to make sure that was clear. He was very firm in fostering loyalty with his principals in the best way possible-- abundant respect and clear communication. I could never leave him for a competing chorus. Even now I moonlight at the church he plays for. He puts me on recording projects for his compositions. I get a bottle of wine from him for Christmas every year. I love that man and all he stands for.

But it seems all that love and loyalty is hemorrhaging out with nowhere to go. I feel so lost. All of those concerts and rehearsals and Gala dinners and beautiful songs and opportunities, just gone and over. I'm at a loss. I seriously thought I would be there forever. This was my singing home. My music family.

I couldn't finish out the 50th season with them because of my voice injury. I was devastated sitting in the audience for both of the spring performances-- wondering when I would sing with them again -- desperate to sing with them again. Yeah I have my church job and I love those people too but this group was the choir I wanted to return to. I wanted to get better to sing for that director again. I imagined my triumphant return and how happy that would make me.

And that's not going to happen again. I feel like a ship that's lost it's mooring. It's a cavity in my heart. Those people I want to see. The music I want to make. God. It's too much.

Of course the logical step is that I look for another chorus. There's a group that would take me, hopefully as a principal but there are a million and one drawbacks not to mention I can't join them midyear when I expect to be in proper singing condition so it's an automatic gap year. I won't be able to enjoy the company of most of those singers since I was technically a transplant outside their area in the first place. I don't really want to think about it. I miss everyone already. I never realized I could miss them forever.

I just feel the need to eulogize something vital to my identity. A group I gave my heart to. I'm so sorry.

[ashleywool]

What do I have left to be delusional about?

Back in late June, shortly after the Spectrum Club 7 found out we were going to make our Broadway debuts but we weren't allowed to tell anyone yet, we were processing all our feelings about it in our group chat.

All of us have faced some struggles to fit in, struggles to find and use our authentic voices in a world that wasn't designed for us. We had a lot of conversations about "imposter syndrome" and how it manifests in very specific ways in neurodivergent people--particularly women/AFABs.

"If I'm going to be on Broadway," one of us said, "what do I have left to be delusional about?"

That's something that's stuck in my head for the last few months, as I've hit career milestones that I never would have believed were possible for me as an openly autistic person. I originated a principal role on Broadway. I did an Instagram takeover for Playbill the day our show was announced. I performed at the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. Some of the biggest names in the entertainment industry know who I am. People are flying in from all over the country to hand-deliver fan art to me. All while we're still in PREVIEWS.

And sometimes I feel like an asshole for saying all of this, because it sounds like I'm making it up for clout, or like it's some kind of self-insert fanfic, but it's MY ACTUAL LIFE.

But other times, I can process this as reality. And those times, I allow myself the freedom to dream even bigger. If this happened, what else can happen? What other pie-in-the-sky dreams might I put out into the universe? What, indeed, do I have left to be delusional about?

Here are a few of the things I've come up with:

Host my own Christmas special, in the style of Bing Crosby and Judy Garland. I want to sing with a huge orchestra and choir and have a giant Christmas tree on stage with me. It will be called "Ashley Wool's Chosen Family Christmas" and it would feature all of my friends who wanted to participate.

Play Kira in a Broadway revival of Xanadu. I can't go more than a week without mentioning this somewhere. Kira is to me what Fanny Brice is to Lea Michele, and she made that happen, so why not me?

Also, play more Golden Age roles. I'm happy to screlt my face eight times a week, but the only place I get to use my soprano register is in church choir. I want a shot at Sarah Brown, Julie Jordan, Amalia Balash, any of 'em.

Collaborate with Missy Elliott on HTDIO remixes. Or...literally anything. (Maybe Ludacris can put in a good word for me?)

Release a full-length album of my original songs. This is probably the most technically realistic goal. For those who don't know, I already have three original singles out there. I think they're pretty good, even though they are suffering from a lack of Missy Elliott.

Buy a house. Just one. Nothing fancy. But an entire house. With a full kitchen and a dining room where I could host Thanksgiving sometimes and a yard big enough for a catio and a water feature. You know, like people used to be able to do with a high school diploma and a minimum-wage job. Well, maybe not with the water feature, but still. A house. A house would be nice.

Contribute in some major way to affordable (and ACCESSIBLE and environmentally SUSTAINABLE) housing in New York City. And other places. But especially New York. Because people are always like "iF yOu CaN't aFfOrD iT tHeN mOvE" and like...no. I love this city, millions of people love this city, and people should be able to live reasonably well in any city they want without being kajillionaires. People should be able to afford to live in the city where they work ANY JOB. I don't know why this is radical. It seems pretty basic to me. Bla bla bla bleeding heart leftist bla.

Anyway. That's my "self-insert fanfiction" list for the end of 2023.

Maybe next year it'll be even more ridiculous.

[blade-that-was-broken]

Half Life Notes Pt. 2

So here is a bunch of notes for my Human AU, Half Life

Please note there are spoilers ahead that may be used for writing at some point. So proceed with caution!!

If you have any notes, suggestions or questions - don't be afraid to ask!

Brandy is actually one of Delta’s relatives best friends - Taylor. Spruce and Taylor kind of become friends through John. They get pretty close but not nearly enough to be romantically inclined with one another. She does start helping him get involved with stuff, whether it be with the family, school, etc. Spruce does learn some swimming from Brandy eventually but is able to float and stuff before then. Anyway, Brandy spent the semester as an exchange student abroad and came back in time for summer. Taylor talks about her and eventually introduces them, thinking they will get along. She’s right. Like very right. She becomes invested in getting them involved romantically; it’s kind of hilarious. 

Floyd is actually the one who scratches Spruce’s CD. He wanted to listen to it as he got more into music and wants to know why his brother loves it so much. Spruce freaks out because it’s the only one and he can’t find the songs anywhere else. 

Eugene 100% has an old stage at his place, possibly under a roof or in the barn and they do karaoke and performances there. He and Constance host tons of family friendly parties and other events for both their family and the community. 

Floyd is actually a music prodigy. He quickly picks up instruments and music things far quicker than anyone expects. Does school solo and ensemble and rocks it. Features in his choirs and probably joins the swing choir. 

Clay joins baseball and loves the rivalry with another school. He also likes the fact he can hit a ball as hard as he can. It helps with his anger. He isn’t bad either. He’s also big into sad books, which worries John. He’s a bit of a math whiz. 

JD sometimes thinks he got all the dumbass genes. 

Spruce eventually does want John to have some happiness and encourages him at some point to start dating. Clay catches on and confronts him. He’s not happy about it (he’s scared to lose the Dawn family, their support and some of his friends) but Spruce tells him John literally gave up his life for them so deserves something. They both, however, kinda want John and Delta to be together. 

Clay and Spruce join 4-H. Clay learns to ride horses and shows them. He even joins one of the drill teams (this is where he meets Viva). He is keen on learning a lot of disciplines and picks up with English and Western riding. He’s one of the few boys involved in some of that (outside of rodeo stuff) and so he’s pretty popular with the other girls. 

Spruce does cooking and baking, mostly in 4-H. He bonds with Sofia and Constance with baking, jams and other things. He bonds with Declan and Eugene and a few others with grilling, meats and other cooking dishes. John teaches him to fish. 

Viva is in Clay’s 4-H club and also rides horses. They don’t really interact at school in the beginning but become buddies at drill team and it blossoms from there. They kind of become rivals a little. Clay picked up riding fast - as he wants to prove to everyone he can - and Viva has been riding her entire life. They become partners at drill and once it starts, it does not stop. 

Poppy is a newborn at the beginning of the story, making her about a little less than a year younger than Branch. Peppy is the leader of the area (perhaps the next town since the one John lives in is so small? I’m not sure yet how that works honestly)

Sofia watches over several of her family’s kids frequently and volunteers at the nursery at church often when she is not consulting at a law firm/taking the odd case. Has considered opening a daycare. She’s a serious empty nester. 

County Fair in summer.

This may be how Spruce finds out about John’s old garage band. Spruce and his buddies sneak in when it is late and minors aren’t supposed to be there. John is reunited with some of his old high school buddies after one dies and they invite him to do a performance. One of said old high school buddies became a musician and still sells their single CD and advertises them. Brandy is the one who notices and she races to find Spruce. She is one of the few that have been able to listen to the CD he loves. 

John gets more involved with school activities as time goes on and he adjusts. He goes on walks with Rhonda and Branch and pretty much becomes known as the hot dad where he walks /shrugs//

One time Clay lets it slip about something his father did one time to Viva during drill and she told the most powerful and strong person she knew (her dad), scared for her friend. It was a bit early in their friendship. He didn’t go to anyone, but he confronted John at his house and pretty much openly threatened him, even though John had literally no idea what he was talking about. Clay is furious with Viva because he finds out/hears and it is so awkward. 

Clay confronts Viva and almost blows up on her. When he explains, she apologizes but Clay is so upset because this could interfere with John’s custody and doesn’t know if he can forgive her. 

John does tell him that it’s fine and not to worry and that he should not let this come between him and Viva. She didn’t know and wanted to help him. 

Peppy maaayyyyyy go talk to JD again to apologize. As he should. 

Yes, Branch’s first words are calling John dad. He learns to talk a fair bit before actually speaking anything. So it might even be a full sentence. 

John does teach Floyd guitar and some piano. He takes on it extraordinarily quickly. 

Spruce gets worried his new buddies will think he is weird for liking to bake. Haha, NO because they LOVE to eat and not only to make requests but LOVE being taste testers. (Literally I’ve never known a man who was upset that another man could bake/cook cause dudes love to eat. My HS cooking class was ALWAYS full.)

Floyd likes games; video games, board games, card games etc. He loves Mario especially and finds his voice hilarious. 

JD can draw fairly well and might be something that Branch picks up eventually. 

Rhonda loves all the boys and is protective of all of them but she hangs around Branch a lot and is protective of him, especially when he starts walking. It’s probably because he is the youngest and she knows he can defend himself the least. She also has a soft spot for Spruce (we think it’s more emotional) and he is more active in her life. John is her go to always. 

JD is an introvert forced to be an extrovert. 

Spruce and Clay - extrovert 

Floyd - introvert/ambivert 

Branch - introvert

They all bond with Delta somehow. Idk entirely how yet. 

She teaches Clay how to ride and might even lead his drill team. 

Floyd struggles to not see JD as a dad. 

JD, even when convinced to attempt dating, thinks it won’t work with him raising his brothers. 

JD and his old garage band get back together when one of them dies and he goes to the funeral. Spruce goes with him. When JD goes up to the mother, she talks about how much he loved JD and how proud she is of what he has done. She kisses his forehead and is a general sweetheart. 

They end up getting together and talking. One of the guys is a musician and has used the CD they made when they were kids to help his career. He gives JD some money to try and give him a share, saying it wasn’t enough. JD doesn’t want to take it but he insisted. 

Upon finding out about John’s bonds with the Dawn family, he feels replaced, especially when he walks around John’s house for the first few days. There weren’t many photos, just a few of John and Delta and a few other people. 

He doesn’t realize these photos are mostly celebratory wins for John when it came to his custody battle and such. 

Clay has a temper and tends to hold a grudge until he feels justice has been served. He has noticed his parent’s neglect in the form of rarely being around, clothes that no longer fit and some restriction of food. Clay has learned to eat almost anything, despite hating a lot of goods.

Clay doesn’t see a lot of abuse that went around. He has been put down sometimes but rarely hit. He has been so goofy and clumsy, his parents seemed to get mad at him less but they think he’s an idiot. He realized this and has a growing concern of being perceived that way once he’s safe. 

Floyd can be sensitive and hates conflict. He loves music and dreams of being a musician but has learned quickly his parents do not think he is capable or are supportive of that route. He has also learned things are okay when he is quiet, small and unnoticeable. He does not make a ruckus. So unless he is with his brothers, Floyd does not talk a lot and has never told anyone his inclination for music since he was very young. Clay knows, only by accident until it is revealed when John gets custody of them. 

His mother has hit him twice, each time apologizing profusely that he has accepted. 

He is a bit gullible and forgives easily because he doesn’t like being upset with loved ones, since he doesn’t have many. 

Spruce was furious when he found out his parents were pregnant with Branch. He didn’t say anything until Branch was born and when he let his displeasure slip, he got hit and wasn’t allowed near the baby for six months. Spruce didn’t care much, as he wasn’t happy about the baby and he was angry at John who was not sneaking visits and phone calls anymore.

It was late one night and his parents weren’t around and the baby was crying. He went to the crib and Spruce picked him up and brought him to his room. The baby crawled around and eventually found a pair of JD’s goggles. He seemed to like them and Spruce started telling him about their older brother, as well as some of the theories why John hadn’t contacted them. “He doesn’t know about you. He might not ever know about you.” 

Spruce became the caregiver for the baby after that. He knew it wouldn’t be long until Branch was in the same boat as the rest of them. They liked the new baby smell and the cute little children. 

Spruce is called Bruce by his old friends who are embarrassed by his real name. This leads to him having negative thoughts and feelings about his name. But then he remembers his brother is named after a fish and he feels better. 

[zarya-zaryanitsa]

may i ask something (in good faith i swear)

there is quite a community of witches on tumblr. there is also one of pagans. while they overlap, it's two different things. both pagans and witches, as i understand, can make offerings, pronounce spells, is that right?

and another question: are they any like recourses to get into witchcraft? there are different types of it (like wicca or others), there is a ton of various practices, many of them as i understand are personal, but are there some underlying principles that are the same for them all? i guess my main question is where and how to start with all of it because i am confused, i need structure achgssgkds like suppose i, a slav, am interested in witchcraft that existed in my country centuries ago, do i like research the practices that were done and adapt them to my personal vision?

i am sorry it's really messy

Yes, paganism and witchcraft are two different things! Paganism is an umbrella term used to refer to a bunch of different religions such as Slavic paganism or Norse heathenry. These days it’s mostly used to describe european religions and not necessary welcomed by people of other cultures, to give an example, from what I heard practitioners of Shinto oppose being referred to as „pagans”.

Witchcraft is a practice that may or may not be practiced in religious context. It’s a bit like singing - you can sing psalms in church choir or you can do karaoke in a bar with your friends. The former will be a religious activity, the latter will have you singing in secular context. Of course you are not limited to doing solely one or another, as you probably noticed in life people who sing secularly may include some lyrics relating to their religion and it’s symbolism - it doesn’t automatically make the performence of that song a religious ceremony. I hope I didn’t push that metaphor too far.

As you correctly noted yes there are many different magical systems that include many different magical practices. Slavic folk magic will function very differently from Wiccan witchcraft or chaos magic or ceremonial magic rooted in renaissance grimoires. I certainly don’t know all the systems and I’m not one to look for some universal rules that they all may follow - it’s just not something I find particularly useful.

„i, a slav, am interested in witchcraft that existed in my country centuries ago, do i like research the practices that were done and adapt them to my personal vision”

I’m happy to say you pretty much hit the nail on the head with this one! Research magical practices of your region and try to understand according to what principles they functioned. Learn what was the role of various plants and objects used in those practices, what was the role of the words that were spoken, what was the role of specific ritual actions that were taken. Try to gain understanding of the viewpoint behind those practices.

I am also happy to say that I gathered quite a collection of resources (in English) on Slavic magical practices. They are to be found towards the bottom of the resource list and the link to the whole list is always available at the top of my pinned post. If you happen to be Polish like me I have some more recommendation for Polish sources here.

Now keep in mind that Slavic folk magic is pretty tightly connected to Christianity, the dominant religion in the region. I know a lot of people assume it’s choke-full of pagan lore and that Slavic witches are some kind of remnant of pagan culture but that’s not really true - Slavic magic contains many unique cultural elements that most likely have their roots in pre-Christian Slavic beliefs but across the centuries they were adapted to co-exist with Christianity and to be used by Christians. Slavic folk magic is like a song that would not be sung during mass and may even be frowned upon by some priests, but is nonetheless filled with religious references and performed by deeply religious individuals. You may want to remove/replace some Christian elements or you may choose to keep them, even despite not being Christian yourself. I’ll tell you a secret: this February I blessed my throat candle in the name of both Saint Blaise and Veles and it still worked.

[annual-amerikate]

3x14 Of Glee

(On My Way)

- wedding catalogue

- edited fake nude blackmail photos

- rachel and finn almost breakup

- dude gets outed

- dude almost kills himself to cough syrup

- finchel proposal

- random religious suicidal guilt trip

- bro tries peanut butter for the first time

- mr shue tried to khs in hs

- confessions about the future

- regional competition time

- dalton performance is an

acappella dedicated to the dude who tried to khs

- the main song is "glad you came"

- i forgot to mention sue is pregnant

- im absolutely losing my mind at this bs

- there is also a random church choir

- RACHEL AND FINN ARE GETTING MARRIED

- kurt and quinn are flabbergast

- new directions are preforming

- i have no idea what but i think its about survival

- there is fog

- SANTANA AND BLAINE RAPPING

- OH THEYRE PREFORMING "I BELIVE I CAN FLY" 💀

- KELLY CLARKSON

- britanna are singing kelly clarkson which is very funny, mercedes is the lead 🫶

- my face is numb. idk why maybe its the women.

- where did they get these background dancers when glee literally has a performer shortage 😭

- blainey days please sing cough syrup

- rachel what is this melody 🫦

- OH MY IS THIS HER LOVE SONG TO FINN

- SHES SINGING HERES TO US

- quinn was staring so intensely at rachel i got a JUMPSCARE 😭

- aww she sang it to finn :(

- OKOK DID THEY WIN?

- YEP! ND CHAMPS

- 2012 "mid"west regional champ

- one of my fav glee moments tho

- OMG QUINN IS A CHEERIO AGAIN 😧😭

- quinn fabGAY... jkjk

- "hey how do i look" gay.

- "well im glad youre happy."

- "when you were singing that song.. you were singing it to Finn and only Finn, right?"

- *the most hesitant and sad nod ever*

- "he really does make you so happy, i want to support you rachel, and finn, and come to the wedding if its not too late."

- some gay ass giggling and a gay ass hug

- we're back to suicide dude :(

- its been 3 days?! what is this timeline

- kurt and david make up :)

- david

- kurt asks david what he is looking forward to, this man said "im a sports agent with a sexy partner, adorable son, and a happy life" thats the dream.

- FINCHEL WEDDING 😧

- will x sue is a fav crackship

- SUE IS A CO-DIRECTOR OF GLEE CLUB NOW 😮

- the parents hate this

- carol >

- burt >

- the gay dads 😐

- THEY WERE GONNA CALL BARBRA STREISTAND

- omg rachel looks stunning

- im gay

- QUINNS A BRIDESMAID

- THEYRE WAITING FOR QUINN

- focus on the road babe

- STOP TEXTING AND DRIVING

- "face it quinns not coming" bs

- rachel about to PAUSE her wedding for quinn

- "im gonna fake an epileptic seizure"

"youre not an epileptic"

"thats why im gonna fake it"

- QUINN GOT IN A CAR CRASH

[scotianostra]

Happy Birthday to ex Pop Singer turned TV personality Michelle McManus.

Born in the Queen Mother's Maternity Hospital in Glasgow, on May 8th 1980, Michelle was brought up in Baillieston with her four wee sisters, she auditioned for Pop Idol in 2003 and brought criticism from judge Pete Waterman due to her image and he "fuller figure", fellow judge Simon Cowell to a shine to Michelle and championed her cause, she beat Mark Rhodes in the final with 58 percent of the vote. After signing to Sony BMG, her debut single, All This Time, spent three weeks at number one, while her first album, The meaning of love reached number three. However, after her second single, the title track "The Meaning of Love," stalled at number 16, she was dropped by her label, and a year later she parted company with management company 19 Entertainment. I can't believe this year will mark 20 years since her win!

In 2007, she set up her own record label, McManii Records, and released the track Just for You. Michelle has since released a book entitled You Are What You Eat, performed in a production of The Vagina Monologues, and co-hosted the Scottish TV show The Hour. Michelle has also appeared on The Edinburgh Festival Fringe as well as working on numerous Scottish TV shows and guesting as a DJ.

McManus paid tribute and sang two songs at Martyn Hett's funeral on 30 June 2017. Martyn was one of the 22 victims of the Manchester Bombing on 22 May 2017.

Michelle recorded a cover version of Paul MccArtney's, We all Stand Together in aid of a collection of a dozen charity choirs. McManus married Jeff Nimmo on 23 rd September 2017.

The couple tied the knot at St Mary and St Finnan Church at Glenfinnan on the edge of Loch Shiel. in September 2017, they now have to bairns.

[krispyweiss]

Lyle Lovett and His Large Band at Rose Music Center at the Heights, Huber Heights, Ohio, July 26, 2023

It was 90 degrees at 7:45 in the evening of July 26 when Lyle Lovett and His Large Band took the stage dressed in black-tie formal wear and turned up the heat further as they declared, “It’s a Naked Party.”

“We’re happy for this cool weather” Lovett said later in the evening without irony, noting he lives in Texas, where a crushing heat wave has lingered for weeks.

Acclamation notwithstanding, clothing-optional might have been the way to go. But Lovett - who also performed “Pants is Overrated,” inspired by his kids’ refusal to get dressed - and his band were hosting a soiree.

After the aural nudity, Lovett and his three singers exited the stage to leave the remaining 11 members - four pieces of brass; acoustic, electric and pedal steel guitars; Jim Cox’s piano; Stuart Duncan’s violin; and the rhythm section of Leland Sklar and Russ Kunkel, who employed sticks, brushes, mallets and his hands during the show - to strut their big-band stuff on “The Blues Walk,” the only instrumental of the evening.

The band was back at full strength as Lovett threw his head back and held notes for inhuman lengths on a purely country-and-western reading of “Stand by Your Man.”

And so it went for two-and-three-quarters hours at Rose Music Center in suburban Dayton, Ohio, as Lovett and his multi-genre band played comedic soul on “She’s No Lady,” ballroom balladry on “Are We Dancing,” blues on “Pig Meat Man,” gospel on the hand-clapping, choir-singing “Church” and virtually every other style of American music as ragtime, Dixieland, bluegrass and more popped up across the band’s many improvisational interludes.

Less witty than usual, Lovett instead dedicated his between-song banter to speaking with his onstage compatriots and detailing their musical backgrounds. He repeatedly remarked on how lucky is is to play with them. And he is correct.

With 15 players and singers on stage at any given time, train wrecks might be expected. But these are big-shot studio and touring musicians - and in the case of the horn section, college professors of music - and their execution was flawless. This is how steel-guitar comes to sound right at home inside big-band jazz. It’s the reason six-string, fiddle, steel and vocal showcases can fit inside a song like the swaggering “My Baby Don’t Tolerate” and not come off as self-indulgent. And it’s why the seven piece that performed the Chieftains’ arrangement of “Don’t Let Your Deal Go Down” packed every bit of power as did the full ensemble that had the audience shaking it in the proverbial steam bath on “That’s Right (You’re Not from Texas).”

Lovett is a musical chameleon and a craftsman committed to quality. So, despite often playing small houses, selling fewer than half of the Rose’s 4,200 seats and proving on such tender ballads as “12th of June” and “The Queen of Know,” that the core band is capable of breathtakingly gorgeous three- and four-part harmony, he spends heavily on salaries so fans may delight in his choir’s bass-to-gospel, doo-wop-to-barbershop stylings.

Grade card: Lyle Lovett and His Large Band at Rose Music Center - 7/26/23

See more photos on Sound Bites’ Facebook page.

7/27/23

[beanieelizabethbeans]

We are nothing but a game to the Goddesses we are meant to love.

They watch us with their milky eyes and plaster grins, drinking their cocktails mixed of salty tears and bitter blood. In our dreams we see them, sword in hand, sword in heart. They hold our souls on puppet strings, toying with us until we drop dead. They've built their thrones atop our burial grounds, their palaces on our battle fields. Their marble fortresses are stained with our blood. They never have to worry about it fading, every hundred years there's a fresh coat.

One thousand years ago and another four hundred, the first Rite was performed. It was only Apollonia and Amalthea then, sisters of sun and moon.

Princess Elizabeth was the first to play and the first to win. Her goddess became Zorina, of Life.

The Second Princess was the first to lose. There is a story we’ve heard that says her goddess still walks the earth today, solemn, lost, looking for something she never had: freedom.

When Princess Creiddylad won two hundred years after Princess Elizabeth, her goddess was granted power over death, Morgana was her name, all because Creiddylad stained the world red with her Rite. She would do anything, anything to win. And she did. Of course she did. We all are supposed to win.

The Second Princess was the outlier. The Second, The Sixth, The Ninth, and The Tenth.

And now Paget. The Fifteenth.

They are the failures. The numbered mistakes. The ones that were never supposed to happen. They’re the ones whose names you don’t learn in school, whose portraits you will never see in the halls of your church or hear the choir sing songs about them. No one will give their children their names, after their triumphs and successes. No one will pray to the goddesses who stood by their sides as they lived and as they died.

No, the only people who know their names are the princess and her goddess themself. Only us.

Because to us, they’re the warnings. This is what will happen if you lose, the priestesses say. They’re examples of everything that we could become.

Everything that we did become.

It was never supposed to happen like this.

When Amalthea and Apollonia initiated the first Rite, no one was ever supposed to die. But somehow, The Second Princess did.

And then there were more than two options.

It was no longer just win or lose, the Rite became live or die. But to us, they mean the same thing.

And that's why we’re here.

We are the failures, the mistakes. We are the ones whose songs you will never hear and whose names you will never remember.

But we will make sure that you remember theirs.

Because they were more than the just Princess and her Goddess. They were children. They were creators. They were the outliers who saw their world as more than just something they had to fight to stay in. For them, it was beautiful. Wonderful, even. They were lovers, content in each other's arms. They sang and they danced and they drew and they smiled. They laughed like honey.

We never laughed.

But in the end, after the Rite was over and all that was left was blood and tears and screams, when their laughter were just echoes and their smiles just shadows, she still had memories of being happy with her.

That’s more than what any of us could ever say.

And for that, she is not one of us.

[rutserthegreat]

HUM TO ME

.........................................................................................................................……………………………………….

2 quick steps for you to read my blog-

1st

AND

Now that you have done that, let me introduce a little about me

Hello there!! I'm Rocher, Rocher Anne (pronounced Rocher like teaCHER)😉 this is my Autobiography so you can know things about me. I marked up the saying "Embraces the Uncertainly" the time will come when I can say I am me, nothing worse, nothing less, that is enough, So This is the journey I call life. read along as I talk about myself.

I was born on March 14, 2006, and I am a Senior High School student at Rizal Memorial Colleges. My Mother's name is Marjorie and, My late father's named Rolando, I have two siblings the elder has their own family named Joejie and our youngest is in the third year of high school at DCNHS named Helen grace, We Currently live in Purok 9 Catitipan Diversion Road Ramas Compound Davao City.

hummmmmmmmm-My relationship with music began when I was young, It Gives me the feeling that I wanted, I can get out what's inside of me thru music, Music is an inspiration and stress reliever every day my entire songs cheer me up or just help keep my mood elevated. I play my favorites every single day. Also singing, Music and singing are always together to me. I am here to talk about my journey to music so let's get started. I'm into singing but I don't dare to sing to a huge audience I don't know why I was able to sing and serve in the church.

At home when there are small gatherings they force me to sing but unfortunately, I'm too shy, one day I heard my mom bragging to someone and she said 'my daughter is shy but she sang in church' mom doesn't say directly that she is proud of me but I can feel that she is proud of me, We're not into verbal We don't know how to say about what we feel maybe we are too shy to tell and it feels awkward we are not used so that's how. I got my passion for singing from her she also likes to sing. it's like a bond but we don't know that we're already making time to have fun, We didn't realize it was quality time.

Since I've been singing in church, I've been able to sing at home also or even at school, it's sad that I let my confidence out here when my dad was gone, he was also one of the person who wanted to hear me singing, he wanted to pursue me in this way but because I’m afraid of something that I don’t know, I hid in my room, I realized too late that I can't sing to him again.

I think I started getting insecure when I was in my first year in high school, I auditioned for the Special program of the arts, It was my first time auditioning-a lot of people were there I get nervous because they were all looking at me. I did not get in. when I saw a student who laughed and smirked at me, I started wondering I thought that I really don't have the talent but I really like it, I do have talent. "Don't ever, ever quit. Recognize that stopping now, and regrouping to try a new approach isn't quitting. If you quit you'll regret it forever." this is what I told myself over and over again.

This senior high, I made the right decision to try again, RMC has something called "club hunting" for students to expand their talent, I was nervous at that time, good thing I had a classmate with me who was a first-timer to audition, all of them in the room gave me goosebumps because of their voices. I started to say to myself "it is, what is it" I will no longer get affected anymore that what others say. What I sang was "Ako Muna by Angela Ken" Ako Naman Muna' is about self-love and self-appreciation especially now that we are being enveloped with sadness and problems due to the pandemic and people around us, but I almost jumped for joy because I got in the El Coro Sinfonico choir and was assigned to the voicing soprano. We have sung in the previous event, and we really prepared it for a month and a half just for one performance, I was happy after we performed it. I learned a lot even though it was the first session since I joined, Coach also gave us a lot of reminders, reminding us that singing is not just the beauty of that voice, but the use of it. I hope that everything will continue, and I do believe that my perspective on everything will not change.

AH-HUH What will happen will happen.

[borinqucn]

a day in the life of a sister of sin for the satanic church

every sister of course performs different duties. and in truth, temperance perhaps has bit off a little more she could chew sometimes. but for anyone who truly knows temperance, knows that if she’s not up to her forehead with things to do, then she’s not happy. there are four major tasks that she performs around the abbey and all of them are ones she loves. really people give the satanic church such flack but she’s never been happier. with her life as a baker outside of the ministry walls, it was something that she found she loved. temperance was supposed to be a doctor, even working nonstop to be accepted and attending medical school. 

what happened though, you ask ? 

great question ! to support herself during her undergraduate, temperance began a blog, much like those cheesy homemaker moms make with these silly little blurbs on things and then the recipe at the bottom. only hers were dedicated only to desserts. too much health consciousness on the internet and not enough just letting go and loving life for what it was. the blog was a hit and she was so surprised. maybe there was something there. but as well, she kept with her studies until well, being a doctor was not really her passion anymore. and who wants a doctor without passion ? the point of her living after the loss of her parents was not just to do something. she wanted to be happy and enjoy everything she did. the difficult decision to leave tufts medical school came after. what is a former medical student to do you ask ? another amazing question. sweet temptations was the name of her bakery. this baby of a store that she nursed and loved. a busy woman she was offering not only walk in service but catering as well. everyone loved her. the bakery was a success. that is of course until she felt lucifer’s pull, being the sweet serpent he was and pulling her from god’s light. yeah, that’s right, she was a devout catholic prior to the church. of course such skills that she has cannot be left unattended. so with begging to sister imperator, temperance finally got what she wanted, spending at least once a week in the kitchens baking delicious treats for the ministry for hours upon hours on end. they never last the week something the baker makes sure of since treats are better enjoyed fresh, but it’s still something to make her somewhat happy and feel like she’s contributing. 

it isn’t as though that was her only contribution around, she also spends time in the gardens of which primo likes to oversee. watch out for her though, as temperance walks around, checking on the delicate flora, she’ll snip a few, some to keep, some to press in a notebook, dating the pages and writing exactly where it is she picked up the flower. these notebooks with the pressed flowers she’s collected aren’t exactly for just anyone to see, but if you’re lucky she might let you peek at it. the hobby started because she was working in the gardens and she just needed to keep these beautiful flowers forever. especially the black roses they grow. 

of course you can’t just constantly work and not do anything for yourself. you’ll drive yourself mad and no one wants that ! so temperance in some off time goes to the library to read, and to reflect. reading is a massive hobby for her. she can’t tell you how many books she’s read since coming into the church, it’s awesome. if they asked her to manage the library, she would too, but no one’s asked her and in truth she doesn’t know if she could handle working in the library too but man would she love it. 

but the thing that gives her the most joy ? singing the unholy psalms with the choir at black mass. she loves it ! it makes her so happy. i have no other explanation for this other than she’s got a good voice and it lends perfectly to these songs. 

[lboogie1906]

Edwin Reuben Hawkins (August 19, 1943 – January 15, 2018) was a gospel musician, pianist, vocalist, choirmaster, composer, and arranger. He was one of the originators of the urban contemporary gospel sound. As the leader of the Edwin Hawkins Singers, he was known for his arrangement of “Oh Happy Day”, which was included on the “Songs of the Century” list.

He was born in Oakland. At the age of seven, he was the keyboardist to accompany the family’s gospel group. Together with Betty Watson in May 1967, he was co-founder of the Northern California State Youth Choir of the Church of God in Christ. This ensemble recorded its first album, Let Us Go into the House of the Lord. The LP found its way into the hands of a KSAN Underground Rock DJ in San Francisco who happened to pick “Oh Happy Day” to play on his station; it became an instant hit. The soloists on the album were Elaine Kelly, Margarette Branch, Dorothy Combs Morrison, Tramaine Davis (Hawkins), Reuben Franklin, Donald Cashmere, Betty Watson, and Ruth Lyons.

Once “Oh Happy Day” started being played in other parts of the country the group was aware of its rising success on the radio. “Oh Happy Day” rocketed to sales of more than a million copies within two months. It crossed over to the pop charts, making US #4, UK #2, Canada #2, 32 on the Irish Singles Chart, #1 on the French Singles Charts, the Netherlands and the German Singles Charts, selling more than 7 million copies worldwide, and he was awarded his first Grammy for it. His arrangement of the song was covered by The Four Seasons on their album Half & Half.

The second LP Top 10 hit on the Billboard Hot 100 charts was the single “Lay Down (Candles in the Rain),” on which the label listed the performers as “Melanie with The Edwin Hawkins Singers”. The song peaked at #6 in the US and Top 10 in several other countries. He was credited as a solo performer, and had a #89 hit on the R&B chart with “If at First You Don’t Succeed (Try Again)”. The Edwin Hawkins Singers’ performance of “Oh Happy Day” at the Harlem Cultural Festival appears in the documentary, Summer of Soul. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence

[musicarenagh]

Dreams, Music, and More: A Chat with Abby London Hello and welcome to the new artist bio segment. So, today you have a chance to get acquainted with Abby London – an up and coming singer/songwriter from Seattle who released her new track ‘Back in the Game. ‘ Hailing from America, Abby’s music is part Alt-Pop, with lyrics that are as real as the tunes inspiring audiences to look at ambition, wealth, and happiness. The new song explores the desire to make and spend money easily alongside the value of joy and achievement. Taking inspirations from artists such as Tom MacDonald, Dua Lipa, and Lorde, Abby has carved a niche of her own as a singer. Most of the time, her songwriting starts with the piano where she starts working on the themes and the rhythms with the chords. During our interview, I’ll be asking Abby questions about her musical journey and experiences as well as her future plans. Abby London is a talented artist with music that captivates the listeners, are you ready to learn more about her and her songs? Listen to Back in the Game below  https://open.spotify.com/track/73tWsDigcltkgtjrpUufMf?si=c43254d058394303 Follow Abby London on Facebook Twitter Spotify Soundcloud Bandcamp Youtube Instagram Tiktok What is your stage name Abby London Is there a story behind your stage name? It’s a secret Where do you find inspiration? Mostly from dreams What was the role of music in the early years of your life? It helped me process my emotions Are you from a musical or artistic family? My mom’s side did choir, solo singing, and piano lessons. My dad is a drummer. Who inspired you to be a part of the music industry? It was always something I wanted to do and my parents nurtured that. How did you learn to sing/write/to play? I took piano lessons at 7 from my church pianist. I took musical theater classes from Cheryl Ann Rossi who was really influential. So was my elementary school music teacher Julie Powell. Although I’ve sang for a long time I didn’t really start singing correctly until starting vocal lessons about 5 years ago with Sue Carr. She has helped me learn how to really sing. She has an app called The Art of Screaming I highly recommend. I’ve taken songwriting workshops with NSAI and Songwriters in Seattle. [caption id="attachment_56272" align="alignnone" width="2000"] I took piano lessons at 7 from my church pianist. I took musical theater classes from Cheryl Ann Rossi who was really influential.[/caption] What was the first concert that you ever went to and who did you see perform? My grandparents took me to see Juice Newton at the county fairgrounds. She sings Angel of the Morning, Sunshine, and other big country hits. I still listen to her to this day and sing along. Her songs are so epic and give me a feeling of nostalgia for cowboys, country life, and being a strong woman. How could you describe your music? American Alt-Pop music. Describe your creative process. I start with a melody or a chord progression on the piano. Then I use my voice memos app to record my ideas and write the lyrics on a notebook. I record the basic piano part at home then bring it to the studio and add more parts. What is your main inspiration? I’m mostly motivated by dreams, emotions, culture, and politics. What musician do you admire most and why? Lately, Tom MacDonald since he doesn’t hold back what he’s thinking. He’s not afraid of making people mad, and he’s successful and independent. Also, Dua Lipa for her positivity, Nina Nesbitt for her vocal range, and Lorde for her production. Did your style evolve since the beginning of your career? Definitely, I was just playing piano or guitar and singing. Now I co-produce and get to add in other instruments, “play bass”, and get a less folk and more pop sound. Who do you see as your main competitor? Ooh that is an interesting one. I suppose it’s everyone doing alt pop on my level trying to level. up. Though I could also say myself. What are your interests outside of music?

I love to travel, mostly in the US to lesser talked about places. My next trip is to Oklahoma. I like to go to estate sales and decorate and organize my house. And of course my cats! If it wasn't a music career, what would you be doing? I love cop shows so maybe a detective. I also like planning stuff so could see myself being an event planner. What is the biggest problem you have encountered in the journey of music? Figuring out how to be authentic with an audience so they feel connected to me and motivated to listen to my songs regularly. If you could change one thing in the music industry, what would it be? I would make it so people who were doing it as a hobby or not that good didn’t take up the space that those of us who are trying to make a living, work hard, and have more talent are in. https://open.spotify.com/artist/0QIOX8z67FZx24RMUuduJ1?si=ffpTmdGGRo-uk4Yesa6Yaw Why did you choose this as the title of this project? It’s just the name of the song! I didn’t ever consider a different name. I thought getting back in the game could apply to many nefarious “career choices” What are your plans for the coming months? Put out a song every month including my first Christmas song, “Stay Holy”. I’m putting together a collection for a physical CD too. Do you have any artistic collaboration plans Yes! I’ve been working on a song with a guy named Sam who performs under the name Glassio. What message would you like to give to your fans? Thank you so much for keeping me motivated with kind words and listening to my songs. I save the nice comments I get and I put them on my wall for when I’m feeling discouraged.