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slasherbvnnie · 2 years

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Until We Found You | Part III

Part III is now up and running! P.S. there are two playlists I listen to while writing these, they don’t necessarily go with reading them but you totally could listen to them as you read! Let me know if you would like the playlists. As usual, heed the tags.

Modern Day College Scream AU, Obsessed AFAB!Reader, Eventual Poly!Ghostface x reader,NSFW, All characters 18+, P in V, Fingering, Overall smut

Part I Part II Part IV Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX

The next few days were pretty dull, you spent a few days over at Sidney’s, the first night it was just you two but the third day Tatum, Billy, and Stu all spent the night- it was a group decision to leave Randy out because he would just go on and on about who was the killer and why they were targeting the victims. Ghostface was pretty quiet too, with no killings or attempts since you, you were starting to wonder if you were meant to be the last victim, you also wondered if you had pissed them off by not going home. Luckily today you were returning home, back to see your parents and Irena and your brand new door- no shining scene included this time.

“Need a ride? Me and Stu are going to the movie store,” Billy asked, making you turn to him after you and Sidney had pulled away from a hug. “Sure, my parents haven’t left my aunts yet so I would appreciate it,” you said before turning to Sidney again. “Thanks for letting me crash at yours, I’ll call if I have anything weird going on again,” you promised her, waving bye as you left with the boys.

“You should call us if that creep comes back, me and Billy can put him in his place,” Stu said, giving his signature laugh and smile, making you laugh. “That’s a great idea, Billy can scare him away with his crazy eyes and you can bore him to death by telling him all about horror movies,” you joked, earning annoyed glares from both boys, making you laugh again. “I’ll call if I see them again, okay? Don’t worry about me, I can handle myself,” you promised the boys as you climbed into the back seat, throwing your bag in next to you.

The day passed by smoothly, the boys had taken you to the movie rental store and bought you some candy along with a movie, which Stu insisted you watch and even rented for you. Prom Night, another fucking Jamie movie. You had popped it into your laptop that night once you were home. Irena sat on your lap as you caught up on some homework due the next day, occasionally you glanced at your laptop to watch the movie, not noticing when Irena had moved from your lap and moved to your vanity. She sat down, her tail twitching angrily, your attention finally moved to her when you heard a little growl escape her.

When you got up to see what had angered her you saw the window slide open, the same masked killer from the other day climbing in through your window. You paused, looking at them with wide eyes, wondering if the flirting over the phone had all been a plan to get you off guard, to either kill you or kidnap you so they could set you up for the murders of Casey and Steve. Your nerves didn’t calm down when they motioned you closer after closing the window, still, you walked over slowly to them. Their hand reached up to your face, cupping it gently before gripping it more firmly, holding the knife in their other hand up to your cheek. Your breath hitched, feeling the cool touch of the steel against you, but they made no movements to harm you in any way, not really at least.

The knife ghosted over your skin, not enough to cut but enough for you to feel scared and strangely turned on at the same time. Your eyes studied the mask in front of you, you couldn’t make out their eyes behind the mesh, but you could feel their eyes piercing into yours. They removed their hands from you, pushing you towards the bed, you complied but paused when you sat down on it. “My parents are home…can-can you lock the door at least,” you asked, they tilted their head towards the door and you swore you heard them chuckle as they most likely recalled how they broke the last one. They walked over to the door, locking it before making their way to you. Your legs clenched together, your ever-growing nervousness and excitement now showing to them as you wondered what they were going to do.

They looked over you for a moment before holding the knife right up to your sternum, pressing the knife onto your clothes as they began to drag it down, leaving a trail of torn clothes in their wake. “I kinda liked those…” you murmured, if they hadn’t had the mask on you may have seen the shit-eating grin they had on their lips as they pressed the knife harder against your skin. Your cheeks heated up, taking the hint to shut up as you let them continue. You had already changed into pajamas earlier in the night, your Carrie shirt now tattered and torn, exposing your top half to them. Once they reached your groin, they paused and moved the knife away, pocketing it before pushing you back onto the bed so you were laying down.

They hovered over you, tracing your face again, the rough texture of their glove trailing down your body before their fingers hooked under the waistband of your pj pants, tugging them off slowly. Your skin grew goosebumps all over, the cold air in your room felt like mercy against your warm skin, which was only growing hotter by the second. A small whimper left you as you felt them place their hand over your panties, you hadn’t even noticed until that moment but your arousal had shown even through the fabric, feeling a little embarrassed that you were so needy without much effort.

Your hand flung up to your mouth as you felt them reach into your underwear, you could feel how cold their fingers were even through the gloves as they ghosted over your clit. You bit down on your hand as they pressed on your clit, circling around it as you closed your eyes and tilted your head back. The texture of the glove bothered you a little, which they must have noticed as you bucked against their fingers. A whine left your lips as their hand pulled away, opening your eyes to see them reaching into their pocket and pulling out some torn piece of fabric. They spread it out in their hands, showcasing it to you, a blindfold. Another blush rose to your cheeks as you tilted your head up for them to put it on, a silent understanding between you two that they wanted you to stay clueless about who they were. They reached around your head and tied the fabric over your eyes, your heart began to beat faster realizing that you were completely at their mercy now.

They reached back into their pocket, bringing the knife out and making a stabbing motion at you, bringing the knife inches from your forehead. When you didn’t flinch, they felt comfortable knowing you couldn’t see behind the blindfold and began to undress. You heard them shuffling in the outfit, hearing a thud on the floor, wondering if that was the knife or their mask. You received your answer when you felt the knife against your cheek again, you felt yourself grow wetter, partially because of the knife, partially because ghostface was standing right in front of you unmasked and you couldn’t see them. Your hand tried to move to touch them but before you had the chance they pinned you down by your wrist. You whined but they only gripped you tighter, they dropped the knife and instead grabbed your torn t-shirt and tied your wrist together with it.

You didn’t have to wait much longer before their mouth was latched onto your neck and their fingers were tracing over your core. Their fingertips teased you, running over your folds as they carefully placed a hickey on your neck. You could feel a grin on their lips as they bit and licked at your skin, feeling your pulse under their tongue. You did your best to keep your voice down, your heavy breaths bounced off of your bedroom walls as they pushed two fingers into you. A louder whine sounded from you, to which they comforted you by planting a kiss against your lips. You didn’t need to see them to feel the passion in the kiss, they pushed against you with such need, teeth clanking together and making your bones shake as their thumb moved to your clit.

Your thighs opened a little wider to allow them more access, relishing in the pleasure their hands brought you. The familiar tension in your stomach was slowly beginning to build, sweat began to form on your skin from feeling their hot breath against you. You felt their eyes on you, it only made you more turned on knowing they were watching every little reaction you had to their movements. Another finger entered you, hitting a spot inside that made you toss your head back and thank any supernatural being or god there was that they were quick enough to swallow the moan you let out in a kiss. They took the opportunity to snake their tongue into your mouth, making you melt even further as their pace quickened.

Your chest began to rise and fall quickly as that knot in your stomach threatened to break. You moved slightly, your hips bucking and moving against their fingers as you let the pleasure take you over. Before you could tip over the edge they pulled away, which made you whine and squirm in protest. “Not fucking fair,” you breathed out, to which you were met with the cold blade of their knife again pressing against your neck. You pouted, realizing ghostface probably didn’t like your bratty attitude too much but it was all fixed when they kissed you again. Your legs slowly fell open again, allowing them to situate themself in between them. Their hand let go of the knife again and instead took the opportunity to roam over your body, little whines coming from you when they ran over- and teased- all the spots you reacted to.

Finally, they trailed their way back to your core, watching as your face scrunched up with pleasure as they circled your clit again. “Please…” you whined to them, their other hand gripping your thigh as a warning, “I want you in me already, please.” You begged, their grip growing even tighter, likely to leave a bruise before they finally let up. You barely took a breath before you felt them against you, your body tensed slightly but soon calmed down as you felt their lips on yours again. They were more gentle this time, but you could feel the tension they held by holding themselves back. “It’s okay., you can ruin me. Please ruin me,” you begged again, whimpering when their hand gripped your neck, squeezing the sides as they quickly entered you.

Ghostface was smart enough to put their mouth on yours again to cover up your moan, melting in their hold as they began to set up a steady pace. You wondered if they were taking it slow to let you adjust or to tease you, but they quickly had your attention again when their free hand returned to your core. Your stomach tightened once again, your head spinning with all the pleasure they were giving you. When their thrusts began to quicken you couldn’t help but arch your back, your ankles hooking around them and trapping them in between your legs, but with the way they thrusted even harder into you, you don’t think they minded it one bit.

It wasn’t long before the two of you were close to coming undone, both of your hips stuttered and bucked, their hand that played with your clit quickened a little as well, paying attention to the spots that had you shaking. “Fuck, gonna-“ you whined again, your head tilting back as they hit your sweet spot, “gonna cum,” you whimpered out between moans, trying to keep quiet. They continued the torture they were inflicting on you, your black vision turning white as you finally reached your climax. Your thighs shook around them, pulsing around them before they came.

You felt their muscles unclench, glad that you finally came to the realization that they had worn protection, mentally cursing yourself for not even checking before. They pulled out slowly, gently touching your face as you whimpered from the loss. You adjusted yourself on the bed as they finally peeled away from you, hearing the shuffling of clothes again as they got dressed.

After a moment you felt a dip in the bed, feeling them untie you but held down your wrists as they leaned in for one last kiss. You smiled into it, giggling as they pulled away. “Come again tomorrow, with a new Carrie shirt preferably,” you asked playfully, feeling their lips curl up into a smile before they pulled away. You heard the thumps of plastic before your blindfold was taken off, your eyes meeting the masked killer after adjusting to the light.

“Was that smile a yes,” you asked, smiling when they nodded. “You can take the torn one as a momento, and so you know what size to get,” you offered, holding out the piece of clothing to them. They grabbed it, heading back to the window as you stayed on the bed and watched them. They climbed out of your room while you finally stood up and watched them take off. You sighed, running your hands over the little hickeys and bruises they left on you before heading to your bathroom to get cleaned up.

There was the ringing of a phone, only sounding for a few seconds before the other line picked up. “Hey Stu, let's take the girls shopping tomorrow, we owe someone a new shirt. Also need to get you all fancied up too, you have a date tomorrow night,” Billy said, Stu laughing before beginning to question him on the details.

#poly!ghostface #poly!ghostface x reader #billy loomis #stu macher #scream au #poly!ghostface x female reader #billy loomis x reader #stu macher x reader #scream x reader #scream1996 #scream 1996 #scream #billy x stu x reader #ghostface #ghostface x reader #obsessed!reader #billy loomis smut #stu macher smut #poly!ghostface smut

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barzzal · 3 months

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call me crosby → part six

summary: Young, reckless, and rash, an unplanned pregnancy causes a massive rift in your relationship with then, cup-hungry 27 year-old Sidney Crosby. As he gets caught up in his own childish and selfish ways, confused to what was once certain, he lets you struggle alone. His absence reasons a miscarriage scare that leads you to end the relationship. Years after losing you, having to live a life that’s surrounded with the families his friends have built through the years embodies his greatest regret. Now with three cups and tons of awards at his disposal, Sid is given a chance to right his wrongs and win what was once the biggest loss of his life.

pairing: sidney crosby x fem!reader gen. warnings: language and theme, co-parenting, mentions of pregnancy & false miscarriage, sexual/suggestive themes, 18+ ch. warnings: parenting, tantrums, and a tad bit of angst genre: hockey rpf, fluff, angst, kid-fic, exes to lovers length: series; 5.2k masterlist: the barn, series masterlist

note: REALLY hoping i get to finish this while on my uni break. This was supposed to be posted on father's day but ya girl was on a trip i had to make most of it yk! Also, do note that the italicized part is a quick flashback. Anyway, happy reading! <3 (gif used: mine)

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction. teasers, interviews, events, and the like that are included in the series are purely made for fictional purposes and do not/should not represent any of the names involved in real life. please proceed with caution.

Two words. Terrible twos.

It was one of the things your mom has told you about raising a child of your own. It was a stage full of tantrums and frustrations; one you’ve never dealt with before. You were told that it was overwhelming, that you have to prepare yourself mentally and physically for it. However, your son, as the marvel child that he is, was so good at that age that you need not have to worry about it.

Well, not until a few years later.

“Mommy, please!” Luke wails in frustration from the living room.

He has been asking for a little more screen time watching his show instead of doing his homework. And be that as it may, he has been adamant about not getting what he wanted.

This has been going on for a couple of weeks, following Luke’s realization of not getting to play much of hockey. Frankly, as well as not seeing much of Sidney.

“Honey, you’ve been watching for almost two hours. That’s enough.” you say, massaging your temple as you walk towards where he is, trying not to lose your temper.

You and your son have always been in sync. You have not really had the chance to reprimand or give him a good scolding. Lucas is a fairly calm child right from the beginning. To say the least, dealing with his temper tantrums now is a lot harder than you’ve prepared for.

You see him sitting on the couch holding the remote tightly. His cheeks are still evidently damp from all the crying. You know he’s bound to strain his voice just by looking at him.

“Two hours is not enough!” he appeals. Just like you thought, his voice is now nearly gone from all the screaming. “Please, I want my TV!”

It is during times like this where you have to try harder as a mother. You know it will not always be rainbows with Luke. But despite your efforts to ensure that he would be able to express himself when you greatly need it, you can’t blame a child for not knowing exactly how he feels nor the reason for it. You just wish he’d be able to let you know even just a little. At least then, you could make it all better.

“Baby,” you endearingly call for him as you approach.

With a soft smile on your face, you caress his hair. Your hands then fall to his cheeks so as to wipe his tears away.

“You’ve already watched a lot of episodes today...” you carefully work your way in; gently reminding him of his acquired screen time.

Frustratingly, Luke’s voice breaks as he tries to tell you he wasn’t going to watch any more episodes of Paw Patrol and the new Lego Spiderman.

“Then what were you trying to watch?” you ask him with the same nurturing voice.

You see Luke shoot a glance over the screen that you’ve already turned off half an hour ago.

Yes, this has been going on for that long.

“Mkay, you may turn it on so you can show me.”

There comes a glint of hope in his eyes the moment he hears you. You fight the urge to chuckle, finding it quite adorable.

Luke, now standing on his feet, finds the red power button and points it towards the television. Once it’s turned on, the thumbnail of a show greets you; one that you least expected– one that you clearly were not ready for.

“So tell us guys, how can we make hockey more fun?” said the last voice you wanted to hear.

Sid and Nathan in their respective jersey’s for a commercial a few years back comes into view. You know that it was one of his brand commitments that he still does to this day. You were just not aware that Tim Horton’s apparently had this particular video uploaded for everyone to see.

As you watch the clip turn over to a handful of kids skating towards the two famed athletes, you make the mistake of taking the remote from your son to pause the short youtube clip quite hastily. You inevitably surprise him with your reaction thereby scaring him.

Upon deducing that you were upset by the show that he has chosen, Luke begins to cry even harder than before.

Alarmed, you put away the remote and reached for him. You let him fall in your arms whilst he buried his face in your chest.

“I’m sorry, baby. Mommy didn’t mean that.” you try to convince him, caressing his head. You feel disgusted with yourself because you know this is not the way you wanted this moment to unfold.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Mommy.” Luke says in between his sobbing. He hugs you tighter whilst in a heaping mess.

“Hush, it’s okay.” you comfort him. “I’m sorry too.”

You let him cry himself out. It may be heartbreaking for you, but you couldn’t think of any other way to help your seemingly helpless child. The only thing you could offer him is the assurance that you will always be by his side when he needs you.

You know that the overwhelming surge of emotion he’s feeling now is quite new for him. Dealing with his outburst may be tough on your end, but you can’t even imagine how much harder it must have been for a child to be utterly clueless as to why he is crying.

Swiftly, just like you used to do when he was a baby, you sway your body whilst Luke stays in your embrace. Once Luke’s breathing begins to calm down, you lovingly caress his back; deciding to try again.

“How are you feeling, darling?”

Luke doesn’t utter a word. However, you feel him move even closer to your body as if there was any space left. You tighten your hold on him as you place a kiss atop his forehead.

“Mommy’s not mad at you, okay?”

With what you assume is the last of his sobs, Luke quietly replies, “Okay…”

He breaks away from your hold and looks you in the eye, “I’m sorry.”

You offer him a reassuring smile, “I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to scare you, honey.”

You plant a wet kiss atop his nose, making him giggle.

“May I know why you wanted to watch more TV?” you ask.

When you see a hint of hesitation on his demeanor you add, “I’m not upset. I promise. Go on, you can tell me.”

“Sidney…”

“Do– Do you miss him?” you ask hesitantly, afraid to hear what his answer might be.

Your son nods, “Uh-huh.”

Of course.

Luke continues, “He said… he’s going to play with me when he comes back.”

“Where is he, Mom? Why isn’t he back?”

“I…” you struggle. You didn’t know how to tell him that this was all because of your doing. “I don’t know, honey.”

Luke looks at you with his little eyes, all too tired from crying. “Doesn’t he wanna play with me?”

You shake your head, determined not to put thoughts in his head that could be a detriment as to how he saw Sidney. Funny how you still instinctively did things for Sidney’s sake.

“Of course, he does, sweetheart. He’s just—”

Your son interrupts, “He’s just what?”

You caress his cheek as you say, “He needed to take care of some stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

You hum, playing with his hair. “Stuff like what Mom also has to take care of sometimes.”

You think of an example. “Like, when I leave you with Aunt Claire for a little while, you remember?”

He looks up at you with enthusiasm in his voice when he says, “Aunt Claire always gives me M&Ms.”

You give him a warm and knowing smile. “She does, doesn’t she?”

Your son continues, “She also gives me candy when you come back.”

“Yes! See– I always come back, right?” you begin to explain. “Sidney’s gonna come back too, honey. It’s just taking a while. We need to wait a bit longer.”

Luke tilts his head, “Longer?”

“Yes, right. Can you do that? Can you wait a little more for Sidney?”

Once again, only with a discernible smile spreading on his lips, your son nods.

“Are you gonna wait for him too?”

It takes a few seconds before you are able to answer.

“Yes. I am also waiting for him.”

𖥸

Days have gone and your son stayed true to his words. He’s waiting patiently for Sidney.

In the meantime, Luke has shifted his focus on his art albeit not entirely off hockey given that most of his drawings were of hockey sticks, pucks, and the Pittsburgh Penguins logo.

You no longer mind for as long as he is, for lack of a better term, distracted. You and Sidney have remained in no contact with one another and it is highly likely to remain the same. You may have kept in touch with Cath and Anna but neither of them gave you word as to how Sidney was doing. Surely, they were thinking you did not really care for it. Did you?

You sigh, watching your son soundly asleep as he takes his afternoon nap. Days have been quite easier ever since the night you last saw Sidney. But you have to admit, seeing your son’s room now reminds you of him. You would have easily shut down the idea of having Sidney taint the corners of your home with his presence; particularly your son’s room. It would have easily aggravated you, perhaps fuel the hate you have for him even more. How come you don’t? How come what you feel instead is the void in your gut that is melancholy.

Quietly, you shut the door of your son’s room to let him rest.

You have been pondering as to how to remedy your situation with Sidney but alas, nothing came close to a practicable and civil reconciliation. You knew full well that co-parenting would be hard given the fact that it was one of the reasons why you chose to be your son’s only parent. You just fell short of realizing how it will equally be as hard on you. As much as you’d give every fiber of your being to be the best Mother you can be to your child, it kills you to acknowledge that Luke needs someone other than you, even more so that it inevitably means him needing his father.

Perhaps Sidney isn’t the only one who had a hand in everything falling apart. ‘Perhaps’ is a little far fetched but a mere inkling would suffice. You are not yet ready to acknowledge you had your share in the wrongs that make up this little broken family of yours.

You were putting away Luke’s plushies in his toy bin when you heard the doorbell ring. You place the bin on the floor before you make your way to the front door. It was unusual given that you were not really expecting anyone to drop by. The only close friends you have in the city would not be so careless in doing so for obvious reasons.

You take a quick glance on the doorbell camera and your heart immediately sinks.

Of all the people you’d expect to be waiting at the other side of the door, she would be the last one.

The moment you opened the door you were welcomed with eyes as blue as the ocean back home, hair that is as gold as the afternoon sun, and a smile that’s entirely identical to Sidney’s and your son’s.

Close to losing all the words you know, you were able to say one name.

“Taylor.”

She wastes no second, “Is it true?”

You see Taylor’s eyes wander off to Luke’s toy bin sitting idly near the staircase. The discerning look on her face let you know she no longer needed an answer.

“Come in.” you say.

Quiet and unsettling air sits as you invite Sidney’s sister inside your home. You did not really know where to begin. The best thing you can do now is to lead her to your living room, offer some tea, and sit in silence.

“Can I get you anything? I might have some tea lying around.” you say, offering formalities.

Taylor gives you a tight-lipped smile. Reserved. You get it. You would be too if you recently learned you had a nephew.

“Water would be nice.” she replies.

You give her a swift nod just as you tell her, “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

You turn on your heels and make your way towards the kitchen with cold hands and a pounding heart. Sitting with Sidney’s sister for afternoon tea isn’t exactly what you had in mind spending your time off work.

Needless to say, you prolong the trip to the kitchen and back to the living room. You need to buy yourself some time to process what’s about to happen.

Upon your return, you see Taylor looking at the photo wall you’ve created through the years. The very same one you caught Sidney looking at the first time you invited him over.

When the two of you catch each other’s gaze, you offer Taylor an apologetic smile. It’s true. You now realize how your new life — your growth looked like through the eyes of your old friends. A harsh reminder that none of them are in it.

You and Taylor were good friends ever since Sidney brought you to Halifax to meet his folks. You always had a hard time warming up to people you barely know, but with Taylor… well, she made it so easy.

If only she knew of the things you’ve gone through subsequent to the better parts of your life with her brother. Maybe then, she’d understand.

The two of you utter each other’s names at once, immediately stopping upon realization.

You gladly let Taylor know she could continue what she was about to say. After all, you know she has nothing but questions that only you could answer.

The first thing she asks is, “What happened?”

You begin to explain. You tell her about the first time you knew you were pregnant, the moment you told Sidney, and how things unraveled shortly after that. You spared her no detail of what has come and gone; the years that flew by so quickly and dreadfully slow at the same time.

“I didn’t know things were that hard,” she says apologetically, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because,” you pause, “I knew Sidney felt alone.”

With kind eyes, Taylor replies, “So were you.”

Taylor has always been on your side despite being Sidney’s sister. She knew how difficult her brother can be. After all, she grew up with him.

You sigh because what she said was true. You and Sidney were alone together. But regardless of the wall that separated the two of you, you didn’t want to let Sidney feel as alone as you felt when he left you. Maybe that’s why you inadvertently left Taylor out of the mess just so Sidney felt he still had someone on his side.

“At the time everyone blamed him for not wanting a child.” you begin, “I knew that if I told you, you’d feel the same as I do. I didn’t want him to feel that his sister was against him too.”

“Listen,” she says, “When Sid told me, I swore that I was gonna come up here and be mad at you… but for years, I’ve seen how the game ate up most of the Sid I knew. So I guess, I couldn’t really blame you.”

“I only did what I thought was the best for us.” you say honestly, “I just didn’t think the repercussions of my action would bring us into this much mess.”

It’s true. The life you pictured with your son excluded Sidney, but you should have known that what Claire told you was right the moment you came back to Pittsburgh with your son. Sure, the first year went by so blissfully. But you have forgotten yet another circumstance you should have known before you dealt another card: Luke.

Luke is growing up exactly how you dreamt him to be. A boy who has a mind of his own. You cannot really expect him to go along your every plan if he’s already becoming his own person, can you?

You hate yourself for it. However, you’ll hate yourself even more if you deprive him of something he is entitled to have no matter how much you’re against it.

Taylor stayed for a while. You spend the time showing her memories you’ve made with Luke. You showed pictures of your son as a newborn, the many birthday parties you have thrown for him, even the ones you have taken of him playing hockey. Taylor savored every bit of the nephew she could get to know. The only thing left now is to finally meet him.

With nothing but a humble heart you hold Taylor’s hand and say, “I’m really sorry.”

Taylor puts her hand on top of yours, giving it a squeeze. “I understand.”

“Do you want to meet him?”

“I do,” she gives you a warm smile, “but not when you and Sidney have yet to patch things up.”

You let go of her hand and sigh. You understood what she wanted you to do. For the first time, you wanted the same thing too.

“I’ll talk to him.”

𖥸

July has been warming up the city but your words still rang in Sidney’s ears as if it had just been uttered.

“I’m done.”

As hard as it was to admit, Sidney knew that the article was the final nail in the coffin — the final string that would make him understand why you had to keep his son away from him. Just like all the other times, you were right. He had always been less of a man much like all the others.

He couldn’t wrap his head around how he managed to screw things up worse than he already had even when he was barely making any progress. Perhaps, it was foolish of him to think he can still make it work. After all, what more remedy could he do to the very thing you have long buried six feet under?

Instead, what he did was go home to Halifax days subsequent to the release of the controversial article. The last thing he wanted was attention so he did the sanest thing he could think of: renovate his lake shed.

Apart from the fact that it was the off-season, Sidney could not see himself staying in his Pittsburgh home. The night you ended the attempt to co-parent with him only reminded Sidney of the time he foolishly thought he had already purged out of his system. It was as if he had been brought back to the night he was told his child was gone.

“Please don’t end us.” he says, knees already on the cold hospital floor. “Please don’t make me leave.”

Sidney feels your grip on his hand tighten as an attempt to break off his hold, but before you can do so, the door to your room opens to reveal Kris and Geno rushing to take Sidney away from you.

“Sidney,” he hears Geno call his name.

He didn’t budge. He wasn’t going anywhere without you. He knew you needed him. He understood what had to be done. A little too late, but he’s here now.

“Y/N-”

“Sid,” Kris places a hand on his shoulder just as he firmly says, “let her rest.”

It was the least Sidney could do. To let you be — as he had easily done so when it was the last thing you wanted.

Sidney came back to the hospital with a bouquet of your favorite flowers in his hands. He walked the halls with hope only to find out you were no longer there. He had been cut off as soon as Kris and Geno walked him out of your hospital room — the last time he was ever going to see you.

He waited for hours sitting on the lobby bench beside your hospital room. If it were not for the next patient arriving to occupy the room, Sidney would not have probably left.

The days he spent in your shared home haunted him of the days he had left you alone in it waiting for him to come home. The house he had built with his fame and successes have now become a constant reminder of what a failure it really was.

Sidney sighed once he finished a glass of water. He absent mindedly places it atop the counter as his eyes remained in focus at a photograph placed on his refrigerator. It had been a while since he last saw it. After all, he only gets to go home during the off season.

He walks towards the fridge and takes the photo in his hand. It was the first sonogram you had of your son. The one you dread having to leave when you finally had the courage to leave Sidney, but the last possession Sidney has of the life he could have been living.

With eyes now glistening with impending tears, Sidney lightly rubs his thumb on the picture — what was once a tiny little peanut has grown to become a boy Sidney could no longer keep out of his mind. He’s hurting at the fact that he misses you — but his heart aches at the thought of Luke eventually forgetting about him. Sidney knows he’s going to be yet another random ‘Mr.’ at a camp that happened to teach him a sport he will grow up to forget eventually. All those memories Sidney will bring with him to his deathbed will surely be forgotten by the time the tiny little peanut graduates from college.

Who else could he blame for the life he’s now living however miserable it may be? You offered him this life with your own life on the line. Sidney did nothing but toss it aside because he was set on his ways. He couldn’t blame anyone but himself. Perhaps, that’s what he should bring to his deathbed.

Sidney’s self-loathing was put into a halt when he heard a chime coming from his phone already buzzing on his kitchen counter.

He sees a message that almost had him on his knees.

Just below your name were the words he had least expected but mostly hoped to read, “Can we talk?”

𖥸

As soon as you were able to set a date, Sidney wasted no time and got in the next flight bound for Pittsburgh. Sidney had two days to prepare before meeting you and while that seemed like enough time to be able to think about what he’s going to say the moment he sees you, he could neither ascertain how to explain nor justify his shortcomings. So, he won’t.

Sidney watches your car pull over the driveway after having opened his gate. After the tedious two-day wait, you were back. Well, at least that’s what Sidney thought at the time. Because unlike him, it was not just two days — it has been six years.

Sidney was chivalrous enough to let a few seconds pass before he finally opened the door for you although to tell you the truth, he had been at the other side of it long before you rang the doorbell.

You follow Sidney’s steps as you make your way to the living room. Said walk was not like the others you used to thread on back when you were still together — it wasn’t so long and quiet. At least, it didn’t feel that way.

“Can I offer you a drink?” Sidney asks. The hoarseness in his voice strung along his words.

Has he been crying that much? His eyes were a bit tired. He hasn’t been sleeping. How come Kris said he was fine? But then again, Sidney has had quite a talent in putting up a facade. You catch him fiddling his thumb. When he sees where your eyes have been, Sidney immediately takes his hand into his pocket.

You immediately put your gaze elsewhere. “Uh, just water.”

As you scan the view that is Sidney Crosby’s home, one thing comes to mind: it looks nothing like Connor Mcdavid’s. Sidney’s was far more deserving to be featured in Architectural Digest. To hell with black and metal. This was a home.

Well, it is. Just not for Sidney.

Even if it was, a part of you knew Sidney would never parade his home for everyone else to see; let alone have it printed on a magazine.

Apart from the wood panels that fashioned the ceilings, everything else was unfamiliar. It was as if you never lived in it. He had new pieces displayed in various corners of the room. Some of it worth millions sitting idly beside or on top of worn out books like some mere paper weight.

Sidney also redid the floors. Neutral wide plank flooring. You thought that it was quite a bold choice considering the majority of the furniture you had before came in dark tones. But then, that made you realize Sidney also bought new furniture. He also changed a few fixtures, here and there. The white french sliding doors leading to the patio were now replaced with glass doors that had wood trimmings as well as the hallway leading to your old home office that now had interior glass doors. You notice tons of boxes you could see from the other side. Perhaps, he thought it would now be a good use for a storage space. After all, he had to fill in every bit of void you’ve left him with.

You tear your eyes away from the halls you used to frequent. Instead, you quietly follow Sidney’s footsteps. The house still had an open floor-plan. Sidney loved seeing everything at once. At least that hasn’t changed.

“Make yourself comfortable.” he says with a tight-lipped smile just as he turns towards the kitchen.

The cloud of uncertainty was still evident and heavy. To top it all, you were neither sure of what to tell him nor where to begin. Clearly, you should have bought yourself a bit more time before ringing his doorbell.

You hold your bag close to your chest once you’ve sat in Sidney's living room. You were wrong. The changes he made were drastic. His taste then was incomparable to how it is now. The Sidney you knew then wouldn’t be so meticulous as to what type of wood to use in his fireplace or what fabric to pick when it comes to throw pillows lining the couch. Hell, he wouldn’t have thought of having one — let alone five.

A quiet smile seeps in your lips. It’s nice that something good has come out of such an ugly chapter in your lives.

Your eyes catch a shade of blue and crimson red blankly displayed on the side of the room from where you were sitting. You feel a gnawing guilt resting in your guts as the painting comes into full view. You stand as your hand travels to your chest. It was a piece by Peter Doig called the “100 Years Ago”.

A man sits alone in a canoe in the middle of a quiet and still ocean. The man looks at you helpless and tired of what must have been an arduous journey. You meet his eyes, as if it were in desperate need of help. Your help. But then again, there’s an island waiting for him — even a house sitting on top of the hill. Couldn’t he just row his way and ask for help? Perhaps his inability to do so was due to the fact that he’d already gone to that house — maybe what it really was is just as empty as what he already had in the canoe.

As the eerily still piece settles before your eyes, you can’t help but think of what it must have been like to be the one that’s stuck. The man that was torn between two distances. To choose between whatever it was sitting before his eyes and the big island he can always call home.

“Hey.”

Sidney’s voice pulls you back to your feet.

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting.” he says, two glasses of water in each hand.

“No, it’s all right.” you say.

“That–” you turn your gaze back to the painting before continuing, “That is something.”

Sidney gives a humble smile. “Thanks. I got it a couple of years back when I started renovating the place.”

It would be absurd to say that Sidney’s house has not changed since the last time you walked its halls. It did change. A lot. After all, you didn’t expect him to leave everything as it was; how you left it. Despite that, there was a little hope that Sidney did leave a bit of what might have reminded him of you untouched.

“So– listen, the reason why I came here.” you begin, hugging the glass with both your hands.

“I know. Taylor.” Sidney saves you the need to explain. “I’m sorry I told her. I wasn’t in my right mind the last couple of weeks.”

It’s true. He knew it must have been hard for you to tell Taylor everything. It was yet another reason for you to cut him completely out of your life, yet another rash decision, yet another failure. Sidney did what he could at the time and his only wish now is for you to understand. He had just lost you and his son twice. To have done otherwise would have made him lose his mind.

“No. It’s alright. She’s bound to know that she has a nephew.” you earnestly reply.

At this point, you have come to realize that you’ve been insufferable regardless of your own merits. Sidney thought he had lost a son. You couldn’t possibly deprive him of his own sister.

“How– how is he?” he asks, afraid of how he’ll be answered.

You look Sidney in his eyes just as you say, “He’s been missing you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Really.”

Sidney takes in the new information as a quiet smile spreads on his lips. Luke misses him.

Seeing Sidney’s reaction brought you a sense of guilt and warmth only a parent could feel.

“Honestly, Taylor visiting isn’t really the reason why I’m here.”

His brows quirk and asks, “What do you mean?”

“I think…” you say, fighting yourself from refusing to tell Sidney the truth. The very truth that you’re still having a hard time accepting.

“I think it’s time to acknowledge– and for me to accept, that my son needs you.”

It’s the truth. It might have been hard for you given that Sidney was the root of it all, but you could no longer put up with the way you have been treating Sidney at your son’s expense. You may still have bits of resentment towards what once was but that doesn’t give you a right to deprive your son of his right. A part of you may still hate Sidney for the pain he caused you, but you could not bear the thought of your son hating his father because of your own doing.

Sidney is at a loss for words.

“Do you really mean that?”

He sees you nod.

You give him a reassuring smile.

“It’s one thing to keep a father away from his child, but it’s another to keep a child away from his father.”

series taglist:

@astrydis @sagebarzal @heysimps @barzybarz @penstxgal1968 @hockeytransplant @thescooby-gang @cherrylita @oleksiak-pettersson @matsbarzal @nhlgirl16 @titsbeauvillier @captainsimsam @matbarzyy @josthours @jostful @kazzilla @countryclubstarkey @barzysreputation @hoiyheadharpies @myhockeyworld87 @tovvaa @stfutkachuk @floralyn @barriesweet @je-ne-regrette-rien @cavill83 @princessphilly @tangercrosbyschultzfan25887 @just-gaily-things @virtuallighttrashgiant @klutchnetsov @cutiesara23 @lovethepreds @sxpollock @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch @sweetlittlegingy @4ambagelbites @c-tangerine @2kidcrew @mbls2022 @barzeel @art-m-anic @squidlywiddly87 @midnightdancewiththestars @partypoison00 @aboveaveragehockeyboys @pagirl6866 @mikkorantanev @carter91 @leafs-forever @mitchsmullet @hockeyallthetime @hockeyunits @love-like-woaah @loserrlauraa @heatherawoowoo @kenyadakblalock @sc87 @livelysim @lordescomeback @dudde-44 @prettyboyjackhughes @stlbluesbrat21 @dorotheathe1 @elitebarzal @barzal-mat @spine-buster @canadian-girl87 @hugheswhore @barznasty2point0 @iamthebonecarver @hockeypills @dreamer1430 @tregua-oca @caprielly @nationalhoranleague @jessicascontes @meishaabae @ballsakic @lovethepreds @colecauliflower @punkharts @ilyasorokinn @whoeverineedtobe @lorrmorr @stargurl-battleship @thescooby-gang @licia332 @kidlnthedark @lilyevanswhore @mae114 @unfortunatelyiloveu @unfortunatelyilove @Heatherlcrosby87 @harrysfishbowl @0cean-vib3s @ilikeblue25 @wherethedinonuggies @nebsuli @thetoxicegg @sensoryyoverload @xserenax-13 @HockeyJedi13 @fallinallincurls @labellederessaca @besthockeyfics @72bread-pasta88 @iheartsidneycrosby @whatthepucknow @monalicia @eclecticfashionbookszipper @cappot @xelagirlxo @oceanlover0497 @nm-r @timahtime @dreamer1430 @beaubuckley @hockeyandsht @niki-is-a-thing @bookoftenderthoughts @exdepressedstressednotwelldress @duchesschameleon @majdoline @bookoftenderthoughts @prettybiching @killersandmonkeys @dreamsndior @svndraoh @2kidcrew @hock-ee @alo-delmar @afuturemilf @notanaccount-anymore @brias1201 @idkalexaaw @ghosttkat @thevannuckss @iangiemae @ashleymarine @abrianna14 @createdbyperfectfury @annie170315 @UrImaginesPimp @lemondropirwin @jenn22xoxo @theblushinglittle @ninjabritches @williamkarlssons @aecw @ninjabritches @Iminlovewithenchiladas @love-like-woaah @brehonodea @Fairygardenss @puck-up-sticks @Bxdbxtxh15 @penstxgal1968 @mp0625 @moon78universe @endlesswoods @bruins-simp @jonny-toes @lazysportsfanfornhl @queenmendes @tysonbarriedefensesquad @savage-aespa @kittymacaroons @pattiemac1 @simpforbucky17 @lwstuff @double-j @cynthia1guardia @taeminortaemout @midgasaurus0809 @nicoleloveshockey @oli-birchhall @cleofailsatjellyfishing @walkonthewiideside @cavill83 @lo-bells @beccaiscold @horchatayarroz @liv2640 @yassassqueen @lukeythemoosey @fadingwolfprincess @nm-r @electralove-m @hopewealwaysfeel @emsully2002 @idkjj04 @evelynevelyn19 @dasiysthings @heatherloves87 @hockeybabe87 @lady-laura-speaks @lynnismypseudonym @puckmetwice @nhlfs @l0veforhugh3s @matthewss34 @magicgif @lethalvenus @mysticaldonkey @oceanluver0497 @alexlynn16 @joansiekennedy @kirillkaprizovswife @trashstacey @wkndwlff @generally-disinterested @shadowwolf009 @ @ratqueeee @casualhilarity @theincognitoqueen @its-bitchin-belle-bitches @parkersmjs @5secondsofonedirection222 @love-like-woaah @rebbie444 @jack17s @sleepretreat @alicechugstea @velvetpucks @bellstwd @smoooore @books-hlmc @foreverateengirl @lupinslibraries @angelmitsuri @dasiysthings @crimsonred13 @justamessandahalf @coldheartedmar @naffeesaa @bradmarchand4prez @nonsensical-nonsense @ru-kru @noooraaa234 @alwaysclassyeagle @alice4313

note: patience patience patience. thank you all! ♡

add yourself to the series taglist here. i appreciate all kinds of feedback! ♡

#sidney crosby #sidney crosby imagine #sidney crosby x reader #hockey imagine #hockey fanfiction #call me crosby #cmc #barzzal imagines #letters to crosby

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theolivetree123 · 1 month

Text

Welcome, foolish mortals...

To Halloween Town!

☆ My 150+ follower event/raffle! ☆

Event Summary

THIS EVENT IS NOW CLOSED!

Deep within the forests of Briar Valley, there's a small town home to barely 2,000 residents. This town is rumored to be the most haunted town ever, home to 999 ghosts! This town is known as Halloween Town, as the residents both alive and dead celebrate Halloween almost every night. The people who live there pride themselves on their Halloween spirit and never stop from celebrating the paranormal and spooky. This month, however, mayor Mike Esqueleto and his lovely wife, Camila, have decided to send out an invitation for you to come and visit their monthly Hallows Eve Party!

Locations

Town Square

The Town Square holds the most important things to the Esqueleto family, including the large fountain in the center of the square. People say that there's phantoms in the fountains' water, and if you give them an offering, you'll receive good luck. This is where the Hallows Eve Party will take place.

Boogie Man's Palace

Run by the Piker family, this casino and party venue is the perfect destination for those who enjoy loud, sensational parties and taking risks. The place is lavish and full of things to do, such as play in the arcade, have dinner, and, of course, gamble all of your thaumarks away! Though, only people who are 18 and older can go into Boogie Man's Palace.

La Miel Boutique

Run by the Miel family, this boutique is quite famous in Halloween Town. They make almost every single outfit for the Esqueletos and act as their personal tailors. In the boutique, you'll find many... unconventional outfits made by the Miel family.

The Nightmare Graveyard

This graveyard is the only one in Halloween Town, facing directly into the night sky. The mayor put the graveyard in that location so the spirits of the dead could cross over easily, or that's what he said. The Nightmare Graveyard, despite the name, is a very bittersweet area, with flowers growing and gifts given to the departed on their graves. If you come here, remember to bring gifts.

Rules

Here in Halloween Town, the people are very strict when it comes to following their customs, so be sure to read the rules carefully!

Content

Please, no NSFW!

Everyone, whether you're following me or not can participate!

Everyone is invited, whether they're OCs, yuusonas, or canon characters.

You can participate by making cards, fanart, fanfics, edits, whatever!

If you decide to participate, tag me and use the tag, welcometohalloweentown!

The deadline for this event is August 30th!

Outfits

For this event, please dress up in something gothic and (somewhat) fancy. Here's some examples below.

Of course, your outfits don't need to be all black, but as long as you keep it spooky and mysterious, you'll be fine.

If you decide to make a card, please use the base below.

Visitors

Constance Sanderson by me!

Yuuki Kamiyama by me!

Ryuuni by @the-rini-rush

Alieen Mooncoult and Yukai Kitigawa by @beezonia

Belladonna Wiccavir by @beezonia

Baxton Piker by @readsrandomstuff67

Reese Kingbit by @kickasscentral

Sidney by @babyghoul138

Yuya, Astrid, and Flori by @cheerleaderman

Albert and Eugenio by @the-trinket-witch

Jewel Imerladi by @jewelulu

Deuce and Yuuki fanart by @spade-12

Yuuna Perla by @crystallizsch

Jade Leech by @mirioho

If there's anything you need me to elaborate on, or let me know about this event, don't hesitate to send me a dm or an ask!

I'm excited to see what you create!

Now onto...

The Raffle!

THIS EVENT HAS ENDED!

During the Hallows Eve Party, there will be a competition to fight for the love of the Corpse Bride. In this competition, a random person is picked from the crowd to be the bride, while other random people choose to be the grooms. The bride must choose which groom they like best before sunrise or else they suffer bad luck for all eternity! (Or, that's what the mayor said.)

This month, Yuuki has been chosen as the Corpse Bride! And you are free to choose/make a character to be Yuuki's one and only! I will randomly choose a winner, and whoever made the character will also get a special piece of fanart of your character and Yuuki.

Rules

No NSFW!

Yuuki is pansexual, so any person of any gender can be a groom!

Yuuki is also 18, so please don't make your character have a huge age gap!

Everyone is only allowed to make one entry for the raffle! (one character)

Only people who are following me can participate in the raffle!

Make art for your groom, tag me, and add the tag, corpsebrideraffle!

Please draw your groom in a tuxedo or a dress!

If you decide to make a card, please use this as your base:

Please only use this base if you're participating in the raffle!

The raffle will start on the 22nd of August and end on the 30th, where I'll randomly pick a winner!

Now it's the for the sappy note lol.

Thanks to everyone who's supported me and this blog. Whether you're a mutual, follower, or just a person who liked one of my posts, I'm so SO happy to see people who like what I do. I've always had trouble finding people who like the same things as me, and even now, even though I have irl friends, even they don't understand some of the things I'm really passionate about. But here, I feel so free to share my interests and my drawings with all of you! I hope to keep making all of you smile and feel like you have a home here since you all did the same for me. Thank you all again!

Sincerely, Olive 💙

#welcometohalloweentown!#corpsebrideraffle!#disney twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #twisted wonderland #twst fanart #twst oc #ocs #custom twst event #twst event #the nightmare before christmas

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doc-pickles · 9 months

Text

sent to save me | sidney crosby (ch. 2)

series masterlist

summary: sid grapples with his emotions and talks with annie before visiting the malkin’s newest addition

warnings: none! :)

author’s note: Hey y’all! I’m so happy you’re enjoying this series already. I’m super excited to write it out and give it some body. Hope you like this chapter!

xoxo

nina

The first time Sidney Crosby met Annie Wright she spilled coffee all over him.

“Shit I’m so sorry I wasn’t watching and my phone rang and-,” Annie had paused and looked up at Sidney with wide eyes. “And now the tabloids are going to rake me through the mud for trying to take out Pittsburgh’s Golden Boy.”

Sid chuckled and looked down at his shirt with a grin, “S’okay. It was an accident. Unless you purposely spill coffee on strangers.”

The wide grin that Annie gave Sidney is one he still pictures to this day. Her hair was in a high ponytail, her face freckled from the summer sun. He compares that image with the version of Annie standing in front of him now. She looks sad, worn down even. This is not his Annie.

They’re both standing speechless across from each other and for a moment it feels like no time has passed. But then Sid blinks and his world comes crashing back down around him.

“Is Vivie mine?” Sid’s not sure where his words come from. It feels like he’s not even the one saying them, like he’s watching the scene unfold before him from outside of his body. “I need you to tell me, I need to hear it from your lips. Is she mine?”

Annie’s eyes search his face for a moment before she nods and answers in a quiet voice, “Yes she’s your daughter Sidney.”

His hands run over his face, through his hair, covers his eyes. Sid sucks in a deep breath and immediately feels his sandwich from earlier coming back up. He quickly turns around and pukes into the bush there, chest heaving as he braces his hands on his knees.

He has a daughter.

A daughter who’s first seven years of life he’s missed.

A daughter with the only woman he’s ever loved.

When he’s sure that he’s not going to throw up again Sid stands up, takes a deep breath, and turns to Annie. Her teeth are digging into her lip, a nervous habit she’s always had, and even though he has a million conflicted emotions about her Sid finds all he wants to do right now is smooth out the skin of Annie’s lips like he used to.

“I’m… I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say,” Annie breathes and runs a hand through her blonde locks. “Which isn’t fair to you I know but I wasn’t exactly expecting to run into you when I woke up today. Damn it, I’m sorry I know you’re expecting answers but I can’t… I can’t think straight. I’m sorry.”

Sid sighs and nods, “I get it. I’m, uh, pretty speechless too.” He runs a hand through his salt and pepper hair, clocking Annie’s eyes following his hand. “I have Niki for a few days but maybe… Maybe we could meet up and talk?”

Annie only hesitates for a moment before nodding, her shoulders loosening just a little bit, “That… Yeah that would be good.”

They stand there awkwardly for a few moments as if they’d never been madly in love and on the verge of spending their lives together. Finally Sidney is the one to break the silence as his fingers twitch at his sides.

“Vivie is all Nikita talks about,” Sid smirks at the small laugh that Annie lets out. “Seriously, he spent 20 minutes this morning telling me about why blue and purple are her favorite colors.”

Annie rolls her eyes playfully before smirking, “Yeah that sounds right. Annie and him have been inseparable since they met in kindergarten. Hold on, I have this one picture…”

As Annie pulls her phone out Sidney drinks in her casual appearance, a pair of frayed jeans with a white tee tucked into it. She’s just as gorgeous as she’s always been and it makes Sid’s chest constrict tightly despite the anger and sadness still lingering there.

“Here! They wanted matching costumes so they decided to be Woody and Jessie,” Annie holds her phone and shows Sid a photo of Nikita and Vivie, arms wrapped around each other. It’s clearly from a few years ago, both of them sporting chubby cheeks and bright eyes. Sid takes in the way Vivie’s eyes look so much like his, the way her chin is a perfect replica of his.

There’s emotion overflowing in his chest and Sid finds he has to look away so he doesn’t start crying in front of a fucking elementary school right after throwing up there. He clears his throat and looks away from Annie’s phone, “She’s beautiful, An. Is, uh, is Vivie short for something?”

“Her full name is Vivienne,” Annie whispers as she watches her phone intently. “Um… Vivienne Taylor.”

Sidney felt his heart clench at Annie’s words, knowing she’d thought of him when naming their daughter. He let out a slow breath, willing back his tears once more before nodding, “That’s… Thank you.”

Annie and Sid exchange numbers before parting ways and as soon as he’s behind the wheel of his SUV Sidney lets out a ragged breath followed by a low sob.

“Mama! Papa!”

Sid’s been on auto pilot since his run in with Annie this morning, but Nikita’s yell breaks him out of his haze momentarily. He follows the boy into the hospital room, watching as Geno lifts his son into his arms and kisses his hair.

That should be you with your daughter.

Shaking the thought off Sid sets the flowers he’d brought on the bedside table before coming over to hug Anya, kissing her forehead.

“You look great for just having pushed a baby out,” Sid teases lightly, but his grin doesn’t reach his eyes.

“She big like her papa, nearly tore me in half,” Anya grins up at Sid before looking to the bundle in her arms. “You wanna hold?”

He agrees instinctively and carefully takes the baby from Anna. Her little face is scrunched up and Sid can already see wisps of dark hair peeking out from her cap. Gently running a finger down her chubby cheek Sid thinks about his own daughter and how he never got this moment with her. Hell he’d never even hugged the girl and she was already seven years old.

“Sid why you crying, it’s just baby,” Geno teases as he sidles up next to him. He looks him over before lowering his voice. “You okay?”

Sidney nods and stares at the baby for another moment before speaking, “I met Vivie today. And her mom.”

Geno grunts, his eyes trained on his daughter, “Mom never around when I am. Anya think she’s avoiding me, don’t know why though.”

“Vivie’s mom is Annie,” Sid pauses and then looks up at Geno, whose face has gone white. “My Annie.”

The two men stand in silence, Nikita chattering to his mom in the background. Sid and Geno keep their eyes locked on the baby in Sid’s arms as they come to terms with the bomb that had been dropped on them. Annie had left before Anya had moved to Pittsburgh, it was reasonable she wouldn’t know who she was. But Geno would have and Annie knew that.

“Sid is…,” Geno looks scared to utter the words as he meets Sid’s eyes. “Vivie?”

Sid simply nods, Geno exhaling and running a hand over his face. The baby fusses a bit and Sidney immediately starts to rock back and forth, bouncing on his heels and soothing her.

“You’re natural Sid,” Anya muses with a grin, missing the wince Geno lets out. “When you have your own babies?”

“Anya,” Geno says lowly and though he can’t understand it, Sid knows that whatever he says in Russian is enough for Anna to get that she shouldn’t ask more questions.

Later that night after he’s tucked Nikita into bed Sid checks his phone, a glass of scotch in one hand as he sinks into the couch. He has a few texts but there’s only one he clicks into.

Unknown: hey it’s annie. let me know when a good time for you to meet up is, i’m flexible.

And then, as if knowing his heart didn’t need to take anymore hits today, Annie sends a photo of Vivie fast asleep in her bed with a stuffed penguin tucked under her chin.

And Sidney finally lets his tears fall.

#Sidney crosby #Sidney crosby fic #Sidney crosby fanfic #nhl fic #nhl fanfic #hockey fic #hockey fanfic #nina writes

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kining-the-evil · 1 year

Text

All I Have Left Ch 2/?

/Story Summary/: you were in love with Randy, you had a life plan with him. But after his death, you cut out everyone in your life. It’s not until you take custody of his niece and nephew that you begin to live life again.

/Chapter Summary/: You learn that Tara Carpenter has been attacked, and you have some choice words for Sam and Dewey

/Warnings/: mentions of murder, slight memories of murder, reader is not mentally well, reader is honestly really mean

/Taglist/: @missdforever @callsignwidow @0000-lover-girl

Series Masterlist Scream Masterlist

“Pick up the pace guys!” You called up the stairs, pouring yourself a mug of coffee. You could hear the twins moving around upstairs, every so often one of them yelling at the other.

“Mindy! Knock it off!” The two walked into the kitchen, Mindy holding Chads phone in her own hand.

“This is so cheesy! Have you and Liv every had a normal conversation?!”

“Mindy, give the phone back,” you scolded while taking a drink of the coffee.

“It’s like Reading a bad romance novel!” She whined as Chad yanked his phone away from her.

“Guys, do we have to do this every morning?” You questioned as the two of them started getting breakfast.

“Maybe if Mindy learns to grow up.” Chad mumbled, earning a glare from you. He quickly shut up, taking a bite of the bagel he’d been making.

“I have some errands to run after work, so I can’t pick you up after school. I’ll be home by 5 for dinner though.” You told the two while sitting at the table.

“Actually,” Chad spoke up. “Would it be ok for us to run by the hospital after school?”

You raised an eyebrow at his words.

“Amber texted, someone broke into Tara’s house two nights ago.” Mindy cut in.

“Is She ok?” You had known Tara’s mother in school, and Tara had been friends with Chad and Mindy for years so you knew the girl relatively well.

“I mean, she’s in the hospital but Amber didn’t have much information besides that.” Mindy explained to you.

“So, would it be ok?”

You thought it over for a moment before nodding at the two. “Ya, but don’t be to long. And you know the drill, text when you leave the school-“

“And when we get to the hospital” Mindy cut you off.

“And when we leave the hospital,” Chad continued.

“And when we get home,” Mindy finished. While the two may not follow every rule you lay out for them, they were relatively good at following this one. And understanding why it existed.

“Good, now come on. You’ll be late to school.”

————————

“How long is it going to take that lady to learn how to tell when your lying?” You attempted to ignore Randy, who wasn’t really there, as you walked out of your therapist office. You went every Friday after adopting Mindy and Chad.

“I mean, that you talked to Sidney or that you aren’t seeing things that aren’t there-“

“I didn’t lie about that. She asked if I was seeing him, and I’m not.” You finally said as you climbed into the car. You glanced in the mirror, expecting him to be sitting in the back where he normally did. When he wasn’t there you frowned, but practically jumped out of your seat when you caught a glimpse of him in the corner of your eye.

Randy looked exactly like he had that day 24 years ago. He wore the same blue and white button up and green jacket as the day he was killed, the clothes having holes from where the knife was stabbed into him and completely caked in dried blood. It took you a long time to get used to seeing him like this, why couldn’t you have a mental break where you saw the man you loved at his best instead of after he died?

“We both know what she meant when she asks ‘are you seeing him at all?’ If she knew you were seeing your dead boyfriend then maybe she would be more concerned.”

Your hand automatically went to your ring finger with the intent of messing with the ring Randy had given you, instead you found your finger bare. A few months back someone had broken into the house, and while they had stolen a few random things, they had taken a tone of your/Randy’s stuff. Including the ring. The one time you decided to not wear it out of fear of losing it you actually did lose it forever. It was after that that Randy started calling himself your boyfriend instead of fiancé.

“Shouldn’t you be encouraging me to lie? You are just a delusion after all.” You spoke while pulling out of the parking lot. You had tinted windows, so you didn’t have to worry about people seeing you talk to ‘no one.’

“I’m not allowed to want you to be mentally well?”

“The only reason you do is because I want you to care for me, you are a trauma response.”

“Maybe, but you still talk to me everyday.” He had a point there, you didn’t really know anyone in town. Sure, you went to school with many of them and a few you knew because of Chad and Mindy bringing friends with their kids, but you didn’t know them. You weren’t going to go out for drinks or hang out on your own.

You chose to be silent the rest of the ride to the store so you could get some stuff for dinner. Your ringer on your phone so you would hear if Mindy or Chad needed anything.

Randy was quiet as well, not saying anything in the car. When you finally got to the story he quietly followed behind you, making comments ever so often.

“Chad wanted bagels.”

You didn’t need much, so the actual shopping was done quickly. You were loading the groceries I go the car when a voice called out.

“Y/n!”

You turned to see Judy Hicks walking towards you. She was still in her uniform for the day, and you gave her your best fake smile. You knew her fairly well due to her son, Wes, being friends with Chad and Mindy.

“Officer Hicks, how are you?” You did your best to greet.

“Good job! You almost sounded like you care!” Randy gave a sarcastic thumbs up from behind Judy.

“Not great. Currently looking into the break in at the Carpenter house. Poor Tara, I can’t imagine what it felt like to be all alone like that.”

“I heard, Mindy and Chad were telling me about it this morning.” You didn’t not like Judy, but you never really talked to anyone longer then necessary.

“I’m surprised you let the kids go visit Tara.” Her words made you stop for a moment, frowning.

“I’m sorry?”

“I mean, considering what time of year it is and what Tara told us I would think you would have told the kids to stay as far away as possible-“

“What did Tara tell you?”

Judy’s face fell slightly as she realized you didn’t know what she was taking about. “Oh I- Wes knew and I assumed Chad and Mindy would have heard and told you.”

“That can’t be good,” Randy mumbled.

“Told me what?”

“The person who broke in had the… mask.” Judy waited for a response, you knew she was expecting some sort of big reaction. Instead you slid the last bag in the cara d closed the door.

“Excuse me, I have to get going.”

“I’m really sorry that you didn’t know-“

“It was Good Talking to you,” you cut her off and walking over to the drivers side door.

“Right! Um, good Talking to you too!”

You quickly closed the door once in the car, taking a deep breath. “You’re shaking.”

“No shit Randy!” You snapped, trying to calm yourself down. Your mind was racing on what to do, the last time someone put that damn mask on the kids parents were alive and all out of town. But this time they went to visit the victim in the hospital.

“Check that friend App thing.”

You nodded slightly, pulling your phone out with shaking hand. Chad had begged you to download this, claiming it would let you check up on him and Mandy. The whole time he was helping you set it up Mindy was making fun of him for being the only kid who would happily let their parent on the app.

You quickly clicked through, finding Chad’s gps at the house. Normally you’d be pissed that they didn’t text like you told them too, but right now you were just worried about getting home.

“We need to leave for a bit.” You mumbled, mind moving a thousand miles an hour as you drove.

“What if they follow?”

“We know why they went after Tara, and I’m not going to be apart of another movie crazed fan killing. And my kids aren’t either.”

You were arguing with yourself, you knew that. Anything critical that came out of Randy’s mouth were your own worries, but it was easier to be mad at the person who wasn’t really there.

When you finally pulled into the driveway, two cars made your heart drop. One you didn’t recognize, but the other? Nothing good in your life had happened when the owner of that car arrived.

You pulled into the driveway, and got out while slamming the door shut. Randy was no where to be seen. You couldn’t get to the door fast enough, practically ripping the door open.

You were able to see the group sitting in the living room, and they all turned to look at you. Mindy and Chad were both there, as was Dewey Riley and Sam Carpenter, Tara’s sister. The was another man that you didn’t recognize as well.

“Mom-“

“Get out.” You didn’t look at either of your kids, instead looking at the other three. “Get out of my house.”

“Y/n, I’m really sorry for bothering you but we need your help-“

“I wasn’t joking. Get out of my house.” You cut Sam off, pointing to the door.

“Y/n, calm down.” Dewey stood up to stand behind Sam.

“No offense, but every time you get involved in my life shit gets awful. And you,” you turn to look at Sam. “I know exactly who you are, who your dad was, and as of right now I don’t want you around my kids.”

“Wait- you knew?” Sam looked shocked at your words.

“I was the only person you dad told that he slept with your mom, and she told me when she was pregnant. She wanted my advice on what to do,” You explained. “And i told her to leave me alone and that o didn’t want anything to do with her pregnancy.” Sam looked slightly hurt at your words.

“Mom,” Mindy stood up to get your attention. “They Just came here for some help-“

“I don’t care Mindy. If Dewey wants to help then good for him, but I won’t.” You looked back to the three. “So I’ll say this once. Leave my kids out of it, and do not come back here.”

“Wouldn’t you have liked help back then?” Dewey asked, making you glare at him.

“I would have, instead I got an officer who could barely walk and a journalist who profits off our pain.”

“Ouch…” he mumbled.

“Maybe we should go…” The man spoke up for the first time since you got there, grabbing Sams hand.

“I agree.” You mumbled, arms over your chest. Sam nodded, practically dragging the guy out of the house.

“I’ll let you know if something happens.” Dewey mumbled before walking past.

“Please don’t.” You closed the door behind them.

“That was Kinda rude.” Chads voice made you turn to the two teens.

“I’m not in the best mood.” You snapped. “And im going to make this very clear right now. Neither of you are to get involved, at all. I’m finding someone where to stay and we are leaving town tomorrow.”

“We can’t just abandon Tara,” Mindy argued.

“I’m not putting you in danger just because she’s your friend. You haven’t dealt with this before, and you never will if o have anything to say about it. Understood?” You stared at them waiting for a response.

“Find.”

“Whatever.”

“Thank you.” You mumbled, taking a deep breath. “I’m going to go grab the groceries.”

You walked towards the door, but movement down the hall caught your eye. When you turned to look, you thought you saw someone in a white shirt, but no one was there.

“Is anyone else at the house?”

“No!” Chad called out. “Why?”

“No reason…”

#scream #scream 1996 #randy meeks #randy meeks x reader #chad meeks martin x motherly!reader #chad meeks martin x reader #mindy meeks martin x motherly!reader #mindy meeks martin x reader #all i have left series #all i have left masterlist #all i have left

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theplanetprince · 9 months

Text

Schrodinger's Adolescent || CH. 25

Fic: AO3 || FNN

Fandom: Danny Phantom

Rating: Teens and Up

Word Count as of update: 175k~

Relationships: Dash Baxter/Danny Fenton, Sam Manson/Tucker Foley, Ember Mcclain/Ghostwriter

Characters: Danny Fenton, Dash Baxter, Sam Manson, Tucked Foley, Cujo, Johnny 13, Ghostwriter, Sidney Poindexter, Mr Lancer

Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Slow to Update, Canon Rewrite, Post-Reality Trip, High School Setting, Fake Dating (Kinda), Unrequited Love, It's requited but they're dumbasses, one-sided attraction, fluff, I know the content warning is extensive, but I promise there's fluff, tooth-rotting fluff, Danny Fenton has PTSD

Content Warnings: Body Horror, Assault, Breaking + Entering

Author's note: We're at half-time now. -Voorhees

Credits: I have to extend the biggest thank you to @cicadahaze for providing the fantastic artwork used in the Ao3 version of the fic! We had kicked around the idea of a collaboration since the first invisobang, and I'm happy to show it off!! And another standing ovation for @/galaxy-beast and @/the-storming-sea. Without them, my work may never actually be pushed to the finish line.

Reblogs > Likes... thx

"Dash what're you—?" Paulina was speaking so hurriedly, "Quien está contigo? ¿Lo que está sucediendo? Should I call the po—"

Abruptly, the device greeted him with a flash of its dead battery screen. The service provider logo followed the tell-tale dying whoosh sound—

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

Goddamn, Orion mobile.

Unsure if it was fear or anger, Dash chucked his phone away, landing somewhere in the garden beds.

Even if he could understand what she was saying— Paulina's voice couldn't compete with the pulse hammering through his head, reverberating through his body like pangs off of steel rods.

Everything felt so loud.

It didn't matter that he had his phone plugged in and resting on his desk before she called. He should have had a full battery, but that fact didn't help him now. His phone was dead, and thereby extension, so was he.

Baxter only stood there, shaking, trembling. A part of him still wanted to blame this one on whatever psychosis was emerging from the depth of his mind—but no.

Because when he looked at his house. Every single light was flickering. The high brights rivaled the moon and stars, and the lows mirrored an abyss.

Several dull pops of lightbulbs bursting and releasing gas—wiring crackling as their circuits broke.

Then, all at once, the house was draped in pitch-black darkness like a grand crescendo in an orchestral piece. And, suddenly, it no longer felt like his home. Not like any home he would ever want to return to.

He thought if… when he squinted. Dash thought he saw someone in his kitchen still standing there. Standing there… waiting for him to come back.

Paralyzed in its absolute form. His shoulders hunched, and he began to crumple in on himself. Waves of nausea came with the shutdown, and bile bit at the back of his throat. He clutched his stomach and swallowed on nothing.

Thoughts came at him in surging insurmountable waves, threatening to pour out from his eyes, giving away how truly powerless he was. A single word projected against the backs of his eyelids—

Run.

Yet all he could do was keep himself right there. Attempting to keep his eyes open, as open as they could allow.

The imposing townhouse only loomed over him, offering no answers, glowering down at its occupant with some disdain.

Pookie began to bark in opposition, excited for a challenge, as if there was no danger at all—the dog leapt and climbed the stairs with no trepidation to speak of.

Stumbling—Dash fell to his knees in an endeavor to catch his dog. He had slipped on the damp grass, landing on his chest. The quarterback punched the mud, "Seriously?!"

Using his head, the chihuahua nudged open the gap in the sliding glass door and continued to bark at the darkness.

The sky split open with a bolt of lightning that splintered across the clouds.

One.

Two.

Three.

A rolling crack of thunder followed three seconds at least behind the flash. Dash fumbled to stand before he felt water hitting his neck—

Rain. A heavy downpour hit the ground. What was once a comforting presence was now only further noise and chaos.

"SERIOUSLY?!" Dash shrieked, face streaked with mud. He wrenched his head around to see the fading blooms of lightning in the clouds.

As if in reply, the night lit up once more with a fracture of electricity that radiated the air… the boom echoing across the sleepy residence.

It's official. I'm cursed.

Wiping his sweat and mud-covered hands against his jeans, he produced his lighter from his front pocket.

He would have to crawl under the deck to start the backup generator. Nothing suggested he would be safer in the light, but he had to try.

Convincing himself to move was another feat entirely.

Dash had to live; maybe one day he'd want to. Maybe he could live one day without this fear and loathing constantly wrapped around his neck like a noose—

The barking stopped.

Snapping his head forward, Baxter realized he was wasting time. Armed with his lighter, he hurried— sliding through the mud bubbling up from the rapidly flooding yard. He nearly took another spill when he approached the opening under the deck but grabbed ahold of a broken piece of lattice. Making sure his feet were under him, he dove his hands in first, striking his cheap neon green gas station lighter frustratedly. Dash nearly tore the skin off his thumbs by continuing to strike the spark wheel. The flame was reluctant, but it allowed the quarterback to get a better look at what he was doing. Lowering himself, Dash moved forward, his arm brushing against the poorly maintained fretwork.

He remembered trying to talk his father out of installing the backup sometime last year before ghost attacks became the new norm that Amity Parkers had to set their watch by. Dash believed he called it a worst-case scenario with a million and one odds, like being struck by lightning while holding the winning lottery ticket.

He insisted that all the box would do was sit there idly and rot, awaiting a disaster that would never come.

It was several months in the making, but Dash finally defied all odds.

Letting go of the lighter fork, he was thrust back into darkness backlit by the storm, but the crystal clear image of the red block of metal and engine parts seemed to sear itself into his brain. Brief images of the salesman demoing it and schematics from the instruction manual plagued his mind with thunder, overdubbing the critical parts. For some reason, the word carburetor stuck out, but Dash couldn't identify it within the mass of gears and buttons.

Dash was sixteen and gay. How was he supposed to know what the hell a carburetor was?!

"I'm supposed to… flip this twisty thing for the fuel… valve, then—" He didn't notice it, but he began to mutter to himself.

With trembling, sweat-soaked hands, Dash blindly pawed at the machine— following a piece of tubing back until it made contact with the main engine block. Upon feeling a knob, he turned it, and the fuel line began to hiss—

The young man flinched, but upon realizing he didn't explode, he figured he must have been doing something right.

"Th-then there's…" Dash swallowed; the smell of diesel was thick in the air already. He was getting gulps of it— that's when he remembered, "The choke."

He coughed and forced the lever over.

Nothing.

The air under the deck was only getting more saturated with the stench of gasoline—

Taking the small choke lever on top of the block, he flipped it from side to side more aggressively. He prayed he was loosening whatever rust or gravel jammed up the machine and not damaging it further.

BOOM!

Another stroke of lightning nearly right behind him— it must have landed in a neighbor's yard or the telephone pole by the road downhill from the backyard— Illuminated the situation very clearly.

The generator had a ripcord.

Bracing his foot against the engine's base, the quarterback mustered his strength and grabbed a hold of the plastic handle. He pulled. Pulled until his shoulder threatened to pop from the socket.

By God, that deep hum and roll of the mechanism turning over—The relief was immeasurable; it was priceless with the porch light returning to life and flooding through the gaps in the deck.

If Dash was going to do this, he would do this terrified the whole way.

He slid out from under the crawl space, flicking cobwebs from his hair and shaking the mud from his bare soles. He traced his hand around the deck like a tether to him and the light until he stopped at the arm rail for the stairs. Rounding the corner, he snuck up the steps, sticking to the shadows of covered furniture.

As he assessed the situation inside… Dash realized it would be a good time for a weapon.

The jock didn't have to look too far. Sports equipment was loose over the back deck, one of the tables holding it having been blown over in the wind.

An aluminum bat with black tape around the handle caught the light and his attention. Dash picked it up. He didn't feel more confident about his chances. It weighed lighter than he expected but still felt heavy.

It was familiar to him, like an extension of himself. The only thing weighing it down was his intentions.

If there were something like a knife or a gun… it would have been too foreign and ultimately cumbersome.

He didn't want to use it. He hoped he didn't have to.

Dash just… he just wanted to scare them away. That's what he did; that's what he was good at. He scared people away. If they couldn't be close to them, then he'd make sure they never want to. Dash never wanted to hurt anyone— he didn't have it in him to kill someone…

Closing the sliding glass door behind him until it clicked in place near silently… Dash, in his left hand, used the bat to pin it against his arm. He did not want to be heard until he was absolutely prepared for it.

The backup generator managed to get the kitchen lights working and some of the ones upstairs. The connections must have been weak somewhere. Something told him he wouldn't get the opportunity to check them out.

"Pookie!" Dash hissed out a whisper.

Yet he still needs an answer as to where his dog was.

When he stole his glance up from his feet, after plotting out his next few steps, he saw a shape sitting on the kitchen island stool. It slumped forward as if getting ready to attack—

Without hesitation, Dash gripped the bat with a second hand, winding it up over his head, but before he could swing, he got a good look at the intruder.

It was a gigantic stuffed white teddy bear. It was large enough to be mistaken for a person in a costume. One of those oversized ones you could win at the arcade at the mall. Its face had just fallen onto the counter. It was so big it was spilling out of the stool it was sitting on and kicking it out slightly—pushing the chair legs against the tile, creating this insufferable squeaking.

Pookie had latched onto one of its legs and attempted to take down the bear.

…

Dash wasn't just confused. Bewildered, perplexed, flummoxed, disoriented— whatever word there was to describe the utter disbelief and sickness he felt— there was no equivalent in this language or any of the others he had a passing knowledge of.

Approaching the bear slowly, a card was attached to the bow tied around its neck.

With one hand still white-knuckled on a weapon, Dash unfolded the card. Within the single page was a scrawled message that read—I'm bear-y sorry.

Was this a joke?

The bat fell slack and bounced against his calf.

"Uh, hey…" That almost whisper, almost voice, had returned, "You got a little something… on your… face."

Dash didn't imagine it at all.

Lethally, he scanned his surroundings before finding the darkened entryway. There was a closet that hid the water heater. The blackness blocked the front door and the living's only means of escape.

The closet door from the shadows moved, and a figure in the darkness had stepped out.

"I-I didn't mean to… uh, interrupt your call." It seemed apologetic, "Ghosts… ghosts cause fluctuations in the electromagnetic field. Dropped calls, cold spots, flickering lights—" with a pop of the tongue, it emphasized, "The works."

Baxter was stunned. He was certain this wasn't a nightmare. It wasn't one he remembered having. It wasn't any of the usual suspects. It was all too logical, too coherent. Yet… he couldn't be too sure. He was still deciding.

To fill in the lull in the conversation, the figure struggled, "The girl… the girl, the one you were talking with. She—She seems nice."

At the mention of Paulina, Dash's blood ran cold, and a rage began to stir and pull at his chest.

The figure in the dark then shut the cleaning closet, "You two been friends for a long time?"

"Show me your hands, and step toward the light." With a level voice, the quarterback brought the bat up and gently rested it at an angle on the counter.

The ghost startled in place but laughed it off, "Th-that's not really necessary, is it?"

"Hands. Up."

Taking a few creaky, hesitant steps forward, it was him— the Amity Park Phantom with his gloved hands raised and palms open.

"You caught me… your friendly neighborhood ghost… guy." The Phantom's trademark smile faltered for a moment under the weight of the quarterback's scrutiny, "Tadaa…"

Dash was speechless.

With his chin, the Phantom gestured to the teddy bear at the kitchen counter, "Um… th-that's for you."

The ghost boy cleared his throat, "It's—uh… it's… I noticed you didn't have any white ones… so—heh…"

He explained with his eyes darting to his shoes, "That, uh, Fenton kid said I-I should come back and apologize."

The Phantom wanted to fidget, to scratch his cheek, but hesitated— "It's too much, right?"

The silence was chilling.

Taking a step forward, the Phantom continued to speak as if compelled to, "You're not really—"

Jumping and startling in place, Dash fumbled a step back, wanting to maintain the distance between them.

"...saying anything." The Phantom's expression fell, disappointedly.

Was Dash supposed to say something? He gathered this was the part where he was killed. He's supposed to scream, and no one comes to save him. He wanted to scream but couldn't. There were plenty of things he wanted to say but had the presence of mind not to. Even when he was blindingly angry, he knew it was a fight he couldn't win.

It's a ghost town; it's best to let them have their way.

The Phantom stared ahead, eyes darting between places, around corners, attempting to start a dialog. Searching for something to say, looking everywhere except at Dash, "I think you're right… y'know? About you… you being haunted?"

Incredulously, the living teen looked the ghost boy up and down before mumbling, "That so?"

"I didn't notice it before, but there is definitely something…" As the ghost boy fumbled his wording, he took another step closer, as if he didn't want to let other parties hear him, "—attached—to this place."

The thought finally dawned on Dash, "You… were watching me?"

"Oh—No, no, wait, I… I know how that sounds." The Phantom's eyes widened before pointing to the bear, "But I-I swear, I only wanted to drop that off."

"Was that what you were doing the last time?" Using his shoulder, Dash wiped off some of the mud rapidly drying to his cheek, "Just—just… how many times have you done this?"

"It's not like that!" The Phantom laughed at the accusation. It was a troubled laugh, like the kind a coyote makes when caught. He asserted, "If you just let me explain—"

"Explain?" Dash cocked his head, smacking the aluminum bat on the counter. He erupted, "What's there to explain?!"

A flash of lightning burst into the kitchen.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five…

The thunder finally replied. It was growing further away.

Shrinking at the jock's raised voice, the Phantom tried to argue, "I…"

But nothing further came of it. Just his throat straining to make smooth, frictionless logic out of the noise.

"Wh-what do you want from me?" with his face still dirty, patience thoroughly burnt, and eyes stinging with pinpricks of tears that refused to spill, Dash's tone reverted to a soft severity.

"Just tell me what it is— what you want from me… and just…" Dash was bracing himself like a little kid at the doctor's, Yet there was no illusion that this was for his benefit at all. He winced, "Get it over with."

Dash had very little left to give, so why not give the last pieces of himself to the Phantom? Perhaps he would put it to better use.

The ghost only stared at him with a complete lack of understanding. It was as if Dash was suddenly speaking in tongues.

It pissed him off.

There was the Phantom— this… thing just staring at him with those heinous hell-like eyes, with nothing connecting behind them. Utterly alien, the way he studied the living's face like it was the first time the Phantom had been in proximity to this emotion.

How can something look so human yet be so unrecognizable?

His skin was flawless, yes, but unnaturally pale, almost greying. A slight blue glow lingered as an analog for capillaries. It was not dissimilar to the glow of a TV left on in the middle of the night.

Thin, but not in any delicate or frail definition— Thin like starving. Thin, like his body didn't make any sense.

The way the air around him seemed to bend and crackle, just like now, just like during a turbulent storm.

Dust particles seemed to ignite and then burn around him.

His teeth didn't seem to resemble the other ghosts. They weren't pointed and sharpened like a predator. No. They were… off.

These slight differences didn't make him seem very ghost-like either.

The Phantom of Amity Park was something else entirely…

His boots squelched against the boundary of the kitchen. Hands reaching out—

One.

Two—

"Keep your hands where I can see them…!" Dash ordered, praying that he sounded more authoritative than he looked.

Gingerly, The Phantom raised his hands back to their position but still took another step forward, "I feel like you're the one giving this situation a kind of 'home invasion' vibe, with the stick an' everything."

Unable to really come up with a response, Dash only narrowed his eyes.

"That's a joke—" the ghost boy chuckled anxiously and clarified, "You're supposed to laugh."

Dash remained stoic.

The Phantom's expression didn't change from its rigid pleasantness—It flickered briefly, the ceiling light in tandem. He winced at the harshness in the young man's face. The apparition closed his eyes and breathed, his chest flush before exhaling through his nose. His tight-lipped cocky smile gradually wilted.

The light above them shuddered at the subtlest gesture. The buzzing unstable bulb only highlighted the glow of the Phantom's being.

Finally, the ghost said, "... I don't think I've made the best impression."

Clearly—Dash wanted to say but thankfully had enough presence of mind to restrain himself.

"See, I wanted to apologize for that thing a few days ago." The ghost boy couldn't bring himself to be more specific about what he was sorry about, "That wasn't… th-that wasn't me. That wasn't like me at all…"

Shaking in fear and rage, Dash couldn't bring himself to believe it.

Before the living teen could even respond, the Phantom began to ramble.

Words kept falling from his mouth, pooling to the floor and sinking further. His speech was heavy, yet frantic, "I—I wish I could say that… it wasn't like me, but it is. I did that, and I—I just… I get really… really angry sometimes, and I…"

The Phantom's hands balled together and rested against his head, lowering his gaze once again, unable to meet Dash's stare, "I-I can't always control it."

The quarterback's mind was somewhere else entirely. He was focusing on the door just behind the ghost's shoulder. It was so close. Dash hesitantly inched his foot to his right, thinking if he could somehow circle around the island, he would have a clean break for the front door. He had to escape—

Then the apparition said something that completely caught Dash off guard, "You understand that, right?"

Snapping his head up, the Phantom never looked more like a lost child than in this moment. His hair, moving like a mist, rippling like a field of grain under a gust of wind, fell just above his eyes and obscured them slightly, "You believe me, right?"

Before Dash could even have the opportunity to register the plea—

"You know what it's like. You, more than anyone, know what this is like."

It was an accusation, an assumption. The ghost was trying to read him, attempting to toy with him. To worm its way into his head— Dash resisted and held firm. His aluminum bat was still creating the fragile distance between them.

"You just take it out on those Fenton kids—"

"Screw you." In all his defiance, Dash managed to find the words soaked in gasoline but needed the spark, he hissed. He wanted to close his eyes, and when he opened them, he would be dozing off in the library or at the Fentons' kitchen table. He wanted to close his eyes but couldn't.

Sweat broke out across his skin and palms in waves— heart thundering—

Stifling a chuckle, the ghost murmured, "Why are you always…?"

The Phantom's hands unfurled against his wild and untamed white hair. He rustled and ran his fingers through it before pushing his bangs back, his hands then falling to his sides.

The contract was now compromised.

"You're always like this." He repeated cryptically like he was scolding Dash.

Something of an idea returned the grin to his pearly face, "Here's something… I'll take a step toward you for every word you say."

One.

"Screw."

Two.

"You."

Upon losing ground, Dash shuffled back—

"That's okay." The Phantom said, "You can move. Only when I move— So…" He sighed, "I guess you'll have to talk to me."

"Wh-what?"

"Now, see, I'm not sure how to quantify that." The ghost boy shrugged, "Is that technically one word or two? Or Half…?"

The ghost inched forward—

Dash scrambled to find the balance against the counter, knocking down the stool, and it took the bear to the floor.

The dog seemed indifferent to the confrontation overhead and chased after the toy.

"You don't have to be afraid of me—"

"Stay back," The jock warned, jostling the bat between his hands. His arms aching from holding it aloft.

One.

Two.

"I just… what you saw—I get it. It's weird. And your wall—I didn't think I threw it that hard—!'

Then Baxter took two steps back. It didn't take a genius to understand he was going to corner himself against the glass door. He was running out of room—

"Will you just look at me? Please?"

Flitting his eyes back up to his approaching death, Dash exhaled, "Please… go."

He lowered his weapon.

One…

Two…

The ghost boy's legs evaporated through the downed chair as he moved. It was like he shimmered through it as if the chair didn't even exist. Not even hesitant or bothered by the obstacle. Like the tide, The Phantom glittered in the light and encompassed everything.

Dash backed up and felt the cold glass seep through his shirt, chilling him to the bone. The back of his skull connected, and he went flat. Despite sweat rivering down his face, the living steeled his nerves, "Leave me alone!"

He cried out before swinging. He took the metal bat and swung—cleaving a line clean through the Phantom.

Dash didn't miss. No.

The hit definitely connected. He felt the bat impact the cloud of vapor where the Phantom's jaw should have been.

The bat carved up the ghost's neck and head, creating a distinct line of severance in his face.

Yet the Phantom remained… undeterred.

It rippled through him like a drop in a puddle.

Another bolt of light crashed from the heavens, illuminating the backyard in a glowing web— The thunderclap, the tree branches splitting from the trunk, and the harsh wind whipping past the windows caught within it was deafening.

The sight of the Amity Park Phantom's eyes being blown out with white brilliance, mirroring that light— as if his body was rejecting it—This was the last face Dash was going to see.

The aluminum bat clattered to the tile, rolling under the kitchen island. That was the last thing Dash registered as he sprinted to his front door. His body landed and bounced off the frame in his desperation to escape. Manically, the living scratched at his door, hands grasping the knob but unable to turn it.

The deadbolt. The realization hit him cold.

The deadbolt.

The door was still locked. Dash kept repeating this futile thought in his head. The words blurred together in one uninterrupted mass but didn't lose their meaning. He knew the door was locked— but he couldn't breathe— he couldn't think. His hands uselessly twisting at a knob for a door he had locked himself earlier that day.

This house had a state-of-the-art security system of locks on top of locks and alarms that sat dormant and indifferent to his struggle.

Slamming the door with his palms, Dash swore under his breath before retreating to the stairs.

Though just as quickly, he felt his mistake claw at the back of his mind.

It's like he was screaming—Hey, come kill me, Mr. Ghostface!

Darwinism at work— that's what people would say when they read about his death in the papers. Not killed by a ghost, Dash was bested by a standard-issue lock.

Breathlessly, he berated himself as he scrambled to the upper floor, "Why'd I do that? Upstairs? Seriously!?"

"Dammit, Dash! Come back!"

The quarterback yelped before darting into his room, his foot almost catching on the running throw rug that stretched along the hall. He shut his door behind him, using his body as a barricade instead of anything else within reach.

Wait—The reasonable part of Dash's brain had a chance to speak between hyperventilating and movement— What am I doing? Ghosts don't need fucking doors!

Hitting the back of his head on his door, Dash seethed, "Dumbass."

There was a knock behind him. Soft.

Clapping a hand over his mouth, Dash attempted to stifle his breathing. His lungs burned. He worried that wouldn't be enough. He worried his heart would give him away. When pushed to its absolute limits, the body tells you. It's the innate tug, the skipped beat. It's the tiniest fluctuation and deviation from that norm. Your heart keeps you alive.

Now, it was going to get him killed.

"I know you're in there." The Phantom said through the door, "You're making this a lot harder than it needs to be, y'know?"

"...Dash, if I wanted to hurt you, I would have. I didn't." there was the sound of his fist brushing against the door as if wanting to knock again but unable to, "That has to mean something."

How is that supposed to make it better?!— Dash wanted to yell back, but he couldn't. There was this lump in his throat. It made even breathing impossible.

"I wouldn't really be a good hero if my weaknesses were doors and blunt objects, would I?" By his voice, you could tell he was smirking.

"Not. My. Hero." Dash managed to spit out.

There was a brief pause, a moment of silence that seemed to stretch for an eternity. Dash strained his ears, waiting for any sign that the Phantom had left. But instead, he heard a soft chuckle, the sound cutting through the silence like a razor.

"That… that actually hurts my feelings. Wow." The Phantom sighed, "Wow."

The intruder was solemn now, "I-I thought if anyone would be my number one, it would be you. I could've sworn—"

"Drop. Dead."

Clicking his tongue, the ghost boy rested his head on the door, "...I'll get right on that."

…

"Y'know you could have just gone out the front way?"

Hitting his head on the door again, Dash groaned, "Go away!"

"I-I can't. Trust me, I wish I could, but I can't. I don't want to leave it like this."

There was silence. There was no further reasoning.

"...Are you okay?" The apparition muttered, "I thought I saw you trip up the stairs."

How could he be okay in a situation like this? But at the same time, there was a sliver of relief that the Phantom seemed to care, even if it was just a fleeting concern.

"…Yes?" Dash's voice wavered, uncertain of his answer. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. "No—I-I dunno—"

He stammered, struggling to articulate his feelings—a horrid unease, frustration, in some twisted moment of vulnerability.

Was I really feeling embarrassed?

Dash clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white, as he fought to control his breathing. His heart pounded in his ears, drowning out all other sounds. He knew he had to stay calm; he had to stay smart to find a way out. But fear, raw and overpowering, threatened to consume him whole.

This wasn't the first time he felt fear like this, but he never got used to it. Dozens of times, he looked down at a ghost, and he ran. That's what he did. That's all he ever did. That's what he did at the drive-in. That's what he did when he could have helped. That's what he did when Danny needed him.

Dash was sick of being afraid.

He wanted nothing more than to rip the door open and accept whatever punishment fit him, whether it be holding up the earth for the rest of time or at the mercy of vultures.

He's had too many close calls, and his luck had to run out eventually—

"I just want to keep you..." It almost seemed unintentional how it slipped out, blending with the house settling and the storm howling outside in a voice pained with longing. He was sure it was the Phantom.

...

Dash wondered what the end of the statement was. If it even had a conclusion.

Maybe it was something else he didn't fully understand. Maybe it was an excuse, or a confession, or… a promise.

He didn't want to overthink it. He didn't want to allow room for empathy.

"Can I keep you?"

Swallowing on the growing lump in his throat, Baxter felt his gaze stick to the window in front of him at the end of his room. Then it fell to his ajar nightstand drawer.

If Dash died tonight—Danny would say his best quality was his persistence.

'Like a cockroach.' I believe his were exact words—Dash felt a smile crack into his cheek while his pained breath hitched. It was a smile entirely at the blame of Danny Fenton, equal parts defeated and wistful. If that was the last thing Danny ever thought about him, then he could probably exit on that note— but one thing he decided: he wasn't going to run anymore. He's a bit too tired for it.

He took a deep; shuddery inhale like he was about to step off a bridge with nothing but choppy water to cushion his fall. Pushing himself from the door, Dash spun on his heel and kept his eyes pinned to that spot.

As Dash shuffled back, he barely cleared his closet doors; right as he brushed his hand against his desk chair— for a split second— the jock looked over his shoulder to see how far he had left to go. Then, as soon as he turned back, the Phantom was there.

The apparition emerged from the shadow of the doorway, extending no effort to open it.

He definitely could hear how loud Dash's heart was beating. The Phantom's feet left the ground as he peered around his hostage from his new height advantage, "You're running out of room."

"So you, either talk to me, or I have to catch you from a thirty-foot drop."

Dash only glared up at him, blowing a strand of hair that had fallen between his eyes.

As the living teen took steps backward to his nightstand, his ankle rolled. It was such a simple mistake. It was two seconds, and the room whipped around him. He had forgotten about the cleaning supplies he had laid out earlier and accidentally stepped into a bucket.

Landing on his bed hard on his elbows, Dash struggled for a moment with gravity and the sheets— He struggled to keep his eyes on the Phantom.

In a moment, the Phantom closed the distance between them. The ghost stood over him, gazing at him in ambivalence like he did back then. Not caring at all for the living's comfort.

Only it was closer. It was all so much closer than Dash ever wanted it to be. Intimate, almost within a breath's distance. He smelled cold, like how the asphalt smells during the rain. A strange, sterile smell, a clean kind of scent, a medicinal antiseptic undertone.

On his back, and as helpless as he was the day he was born, the living demanded, "G—get off—! Off of me!"

It was gentle and… cold. Gradual, like sweet nothings offered by hypothermia.

The ghost boy had placed his knee on the mattress. What stuck out was that the springs didn't creak or shift; the Phantom was utterly weightless. His knee was right in the center of Dash's legs, with every intention of going further. Whatever that meant.

"This isn't going to hurt, I promise, okay? I'm not going to hurt you."

If Dash could fight back, he would have. He would thrash, kick, and claw— if he knew it would work. He reached for his nightstand drawer, and his arm flailed uselessly—just a fingertip away—

How could you fight what was inevitable?

The Phantom moved faster than Dash could even parse. And that's when Dash could see him to begin with!

He was hushed, "I just want to show you something."

The living teen could only perceive the paper-thin voice before him and the rain. The rain hitting the window… that's all he could focus on. Even if he could scream, who would hear him?

As Dash braced his hand against the Phantom's shoulder—one last meager protest— the Phantom took hold of it.

He held onto Dash's hand, tangling their fingers together. The spaces between fit perfectly, as if all humans were made in halves as if we were all put onto this planet to chase that elusive feeling of closure.

Finality.

Completion.

And even death would not stop such a search.

"When I was a kid, my Mom tried to explain to me that because we are all made up of atoms… we… we don't really touch anything. I… I always found that kind of… depressing."

"It's something about how the particles break down because all matter is made up of some electrons that just naturally…" Each word that left the apparition's pale blue lips felt so soft yet heavy. Deceptively heavy… somewhere between a dream and a dying star.

"–Repel," He murmured.

Those green eyes flitted to their hands— Dash blinked, and the Phantom's hand disappeared. But it wasn't… Dash could feel that he was still holding it. It wasn't gone. Dash felt the texture of the Phantom's leather glove glide down his hand, palm, then his wrist…it was reminiscent of how wax beaded off of a candle.

And then something extraordinary happened.

That chill that clung to the Phantom… it changed somehow. Dash didn't just feel it on his skin anymore. It was in his muscle, through his sinew… it felt like his veins were freezing in place. Dash's right hand had this—this… pins and needles sensation like it had gone numb.

The Phantom had sunk into Dash's flesh.

Faintly, the living teen could see the shimmer of the apparition's fingers sticking through his palm, effectively penetrating it through layers of skin and bone.

It almost didn't seem real. Like an elaborate magic trick. Something in the light, an illusion in the angle.

It defied explanation, yet with the Phantom's great ease, it seemed as natural as breathing.

It was somewhere between the intersection of being horrified and mesmerized. Dash realized he could no longer flex his fingers or move his hand. The extra bones piercing through his hands were the likely culprits.

Taking control, ensnaring his fist around the living's arm, The apparition steered Dash's hand, swaying it. The creature was playing with him at this point. Snickering quietly, the ghost was too satisfied by their position.

Dash leaned his head back, not even wanting to grant the Phantom the encouragement of a darting glance.

Then, abruptly— that chill grew. It progressed up his arm and deepened.

Dash thought if he were to regain his strength and jerk away suddenly, he would shatter his hand in the resulting conflict.

That's when he felt it.

Bump.

…

Bump.

…

Bump.

Something was throbbing in his hand.

The texture made the living squirm. His stomach flipped; it nearly drove him to gag.

Dash thrashed his head forward.

His hand was submerged in the Phantom's chest. Clear as day, the young man could see it. Like the Phantom suddenly made his ribcage from glass, Dash could see his hand between the ribs.

If you had asked Dash Baxter what color he thought a ghost's heart was— He would have never in a million years said white.

The Phantom's heart looked like the moon, with minor flecks and imperfections on the surface tissue.

Those blue veins that lined the muscle like cracks in a ceramic piece. Like rivers, they flowed, tracing the curves, but it didn't make sense.

Ghosts don't bleed.

There wasn't a need for an organ to funnel and filter something that didn't need blood.

The organ still had an iridescent sheen, as if it were still wet. And it had heft within his hand. Its existence required no justification.

Dash held the Phantom's heart.

"Right now, we're closer than atoms."

"Isn't that amazing?"

It felt like every nerve and cell in his body was crying out for help.

The Phantom's heart pulsed through him, the rhythm sending shivers down Dash's spine. It burned his hands, yet it didn't hurt. It was like plunging his hands deep in a fresh snowfall. There was something horrifically serene about it all.

The world around him faded into a haze, leaving only that pulse, and the faint whispers of the apparition above him echoed in his head.

It was as if he had become a conduit, a vessel for the Phantom. Nothing more than a husk. He ceased to be a person anymore like he lost that right somehow.

The sensation was overwhelming...

Dash's eyes burned as he blinked away tears, his breath quickening. It left every hair on his body standing on end. He felt it everywhere.

He fully believed he would pass out—

In this moment, Dash felt a connection to something greater than himself, something beyond the realm of understanding. Each pulse filled him with a sense of both awe and terror.

And then, just as abruptly as it had begun, the surge of energy subsided. The heart's pulsations waned, fading into a faint echo. The apparition's hand withdrew its grip on Dash's arm. Leaving Dash strangely hollow, aching for something he couldn't grasp.

As the world around him snapped back into focus, Dash found himself gasping for breath, his hand trembling. He glanced down at his palm, half-expecting to see remnants of the ghostly heart, but there was nothing. Only the faint imprint of a cold memory etched into his skin.

He was shaking uncontrollably…

He was unclean in a way that would only be solved by burning.

The room was dyed in cherry and blue lights.

There was a siren outside.

Blood spurted out of Dash's nose—he coughed.

"...Are you okay?"

Before the answer could manifest itself, the Phantom barred an arm across his chest in a bid of sudden insecurity, still standing over his victim, "Are we… okay?"

It was the sound of indistinct voices shouting in the street that made the quarterback realize…

Paulina called the cops.

#danny phantom #dp #fic #phic #teddy ghost #teddyghost #swaggerbishie #swagger bishie #schrodinger's adolescent #schrodinger's adolescent 2.0 #danny fenton #dash baxter #txt #link

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