endangeredsceneries - Tumblr blog

[endangeredsceneries]

beldros​:

DAISY JONES & THE SIX, Track 8: Looks Like We Made It.

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Ok but.... like for a starter? (from the grave I have momentarily risen from).

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I believe what I said was, and you know, earmuffs, but I believe what I said was....

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inejbrckker​:

BILLY & CAMILA DUNNE, Daisy Jones and The Six (2023). 

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Red Table Talk except it’s Daisy Jones, Evelyn Hugo, and Carrie Soto.

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Daisy Jones was the kind of girl you had to train yourself not to look at, for too long, or too hard, for it was entirely too easy to get lost in all that she was. if the rest of the world was silver, Daisy was gold. you just couldn't help but to be captivated by her. until recently, Billy had been oblivious to just how difficult of a time he'd always with that, looking anywhere but at Daisy. snippets of press conferences, stills from the last of their live performances, all of which, had been practically unavoidable, since the release of Julia’s book, all shared one common denominator: regardless of where Daisy’s gaze had fallen, she'd captured his own. of all the years that’d fallen between them, -- change, growth was inevitable, -- it had been welcomed with open arms, and yet, as she averted her gaze, he remained powerless in his fight against the aspects of Daisy that his eyes were instinctively drawn to. the slope of her nose, the way, in which, she spoke with her hands, as if her voice alone couldn’t commandeer any room, the raw electricity in her smile. initial words are muffled by his train of thought, you've never looked more beautiful.

it was Camila that'd been the first to tell him that Daisy had actually done it, had gotten clean. I heard she's been clean for a... year or so, I think, she'd said, one morning, with little to no indication of just how, where, or who she'd heard from. to which, he'd replied, "good for her," in-between bites of cereal, as if words were light, had held no weight. it wasn't until later, as he'd showered, with eyes closed, water that'd begun to run cold had rained down, upon him, and he'd let himself feel it, all of it. happy, sad, and everything else, that'd fallen in between. Billy had slept better that night than he had in months.

"it... really is something, Daisy," he maintains, as shoulders square in her direction. he felt them to be ironic, her words, as he, truly, could hardly take credit for the man who'd stood before her. Billy was who he was, was where he was, because of who'd helped piece him back together, who'd cared for him enough, to be vary of the cracks in stained glass, because he'd had someone who believed in him, in who he could be, long before he ever knew how to. you couldn't say the same about Daisy. this was all her, whether she acknowledged it, or not.

crow's feet wrinkle at words he hadn't expected to hear, not that he'd at all known what to expect, as mouth opens to respond with something simple, like... I am, too, or, of course. instead, words come impulsively, "do you have somewhere to be after this?"

@endangeredsceneries / cont.

𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐀 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐍. hard earned, beating herself into a shape that would contain what she never knew how to hold close to her chest — sorrow and joy, heartache and desire, the rip-roaring spitfire in her veins. right there, one step away from billy, daisy felt unsure — the solidity she’d struggled to achieve seemed to waver, something trembling inside her, somewhere. an ancient wound suddenly aching again. regret once subdued now bubbling up to the surface, mixing with nostalgia, mixing with sadness, all tinged with an odd, comfortable pleasure as unfamiliar as it was upsetting — daisy stood, arms wrapped around herself now, and knew that any second she remained frozen still would be one more second towards breaking down. towards the water rising and spilling out — she could feel it already, in the corner of her eyes, pushing to get out. 

daisy cleared her throat, averted her gaze.

❝ yeah ❞, she replied, distantly, through an echo of her own thoughts. ❝ yeah ❞, she repeated again, more presently, and smiled. ❝ i mean, sort of. when i think about it, i really only came up with the idea and put some money in it. there’s a lot of people around it — can’t take credit for the whole of it. ❞ she still had the early sketches of the concept somewhere in her study. she remembered it, vividly: the day the idea sparked up, tiny candlelit flame at first. she remembered the fear that came with holding the concept of something beautiful in her arms, afraid of squandering the possibility — not unlike the day she’d first held serafin in her arms, so aware of his fragile little bones, terrified of a fall. this was her child, too — the orange and pink hues of a hundred million flower fields staring back at her from screens, pictures and flyers, brightening up her gaze in different shades of flame. it made sense. a place to belong to. ❝ i sketched the logo ❞, daisy shrugged, and chuckled. ❝ that’s probably the only credit i can take. ❞

her eyes lingered on friends and strangers surrounding there — their presence not remotely as vivid as that of the man next to her. even avoiding to look at him for long, she still sensed him vividly at her side. as magnetic as he’d ever been: commanding a crowd just by presence alone. making her keenly aware of her body and her distance from his, of the tension in her limbs, and the tension in her mind as fragments of words and unsent letters clouded her thoughts. i was so sorry about camila, dripping blue ink over once painful memories, now drenched in sadness. it broke my heart to leave, in smudged typewriter ink in between years and years of therapy. but i had to, a tiny post-script right beneath it. finally, a glaring line in red ink: i’ve missed you all this time.

daisy lowered her gaze. ❝ i’m glad you came, billy. ❞ when she turned again, to meet his eyes, it was with pure honesty — exposed, like she’d been once before, yet unafraid. ❝ i really am. ❞

[endangeredsceneries]

rockruin​:

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐓 𝐖𝐄𝐈𝐑𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘. like shoes not broken in yet. daisy struggled to find the effortlessness in it — every step she’d made towards her newly rebuilt life, from the very first brick she’d laid down towards becoming not a ghost of seventies’ past but philanthropist, entrepreneur, author, mother — all of it had taken a sharp, aching effort out of her. it demanded effort: it would not concede victory unless it came in exchange for blood, sweat and tears. she measured her words now. contained her feelings, calculated her moves not out of a need for schemes, but a need to dilute her instincts: not spill out like water out of a broken dam. these days, she channeled a gentle river more than a flood — and most times she found she liked it, going with the flow, not endlessly fighting her way upstream.

ah, but some of the fire remained still: on a stage, presenting her fundraiser’s new project — not quite as electric, no guttural scream of liberation echoing from her lungs. but a certain pride glimmered in her eyes as she presented the wildflower initiative’s climate change awareness program — a spark of electricity still jolted through her when the audience applauded. 

and she knew how to work the crowd, still, though it was different now. no belting or harmonizing, but shaking hands and nodding passionately. she flowed along with it, though she looked forward to the after: the warm quiet of her home. bedtime stories for her sons. sandalwood candles burning in her room. a poetry book, a cup of tea — a comfortable stillness. still, even as she entertained mildly interesting conversations with donors and journalists — still, until she wasn’t. a gust of wind suddenly breaking into her quiet. a voice, breaking into the scene, gentle but reverberating so loud in her ears: a crack of lightning.

daisy turned, breath stuck in her throat: ❝ billy ❞, she breathed out, as the world came to a halt. the past two decades had been spent carefully erasing his face from her memories — avoiding every book cover, every vh1 special, every poster in every venue she’d ever stepped in. it was almost surprising, to see him so vividly : not a ghost, not the past. just a man she’d once thought of as enemy. in the stillness of her shock, she searched silently for the blame she’d once pinned in him — searched through all of herself for the anger, the regret, all the reasons she’d piled up between her and the memory of him. in the search, what she found instead was warmth: the tender feeling of an affection returned. a certain kind of happiness.

it happened of its own accord — not quite commanded, but sprung from the most natural of chemical reactions. shocked features turning to softness, turning to joy: the brightest smile igniting her as she went to wrap her arms around him, tight — in spite of herself, out of control, taken over by the overwhelming weight of years of unsaid nothings. for seconds, seemingly endless seconds, daisy jones hugged billy dunne and it felt right, and it felt safe, and twenty years seemed pointless, they’d never really happened.

just as easily, then, she regained control of herself: stepped away, cleared her throat, dimmed her smile. but it remained — faded, controlled, but genuine. ❝ billy dunne. my god. ❞. daisy exhaled slowly. ❝ i never really thought i’d see you again ❞. distantly, she became aware of prying gazes cast on them by the rest of the audience — some recognizing, some wondering. she remained still, then smiled. ❝ this is julia’s doing, isn’t it ? ❞

as a musician, it was his part of his allure. his ability to encapsulate moments, in way that didn’t make one feel as if they were an outsider, but as if they were right there with him. lyrics shed light on burns and bruises, on his first glance of sun, after a storm. it was both a blessing and a curse, to experience memories as vividly as Billy has always had. he could remember the day he first met Camila like it was yesterday. the buzz that’d shot through him, as he’d walked on stage, for the band’s first, sold-out show. could close his eyes, and feel, how he’d felt, the instant he’d first been able to hold Julia in his arms. Maria’s first words. that one night, out of the blue, Susana asked, “Dad, would you teach me how to play guitar?” a blessing. jolting awake, as Camila’s heart monitor flatlined. a curse. 

in an instant, he was there. lips pressed to the knuckles of her limp hand, he’d held. they’d both known it wouldn’t be much longer, that she didn’t have much longer. he just couldn’t bear to admit it himself. “I just don’t know how I’m supposed to do this... without you.” whispers in a dimly lit hospital room, glassy eyes, blurring, the sight of Camila’s last smile. “I wouldn’t count yourself out just yet, Billy.” and, that was it. the next thing he knew, tears had streamed across red cheeks, as nurses tore him from her bedside. had crumpled to the floor, like a man made out of paper, at, I’m afraid there’s nothing more we can do, Mr. Dunne. she was gone. he’d lost her, the love of his life. though, much to Billy’s surprise, the wave of heartache that had washed over him, in that instant, felt eerily familiar. October 4th, 1977. Soldier Field. Daisy had walked off stage, smiled, in his direction, waved, and then, she was gone. 

it wasn’t fair of him, to hate Daisy for leaving, for making his decision for him, but there were times, back then, that he had. that’d he’d cursed her name across scraps of notebook paper, that’d never see the light of day. that he’d boxed up their records, out of fear that his girls would ask to play them. it was hard to say which hit had left the biggest crater in Billy’s heart, but as Daisy turned on her heel, dark, blue eyes, lightening, at the sight of him, it sure didn’t feel as broken. he’d not expected the hug. it’d even, slightly knocked him off balance. still. he clung to her like he wish he could have, that night in Chicago, and as he took in the sweet, scent of her hair, he hadn’t even tried to fight the smile that had spread across dimpled cheeks. until she’d untangled herself from his arms, and took a step back, and back to reality, they went. 

“hate to disappoint,” Billy retorted, with the makings of a laugh. his voice softened somewhat, as he came to the realization that, despite his tendency to feel such a way, in her presence, they were far from the only two people in the room. “something... like that.” quiet confidence. sure, his eldest had tossed him the keys, but Billy’d had the guts to fire up the ignition. he wasn’t there for Julia, he was there for her. “this is... all you, huh?” he asks, as wandering gaze darts about, his first look at the life she’d created for herself. 

[endangeredsceneries]

Billy had to have spent half the day staring down at that invitation. rereading its contents, familiarizing himself with its material. The Wildflower Initiative... cordially invites... Julia Martinez-Dunne... to... signed, Daisy Jones, slid across the kitchen counter, before the coffee she’d put on, had even a chance to brew.  his eldest was just as pushy as her mother had been, maybe even more so. “look, Dad... I’m not saying that you should go,” she’d said, in her place, with an inclination that she’d meant the exact opposite, “all I’m saying is... who knows? you could wind up glad that ya’ did.” as if were that simple. though it’d been nearly a year since its release, the public’s attention had yet to stray from the words she’d put to paper. some of which, he never could’ve imagined he’d say aloud, let alone, have publicized, for the whole world to see, for her to see. he’d often wondered if she’d read it, Daisy, or if she, too, had only dared to skim. it’d kept him up at night, the wondering. that was the thing about fire. once mixed with gasoline, it took a whole lot more than water to extinguish. 

still, he’d yet to work up the nerve to call, to actually use her number, that Camila had set aside. what would he even say? it was this same question, that’d kept him glued to his seat, invitation is hand, as day turned to night. until it was nearly too late. 

he’d not a clue what had changed his mind, nor when he’d changed his mind, only that as he’d slipped into the shadows of the event venue, just as Daisy had appeared on stage, to thank everyone for coming, he felt that his heart might just burst through the stuffy, suit jacket, he’d thought to throw on, as he was half-way out the door, and that, later, as he’d approached bright, red curls, from behind, he’d paid no mind to the stragglers who’d watched, as he did. “you never did have much trouble drawing a crowd,” had shattered the last twenty years of silence, his lips, nearly, resembling a smile. 

@rockruin.

[endangeredsceneries]

godfreysteel​:

Bill Skarsgård as Roman Godfrey, HEMLOCK GROVE (2013-2015).

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andthe6​:

the  air  in  her  burning  lungs  catches  before  she  breathes  him  in,  even  in  her  stupor,  where  it’s  hard  to  tell  what’s  real  and  what’s  her  wishful  imagination,  she  knows  this  display  of  intimacy  is  a  rarity  to  be  treasured.  he  gives,  he  takes,  but  she’s  the  very  same.  an  eternity  passes  in  the  blink  of  an  eye.  she  feels  slightly  scolded,  despite  his  words.  an  idea  she  hates,  billy  using  her  as  a  prompt  to  play  the  responsible,  functioning  adult.  she  knows  better,  she  knows  him.    “  okay.  ”    she  says  plainly  after  speaking  her  gratitude,  because  she  decides  alright  is  what  all  this  is.  her  eyes,  though  not  mean-spirited,  convey  a  challenge.  daisy’s  not  as  selfish  as  billy  undoubtably  thinks  her  to  be  and  she  will  make  it  up  to  the  band.  she  will  not  give  him  the  satisfaction  of  judging  her  again. 

 her  mortification  swiftly  banishes.  not  an  organic  process,  to  be  sure,  but  one  fueled  by  something  she  can’t  for  the  life  of  her  remember  taking.  she  frees  him  from  her  stare,  appreciating  the  small  crime  scene  that  is  her  bathroom  floor,  stray  pills,  bottles  and  scarlet  droplets  acting  as  unkempt  decorations  and  she  thinks  for  a  moment,  that’s  pretty.  she  scoots,  lifting  her  body  into  a  position  she  won’t  recognize  as  a  uncomfortable,  half  sitting  on  the  sink,  her  feet  left  dangling,  she  sways  forward,  along  to  the  beat  of  the  lulling  music  outside.  her  voice  comes  conspiratorial  as  she  lets  the  curiosity  get  the  best  of  her.    “  what’re  you  doing  here,  billy?  ”

he was all too familiar with the disarray that was her bathroom. the kind of comfortable, that only comes from lived experience. a year ago, and he’d have been pretty close to heaven, but, now? it was his own, personal hell, and yet, he chose to suffer. “what does it look like I’m doing?” as she sat up, deflecting, he straightens broad shoulders, averts his gaze, begins to scour for something, anything, not covered in yesterday’s makeup, to help control the blood that’d dripped, haphazardly, from dangling feet. “I’m looking... for, -- do you not have, uh... a first aid kit, or... something?” he asks, incredulously, as if Camila wasn’t the sole reason that their’s was stocked, in the first place. sure, he knew that that wasn’t really the question she’d asked, but it was the one he was prepared to answer. he’d had a hard enough time explaining the other, to himself. 

[endangeredsceneries]

“I was seven when Dad left, Graham was five. One of my first memories was when Dad told us he was moving to Georgia. I asked if I could come with him, and he said no. But, he left behind this old, Silvertone guitar, and Graham and I would fight over who got to play it. Playing that thing was about all we did. Nobody taught us, we taught ourselves. Then, when I got older, sometimes, I’d stay late after school and mess around on the piano, in the chorus room. Eventually, Mom saved up, and bought Graham and I an old Srat for Christmas. Graham wanted that one, so I let him have it. I kept the Silvertone.”

Billy Dunne, Daisy Jones & The Six | Taylor Jenkins Reid

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andthe6​:

she  loved  every  instance  of  billy.  days  like  this  she  remembers  that  some  facets  she  likes  better  than  others.  she  had  long  taken  notice  that  his  transformation  on  stage  was  no  ordinary  thing.  his  confidence  and  ambition  were  enough  for  her  to  fall  headfirst.  billy  dunne  had  that  unspoken  thing  thousand  of  people  wished  for.  he  shined,  and  she  did  not  mind  being  dull  in  comparison  because  he  wanted  her  in  his corner,  and  him  in  hers.  she  realizes  now  it  was  not  the  audiences  that  were  a  threat  to  her  marriage,  but  the  perks  of  the  lifestyle.  she  stops  in  he  tracks,  turning  to  face  him,  the  click  of  her  heels  hitting  the  pavement  as  loud  as  her  thoughts.  a  scoff  escapes  her,  not  mean-spirited  but  earnestly  quizzical.  

did  she  know  that  for  a  fact?  how  could  he  say  he  missed  her  when  he’s  been  careless  to  even  try  to  ease  her  concerns?  camila  thought  she  knew  what  she  was  getting  into,  even  enjoyed  when  she  was  tagging  along  for  the  ride.  but  his  absence  spoke  volumes.  she  thinks  he  needs  her,  but  fears  he  no  longer  wants  to.    “  i  know.  i  missed  you.  ”    the  admittance  comes  hand  in  hand  with  the  saddest  smile  she’s  dared  to  show  in  a  while.  she  grows  stern,  despite  wearing  her  heart  on  her  sleeve.    “  but  this  will  not  happen  again.  if  it  does,  you  call  rod.  ”

it wasn’t that Billy was unaware of just how good he had it, but rather, that he had a tendency to forget what, or who, the responsible party was. the truth is, some of the happiest times of Billy’s life had come before the fame, and some of his most memorable performances, had been to an audience of one. the days when he’d had to choose between gas money, or to payphone Camila, and despite how many fights it’d caused between him and Graham, he’d opt to call her every damn time. sure, he’d been infatuated before, had even called it love, but when he met Camila, it was something different altogether. she’d made the world make sense to him. she’d even made him like himself more. it was the drugs that’d changed the narrative. that’d always left him wanting more, until nothing paled in comparison. not even the girl who took his last name. that didn’t mean he’d meant to hurt her, that he was okay with it. it’d just made him crave his next high, all the more, and her smile, God, that smile, was particularly sobering. “baby.” he sighs, with two steps forward, no longer able to keep his distance. her words, a shield, keep him from entirely closing the gap that fell between them. “yeah... that, I, -- understood.” eyes are glued to worn boots, imperfections in the pavement, “tell me how to make it up to you.”

[endangeredsceneries]

goodnightmemes​:

FLORENCE + THE MACHINE  /  DANCE FEVER SENTENCE STARTERS.

❛ The very thing you’re best at is the thing that hurts the most. ❜

❛ But a woman is a changeling; always shifting shape. ❜

❛ I never knew my killer would be coming from within. ❜

❛ And I was never as good as I always thought I was, but I knew how to dress it up. ❜

❛ Sometimes I wonder if I should be medicated. If I would feel better just lightly sedated. ❜

❛ I’m always running from something. ❜

❛ Being clever never got me very far. ❜

❛ And for a moment when I’m dancing I am free. ❜

❛ Is this how it is? Is this how it’s always been? ❜

❛ Oh, don’t you wanna call it off? ❜

❛ But there is nothing else that I know how to do; But to open up my arms and give it all to you. ❜

❛ I don’t know how it started; Don’t know how to stop it. ❜

❛ Something’s coming, so out of breath. ❜

❛ I just kept spinnin’ and I danced myself to death. ❜

❛ And do they speak to you? ‘Cause they speak to me too. ❜

❛ Never really been alive before. I always lived in my head. ❜

❛ Sometimes it was easier, hungover and half-dead. ❜

❛ I’m back in town, why don’t we go out? ❜

❛ I came for the pleasure, but I stayed for the pain. ❜

❛ If you get spat on, that’s just your big city baptism. ❜

❛ I thought that I was here with you, but it was always just an empty room. ❜

❛ What a thing to admit, that when someone looks at me with real love I don’t like it very much. ❜

❛ Is this something that you would like to discuss? ❜

❛ And it’s good to be alive, crying into cereal at midnight. ❜

❛ If they ever let me out, I’m gonna really let it out. ❜

❛ But, oh God, you’re gonna get it. You’ll be sorry that you messed with me. ❜

❛ Everyone treated us like little pets. ❜

❛ Oh, tell me, it’s not over yet. ❜

❛ In my darkest fantasies, I am the picture of passivity. ❜

❛ When I decided to wage Holy War, it looked very much like staring at my bedroom floor. ❜

❛ And I know I may not look like much, just another screaming speck of dust. ❜

❛ Well, did you miss me? ❜

❛ I’ve been expecting you, I’m ready. ❜

❛ Deliver me that bad news, baby. ❜

❛ Am I your dream girl? ❜

❛ You think of me in bed, but you could never hold me and like me better in your head. ❜

❛ Make me evil. Then I’m an angel instead. ❜

❛ At least you’ll sanctify me when I’m dead. ❜

❛ Well, did I disappoint you? ❜

❛ Do I just remind you of every girl that made you mad? ❜

❛ Make me perfect, make me your fantasy. ❜

❛ You know I deserve it. Well, take it out on me. ❜

❛ I am nobody’s moral center. ❜

❛ All the things that I ran from, I now bring as close to me as I can. ❜

❛ All this work gone to waste. ❜

❛ I used to see the future and now I see nothin’. ❜

❛ Well, can you see me? I cannot see you. ❜

❛ Everything I thought I knew has fallen out of view. ❜

❛ All the gods have been domesticated. ❜

❛ Heaven is now overrated. ❜

❛ Well, you can take your complaints straight to the Lord. ❜

❛ I try to still look with wonder on the world. ❜

❛ Heaven is here if you want it. ���

❛ Hell, if it glitters, I’m going. ❜

❛ You know I always get my man. ❜

❛ I couldn’t help it, yes, I let it get in. ❜

❛ The helpless optimism of spring. ❜

❛ I’m not bad, I’m not good. ❜

❛ Made myself mythical, tried to be real. ❜

❛ There is no bad, there is no good. ❜

❛ A generation soaked in grief; we’re drying out and hanging on by the skin of our teeth. ❜

❛ I never thought it would get this far, this somewhat drunken joke. ❜

❛ Sometimes I see so much beauty I don’t think that I can cope. ❜

❛ So tell me where to put my love. ❜

❛ Am I quiet enough for you yet? ❜

❛ You said this could have been the best thing that ever happened to you; So you decided not to do it. ❜

❛ If I was free to love you, you wouldn’t want me, would you? ❜

❛ Unavailability is the only thing that turns you on. ❜

❛ I’ve blown apart my life for you. ❜

❛ Come here, baby, tell me that I’m wrong. ❜

❛ I don’t love you, I just love the bomb. ❜

❛ I’ve been here many times before. ❜

❛ I should’ve come with a warning. ❜

❛ I’ll show you what it means to be saved. ❜

❛ Oh, you know I’m still afraid. ❜

[endangeredsceneries]

Nah bc thinking ab how Karen’s like, “how come you’ve never made a move on me?” and the next thing she hears is Graham running down the hall, has me wanting to write that idiot...... 

[endangeredsceneries]

andthe6​:

 finding  herself  inexplicably  trapped  and  confounded,  her  gaze  wanders,  only  to  realize  that it  is  billy’s  grip  that  she  is  in  —  isn’t  she  always?  except  he’s  the  one  talking  nonsense,  which  seems  uncharacteristic,  when  she’s  the  one  on  dope.  it’s  his  expression  that  weighs  her  down  to  earth,  and  finds  it  is  not  one  she  likes.    “  huh?  ”    daisy  breathes,  archaic  and  monosyllabic,  holding  his  gaze  as  if  she  will  find  her  answer  there  rather  than  on  herself.  her  eyes  peer  down  to  her  torso  but  it  is  the  crimson  pooling  by  her  toes  that  catches  her  attention. she  feels  nothing,  couldn’t  tell  you  if  her  feet  were  even  attached  to  her  body  at  that  point.  she  catalogs  it  as  a  matter  of  little  importance,  she  has  a  more  pressing  issue  in  mind.  

 making  no  effort  to  remove  his  hands  from  her  wrist,  she  starts  talking  desperately,  phrases  slurred.    “  i’m  sorry,  billy.  you  have  to  know  that….  ”    words  elude  her.  but  he  has  to  know;  what  transpires  in  their  sessions,  unspoken  but  heavy  and  unparalleled  in  feeling.  collaboration  is  no  easy  feat,  but  he  has  to  know  that  she  would  never  miss  the  opportunity  to  create  in  senses  and  colors  that  only  they  are  capable  of,  to  speak  the  language  only  they  can  understand.  was  that  why  he  was  here?  her  disinhibition  have  eaten  pride,  doesn’t  have  a  mind  to  feel  anything  other  than  shitty,  cannot  remember  to  feel  ashamed  of  how  glassy-eyed  and  broken  her  spoken  confession  comes,    “  i  had  ideas.  ”

“save your ideas. I don’t wanna hear ‘em. not like this.” Billy had liked to pretend that his addiction was behind him, a thing of the past. that he’d long rid of the voice, inside his head, that’d told him... you know, you’re never going to be able to stay sober for the rest of your life, so what’s the use? there it went, again. if fighting his urges were a battle, Daisy waged a war within him. it’s why, from the moment he’d first laid eyes on her, he’d mindlessly forbidden moments like this. moments, in which, a guitar no longer took up space between them, in which raw emotions, were no longer camouflaged in song. they shared a heartbeat as he held tighter to her wrists, with half an instinct to run, to get out, now, to save himself. glassy, blue eyes, brought him back down to earth. “c’mere.” 

words are as soft as his movements, as he takes her up, and into his arms, flames of red, splayed across his chest, as he finds his way to her bathroom.  “look, I’m not here to... baby you, you fucked up, but,” spoken as he sets her down, crimson staining white marble, “Iisten, I forgive you, okay?”  

[endangeredsceneries]

[endangeredsceneries]

andthe6​:

daisy  jones  walks  on  air,  or  so  she  believes.  she  couldn’t  name  a  single  person  at  the  impromptu  party,  but  she  feels  more  at  home  at  the  chateau  than  she  ever  did  in  her  parents'  hollywood  house.  the  revolving  door  of  elites  and  substance  keeps  her  in  good  company,  making  it  easy  to  lose  track  of  time.  drawn  by  a  mild  altercation,  in  the  midst  of  her  daze,  she  comes  face  to  face  with  a  man  out  of  his  element.    “  look  who’s  in  a  partying  mood,  ”    comes  her  whimsy  greeting,  her  gaze  settles  pensively  on  his  face,  trying  to  see  right  through  him,  and  as  always,  coming  up  short.  her  smiling  expression  falls  quickly,  registering  his  presence  as  something  other  than  a  figment  of  her  imagination.    

“  shit.  ”    she  mutters,  realization  and  her  most  recent  line  both  hitting  her  at  once.  turning  on  her  heels,  as  if  only  just  realizing  her  surroundings,  she  looks  from  billy  to  the  scattered  crowd,  surprised  to  find  herself  in  her  residence  and  not  at  the  recording  studio  where  she’s  supposed  to  be.  how  could  she  forget?  up  until  this  moment,  she  had  foolishly  believed  her  music  came  first  to  her  indulgences.  an  illusion  shatters  in  the  form  of  self  sabotage  and  shame  fills  her  lungs,  her  heart  beating  three  times  faster  when  she  holds  a  finger  up,  willing  him  to  wait.  maybe  it’s  not  too  late,  she  thinks,  where  are  my  keys?  she  decides  to  hastely  step  into  her  room,  cracked  glass  crunching  under  her  bare  feet.

with one look at Daisy, you’d have thought she was invincible. untouchable. carefree, in the way that everyone had dreamed that they, too, could be. the thing about addicts... though, is that they’re full of shit. Daisy Jones was no different. “I... don’t know about... all that,” he retorted, in an honest attempt to remain light-hearted, as if they didn’t both know that Billy was always in a partying mood. “I... actually, just... wanted to,” check on you. to make sure you were okay. he’d nearly said it, too. admitted it. that he cares. thankfully, she’d cut him off. it hurt to care for someone more than they care for themself... and despite Billy’s best efforts, and perhaps, better judgment, he’d come to care a lot about Daisy. more than he even knew. it’s why a knot formed in his stomach, as he’d heard the sound of glass crunch beneath her feet, without her so much as acknowledging it. there was nothing like that kind of numbness. “Daisy... what’re you...? Daisy, stop!” on impulse, he’s grabbed her wrists, stopping her, in her tracks, and has looked her dead in the eyes. “you’re bleeding.”