#Elvis Fanboy

[eppysboys]

As they were saying goodbye, John and Paul said, "We're staying at this house on Mulholland Drive, and we'd like to invite you all to come up tomorrow." And Paul looked at Elvis and said, "I hope you'll be able to come." And then he looked at us and said, "But if he can't come, you fellows are welcome." When they left, Elvis said, "I'm not going up there." He said, "I did my duty. I met them, and that's it." The next afternoon, Jerry Schilling, and Richard Davis, and Billy, and I went up to where they were staying. And they were overjoyed to see us. They really were. John Lennon pulled me over by the picture window, and he said, "Last night was the greatest night of my life." In subsequent years, the guys visited the Beatles three or four times when they came over here. Of course, Elvis never went. In the summer of '66, we saw Brian Epstein lying out on the chaise lounge by the pool. He was zonked out of his brain. And Paul and the other guys were sitting by the pool, and there were people all over the place—girls running around naked, people dropping acid. About twenty minutes later, the Mamas and the Papas showed up. All four of them—Mama Cass, John, Denny, and Michelle—came marching in a row, like soldiers. And John and George immediately got up and went into the house with them. I was talking with this guy, Mal Evans, who was the Beatles' road manager and bodyguard. Big guy. And I said, "Where are they going? Are they talking business?" He said, "No, no, they're just going to get blown out of their skulls." It was party time. Just before we left during one of those visits—I can't remember if it was '66 or '67—I went in this side room, where Paul was singing songs and playing piano. He looked up at me and he said, "Do you think Elvis would ever cut one of my songs?" The Beatles were the biggest thing in the universe right then. But that goes to show you, they still thought Elvis was bigger.

Marty Lacker, Elvis and the Memphis Mafia

[peachy-deaths]

Hey can I request a soft yandre elvis Presley pls

Were Elvis is like a big fan of her when he was not famous yet he always listen to her songs or something,

And when he became a celebrity thier manager decided to have a colab in singing together and Elvis who spoil her with gifts and flowers.....

everything about you- soft yandere Austin!Elvis

{@venus-haze already got me obsessed with the thought of fanboy Elvis through her stories radio gaga and all shook up so this was very fun to write lol disclaimer(s): this one is very tame and the yandere stuff is honestly just weird fan stuff but just in case beware of typical behaviors that come with yandere content, and hinted age gap on the reader's side of thing}

it was slightly embarrassing, the amount their face appeared in his room, it was like a teenage girl’s room with various posters and albums of all from the same artist. he couldn’t help it, no matter how many records he had of theirs or how many times he got teased for it, he just couldn’t get enough of their music or see their movies too many times, they were just so talented and seemed so genuine in all their interviews. 

so when the coronel called saying he had an opportunity for more publicity and money via doing a duet with ‘some other singer big with younger folks’ and the name (y/n) (l/n) spilled through the phone he nearly passed out, believing he was in another dream and would be woken up any moment.

but here he stood inside the entrance of a recording studio, his idol somewhere in the same building, just hiding behind one of the many doors “hello there!” a man in his upper 30s rounded the corner at the end of the hall, his dress shoes squeaking against the freshly waxed wooden floor “I’m (y/n)’s manager, the names James Edward brown but y’all can just call me Jamie” he gave them a smile, giving each man a firm handshake before turning towards the coronel “you must be the man I talked to on the phone? it’s a pleasure to meet you- well both of you, uh let’s go talk business, ah?” he was jittery, words blurring together as he began to lead them down the hall, nearly skipping with how many jumps were in his steps.

“oh! Mr. Presley, (y/n) is just right upstairs, you just take that elevator up to floor one and go into the first door on the left” he briefly stopped to point and gesture out directions before continuing to move down the hall, coronal doing his best to keep up with him leaving Elvis by himself.

his nerves started to get to him as he waited for the elevator to stop, reality set in, yet it was all still like a dream as he exited the metal box. opening the door the manager had told him to go into, the bundle of nerves only grew as he walked down a small hall and into a room that was decorated with various records and awards but what really caught his attention was the figure that was laid belly down on the floor, arm fishing around underneath the small couch that was pushed against the right wall.

 “damnit!” the voice he had only heard over tv and movie screens swear out, making his stomach jump as he played with his grip on the bouquet he bought for them- was bringing flowers too much? what if they thought he was weird? “oh! hey! sorry about that” he was brought back from his self-doubtful thoughts by the voice, blue eyes moving off the blue and orange flowers and on the figure that was now standing “I dropped my thumb pick and it bounced underneath there.. I think it’s gone forever haha” they dusted themself off, moving over to stand in front of him. 

he was nearly hyperventilating, it was surreal seeing them not only in person but just a few feet in front of him. cameras didn’t do them any sort of justice, he always thought they were good looking but no, they were drop-dead gorgeous “it’s alright, don’t worry about it sweetheart” it came out before he even fully realized what they said, like something possessed him and was making him reply, not that he’d complain since he felt as though he was gonna throw up if he opened his mouth again “oh! these are for ya” he held out the flowers.

“gettin called sweetheart and given gifts? I didn’t know any better I’d think you were taking me out for dinner Mr. presley” he panicked for a moment, believing that his doubts were right and it was too much but when they took the gifts with a big grin plastered across their face his worries melted “I’m (y/n) by the way, i know you know that already but it’s weird not to introduce myself. gotta say I really like your music! you’re really talented, I bought your records back when you were on with sun records” they set the gifts down onto the small desk in the corner and walked over to a bookshelf full of records, scanning through them before pulling one out and showing it to Elvis, who was once again on the verge of hyperventilating.

they knew his music, they’d heard and bought his record before he was famous. if this was a dream, it’d be the cruelest thing the universe has ever done to him “i- I can sign it for ya, if ya want of course” their face lit up, quickly moving over to a jar of pins on their desk “would you? I love it when musicians I meet sign my records, I hate asking though because some of them get..frustrated when I ask since they get asked to sign stuff all the time” “I really don’t mind signin stuff, I couldn’t do what I do without my fans..but I really don’t mind signing it for you, I'm actually a pretty big fan of yours” he confessed while taking the record and marker from them, scribing down words and his name before handing them back to (y/n).

“too my biggest fan, from your biggest fan Elvis Presley” the smile that grew on (y/n)’s face could’ve made anyone melt, the joy on their face being contagious and making Elvis smile too “well thank you Mr. Presley” “you can call me Elvis..Mr. Presley makes me feel old” he let out a chuckle as (y/n) nodded “of course! if you old, that’d make me like prehistoric and I am not ready to have magazines wonder how I look so young for being ancient!” they joked moving to put the record somewhere to dry without smearing the marker.

“you got anything you want me to sign, Elvis?” the shiver of hearing (y/n) say his name was quickly overtaken by disappointment “ah no, I didn’t wanna make ya feel uncomfortable” “oh that’s too bad, next time we met then?” next time this wasn’t just a one-time thing, they’d met again “alrighty!! everything seems ready and worked out, y’all ready to make some music!” Jamie and the colonel entered the room, Jamie's loud and energetic voice quickly filling the room “ready as I’ll ever be! come on Elvis, let’s make history!” 

_______________________

[roosterbruiser]

𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 — 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍

—𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐄𝐗. 𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐗 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐔𝐓. —𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 𝟕.𝟐𝐊 —𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 —𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐎𝐀𝐊𝐒, 𝐌𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟏𝐒𝐓, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

You’re still standing in the shower, blood oozing from your nose, when Jake knocks on the bathroom door. Phoenix is holding your hair back and the two of you are still giggling as you try to stop the bleeding. You’re too buzzed to care all that much that blood is dripping onto your shoes beside you--that’s why you like jellies, anyway. They’re washable. 

“Intrude!” Phoenix calls mindlessly. 

And Jake does intrude, swinging the door open with all the swagger of a velvet Elvis, keen on herding the two of you back to the campfire for more spooky stories in hopes that you’ll cling to him. But he’s stopped dead in his tracks when he catches sight of you: you with the front of your dress stained, you with your nose gushing, you with your hair pushed behind your ears. He smells it before he sees it: blood. Thick like walking into a room full of loose change. 

“Wait,” you insist, screwing your eyes shut and spinning to face the shower wall. “Don’t come in! You’ll really Ralph!” 

Jake stumbles, grasping the wall to regain his posture. All the color is gone from his face.

“Too late,” Phoenix says, stifling her laughter. “C’mon, big boy! You talked a big talk earlier! A little blood gonna take you away from the woman you wanna spend the night with?” 

Phoenix isn’t just doing this because she is thoroughly Team Bradley--she’s doing it because she’s still pissed at Jake for taking the last roll at dinner. He had two. She had none. And he’s never gonna hear the end of it. 

“Phoenix,” you mutter, blindly reaching around to bump her. “Zip it!”

“I don’t feel so good,” Jake mutters. His vision is starting to blacken around the edges like a vignette. “Oh, Jesus, Joseph, and Mary!” 

“Told you there’s no God here,” Phoenix whispers to you, patting your back with a dizzy grin. “We’re in Godless territory. The Devil’s den!” 

“Oh, knock it off,” you say, but you’re grinning. “Help the needy over there. I’ve got the bleed.” 

“You sure?” She asks. She glances at your nose, which is still pouring bright red blood onto the dingy tiles. It makes her tongue thick with saliva. “Something got you good, you’re still gushing!” 

“Don’t describe it,” Jake calls out, eyes screwed shut as he clings to the wall. 

“Can it, Bloody Mary!”  

Then Phoenix walks towards Jake, fully keen on showing him the blood on her hands.

But then you call out, “Wash your hands before you go near him!” 

She grumbles about it, but complies, watching Jake’s quickly-crumpling figure in the mirror while she lathers and rinses. 

“You’re such a child,” she mutters to him. 

But all the same, she opens the door and calls out for some backup. So, with your back turned and the bridge of your nose pinched, you stand against the wall while Coyote and Fanboy come to collect their fallen brother. 

“What have we here?” Fanboy teases as he hooks one of Jake’s arms over his shoulders. “Our own precious cowboy freaked by a little bit of blood?” 

Jake’s mouth is starting to fill with a thick spit, the one that usually precedes vomiting. 

“Uh, that ain’t a little bit of blood,” Coyote says, leaning over to glance at the puddle at your feet. “Christ, Nightingale! Did the Maniac getcha?”

“I’m fine,” you assure them, lashes fluttering. “Allergies or something.” 

Unbeknownst to you, Bradley is standing in the doorway. He heard all the commotion, watched Phoenix call the men to the bathroom for backup, and caught wind of you being injured. That’s all it took for him to leave his comfortable spot on the log, his guitar abandoned right beside the bottle of brandy. 

He’s watching you right now, you poor thing. Standing in the shower stall with your hands planted on the tile walls, your hips bent and your head bowed as blood drips from your nose. It’s a steady and fast stream, which is why the puddle around you is so big. And a peculiar thing is happening inside of Bradley as his feet sink into the mood just outside the bathroom. He can’t help the way his heart is swelling or the way his tongue is tingling or the way his lashes are fluttering. You’re so fucking pretty. Even with blood staining the front of your dress like a bib. Even with your eyes screwed shut in concentration. Even when you pinch the bridge of your nose again to no avail. 

You look, oddly enough, like you’re praying right now. The delicate curve of your neck, the serious look of contemplation on your face. Praying to blood or tile or your jellies or the shower. But praying all the same. 

Then Phoenix claps Rooster’s shoulder, her brows furrowed, and he steps into the bathroom as Fanboy and Coyote drag Jake out. 

“Not gonna end up like our old pal Jake, are you?” Phoenix asks, brow perched. 

Rooster shakes his head. Blood doesn’t scare him. Blood means life.

“The doctor is in,” he teases loudly, miming snapping on latex gloves.

Even without turning around, you know that he’s doing it. And you sigh, rolling your eyes.

“Don’t get on my bad side right now,” you tell him. “I’m kinda in the middle of something.”  

“Aw, birdie. I’ll take care of you.” 

As his words sink into your skin and leave looped impressions, the very lining of your belly shivers. 

You aren’t surprised when his hand falls on the flat part of your back, just between your shoulder blades. And you aren’t surprised when the heat of his body suddenly envelopes you, though it does goose your flesh. 

“You okay?” He asks, his voice low. He pushes your fingers away and pinches your nose himself. 

“Yeah,” you whisper, eyes still closed. “Just waiting for it to pass.” 

“It will,” he assures you like you don’t already know. “Everything always does.”

But even though you do already know, your shoulders fall. 

“Smooth,” you mutter, voice thin. “Tell me, Mr. Harrison, what was it like to live in Paul and John’s shadows?” 

Rooster swallows a big laugh. 

“At least you haven’t lost your wit,” he says, sighing. “Can’t bleed that out, huh?” 

“Nope,” you whisper back, finally peeking at him. 

He’s already looking at you, a soft smile on his lips. His fingers are dipped in your blood and you’re probably ruining his buzz but you can tell--you can distinctly tell--that he doesn’t mind one bit.

Phoenix is making quick work of ushering everyone out of the bathroom, leaving the two of you alone in this dimly-lit cavernous bathroom with all the blood and love in the world. 

They’re in for it, she thinks. 

“You alright?” Rooster asks quietly. “You’re looking a little sick.” 

Lovesick, you think. And then your toes start to tingle. 

“I’m fine,” you tell him. “Just riding the wave, I guess.” 

He grins like something’s funny. 

“On a scale from Not At All to Very, how mad would you be if someone--I won’t name names--started humming The Beach Boys?” 

“Pretty,” you answer. 

He weighs his options. 

“It could help to pass the time,” he says. 

You squint at him. 

“It’ll pass. It always does.” 

“I’m not gonna live that down, huh?” He asks, a grin tugging at his lips. You shake your head. “And here I thought I was being a real Ghandi.” 

When you burst out laughing, your blood drips down his arm and settles into the crease of his elbow. You don’t seem to notice at first, preoccupied with booze and blood and affection. But Bradley doesn’t shy away from it. It’s warm like you are--very warm. 

“Airhead,” you say, your laughter dying. 

There’s a lull for a moment--it’s the first time you realize that you and Rooster are completely alone in the bathroom. Your toes are tingling worse now. 

“It’s letting up,” Rooster tells you. “Almost there.” 

“Oh, man,” you mutter, eyes lingering on the blood running down his arm. “I really gotcha, didn’t I?”

“Doesn’t bother me,” he tells you. “Really. It’s cool.” 

“Here,” you mutter, reaching forward and turning the knob of the shower. Ice-cold water sprays the both of you suddenly before it peters off and is soon replaced with warm, warm water. “We can wash off together.” 

Rooster’s pants are growing tight at the thought. 

When the bleeding stops, Rooster takes his fingers away from your nose carefully. You blow experimentally a few times--no more blood. So, you roll your shoulders back and straighten your spine. 

And then your vision starts to darken around the edges. 

“Oops,” you mutter, furrowing your brows. 

“Alright, Speed Racer,” he mutters, hooking his arms under your armpits and pulling you so your body is resting against his. “I’ve got you.” 

With your cheek pressed against the quickly-wettening shirt over Rooster’s chest, you sigh in a moment of utter contentment. You’re foggy still, lightheaded still. The weed definitely isn't helping. But you’re alright now. Even as your body grows wet, even as his body grows wetter and warmer. 

“This is nice,” you say, your voice hardly above a whisper. 

What you mean is that you wish the two of you would hold each other more. At least that’s what you think you mean. Maybe you’re just high and buzzed and you lost too much blood. It’s dizzying you to think about anything right now. 

“Yeah,” Rooster whispers, his chin sitting on top of your soaked hair. He strokes your back, follows the curve of your spine. He thinks about doing this early in the morning before both of you go into work, your bodies naked and swollen from sleep. He kisses the top of your head. “You’re telling me.” 

A pause. 

You think about Jake. You’re a nurse and Jake can’t handle the sight of blood--even if it’s just yours, even if it’s just coming from your nose. You wonder if it means something. What kind of partner would he make if you came home covered in someone’s blood and guts and he fell to a heap right there in the doorway instead of helping you into the shower? It would be like never being off the clock.

“What are you thinking about?” Rooster asks because he can’t help it. 

“Nothing,” you whisper back. Your lips are wet and parted as they land over his heart. “Just work.” He nods. “What are you thinking about?” You ask him. 

Another pause. 

“You,” he answers. What he doesn't say is that anyone could ask him that anytime of day and he would have the same answer: you. 

“Real cute,” you say, but you aren't being snappy. Your tone is even and gentle. “What about me?” 

Rooster shakes his head. 

“Just that I don’t really want summer to end, you know?” 

You snort, fisting his wet t-shirt. 

“Don’t wanna go back home to the parental unit and all the other chicks on the outside?” 

You feel it when he stiffens--even if you weren’t touching him, you’d feel it, you’d know it. And it’s enough to make you shut your mouth immediately. 

“Not really,” he answers. 

You swallow hard. 

“Do you wanna come over?” 

He nods.

♀

It’s about two in the morning when Susie falls asleep. She’s always the last one asleep in the cabin, which Rooster knows by now, but he feels like he’s been sitting on pins and needles as he watched her suck her thumb and hum to herself for the last hour or so. 

He was surprised to find her sitting up in her cot when he quietly came back into the cabin after the fire. He’d meant to just come in, grab his things, then go. But there she was--staring straight at him with that empty stare, unsmiling, clutching the Raggedy Anne doll that’s bigger than her. 

“Whoa, kid,” Rooster whispered when he saw her, reluctantly closing the cabin door behind himself. Hands on his hips, he’d smiled at her. “You still up?” 

“Yes,” Susie had answered, nodding once. She pet the red yarn hair of her doll, fingering the frayed bits at the end. “Had to make sure it was you coming in and not the Devil.” 

Rooster, who was silently cursing Mable Brandt and her Devil talk, just tutted and shook his head softly at her. 

“Now, now,” he said quietly. “No such thing as the Devil. And if there was, I doubt he’d come to Maine.” 

“Why not?” 

“What?” Rooster asked, brows furrowed. 

“Why do you think he won’t come to Maine?” 

Rooster chewed his lower lip then gestured to her doll. 

“Wouldn’t Annie here protect you, anyway?” 

Susie blinked at him. Even in the dim light of the lantern, Rooster could see her cogs turning. 

“She’s a doll,” Susie explained slowly. “Not real.” 

Rooster swallowed. 

“Right,” he answered. “Sometimes I forget. Mister Rooster’s a silly guy.” 

Susie said nothing. 

Sometimes Rooster isn’t sure how to respond to Susie. And on those occasions, he has decided that distraction is the best form of communication. 

“Do you need a glass of water or something, champ?” 

Susie shook her head. Rooster sucked the back of his teeth, squinting through the dark to make sure all the other campers are where they’re supposed to be. All there, sleeping like dirt-covered angels with leftover sloppy joe by their mouths. 

“Well, then,” Rooster sighed, his heart picking up its pace when he thought of you alone in your cabin--or worse; alone with Jake in your cabin. “Better get to sleep then!” 

Some part of him feels guilty that he’s itching so bad for her to go to sleep. But the other part of him, the part that wants to kiss you until your knees give out, wishes he had a Benadryl on hand.  

But now she’s out--like really, really out. That’s something he’s come to admire about the littles: once they’re asleep, they stay asleep. Even if one of them does wake up and asks for a cup of water or a potty break, they’re asleep before Rooster can complete their request most of the time. 

So, when he knows he’s good, Rooster slinks out of his cot and grabs a few items: a lantern, his Walkman, and a few tapes. And then he’s sneaking out the door, carefully letting the door latch behind him, before he’s turning the lantern on low and walking across the courtyard in the dim glow. 

The gravel crunches under his feet and somewhere in the distance, he can hear someone snoring faintly. Payback, probably. There are owls hooting in the great oak trees and the cicadas are still crying and the bullfrogs are still wailing. The heat of the day has finally died and he thinks, as he glances up at the star studded sky, that this is it. 

Rooster’s already decided: this is the night. 

Your words have been echoing in the hollow confines of his skull all day: You flirt with me for three months out of the year. Then we go our separate ways. That’s kinda what we do.

He doesn’t wanna be that guy anymore--that guy that mercilessly flirts and bats his eyelashes at you all summer then never writes or calls. He doesn’t wanna be someone you only think about for three months out of the year. He wants more than that.

He wants to hold you in the shower and he wants to pinch the bridge of your nose when it bleeds and he wants to be the victim of your wit again and again and again. He wants to know how you take your eggs and if you like to sleep with the television on and how you feel about shoes inside the house. 

No more lingering hugs in August and then dreaming about you until May. 

He’s in. He’s always been in, really--but now he can say it to you.  

Tucked beneath the flannel sheets, you’re still warm from the brandy from earlier. Your hair is drying, but it’s still damp to the touch as you recline on the pillows. 

The bleeding has stopped completely. But, still, when you inhale deeply you can taste pennies on your tongue. The tart cherries you snuck from the canteen are doing little to help--even though you’re fairly certain you’ve ate half your weight in them. They’re piled on your belly right now as you lay on your back, plump and chilled things that burst between your molars as you suck around the pit. 

Without your book to read, you’re just staring at the ceiling as you chew. Still a bit fuzzy from the alcohol and the loss of blood, you’re wondering about how bad of a nightmare you’re going to have tonight. You read somewhere, or heard in one of your classes, that tart cherry juice can help you sleep deeper. It’s strange, though--you’re always such a heavy sleeper. So heavy that you fall asleep standing up in the middle of the afternoon, apparently. But maybe if you eat all the cherries, you’ll sleep right through your nightmare. 

When you hear a very faint knock on your door, accompanied by the soft glow of a lantern, you pile all the cherries in your palms and then squint through the dark. 

“Birdie,” Rooster says quietly from outside your screen door. “You still up, honey?”

“Rooster?” You whisper back, throwing the covers off your legs. “It’s open.”   

“Heya,” Rooster grins, his voice low and soft. He sets the lantern on the wide-plank floor before him and plants his hands on his hips with a grin. “Sorry for being late. Susie stayed up forever.” 

You were expecting him over an hour ago, skin still warm from his touch. 

“Don’t worry, we’re cool.” 

Rooster nods to your brandy. 

“Up for a nightcap?” 

You swallow a mouthful of cherries and smile softly, nodding. 

“Only if you brought your best beats,” you answer, biting a smile. 

Rooster holds up his tapes. 

“Oh, don’t I always bring it, baby?” He asks, brow perched. You open your mouth, a mischievous smile tugging at your cherry-stained lips, and he holds a hand up to you. “Rhetorical!” 

Dressed in just an old t-shirt and those wool socks you’re getting a lot of wear out of this summer, you set yourself up against the headboard and watch Rooster. He looks undeniably large right now--you don’t know if it’s because he outgrew those shorts last summer or if it’s the curly mullet that adds at least a few inches to his height or if it’s his shoulders, which seem to have broadened over night. 

Whatever it is about him that looks bigger; it’s working for you. But maybe it’s the brandy and the blood and the cherries. But you’re pretty sure it isn’t.  

“Come to tuck me in?” You whisper, drawing your knees to your chest. 

Rooster beams, glancing at you through the orange. 

“I can tuck you in,” he says. He gestures to the Walkman. “But first I’ve gotta give you a lullaby, huh?” 

You pop another cherry in your mouth and nod, wrinkling your nose. 

“What’re my options, Mozart?” 

Rooster laughs quietly, settling the lantern on the dingy table by your door and crossing the room to where you are. He doesn’t wanna be presumptuous, doesn’t wanna come on too strong. He doesn’t wanna give you the wrong idea. So, he plops himself down at the end of your bed, pulling one leg up and winking at you when you move to get comfortable again. 

“We’ve got Keep Movin’ On by Sam Cooke, Synchronicity by The Police, The Stranger by Billy Joel, and Hounds of Love by Kate Bush.” 

“You really are an old soul, huh?” You ask chewing your bottom lip.

“That’s what they tell me.” 

Rooster displays all the tapes before the both of you, smoothing out your flannel sheets. You gaze down at them, still holding a handful of cherries, and hum for a moment while you ponder. 

“Cherry me,” Rooster says softly. 

And without even having to think about it, you’re absently guiding a cherry to his lips. He takes it from your fingers graciously, bursting it beneath his teeth. It’s sweet and sour, the nectar thin and runny as it races down the back of his throat. 

“It’s pitted,” you warn, fingering the albums. 

“Thanks, ma,” he teases. 

You scoff. 

“Fine! But when you’re choking on a cherry pit, don’t expect me to give you the Heimlich.” 

Rooster whistles lowly, shaking his head. 

“Nurse Ratched over here,” Rooster teases. “Stop bein’ mean to me, honey, I’m gonna fall in love with you!” 

You pick up The Police tape and throw it at his chest with a playful eye roll. You’re warm all over from his words, but you try not to let it show as you wrinkle your nose at him.  

“Play it,” you demand. “I mean--play it, please.” 

There’s a glimmer in Rooster’s eye. He likes this banter. He feels like he can’t usually get away with it with the other women he sees the other nine months of the year. Maybe it isn’t that they can’t keep up, but that he isn’t comfortable enough to try. 

So he grins at you. 

“Yes, ma’am!” He salutes you.

You stick your tongue out at him. 

His heart thumps inside his chest.  

“Here,” Rooster whispers, nodding for you to scoot over and make room for him, which you do very happily. He nestles himself beside you, the Walkman on his lap, then offers you the headphones. “I’ve heard this album a million times.” 

With your brows furrowed, you slip one of the foam buds over your ear and leave the other one free for Rooster. 

“I feel so special,” you tease. 

“You are.”

It’s quiet for a moment--just static in one of your ears and Rooster fumbling with the tape in the other. But it isn’t an unwelcome quiet. It’s one that you grow comfortable in, one that makes you lean against the pillows with a content sigh before you pop another cherry in your mouth. 

“You’re gonna turn into a cherry,” Rooster tells you, winking before he presses play on the Walkman. He settles in beside you. “And then I’ll have to eat you.” 

Synchronicity I crackles softly and then begins to play through the headphones. It’s only just loud enough for you to hear, a very quiet and soft ruckus in your ears. 

“Promise?” You whisper, brow arched, mimicking his idiocy from earlier. 

“You’re bad,” Rooster whisper, wrinkling his nose. 

“The baddest, the best,” you list, popping another cherry into your mouth. “Thought that’s what you liked anyway.” 

“Oh, it is,” he answers. “I’ve always had the hots for Nurse Ratched.” 

“You’re mental,” you whisper to him, bringing another cherry to his parted lips. “Guess that’d get you closer to her, huh?” 

He laughs a big laugh. 

For a while, the two of you just sit on your twin-sized cot in the incandescence of the lantern, eating around the pit in the tart cherries. Rooster leans back against the wooden planks, glancing up whenever all your fanart starts to rustle beneath his hair. And you just look at his hands: the bandage that’s clean and tight, the lines of life pressed there, the callouses. 

It’s a comfortable quietness the two of you have settled into. You feed him every other cherry and he never resists, always pressing a chaste kiss to your departing fingers in thanks. You’re both still a bit fuzzy with brandy and hot from the fire, but for the first time in weeks--neither of you is thinking about what’s going on. You’re not thinking about what nightmare awaits you tonight and he’s not thinking about Jake or Mable. You’re sitting there, barely touching, thinking about each other. 

“Come here just to eat my cherries?” 

“You make it sound so dirty,” Rooster teases. You throw a cherry and, somehow, he catches it in his mouth before he beams at you. “Came here to tell you something.” 

“Uh-oh,” you mutter. “Gee, am I in big trouble this time?” 

“Oh, a whole world of it!”

When your laughter dies down, it’s very quiet. 

Before Rooster can say what he wants to say to you, he needs a drink. He settles the brandy bottle between your bodies--each of you taking the biggest sips you can muster before settling back against the bed. 

“What do you wanna tell me?” You ask just as Walking In Your Footsteps starts. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “Something juicy, I hope.”

Rooster thinks for a moment, humming to himself. His palms are wet suddenly and the hairs on the back of his neck are standing up straight. He readjusts, fidgets, and you carefully lay a hand on his thigh. Just a small touch--a quick little it’s okay. And then he exhales, turns so his cheek is pressed against the wood and his eyes are on you. 

“Let me get a little drunker,” he teases, reaching for the bottle. 

Biting your lip, you shake your head at him. 

“You don’t have to get drunk to tell me things,” you assure him. “Shit, I’ve played preacher for deathbed confessions. So, unless you deserted the war and left your wife and kid behind, I’m sure it’ll be alright.” 

Rooster’s heart is starting to race.

“Which war?” He asks, voice thin. 

You frown. 

“Quit stalling.”

He smiles softly. 

And because he’s scared and a little drunk and things have been weird at Camp Arcadia the last day and some change, he thinks, for just a moment, if it really is you that he wants. 

All these sweet summers together, pushing each other further and further, playing that game, trying to make each other cave. Your little dresses and your jellies and your sunny disposition and your distinct bitterness. Your eyes grow smaller when you laugh. Your throat flexes when you call the campers in for lice checks. Your brows furrow when you concentrate. Your usually have your nails done so you don’t chew on them. You have no issue waking up early and going to bed late. Your touch feels like his mother’s used to--or what he can remember of it. 

He then has his answer instantaneously.

A resounding, big, ugly yes. 

You’re watching Rooster as his jaw clenches while he stares down at his knee, which is just barely pressed against yours. 

“Rooster?” You whisper. He hums--it’s an absent, hollow hum. “Just say it.” 

He glances at you--those deep, deep brown eyes shrouded in the darkness of your cabin. Earnest and wide as ever as they pour into yours.  

“I know that you and Jake have--like, you have whatever going on,” he says, measuring his words carefully. “But I just wanna say that I think you should be with--well, I think you should be with me. And not in, like, some stupid summer-love way. In, like, a good-morning-goodnight-I-know-how-you-take-your-coffee kinda way. Alright? Like in a big and bad way. You should be with someone that can love you good and right and that’s--well, that’s me.”

Your heart is suddenly racing. Rooster doesn’t look away from your face, your eyes. 

“Rooster,” you say. And then you’re not sure what to follow it with. 

“You’re right, for what it’s worth. We do flirt for three months of the year and then go our separate ways. But I don’t wanna do that with you anymore. I don’t wanna forget to ask for your home number or what hospital you work at or your new address. I wanna--birdie, I wanna be with you.” He can’t believe how easily all of this is falling out of his mouth and into the air around the two of you. It’s warm and feathery, like laying on a goose-down bed. “I guess I thought you wanted it to just be for the summer. Or maybe you thought that’s what I wanted. And the funny thing about it is we’ve never really stopped to ask each other what we’re doing or what we want.” 

“Hardy-har-har,” you whisper, your lips swollen with affection.

Rooster swallows dryly and then nods once. 

“If you don’t--well, if you don’t feel the same way then there’s no hard feelings or anything like that. I don’t expect you to make a decision, like, right away ‘cause I’m sure you’re just dizzy with it now.” He’s rambling--he knows he’s rambling. But you don’t interrupt him--you’re just staring up at him with your brows drawn together. “I’m not asking you for anything right now. And I didn’t come here for any reason other than to--to just, like, be here with you. You know?” 

You nod. Still no words will come. 

“And maybe you can think on it, right? Then at the end of the summer you can…take your pick.” 

“I’m not adopting a puppy,” you whisper, shaking your head. 

Rooster groans. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says softly. 

You shift--not uncomfortable, but not incredibly comfortable either. This isn’t your first love confession, but it’s the first time you’ve had even remotely shared feelings. And your feelings for Rooster are so big that your entire body feels numb right now. 

“I know,” you return quietly. 

Another quiet moment. 

He knows that you aren’t sure what to say. He knows that you don’t mean to be severe by not returning any of his confession. He knows you have a lot to think about. He knows you’re tipsy--but he’s sure that he’s sobering you up expeditiously. 

“So, you want me?” You ask like you’re putting the pieces together in your head. 

“More than anything,” he whispers without even a moment of hesitation.  

You fight the grin tugging on your lips and then wrinkle your nose. 

“Girls on the outside just don’t do it for you, then?” 

“Not like you do,” he says softly. 

“Well,” you sigh, leaning on his shoulder again. He inhales the flowers on your skin and lets his eyes flutter shut. “No guy on the outside has ever sacrificed his Police album for me. So, I’d say we’re even.” 

He nods. 

Songs keep playing in one of your ears while Rooster breathes softly in the other. He presses kisses to the top of your head and you let your open palm rest on the flat plane of his belly. He flips the tape for you when he hears it click, his eyes soft and his shoulders fallen. 

Every Breath You Take begins and you sigh. 

“I love this song,” you whisper.

Rooster hesitates for a moment, words lingering on his parted lips. He thinks about just being quiet and not saying anything at all, letting you listen to the song. 

And then he thinks about the way his dad told his mom every single part of every single day--right down to him accidentally putting too much creamer in his coffee or hearing a good song on the drive home. He can picture them lounging on the sofa, his mother sitting with her legs draped over his father’s lap, yarn left abandoned on the cushion as she stroked his father’s blonde hair as he spoke. That’s what he wants with you--and if he’s going to tell you about all of his days, then he has to start somewhere. Even the bad days.

“My ma really dug this song when it came out,” Rooster says quietly. “Said it reminded her of my old man.” 

You pause, glancing up at him. Your lungs are full of air and your face is full of blood and your toes are full of tingles. You’re not sure how to ask him why he’s speaking about his parents in the past tense. 

You have been so near death that you know its scent. But you aren’t sure how to ask Rooster if his parents are dead. 

He does it for you, though. 

“My dad died when I was a youngin’. Some freak accident on the road when he was coming home from work, like a major pile-up.” 

Swallowing hard, you do your best to keep your mouth straight and your brows sloped and your eyes wide and earnest. You want to blend into your surroundings so completely that Rooster tells you everything and it only feels like he’s talking to the walls. 

“My poor ma had to live without him for, like, a decade. I think she hated every minute of it.” He tells you carefully. “She got cancer and that was that.” 

He looks down at you--your brows are furrowed. 

“What do you mean?” You whisper. 

“I mean, like, she didn’t get any treatment or anything. She was ready.” 

“But--how could she be ready if she just got diagnosed?” 

He looks at you for a long, quiet moment. 

“She was ready the moment my dad died, birdie.” 

That overwhelms you. A strange, detached grief holds you close to their chest and makes you listen to the thudding of its heart as it strokes your hair, your cheeks. 

Oh, God. To love someone so much that you’re ready to go as soon as they’re gone--it’s something you almost cannot fathom, something you don’t want to fathom. People die all the time, every single day, all around you. What if everyone gave up that way?  

“Did I weird you out?” 

And instead of answering him, you cup his chin. He’s surprised at first, blinking down at your watery eyes and your curled frame. But then he’s holding your cheek with the tenderness of someone who thoroughly loves you, with the tenderness of someone who has lost both his parents but saw what real love was up close. 

Your thumb falls on his bottom lip--it’s quivering. He kisses the pad of your finger. 

“Kiss me before I die,” you whisper. 

And he does. He kisses you long and hard, holding both of your cheeks, nudging the headphones off your head until they’re flopped on the bed. Your eyes are watery and his are fluttered shut and you just want to stay beneath his lips until you feel like you can face this world again with all its blood and death and gore. 

You’re the one who lays down, the one who invites him on top of you. He complies with vigor, finding a comfortable spot between your parted legs, his belly coming down hard on yours with every deep breath he breathes. He can feel your face getting warmer and you can feel all that stubble on his chin and cheeks rubbing your face raw. 

Your bodies are moving together in utter symphony, like they’ve been rehearsing without you. His bulge against your crotch, his arms caging you in, your fingers tucked in his curls. And even the movements, the rocking of your hips, the titling of your heads--it all feels so natural. 

“Christ,” Rooster mutters against your lips, kissing down your cheek, your jaw, your throat. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, birdie.” 

A moan, tangled with despair and grief and lovesickness and lust, falls from your lips. 

Rooster continues to feverishly kiss down your neck, suckling softly where your shoulder meets your throat. And then you’re pulling your shirt up until it pools under your chin and he’s sitting up on his haunches, staring at your face in the dark. 

“Yeah?” He asks, voice thin. He’s so hard that he’s aching. 

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I want you to touch me.” 

That’s all the encouragement he needs to lean down and latch his warm mouth to your nipple. His tongue makes quick work of pebbling you as his other hand comes down softly on your other breast, pinching precisely the right spot. 

It feels like Heaven. That’s all you can think as he touches you. This is it. This is it. 

And then he’s kissing back up the middle of your chest until he’s at your lips again and he’s kissing you like he really means it--all tongue and spit and lip. Swollen and warm. 

You’re soaked already and Rooster feels it when you pull down his ringer shorts.

“Oh, birdie,” he whispers, cupping your jaw. “You’re so wet, baby.” 

Whimpering, you shake your head and fall back into the pillows. 

“Bradley, I really--I wanna do it.” 

His spine prickles. 

He holds both your cheeks, his nose grazing yours, and looks down at you in the dark until he can see the glimmering gold in your eyes as it reflects the color of the lantern. 

“You do?” He asks. “We don’t have to.” 

“I know,” you whisper. You kiss his hands again and again and then look up at him with hooded eyes. He twitches against your core. “I want to.” 

Having sex for the first time isn’t something you’ve been saving up for, nestling it in the corner for a rainy day. It’s something that you knew would just happen when it happens. And you knew you’d feel ready, like you do now, like you figured you would. 

“You’re sure?” He asks. 

Reaching down, you stroke him through his underwear. He groans softly, deep and guttural. 

“Yes,” you whisper. “Please.” 

Something about the word please makes Bradley shiver.

It’s all a tangle of heat and limb and skin and hair and clothing. You’re naked and he’s naked, the Walkman is on the floor, the lantern is running out of oil, the clock is racing towards daylight. His fingers are wet with your slick and your face is hot and his face is flushed and his chest is heaving. He can still feel your saliva on his cock, where it’s drying expeditiously. He’s touched the smoothest and wettest parts of you, like a pearl dipped in preciously produced oil. He kissed you hard when you came, panting and with your legs locked, and held you close afterwards when you shivered through the aftershocks. 

“Do you have a condom?” You ask softly as he kisses your throat. 

He leans back, frowning. 

“No,” he answers. “I told you I didn’t have any ulterior motives! Scout’s honor!” 

He crosses his heart, his naked fingers on his naked chest. 

“Okay,” you whisper, mind foggy with want. “Well--I’m sure it’ll be fine.” 

Rooster raises his brows. He holds onto your thighs, thumbs rubbing mindless circles. 

“I’m clean,” he adds. 

You nod. 

“And, hey! Who gets pregnant their first time, right?” 

He laughs. But then you’re stroking him again and he’s on top of you and he can’t believe this is happening. This is finally, finally happening. You’re here beneath him naked and wanting and beautiful and so warm. 

“Here,” he whispers, adjusting himself so his cock is resting just against your entrance. You shiver and he kisses your face again and again. “I’ve got you.” 

Silently, and with one hand, he moves your hands to rest on his shoulders. He kisses your fingers tenderly and then presses his forehead against yours. Your thighs are tight around his sides and he’s kissing your jaw. 

“Are you okay?” He asks. 

Your heart is racing, your blood is pumping. You want it so bad. 

“Dandy,” you whisper. “Please.”

“I’ll stop if you want me to,” he tells you, nodding as he looks into your eyes. “Alright? Say the word and I’m playing Statue, okay?” 

A grin tugs at your lips. 

“Okay,” you tell him. 

He keeps his eyes on yours as he slowly pushes his hips forward--just enough for you to feel him strain against your entrance, just enough for you to feel that dull ache. 

Nails digging into his shoulder, breath punching out of your lungs, you look up at him. He’s watching you carefully. 

“Alright?” He asks. 

You nod. 

“I want more,” you whisper. 

“Talk like that and I’m gonna bust before I bottom out,” he warns. 

But then he pushes in more and oh, you’re warm. You’re warm and inviting and wet and tight. He breathes hard, his eyes heavy as they watch your face. And because you know what he’s going to ask, you interrupt him. 

“It’s okay,” you tell him. “Keep going. It’s okay.” 

And that’s how it goes. You’re dizzy and you feel so good you could soar through the night sky. You’re so close to Rooster that you can smell every bit of sweat on his skin, every little bit of cologne he dabbed on for you. And as his cock pushes further and further inside of you, your body is vibrating with anticipation. 

The ache is dull and dim compared to the bursts of pleasure working through your body. Rooster’s breathing hard, groaning against your mouth. But he keeps his eyes on yours, watches your face for any sign of discomfort. 

It all happens so fast--there’s an ache and then there isn’t. Then there’s just unadulterated, pure pleasure. Then there’s just you and him and his cock and your clit and you’re crying into his throat and he’s kissing you. He’s thinking about how in love with you he is and how good you feel and you’re thinking about how good this is and why you never did it before now. 

When it’s over, when he cums and you feel him pulse, neither of you say anything. 

It’s an unspoken, quiet and intimate act. He pulls out carefully and kisses your face in gratitude. You hold him tight and he wraps his arms around you. 

Neither of you speak as you tuck yourselves under the covers, ignoring the wet spot. He holds you so tight that you can’t breathe for a few moments. But he’s kissing your hair and you’re inhaling the new scent of sex in your cabin. Your bodies are loose and soft beneath the flannel and as you each allow yourselves to be lulled by cicadas and tart cherries in your bellies, you both think at the same time: I want this to stay. 

In a state of bliss and delirium, you quietly kiss Rooster’s fingers. 

“Rooster?” You whisper. He hums softly. “Don’t go, okay?” 

“I won’t,” he assures you. “I’m right here until you kick my ass out.” 

♀

Phoenix doesn’t knock on your door. She isn’t thinking straight. She just tugs it open when she finds it unlocked, leaving a stain of blood on the handle and the wooden door. She’s shivering--shivering and aching and crying. 

Your room is very dark. The sun hasn’t begun to rise and you’re laying tangled up in your bed with someone, the both of you naked. There’s a Walkman on the floor and a lantern at the end of the bed and a bottle of brandy on the nightstand. It’s a scene out of a brothel in those Westerns her dad likes to read. 

She stumbles closer to you, her throat aching from subduing her sobs. 

And as she gets closer, her mind foggy with panic, she realizes that it’s Rooster laying beside you. His hair curly and damp, his body naked and flushed. And you’re tucked up with him, sleeping very soundly. 

Phoenix, with a quivering hand, grips your shoulder. You don’t wake up. She shakes you softly, sniffling hard. She smells like blood--it’s covering her arms, her hands, her fingers, her t-shirt. You still don’t stir.

“Nightingale,” she utters. Not even a fluttering of your eyes. “Nightingale!” Nothing. 

Finally, Phoenix grabs both of your cheeks, falls to her knees, and presses her nose against yours. She doesn't know what else to do. 

You awake with a gasp tearing from your lungs, blinking rapidly and scrambling for purchase on the sheets, on Bradley’s body. You’re panting and you realize you’re staring right into Phoenix’s eyes and her sticky hands are on your cheeks and you smell blood. 

“Phoenix! What the fuck--?” 

“It’s Bob,” Phoenix mutters. A sob tears from her lips and wakes Bradley. “I think he’s dead.”

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: JAKE GET OVER GORE CHALLENGE (UNBEATABLE)

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒:

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[bambi-kinos]

Re: John being demi - don’t you think it’s possible he had sex because that’s what was expected of him? His age, lifestyle, etc. Especially because of his self-destructive tendencies and not always acting on how he truly feels. Or acting in a way that doesn’t express how he truly feels - i.e. Barcelona. He could have easily slept with Yoko early on, with her throwing herself at him but it wasn’t until correspondence and a deeper connection did he engage sexually. Not to mention him not wanting to have sex with men later in life because he couldn’t find one he connected with in that way. To me even the lyric “My love will turn you on” - is revealing.

If you want to interpret John Lennon as demisexual then you certainly can and I can't and won't stop you. But since you're asking me directly my answer is just a flat "no." John was sexually attracted to women so he slept with them. He was conventional that way. He was also hooking up with Yoko soon after Indica, he did not wait until the night he took LSD with her and recorded the sex tape.

You need to remember the cultural climate John existed in. It was "expected" of John to get married to a woman, settle down with her, have children, hold a steady uninspiring job, and then die at 70 with a gold pocket watch in his waistcoat without ever standing out from the crowd or doing anything that would express his individuality and personal needs. These were the stultifying expectations John grew up under and he hated it.

The Beatles kept their orgies secret because it would have destroyed them as a band if it got out that they were nailing groupies, this is the exact OPPOSITE of it being "expected" of them to have sex with lots of women.

The performative aspect was the groupies expectation of John to act like Beatle John while he was thrusting. That doesn't mean John disliked it or was carrying out an act he found distasteful for the sake of expectations. And remember: John kept posters of Bridget Bardot and Elvis Presley in his bedroom at Mendips because he was jerkin' it to their images. He only had a parasocial fanboy relationship with them but he was deeply sexually attracted to both. This is the opposite of demisexuality which requires a personal connection of some kind.

I talked about this in the McLennon server this afternoon so I'll just repost what I said in there:

Leggy「IT'S A GUNDAM 」 — Today at 5:20 PM john was just so laden with PTSD and agoraphobia

like Shotton talks about how John started turtling up once he got Kenwood, the hibernation years were a long time coming. but he was so deeply separated from other people even as a child and that just got worse and worse over time.

like sex was a way for John to connect with human beings and I wonder if it was the only way he could. that's not to say he couldn't fall in love if he met people but he had to keep his connections shallow as a matter of survival, he wasn't able to form those relationships easily and when he did connect to others it was because they pursued him.

Cynthia was the aggressor in her relationship with John, he liked her but he didn't pay attention to her until she dyed her hair blonde to catch his eye. Paul was super down bad. Yoko stalked him.

Otherwise even as a teenager John's relationships were strictly about sex, not romantic love, and he wasn't interested in romantic love until Paul and art school came into his life.

***

This is the exact opposite of demisexuality. John could form personal relationships and he could fall in love with people but when he did, he seemed to back away from them sexually. If we count Paul as one of John's lovers (and I do) then we see this happen to where John broke it off with Paul to pursue someone else physically (in this case Yoko.) John liked using sex as a way to connect with others but the moment genuine feelings got involved he got skittish. Note that he initially was planning to buy a house with May Pang but then he went back to Yoko when the Montauk plans began solidifying. John was certainly attracted to May Pang and he certainly had a personal connection with her but when that started getting a little too real and too deep, then he left her and would only hook up with her occasionally in controlled environments where he could ghost her easily afterwards.

The same thing happened with Yoko: after Sean was born, she and John stopped having sex and she sent him to the massage parlors to avoid dealing with him.

And don't forget how John's relationship with May Pang started: Yoko hired May Pang to be John's mistress. May was paid by Yoko to have sex with John and to keep him within Yoko's reach while they were in Los Angeles, what with Yoko's daily phone calls. May did fall in love with John but John knew that May was a business asset controlled by his wife and that she was being paid to never leave him. This was the foundation of their affection for each other. When May and John went back to New York and started looking for houses in Montauk, John opted to go back to Yoko for her smoking cure and came back ready to leave May Pang, aka the relationship with May Pang was becoming too real and too deeply rooted in actual Love (with that capital L) that meant May would no longer be forced to stay with John due to receiving a salary from Yoko Ono.

What seems to be more of a pattern in his life is that he was very wary of forming personal connections with others, when they did form it was because the second person pursued him vigorously, and then he had a saddening tendency to leave once his love with that second person began to develop into a deep, long lasting adult relationship. If anything, John seemed to use sex as a way to keep himself hidden and to stop forming connections with others because the moment he had sex with someone he could safely label them "disposable" which is exactly what he did with Paul and May despite his intense connections with both of them and the fact that he was sexually intimate with both of them.

John seemed to fear love and the responsibilities and ecstasies that it brings. This is not demisexuality as I understand it and I simply cannot agree with the assertion that John was demisexual.

[averagewriter-inthedark]

Daughter of Rock N Roll 🎸| Pete Mitchell Imagine/TGM Imagine

Takes place after the events of TGM

TGM Masterlist | Read ‘It’s A Long Way To The Top’ & ‘The Rockstar, Her Husband, & Their Dagger Ducklings’ first!

Characters & Pairings: Captain Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell x 80s Rockstar!reader (romantic), Bradley Bradshaw x reader (mother/son-type relationship), Dagger Squad (platonic) Hondo (platonic)

Content Warnings: Fluff, slight profanity, flirtatious banter | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 3.3k

Requested 📨 yes/no (rules for requests)

Premise: when the squad discovered their former Captain was married to one of the most recognizable voices of rock n roll music, one could imagine the many questions they had. There’s always something new to learn about Y/n L/n-Mitchell. Or, how most of the world would know her by, the Daughter of Rock ‘N’ Roll.

Note: Y’all I can not say enough how happy it makes me you guys love me famous!reader x dagger squad pairing works! The rockstar one was my first one and since then I’ve had so many requests to do more! I have I think four in my inbox with Rooster, Coyote & Fanboy so I’m so excited to get started on those. Again I just as you be patient with me if you sent in a request! I’m approaching my last quarter of school so finals are around the corner and I am focused on passing you know 😅 but once summer hits I should be posting more frequently! 🤍

————————————

“So you met Elvis?”

The question sounded the same as it always did when asked. Awe. Wonder. Amazement. All the words that were similar. Always was it met with a smile from Y/n, the memory surfacing in her mind as clear as though it had taken place yesterday.

“I did,” she thanks Pete as he hands her a beer, scooching on the couch to allow him space beside her. Scattered around the bonfire were the daggers either in chairs or couches, nursing their own drinks as the sun descended on the horizon. The dogs were with them too. Ice laid beside Y/n and Mav’s feet, Bella found a cozy spot within Javy’s lap, and Goose took claim to the spot beside Bradley.

“Long time ago. It was 1976–I was twelve years old and my parents had gotten all of us tickets to see him perform in Atlanta. It was a great show,” she smiled fondly at the memory, “then afterwards we left the venue and happened to run into him. I was starstruck as you can imagine. There he was dressed in his red outfit. Hair slicked back and dazzling smile. And I don’t remember asking him to sign my program but I guess I did. All I can remember is him asking what I wanted to be when I grew up—to which I said, “I wanna be a rockstar.’”

Chuckles echo around, the pilots all leaning in their seats with eyes full of fascination. Y/n brought a finger to her chin, deep in thought, “he laughed and handed me back the program saying, ‘Don’t lose that dream, little one.’ Like my mom I was devastated the next year when he died….but I always remembered those words. To never lose my dream.”

Fanboy gestured inside the house, “how’d you get his guitar?” He was referring to the one mounted on the wall of guitars with the icons signature. It was the only one on what the dagger squad liked to call the ‘Guitars of Fame’ to be either once owned by a renowned musician or signed by one. Y/n had one from Prince in her collection as well as a Stratocaster signed by all the members of Queen.

“Charity auction. Back in the late 90s I wanna say it was,” she looked to Pete to see if he could confirm if she was right. At his nod she added, “The reason I wanted it was because it was the one he used at the concert I went to. So when I look at it, it brings me back to that moment of meeting him and as a reminder I achieved that dream he told me never to let go of.”

Javy whistles, causing Bella to perk up in his lap. “That’s so cool.” Murmurs of agreement sound with him, Phoenix crossing her legs in her lap as she asks, “is there anyone you’ve met or worked with who’s been a mentor to you and the band?”

“Diana Ross and Dolly Parton,” the woman doesn’t hesitate. “Gosh I love those women. Not only were they some of our biggest inspirations but they pretty much took us under their wing when we first started out. Even though we were in a completely different genre than both of them, they were like our ‘moms’ in the industry.” She put quotes around the word mom. “You have to remember we were all 14-15 when we were discovered. Being that young made us very vulnerable. Producers would try to take advantage of us—by not giving us the proper cuts or working us like dogs. Artists who’d been in the game longer were envious of the recognition we were getting.”

“You must never forget who you are,” Dolly’s voice echoed, wiping away the lone tear that had fallen from a young Y/n’s eyes. “The media are always going to try to put out the worst image of you. And you must never give them that satisfaction of bringing you down. As long as you know who you are here—,’ she points to her heart, “then they can never take it away from you.”

Y/n paused to sip her beer before continuing, “Dolly and Diana, were and still to this day, the best supporters of our career and always made sure we knew they were there to help if we ever needed them. Whether it be confronting an executive for unfair treatment or if we were at parties or award shows and felt uncomfortable. Saints they are. Absolute saints.”

A few more minutes passed of Y/n praising the two legends of music before they ventured off into discussing moments of Y/n’s career. Rooster of course knew everything so he didn’t ask anything, but would offer insight from time to time. “C’mon Y/n/n,” he waved a hand dramatically, “y’all’s Super Bowl performance is considered one of the best halftime shows and you think it was lackluster? I beg to differ.”

“I have to agree on Rooster with this one, honey,” Pete leans back into the sofa, arm going round her back. The rockstar scoffs, playfully rolling her eyes.

“It was raining the whole time!”

Rooster nearly stands from his seat, “That’s what makes it so iconic! You guys did that shit while it was raining down on you.”

“Yeah and I was shitting my pants the whole time thinking one of us was going to get electrocuted,” Y/n had to laugh. “And when I saw the same thing happen to Prince at his Super Bowl I thought, ‘Oh God I’m getting deja vu.’”

Payback shakes his head with a laugh, “Man I remember watching that live. I wanted to be there so bad—be in that crowd. You guys were phenomenal—and like Roo said, it really was the best performance of all time.”

Y/n gives a shy smile when they all agree, “You know one thing, I was really grateful I chose a black outfit to perform in. I was not going to have a repeat of 1992 with the whole white tank top scandal. Like it was even a scandal,” she makes a face, thinking back to that God awful interview with Diane Sawyer. “My goodness it’s not like I planned for the rain that night. And my tits were covered—,” she laughs at the wide-eyed expressions of some of the guys, “it wasn’t like I was letting them out free. But anyways you know how the media is when shit like that happens.” Y/n turns slightly to look at Pete, “You didn’t care, did you?”

He immediately shakes his head. “No. And even if you wanted to go topless it was your choice. Not my place to stop you.” His answer makes her let out a sigh of content.

“You’re just so perfect you know,” she pats his cheek before kissing it. The others watch on fondly, though Rooster makes a playful gag sound.

“Disgusting.”

“I’ll send you to timeout, Bradley.”

Eventually after some time the topic of Y/n’s name in the industry was brought up. The Daughter of Rock N Roll. All through her career people told Y/n how when she sang she sounded what an angel rebelling from God to be a rockstar would sound like. The epiphany of rock n roll, Y/n was dubbed it’s daughter by Rolling Stone magazine at the brink of the 90s after dominating the 80s.

“How’d you find out?” Bob’s eyes were wide with curiosity. They all were, leaning forward in their seats to hear better as the woman began to explain.

“We had just won our fifth Grammy,” she sets the picture, “the next day was the kickoff to the American leg of our world tour so we were barely paying attention to the press, tabloids, media, you know. I was running late that morning—can’t remember exactly why but when I got to the venue Ronnie was running at me with a magazine in her hand…”

“Oh my God, have you seen the news?!” Ronnie’s high pitched yell had the singer wince.

“Girlfriend, I woke up not even twenty minutes ago. What happened—who died?” Suddenly Y/n serious, fearful that someone they knew had passed. Being in the industry for over ten years made them face the loss of many friends they had accumulated along the way.

The face Ronnie makes sends relief, “no one died. But look—!” She pushes the magazine towards her friend’s face, Y/n scrambling to not drop her Walkman and coffee she was holding as she tried to grasp the object. “Look at what Rolling Stones have named you!”

Removing the sunglasses off her face lightening fast, no longer caring she spilled an entire cup of coffee she’d just purchased, Y/n let out a audible, “no fucking way,’ when her eyes read over the big letters on the cover of Rolling Stones Magazine.

“Y/n L/n is the Daughter of Rock ‘N’ Roll—like Micheal Jackson as the King of Pop and Aretha Franklin crowned the Queen of Soul, the powerhouse and voice behind Y/n & The Romantics from Atlanta, Georgia has become widely associated among critics and fans across the globe as the Daughter of Rock ‘N’ Roll right behind Elvis as its King.

“Did you ever think that would happen?” Payback’s question brought Y/n out of the memory.

“Never,” briefly she look into the house where the framed Rolling Stones magazine hung on the wall, “I was very shocked when I heard the news. Never did it occur to me I would have a title and I would say it’s the biggest honor I have as an artist in this industry. And nowadays you see titles being thrown around all the time, but back then it happened once in a blue moon. So when I heard the news I was like, ‘no fucking way,’.”

“See what I don’t understand is,” Jake cuts in with an odd expression. “How come they waited this long to induct you and the band into the Hall of Fame? To be honest y’all should’ve been in it ages ago.”

“Agreed,” Fanboy tips his beer.

Rooster raises his own, “amen to that.”

Y/n hesitates to answer, conflicted in her eyes that when she turns to look at her husband he could see she was unsure to answer. Pete gives her an encouraging nod causing her to exhale deeply.

“To, how do folks put it…spilling the tea?” Rooster snorted at the phrase, earning a scolding look from Y/n. “Don’t tease me. The whole thing with the Hall of Fame wanting this long is because they at one point—I think ten years ago—wanted to induct just me because of all the solo work I had done since we split up. But I wasn’t on board with that. If they were gonna induct me, they were gonna induct me as part of Y/n & The Romantics. All of us,” she emphasized. “We were a group for thirty years when we split. They have been my best friends since childhood—my ride or die. There was no way in hell I was going to accept an induction to the Hall of Fame without them.”

After a while of digressing that shocking news Javy decides to ask, “What was it like doing the USA for Africa? All those legends together—I still get chills everytime I watch the music video.”

Y/n lights up at the mention of ‘We Are The World’, “it was amazing. Nothing could really put into words what that day was like. When our manager approached us about it we were like, ‘Quincy Jones, Micheal Jackson and Lionel Ritchie want us on their song?’ We didn’t believe it. Then we got to the studio and oh my God,” she makes a gesture with her hands, “I was at a loss for words. Micheal was the first to greet us—it wasn’t the first time we’d met him but still, it was Micheal fucking Jackson. I met a lot of my close friends that day, Micheal included. Cyndi Laupher, Bruce Springsteen, Stevie Wonder, Tina Turner, Steve Perry, Kenny Loggins, Diana Ross.” Y/n lists off more of the artists featured on the track, each one making the daggers jaws drop even more. “They had paired me with Cyndi and I’ll never forget us hitting that note together. We both high fived afterward just absolutely in awe of the other.”

“Weren’t you also in the one they did in 2010 for Haiti?” Bob adjusts his glasses when the thought pops into his head.

The woman nods, “I was. Jaime Foxx had reached out to me personally about it and I immediately agreed. It was hard—especially with it only being a year since we lost Micheal and then of course the reason we were doing it. But it was just as amazing as it was twenty-five years earlier.”

“Do you still keep in touch with a lot of them?” Fanboy asks.

“Here and there,” she answers truthfully. “Whenever I run into them at events we briefly catch up. Of course nowadays with social media it’s more accessible to send a direct message if you don’t have their number. Most of the time I’m in contact with old friends and colleagues when we collaborate or plan to meet up at shows.”

“Who are the people you talk with the most?” Jake pitches in.

“Oh, Cyndi, Janet, Kenny, Lionel,” she lists off. “Bono from U2 and I have been friends for ages so I talk with him a lot. Lenny Kravitz is also someone I try to see often—as well as Chili and Tboz from TLC. We bonded with them since they are also from Atlanta. ”

Phoenix tilts her head, curiosity in her eyes, “Are you and the band collaborating with anyone for your next album?” Instantly Y/n perks up, a smile threatening to form and give herself away. Nat catches it and teases, “I swear to secrecy if you tell us.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about,” Y/n laughs when Rooster pouts, throwing his hands out as he whines, “C’mon. When have I ever leaked your songs or upcoming projects? I think I’ve done pretty good—my track record is going on thirty years, you know.”

Pete laughs with his wife as the daggers begin to tease their fellow aviator. “Better to be safe than sorry, Bradley.” This earns the Captain a light slap on the chest.

“Oh stop,” she playfully scolds. “I’m only teasing.” She returns her attention back to Nat. “I can’t say much because a lot is still in the works….but, I can confirm we’ll be doing a feature with Lenny Kravitz.” Gasps and ‘holy shit’ fill the patio, Javy and Danny on the brink of losing their minds.

“Lenny fucking Kravits!”

“Oh it’s gonna be a hit. Number one on Billboard I’m telling ya.”

By now it was getting cooler outside. The sky was dark with stars twinkling above. Instead of having someone go inside to grab drinks for everyone the group decided to migrate into the living room. Pete distinguishes the fire, Y/n hauls the dogs in with Nat and soon the couches and chairs are occupied.

Jake rubs his jaw, “what would you say is the best advice someone has given you? And who,” he adds, “if you’re open to saying.” Y/n takes a moment to think about her answer. To be honest, she’d received lots of great advice in the 40 plus years of being in the industry from an array of people. There of course was Dolly and Diana who always gave a second opinion whenever needed. There was Michael, who told her to always have fun no matter what life threw at her.

“A long time ago,” she humed, tilting her head back to stare at the ceiling while caressing the bottom of her chin. “I wanna say early 90s, I met Tony Bennett at an award show. Probably Grammy’s or Billboard, but he had approached me just before the show ended and we got to talking. I can’t remember exactly what was said in the conversation but I this always stuck with me,” pausing Y/n places her hand back in her lap. “He said, ‘Cherish the big moments—the milestones, the accomplishments, the things that will leave a legacy long after you’re gone..but also cherish the small moments. The ones you will look back on and remember fondly. As a time you were living your life as if the day was your last.’”

The words hit each of the officers. All taking it in as though Y/n was the one offering them the advice. Something about it resonated with each of them—thinking about their lives and careers. Where often they forgot to cherish little moments because they were overshadowed by big ones. An example for Natasha would be the one time her father gifted her flowers for when she made Lieutenant. Or when Javy’s brother surprised him for his college graduation. The big milestones were the reason the little things even happened.

Then you had all those times the squad would meet up at the beach for dogfight football. Or when a late night drive turns into carpool karaoke. Those small specks of time where you’re truly living in the present.

As Midnight approached the daggers took their leave. Most of them were staying on base or had nearby hotels so they waited a few hours after their last drink to leave. Though Bob was DD so he took most of them home.

Goodbyes were said with promises to meet up again soon. A few of the pilots were expected to report for an upcoming mission that week so they were all on high alert. Y/n of course was worried and gave a pep talk to each of them as they left.

When the house was finally cleared with only the couple and their dogs remaining, Y/n discarded the empty cans and water bottles before rinsing off the dishes. A yawn escaped her, leaning into Pete when he came up behind her, arms going to her waist.

“You know that can wait until morning,” he kissed her cheek, making her smile.

“I know, but I like waking up to see it’s already done. That way I can relax by sleeping in.”

Pete chuckled against her ear, “I leave you to it then. I’ll get the dogs settled and meet you in the room.” With a kiss to her lips, Pete removed himself and whistled for the hounds to follow him down the corridor. Their patter got lighter and lighter, silence filling the room once they were gone.

There wasn’t much to do in the kitchen or living room. Y/n hummed the tone of ‘Don’t You Forget About Me’ as she rinsed the plates and cups to put them in the dishwasher.

“I’ll be alone, dancing, you know it, baby,” she sang under her breath, nodding her head to the beat even though no music was playing. “Going to take you apart. I’ll put us back together at heart baby.”

“Don’t you, forget about me.”

After that was done Y/n took out the trash and placed it by the garage door to remind them in the morning. Next she wiped down the countertops and fixed the couch cushions. Finally the last thing to do was lock the doors and close the curtains.

Moving past the living room to head toward her bedroom, Y/n paused when she came to the wall displaying many photographs from her career milestones. “Don’t lose that dream, little one,” she could hear Elvis say to her as her eyes met the framed Rolling Stones cover in the center. The lighting of the image made it appear of just her silhouette, Y/n’s head tilted up with the echo of a smile on her lips. The microphone right beside her with Danny’s drums in the background.

“Y/n L/n is the Daughter of Rock ‘N’ Roll.”

Dated February 1992. Thirty years since the issue was released. And boy had it been a wild ride for the rockstar.

Brushing her finger over the image and then lightly tapping her knuckles against the glass, Y/n grinned as Elvis' words to 12-year-old self repeated in her head.

“Hope I made you proud, King.”

……………….

TGM Tag List: @avaleineandafryingpan , @caitsymichelle13 , @poppyalice2001 , @cutelittlepotatofry , @luckyladycreator2 , @americaarse , @elenavampire21 , @back-tooo-black , @wildellaa , @artemissunn , @pinkpantheris

[urlocalnonbinarybastardwrites]

hello!! Could you do something where m!greaser turned out to be in 2 movies (first he was 10, the second when he was 16) had a total of 4 lines and 7 minutes of screen time with both. How would the gang react + Cherry when she recognized him?

Yes I would love to do that thanks so much for requesting this it’s such a fuego idea!!! ❤️❤️❤️ I love your account btw

Ponyboy Curtis

-shocked

-asks the most questions

-a lot of which you don’t know the answer because your only answer is actor and he asks a lot about the production, shooting, lighting etc.

-“do you know what model cameras they used for this shoot? And how they got that, uh, grainy effect?”

-lore master

-“but how do you think this plot played into that romance? Because to me, it doesn’t make a lotta sense…”

-out of everyone he’s the most excited

-he loves movies and now he gets to have an inside connection to film

-it’s the greatest thing ever

-he watches your part over and over fr

-would decode the whole movie (even if it’s not that deep 💀) gets into ALL the lore

-figures out that your seemingly small part is actually a lot more important to the plot than most think and explains it to you

-and you’re like 👍 😅

Johnny Cade

-mind boggled

-after he gets over it and smiles at you

-“Gee I didn’t know you were in a movie. Y/n, it’s so cool that you were in a movie!”

-he’s a total fanboy

-he’s really proud but keeps it more quiet

-will absolutely show the movie to other just so Che can slip in

-“actually… my friend was in that.”

-he’s so cute about it fr

Sodapop Curtis

-thought the movie was boring until your part

-Fr he was about to fall asleep then heard the sound of your voice and blinked his eyes open

-he recognizes it instantly and sits up and looks at the tv to confirm

-“wait… YOU WERE IN A MOVIE”

-his eyes nearly pop out of their sockets

-doesn’t like movies but this becomes his new favorite one

-is so impressed and thinks it’s super cool

-he was the widest stupidest grin on his face and (like cherry) keeps it on the entire time you talk in the movie

Darry Curtis

-I think he has the most chill reaction

-DONT get me wrong he’s super impressed but I don’t think he would like outwardly show that as much as the rest of the gang

-raises his eyebrow in surprise and turns to face you

-“you were in that?… huh, that’s pretty neat.”

-smirks and gives you a pat on the back

-“I didn’t know you did stuff like that…”

-whenever he feels upset/stressed I feel like he’d watch little 10 yr old you in the movie and it would cheer him up and clam him a bit

Dallas Winston

-Once he finds out it’s a nonstop bragging session

-to the point where you’re like ok I don’t think I should’ve told you 💀😭💅

-he teases you so hard tho

-“Careful now you’re talkin to a big time actor here”

-“Dally I had four freaking lines”

-he will tell anyone who will listen (and anyone who won’t)

-but he only ever brags about you behind your back

-he’s got a reputation to keep up

-He can’t be seen complementing you to your face or the gang will never let him hear the end of it (even though everyone knows how impressed n proud he is)

-he’s actually obsessed and whenever you leave he’d watch your part again and just smirk like “that’s my y/n”

Two Bit Matthews

-didn’t even know you could do that

-shocked in the best way like “yeah that’s y/n right there! On the TV!”

-thinks you know like every celeb now 💀

-“So did you meet Elvis Presley?! What about Audrey Hepburn??!”

-“No, two, I do not know every famous person in the world because I spent 7 minutes in a few movies 💀😭💅”

-super supportive and impressed

-he wants you to keep acting so that you can get all famous and introduce him to Hollywood people 💀

Steve Randle

-when he sees your movies for the first time he raises his eyebrows like damn

-he glances at you, nodding his head

-“I didn’t know you were such a bigshot”

-you chuckle and roll your eyes

-he thinks that you’re 10 year old self is adorable

Cherry Valance

-she’s so happy for you and sweet about it

-“You’re so talented! Even in that one where you were still pretty young”

-endless compliments

-“Why, I didn’t know I was friends with an actor??!”

-gives you the biggest grin and keeps it the whole 7 minutes you’re on screen

-she’s so impressed n proud fr

-she thinks it’s like the coolest thing, especially because she grew up around a lot of relatively boring Socs

-so this is a big deal

[cornishkat]

Midnight Kiss

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x F!Reader

Warnings: None just pure fluff

Summary:  A fancy dress New Years Eve party and a red dress might just get you a midnight kiss with Hangman.

Notes:  Juts a quick fluffy little New Year one shot.

The Hard Deck looked great, shining and sparkling with decorations for New Years Eve.  You were looking forward to seeing in 2023 with the other Daggers and also seeing the back of 2022, it had be a hard year, but the past few months back at Top Gun with the Dagger Squad had made it better.  You were looking forward to all of you being able to cut loose after the last mission and just enjoy yourselves knowing that you had at least the next few days off.

Payback and Fanboy had called fancy dress and you didn’t even mind that, it had been fun going to find your costumes with Phoenix.  You were also looking forward to seeing what everyone else was going to turn up wearing, though you couldn’t even begin to imagine what Mav would turn up as.

Phoenix had gone with a Great Gatsby flapper dress, and she looked stunning, you had thought about doing the same but then you had seen a copy of Marilyn Monroe’s red dress from Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.  The red sequins glittered and shimmered and you had stared at it so long that Phoenix had made you go and try it on.

“Oh, my good you look amazing, you have to wear it”

Turning around in the mirror you looked at yourself from all angles, it was so beautiful, but it was also slit all the way up to the to the middle of your thighs and neckline plunged down to almost your waist.

“I really don’t think I can pull this off”

“Believe me you can more than pull it off and I can’t wait to see Hangman’s face when he sees you in this dress”

“I have told you before, Hangman is not interested in me.  He flirts with everyone, I’m nothing special”

“He may flirt with everyone, but he doesn’t look at anyone else the way he looks at you”

“Quit it Phoenix, I am sure he will find himself a stunning woman to kiss at midnight”

“I am willing to bet money on the fact it will be you he is kissing at midnight”

“You can make that bet, and I will be more than happy to take your money”

“$100 says I’m right”

“I’ll feel bad about taking your money, but you’re on”

Now as you stood in the bar you were starting to regret your choice of attire, you felt like a million dollars, but you also felt nervous as the rest of the crew had never seen you in anything other than a flying suit or sports kit.  And no matter how much you had protested to Phoenix earlier you were wondering how Hangman would react.  You couldn’t deny your attraction to him, but you were also well aware he could have his pick of women and there was no way you could measure up.

Before you could consider further if you had chance to go home and change into something less conspicuous before anyone else arrived you heard a low whistle from behind you.

“Phoenix, Merlin looking hot”

Turning you saw Rooster walking across the bar in a full Elvis jumpsuit with Payback and Fanboy behind him rocking very cool pirate costumes.

“So, I take it the fancy dress call was just so you two could live out your pirate fantasy?”

“Hell yes, but Merlin it was also worth it so see you in that dress, you are looking damn fine, who knew you could scrub up so well”

“I’ll take that as a compliment I think”

“Ok make away the drinks are on the King”

“Why do I think that costume is going to be an excuse for you to start singing later Rooster”

“It’s Now or Never”

Groaning you all moved to let Rooster to the bar, that was not going to be the last Elvis song used in a cheesy line tonight by him.

“Anyone seen Coyote or Hangman?”

“Properly still doing their hair and waiting to make big entrance”

“Well, it isn’t easy to look this good all of the time”

Peeking out from behind Rooster you saw Hangman and Coyote sauntering over to the bar.  They had both gone full cowboy, plaid shirts, jeans, finished off with waistcoats, cowboy boots and hats and gun holsters slung on their hips.  

“Looking good Hangman”

“Feeling good Rooster, you getting the drinks in?”

“On it”

As Rooster stepped to the bar, he cleared the path between you and Hangman.

“Holy Shit Merlin, that is one hell of a dress”

“Well allegedly gentlemen prefer blondes”

“Yes, we do”

“Hangman are you classing yourself as a gentleman?”

“Sweetheart for you always”

Despite your initial nerves as the drinks flowed and the music played you were really enjoying yourself. Everyone hit the dancefloor and Rooster had jumped onto the piano and given his best Elvis rendition.    As you leant again the piano you looked out at the rest of the squad enjoying themselves and your heart swelled.  Smiling as you saw Penny and Mav at the bar dressed as a Pink Lady and a T-Bird.

Hangman couldn’t take his eyes off you, that dress was positively sinful, and you had gotten every detail perfect from the red satin shoes to the way your blond curls formed a shining halo around your face.  He needed to be kissing you at midnight, come hell or high water his lips needed to be on yours.  His stomach flipped as he watched you leaning up against the piano, you were radiant.  He knew his feelings for you had been developing over the last few months but his usual confidence with women seemed to desert him when it came to you.  And he didn’t want to just turn on the charm and get you into bed for one night, he, Jake Seresin actually wanted the whole world with you, all of it.  Tonight, was going to be the night, fortune favours the brave and with you looking like that he couldn’t afford to wait around for some other guy to sweep you off your feet.

As Rooster finished singing and the music was put back on you felt someone come over and stand by your side.

“So, Marylin, do you have a dance for a cowboy”

Looking across Hangman was stood next to you in a mock bow holding his hand out to you.

Smiling you placed your hand in his and let him lead you to the dancefloor, as he swung you into his arms you caught sight of Phoenix dancing behind him, smiling she winked at you, and you rolled your eyes back at her.  As the song ended and a slow song began neither of you moved, he pulled you closer and swayed you gently against him.  As you felt his body against yours and rested your cheek on his you felt like you had come home, and you never wanted the dance to end.  But eventually the song ended, and he released you.

Hangman glanced at his watch, there was five minutes until midnight, and he needed to make sure he was with you.  When he had danced with your earlier and held you in her arms he knew his fate was sealed.  Scanning the bar he searched for you, he could see Phoenix and Bob over by the bar, but he couldn’t find you.  He could feel his heart sink as he scanned back around the room,

“You ok man?”

“Coyote, have you seen Merlin?”

“Ahh, getting ready to make your move at midnight?”

“Not if I can’t find her”

“Last I saw her she was over at the bar with Mav”

Hangman swung around again and there you were, laughing with Mav.  As he started to move his way across to the bar, he heard the countdown begin.  He strode across the bar; his only thought was to get to you before the clock struck midnight.  

As you took the glass of champagne offered by Phoenix you couldn’t help but look around for Hangman, the thought of your dance echoing through your mind and as the countdown began you realised, he was the only one you wanted to be kissing as the new year began.  You saw him making a beeline for you across the bar as the countdown continued and you could feel the smile spreading on your face as he grew closer.  Your eyes met with his and the look of determination on his face made you smile even more.  He didn’t seem to even notice the women trying to get his attention as he moved through crowd and you realised, he only had eyes for you, and it made your heart soar.  He came to a stop in front of you as the countdown finished, five, four, three, two , one…

Cupping your face with his hands he pressed his lips to yours, gently at first but has he felt you respond he deepen the kiss.  There might as well not have been anyone else in the room in that moment, just you and him.  As you eventually broke apart to catch your breath,

“Happy New Year Merlin”

“Happy New Year Hangman”

The rest of the squad surrounded both of you,

“About time”

“Thank god, I thought they were never going to get there”

“Merlin, you can keep the $100, it was only an incentive to give you a little nudge”

Hangman looked at you with a quizzical look,

“$100?”

“She bet me $100 that we would kiss at midnight, as she seemed to think you wanted to kiss me” “Well she had that right, sweetheart I have been wanting to do that for months”

“I never thought you saw me in that way”

“Are you kidding me I was in love with you even before you wore that dress”

“Well cowboy best you take me home tonight or lose me forever”

“Yes Ma’am”

[lieutenantfloyd]

Lieutenantfloyd's Masterlist

So, it's finally time for me to an accessible on both mobile and desktop. I know many people (myself included) prefer to read on mobile devices, so this will allow that to be done a whole lot easier. This will replace my old mobile masterlists, but my regular (desktop) masterlists will remain up and be as i post.

Because Tumblr has an embedded link limit, This masterlist only includes my posts for Top Gun, Dune, Tom Cruise, Elvis Presley, and Outer Range. All of my posts for Formula 1 and other fandoms can be found here.

If a link is broken or I've missed something, please let me know!

Last Updated: April 1st, 2024 // Guidelines — Askbox

As always, The work(s) on this blog (unless otherwise explicitly stated) are/were written by and belong to me. The stealing, copying, reposting, or unauthorized downloading of my work(s), as well as the works of others, is considered plagiarism. I do not permit anyone to repost, copy, or download my work(s). Banner credit to cafekitsune !

TOP GUN

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw

Fics:

The Double Proposal

Family relations

Headcanons:

SFW alphabet

Slow dancing with rooster would include

Sleep headcanons

Tickling headcanons

Robert 'Bob' Floyd

Fics:

Don’t Cry Over Spilled Beer

Darling You Send Me, Honest You Do

Halloween imagine

Headcanons:

SFW alphabet

domestic life as bobs pretty little housewife would include

Moodboards:

Christmas with Bob

Springtime with Bob

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin

Fics:

Dancing In The Dark, Alight by Fire

Halloween Imagine

Headcanons:

misc Hangman headcanons

SFW alphabet

Moodboards:

Soft! aesthetic

New Years Eve

Beau 'Cyclone' Simpson

Fics:

Everything, Everything, and the Search for Reclamation

Hold Me, Flatter me

Halloween imagine

Wintering together + falling in love (original ask/prompt)

Headcanons:

misc Cyclone headcanons

Dad! Cyclone (+ Wife! reader) headcanons

SFW alphabet

NSFW alphabet *18+ Only*

dating an autistic!Reader would include

Helping you avoid a meltdown

Dating headcanons

Childhood headcanons

Moodboards:

Wintering together

Pumpkin patch

Pete “Maverick’ Mitchell

Fics:

A Bad Day for Love (But a Good Day for Flower Shops)

Halloween imagine

Headcanons:

SFW alphabet

NSFW alphabet *18+ Only*

Moodboards:

Christmas with Mav

Natasha 'Phoenix' Trace

Headcanons:

Phoenix as your girlfriend

Moodboards:

Vacationing together

Mickey 'fanboy' Garcia

Headcanons:

Fanboy as your S/O

Javy 'Coyote' Machado

Headcanons:

SFW alphabet

Moodboards:

Domestic life

Ron 'Slider' Kerner

Fics:

Rebel Yell *18+ Only*

Headcanons:

sfw alphabet

Tom "Iceman" Kazansky

Headcanons:

Dating headcanons

Series

When Duty Calls - Cyclone x reader

The Little Things - Dagger Squad (+ Cyclone) x reader

Playlists:

*Shoulder Shimmy* - Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw

Love Notes and Vinyl - Robert “Bob” Floyd

Red Hot Blooded American - Jake “Hangman” Seresin

Rebel Without a Cause - Pete “Maverick” Mitchell

Heatwave - Ron “Slider” Kerner

Strawberry Wine - Leonard “Wolfman” Wolfe

Summer at Fightertown USA

General Headcanons:

Top Gun characters as (non alcoholic) drinks

Where I think Top Gun characters grew up

Music Top Gun characters would listen to

The Dagger squad plays laser tag

Rooster and Cyclone's kids' being best friends - AU

What i think Top Gun characters order at a coffee shop

Other:

Departure - icemav

Incorrect quotes

DUNE

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen

Fics:

Creature *18+ Only*

Headcanons:

Competing for your affection (Feyd-Rautha & Rabban x reader)

Gurney Halleck

Fics:

Narrow Honor

Stilgar

Fics:

Nectar *18+ Only*

Glossu Rabban

Headcanons:

Competing for your affection (Feyd-Rautha & Rabban x reader)

Other

Preferences:

How they react to you suddenly kissing them

Tom Cruise

Fics:

In Demand - Tom Cruise x reader x Jon Hamm

Moodboards:

Being an F1 driver and dating him

Elvis Presley

Fics:

Casting Spells

Headcanons:

SFW relationship headcanons

NSFW alphabet *18+ Only*

Outer Range

Royal Abbott

Fics:

Something Domestic

Masters of the Air

Robert "Rosie" Rosenthal

Fics:

Love is a mystery

[foxes-that-run]

Musicians in Taylor’s Time Article

Does listing referencing a lot of older musicians and dressing like them remind you of anyone else? And the particular list of Stevie Nicks, Paul McCartney, Joni Mitchell, Bob Dylan and Elvis…

This TikTok pointed out that some of the Time photos reference the artists. Taylor is a huge fan of music, but it’s unusual for her to refer to so many older musicians in this way. It is exactly like Harry Styles though, he fanboys about musicians of all eras and genres any chance he gets. Particularly some of these who were mentioned:

Elvis Presley - Harry “The first music I ever heard was Elvis Presley,” Styles told Rolling Stone. “When I was little, we got a karaoke machine and I sang Elvis because that’s what my grandparents listened to.” He also included Elvis on his another man mix tape.

Michael Jackson and Madonna - neither Harry or Taylor have specifically listed MJ or Madonna as influences as far as I know, outside being “king and queen of pop” in 80’s, (i.e. 1989). They've each been given those the titles since, Harry - King of pop by Rolling Stone and Taylor - Queen of pop by Vulture.

Bob Dylan, Taylor has referenced Dylan in the making of Getaway Car she said "a Dylany kinda thing" and on Betty, written with William Bowery. In his Apple Music documentary Harry included included an excellent impression of Dylan.

Paul McCartney - Taylor did an interview with McCartney for Rolling Stone. Last week Taylor liked a tweet indicating that Sweet Nothing, another William Bowery collab was inspired by him. Harry is also heavily influenced by the Beatles, WITW and Sweet Creature in particular is influenced by McCartney. Harry has also done an interview with McCartney, and referred to the album Linda and Paul made together, Ram, many times including to Rolling Stone, Howard Stern and the another man mixtape.

Joni Mitchell - Taylor lists Joni as an influence. Harry has referred to Joni in song as well as written referenced her including Canyon Moon, for which he hunted down a Dulcimer from the same maker as Mitchel’s.

Stevie Nicks - Stevie Nicks calls Harry the love child she never had, Harry inducted her to the hall of fame, Stevie performed in the Fine Line one night only, Harry included the Chain on his first setlist, Stevie heard all of Harry’s albums before complete and he brought a carrot cake to a Fleetwood Mac concert. Stevie has gifted both Harry and Taylor a crescent moon necklace, Taylor has had hers since 2015.

[rainbowrocketquotes]

random little post to spruce up the posting on here because I live and die by the queue function and by god have I been forgetting to add to it

presenting: what music I think the villains listen to

//note : this is based mostly off of people I associate with the villains because everyone I hang out with is a music freak. if you think an 50 hour playlist is bad, wait until you get a hold of my best friend's 600 hour one

Giovanni

No way in hell this man isn't a swing fan. His playlist is exclusively 50's—70's and there is no coherent genre. If you listen to music with him you could be vibing to Marvin Gaye and then Elvis could come on.

Maxie

Pry Roar and The Front Bottoms from his cold, dead hands. Just BIG Folk Punk vibes from him. Also, a good amount of Alt-Rock. His guilty pleasure, though? Country music. He's probably the one that listens to the most music, just because he feels like the kind of guy that can't work without background noise.

Archie

Very well rounded, says he doesn't have a preference, but has a slight one for rock music. Specifically he enjoys 80s & 90s metal. He feels like the kind of guy to be really into Megadeth. Maybe sprinkle some Tech N9ne in there for flavor.

Cyrus

Realistically he's definitely a full Alternative fan. I think he's super into Weirdcore (See: Lemon Demon, Will Wood) but would never admit it. He also listens to Emo Rap and Russian Rap on occasion but doesn't really consider them favourites. He pretends he doesn't like music, though, so he only really gets to listen to what other people force him to.

Ghetsis

Screamo, next question—

Kidding, but he really does like screamo, metal, and hard rock. He'll pretend he only likes vague classical music to seem more mysterious and then you look at his history and it's all Slaughter to Prevail and Korn.

Colress

I like to think he doesn't really listen to music in his free time. He usually listens to whatever is on, which is usually Ghetsis's screamo. He keeps him from ruining speakers. He does enjoy Green Day, though, and some Olivia Rodrigo.

Lysandre

He really likes single instrument covers, especially violin. Absolute Lindsey Stirling fanboy. Also enjoys Lana Del Rey and MARINA a lot. Those kinds of pop artists, you know?

Guzma

He's definitely the most well-rounded with his tastes, mostly because he listens to a lot of it. He listens to a lot of pre-2010s hip-hop & rnb. He loves dance music and electronica as well, and generally just a lot of old school stuff. Anything from 2pac to Gewn Stefani, baby. Mood/genre-switched covers are also a thing, and just covers in general. Catch him in his room at 2am listening to egg on repeat (then back away awkwardly and shut the door because he gets too into it and starts crying).

Lusamine

Listens to a lot of what Lysandre does. Lorde, Billie Eilish, anything hard pop that can pass as alternative. Nobody will ever trust her with the aux/bluetooth/radio/etc. because she always plays music nobody likes. She once got into a fight with Cyrus on what is and isn't alternative music and he didn't speak to her for a month after.

Bonuses, villains I don't include on the blog

Rose

Classical music. Bach & Chopin always playing from his office. More for ominous ambiance than anything, but he does genuinely enjoy it.

Oleana

She doesn't really listen to music, but she likes rap. She won't go out of her way to listen to anything, though.

Volo

Echoey latin chants with ambient noises in the background /hj. If he was in the modern day, I think he'd like NF and Panic! At the Disco.

[destinyc1020]

I think it might be easy for Zendaya to be relaxed and comfortable with Austin. She won't have to walk on eggshells to avoid giving shippers something to grab on to. We know Austin will just be his sweet and charming self.

I think it might be easy for Zendaya to be relaxed and comfortable with Austin. She won't have to walk on eggshells to avoid giving shippers something to grab on to.

That's true... I never thought about that lol. 🤭

We know Austin will just be his sweet and charming self.

True lol... And Jimmy F seemed to really like him on the show during Elvis press. He was like a fanboy lol 😅 So maybe they have a rapport by now lol.

Plus, Z is a pro at these things and she's used to Late night and comedy. She's been doing this stuff since way back when lol. 😅

[mrsjobarnes]

Tales of a Call sign

Rooster x reader 

Italics are past tense

Word count: 613 A/N ~ Hey yall! I’m always so nervous to post because I don’t have anyone to proofread it. Lol Anyways enjoy! Also, this is the original song, not the Elvis version 

Like and comments welcome! 

Please do not steal my work! 

“Hey, Siren you come’n  to the Hard deck or not “ Phoenix shouted 

“Yeah, here I come,” I said. 

 Most people got their call signs in an incredible way. Phoenix got hers because of her strong will, Fanboy got his because he was a nerd. I honestly have no idea how Bob got his. Maybe it stands for ‘Best offense Boy’? No that’s stupid, but it definitely not ‘Baby on Board’. I got mine because of one fateful night of karaoke. I’ll set the scene, it was some whole in-the-wall bar at the naval academy and Rooster had convinced a bunch of people plus Phoenix and I to go to karaoke. He asked me to sing 'Don't Go Breaking My Heart’ with him. Now I’m not proud to admit this but I have the world’s biggest crush on Rooster, he doesn’t know and never will. As we got off the stage and went back to the group everybody was flabbergasted. After they stopped hooting and hollering Phoenix came up to me and told me to should go back up and sing a solo. She said hangman made a bet that I wouldn’t, which got Rooster interested. 

“Come on Y/n, you killed it up there earlier. Also, Think about the look on his face when he owes Phoenix…. How much money” we both looked to Pheonix. She made a smirk that could rival the Cheshire cat. 

“$150,” she said. My jaw about dropped, Rooster rubbed his hands together like he was planning something. Normally I’d be all in on it but I just sit and watch. 

“I don’t know guys, that’s a lot. Plus what if I mess up” I said with wide eyes. Rooster grabbed my shoulder and looked me in the eyes. Damn, I could get lost in those eyes. 

“How about I go up there and play the piano?” he suggested. That’s another thing I love about him, he is so generous and kind. 

“Fine” I say. After I told rooster the song he quickly pulled up the sheet music and walked me over to the stage. The group before us was halfway through. “Rooster I can’t do this” I said while my breath picked up. He grabbed my shoulder 

“Breath Y/N, you can do this. You don’t have to, but think about the look on Hangman’s face when he has to pay phoenix” he said before pulling me into a hug. It’s finally our turn as Rooster sets up I decided to talk into the microphone, 

“Hello again, my name is Y/N and this is Bradley on the keys. Im going to sing a song that my grandma used to sing to her husband whenever he was in trouble, which was a lot. It is also for my good friend Jake over there, So enjoy” I look back a Bradley. He smiles and starts to play. I belt out the first note “ YOU AINT NOTHIN BUT A HOUND DOG” as I sing I get into it and so does Rooster. By the end the entire club is Howling along as it ended we got a standing ovation. We walked off the stage and Bradley wraps me in a hug and kisses my head. 

“You were amazing up there Y/n” I blush and thank him. We walk back to the group just in time for Hangman to pay Phoenix. 

“You did pretty good up there Siren” we all looked at Jake with a puzzled look. “What siren are good singers that can kill. I thought it was a fitting nickname” he said, throwing his hands up. We all laughed. From that day on  I was dubbed Siren. 

[potato-lord-but-not]

What would the Heart Of Gold crew wear as Halloween costumes

just spit balling here BUT

Zaphod would definitely go for a slutty nurse, cat, nun etc etc, Trillian definitely likes the classics but with a silly twist like vampire librarian or sm, Ford goes for famous people but specifically someone from Earth because he thinks they’re far funnier than other famous aliens (or he might do Elvis because he’s quite the fanboy), and Arthur is boring as hell he doesn’t like dressing up but when forced to he throws on a onesie or puts in some fake vampire teeth and calls it good. Also the gang just throws a sheet on Marvin ghost style.

[artclaws-blog]

As much I like Eridan and Cronus in a brotherly like spade ♠️. I think Dave and Cronus would have a potential♠️ relationship, but in a musical rivals way.

Dave actually likes Cronus music and his talents, but he gets carried away by beatboxing or taking over the middle of Cronus work. Dave likes to remix or put a modern spin to his old cover songs. Sometimes, sample his work and put it to his work as tribute, but ends up ruining Cronus masterpieces before he gets to show it to his friends. Accidentally making him look like he is copycat or likeing dave version better. Dave does look up and respect Cronus when it comes to the music. He fanboys a bit and tries to play it cool by playfully trash talk with him. Yet sadly, Cronus is taking it seriously and tells him to leave him alone

Cronus finds Dave a bit too much, even for him.

Somewhat traditionl, he play his songs that fits in it time period and genre. Cronus is a perfectionist when it comes to his music. Even if it is a cover song, he gives it 110% into it. He looked up it history and the original people behind it. Cronus old nerd side shows up and studies every aspect of his musical work. Unknowingly becoming a human musical historian in a way. So, focus on his studies or music that his dreambubble turns into the world like Big Mama's stage or Elvis's mansion. Yet Dave tagged along, and suddenly raps or beatbox snapped him out of it. ( Literally throwing off his Grove) unlike Dave,Cronus manages to collect and set up a professional studio to record his songs. Dave likes to sneak in and record his. Sometimes, not realizing he records over cronus soundtrack by mistakes. Causing more frustration on Cronus end.

Despite this potential spade relationship like improve their music and having real drama with eachother. Cronus will not engage or suggest it to being each other kismesis. Unlike Rufioh, Cronus cares about his quadrantmate. Even if he sees Eridan brotherly way. He'll take care of him and stand by them.

Dave wouldn't engage it ethiter cause of two reasons. One doesn't care about quadrants, and the other is well....Dave is trying to befriend Cronus or get some tips on improving his musical skills but Dave somehow finds a way to make the situation worse or embarrassing himself. Getting this guy hateing him was the last he wanted.

[kenshiv]

logan roy elvis presley fanboy canon!

[venus-haze]

i read ‘radio gaga’ {which was amazing btw- 12/10 fr} but now i want some delusional fanboy yandere elvis so bad- like he thinks everything the reader does/makes is dedicated to him. like maybe he met the reader before and since then just assumes they feel the “soul connection” he thinks they share and thinks they also lay awake at night thinking about him the way he does with them but in reality they don’t think about him that much- if at all.

dealer’s choice on wither it’s famous elvis or elvis before fame{or maybe an au where he never pursues music}- i do think it’d be cool{?? idk what word to use- interesting??} if maybe it’s famous elvis and he thinks he hit it off with the reader when they met but then during an interview or something the readers like “i met elvis once- which was weird, he came up to me gushing about my music and j was just like “whoa?? why is elvis talking to me this is crazy!” but afterwards i got to thinking about it and he was kinda weird and a little creepy, like maybe i’m reading into it but it was strange seeing a grown man act like a 13 year old fangirl, especially over me!” and he gets a little offended but just brushes it off as the reader being bashful over having fans and not being used to it

sorry that’s a lot- i just so much yandere austin elvis brain rot rn lmao i’m seriously abt to give into it and write something of my own

I love this concept omg! Radio Gaga was the first fic I wrote on here so it’d be so fun to do this take on it. Also if you do write anything with yandere Austin!Elvis please tag me because I 100% would wanna read it. I love reading other people’s yandere/dark fics and wish there were more🖤 Thank you so much for requesting.

🦇 Battie