#the beatles rare pair week | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

amnevitahwritesstuff · 1 month

Text

Feyre dies of old age. Rhys becomes a god to get her back.

Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses

Pairing: Feyre/Rhysand

Rating: Teen

Triggers: Major Character Death, Murder, Questionable Life Choices

Chapters: One-Shot

AO3 Link

For @officialrhysandweek Day 7: Free Day.

⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯

Across the Universe

Nothing’s gonna change my world.

Across the Universe - The Beatles

⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯

Once upon a time, Feyre died.

And, in one world, she was reborn. A high fae and High Lady to rule alongside her mate for centuries.

This was not that story.

Instead, Feyre died in Rhysand’s arms, an old woman.

They had had many happy decades together. And in those decades he had watched her body wither and tire. Her hair go bone white. Her skin turn pale and delicate. He did everything he could to delay the inevitable. Fed her rare tonics to boost her vitality. Scoured every inch of The Library for some spell or ritual to lengthen her life.

But, in the end, there was only so much one could do against the ravages of mortality.

And so, Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court, spent his mate’s final days clutching her frail body to his own like at any moment she would be snatched away. He whispered his love into her ears and into her mind and reminisced with her over the life they had shared.

“I only wish…I had given you children,” she said, voice frail and soft now. “So I wouldn’t have to leave you alone.”

“No,” Rhys replied firmly.

It had been one of his greatest regrets, that he had never managed to give her a child. She had thought it was her failing, but secretly he thought perhaps it was his own. After all, the fae were not a fertile race the way humanity were. Children were as rare as they were cherished. So he hadn’t been surprised when no children had resulted from their union. Disappointed, yes, but not surprised.

“Put it out of your mind. I wouldn’t change anything. You’ve given me more than I could have ever deserved.”

It was an old argument. One she usually was more than happy to repeat over and over again.

But, it seemed, she was too tired now to argue.

And that was what scared him most.

He had tried to coax what little food he could into her, as if her favorite delicacies would stave off the inevitable just that little while longer.

“Please,” he had begged her, holding a bowl of broth to her lips. “Please, just one more.”

And, dutifully, she had choked down a few swallows. He knew it was solely for his benefit, her appetite having all but disappeared these last few weeks, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He was afraid.

So very afraid.

And so, in a strange role reversal, it was the dying woman who found herself consoling an immortal in her final moments.

“Please don’t cry. You’re too pretty to cry. It makes me self conscious.”

Rhys couldn’t help but laugh at the old remark, even as he buried his face deeper into the hollow under her ear, staining her skin with his tears.

“Don’t talk. You’re wasting too much energy,” he scolded.

I’m going to die either way. She thought ruefully.

That just made him sob harder.

Her time came all too soon.

Rhys felt it when she finally died.

I love you, he said frantically to her fading consciousness. I’ll never stop loving you.

Feyre was too far gone to form real thoughts anymore, but he felt her love for him through the bond. Felt her sorrow at leaving him and the relief she felt at finally being free of the pained and broken body she was leaving behind.

And then the bond…broke.

And he felt her soul disappear beyond his reach.

And Rhysand felt a very necessary part of himself fracture and die with her.

⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯

He went mad for a while.

His duties to his court went ignored. The inner circle, Mor and Amren especially, took on the brunt of keeping things running and making sure his subjects stayed in line. Not that he particularly cared either way. He had all but barricaded himself in his townhouse after his mate’s death.

He left only once, for her funeral.

Rhys buried Feyre under her favorite tree. A weeping willow that grew along the waterfront. It had been her favorite place to paint. He dug the grave himself. And then, afterwards, he went back to his empty home and wallowed in his grief for nearly a century.

By the time he emerged, he was nearly unrecognizable to those closest to him.

“You need a haircut.” Mor had said. They were the first words she had spoken to him in a decade.

She hadn’t been wrong either. His once perfectly groomed countenance had fallen into ruin. He had even grown a beard, something unusual amongst fae considering how long it took to grow. But then…he had nothing but time now.

Mor took pity on him. She assumed he had emerged to return to his duties. To distract himself from his grief with work. And Rhys didn’t correct her.

It was easier that way.

For a while, no one really seemed to notice what he was up to. He’d been isolated for so long that erratic behavior was all but expected from him.

But then, slowly, things began to stand out.

Like his endless visits to the Library. Or the information gathering missions he would send Azriel on across the sea. Or the ever more dangerous voyages he funded to bring back rarer and stranger artifacts.

It only became clear what was happening after it was far too late.

Mor was the first to confront him.

“You can’t.”

Those were the words that greeted Rhys one afternoon as he left his home.

“Can’t do what?” He said, his mind already elsewhere. Mor latched onto his arm and forced him to a standstill.

“You can’t bring her back.”

That got his attention.

Rhys’s eyes narrowed. Not in anger. But in challenge.

“Can’t I?”

The words chilled Mor to the core.

“She’s dead Rhys.”

The look he gave her made every one of her hairs stand on end.

“She’s dead,” she whispered again.

“Yes,” he said. “But I’m going to fix it.”

And then Mor watched him stalk off, terrified of what those words meant.

⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯

Buried deep down in the darkest, oldest parts of the Library Rhys finally found his answers.

It seemed such a small thing when he finally brought it into the light. A brittle, fragile scroll made of vellum so ancient he wasn’t quite sure how it hadn’t crumbled into dust a millennia ago. It took ages to decipher the words upon it. The script was so faded and the language so archaic that even Amren had puzzled over it.

But Rhys was nothing if not stubborn and this too soon laid its secrets bare for him.

So many things he learned!

That there were other worlds. Whole sister universes. World just like his own with other Prythians and other Rhysands.

And, most importantly, other Feyres.

Of course, one could not just traverse between worlds as one would winnow from one place to another. This he knew all too well.

But, as it turned out, there were those who had.

The Daglan.

And so, it was with renewed conviction and fervor that Rhys saw the path now set before him.

He would become a god.

No matter the cost.

⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯

To become a god, he discovered, one must first kill another god.

And, as it so happened, he soon discovered a goddess sleeping underneath his court. A creature of unparalleled beauty with snow-white skin and hair as dark as the night itself, sleeping ever so soundly in a crystal sarcophagus.

A Daglan.

It was shockingly easy to kill her. Goddess she may have been, but she was still weak from thousands of years of slumber. It took barely any effort at all for him to slide his knife into her breast and soak his clothes with her wine dark blood. To paint it onto his skin. And then to tear her heart from her chest and consume it whole as the old scrolls demanded.

But that was only the beginning. Those same scrolls demanded sacrifice. A whole manner of them. Godhood was not something so easily won.

Nothing worthwhile ever was.

They called for a blood sacrifice. So he culled the Court of Nightmares. They demanded he give up something of great worth. So he burned all of Feyre’s paintings.

On and on they went. Greater and greater forfeits. More and more significant pieces of his soul bartered away so that he might finally touch the divine.

And have the power to restore what was lost.

“This goes against everything the Mother stands for,” one of the priestesses told him one night as he set the Library alight.

It wouldn’t do to have anyone else following the same breadcrumbs he had. He couldn’t risk someone gaining the power to stop him.

“If the Mother cared she wouldn’t have taken her from me.” He didn’t need to say who. “I’m only taking back what was stolen from me.”

The priestess lifted her chin in defiance. “This isn’t what she would have wanted.”

“It doesn’t matter what she wants,” he said calmly as he watched the flames swallow thousands of years of knowledge. “She’s dead.”

But not for long, he thought.

Soon.

⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯

It was a slow process.

One bought over many years and with a veritable ocean of blood. His blood. The blood of his enemies. The blood of the innocent. All of it ran together and baptized him anew.

No longer a creature of flesh and bone and sinew but of darkness and death and the endless void.

A god.

⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯

Divinity was tearing a hole in the fabric of reality.

It was reaching past the boundaries of his world and grasping onto another. Sifting through all the endless realities and worlds until he found the one he wanted.

One where she still lived and breathed.

And then it was only a matter of slipping through that crack he had made.

And taking back what belonged to him.

⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯

As it turned out, he didn’t have to search far before he found her.

He saw her, alive and defiant before a cruel queen he had not seen in centuries.

It took but the barest measure of his power to bring him before that broken (beautiful) human. Shocked gasps echoed through the mountain hall at his sudden arrival, but he heard none of them. All he could hear was the precious, lovely, sound of her beating heart.

Alive.

She was alive.

Behind him, the queen shrieked to her subjects. Once, this creature had tormented his nightmares, even long after she was dead and gone. But now, standing before her, he felt only irritation. Like the buzzing of a particularly annoying insect.

(And there was only one thing Rhys had ever done with annoying insects.)

With nothing more than a thought he tore open a hole in the universe and didn’t bother to watch the void swallow her whole. Around him, the crowd of fae shrank back in shock and terror.

All except for one.

His other self stared back at him.

Not that the other Rhysand knew it was himself he was staring at. He had been ever so careful to cobble together some semblance of his old mortal shape…though all he had managed in the end was a vaguely humanoid void. He was the vast darkness of space. The cold and unfeeling void. It was so very hard to contain all that now.

To be small.

But still, he had tried.

For her.

He heard the alarm from his other self then, as he realized this thing meant to take her. His mate.

(Because even then, he had known. He had always known.)

“Don’t worry,” the god said to his lesser self. And his voice was like the terrifying whisper that came from the shadows of a dark and empty room. “I won’t let you suffer without her.”

And then, with a sweep of his hand, the other Rhysand disintegrated. His atoms scattered like so many motes of dust on the wind.

It was a mercy.

After all, he had been forced to live without her once. He couldn’t very well subject his other self to the same fate. A god he may be, but he wasn’t that cruel.

He turned back to Feyre then.

She recoiled.

He felt her fear. Her confusion. But it took no more than a thought to wipe that all away and take her into his cold, dark embrace.

“Come,” he said. And then ushered her through the gap between worlds. Back to their home.

Where she belonged.

⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯○⎯●⎯

Once upon a time, the Lady of the Night Court died.

But then, one day, she appeared once again. Hale and whole and young once more.

No one questioned how such a thing had been accomplished.

Their High Lord was a god after all.

#across the universe #rhysandweek2024 #acotar fanfiction #feysand fanfiction #acotar #feysand #my fanfic #my fanfiction #amnevitahwritesstuff

45 notes · View notes

undead-supernova · 6 months

Text

I'll Pay the Price, You Won't.

Follow the Fever Dream / Masterlist

Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9

plot: let's go back to the beginning again, where promises can't be made but are waiting to be kept

Pairings: modernrockstar!Eddie x fem!popstar!Reader (curvy!reader, bisexual!reader)

Warnings: family death mention, "diet" mention, failed relationships, smoking

wc: 7.1k

Early May, 2024

There was always something so comforting about the sound of a stadium filling with people. The excited squeals, the chants. The hum of thousands of people all trying to get to their seats. It was something that lured you into the world of performance. It was like church, the way that strangers came together for this very special moment in time. Even if the setlist stayed the same, each concert was unique.

And you were running late.

In your humble defense, you had tried to catch an earlier flight to Indianapolis. But when you magically received a text from Jeff with a link to two backstage passes to see them perform, it had been nearly midnight. Two days before. You had to beg Clara to let you go, promising you’d get back on a plane the next afternoon to make it to the next stop of your tour in Arizona.

You knew it was risky, showing up here.

Corroded Coffin seemed so far from your wheelhouse, a departure from the box the world put you in. Any passing glance at the certified “Pop Princess” could wind up with you on E! News’ stupid fucking Instagram page.

And, for the life of you, you were not dressed like everyone else.

You’d opted for a cream-colored graphic tee with The Beatles on it (just to mildly piss Eddie off) paired with dark jeans and a pair of platform heels. It wasn’t much, but then again you didn’t really have much on you in terms of nice outfits outside of your stage costumes. Your main goal on tour was to be as lazy as possible in between shows. And, well, now that had flown out the window.

Scott had helped you navigate the back hallways of Lucas Oil Stadium. He usually never asked questions about the decisions you made. Rarely questioned your judgment on anything. He was good like that, trusting that you always made the right choices for yourself. And though he said nothing now, you could tell he was curious.

In the last, what, five years, you’d never once strayed from the schedule. You were on the bus, on the plane, hours before anyone showed up. Before shows, you were reading a book an hour before your opening act went on.

Makeup? Done. Hair? Done. Costume? Done.

But here you were, steering off course to attend a concert based off the text of someone you met once. So you could go see the guy you slept with. Once. Who you hadn’t spoken to at all in the last two weeks. Because you hadn’t thought to exchange numbers.

You were surprised not to find the band backstage, instead being surrounded by busy crew members making sure everything was running smoothly. None of them even gave you a second glance. Guess no one here was phased by a celebrity. Thank God.

But there, inching towards the curtain, were four people. Three guys and one girl. You didn’t realize you were walking up to a crowd of…high schoolers? Fans, perhaps? On the bright side, at least you weren’t sticking out like a sore thumb. None of them were dressed like the people in the crowd.

But there you were, too terrified to approach, nearly overwhelmed with anxiety as you awkwardly stood next to Scott. It didn’t help that you’d missed the entire opening act.

Attempting to glance out at the stage, you watched a few crew members finishing up with markers and mic stand heights. Fine tuning the drums one last time.

“Move over, Dustin,” the redhead huffed, bringing your attention back.

“Jesus Christ!” Dustin responded, shaking out his soft brown curls that suspiciously looked a lot like a certain man you knew. “I want to actually be able to see him.”

“Don’t be a baby.”

He huffed. “I’m not a baby, Max! Where’s Steve anyways?”

A kid standing next to Max smiled. “Probably making out with Nancy.” Him and Max immediately started making kissing noises.

“Gross!” Dustin exclaimed. “Cut it out. You’re as bad as Mike and El.”

“Shut up, Dustin,” the one you presumed to be Mike said. “You’re just jealous ‘cause you don’t get to see Suzie for another three months.”

“Oh, hello,” another voice said behind you, startling you beyond belief.

You turned, confused when you saw a very attractive guy much closer to your age approaching with two girls in tow.

And it took less than five seconds for the chaos to ensue.

“Holy shit, you’re—”

You whipped your head around to stare at the kids who were coming closer. On instinct, Scott stepped toward you.

“What the hell are you doing at a Corroded Coffin concert?” Mike asked.

The boy next to Max pointed at you. “No, seriously, you’re—”

“Shut up, Lucas,” she scolded, pulling his hand down. “She’s just a person. You are ridiculous.”

“Uh, hi,” you said finally, feeling your face grow hot. “Yeah, hi.”

The guy behind you got closer, holding his hands up in caution. “Sorry, none of these idiots know what manners look like.”

You took in his appearance, a yellow sweatshirt thrown over a pair of jeans. A particularly nice watch on his wrist. Voluminous honey hair and dark eyes that seemed to soften in the bright stage lights.

The girl next to him extended her hand, all pretty in light blue and white. “We’re friends of Eddie’s,” she explained. You shook her hand. “I’m Nancy. This is my boyfriend, Steve. And this is Robin, she’s a close friend.”

“Nice to meet you all,” you replied. “Wait, Eddie’s friends?”

Robin nodded, shoving her hands into the back pockets of her jean shorts. “Yep, have been since right before we graduated high school. Love your music, by the way.”

Before you could respond, Nancy asked, “How do you know Eddie?”

You couldn’t help but cross your hands over your chest, hands resting on your elbows. Everyone was still gawking at you. Well, except for Max who was doing her best to keep the other kids from staring. You appreciated it even if it wasn’t working.

“Um,” you attempted before clearing your throat. “Yeah, we met back at the Grammy’s a few weeks ago. Jeff invited me, actually. But, yeah. Eddie and I are friends.”

Each person held different expressions, mostly dumbfounded. Was it really that weird for two celebrities to get to know each other? Even if you were in separate genres? Did you really not fit in?

But Max merely nodded at you, taking your arm while saying, “Here, come up here. You can see the stage better from here.”

Face growing hot again, you nodded back and situated yourself (and Scott) between her and Mike.

“So you’re not together?” Max asked, looking up at you.

“Um, I don’t think so,” you said truthfully.

She raised an eyebrow. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Before you could say anything, the lights dimmed. The crowd started going absolutely haywire, and you couldn’t stop yourself from clapping. (Oh and shoving some earplugs in to save yourself some hearing damage.)

A hum sounded as a smoke machine began to kick up. The screens surrounding the stage started showing images, flashing over one another as a voice that sounded suspiciously like Eddie Munson started whispering in Latin.

From the opposite wing, you saw Ronnie, Jeff, Gareth, and Grant head to their places, fixing their ear-ins. It was clear the crowd hadn’t seen them yet, as entranced by the opening sequence as you were.

“You try to run, but they’re catching up.”

The video glitched, showing all the members running through a forest. They were clothed in medieval clothing, all dark and stormy. Intense makeup and headpieces.

“What will you do?”

Behind them, you could see dark figures sprinting, catching up before a horde barreled towards them from the front.

“Do you believe you have a chance?”

All four of them looked scared, surrounded in a circle as the camera panned around each face. One by one, they pulled out weapons and shields.

“They’re trying to control you!” the voice screeched. “They are corruption. They are filth.”

The camera panned up, showing an animated drawing of Eddie as a red demon from above the clouds layered on top of the real footage of the sky. His mouth moved along to the words, his face contorting into an evil grin.

“Only I can lead you to victory.”

And then you saw Eddie slowly rising from underneath the stage. Your heart started hammering in your chest.

“And who am I?” the voice concluded. “Your humble dungeon master.”

The crowd went berserk as the lights illuminated the five figures. Eddie jumped up, laughing as he headed straight into the opening solo for “Humble Dungeon Master.”

“Ah!” Dustin yelped. “Shit, this is my favorite song!”

Eddie was in a beat-up baseball tee with a faded image of a devil and some other objects around it. You barely made out the name Hellfire Club before he was moving further away, getting as close as he could to the crowd.

There’s something about watching Eddie move, swinging his guitar around and falling to his knees on the stage as he played. And you’d be lying if you didn’t find it extremely, extremely hot.

As the final chords sounded, you watched in amazement as everyone in the stands lost their shit. And they weren’t the only ones. Every single person standing with you was going just as wild.

Eddie, with his bangs already drenched in sweat, paused to grab a swig of water before he shouted, “GOOD EVENING!” A roar of applause and hollering ensued. “Tonight is a very special night, Indianapolis,” Eddie added, dramatically lowering his voice. “Do you know why?”

The entire stadium lost their shit again, causing Eddie to look back at the rest of the band. They were just as happy as him, beaming with pride and laughter.

“That’s fucking right! This is our home state, and, by proxy, you are our home. I don’t want to see a single fucking person not having a good time, alright? Jump in the pit, shred your vocal cords, whatever the fuck you need to do. Just promise us you’ll go as hard as you possibly can. And stay safe, of course. Can you do that, Indianapolis?”

The crowd’s reaction was deafening, even with your earplugs. You still heard every note, every breath.

“Let’s go!” Eddie yelled before starting the opening riff to “Fire Shroud”.

You mouthed along to the words, bopping your head along. It seemed comical, the way all eight of you were moving the same way to the beat. For a moment, you forgot your fame. You forgot that you were a well-known stranger to these people. You forgot your place in this world.

And it was then that you caught Jeff’s eyes, watching a grin spread on his face. You returned it with a thumbs-up and watched as he got Grant and Gareth’s attention before nodding over at you.

For a moment, you really felt part of something special.

Before you could process what was happening, Ronnie delved into a solo of her own. She earned a reaction unlike any other, the stadium booming with something resembling electricity. Eddie then came in, his picking following her beat perfectly. And then Jeff and Gareth came in, followed by Grant.

“Challenger” was one of your favorites. You couldn’t help but take a few steps forward, past the kids. Clasping your hands, you rested them against your chest.

Because the realization had hit you. They hadn’t stopped playing. They had just transitioned into the next song.

And it was incredible, the way the mosh pit opened wider than you’d ever seen before. A hurricane created by hordes of people, all stomping. All singing. All laughing. Helping people up, keeping everyone safe. You saw nothing but happy faces. Happy people.

You were hypnotized.

Well, until your trance was broken by a crew member telling you to stay back. You quickly complied, ending up between Max and Lucas. Scott was already right there next to you, shoulder to shoulder.

After another song, Eddie gestured for everyone to settle down before clearing his throat.

“Hey, I really wanna thank all our friends from our shitty little hometown who came out tonight,” he said, nearly out of breath. He turned to look at the group, waving. “Hey guys! Yeah, it’s really kind of them to come support—” He paused as his eyes finally found you there.

Time seemingly stopped existing.

It was the way you connected then, the world disappearing. The stage, the people. There was only you, him, and the harsh breaths leaving both of your mouths. A gleam sitting right there in his eyes, mirroring yours.

You found yourself grinning as you noticed his eyes widen.

“Um,” he tried to continue. “That-that they came to support me and the rest of our incredible band.”

You gave him a quick wave.

He waved back at you dumbly, a nervous laugh leaving his lips. The crowd continued to applaud, blissfully unaware of what was happening.

But you did.

And he was standing there in front of nearly seventy-thousand people, tongue-tied beyond belief because of you. Jesus Christ, he was making you dizzier by the minute.

“This next one’s for you guys.”

Quickly, Eddie collected himself, giving you a smirk before he took the neck of his guitar and looked back at the crowd.

“You sure you ain’t dating?”

You turned to look at Scott, a bewildered expression on your face. He only chuckled at you, nearly giggling before shaking his head and turning his attention back to the performance.

He was only teasing you. And yet, it started a fire in your mind. No, it set you on fire. Who was this man to affect you the way he did? What business did he have to pull you towards him, an invisible string of rope tethering you together?

And why was it working?

Slowly, you turned your head back to watch Eddie.

As they ran offstage (after a stellar encore), you watched Eddie greet his friends, all sweaty and giddy. Play-wrestled with Dustin and roughhoused both Mike and Lucas. Exchanged a special handshake with Max. Steve, Nancy, and Robin were next, earning the highest of praises and chuckling at some joke Robin made.

You hung back, not wanting to get in anyone’s way. After all, you were just a guest. Practically a stranger to Eddie and the rest of Corroded Coffin. And you never felt it more than when you watched Ronnie Ecker walk right past you, even when you’d offered a greeting.

Drenched in sweat with dark clothes and an even darker expression on her face. Despite the overwhelming excitement Jeff, Grant, and Gareth had shown you, Ronnie seemed far from it. It was as if you were invisible to her despite meeting her two weeks ago. She’d even complimented you. Made you feel elated. Nearly gave her stamp of approval.

Yet there she was, just walking away. Like you were just a ghost, a transparent figure that was too inconvenient for her to acknowledge.

But when you turned back to the group, you noticed Eddie’s eyes shift to you.

And the fear was swept away.

He skipped, literally skipped, over to you, grabbing onto your elbows and shaking you.

“What the hell are you doing here!” he exclaimed. You giggled as he jostled you around. “I didn’t know you were in town. How’d you even get back here?”

“I have my ways,” you replied with a smirk, not-so-subtly looking over at Jeff.

Eddie followed your eyes, nearly gawking at the man. But Jeff said nothing, chuckling to himself as he handed Eddie a towel and walked off.

When Eddie turned his attention back to you, his excitement bubbled over, tilting his head towards the ceiling. “Aghhhh!”

And his energy was rubbing off on you, a permanent smile on your face. He was genuinely happy to see you, wasn’t he?

You laughed before mimicking him. “Aghhhh!”

You stared at each other, faces lit up like goddamn Christmas lights.

“But seriously! Why’re you here?”

“Just seeing you, actually,” you admitted. “I guess I didn’t mention that I’m also on tour right now.”

“Oh, fuck, that’s right. Uh, how long are you here?” he asked, suddenly shy as he came down from his high. He removed his hands as he continued to blot himself with his towel. “‘Cause I’m, like, hanging out with my friends for the next few days and if you wanted, you could come along.”

The mere idea of Eddie wanting you to hang out with him and his friends after only seeing each other once was making your head spin. He really meant that?

“I would love to, but I’m only here until tomorrow afternoon.”

His face fell. “Oh, fuck. Okay. Are you, uh, staying anywhere? ‘Cause, you know, if you wanted. Um. I, uh,” he stumbled, continuing to wipe sweat off his neck as if his hair wouldn’t just drench it again. “You know, I’ve got the bus, but I share it with the guys and Ronnie. And, well, we could hang with them. If you wanted. But only if you—”

“You can come stay with me,” you interrupted, stifling a giggle at his flustered ramblings. “I’ve got a hotel room a couple blocks over.”

“Just us?” he questioned, a goofy grin reaching his lips.

Nodding, you felt your heart stammering in your chest. You were really doing this, weren't you?

“Yeah, just us.”

When you entered the hotel lobby, Eddie headed straight down the hall towards the vending machines. With you in tow, he kept a hand on your back as if he didn’t want you to feel left out of his plans. As if he wanted you there. As if he cared.

One after the other, he swiped his card as the machine buzzed and whined. The candy and bags of chips fell slowly, giving you a chance to stare at him. He was a vision to behold in the glow of the vending machines, his bangs nearly dry from his post-stage shower and dark eyes more concentrated than you’d seen them before.

“You could’ve ordered room service, you know,” you said, finally breaking the silence.

“I like to get my own,” he explained. “Makes me feel more like a person.” You nodded, unable to judge. Sometimes you felt the same way. “Want anything?”

You couldn’t help but nod, reaching for your wallet in your purse. “Yeah, I can get my own, though—”

Eddie placed his hand over yours. “No, sweetheart, it’s alright. You came all the way out here. Least I can do is buy you a candy bar.” As the words left his lips, your stomach growled. “Have you eaten anything?”

You shook your head, feeling sheepish. “Uh, no. I’m, like, on this diet for tour. I think I’d be nearly eviscerated if my personal trainer knew I was about to eat junk food.”

“What diet?” he asked.

Your eyes tried to find anywhere else to look, but you were trapped under his gaze. God, how the fuck did he do this to you?

“I basically don’t have any sugar which is the absolute worst. Berries, vegetables. Nuts even though I fucking hate it. Egg whites, never just eggs. Salads. And I, like, load up on protein before a show but she kinda encouraged me to do intermittent fasting when I can. So, I do that whenever I’m not performing.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Inter-what fasting?”

You could feel the heat reaching your face, embarrassment flooding your system. Crossing your arms over your chest, you tried to hide your stomach. “Intermittent fasting. It’s, like, fasting off and on between meals or days. Like, go one day where you’re not eating much while the next day you load up on food.”

Eddie looked away for a moment, as if he was trying to process the information before cocking an eyebrow at you. “So that’s just, like, starving yourself with a fancier name.”

That caused you to let out a nervous laugh, feeling the desire to hide from him. It wasn’t like he was wrong, and that’s what made it worse.

“Sorry but fuck that.”

Shrugging, you stated, “Just the life of a female popstar. What can I say?”

Eddie gave you a glance, one that felt like exposure. Felt like he knew exactly what you were saying. Felt like he was seeing through the barriers you were trying to put up. But he immediately replaced it with a slight smile and a bump to your shoulder.

“Well, I won’t tell if you don’t.”

You couldn’t help but smile.

After you told him what you wanted, you stated, “You’re friends with a bunch of high schoolers.”

His eyes flickered over at you, leaned up against the wall with your arms still crossed.

“Does it help that they graduate in t-minus two days?”

“Maybe,” you said, all amused and teasing.

“Dustin, Lucas, and Mike were in my Dungeons and Dragons club,” he explained. “Max just kinda fell in there. So did Lucas’ sister, Erica, but she still has an early curfew, so.”

“So, you’re like a big brother?” you assumed.

“Something like that.” Eddie shrugged before straightening up. Definitely tried not to seem insecure as he moved his foot back and forth. “Why? Is that a turn off?”

You kicked his foot with yours. “No, I think it’s cute.”

And he was right back to himself, relaxing. “Cute, huh?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, biting your lip.

As he started handing you your half of the junk food, he asked, “Wanna see how cute I can be?”

Just like that, your heart was speeding again.

Nearly squirming in your jeans, you nodded. “Yeah.”

Eddie stepped a little closer, nose brushing your forehead as he gave a swift kiss. You couldn’t help but shiver, feeling his lips move down towards your ear.

“I gotta get you out of that Beatles shirt first,” he teased.

It only made the wetness pooling in your underwear even worse. You backed away from him, shaking your head at the devilish grin forming on his face.

“I’ll lead the way.”

“Tell me something true,” Eddie whispered, pulling the white duvet further up his chest.

You instinctively did the same, readjusting your head on the pillow. After having sex with Eddie that was more than just cute, you’d resigned to lying in the dark. Heads resting on pillows, facing each other. Finally bitten by the chill of the A/C after the overwhelming heat had consumed your flesh.

And there was just something about making eye contact with him that kept you there. Unable to move. Unable to run away. Unable to remove the mark he was ultimately starting to make on you.

Because you thought about his question, the way it drew you closer to revealing secrets that no one else knew. Not even your previous exes. There was just something about him, something about how you felt.

“I had someone coach my Southern accent out of me,” you admitted.

“Why?”

“So people would take me seriously. People think that if you’re from the South, you’re an idiot.” Eddie looked a little sad, but you tried to shrug it off. “I have one sometimes, but that’s usually when I’m really, really upset and can’t, like, turn it off.”

“There goes my next question.”

You couldn’t help but giggle, reaching over to brush his curls behind his ear. “Trust me, it’s embarrassing. You’d cringe immediately.”

“I highly doubt that,” he whispered, taking your wandering fingers in his and squeezing slightly. “I think all of you is amazing.”

His words melted you instantly, having to close your eyes for a moment to really take it in. Were you really this smitten?

“What about you?” you asked. “Something true.”

“My mom died when I was young,” he said without hesitation. Your eyes widened. “And then my dad went to jail for some bullshit. Got killed after he got out.”

His words struck you somewhere deep inside, in a cavern that you didn’t realize existed. It was like you felt the weight of his grief radiating off him. It was a kind of heaviness that you weren’t sure you’d experienced before.

“Do you have any siblings?”

“No, I, uh.” He shook his head. “My uncle, Wayne, was the only one who stepped in to help me. We lived in a trailer park and everything.”

“Why wasn’t he here tonight?”

“He passed away about a year and a half after we got big.” The ache only got worse. “I’d finally got him away from working his ass off and bought him a house. He was so excited about living in a house, you know? Not so close to other people. A stocked fridge. But he started getting sick, like really sick, and he just…didn’t wake up one day.”

“Eddie,” you whispered.

But he just gave you a sad smile. “I kept the house I bought him, you know. I keep it exactly how it was when he was alive. Makes it a little easier sometimes.”

“That’s awful,” you said, wiping a tear rushing down his nose and over his trembling lips. “Thank you for telling me that.”

“Yeah,” he replied, sniffling before he laughed at himself. “I guess you’re not getting the best me, huh?”

You ignored the self-inflicted jab. “What is something you loved about Wayne?”

His eyes widened for a moment before they softened. “Oh, uh.” Eyes began to glaze over, clearly lost in some memory. “He had this mug collection. So ridiculous. Every time he made it to a show, he got a new one at the airport. Eventually, I just started adding mugs to our merch line to keep him from going crazy. But he had this Garfield mug that was my favorite.”

“Garfield?” you questioned, chuckling.

A hearty laugh left his lips, the sound sending your heart into a flurry.

“The one and only.” His smile brought yours back. “Pretty awesome, right?”

“I love it,” you whispered, moving your hand back to his hair. Taking him in. Drawing him back into you as if you’d lose him the moment the morning came. But for now, he was all yours. You were all his. And as much as it was starting to unnerve you, you knew that there was still an unspoken acknowledgement about what this was.

It wasn’t a promise.

Just a mere possibility of one.

And you’d never admit it, but a part of you hoped he’d never leave.

Mid May, 2024

Knock, knock.

“Yeah?” you asked, adding one last swipe of red lipstick.

It was Scott who opened the door, already fit with a hesitant expression. “Hey, hun,” he started. “You’ve got a visitor outside.”

“Who?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Corroded Coffin himself.”

This struck you as odd. It’d only been, what, five days since you saw him in Indiana? And now he was miraculously here, trying to see you before your set started?

“He’s here?”

“Mhm.”

“Right now?”

“Yep, and he wants to come in.”

“Okay, yeah,” you said, a nervous laugh bubbling up. “Let him in.”

Scott gave you a glance, his lips seemingly vanishing underneath his mustache. It was a look of caution, of protection. “You sure, honey?”

You rapidly nodded. “Scout’s honor!”

After a quick nod, he disappeared.

And without a beat, Eddie was taking a comical side-step, standing straight and tall at the frame of the door. He was clad in a Rolling Stones t-shirt covered with his signature leather jacket and black jeans. All chains and boots and Eddie.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he said before pulling a bouquet of pink roses from behind his back.

You looked down at the beautiful floral arrangement, heat flooding your cheeks. He’d gotten you flowers?

“My god,” he added. Your eyes went back up to his face, watching his dark irises wandering down your body. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”

You looked down at your baby blue bodysuit, dripping in glitter and sequins. A sweetheart bust, sinching at your waist. A set of tights underneath white thigh-high socks held up by a garter belt. A pair of white block heels.

“Oh, thanks,” you whispered.

And, yeah, you already knew you looked fucking fantastic. You chose the outfit. But the way Eddie was looking at you now, marveling you, it filled you with an emotion you couldn’t quite place.

Clearing your throat, you took the flowers from him. “What’re you doing here?”

He moved past you into the room, taking in the space as he turned back to meet your eyes. “Embarrassing myself to try and see you,” he said, giving you a sheepish expression. “Have you ever tried the whole ‘Do you know who I am’ thing on people? Trust me, it’s as humiliating as it sounds.”

A chuckle left your lips. “You could’ve told me! I would’ve gotten you a pass.”

“But it wouldn’t have been a surprise, would it?”

You rolled your eyes, going back to your chair by the vanity. Eddie sat down on the edge of the dirty green couch across from you. Laid his head on the armrest like a dog, looking up at you from under those pretty bangs and even prettier lashes of his.

“Is this some kind of Romeo complex?” you teased.

Eddie took the bait, his dimples deepening as he leaned in further. Batting his eyes, he asked, “Does that make you my Juliet?”

“Did you really come here just to flirt with me?”

He sat up, twisting himself around to actually sit on the armrest. Fiddled with his fingers.

“Well, my tour ended.”

“It did, did it?” you questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, yeah,” he responded, quirking up his eyebrows. “And I find it peculiar that your tour ends in two weeks, butyou have next week off.” Your head tilted in confusion. “And I was thinking that, uh, if you’re in California, we could hang out. If you’d like.”

Biting back a grin, you asked, “You want to spend more time with me?”

Eddie leaned in closer to you, nearly beckoning you towards him.

Voice all hushed, saying, “Yeah, why wouldn’t I?”

“I think I’d like that,” you whispered, drawing closer.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Knock, knock.

“It’s time to go!” Scott exclaimed from behind the door.

Both of you stood, but not before you caved and gave his cheek a quick peck. And before you could give him a chance to respond, you were skipping out of the door.

You performed the best you ever had that night.

It was strange, the way every smile you bore was genuine. There was no true performance added that night. No, you were running on a high that seemed far beyond your comprehension. And it gave you a feeling that maybe that’s what Eddie had felt the other night.

But you had next to no time to think about it when you were rushed offstage and immediately found him in the wings. It surprised you, truly. Unlike Eddie’s stage, yours was more theatrical, with dancers and props and platforms and guitars and pianos and ukuleles—

Essentially, you were not near him at all during your set.

So, when you saw him standing there, hands shoved into his pockets, you couldn’t help but grin and approach him. You thought about hugging him, but restrained yourself. This was a guy you still barely knew. Even Scott seemed to find the whole thing a little odd. And, sure, maybe it was on the outside.

But to you, it just made perfect sense.

God, you felt like a goddamn teenager. A damn child on the playground, running around in a bashful haze. A chase that wasn’t really a chase. If anything, Eddie was giving in to whatever this was. Spending the whole night in his arms, whispering about your lives and the plans you’d made for the upcoming week.

And when you woke up before him, you leaned over to apply your travel-sized Miss Dior perfume. You rearranged your hair, your wrinkled nightgown. Situated yourself back next to him and closed your eyes.

“Did you just…put on perfume?” No response. “I just saw you, you know. Saw the whole fucking thing.” Eddie leaned over, nuzzling his head in your neck. Moaned. “You do smell ravishing, though. Is that Dior?”

Your eyes flew open. “How the fuck do you know that?”

“Ah, look, I caught ya,” he said, causing you to groan and throw your hands over your face. “I like to smell the little perfume and cologne samplers in the magazines, you know?”

You finally looked at him, all droopy-eyed and goofy smile.

“Oh, you’re smart.”

“It’s interactive,” he responded with a shrug. “Can’t pass it up.”

You dressed in silence, making sure his wet jacket had dried without any damage. But before he left, he had the fucking nerve to give your neck one last kiss.

“Don’t try to make yourself something else in the morning.” One last inhale of your scent. “All I want is you, sweetheart. And I want it all.” One last graze of his teeth against your skin. “Don’t hide from me next week, alright?”

One last nod.

One last embrace.

One more moment leaving you in disarray.

You spent the entire week the two of you had off together. And it wasn’t just “hanging out.” No, it was playing card games. Sitting on your balcony with glasses of wine. Watching movies. Making breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. Shared baths and poolside kisses at his house. Meeting his cats and hanging out with Jeff who lived nearby. Sunrises and sunsets.

And in that time, you tried to find things about him that were cringey. Gross. Unsettling.

But it was…impossible.

And on that Friday, you thought you had it. Eddie had ended up back in your California home, tangled beneath the sheets for three hours before you officially tapped out.

He’d turned to you, holding up a joint and his lighter.

“Do you wanna smoke?” he asked.

You grinned. “Absolutely.”

As you threw on a tank top and shorts, you glanced over at his phone resting on the bedside table. You noticed that his phone case was deep charcoal, smattered with tiny red dice, a throne, and a crown. Right there in the center was his band’s name.

That’s it, you told yourself. He’s secretly self-absorbed and thinks too highly of himself. Massive ego. Absolutely insufferable behind closed doors.

But when you turned and asked, he looked…slightly embarrassed?

“It must seem so pretentious, right?” he said, pulling up his gray sweatpants. “I know. But really, I just like the cool art. I worked with the artist about a year ago and, I don’t know, I think it’s fucking awesome. And I got the whole band matching ones with little individual stuff to match their D&D characters.” He smiled as he spoke. “The guys got so excited. They’ve all got ‘em still.”

He shrugged, plugging it into the charger.

“That’s…actually really cool,” you said truthfully.

“Yeah?” He turned back. “You don’t think it’s weird?”

“Not when it means something to you,” you replied. “I just wish you’d be a little bit awful.”

That’s when you saw him smile, taking a step forward. “Why’s that?”

“So I have a reason not to like you as much as I do,” you said.

And you hated yourself for saying it. But there was just this thing he did where he made you tell the truth. It wasn’t even an impulse; it was as if it was instinct. Like your body didn’t have a choice. It just knew.

“I can be gross if you need a reason to go,” he suggested. “But just so you know, I’d prefer you didn’t.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What’s so gross about you?”

“Uh, I pick my nose.”

“Like everyone else.”

“I have the most iconic burps but the deadliest farts.” You couldn’t help the giggle that left your lips. “I’m awful about doing my own laundry. I have a lot of ass hair. Like, it’s almost a problem. My nails are wrecked from all the guitar playing.” He lifted his fingers, showing off his chipped polish and crooked fingernails. “Oh, and if I eat even, like, a bite of a burrito, I’m in the bathroom for an hour.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again. He really was just a normal person.

“Let’s go outside,” he suggested. “If I don’t have a joint and a cigarette, I think I might fall over and die.”

You followed him, heading down the wooden stairs, all the while saying, “You shouldn’t smoke cigarettes. Your poor little metal vocal cords must be suffering.”

Eddie threw up his hands. “Hey, I went down from five a day to one. Doesn’t that count for literally anything?”

“The jury’s still out,” you teased. “Also, for the record, I don’t think your ass is too hairy.”

“That’s because you haven’t seen it unwaxed, sweetheart.”

You opened the French doors. “I shiver at the thought of that being someone’s job.”

“Oh no?” he asked from behind you, grabbing your ass. You yelped as he added, “You don’t wanna do it next time?”

“Absolutely not.”

You grew quiet as you lit up, Eddie showing off his special lighter. It was a different look for him, some kind of flower sprouting from an orange liquid. Tangerine bulbs. A sage green top with a golden rim. A gift from his uncle, he told you. Given to him after his father died.

“Can I ask something true?” you asked as soon as he was done explaining.

You couldn’t understand why you felt so nervous to have questions. It was all you ever did these days, in between kisses and meals. During cheesy rom-coms and horror films. In the shower, over text. Anything and everything seemed to be laid out in front of you, no matter what. Eddie was an open book.

“Always,” he answered.

“Do you think about your parents a lot?” you asked.

“Not always,” he responded. “I mainly just wonder what their relationship was like.”

“What do you mean?”

“We kinda fall in line with what our parents lay out for us, don’t we?” he questioned, taking another hit. “Like, I’ve never had a relationship last or really had something special. And my parents had to be happy some of the time at least. Right?”

You didn’t say anything, still trying to follow his train of thought.

“I have to wonder if, like, we just end up as unhappy as them. Like, in the end, we really do die all alone. We’re not built to stay happy.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “You don’t think you could be happy with someone long-term?”

The pit in your stomach worsened as you realized you were really asking, You don’t think you could be happy long-term with me?

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I guess I just have always felt like, when I die, I’ll look back and realize that I never got the chance to be someone’s first choice.”

Before you could think, you said, “Maybe you just haven’t been given the chance.”

He looked at you.

And there was that spark, crackling in your abdomen. In your fingers. In your head. That moment when you knew that this had become something more. You’d gone on and on, day after day with his body here, his hands and fingertips lingering on every surface. Sitting at your kitchen table. Fingers pressed against buttons on remotes. Another set of hands to help you make the bed.

This man who you couldn’t help but feel a certain word towards.

That dangerous fucking word you’d never utter to yourself.

Eddie blinked several times before he became very interested in his socked feet. So you looked down, watching him fidget by wiggling his toes.

“You doing anything fun after tour?”

“I’m going to Pittsburg to see a few of my friends,” you explained. “We’ll probably go to some frat party.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “A college party?”

You shrugged, taking the joint. “They all go there. It’s actually fun to pretend I actually went.”

“Can’t blame you,” he said with a nod. “I didn’t get my GED until, like, a year after we really got big.”

Eyes widening, you nearly coughed out your hit. “Really?”

“Yeah. Fuck high school.”

You nodded. “Fuck high school indeed.”

“Don’t miss me too much while you’re out being a cool college kid.”

You snorted. “Oh, wow. Playing the missing game?"

“Why, you scared you’ll lose?”

You shrugged, shying away from him. But he had other plans, resting his hands on your hips before bringing you closer. Lips meeting the shell of your ear as he whispered, “I have a feeling you’ll never say it, but I will. I think you’re gonna win.”

“What makes you so sure?” you whispered back, breath hitching in your throat as he left a trail of kisses down your neck. The high was intensifying the sensation, each touch more sensitive than the last. You didn’t last long, mewling in his arms as you felt yourself go limp.

“Trust me, sweetheart,” he murmured, tightening his grasp on you. “You don’t even have to tell me. I just know.”

Eddie had to leave soon after that, needing to feed his cats.

You didn't mind, still out on the balcony. Deep in thought as the world hazed around you. And as soon as you were left to your own devices to parse your emotions, they began to swallow you.

See, you wouldn’t consider yourself a train wreck. No, you’d already been around too many. Something in you considered yourself the wreckage, the carnage in the aftermath. A burning storm, a flurry of ash. Standing in the center, surrounded by the flames. Who would come back to you after all that? Who would stand by you while you put yourself back together again? And who would stay?

There was no dark side to Eddie, no indication that there was something wrong with him. He had his moments, sure, but he was human. He was bound to have things that faltered. It never made you feel like there was something to send you running. And maybe that’s what was starting to hurt the most. Because what if someone caught you? What if someone had seen you in Vegas? Indianapolis? Seattle?

And it was in that moment, as you stared up at the moonlight, that you realized that this secret was the only thing keeping you together. What happened next if the press found you out? If the world looked at you, the woman who dated everyone, standing hand-in-hand with him, the man who dated everyone. Where would you be able to stand? Would it be a foundation you could build together? Or would one of you eventually find it too hard to cope with?

Would Eddie still stay?

You sighed, shoving your hands into your pockets. But your fingers wrapped around something lightweight, pulling it out to find Eddie’s lighter.

You grabbed your phone and texted him.

You left your lighter!

His response was immediate.

keep it safe for me, sweetheart. i’ll come back for it. and you. promise.

credit to @strangergraphics for this divider because it inspired me so heavily :')

#Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson angst #modern!eddie munson #modern!eddie x reader #Eddie Munson x female reader #boyfriend!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie #rockstar eddie munson #rockstar!Eddie x reader #rockstar!Eddie x you #modern!Eddie x you #boyfriend!Eddie x reader

52 notes · View notes

nickgerlich · 2 years

Text

Seeing Rainbows

It is rare when music can withstand the passage of time, sounding just as good today as when it was released decades prior. Pretty much everything by the Beatles comes to mind, as does Hotel California by the Eagles, and the rock opera Tommy by The Who.

But let’s not forget Dark Side Of The Moon, by the British prog-rock band Pink Floyd. Songs from that album are in steady rotation on SXM Channel 26, my favorite station. So popular was this album that it remained on Billboard’s Top 200 for 724 consecutive weeks, from 1973 to 1988. That was back when people bought their music, and artists could make a tidy living from the proceeds.

Skip forward to this week, when Pink Floyd updated its profile pic on its Facebook page, and suddenly heads started exploding with dark forebodings. With the 50th anniversary of the album’s release rapidly approaching—1st March—the band opted for a stylized “50” that included the same prismatic imagery of the original album.

It’s just that some people thought the band had gone “woke” and was making a statement of support for the LGBTQ community. Rainbows, anyone? Tell me you’re not a Pink Floyd fan without telling me you’re not a Pink Floyd fan.

As of this morning, there were 17,000 comments on that image alone. Who would have thought that something so simple as this would cause so many peoples’ undies to get in a bunch? And over a non-event in the first place? Sheesh.

Now please allow me to digress a bit. The word “woke” is perhaps to most over-used and misunderstood word being used these days. I bet that most of the people using it do not know its etymology, nor history of usage. Worse yet, it is used as a baseball bat against anyone with whom they disagree, and, typically, from Right to Left. All this in the last two years.

For the record, the first political usage of the word dates to 1962, and was used by African-Americans. Technically, it meant “alert to racial or social discrimination and injustice.” It was used sparingly from the 1940s forward, though, and only hit the zeitgeist by virtue of a New York Times article. More recently, it was used by BLM activists starting around 2016, but by 2021 had been co-opted by non-blacks as a derisive slur.

In other words, it never had anything to do with gay rights, veganism, women’s rights, or whatever seemingly deplorable cause du jour. But hey, “Go woke, go broke” became the rallying cry of the Alt-Right against any company or individual who dared go against their grain.

I do not allow politically motivated speech in my classes. It’s perfectly OK to disagree among us, even with me, about anything, but we must do so in a respectful manner. Don’t use the word “woke” unless you are trying to tell me you “woke up late and missed a deadline” or something like that.

But back to the music. Dark Side Of The Moon is arguably one of the best albums ever released. It has stayed relevant and current by virtue of being that good, but has also benefited from a little myth and lore too. It was in the mid-1990s that a newspaper columnist suggested pairing the album with the classic 1939 film, The Wizard Of Oz. Supposedly the music and lyrics matched the film’s actions minute for minute, as if it were a masterfully created soundtrack 34 years after the fact.

While the band has vehemently denied such intent, they have not argued with the free publicity. If it gets people playing your old album again, then have at it. Which brings me to my final point. In spite of the negativity and willfully exposed ignorance of many commenters, there might just be a silver lining on the dark cloud of social media.

You see, Pink Floyd is now getting tons of unpaid publicity about the anniversary, which necessarily includes a remastered release of the album on vinyl and CD, and even a planetarium tour pairing the music to a star show. While it is regrettable that so many people failed to see the intent of the new logo, and were quick to make accusations, it is also admirable of Pink Floyd to kind of just let it all happen. The PR machine can take on a life of its own.

And Money is more than just a song on that album. It’s what these guys are going to continue making. Got to keep the loonies on the path.

Dr “Everything Under The Sun Is In Tune“ Gerlich

Audio Blog

#marketing #50 #Pink Floyd #rainbow

12 notes · View notes

wilburyweek · 1 year

Note

will there be another wilbury week or beatles rare pair week this year? i understand if the answer is no, but i was just curious as i really enjoyed these events last year. hope you're both doing well :)

Hello hello! Unfortunately we're not planning on running these events this year :'( But! the wilbs and the beatles rarepairs are still great, so if anyone else feels inclined to run events like these, we would love to see it!

2 notes · View notes

hopeforelvis · 2 years

Text

Me and Elvis

PART 17

Pairings: Elvis Presley x reader

July 31, 1969

Dirty. You, y/n, are a dirty slut. A homewrecker. Why would you stoop this low? You might as well have thought it all because the headlines made you out to be some horrible person, calling you worse names and saying Elvis deserved Priscilla but you had grown thicker skin...and a little voice in your head somehow knew those nasty headlines probably had Colonel Tom written all over them. He fueled your defiance. So you stayed with Elvis. You fell back into your old ways. Traveling everywhere with him. Why not? It's not like Priscilla was around anyways. In fact she rarely showed her face and Elvis practically acted like he was an unmarried man, focusing all his efforts on you. He was wrapped around your finger and probably had been the whole time. What Elvis didn't know yet was Sam had sent a telegram calling off your wedding officially. You had broken Sam's heart and you did feel bad, you were human after all, but what mattered were your mother's, Sylvia, and Diane's supportive telegrams that made you feel better. You knew they had all always been fond of Elvis anyways so you easily went back to living your life with the king. This wasn't just another ordinary day though. Hell, no day with Elvis Presley was 'ordinary'. You had been at almost every rehearsal leading up to this day and knew how nervous he was. Colonel as much of a bastard as he was, scored Elvis a residency at the newest International Hotel in Las Vegas. It would be one of the biggest stages Elvis had performed on and he was filming it all for a documentary crew, which put him more on edge. Opening day had approached quickly and the whole hotel was bursting from top to bottom with Elvis mania. Elvis himself on the other hand was about to burst from his nerves. He had escalated his use of whatever pills his doctor provided and had him on standby at the show as well. You didn't enjoy Dr. George's presence though. He fed something Elvis seemed to be hiding and he would never disclose what exactly he would even take. Elvis kept this secret from you as well. You felt bad for Elvis and hated the secrecy, but you understood all too well especially after your stint at rehab, so you kept your mouth shut, for now. Elvis paced his dressing room after taking his daily secret meds and downed a bottle of water. Sweat was already perspiring on his well tanned face. In fact, Elvis probably looked better than he had in years. His stage outfit was a long white jumpsuit with an accented belt that hung on his hips. It showed his newly chiseled chest with bits of hair peaking through and his hair was in its newest style. You think back to when he decided on the changes making you giggle.

Flashback: "Beatle mania is sweeping the nation. These four are surly to capture hearts and our attention!" The newscaster finished the segment. You sat beside Elvis in the yellow and black entertainment room. All the tvs were set to his favorite stations and one in particular had grabbed both of your attention. "Well they look cool!" You comment, leaning into the crook of Elvis' arm as he casually stroked your hair. "Their heads look like bowling balls." He laughed. You join in. "My stylist the other week said it's the Beatle-Do." You laugh. "Oh? What do you think I would look like with that kind of hair?" He asked playfully. "It could suit you, but I love your hair babe." You say and ruffle it slightly, knowing all too well how he felt about people messing with his hair. "Maybr I should try something new. See what you and the guys at rehearsal think?" He thought. "Whatever makes you happy my love." You say and kiss his full lips grabbing hold of the hair on the back if his head. A few days later at rehearsals he showed up with his new hair style and you had to admit you loved the new style. It had more volume. End Flashback.

He looks over at you and stops pacing. "Do you think we'll have a full house? Do you think they'll like the new and improved me?" Elvis began rambling nervously as he usually did which made you giggle. You walk up to him and take his face in your hands so he's staring right into your eyes. "They will always love you Elvis. And so will I." You say and give him a kiss. You hear a throat clear at the doorway to his dressing room and all of his latest band, TCB stood there. John and Ron give each other looks and the rest are smirking at your public display of affection. "Oh screw yall!" You tease and Elvis casually flips them off, as he plants one last big one on you before they officially call for everyone to come to the stage. Elvis nerves are instantly calm with you. He only feels the adrenaline and excitement just knowing he has you, all his buddies, and adoring fans supporting him. He takes your hand and yet again you walk with him and the rest of the band and backup singers down the hallway to the backstage area. Everyone takes their places as Elvis stands with you off in the wings. He holds you to him as you both take in the moment that he's been preparing for weeks for. The lights suddenly go dim and the energizing entrance music starts. You can almost feel the excitement and hear the roar of the crowd as the curtain lifts. Elvis gives you one last kiss, gives the camera a thumbs up and walks out on stage. You quickly go to take your place at one of the tables in the front row with Vernon already sitting there and watch as Elvis electrifies the audience with his stage presence and amazing talent. He sounded and looked better than ever.

Priscilla makes her way into the giant auditorium. Tables were set up everywhere and he had already started his performance. She felt proud of him in the moment as she walked to the table that Colonel Tom was waving her down to. She quickly takes her seat and looks onward as he continues singing one of her favorites, "Love Me Tender". She sees his famous smirk onstage as he walks to one of the corners of the stage and leans down. She immediately recognizes you and of course Colonel was fueled with rage. Elvis leans down and plants a passionate kiss on your lips. Her hands grip the table as she fights back tears. 'Be a lady. Pull yourself together.' She thought to herself. She almost cant be surprised. She knew Elvis always had a love for you that was different than it was for them, but it still stung and all she could think about was Lisa Marie, hoping she would still love her daddy. This was her fight with him. Priscilla immediately stands. After all the fighting and pills, this was the last straw. She looked at Colonel who could see the hurt on her face. She then felt a small twinge of guilt and her anger towards you subsided slightly and rose towards Elvis. He was the one who messed things up to begin with. He lead her on far too long. Priscilla glances on, starting to feel worse about her own faults. She shouldn't be here. She makes her way out of the auditorium and mentally makes note to contact her lawyer....and to eventually contact you.

He would give you a kiss like that every night of the show for the next seven shows during the documentary filming. You took it all in as Elvis lived out his dreams in front of you, feeling at home being back in Elvis' life. There wasn't anywhere else in the world you'd rather be. You were both completely head over heels in love with one another and nothing could come between you anymore, so you thought.

PART 18

2 notes · View notes

allthemusic · 12 days

Text

Week ending: 3rd April

I don't think I know any of this week's songs. That's getting rarer now we're getting towards the late 1950s and early 1960s, though I suspect that there will be eras coming up that I don't know as well. Still, for now, it's pretty exciting - a genuine mystery!

Whole Lotta Woman - Marvin Rainwater (peaked at Number 1)

Is this our first song specifically about loving a beautiful, buxom woman? I think it might be - it's not explicit about it, but with lyrics about how she's a whole lotta woman / And she gotta have a whole lotta man, there's really not many more ways to interpret it. Saucy stuff, and it only continues in the same vein, with lines about how when she love me / She love me so hard / She almost make-a-me mad. None of it is explicitly sexy, but there's a definite wink and a nudge to it all. And you know what, I kinda like it. Marvin really appreciates his lady, and wants to please her, you know?

I think it helps that the song is just a good rollicking rockabilly tune, all electric guitar, wild piano and a low, meandering bassline, chugging along steadily as Marvin sings over the top, his voice betraying just a little bit of a country twang. It's an appealing mix, and that's before you get to the solo, where the guitar takes over the tune for a bit, doing a nifty little call and response with the piano. All very competent.

And yeah, it's not really deliberately saucy, or anything, but there's definitely a bit of a sly smugness to it, as Marvin sings about how he's man enough to satsify his whole lotta woman. Overall, I think Marvin's going for more of a "rugged hunk" image, and not the more fresh-faced, clean-cut thing that other rock and roll heart-throbs have gone for. There's a picture of him on the album cover I'm looking at, and he's very classically handsome, with these rugged eyebrows and a jawline you could break rocks on. So yeah, we're going for "manly man" vibes, I guess.

Marvin's an interesting character. Born to a father revelling in the excellent name of Cicero Percy Rainwater, he learnt piano until he lost part of his thumb, then trained to be a vet until World War II, at which point he joined the Navy and began playing guitar. Interestingly, he was apparently quarter Cherokee, and seems to have made a big deal of this in his stage routine, appearing in Native American-themed outfits and singing songs about his heritage. He was influential enough with it that when British guitar-player Brian Rankin decided on a stage name, he stole Marvin's first name, becoming Hank Marvin. And there are worse people to name yourself after, I guess."

I really appreciate the little chromatic run down the scale at the end, on the guitar. What a fun little touch!

La Dee Dah - Jackie Dennis (4)

I'm in two minds about this song. Genuinely, I can't decide if I find it appealing or annoying. It's got that perfect pop blend of nonsense lyrics, excessive enthusiasm and a quick, repetitive tune. By the end, the song is firmly in your head, and not in a good way - this is real earworm pop, designed to lodge in your brain and never ever leave.

Jackie Dennis has a high, strong voice that really cuts through it all. He was a 15-year old from Leith, discovered by a pair of comedians and nicknamed "the Kilted Choirboy" and "Britain's Ricky Nelson", and this seems to be one of his only two UK hits. He's very Scottish, and honestly, between the accent, the throwaway nature of the lyrics (La dee dah, oh boy, let's go, cha cha cha indeed) and the sheer volume of the backing singers, who sometimes almost drown him out, I'm not getting much from this song. I have genuinely no idea what the backing singers are singing, for example, at literally any point in the song.

It's not a bad thing. There's something kind of endearing in it, between the obviously genuinely teenaged voice - think Edinburgh Frankie Lymon, and you're not going to be too far off - a rare pre-Beatles victory for regional accents, and the sheer amount of good-natured nonsense here. I'm not going to argue that this is groundbreaking or essential listening, but it's a good, disposable bit of fun. The sax trills, the little vocal hiccups, the quick-fire backing vocals - everybody involved is having fun, you get the sense.

Okay, I've just looked up some pictures of Jackie, and he performed in a kilt, and just seems in every other picture to be doing something energetic and smily. It's genuinely quite cute, and makes me feel better about giving this admittedly quite irritating song a pass.

Maybe Baby - Buddy Holly and the Crickets (4)

And finally, the only returning artist this week, Buddy Holly, with a song that follows the increasingly familiar Buddy Holly formula of simple guitar chords, a pretty basic drum backing, and some striaghtforward, cute-but-slightly-dorkily-earnest lyrics about teenage love, all of them delivered with that trademark hiccup. It's generally pretty effective, and this song is not exception.

I have to say, I think that Buddy's making some poor decisions here. The song's about how Maybe baby, I'll have you / Maybe baby, you'll be true. If you're thinking that this seems a little uncertain, or non-committal, you'd be right - because it turns out that Buddy's love interest doesn't seem to really care about him, as he notes that it's funny, honey, you don't care / You never listen to my prayer, and finally just promises that when someday you want me / Well, I'll be there, wait and see. Whcih is sweet, but have you considered, Buddy, that she might just not want you?

I don't think this is a flaw, by the way. The whole point of the song is that Buddy's betting it all on a woman who he'll only "maybe" end up with. He knows she might never actually care, and is waiting for her anyway - the futility is the whole point! All of this could make it quite an angsty song, but Buddy doesn't really go that route, keeping it light, never going full-on emotional with it. This is mostly just a fun rock song about pining after somebody who doesn't seem to care, you know?

Throughout, you get these nice little echoes and aaaaaah bits from the backing singers, but they haven't been given much to do, and then, out of nowhere, you get to the middle, with this truly magnificent da-dadadada-da-dadadada-daa-da-da line that's maybe my favourite little touch in the whole song, as they are clearly trying to mimic the guitars. It's completely unlike everything else they've been doing until then, and it's entirely unlike everything after it. It's like they got bored of the admittedly rather boring job they were doing and just decide to go ham for, like, two bars. An odd but excellent choice.

I liked all three of these songs, and surprisingly enough, they actually work quite well and cohesively together. They're different enough to stand out, but they're all playing in the same rock and roll-rockabilly style, and all three have a similar level of straightforward competence, combining fluffy lyrics, guitar solos, backing singers and catchy hooks to deliver something that people were clearly keen to go out and buy. My favourite is really a gut feeling this week, there's not an objectively obvious winner, here.

Favourite song of the bunch: Whole Lotta Woman

#uk charts #1958 #marvin rainwater #jackie dennis #buddy holly

0 notes

brn1029 · 1 year

Text

On this date in music history….

April 27th

2013-A blue plaque was unveiled at Swansea railway station, Wales, honouring Peter Ham who co-wrote 'Without You', a hit for both Harry Nilsson and Mariah Carey. Ham who was a member of Badfinger were signed to The Beatles Apple Records label, (and enjoyed their biggest hit in 1970 with a Paul McCartney penned, 'Come And Get It'. Ham took his own life in 1975 at the age of 27.

2009 - Aerosmith

Aerosmith were to hold a free concert in Hawaii to placate angry fans who brought a legal case against them. Fans filed a class action case, which claimed the band had cancelled a sold-out show in Maui two years ago, leaving hundreds of fans out of pocket in favour of a bigger gig in Chicago. Lawyers for the would-be concert-goers said Aerosmith had now agreed to put on a new show, and would pay all expenses. Everyone who bought a ticket to the original concert would receive a free ticket.

1981 - Ringo Starr

Ringo Starr married actress and one time 'Bond girl' Barbara Bach. The pair met while filming the movie, Caveman, with Dennis Quaid and Shelley Long. In attendance at the wedding were George Harrison and Paul McCartney.

1976 - David Bowie

Customs officers on a train at the Russian/Polish Border detained David Bowie, after Nazi books and mementoes were found in his luggage. Bowie claimed that the material was being used for research on a movie project about Nazi propaganda leader Joseph Paul Goebbels.

1974 - Bruce Springsteen

A free afternoon event was held in the parking lot of the University of Connecticut, Ice Hockey Arena in Storrs. The four acts that appeared, Aerosmith Bruce Springsteen, Fairport Convention and Fat Back. Springsteen then went on to play another gig that evening at the University of Hartford in Connecticut.

1971 - The Grateful Dead

The Grateful Dead appeared at the Fillmore East in New York City. The Beach Boys also appeared on stage with the Dead, who together performed a short set of Beach Boys songs.

1969 - Pink Floyd

Pink Floyd appeared at Mothers Club in Erdington, Birmingham, England. Radio 1 DJ John Peel reviewed the gig as '...sounding like dying galaxies lost in sheer corridors of time and space'. Recordings from this show were included in the group’s 1969 album Ummagumma.

1967 - Sandie Shaw

Sandie Shaw was at No.1 on the UK singles chart with 'Puppet On A String', her third UK No.1 and the Eurovision Song Contest winner of 1967.

1963 - Little Peggy March

Little Peggy March started a three week run at No.1 on the US singles chart with 'I Will Follow Him'. At 15 years, 1 month and 13 days old, Little Peggy March became the youngest female singer to have a US No.1 record.

1957 - Elvis Presley

In a rare appearance outside the United States, Elvis Presley performed at Maple Leaf Gardens in Toronto, Canada where he wore his full gold lame suit for the last time.

1 note · View note

alsjeblieft-zeg · 2 years

Text

302 of 2022

How many sugars do you like in your tea?

I don’t drink tea.

Do you enjoy road trips?

I do, very much.

What about camping in the great outdoors?

Not really my thing.

Ever heard of a band called The Dresden Dolls?

Yeah, I even know a few songs by them.

What was the last movie you saw that made you laugh out loud?

I don’t watch movies.

What are you craving at this very moment?

Understanding.

Do you think The Beatles are overrated?

They are, but the music is okay.

Do you blog?

I have two blogs here on Tumblr, does that count?

Do your socks always match?

They do.

Who’s sexier? Musicians or jocks?

I don’t find anyone ‘sexy’, I just find some guys handsome and it doesn’t depend on what they do.

Regular or curly fries?

Curly fries?? Not a thing in my country.

Do you watch Lifetime movies?

I don’t watch any movies.

Who’s your favorite superhero?

Superheroes are lame, thanks.

What does your regular attire consist of?

A hoodie, wide leg or cargo trousers, and combat boots or Converse-like shoes. Typically in black.

Do you own any pairs of Converse?

No, but I have a similar style shoes. They are of the Fila brand and I love them.

Do you like pop music?

I don’t care about pop music. It’s too bland and mellow for my tastes. I’m more of a metalhead/hip hop person.

Popsicles or Ice Cream?

Ice cream.

How many pillows do you sleep with?

Three.

Do you go to church regularly?

I don’t go to church at all.

Have you or would you ever dye your hair a crazy color?

I have done it too many times in the past.

At high school do or did you participate in Spirit Week?

I don’t think my high school has ever done that. I don’t even know what it is.

Are school dances lame?

They are.

Are you good at solving math problems in your head?

Decent, I would say.

Can you perform any magic tricks?

Don’t know and don’t care.

Do you listen to vinyl?

No, I don’t. I like them, though.

Do you wear studded belts?

Not anymore, but I used to.

What kind of M&Ms do you like best?

I’m not a big fan of these at all.

Have you ever seen two movies at the theater in a row?

No. I wouldn’t even want to.

If you were to go to Starbucks right this second, what do you think you’d order?

Caramel latte.

Do you own any dice?

There are some in the house somewhere.

Do you like to wear cardigans?

I don’t think I’d like them even if I was a woman.

If I were to ask you nicely, would you please consider making a survey for me and everyone else?

Sure, but I’m not good at these things.

What is the worst thing a child has ever done to you while you were babysitting?

I’ve never been babysitting and I never will, stay away from me.

If you wear contacts, do they tend to get really dry after only wearing them for just a couple hours?

I don’t wear contacts for exactly this reason.

Have you ever watched any British television shows?

Yeah, I love Poldark. Such a beautiful series.

Do you own a nightgown?

No, I’m a man.

If you could get any pet right now, what would you?

Yet another cat.

Have you played Grand Theft Auto: IV? If so, what do you think of it?

I don’t play video games.

How often does your internet disconnect?

Very rarely. Now they’re doing maintenance, though.

Have you ever actually been stuffed into a locker?

What? We don’t do it in Europe.

Do you / did you decorate the inside of your locker at school with stuff?

I guess I has a poster in it. I don’t remember well.

How many teenagers do you know who have babies?

One, the daughter of one of my friends. She’s 15 and has one year old daughter.

Is there a fan in the room you’re in right now?

No, there’s a heating, though.

Do you believe that chivalry is really dead?

Not completely.

How much is your cell phone bill each month?

15€ or so.

Have you ever made a house out of a giant cardboard box?

Yeah, we used to do that a lot with the neighbourhood kids. One day we built two floors house and some kid who climbed into the upper box fell down to the ground. Thankfully nothing bad happened.

Have you ever made a tent out of sheets in your bedroom?

No, I’ve always had tiny bedrooms.

What’s the coolest thing you’ve made with Legos?

The toilet. I’m not kidding.

If you could keep your parents or trade them for other parents, which would you pick?

Jesus, what a question.

Do kiwis make you think of testicles or is it just me?

It’s just you lol. I see them every day.

Do you think it’s cool how peroxide gets all fizzy when you put it on a cut?

3% hydrogen peroxide, you mean? Hopefully not perhydrol.

Is there a piggy bank in the room you’re in?

No, there’s none in the whole house.

If I had to power to give you one thing right now, what would it be?

Good health.

Do you want to get pregnant right now?

Even if I wanted, I don’t think it’s biologically possible.

Do you know anyone who doesn’t like the internet?

Yeah, my friend Kenny. He hasn’t even had a smartphone for a long time and he doesn’t have any social media.

Do your grandparents know how to operate a cell phone?

My grandparents are deceased.

Have you ever housed a friend for a long period of time because they had no place to live?

No, never.

If you have a favorite comedian, have they ever been in a movie?

I don’t care about comedians.

How many sets of twins do you know?

My mum is one of the twins, and two of my coworkers are twin sisters.

Has anyone ever made fun of you for using proper grammar?

No, but if anyone did, I’d challenge them to talk in my native language.

Do you own any hemp jewelry?

No, I don’t.

Have you ever cut carpet with a carpet cutter?

I’ve never cut a carpet.

Are there any books you want to read?

The list is going on and on.

Is it before of after 3 pm?

Much after. It’s dinner time.

If you have younger siblings, are you very protective of them?

Yeah, I’ve been always protective of my sister.

If you have older siblings, are they very protective of you?

I don’t have older siblings.

What are your plans for New Year’s Eve?

Too early for that.

Would you like a beer?

Sure, anytime.

Have you ever played golf?

Nah, just watched and it was boring.

Is there a lake near your house?

No, there’s a water canal though.

#survey #q&a survey #random survey

1 note · View note

themagicalmysticalboy · 3 years

Note

Rarepair week, george&paul? Angst/comfort maybe? Let it be era? Hurt my soul :)

a/n: you’ve got it babe! i actually did some research for the flashback scene so it’s pretty accurate to reality, according to Ringo’s and some crew member's accounts.

Don’t Let Me Down

For as cold as it had been for the last month, the sun was shining high in the sky. A peculiar sight that brought a hint of warmth to Paul’s face but did not extend further than that. He could be in a summer's day desert and still feel the cold churn in his stomach. Looming tall and strong over him was the Abbey Road studio. The uncharacteristic beams of sunlight lit the many windows with a yellow glint. A million-eyed monster ready to tear him to shreds if he dared step closer. And he did dare. He peeled himself off his car and stiffened instantly. He’d been leaning against the passengers' door so long that when the wind hit his back it sent a shiver right through him. Or maybe it was solely his nerves. Either way, he didn’t plan to dwell on it.

A few Scruffs were waiting outside with paper coffee cups in hand and drink carriers stacked against the wall. So George was in. He had really come back. The cold churn rose to his chest. At this rate, he’d be a human popsicle by lunch.

There was a disjointed chorus of “Hi Paul” and “Good Morning” which he replied to with a courteous wave. He’d been largely turned off by the Apple Scruffs for some time now but there wasn’t really any malice. Having your house broken into was more than a bit off-putting, though. So he felt justified. George was the most tolerant of them, buying them coffees and breakfast foods every so often. They must have missed him while he was gone. Yeah. Surely they did. Because I did. Paul pushed the sentiment to the wayside. They still had an album to make. They still had songs to record and a documentary to be part of. He couldn’t let his emotions get the best of him again. That had only led to an explosion.

Preparing himself with a stiffened posture and pushed back shoulders, he walked into the studio with a smile. It was almost painful to keep up but the cameraman was already in his face and he refused to let on to his nerves. He needed some inkling of control here and there was so little of that to grab hold of these days.

When he walked into the recording room, he found people scattered across the room but he didn’t find John or Ringo. It was still early in the morning so it made sense but he was undoubtedly rattled by the realization, becoming more rattled when he noticed George looking at him. Paul didn’t dare meet his eyes, drifting down to his feet. He looked soft, despite his sharp features. Cozy in his furry boots and warm jumper. He missed looking at that face and touching that body and kissing those lips. He wasn’t sure how long it had been since he’d been able to do any of that. Too long.

George gave a thin-lipped smile before turning to Billy Preston at the piano. Was that a good sign or was this small sign of grace feigned for the cameras?

Whatever it meant, it drove Paul mad. He didn’t think he deserved forgiveness but he sure as hell would take it. There was no helping the intrusive memories of the aftermath of George walking out. He had done it so nonchalantly that no one was sure he had actually left until they got to the recording room and found him and his guitar missing.

Something had shifted in the room as soon as the three remaining Beatles looked at each other. John was breathing heavily with an icy glare. There was a glint in his eye that screamed danger. It was focused on Paul. Picking up the bass with a death grip on the neck, Paul just stared John down. There was a mutual understanding in the moment. The rage in both of them was bubbling over more and more by the second.

John yanked his guitar from the rack and they both plugged into the amps. No one seemed to remember the camera crew was still around. They just turned to Ringo, who was already at his drums, drumsticks in one hand, rubbing his eyes with the other. He was pushing so hard it had to hurt. And that was it. John squared up to the mic and began to scream the lyrics to a song they'd already wrapped up but they all threw themselves into it without question. Screaming, banging, and heavy riffs filled the studio. Nothing made sense and every fiber of Paul’s being hurt so much that he didn’t care. He wasn’t alone in the feeling, at least. They all felt some level of hurt.

Ringo was even mad- at the situation or at George or at Paul, it didn’t matter. He banged and slammed away like never before. It sounded so wrong coming from him but at the moment it was the only right thing to do. They sounded perfectly horrible. There was a distinct addition to the vocals and Paul turned to find Yoko sitting on George’s little blue stool, wailing along with John’s screams. Yes. Perfectly horrible.

When the song was up the energy was still poisonous and thick in the air. They weren’t done, not by far. Paul stepped up to the mic and John did not move away. With little notion of what he was doing, he went at the lyrics of another song. The words spat from his tongue with vitriol and fire.

They all needed to scream. Ringo was at the mic at some point, coming up with random words on the spot. Really just to have something to yell about.

When they finished, panting out the last seething breaths, Paul felt empty.

“Way to fucking go,” John yelled, eyes fixed on Paul. “Way to go.” his voice was drastically quieter, more tired and sad and hoarse, eyes drifting to his feet.

Paul’s bass suddenly felt a thousand pound heavier, pulling the strap down against his shoulder painfully. Maybe it was more the weight of his mistakes than the bass. Everything felt painstaking and dreadful for the rest of the day. The anger was gone and the screaming was done. There was nothing else to keep his mind from wandering into a wall of depression.

In the present, sans John and Ringo, he shyly grabbed an acoustic guitar and went to sit in a corner. He worked on one of his own songs, quietly strumming and murmuring. He didn’t like it yet, keeping it to himself. The awkward air in the studio only exemplified his need for privacy. So he stayed tucked away, only speaking when spoken to, like a good little schoolboy. George had even come over to ask about the song but Paul told him it wasn’t right just yet. There was no way he was about to embarrass himself on top of all this.

He went back and forth for most of the day. Playing several takes of various songs before turning back to his own song. There was a part on one of the songs that Paul found needed a quieter guitar part. The thought of addressing this issue to George was met with resistance. Was he really ready to address him? The guitar part could be addressed later, maybe. He could suggest another take tomorrow. But the song. It just wouldn’t be right. And maybe no one would be willing to do another take later. That struck a nerve in Paul that rang louder than the rest of his rationale.

“Maybe,” Paul started, resolving to look directly at George for the first time since he walked in. “The guitar could be a bit quieter next take, y’know? Just sounds a bit heavy.” He tacked on quickly, glancing at Ringo, “The drums too.”

Ringo gave him a pained expression. Paul looked George dead on with a weak smile, though he could see John’s cautioning glare in his peripheral vision. George’s eyes were dark and apathetic. His jaw was set tight.

George Martin came over just when he was about to respond. Oblivious to the tension between them, he clapped a hand on John’s shoulder with a grin. “That was a great take, lads. Why don’t you take a lunch break with the film crew.”

“Wasn’t good enough for Paul,” George huffed, leaving first. “But what is?”

George Martin didn’t hear the remark and walked off to talk with Mal.

“You’re really going to cock it up already?”

“What!” Paul went quickly to his own defense. “It was a suggestion, is all. I’m not treating him with kid gloves just because we had a row.”

“A row? He left the bloody band.”

“Not being a prick for one day isn’t kid gloves,” Ringo suddenly chimed in.

Paul gaped. “Caring about the songs is being a prick now, is it?”

John huffed an indigent laugh. “You’re painfully stupid.” He left with Ringo in tow before Paul could ask for any clarification. Not that he was sure he wanted any.

Stunned by the attacks, he stared blankly at George’s guitar. He had absolutely none of his friends at his side. He had managed to push them all away when all he wanted, so desperately, was to bring them together. They were slipping through his fingers like grains of sand and all he could seem to do was open his hands to quicken the fall. He’d lose them forever. It was all his fault. How long would it take? When would they figure out he wasn’t worth the trouble?

He just wanted them to be alright. He wanted to go back to how they were and just tour a bit. Play on stage like they all used to love. The band couldn’t rip apart. It just couldn’t because Paul would tear apart with it. And yet here they all were, at wit's end with one another. The connecting link to this free fall was Paul, of course. He had made Ritch leave and then George. It was all too obvious that John wanted out - surely Paul’s fault as well.

He couldn’t imagine a world without Ringo, John, and George playing at his side. He didn’t want to. It was something new and terrifying that had no qualms with keeping him up at night, even when three glasses of scotch in. He couldn’t recall the last time he slept without drinking. Even still, nightmares filled his dreams and made sleeping seem worthless and just as tiresome as not sleeping at all. What a poor excuse of a man he was becoming.

With a tight chest and burning eyes, he got up. Thankfully, the film crew had truly gone to lunch. He was mostly alone with a few straggling technicians in the booth.

There was no way in hell he could go to lunch now. Not while it felt like the world was out to get him. Not while he felt on the verge of crying. Instead, he decided to go outside for a smoke. The cold winter wind cooled his hot skin. He fell against the wall with a thud and bit his lip. His eyes were pricked with tears but he wouldn’t let them fall. Not here. Not now.

Dragging a hand down his face, he dove into his pocket and pulled out a spliff he’d rolled that morning for this very reason. His hand was caught on his chin as he eyed the thing. A beacon of hope.

He wasted no more time in lighting it. The earthy taste coated his tongue and warmed his throat. He relaxed on the exhale and repeated the process until his mind was a little numb. The carefree smoke floated high above before disappearing into the brisk wind. It would be so much easier to disappear with it.

“Stay gone too long and they’ll think you quit too.”

Tension pulled at his neck and traveled down his body. With an involuntary jerk of his fingers, the spliff fell to the concrete. He didn’t look at the newcomer and didn’t need to. The calming drawl could only be from one person.

“So?”

Paul reluctantly turned his head to find George’s steady gaze on him. Words abandoned his brain. “So,” he asked stupidly.

George’s features suddenly dropped and Paul noticed there had been a hint of lightness seconds before. Great. Already cocking it up.

“Oh, fuck you, then.”

“George! No, no!” He jumped forward and grabbed George’s wrist. “Please, love.”

There was hesitation in George’s step. He shook Paul’s hand off but did not leave. “Do you even care? Care that I left.”

His brow furrowed and his mind swirled back to life. “Of course. We were all-”

“I didn’t ask about the others. Did you care?”

It seemed like such an absurd question. There was nothing to suggest he didn’t. He was downright miserable. Was that not plain to see? Something inside him made him want to switch back on the defense. Deflect and reject. But he couldn’t let himself slip anymore. Everything was on the line now. His entire relationship was up to bat. He’d just be honest. And honesty wasn’t all that hard when your heart wrenched at the thought of this charade continuing for another second.

“Yes! I cared. I thought you’d never come back and I was terrified.” He was desperately searching George’s face for any recognition of belief. “You didn’t answer my calls for weeks and I thought you wanted nothing to do with me. If you don’t I can't even blame you at this point. Just tell me what I did wrong.”

There was no hint of emotion from George. He had a corked brow that could mean anything. The time passing with no answer couldn’t be good. Maybe he wouldn’t answer at all and just leave Paul standing here like an idiot.

“You want to know what you did wrong?” A look of contempt screwed up George’s features. “I don’t even know where I’d start.”

A weight crushed every bone in Paul’s body. He deserved this. He deserved the heartache and pain. The more it hurt the better George might feel. He just had to hold his asinine tongue.

“You treat me like I couldn’t find writing talent if it bit me in the arse.” Paul tried to interrupt, despite himself, with an explanation. “Shut up and listen!” George moved closer, sizing Paul up. “When’s the last time you took any suggestion I’ve made seriously? You’ve been screaming from the damn rooftop about staying together and getting back to basics yet you sit in your little fucking corner like a punished child, ignoring us to work alone. What’s the point, then? Just to show how much of a pain you can be? You act like you don’t want me- any of us- near your songs and then boss us around on our own.”

George was pulling in unsteady breaths. He leaned forward slightly, really looking into Paul’s soul.

“You weren’t even the one to ask me back. Had Ritch do it for you, you coward.” George pushed him into the wall and Paul took it. “And you have the gall to ignore me! Even when I came to you like a stupid loyal puppy! That’s how you see me, isn’t it? Your little puppy that you get tired of when it makes too much noise. Well, fuck you and your damn songs. Fuck whatever you think you’re doing. You’re not keeping us together and you never could.”

Just punch me. The thought was screaming at the forefront and wouldn’t settle. Too angry with himself to stop, he yelled back, “Don’t you think I know? I see everyone slipping away and turning from me and all I can do is push you further! No matter what I try or how good I think I’m doing, you’ll just leave me out cold.” Caught up in it all, he shoved George back. “And you’re not a puppy! You’re my mate. You’re- I love you, alright.”

His voice cracked and, god, he was crying. He was actually crying and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“Really just didn’t think you’d come back if I asked. And if that makes me a coward then sure. That’s what I am. If being a coward is what I need to have you near, fine.”

A muscle in George’s jaw tightened. He was stiff and his eyes were damp. His voice was so soft when he said, “Why didn’t you look at me? When you walked in you wouldn’t even really look at me. And when I tried to talk you just buried your head in your notebook.” He laughed mirthlessly. “But as soon as you have an issue with a song you go in with those big eyes of yours and I don’t want to hate you. It’s not fair.”

“You’ve said it, y’know. I’m a right coward. Scared to lose you if I speak and losing you just as fast when I don’t. Shouldn’t have turned you away. I shouldn’t have ignored you. The song- the stupid song. Don’t know if I even cared about how loud your guitar was. I just wanted to look at you, I think.”

“Looking at me now, aren’t you?”

And he was. They had been staring relentlessly and it felt good, no matter how much yelling they’d done. He wiped harshly at his cheeks to clear them of tears. “I’m sorry for being a prick.”

“Aye. You should be.” The words might have hurt if the corners of his mouth didn’t twitch up. He rubbed Paul’s shoulders and arms. “Just talk to me, okay? I won’t disappear, I promise.”

His smile was sad but genuine. All Paul could ask for. He nodded but then realized he already missed the point. “Okay,” he voiced. “Talking. Always been my strong suit.”

George’s smile grew and he pulled Paul into a hug. He hugged back fiercely, balling his hands up in George’s jumper.

“I don’t deserve this.” The words weren’t meant to leave his mind but they seemed to come of their own accord.

George moved him back and Paul almost pulled them right back together. “What do you mean?”

Bringing a hand up to caress George’s cheek, he tilted his head. “I don’t deserve to have you. Don’t deserve to have this band. Wouldn’t you be better off without me? I’m just here to cock it all up.”

“You… really mean that, don’t you?” With a shaky breath, George brought him back into the hug and gently held Paul’s head to his shoulder, petting down his hair. “No matter what happens to the band, it’s not because you don't deserve to have it. It’d be because we all need space, alright?” He held Paul a little closer. “And you don’t get to decide if you deserve me. That’s my decision.”

Paul nestled into the crook of his neck, scared to ask but not willing to keep it back. “And you think I do?”

“No. No. I just fancy hugging people I hate.”

Paul smiled into his neck. “Arse.”

#beatlesrarepairweek #mcharrison #mcharrison fanfiction #the beatles #George Harrison #paul mccartney #John Lennon #Ringo Starr #the beatles fanfiction #the beatles one shot #the beatles rare pair week

38 notes · View notes

thewordswewrite · 2 years

Text

Lonely Is Our Lives

Chapter 3 - Shout at the Devil

Pairing | Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader

!!VERY IMPORTANT A/N!! | I want to preface this by saying I DO NOT condone Billy’s actions throughout the series. I DO NOT condone his violence or abuse, ESPECIALLY against Lucas but also including Max and the others. At the time season two came out in 2017, nearly FIVE years ago at the time I'm writing this, I was very angry and frustrated at the world, resentful of a younger sibling, and disconnected from the people around me so I kind of latched onto Billy as a character and what he represented. I absolutely DID NOT understand what his actions against Lucas truly meant and I DID NOT register it as the racism it was. Knowing what I know now I've decided to write a fic where Billy is able to let go of some of his anger and have someone there to check him and his actions in order to set him on a better path. I wrote this for me as a bit of a redemption fic for both of us.

Playlist | Link | Chapter Three: Songs 9-12

Story Summary | One fateful 1983 night you narrowly escape death on Steve Harrington’s property while Barbara Holland is presumed dead. Left jaded and angry, you carry on towards your senior year in a haze of sex, drugs, and alcohol just to get through the day. But, when Billy Hargrove moves to Hawkins, Indiana during the fall of 1984 things get worse before they get better.

Chapter Summary | Your shift turns interesting when a certain someone shows up and you have a surprisingly serious talk. The week seemed like it was going to be uneventful but late Saturday night things begin to take a turn.

Story Warnings | explicit language, angst, abusive parents, smut 18+ minors DNI, heavy drug and alcohol usage, alcohol/drug abuse, implied physical abuse, injuries,

W/C | 3.8k

Taglist | @youcantbesirius , @xronniexo , @zzokks , @marihoneywk , @darlingjae

A/N | Honestly I was putting off writing this cause Saph leaves for college this week and I was sad and spending all my time with her but I finished it kinda fast once I started lol. I’m not leaving for school until September and now I have to be here all alone ;( Also Dacre has a poetry book apparently? -Smoe

You stared absently out the windshield of your parked car as you smoked. You’d caved and bought another pack of Djarum Specials on your way to work, much to your annoyance. You tried to be on time today and you’d left with just enough time to step through the doors exactly as your shift started but, when you’d passed the gas station on main street, you couldn't help but pull in and pick yourself up a pack.

You felt bad for making Robin, your shift partner, run the store by herself while you sat and puffed your bad mood away. She was just a year younger than you but her generally shy demeanor made her feel far younger. You’d gotten close over the months you worked together and could confidently say you’d become friends. The occasional head nod in the hallways and stray rides home were all that occurred outside the walls of Record Time and though your encounters rarely left your place of employment, you talked almost nonstop when at work. Whether it was about the newest album releases, or why she stared at Heather Holloway’s ass a little longer than necessary, you two wouldn't shut up.

You knew that once you stepped inside she’d give you an earful about being late so you gathered your senses and exited your car. As you pushed inside the shop, your ears were met with the low thrum of bass and cocked your eyebrow at Robin who sat disparagingly at the counter.

You huffed out a laugh. “The Beatles? Really?”

“Wow, how nice of you to show up,” She deadpanned.

“I’m fifteen minutes late, relax! And I’m guessing Heather was here?”

Robin’s eyes bugged out and she grumbled. “Would you keep your voice down please! And maybe I just like Oh! Darling, ever think of that?”

“Oh my god, no one is even in here!” You dropped your bag behind the counter before hopping on top of it and facing Robin. “And The Beatles are literally your ‘I’m in love and feel hopeless’ band so don’t try that with me.”

Robin stared you down defiantly but gave in when you shot her an unimpressed look. “Yeah, she was here.” She picked at her chipped black nails and sighed.

“I figured as much.”

Robin had finally admitted to you that she was a lesbian when you very bluntly asked her as much while you were closing up one night a few months ago. You’d seen her staring at a girl who had very curly brown hair and a wide smile and had been browsing the pop section for about ten minutes. When she’d finally come to the register and placed down a Madonna album, a red-faced Robin stuttered through almost the entire transaction.

When you asked her about it at the end of your shift, her eyes welled up with tears immediately and she begged you not to say anything. After a very long conversation, you’d gotten home almost an hour past your curfew and received a two-week grounding but when you dropped Robin off at her house and she gave you an awkward hug over your center console, you knew the punishment you got from your father was worth it. Since then, she’d stopped all the tepidness and became your favorite work buddy. A work buddy you loved to gossip with.

“Rob, I have had an interesting past few days.” You smiled tiredly at your coworker.

Robin looked up conspiratorially. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“So, there's this new kid and-” You were cut off by the jingle of the front door, annoyed at the interruption. You schooled your face into a customer-worthy smile and hopped down from the counter. “Welcome to Record Time, anything… speak of the devil.”

In front of you stood a gloomy-looking Billy and his sister who looked around the store eagerly. Seemingly spotting what she was searching for, Billy’s sister walked off, leaving the three of you alone.

“This the new kid?” Robin guessed from behind you.

Billy’s eyes flicked over to Robin and he shot her a flirty grin. “Billy Hargrove.”

Robin grimaced. “Pleasure.” You laughed when Billy’s smile dropped and Robin walked somewhere into the back to avoid the boy.

Billy raised his eyebrows in question and crossed his arms. “Talking about me?”

You matched his haughty attitude and stood, hip cocked out to one side. “Actually, I was before you so rudely interrupted.”

Billy looked ready to respond when a long-since familiar sound of a tape hitting the floor cut him off. Billy’s face immediately grew tight with anger and he balled up his fists. “Hey, shitbird, you’ve only got enough for one so you break it you buy it.”

“It’s no big deal, Hargrove.” You tried to cool the situation but his anger simply redirected itself to you.

“Stay the fuck out of this,” Billy took a threatening step towards his sister but you quickly walked around the counter and stood in his way. “Move.”

“How about we go outside, hm?” Your face was stony and your tone left no room for argument. “I need a smoke break anyway.”

Billy’s gaze shifted from where it was locked on the redhead down to you and finally, he looked away, the tension in the room easing slightly. “Fine.”

You called out to tell Robin you were taking ten while keeping yourself between Billy and his sister. You led him outside and pulled out your freshly purchased smokes. Billy eyed your choice of nicotine dubiously and you gave him a dirty look.

“No wonder you smell like that all the time,” He commented, his words fogging around him in the chilled November air.

“Like what?” You asked, a challenging lilt to your voice as you burned a cigarette.

You waited as Billy took a puff of one of his Reds and smirked at you, “Like Christmas.”

A pang of sadness hit your heart and memories of your childhood flashed in your head. You closed your eyes and smiled dejectedly, leaning your weight against the building. “My mom loved Christmas.”

You couldn’t tell if it was seconds or minutes that went by but when Billy finally spoke your hands felt like ice and your shoulder had gone stiff with the cold.

“I hate it here.”

“Me too.” You let yourself sink into a squat and looked up at where Billy was facing you and resting against the wall.

When he spoke again, his words lost the edge he so proudly paraded with, instead exchanging it for a tone inked with an unintentional sorrow. “California was perfect. This hick town can’t even compare.” Billy flicked his cigarette away and turned from you.

“Why’d you guys move?” You attempted to sound non-threatening as you let your fingers play with the fallen leaves on the ground. It wasn’t like you to push for details but something about Billy’s cold exterior was intriguing and, if you were being honest, a bit too close to home. You focused on where your fingers scraped against the hard concrete and not on how hollow you felt.

Billy’s voice was tight with hatred. “Neil wanted a fresh start with his brand new family.”

For a moment you stayed silent, contemplating your next words but decided it was worth it. “You should be nicer to her,” You suggested as you stood up.

“Who? Maxine?” he asked incredulously.

“If that’s your sister’s name then yes.” You saw him work his jaw and you tilted your head slightly.

Billy sneered, “She’s not my sister.”

You put your hands on your hips. “Don’t you think she might hate this too?” Your tone was a little patronizing but you couldn't help it. You knew selfish.

He shook his head, looking away. “It’s her fault we’re even here.”

Tutting, you kicked at his foot. “Is that really true, though?” Once again you heard the jingle of the entrance and looked as Maxine walked out of the store, already reaching into her plastic bag to retrieve her cassette. She stopped and glanced up at the two of you but quickly walked past and got into Billy’s car. “My house is still free Saturday.” You offered.

Billy’s tongue darted out and he licked his lips, eyes dark. “ Saturday,” He nodded.

~ ~ ~

The basketball game had been a disaster. The team had come out excited and ready to win but as the minutes ticked by the boys began to lose their coordination and were fumbling so badly that they were down twenty by the third quarter. Most of the team was angry by the end, shoving and baring their teeth at the loss. Billy took it the worst; he shouted and balled jerseys in his fists, nearly throwing Tommy H. to the floor when he made a snide comment.

You were quick to run up to Steve to comfort him after the team’s performance.

“Sorry about the game,” You smiled sympathetically.

Steve was rubbing the sweat out of his hair with a towel and shrugged. “It’s alright. I didn’t think we’d lose this bad but it’s whatever,” Steve took a swig of his water bottle and grabbed his bag. “We getting food?”

“Yeah, let me just talk to Billy for a sec,” You smiled wickedly at the horrified expression that comment earned you. You and Billy obviously weren’t close but you still wanted to try and comfort him about losing.

“Please do not talk to me about him. I’ll meet you at KFC.” He shoved you lightly and walked out the gym entrance.

Looking around, you tried to spot a head of dirty blonde curls but were left practically spinning in circles. You caught a glance of Tommy still packing his things and figured he would know.

“Tom!” You called out and the freckled boy looked up. “You seen Billy?”

Tommy’s face morphed into a scowl and he continued to pack up his belongings. “He left as soon as he was done bitching at all of us for losing.”

“Thanks anyway,” You shrugged, leaving to meet Steve.

It was annoying that he’d left without even acknowledging you but now it was nearing ten and you weren't even sure Billy was going to show at all. You stood on the cold tile of your kitchen floor and turned on the stove in preparation for your dinner. Since your hookup plans had fallen through, you decided a box of Kraft mac and cheese would have to be your company for the night. Huffing in boredom, you grabbed a stool from the island and dragged it over in front of the stove so you could quite literally watch water boil. You sat there and let your feet dangle and thump against the leg of the stool in rhythm while steam began to rise above the pot.

The house was uncommonly quiet with your father away; the TV was off and there was no yelling about everything you’d done wrong that day. Your father took weekly trips up to Chicago to get supplies for the auto shop as he was unwilling to pay the additional delivery fee. This meant that the weekend was the only time you had to yourself. You’d given your Saturday to Billy and he hadn’t even bothered to show up.

Finally, as you watched with glassy, unfocused eyes, the water began to boil and you ripped into the cardboard of the box, took out the cheese packet, and poured the uncooked pasta into the water. Just as you finished setting the timer, a knock at the door startled you. Glancing at the stove clock, you saw a flashing nine fifty-three and rolled your eyes. Billy would show up this late for a screw. You unlocked the deadbolt and pulled open the door to reveal an abused-looking Billy who refused to meet your eyes.

“What the fuck happened to you?” You blurted, unable to control your curiosity.

Billy huffed and pushed past you into the house. “You got a bathroom?”

You looked at him concerned but pointed to the first door down the hall and watched as he walked inside, the sound of the sink following after him. You hesitated to step forward before finally committing and following Billy into the bathroom. You stood, hip against the doorframe, and resolved yourself to not tiptoe around the situation.

“Who’d you piss off?” Billy was attempting to clean the gash on his cheek but hesitated at your question.

He took a second to glance at you in the mirror but quickly looked away and continued to dab at his face. “ You’re the one who told me to ask Steve where you lived.”

“Steve has never once won a fight and you look like you lost,” You pulled an unimpressed face and sighed. “It’s okay that you lost just-”

“Leave it alone,” He warned, eyes fiery, but you reached towards him anyway.

“Give me that.” You snatched the bloody washcloth out of his hand as he turned around to face you but, before he had the chance to move, you stepped forward and trapped him against the sink. Billy could’ve easily gotten out from where your hips held his against the ceramic counter but he let you hold him there.

Slowly, you ascended onto your toes and reached past his shoulder to open the mirror behind him. You reached farther and farther until your face was mere inches from Billy’s and when you chanced a look at his face, his eyes were already locked onto your own causing you to let out a harsh breath in surprise. When the air hit his neck, Billy shivered, goosebumps rising along his skin. You broke your gaze and grabbed the rubbing alcohol, leaning back on your heels and effectively granting Billy his personal space back.

“You better know what you’re doing,” He grumbled.

“Relax. I know how to clean a wound,” You reassured, pouring some of the liquid onto a clean portion of the cloth. You took part in a stare-down as Billy leaned away from you and you raised your eyebrows at him in expectation. A few seconds elapsed until Billy conceded, letting himself sag and you to raise your hand to his face. You took his jaw in your unoccupied hand and turned his head to better reveal the cut to you before pressing the alcohol-soaked towel flat onto his cheek, nearly cupping it. Billy hissed at the contact and you smiled softly. “Sorry.”

Billy was uncharacteristically quiet as you searched the rest of his face for more injuries, from which you noticed a bruise blooming around one of his eyes as well as his throat. You took a step back from him and threw the soiled cloth into the sink. You knew how to make quick work of cuts by now since that fateful night at Steve’s, and deftly applied butterfly bandages across his cheek to hold it together in an attempt to avoid scaring. Though it wouldn't diminish his attractiveness, you were sure he wouldn’t want a reminder of the fight. Finishing up with his face, you grabbed his hands from where they hung limp and ran your fingers over the unblemished skin of his knuckles. He didn’t fight back.

“Billy, what happened? Who did this to-” Once again he cut you off but this time it was with the rough plushness of his lips as he kissed you.

His arm found itself around your back, holding your waist softly against him as he pressed into you while his other hand simultaneously fisted into your hair and urged you closer, the contrast of his actions almost confused you. Most of the time he was unnecessarily rough and crass, never letting anyone close to him but just then in the bathroom, he let you cradle his face and patch his wounds with little complaint. Now he let you take charge within the kiss while still keeping you right where he wanted you. It seemed the only time he knew the rules of give and take was during moments like these. Billy’s thumb was caressing your cheek softly as he bit your lip, and you moaned into his mouth. The moment was broken though when you suddenly heard the sizzling of water spilling over onto the stove, sending you to hurry into the kitchen.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You quickly moved the pot off the burner and turned down the flame. The pasta was essentially mush and water, now sitting in small puddles around your stove. You ran a ragged hand into your hair and groaned.

Billy had exited the bathroom and walked up behind you with a towel. “How about you leave this to soak up and we go to your room?”

You went to shoot him an annoyed look but when you caught sight of his flushed appearance, you couldn’t help but smile. You haphazardly used the towel to soak up as much water as possible and quickly grab Billy’s hand to lead him upstairs.

The journey was short and you soon found yourself underneath Billy on your bed as he kissed you. He held himself above you with his forearms so your mouth was never too far from his own. As you kissed, your fingers scrambled down to your sweatpants and undid the knot at the top in order to slide them down. Once you had them down and off your body, you moved to the button and zipper of Billy’s jeans. As you pushed them over his ass, Billy trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. His hand found its way under your shirt and began to tug it up to grant him better access to your chest.

Your hands shot up and grabbed his own to rip it away from your body. “No, leave my shirt on,” You ordered.

Billy looked confused, his eyebrows pulled together and mouth agape. “Why? I wanna see.”

You stared at him, helpless until you devised a challenge. “I'll tell you… if you tell me who beat your face in.”

Billy shook his head and went back down to kiss you. “No deal,” he murmured against your mouth. He pulled his own shirt over his head and finished kicking his jeans off so you were both staring back at each other, him clad in nothing but underwear and you in your shirt.

With both hands, Billy found the elastic of your underwear and shimmied them down your sides until they were off and discarded to the floor. You let your legs drop open as his fingers ran along your core and slowly dipped inside. The stretch was nothing, but the way he curled his fingers had your mouth dropping open in a silent moan. His thumb simultaneously circled your clit and he captured your mouth in a kiss, licking into it as he got you off with his fingers. Your pleasure climbed and you felt your nails dig into Billy’s back as his fingers kept a swift pace.

“Billy, please, ” You begged as you chased your orgasm.

Billy’s fingers slowed, much to your annoyance, and your eyes flew open. “You close?” He purred in your ear and you nodded hastily. “I want to hear your voice, baby.”

“Yes! Please, Billy, I need you!” You nearly sobbed when he finally began to move faster and urged you on with whispered praise into your ear.

You came with a loud, broken moan, shuddering as you came down. You realized your fingers had been coiled into Billy’s curls until you let go, causing him to wince at the release of pressure. You inhaled deeply but barely had time to catch your breath before you heard the crinkle of condom foil. Soon after, Billy was plunging his cock into you and holding your hips with a bruising grip.

With each sharp thrust, you zoned out in bliss to the sound of his skin slapping against your own. Unable to do more than grip at your sheets, you arched into him to try and find your sweet spot that would have you seeing stars, whining when you couldn’t find it.

“You feel so good for me,” Billy vocalized through stuttered moans. He grabbed one of your legs and threw it over his shoulder to get a better angle and when he did, you gasped. He was now relentlessly thrusting into you in a way that had you cumming on his cock in seconds.

Billy though wasn’t done and tears pricked at your eyes in ecstasy. He uncontrollably pumped into you until he himself was cumming as well. He pulled you to him and took your mouth in a kiss, all teeth and urgency while he came down from his own high.

When he finally let you go, your chest heaved in air and sweat cooled on your body, making you shiver and pull up the blankets. Billy bent over at the end of your bed and took his cigarettes out of his back pocket.

He was about to put them away when you cleared your throat. “Lemme bum one?”

“This gonna be a theme?” He chuckled and threw you the box along with his lighter.

“It will as long as you keep giving them to me,” You smiled with one of his smokes hanging off your lips and lit it.

You watched lazily as he dressed, searching around your floor for his previously discarded clothes and putting them on with deft hands. He stood in your mirror and fixed his hair, curling some of the pieces around his finger until they were back to their original ringlet shape.

“You want to be a little more gentle next time?” He gestured to his wild hair but you only laughed wickedly.

“You want to be a little more gentle next time?” You parroted back at him and he rolled his eyes, sighing at you. He stood awkwardly, fully clothed and watching you, which left you to break the silence. “I’ll walk you out.”

Billy nodded and you twisted yourself off the bed to stand on unsure legs, slowly walking over to him. He let you lead him downstairs and to the front door, stopping in front of it so that your eyes could once again scan over his injuries. You worried your lip between your teeth but decided to leave it alone for the night.

You opened the door and gestured outside with an open hand. “Well, it’s been lovely, California but I think this is where we say goodnight.” You smiled and he returned it before walking out. You locked the door behind him.

With a sigh, you looked at the evidence of your failed dinner scattered across the floor and remembered the bloody mess in your bathroom. What the fuck happened tonight?

102 notes · View notes

elspethc22 · 3 years

Text

Whose shirt is it?

Sciles Week day 7: What's yours is mine, what's mine is yours

Pairing: Scott/Stiles

Word count: 928

‘Dude, that’s my shirt!’ Stiles said, looking at the top Scott had on. Scott looked down at it, then back up at Stiles.

‘Uh, I don’t know what you mean.’ He said, looking around at his pack as they stood in his kitchen.

‘That shirt is totally mine. I’ve been looking for it for weeks. Have you had it the whole time?’ Stiles demanded, moving closer.

‘You must have left it here, then. It was in my room.’ Stiles narrowed his eyes at Scott.

‘And you just didn’t notice it was with your stuff this whole time or that it was mine when you pulled it out this morning? Even though I’ve been talking about trying to find it for weeks?’ Scott bit his lip, trying to think of a better cover story.

‘I thought you meant a different top.’ Scott could’ve smacked himself.

‘A different top? A different light blue top with a picture of the Beatles and the words The Beatles inside a cloud?’ Stiles asked sarcastically.

‘Um… yes?’ Scott tried, and Stiles threw up his hands.

‘Just tell me why you stole my shirt – ’

‘Because it smells like you!’ Scott blurted out, before his eyes widened in embarrassment.

‘It… what?’ Stiles asked, confused and lost for words. In any other circumstances Scott would be proud of rendering Stiles speechless – it was a rare occurrence.

‘I…’ Scott didn’t know where to go from here.

‘Well, I think that’s our cue to leave.’ Lydia piped up from behind Stiles, and Scott vaguely heard murmurs of assent from the rest of the pack as they moved out of the kitchen, and then out of the house. ‘We’ll just… meet you guys at the lake.’ Lydia said before she followed.

It was spring break and the weather was nice, so they were heading up to Lydia’s family lake house for the day. Well, that was the plan.

‘What do you mean, it smells like me?’ Stiles asked once they were alone, and Scott wanted to shrug the question off, but he knew Stiles wouldn’t accept that. Stiles took his hand, giving it a squeeze. ‘Come on, Scott. I’m not gonna make fun of you, just tell me.’

‘I… I took it just after you escaped from Eichen House.’ Scott admitted. ‘We had no idea how to help you, save you, and you weren’t you– the last time I’d seen you before you checked yourself in… you didn’t smelllike yourself and after I couldn’t believe I hadn’t noticed that. But I think I was so happy you were back after going missing that I didn’t want to question it. But you were gone again and I… I went to your room, I just wanted to… I don’t know what I wanted, but this top was there and it smelled like you, and I missed you, so I… I took it.’

He stared at Stiles, who was looking sad now at the reminder of all they been through recently. It had been weeks since they’d separated Stiles and the Nogitsune, destroying it, nearly losing Allison and Aiden to the Oni. Today was supposed to be a good day, a day for them to just be together as a pack and have fun. But when he’d gotten up that morning, for some reason, he’d needed that extra comfort he’d gotten from the shirt, so he’d slipped it on.

‘I… Scott, you could have told me.’ Stiles said, before pulling him into a hug. Scott clung to him, before Stiles pulled back slightly to press a quick kiss to Scott’s lips. ‘Now… does it have to be this top specifically, or is it just anything that smells like me?’

Scott looked at him, then down at the top.

‘I mean, this is just the one I picked that day, and I just kept it. But I guess, it could be anything that smells like you – why?’

Stiles stepped back, then stripped off his top. Scott’s eyes widened.

‘Dude, what are you doing? We’re in the kitchen and mum’s upstairs in bed!’ Scott exclaimed, and Stiles chuckled.

‘Get your mind out of the gutter, Scott. Now c’mon – get that top off. Here.’ He held out the top he’d just been wearing, and Scott realised what he was doing. He dropped his bag to the floor, then pulled the Beatles top off, holding it out for Stiles to take, and accepting the top Stiles held. He pulled it over his head, inhaling the smell of Stiles that clung to it – he realised it had really faded on the other top since he first found it.

‘From now on, if you want one of my tops or anything that smells like me, just ask. What’s mine is yours.’ Stiles said. ‘Hmm, this kinda smells like you. It’s nice.’

Scott smiled.

‘Well, if what’s yours is mine, what’s mine is yours too.’ Scott told him, and Stiles grinned at him.

‘I like the sound of that.’ Scott grinned back, before reaching out and snagging Stiles by the waist, pulling him back in for a kiss.

They were a little late to the lake, and they caught some ribbing from the rest of the pack especially since they had swapped shirts. But when Stiles glanced over at Scott when everyone was discussing some inane topic and saw Scott ducking his head to catch the scent that clung to the top, he smiled.

He’d give Scott all of his shirts if it made him feel better, made him happy. And he knew Scott would do the same.

#sciles #sciles week #scilesweek 2021 #sciles week 2021 #scilesweek #scilesweek day 7 #sciles week day 7 #sciles relationship #sciles fluff #scott and stiles #scott mccall #stiles stilinski #mccall pack #teen wolf #teen wolf fanfiction

48 notes · View notes

etoileholland · 4 years

Text

lead me to your door

@mayberosey asked: The Tom and reader are neighbors (apartment setting) and every time he passes by her apartment, she plays different types of genres. She would play classical to jazz to rock to indie and so on. Tom finds it endearing that she has such wide range of music taste, but one day it just stops. And it lasts for maybe a week or two. So he’s worried but doesn’t do anything. When he finally hears music playing, the sounds are more mellow and it doesn’t change for a few days. That’s when Tom decided to knock on her door...

Pairing: Tom x female reader

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: none

A/N: so I've been on a lil hiatus from writing but I finally finished this so I wanted to share it. Requests are open and I’m personally out of ideas, so please don’t hesitate to send something in. Although please don’t send in any requests about drama revolving around Tom’s girlfriend, I’ve already received a few and I won’t write those xx also the gif isn’t mine, all credit goes to its respective owner

“L, is for the way you look at me. ‘O’ is for the only one I see, ‘V’ is very very, extraordinary…”

Tom smiled to himself when he heard the faint music from the other side of the wall. It was 8am and his neighbour was already playing music. It was something that he had to grow accustomed to when he moved in about a month ago. At first it was a bit annoying to always hear some form of music from the apartment right next to his, but now, he welcomed it.

He was eating breakfast in the kitchen, and the music accompaniment was a nice way to start the day. He mouthed along to the familiar words, a smile erupted on his face as he enjoyed his scone.

Tom had grown to find there was a schedule with the music that he heard from next door. Since today was Monday, it was usually old jazz tunes, like Sinatra, Benny Goodman or Louis Armstrong. Tuesday’s were a mix of contemporary pop music, Wednesday’s were nothing but music from The Beatles, Thursday and Friday were dedicated to Harry Styles, Saturday’s was an array of songs and genres from the ‘60s to about the 80’s, and Sunday's were nothing but sad songs, the theme usually revolving around unrequited love.

He often wondered why there was such a distinct schedule, and why you only listened to sad songs on Sunday’s. It had become a bit of a game for him to try to figure out why, but so far he’s settled on the idea that maybe you had your heart broken on a Sunday, and therefore, dedicated sad songs to that day only.

On the weekdays, the music would stop around 10am, and would pick back up again around 6pm, and would cease around 9pm. It was rare to hear music past that point, which made him think that you went to bed extremely early. And on the weekends, the music would go from noon to midnight, which suggested you stayed up later.

He loved building a fantasy around the person he deduced based on your patterns and music choice, but the truth is that he had never met you. He had no idea who his neighbour was, and he didn’t want to knock on your door in case you were a creep or something.

He figured his neighbour was a female, since he often heard a light airy laugh from the other side of the wall, but it could be a man with a really high pitched laugh. Or you could be married, or old, but he had no idea, and frankly he had no intention of finding out.

Until one day, the music stopped.

It happened abruptly, he awoke one day on a Tuesday morning and realised that there wasn’t any music coming from your apartment. But he didn’t worry since he figured you were either sleeping in, or you had left early for work or something. He was gone the whole day at a rehearsal for the show he was in, so he didn’t think twice about the silence.

The next day, Wednesday around noon, he was hoping to hear the melodic voices of Lennon and McCartney from the other side of the wall, but once again it was silent. Usually at this point in the day, you had already finished the first two Beatles albums, and were quick to put on ‘A Hard Day’s Night’. He began to wonder if maybe you were out of town, but the nagging thought in the back of his head wondered if something bad had happened.

I’ll give it a few more days, and then if I still hear silence, I’ll check up on them, he thought to himself.

—

A week had gone past, and still radio silence. It was beginning to worry Tom, and he knew that he would have to go check on you, but every time he tried, he couldn’t.

He would head out to go to the gym, and would walk past your door, hesitating to see if he should knock. His hand would hover over the doorbell, but always stopped a centimetre away from pushing it.

Maybe they moved, or maybe something really bad happened, he thought, or maybe they’re out of town?

The thoughts swirled around his head, making him anxious and flustered until he decided that he shouldn’t bother you. And besides, how would he even start the conversation?

He backed away from your door, but then swiftly took a step forward and nearly knocked on the dark wood grained door.

What am I thinking? He thought, before beginning to pace the hallway while he thought of the best way to handle this. Don’t be dumb, there’s no good way to start a conversation with them. Would I really be stupid enough to say, “‘Hey, not to sound like a creep but I noticed I don’t hear you playing music anymore?’ or ‘hey, so I’ve never once spoken to you before but I can always hear you from my apartment and I find pleasure in knowing you’re alive but now I hear nothing and I’m assuming the worst?’” They’ll call the cops on me for sure.

He paced around in front of your door for about a minute, until walking back in the direction of his apartment, surrendering to his ever-so-increasingly intrusive thoughts.

—

Today had marked two weeks without hearing music from your apartment, and Tom had grown increasingly worried. If it’s still silent by this time tomorrow, I’ll confront my fear and knock on the door.

Miraculously, he didn’t need to knock on your door at all. When he awoke at 9am on a Tuesday, he almost didn’t hear the faint music playing from the room on the other side of his bedroom wall.

He pressed his ear to the wall and could hear a somber song playing. His eyes nearly welled up with tears when he realised that you were okay. But as the day went on, he grew worried. Tuesday’s were your ‘pop music’ days, but he only heard sad Taylor Swift songs.

Well that’s odd, they only play those on Sunday, he pondered.

The next four days were filled with heart wrenching ballads, somber piano music floating through the air. The nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach never went away, and he knew that he would have no choice but to knock on your door.

He figured the best way to go about it was to inquire about the music, and say that as a caring neighbour, he wanted to make sure all was well.

Standing in front of the mirror, wearing his favourite pair of jeans and t-shirt, he left his apartment and walked over to your front door.

You can do it Tom, just say you’re concerned about their health and well-being.

As he lifted his arm to knock on your door, you had just opened your door and were startled to see someone standing in front of your door.

“Holy shit!” You exclaimed as you closed your door, but Tom put his hand out to keep your door open.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t trying to startle you.” He exhaled, stepping back into the hallway.

“I figured, I’m sorry for that, I just wasn’t expecting anyone to be standing on the other side of my door.”

“Me either.” He breathed, holding an arm out and propping himself up against the wall. “Were you about to head out?”

“I was just going to go down to pick up a package from the front desk, but it can definitely wait.”

He nodded his head and unsuccessfully pushed a stray curl away from his face, it falling right back near his eye in a matter of seconds. You stood there admiring the man in front of you, making a mental note of the loose curl in front of his face, and his slightly awkward demeanour. He was handsome, and you found it cute how he was speechless.

“Well, do you mind telling me why you were just about to knock on my door?” You inquired while Tom let out a small laugh.

“Right.” He placed his hand on the back of his neck and took a deep breath in. “I don’t want to overstep, but I was wondering if everything was alright with you?”

He saw a distinct shift in your facial expressions, but he continued to ramble on. “It’s just that I can always hear you playing music from my apartment right next door, and I love hearing it, but I noticed that it stopped for about two weeks. And then when it started again, it was only sad songs and you only usually play those on Sunday’s. Oh gosh, now I sound like a creep for observing that and I promise I’m not, I just thought it was odd and I wanted to make sure you were alright.” He took a deep breath out and paused before saying, “I hope that wasn’t too weird.”

You laughed lightly, before saying, “I’ve experienced weirder. But thank you for checking up on me…” you trailed off, realising that you don’t actually know your neighbours name.

“I-I’m Tom.” He stated, and you told him your name as well.

“It’s nice to meet you Tom, and once again thank you. I just went through a hard patch in my life, and listening to sad music made me feel better, in a way. But it’s nice to know you care, so thank you again.” You smiled, and Tom smiled back.

“Right, well I probably should get going since I know I’ve already made the weirdest first impression,” you both laughed, “but I’m glad to know you’re alright. But if you’re not, my apartment is 2B so you’re more than welcome to come over.” He blushed, gaze fixed on the carpeted floor.

“It was a perfectly fine first impression, but if you don’t mind me asking, do you like my music choice?” You laughed, and Tom’s face broke out into a smile, brown eyes piercing through yours.

“I wasn’t expecting that question, but yes, absolutely. I’ve found a lot of good songs and artists because of you. I’ve been loving FINNEAS’ album, and ELO, so I can thank you for that.” He grinned, the crinkles by his eyes becoming prominent.

“You’re welcome.” You had your door open all the way now, and you could smell that your pizza in the oven was nearly ready.

“Mm, that smells good.” Tom commented, and you looked into your apartment to make sure the oven wasn’t on fire.

“It does, I made some pizza and I think it’s nearly done.”

“I think so as well.” He added, the both of you sharing a comfortable silence. “I’ll let you eat though, but I’m glad to know you’re alright.” He smiled and began to take a step back when you lightly grabbed his arm, surprising you both.

“Wait, would you want to come inside? I made enough pizza for at least two people, and I also have a bottle of wine if you’d want some.” You asked, hoping that your very attractive neighbour would say…

“Yes, I’d love that. Only if it’s okay with you, of course.”

“It is okay, I asked you.” You smiled, and Tom laughed nervously.

“Right.” He half smiled.

“Well, come on in.” You motioned for him to step in, “let’s eat and listen to some music, yeah?”

“Absolutely.”

————

mes anges (taglist): @scarletxwidow @sunflowerhollands @fangirlwithasweettooth @taciturnspidey @musicalkeys @harrysleftchelseaboot @quaksonhehe @halfblood-princess-505

#tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x female reader #tom holland blurb #tom holland imagine #tom holland imagines #tom holland and you #tom holland and reader #tom holland and y/n #tom holland fluff #tom holland one shot #tom holland one shots #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfics #tom holland #tom holland writing #mine #text

252 notes · View notes

justthehiddleswrites · 4 years

Text

Trivia Night | Stephen Strange x Reader

Pairing: Stephen Strange x Reader

Summary: Stephen can’t pass up music trivia night at a local dive bar. But what should have been a landslide win is a bitter battle. Has Stephen met his match in more ways than one?

Warnings: drinking (not underage)

Stephen stopped in front of the non-descript bar. A colorful banner hung against the faded brick facade. Music Trivia Night Every Thursday!

“Well, don’t mind if I do.” he commented to himself as he ducked in.

Bodies crowded the small bar. The smell of smoke still clung to the walls despite the smoking ban. He noticed the groups gathering around tables with buzzers. He approached the nearest group.

“Mind if I join you guys for trivia night?”

A somewhat rotund man who came up to only Stephen’s shoulder pushed up his wire-rimmed glasses.

“Are you any good?” he questioned.

“Try me.” Stephen smirked.

“What was the flip side of the last number one hit for the Beatles?”

“The last number one of the Beatles was The Long and Winding Road…” The man smirked as he turned. “…For You Blue is the flip side.”

The smirk disappeared and was soon replaced with a huge smile. The man extended his hand.

“Welcome to the team. Name’s Matt.”

Stephen shook his hand. “Stephen.”

The group did quick introductions as Stephen took a seat and one guy handed him a beer. Stephen sipped, grimaced at the bitter, watered down domestic beer. He pushed the glass and flagged down a server to order a more suitable craft ale.

“With you we might stand a chance.” Matt joked.

“Yeah, perhaps you are the one who can take down The Terminator.” another guy called Chris chimed in.

“The Terminator?” Stephen glanced around the bar to see if someone who was a worthy opponent to his own mind. “Can you see him?”

“She sets up by the moderator.” Matt gestured to one side of the tiny room.

Stephen’s eyebrows rose in interest. A woman? He chuckled to himself at his luck. He felt more confident than ever as the event started.

“Okay everyone, let’s get started!” The emcee’s voice reverberated against the brick walls. “Welcome to Music Mania, where the points and the answers matter.”

Stephen zoned out as the emcee read over the rules and prizes of the night. He had half a mind to use his powers to see the outcome, but what was the point, he always won when it came to music.

“Round 1!” the words punched through his thoughts and brought him back to reality.

Everyone playing hunched over their tables, ready at the buzzer.

“Question 1: The band Duran Duran is named after a character in what movie?”

As Stephen moved to slam the buzzer he overheard BZZZZ!

“Terminator?”

A soft voice lilted through the air. “Barbarella.”

Stephen banged the table with his fists. “I knew that one.”

“Sure you did.” Chris muttered off to the side, nursing his Miller Lite bottle.

“I can go to another table.” Stephen hooked his thumb over his shoulder.

“Not necessary, Stephen. Can I call you Steve?” Matt questioned.

“I prefer Stephen.” He took a long draw on his bottle. “What’s the matter with your friend?”

Chris shifted in his seat, glaring at Stephen. “I’d rather not say.”

“The Terminator shot him down. And now he is bitter.” The rest piped up.

Stephen resisted the urge to chuckle. “You’re mad at me because you got rejected? I like this girl more already.”

“Listen—” Chris started in.

“Question 2: What year was Frank Zappa admitted to the Rock n Roll Hall of Fame?”

Stephen slammed the buzzer with lightening speed to hit it first.

“At the back?” the emcee asked.

“1995.” Stephen smirked, confident in his answer.

“Correct! Looks like you have some competition out there, Terminator. What’s your name back there?” The emcee shaded his eyes.

“T-3000.”

A smattering of chuckles and gasps came across the room. You popped your head up to see who dare to challenge you. Your eyes met a tall, goateed man sitting at the back. He winked and smiled at you. Scowling, you sat back down.

“This means war.” you whispered to yourself.

The emcee shrugged. “Looks like we have ourselves an actual competition. Onward and upward!”

The two of you steel yourselves for the next question.

“Question 3: Which country singer adopted the alter ego Luke the Drifter?”

You hit the button so hard it jumped on the table.

“Terminator?”

“Hank Williams.”

“Can you be more specific?”

You rolled your eyes. “Hank Williams, Sr.”

“Correct!”

You turned to see Stephen grumbling and grousing to his tablemates. You smiled. It was rare you had competition in trivia; the adrenaline was pumping.

“Question 4: What was the second music video to air on MTV?”

Stephen buzzed in first. “Video Killed the Radio Star by the Buggles!”

“Oh, that is incorrect!” the emcee hissed.

You buzzed. “I believe that was the first video. The second was Run to You by Pat Benatar.”

“Correct!”

“Shit!” Stephen yelled, and you noticed the sound of beer mugs clattering as he hit the table.

“Next time, listen more!” you taunted.

“Eyes forward.” he retorted.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I believe there is a rivalry. Let’s play on! Question 5: Who was the oldest artist to top the UK charts?”

The two of you hesitated for a moment before Stephen buzzed in. “Louis Armstrong in 1968 for What a Wonderful World.”

“Show off!” you bellowed.

“I believe that answer earns a bonus point.” the emcee responded with a smile.

“You’ve never given me bonus points!” you stood in protest.

“You have never given an answer like that. Looks like you have met your match.”

“More like my next victim.”

“The way you go through men that is probably accurate.”

“Next question, please.”

Stephen couldn’t hear the animated conversation between you and the emcee, but he spied your growing frustration. It pleased him to no end. He found himself more and more enchanted with you.

“Question 6: Which 80s song was re-released in the UK in 1991 and went straight to number 1? Name the artist and the song.”

You got to the buzzer first.

“The Clash. Should I Stay or Should I Go.” You replied.

“Correct!”

The rounds continued to bounce back and forth like an excited ping pong match. The entire bar invested in the match with all the other teams dropping out to spectate. People took sides cheering and jeering. The room buzzed with electricity. By the time the regular round ended, you and Stephen were tied.

“For the first time, we have a tie!” Everyone cheered. “Can I have the two competitors come to the front?”

Stephen rose and made his way to the stage at the front. You settled onto an uncomfortable stool. Stephen meanwhile looked perfectly at home as he folded up his long limbs to take a seat. You ignored the growing tightness in your chest as you gazed upon him.

“Now for the tiebreaker question. Terminator, T-3000, grab your pen and paper. Question: Of the over 600 songs Elvis sang, how many did he write? You have 15 seconds. Closest to the answer wins.”

The entire bar erupted into the Jeopardy theme as the two of you wrote down your answers. You placed your paper in your lap confident. Stephen winked at you from the barstool on the other side of the makeshift stage.

“Okay, time’s up. Terminator your answer.”

You flipped your paper to reveal the number zero.

“And T-3000?”

Stephen revealed an answer of thirteen.

“And the winner is…” The emcee bounced his head between you and Stephen. “… Terminator! She guessed right with zero!”

You pumped your fists in the air and did a little victory dance. Your hips shimmied back and forth. The motion hypnotized Stephen. In that moment, he decided.

“Excuse me.” He tapped you on the shoulder.

You spun to come face to face with your closest competitor. “You’re taller than I expected.” You extended a hand. “No hard feelings?”

He shook your hand with a firm grip. “On the contrary, I am delighted to find someone who meets my own knowledge of music. Tell me how do know so much.”

Your gazed dropped as you shuffled your feet. “My dad was a bit of a savant for music. We would talk about it every Sunday over breakfast. I was a sponge.”

Stephen smiled softly. “That is a charming story. Perhaps I could hear another one sometime. Maybe over dinner this week?”

Your head snapped up to meet his gaze. You stared into his ice-blue eyes.

“That sounds nice, uhh…”

“Stephen Strange. Dr. Stephen Strange.”

You introduced yourself.

“Pleasure. So what do you say Tuesday at 7?”

“I think I can swing that.” you croaked back.

“Until then.”

“I look forward to hearing some stories from you too.”

Stephen chuckled. “Yeah about that…”

#dr. stephen strange #stephen strange #stephen strange fanfiction #stephen strange fanfic #stephen strange fluff #stephen strange x reader

50 notes · View notes

brucewaynehastoomanykids · 4 years

Text

I'm not who you think I am

Azarath metrion zinthos...

Aza--

The Titans alarm blared through the tower, distributing Raven's meditation session. She mentally groaned today was not the day to be dealing with villains.

For the last few weeks, it seemed like the world was out to get her. Between dealing with her own emotions, her father, Garfield and Jaime arguing over petty things that they would more likely forget about later, and Kori breathing down everyone's necks, she was bound to lose it at any point.

The only person in the tower that really didn't seem to give her any trouble was Damian. I mean, they were a couple after all, and even if they weren't, it wouldn't be anything new. However, in this case, Damian would always be the person she'd go to when she needed a break from everything and vice versa, but he had been gone for a little over a week on some, what Raven liked to call, 'Batman business', and wasn't expecting to be back for another few days. Sure, they had phone calls and video chats, but they would always come short because of something happening and one of them having to leave, leaving them barely any time to talk.

Raven ran down to the main area of the tower where her teammates were waiting. "What's the emergency?" She asked as she walked down the small flight of stairs.

"The Fearsome Five is causing a ruckus in the city." Kori began, leading the team out the door. "I've received reports of destruction, robbery, anything you could possibly think of, really."

"You know with Rob gone this ain't gonna be an even fight." Garfield said.

"We've taken The Fearsome Five down before without Damian." Raven said with a slight snap in her voice.

"Yeah, I know." He whined. "But it's a lot faster when he's here."

"Well, he's not." Now she was really snapping at him. Though she didn't really mean to. She was just frustrated with everything going on and, if she were honest, she desperately missed Damian and wanted him home. She muttered a quiet apology and walked ahead of her team.

The city was a mess. Buildings were crumbling on both ends of the street, some even catching on fire, bank alarms were ringing, children were crying and clinging to their mothers who were trying to find their way out of the ruckus. The entire scene made Raven sick. It reminded her of the destruction of Azarath, just to a minor degree. How someone could do something like this was beyond her.

The culprits in question emerged from the smoke and ash holding backs of money in each of their hands.

Jinx looked at the four, counting silently to herself before smirking, "Where's the pretty boy?"

Raven wasn't very appreciative of the cocky tone that came from the sorceress before her but still answered her calmly, "He's away. It's just us."

"What a shame. Just my luck, right?"

She threw an energy blast at the team and all hell broke loose. Starfire seized after both Shimmer and Mammoth, Blue Beatle came for Psimon, and Beast Boy after Gizmo, leaving Raven to deal with Jinx, blocking her attack with a shield of her own energy magic.

Both sides struggled for a while. Blast after blast and hit after hit, neither side seemed to be slowing down any time soon.

Raven was growing angrier at her fight. Jinx had been making snarky comments and taunts since the fight started and it was starting to drive her nuts.

"Is it true what they say?" Jinx as the two finally clashed, "That the little crystal on your head has your dad trapped?"

The question threw Raven off guard, causing her to weaken herself and giving Jinx the upper hand on pinning her to the ground.

"If it is true..." the sorceress began, leaning down towards the empath's face, "then I wonder what happens if I do this..."

She touched the small stone, sending a shock of magic through her fingers and into it. Raven's eyes went wide. She could feel herself losing all sanity she had left. All the anger and frustration she had built up until this point was about to make itself known. Her vision went from black to white, to red in a matter of seconds before she had completely blacked out.

Raven awoke in a cell. Her wrists were chained with cuffs that halted her magic. She recognized the cell from her visits to Damian's home: this was a cell in the Batcave. For a moment, she wondered how she had got there before bits and pieces came back to her. She remembered screaming of citizens and the yells of her friends trying to stop her. She remembered nearly killing everyone in sight and destroying nearby buildings and roads. Then she remembered a plane: the Batwing coming into Jump City.

"I must have fought Batman himself..." then, she realized, "Oh no... I must've fought Damian, too..."

She begins to think the worst at that point. She had feared for a while that Damian was only with her for research reasons because he didn't trust her. Because of this, she refused to ever look into his emotions. She couldn't bear the thought of finding out it was the truth. Thought, if that is, in fact, true, she'd definitely find out about it now.

She heard some yelling going on upstairs. She recognized the voices to be Bruce and Dick. It was difficult from where she was, but she tried to listen in on what they were saying.

"...ruce, aren't you being a little rash?"

Dick, she decided.

"She's a chaotic monster, Dick, she has to be restrained somehow."

Bruce...

"Look, all I'm saying is that we don't know what happened. This could be one huge misunder--"

"What misunderstanding, Dick?! You were there, you saw what she did, for God's sake, Dick, she tried to kill us!"

"You don't see the Titans every day, Bruce. I've seen this girl every day since she arrived and trust me she is anything but a monster. The only reason you--... Did you hear that?"

"Came from the roof."

"Wait is that..."

"She's getting away! Still think she's good, Dick?"

"Shut it."

There was running before silence filled the air.

"What was--" Raven began, but was cut off by a familiar voice.

"A distraction."

Raven snapped her head around to see Damian holding a pair of keys in his hand.

"Distracting him with his own holo-tech. Grayson's idea, actually. Still, we should hurry, my father is no fool." He unlocked the door and got the cuffs off Raven, who only looked down at her freed wrists in confusion. She snapped out of her trance when she saw Damian reach for her hand, leading her to a nearby motorbike that he was obviously planning to use as a getaway vehicle.

"What about your dad? Won't he come looking for us?"

"Grayson said he had a plan for convincing him to reconsider his wishes. Is it a good plan is still in question, but it's the only plan we have."

"Whatever you say..."

They were silent the whole way back to the tower, leaving the Empath to her thoughts. She mentally scolded herself for allowing Jinx to get that close to her but was madder at the fact that she caved into her advances so easily. She knew she was stronger than that, and wondered why she would have allowed herself to be overtaken by a low leveled witch. It was then she decided that Bruce was right, that she was too monstrous to be a hero.

The couple finally reached the doors of the tower. Raven put a hand on Damian's shoulder, stopping him from going inside.

"Wait, Damian..." she hesitated for a moment before continuing. "I wasn't sure you'd actually save me... thank you."

The boy wonder scoffed slightly. "You should know by now that I do not care what anyone else thinks. I will always back you up."

"You didn't let me finish... I think your father is right."

"What?"

She crossed her arms and gave him a serious look. "Damian, half the city is destroyed because of me. Hell, I tried to kill people I care about... besides, it's not like you probably trust me anyway. You've always been skeptical of people, even your friends, and family. And especially people who have done something like this." She flung a hand out, pointing at the city where reconstruction was still happening. "And not just that..."

"Then what else?"

"If I may be so blunt: you're not exactly the most hideous person in the world, and it doesn't help you share the blood of the biggest billionaire out there... you could've had anyone. You could have had someone better than me--someone more heroic than me... so why me? Why trust me? Why love me?"

He was silent for a moment. Shocked at what came out of the girl he loved so dearly. Truth be told, he loved everything about her. Even her faults. After a moment, he finally was able to respond, "Because you are the only one I want. You always have been... is that really so hard for you to believe?"

"Damian, listen..." She put both of her hands on his shoulders, looking him in the eye as she spoke. "I'm not who you think I am... I'm a demon who has her own demons. Ones you can't possibly imagine. And I don't want to hurt you because of those demons."

Damian smiled a rare but genuine smile. "And I pray one day you will allow me to meet them. But until then, I'm just pleased to stay by your side. You have already proven to me that you are trustworthy, Raven, time and time again. I know you believe that your outward appearance and your family history makes you a horrible being, but trust me, it doesn't... I think I'm a pretty good example of that. And even with recent events, I know this isn't fully your fault. I've already been in contact with Koriand'r, she told me everything. Besides, as you said, you, yourself, have demons."

Raven couldn't say anything. She only looked at him pleadingly to just leave her and live an at least semi-safer life, but he only continued to smile, saying, "You cannot convince me otherwise, beloved."

She sighed in defeat. "I figured as much... though I should warn you that there may come a day you regret that decision."

"Highly doubtful."

"What?"

"You heard me. You should know I could never regret you. Not for a moment."

Raven smiled, seeing as though there was no point in arguing with him. "You should probably go help Dick."

"Sadly, yes. You should get inside. I'm sure everyone is worried." He said, walking towards his bike. "I'll return shortly." And with that, he drove off.

Raven let out a sigh before turning a heal to walk into the tower, smiling slightly to herself.

138 notes · View notes