#were they inspired by amy lee

[mandelasurvivor]

mandy was definitely in choir... and when she got into school she was in chorus, i think she has a few bad habits vocality wise but she's an amazing singer

[forzalando]

Orange Theory

Charles Leclerc x best friend!reader (female reader)

summary: charles and his best friend do countless nice things for each other, but they're just behaving like any good friend would. right? wc: 2.5k author's note: ok guys so this is not the Charles fic i promised (she is still a WIP and i will finish her eventually. probably will have to be a multi-part fic with how long it's getting), but i hope you enjoy this one in the meantime! special thanks to @scuderiahoney for encouragement and inspiration. special thanks to @sof1shticated for reading and assuring me this doesn't suck. if you haven't read their fics, both Lee and Mel have some gems that i adore. HIGHLY recommend checking out their masterlists! warnings: none!

You loved summer break – Charles was home for at least a few weeks, days spent on a yacht, every afternoon and evening spent with friends either at dinner or out at some club until someone got too drunk to carry on.

Today was, in your humble opinion, the perfect day. All of your friends, courtesy of Charles, were sprawled out on the sun deck of a rented boat or splashing around in the water below. You could feel the heat radiating off of Lando as he laid next to you and whispered about how McLaren was making insane upgrades – according to him, they might just have a race-winning car in the second half of the season.

“Are you boring my best friend to tears, Norris?” The brutal sun disappeared behind Charles’ body as he stood above you – as if on instinct, he shifted slightly so that you could look up at him and not be blinded by its rays.

“She’s hanging on my every word, right, Y/N? In fact, she asked me how I’m feeling about Zandvoort and the rest of the season.”

“And?” Charles asked, a small smile on his face.

“Like I would tell you what’s going on with the car! I know Y/N can keep a secret, she would never betray me to a prancing horse. She bleeds papaya.”

You laughed along with Lando – the one point of contention that had always existed in your friendship with Charles. Of course, you became a Ferrari fan because of him, but you’d always been a McLaren and Mercedes loyalist. It was something that Lando, Oscar, and George relished in.

“Alright, alright, no need to rub it in, Norris,” you giggled. “What can I do for you, Charlie?”

“I just came to give you this.”

Within seconds, a perfectly peeled orange dropped in your lap. Lando’s eyes grew wide for a moment but a swift glare from Charles had his face back to normal in no time. You missed the interaction, jumping up from your seat in excitement.

“Aw, Charlie! You are the best friend a girl could ask for,” you chirped as you started separating the wedges of fruit.

“Ah, don’t mention it,” he sighed, waving his citrus-scented hand in the air. “There’s more in the cooler if you want! Freshly peeled!”

“Thank you, mon cher ami.” You quickly kissed his cheek, noticing as you pulled away just how red it was, along with his neck and the tips of his ears. “Charles! How many times do I have to tell you to put on sunscreen? Your face and neck are fried!”

“I don’t think it’s from the sun,” Lando mumbled, his eyes trained on the fruit in your hands. With Charles insisting he was fine, you could barely hear what he had said.

“What did you say, Lan?” You asked, turning your attention away from Charles for a moment.

Once again, Lando was met with a menacing glare and he laughed awkwardly before moving his gaze to the horizon.

“Nothing, nothing, Y/N. Just thinking out loud.”

Shrugging your shoulders, you turned back to Charles and handed him the orange he had just given to you. With your now free hands, you rifled through your beach bag until you found the SPF 50 face cream you had packed that morning with Charles in mind.

“Here, I packed this for you. Please put some on so I don’t have to worry about you getting sun poisoning,” you pleaded with your best puppy dog eyes.

Charles stared without answering for far too long – anything you wanted, all you had to do was ask him and he’d do it. Even without you gazing at him with your wide, siren eyes, he would give you the world if you so desired it.

He shook his head slightly, pulling himself out of the daze caused by your pleading eyes. “Oui, ma fleur, I will put on the sun cream. Je promets.”

You smiled in triumph, taking the orange back from Charles and bidding him a “see you later” before laying back down in your lounger. Popping an orange slice into your mouth, you let out a contented sigh. Somehow, whether Charles was magic or he had some serious connections in the produce world, the fruit he picked out and gave to you always tasted better than anything you bought yourself.

“He peels your oranges for you?”

You hummed and turned to Lando – “what, Lan?”

“Does Charles always peel your oranges for you?”

“Well, no, obviously not always. Why?”

Before Lando could answer, Lily plopped down next to you and stole an orange slice from your hand.

“I swear,” she huffed, “Alex and George are competitive to begin with, but when they get together, it’s unbearable. They’ve been having a “who can hold their breath the longest” contest for the past thirty minutes! Rematch after rematch after rematch, I called in my favor with Oscar to get out of judging their little competition.”

“As if either of them could beat me, they probably didn’t ask me to join because they’re scared,” Lando bragged. “I’ll leave you ladies to chat, go show them how it’s done.”

As Lando walked towards the edge of the boat, you and Lily turned towards one another.

“Men,” you scoffed in unison, following it up with belly laughs and lingering giggles.

As the laughter died down, Lily ate the orange slice she had stolen from you and practically moaned in delight. “Where did you get this orange? It might be the best I’ve ever had!”

“It’s from Charles! I was just thinking about this, I don’t know how he does it but he always has the best fruit. Every time he brings me any I am both ecstatic and pissed off – my fruit is never as good as his and we shop at the same grocery store!”

“Well, does he have any more oranges? I could eat 20 of these.”

“He said he left me more in his cooler, let me grab them.”

A few moments later, you walked back to Lily with a bag of peeled oranges in your right hand and two bottles of water in your left.

“Are you a professional orange peeler? You were only gone for two minutes.”

“Oh no,” you giggled, “Charles peeled them for me. He knows I don’t like peeling them so when he can, he always does it for me.”

“Y/N,” Lily looked at you suspiciously, “do you know what the orange peel theory is?”

You wracked your brain but came up empty. “No, what is it?”

Lily went into a brief explanation – something about how it became a viral tik tok challenge, people asking their partners if they would peel an orange for them and how it was an indicator of true love, soulmates, a healthy relationship, and everything in between. “Well, that’s just silly,” you mumbled through chews, orange juice dribbling down your chin. “I think it just means someone is a good person – Charlie and I aren’t anything more than friends and he peels my oranges, among other things, because he has a good heart.”

“Among other things?” Lily pressed you, her eyes gleaming with something you couldn’t quite place.

“He slices my apples because I have never been able to master the apple corer contraption! And he takes all my grapes off the stems when he’s at my place because I never do – it’s too tedious.”

“What else?”

“Oh, when we go out to breakfast, he always brings me a tea when he picks me up. He’s an early riser and I take forever to get ready. He knows I never have time to make it myself when we have plans before 10am.”

Lily was smirking at you, no, smiling at you. It was a little unnerving, the way she was entirely amused at the information you were giving her. However, the moment was briefly interrupted by the arrival of Alex.

“What are we talking about, ladies?” He spoke cheerfully, a broad smile on his face which meant that he was most likely declared the best breath holder of the 2019 rookies.

“Y/N was just telling me about all the sweet things Charles does for her,” Lily gushed.

“Oh god, when is he not doing things for her? Did you see him buttering her bread for her at dinner last week?”

Lily burst out laughing while you playfully punched Alex’s arm. “I’m indecisive! He butters it for me while I read the menu since it takes me so long to figure out what I want to order. It saves time!”

“He does that on a regular basis?” Alex asked incredulously, looking at Lily with wide eyes. “My god, that man is head over heels.”

“Alex,” you protested, “Charles is not in love with me. We’ve been friends for six years, I think I would know by now.”

“You’re both impossible,” Alex groaned. “Come on, Lily, I just came over to get you so we could play water polo with George and Carmen.”

Lily sighed in defeat, though she had a smile on her face at the thought of spending time with Alex even if it meant another competition. “I’ll see you, later, yeah?” She called over her shoulder, waving goodbye as you teased her by dramatically eating another slice of orange and settling back in your chair. At the front of the boat, Charles was laughing with Pierre and almost as if he felt you looking, he turned around and met your gaze.

Even though you had just wholly denied anything more than friendship between you and him, you couldn’t help but think about your interactions with Lily and Alex.

Sure, Charles sometimes did things that were out of the ordinary for ‘just friends’, but he had the sweetest soul of anyone you’d ever met. He always sacrificed his umbrella or jacket for you, made sure you had fresh tulips in your apartment when he was home in between races, had your favorite meal delivered to you when you were having a rough day while he was away and you missed him.

You did things for him too – cleaned his apartment when you knew he was on his way back to Monaco, left him plenty of sticky notes with words of encouragement if he was coming back from a bad race, stocked his fridge full of his favorite things. Recently, you’d been gifting him annotated books because he mentioned he wanted to read more and always enjoyed listening to you talk about your favorite novels. Since you spent most of the year apart, you decided he could at least read your thoughts.

When you could come to races, unfortunately a rare occurrence due to your graduate classes and work schedule, he made sure Ferrari hospitality had your favorite flavor of sparkling water on hand. Anytime you saw a cute dog video, you would send it to him because they always made him smile.

You’d do anything to make him smile, just as he would for you, which is what a good friend would do. A best friend, it’s what a best friend would do.

But best friends didn’t linger in doorways and stare at each other’s lips when bidding each other goodnight. They didn’t cuddle close and fall asleep in each other’s arms on a couch while watching whatever movie you had chosen because he always let you choose.

They didn’t look at one another the way Charles was looking at you now – his sunglasses pushed up on top of his head and a dopey smile on his face. He waved to you and dramatically blew you a kiss, something he always did when he caught your eye across a room, no matter who was around.

You practically launched yourself to your feet, the last remaining orange slices in your lap falling to the lounger and staining the seat with juice. It was only seconds until you were standing in front of Charles but the walk over felt like an eternity with the way the world around you disappeared and your heart pounded in your chest.

“Est-ce que tu maimes, Charles?”

The question came out in one breath, your chest heaving in anticipation for his response.

“Of course, I love you, ma fleur,” he laughed. “What’s gotten into you?”

“No,” you panted. “Do you love me, Charlie? Est-ce que tu maimes?”

“Of course, I love you,” he answered again, his eyes shining and a small smile on his face that told you everything you needed to know. “Every time I think of you, I love you. Every time I breathe, I love you.”

“Every time you peel my oranges?” You whispered, holding up your orange juice-stained fingertips. He took your right hand in his and held it up to his face to kiss your palm, his eyelashes fluttering against you gently.

“Especially when I peel your oranges. Did you know that I hate doing it too? Like, really hate it. I don’t even peel them for myself.”

You gasped in shock, watching as he threw his head back and laughed jovially.

“I’d do anything for you, ma fleur. Mon soleil. Mon cœur.”

“Would you kiss me?”

“Maybe if Pierre would leave and stop gawking at us.”

This time you threw your head back to laugh, Charles soon joining you as Pierre protested the accusation.

“No, no,” he shouted, “you didn’t even give me a chance to leave. Just started declaring your love before I knew what was happening. Which, by the way, was so obvious it was starting to get annoying. We’ve all tried dropping hints to both of you so I don’t know who got through to you, Y/N, but – ”

“Pierre!” You shouted, eyes wide and arm gesturing him away from the two of you.

“Ah, désolé, I’m leaving,” he grumbled, almost tripping over his own feet to get away as quickly as possible.

You giggled again and Charles gripped your chin softly, pulling your eyes away from Pierre and back to face him.

He leaned in gently, as if he was afraid you would back away and regret taking the leap to go from friends to something so much more.

He tasted like salt water, smelled like sweet fruit and sunscreen – you smiled into the kiss knowing that he had listened to you and put it on, even though you knew he hated the way it felt on his skin.

His fingers gripped your waist and yours trailed up his chest – both of you slightly sticky from the citrus juices and sweat from the sun.

You pulled away and nudged his nose with yours, breathing him in and wishing that this moment would never end. Charles lowered you both to the sun deck, adjusting until you were sitting between his legs and his arms were wrapped firmly around you, the two of you facing the sunset and open sea.

After a few moments, you broke the shared silence. “You know, I would have happily peeled an orange for you if you had ever asked me,” you asserted.

Charles’ hold on you softened at your admission, the thinly veiled meaning not at all lost on him as he pressed his lips to your cheek.

“I love you too, Y/N.”

[diamondcitydarlin]

diving back into msscribe lore made me remember this; imo one of the funniest things about the My Immortal fanfic is the context to which it was born in the HP fandom at the time. In the early 2000's, HP fandom was a veritable arms race of who could write 'the best' most 'sophisticated' HP fanfic and the BNFs (Cassandra Clare, for example) were elevated to their pedestals because they were seen as the most talented fic writers. There were pissing contests, passive-aggressive comments about so-and-so being 'a mediocre fic writer' just shared between supposed 'friends', like one's popularity currency absolutely depended on whether or not the fandom deemed one's writing 'good enough'. Everyone was trying to be the goddamn idk Jane Austen of HP fandom pretty much. Even by 2006 (and msscribe's fall from grace, if you even care lol) this was still more or less the case- so the fact that this absolute unrepentantly bad HP fanfic came out during that time, the fact that Tara just kept posting chapters and doubling-down on people's criticisms and abject horror, the fact that this fanfic gave NO FUCKS about spelling, grammar, keeping characters intact, or even the original context of HP at all makes My Immortal's existence so much funnier than it already is on its lonesome. My Immortal was a slap in the fucking face to the entire established system and it reveled in being so.

Tellingly, I think, most people online today aren't going to know those 'popular', supremely 'well-written' fics off the top of their head, but even some IRL people I've talked with know and love My Immortal. Hell, Tom Felton has read it for his IG! Amy Lee either read or reacted to it a few of years back! It has it's own wikipedia, countless illustrations, works inspired by it and a cult following even today! I can't say the same for any of those fanfics that came before!

Whether My Immortal was a skilled troll or an unapologetic teenage girl that was going to write whatever the hell she wanted to, goddamn it, doesn't really matter because the effect was the same. Maybe remember that the next time you're agonizing over whether or not your writing is 'good enough'. Sometimes, it doesn't even need to be.

[undead-supernova]

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

It's a Delicate Need

Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5

18+ minors DNI

Masterlist

plot: you've never met eddie munson before...and even if your reputation's never been worse, desire is the sound of the whiskey and you're prepared for the risk. but are you willing to let it go to waste?

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

Warnings: drinking, mention of weed, there's genuine smut in here so sorry for the length, mention of body shaming

easter egg count: 32

wc: 6.9k

This chapter is inspired by the sound and lyrics of “Delicate” and her unreleased Lover track “Need” that I haven’t stopped thinking about since it leaked. This is one of my favorite things I've ever written and I can't believe I get to share it! Okay, have fun! I love these two so much! (special thanks to @munsonsbtch for helping chill out my frantic screaming about writing smut)

Late April, 2024

You met him in those weird ways celebrities do. Usually, it’s an award show or some house party thrown by mutual famous friends. For you, it was the Grammy after party.

Corroded Coffin won Best Rock Album for “Fire Shroud” and Best Metal Performance for the title track. (Ozzy Osborne presented their award and you couldn’t believe how jealous you were.) 

You’d won Song of the Year for “Cradle Me”. The night was electric, one that would go down in history for you and your ever-growing career. 

Because you’d done it. You won a Grammy. 

And that was the only reason you decided to even go to the after party, really. You rode the high of your adrenaline, your tears. The squealing and stomping of victory as you basked in a kind of pride you’d never felt before. A kind of pride that you didn’t even know existed.

The room boomed with music, everyone seemingly on the same wave as you. You’d been practically shredding up the dance floor all on your own, taking time to close your eyes and feel a release for what seemed like the first time since you’d started your career. You were on top of your game, on top of the world. Nothing could derail you now. 

As a remix of Miley Cyrus’ “Flowers” came to a close, you remembered where you were. Opened your eyes to look around you as another song sounded, the bass pulsating in your ears.

And despite the noise, everyone noticed when Corroded Coffin walked in.

Even you.

Here they were, all five members decked out in lavish outfits, all five shimmying their way through the parting crowd with drinks held high in the air. If it was anyone else, they’d look obnoxious and lame. But each one of the members of Corroded Coffin acted like real people. They were in sequins, dark makeup, designer suits and dresses…and they were normal. Just laughing their way through the crowd and dancing like idiots.

And that’s when you saw him.

About an hour after their arrival, Eddie Munson snuck away from the rest of the group. He was at the bar, nursing some whiskey, a smile on his face as he chatted with the bartender. Leaning sideways against the counter with his legs crossed, just lounging as he socialized.

And maybe it kind of seemed a little stalkerish that you were watching him across the room, sipping on your third Shirley Temple—with, yes, copious amounts of vodka—but you were merely observing. 

You weren’t his biggest fan or anything, but you were still fascinated by him. By his effortless charm, the sheer effect he seemed to have on everyone. Some had called him the New It Guy, others had called him a Soon To Be Has Been. But, for the most part, he was considered the man of everyone’s dreams. 

Not only that, but he was genuinely talented. Corroded Coffin was killing it, having reached newer heights. Those Grammys they won? Yeah, they’d already received two the year prior. In the last two years, they’d collaborated with Post Malone, Joan Jett, Bring Me The Horizon, Nova Twins, Amy Lee, Poppy… The list was starting to get rather full from how desirable it was to work with them, especially smaller artists they’d been bringing into the limelight. 

Plus, they were bringing metal to new heights. Tearing down the walls of what it meant to listen to metal and defying how it was “supposed” to sound. And you could go on and on about their lyricism, the way that they wrote about more than just testosterone-driven rage. They talked about mental health, about heartache. Addiction. Loneliness and the way isolation stung. Even the intense weight of fear that comes with falling in love.

They were raw. They were real.

And you kinda wanted to talk to Eddie Munson.

He was alone, for God’s sake. Just a sitting duck by himself, clad in that outfit. The sequins on his blazer casted light over his cheek, reflecting off of the LED lights. His blazer was a deep eggplant, all velvet and cool and fitting perfectly tight against his toned muscles. There were patterns of small black roses strategically placed throughout. Not enough to be overwhelming, but enough to give the drama. 

Oh, yeah. One more thing.

No. Shirt. 

Just his lean stomach with an attention-grabbing happy trail that led to his incredibly tight leather pants. The color even matched his blazer. Combat boots. Rings adorning his fingers and some black nail polish. Layers of diamond bracelets and chains resting against the dark ink of his tattoos. A guitar pick at the center of a black velvet choker around his neck.

Yeah, you really wanted to talk to Eddie Munson.

For a second, you stared down at yourself. You had a momentary lapse in confidence, wondering if what you were wearing was acceptable for a metal lead. Because you were clad in a silk knee-length dress, blush pink. One that hugged your curves and twirled around you wherever you moved. It was Old Hollywood. It was graceful. It was you.

Fuck it.

You approached, handing the bartender your empty glass and kindly asking for a refill. When you glanced over at Eddie in your peripheral, you knew he was being respectful, looking down at his drink rather than you.

It was up to you to deliver the opening line.

“You know,” you started, catching his attention immediately. “you’d kinda look like Lord Farquad if you got a bob.”

Eddie’s eyebrows lifted, trying to stifle a chuckle. “Yeah? You think so?” You nodded and watched as he tried to tuck in the bottom half of his hair to create the illusion of a bob. “‘Run, run, run as fast as you can. You can’t catch me, I’m the Gingerbread Man!’”

You were right. He kinda looked like Lord Farquad’s taller, hotter, more glamorous brother. 

“That is perfect,” you said, slow clapping. “Brilliant.”

He laughed, moving his whisky as a subtle invite to stand next to him. “I’m glad you think so. I’m Eddie, by the way.”

You smiled, telling him your name, watching as he nodded. He was wearing some eye shadow, all deep purple and bruise-y. He seemed to have had a coat of lipgloss on that was now lining the rim of his glass, with only a slight residue remaining. It was still effortlessly beautiful. He was effortlessly beautiful.

“Yeah, I actually know who you are.”

Your eyes widened. He knew you? 

“I didn’t think it was your genre,” you said honestly.

Eddie shook his head. “Nah. Come on, give yourself a little credit. ‘Tetris’ had a bit of a rock vibe to it.”

“Yeah, true,” you agreed, rolling your eyes. That was a single from your last album, one that hadn’t even gotten much traction from audiences. “But it’s nothing like A Rush of Hellfire.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shot up again. “You heard our first album?”

Confusion flooded your features. “Well, yeah. Hasn’t everyone?”

“No one talks about it anymore,” he responded, shrugging as he scratched the top of his head. “You a fan?”

“Not, like, a diehard fan or anything, you know? It’s fun to work out to. Or scream in the car. You did that remix with Post Malone. ‘Something Real’, right?” He smiled, nodding. “Yeah, I can’t get enough of it. The original is heavenly, but you guys put a spin on it that made it transcend the meaning and give it an extra boost of emotion that didn’t even seem possible. And your added verse? I mean, it was just so raw and…” 

You stopped yourself, starting to feel embarrassed from practically fangirling about this guy’s music to his face. He may have been actively listening, or was pretending to, but you had to stop before it got to be too much.

“Anyways,” you finished. “I really like it.”

His smile grew and it was like something flutter-y-ish was rushing to your heart. What was that about? 

“I’m flattered,” he said. “Unexpected, but flattered nonetheless.”

“Why unexpected?”

“Well, I mean. Well, your music—I just assumed—”

You laughed at that. “I like way more than just pop. That’s just the music I make, you know?” He gave you another silent nod, making you feel a little self-conscious. “So, I’m guessing you’re not really into my stuff?”

“No, I really like it. I just don’t want you to think I’m a diehard fan or anything. Actually, it’s kinda funny. I saw your cover of ‘Lolita’ by…” he trailed, waving his fingers around in thought until he pointed at you with a smirk. “Lana Del Rey, that’s it. Saw it a few weeks ago. Very cool. I liked the way you changed the sound. It seemed a little sadder than the OG, even with the synth.”

You smiled. You’d done that cover in the BBC Live Lounge to make fun of the way the media portrayed you. A player on both sides, leading everyone on and leaving them high and dry. Being a temptress of some sort, always on your best misbehavior. It was a common story, something that was far from realistic. But the media circus wasn’t about reality. It was about the fantasy.

And a lot of people misinterpreted the song choice as a confirmation of your reputation. It was mortifying. And annoying. Mostly fucking annoying.

And as the bartender handed you your drink, you prayed to whatever God was out there that Eddie didn’t think the same about you.

“I did it as a joke,” you defended sheepishly. “You’ve probably heard about me, but I’m not actually like that.”

And you knew that there was no reason for you to justify yourself to him, especially someone rumored to be a player himself. Eddie was known to the public as someone who collected  groupies like a goddamn claw machine, but it was seen as something desirable. He was hailed as some kind of Metal Prince of Darkness. (Though, you’d never come into contact with anyone who’d actually been involved with him…)

So why were you nervous all of a sudden?

You studied his reaction, the way he barely had one. He just kept smiling like that, this kind of half-smile as if you were the most interesting person he’d ever met. You were sure he smiled at everyone like that.

And if it was a trick, well fuck, it was working.

“I definitely got the joke,” he said, chuckling as your eyes widened. “What, did no one else?”

You shrugged. “Not a lot of them, no.”

“Well, I guess the world is as dense as I thought.” 

You couldn’t stifle your giggle as you lifted your drink to your lips, nearly spilling it on yourself. 

And maybe Eddie thought he was being smooth, but he took a small step forward, closer than he’d been before. “Just letting you know,” he said. “as someone who is also not like that, I thought it was amazing.”

You could smell the tobacco wafting off of his jacket, mixed with something like amber or bergamot. His pinky finger was dangerously close to yours, seemingly inching forward. The closer he got, the easier it was to decode the exact shade of his eyes. Brown had been wrong. No, they were hickory. They were umber. And these hickory, umber eyes were looking at you.

It wasn’t fair in the slightest.

Something in you wanted to call him out because there was something definitely happening between you. Maybe it was a game he was playing, taking shots at your weak spots to lower your defenses. Or maybe it was genuine chemistry, luring you in with a dangerous kind of desire that you’d never felt before. 

It was something you couldn’t even explain to yourself. 

Out of seemingly nowhere, Eddie asked, “Beatles or Stones?”

You snorted. “Easy. Beatles. You clearly haven’t listened to my album.”

“Oh, I’ve heard Acacia My Dear. How could I not?” Your eyes widened. “But I thought you were sane. Guess I was wrong.” He sighed, waving you away. “This has been fun but get out of my sight.”

“Okay, wow. How does it feel to be a loser?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“How does it feel to be wrong?”

“The Stones do not have half of the amount of hits that The Beatles had. Name any Beatles album, which I bet you can’t, and I can tell you the plethora of well-known songs from each one. You can’t fight me on the factual evidence—”

“Do you wanna dance?” he asked suddenly, cutting you off.

You froze, confusion and intrigue colliding inside you. 

“Didn’t you just tell me to go away?”

“As a joke.”

“Are you going to continue to insult my preferences?”

He leaned in just a bit further. “Is that something you’d want?”

“Maybe a little,” you admitted, trying to catch your breath as he took it. “As a treat.”

“I’d be honored.”

Eddie took you to the floor like a gentleman in a ballroom, one arm pressed against his back with the other holding your hand up. As if he was wearing a luxurious tux and you were in a ballgown. As if this was something serious, something more than it should’ve been.

And, god, whatever he was doing was fucking with your head.

Because the two of you started dancing to one of the popular hits of the year, a song you hadn’t cared to listen to. But it didn’t seem to matter to either of you, going back and forth with each other as you moved through the dance floor. Eddie shimmied his shoulders and rolled his hips. You gladly followed his lead.

As the song hit its bridge, he leaned in. “By the way, I don’t know this song.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, I don’t either. I’ve been religiously listening to Maisie Peters for the last year.”

He nodded before looking at you with a bit of a sheepish expression. “I don’t know who that is either, I’m afraid.”

“That’s more offensive than your Beatles comments,” you teased.

He rolled his eyes before taking your hands and spinning you around. Laughter fell from your lips easily, finding the sensation quite dizzying.

God, how was his energy so infectious?

He tried to bring you back up, to let go. But you were done for, wobbling in his arms from the dizzy spell coming over you. One of your held hands was placed against his chest, the drumming of his heart nearly matching the beat of the song.

“Woah there,” he teased.

You sighed, your grasp on his hand tightening. “Don’t blame me,” you said. “That was all you.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, you’re right.” When you were stable enough to stand properly and the room stopped spinning, he asked, “Favorite Beatles song?”

You scoffed. “Why should I tell you if you’re just going to make fun of it?”

“You wound me.”

“I have evidence. Exhibit A, five minutes ago you told me my opinion was wrong. Twice.”

“I’ll behave myself.” You raised an eyebrow. “Scout’s honor.”

You decided to answer truthfully. “It changes every day, I think.”

“So, what’s todays?” he pressed. When you gave him a quizzical look, he shook his head. “Don’t leave me hanging over here.”

Your smile returned. “Today, it’s ‘Sun King’.”

“Ah, a highly underrated track from Abbey Road. Mine’s either ‘I Want You (She’s So Heavy)’ or ‘Why Don’t We Do It In The Road?’ from the White Album.”

You couldn’t believe your ears. “You know their discography and yet you disrespect them.”

He wagged a finger at you. “You’re mistaken, young maiden. I never said The Beatles were bad. I said they weren’t as good as The Rolling Stones.”

“I think I hate you,” you said without thinking. Without even knowing how he was going to take that.

But then Eddie’s small smile grew into a grin. “Oh, yeah?”

You couldn’t help but smile back. “Mhm.”

“Does that mean we’ll never speak again?”

“No,” you admitted, showing him your cards. 

Eddie smirked. “Good.”

Apparently, he was showing his, too.

Another drink and a round of bickering later, you and Eddie were promptly interrupted by a rumbling of voices calling out to you.

Well, not you.

“Ed!”

The two of you turned and watched as the rest of Corroded Coffin rushed over. Well, Ronnie was trailing behind, still in her heels. And you commended her for not running like the rest.

Eddie let out a chuckle and you watched a grin stretch across his face, lighting him up more than anything else seemingly did tonight. It was a look of love, of appreciation. Friendship.

And when he looked at you, you swore that it intensified.

God, he was something else.

“This is Grant, Gareth, Ronnie, and Jeff,” he introduced, gesturing to the group.

As if you didn’t already know.

“Nice to meet you all,” you said, giving each one a handshake and a smile.

“Jesus, you’re prettier in person,” Ronnie said, giving you a look over. “Love the dress.”

You could help but smile, especially with how beautiful she was. Ronnie Ecker. A legendary fucking female drummer standing in front of you. Her satin dress hugged her hips, a slit running up her thigh as the tips of her fingers rested against the opening. And, sure, Eddie was standing next to you, and you were extremely interested in him. But you’d be lying if you didn’t feel heat rising to your cheeks at the sight of one of the hottest women alive.

“Right back at you,” you replied, trying to stop sounding so nervous. “You’re incredible at the drums. It’s such an honor—"

“We’re heading out, actually,” Gareth said loudly, catching your attention.

“To do what? Go to bed?” Eddie asked, snorting. “Did you grind the indica by mistake?”

Grant shrugged. “We came to see if you wanted to go back and do a one-shot…” he trailed, eyes flickering over to you. “But then we saw you over here and, well…”

Jeff pointed at you. “We decided we wanted to meet you,” he said plainly.

“Yeah, exactly,” Gareth confirmed.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “Oh, please. I’m really not that interesting.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Eddie said, catching your gaze. “Not to us or anyone else.”

There was something about the way he said it that made you wonder exactly what he was thinking about you. Because there was that hint of a smirk again, one that you couldn’t help but interpret as: You should see yourself the way I do in this moment.

And even though the others fell headfirst into their own tangent, you decided to lean over to Jeff. 

“A one-shot, you say?” you asked. “Like for D and D?”

A grin spread across his face. “Precisely.”

“You guys play a lot?”

Jeff nodded. “Yeah, Eddie’s, like, the best DM I’ve ever seen.”

“Better than Brennan Lee Mulligan?” you questioned.

“Close enough,” he admitted.

Eddie tapped Jeff on the shoulder. “Did someone just mention Brennan?”

“She did,” Jeff said as he patted your shoulder. “Wanna get super jealous?”

You raised an eyebrow as Eddie gave you a shit-eating grin. “I’m guest starring in his upcoming campaign.”

“Oh, fuck off!” you exclaimed. Stomping your foot, you shook your head. Your lips twisted into a smile, all jealous and playful. Because you were extremely envious, having watched D&D for years but never playing it yourself. And here Eddie was, getting the opportunity to work with one of the best DMs there were. What a cool fucking asshole.

“Well, if you ever wanted to plaaaaaay,” Gareth exaggerated, clasping his hands together and grinning. “We could always head back and get you a character sheet.”

Eddie flicked his forehead, giving him a hard stare that you couldn’t understand. “Gareth, we are not doing a one-shot tonight.” When both men’s eyes flickered over to you for a moment, you began to pick up the meaning. “So you better scram.”

And then it was its own conversation, one that started with goodbyes but led into another whirlwind of comments. You tried to follow along, tried to understand what they were even talking about in their shared campaign. There was something about a powerful wizard, another realm underneath the one you called your own. A world that seemed upside down, a world that you were glad you didn’t live in.

And as soon as it began to descend into chaos, Eddie sighed and held up his hand. “Alright, I’m cutting us off. Go to bed, you lovely dumbasses.”

“I like you,” Jeff said as the others hugged and bumped fists. Your eyes widened. “I like you a lot.”

Without a chance to ask him what he meant by that, Jeff was filing behind Grant and Gareth, all three sneaking glances back at you as they walked away.

Ronnie gave you another look over before leaning in. “Some advice? Don’t break his heart,” she said, patting your shoulder before she hustled to catch up with the others.

Shock ran through you at the sheer idea of feelings being involved between you and Eddie Munson of all people. As if he would ever actually want something like that. The idea was so absurd that you almost had to scoff.

“Did you want to keep talking?”

You turned to Eddie whose stare was becoming almost too magnetic, having to look away every few seconds. If you didn’t, the eye contact was going to send you into cardiac arrest. 

“Talking?” you asked, lifting an eyebrow. 

He played innocent, shrugging. “Well, we could always talk. We could do other things, too. If you’d like.”

“You want me to go home with you?”

“To my hotel room, maybe?” Eddie paused, clearly trying to interpret your expression and failing. “Uh, unless I’m reading this all wrong.”

“You’re not,” you said.

Without breaking eye contact, his fingers found your palm before lifting it and pressing his lips against the back of your hand. You could only hope the music would mask your sharp breath. 

“I have fewer scarlet letters than people think.” 

Another kiss. Another lodge in your throat.

“So, don’t think I’m doing this because I’m a whore.”

You could only nod. “Likewise.”

“I just…” he paused, a hint of something covering his features. “I think you’re really cool.”

“Likewise,” you concluded, disconnecting your hands before his touch could electrocute you further. “See you at the hotel.”

“How many scarlet letters do you have?” you asked Eddie.

How the hell you’d managed to be alone in the elevator was beyond you. In fact, it was a miracle on its own that the two of you were able to leave separately, arrive at the hotel without paparazzi standing out front, and casually make it to the elevator without anyone taking notice. It was a rather close call.

Or maybe it was a sign.

You nearly rolled your eyes at the thought before Eddie’s laugh brought your attention back. 

“Ah, man,” he said. “Three, the first two being in high school. What about you?”

“Four,” you said plainly. “All post high school. I wasn’t very popular back then.”

“Neither was I.”

You looked over at him, curious about what else was there.

“Really?”

Eddie snorted. “Are you kidding me? Of course not. Look at me.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”  

He shook his head. “Uh-uh. Those first two? They used me to get back at their boyfriends. Thought the local freak would, I don’t know, make them jealous?”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “I was also the freak.”

“Really?” You nodded. “Could’ve fooled me.”

And there that stare was again, burning a hole in your chest that you weren’t sure how to make go away. But did you really even want it to?

No words were exchanged as you made your way down the hallway. You looked back, always alert at the potential of a camera or wandering eyes. And when you made your way inside his hotel room, thick with the scent of him, you felt the prickles on your neck that always came when you feared danger.

For some reason, you couldn’t help but look at the door, making sure it was locked. Making sure that the shadows underneath the door were passing by quickly. Muffled voices came and went, but your guard never wavered.

“You don’t have to worry about anyone seeing us,” Eddie said. You turned slowly, watching him unlace his boots. “This floor is all booked for the band. No need to risk anything. That’s probably just my guy, James. He’s a hardass, but he loves a good party.”

A small chuckle left your lips. “It’s not that I’m scared to be seen with you,” you explained. “It’s just a nasty habit.”

“I don’t blame you. Las Vegas can drive people crazy.”

You took the moment to undo your heels, finally able to let your feet breathe after a long, long night of discomfort. There was a stinging pain the moment your bare feet hit the carpet.

But you couldn’t wait, taking tentative steps towards him. Like you were assessing him, assessing the risk. Watching as he watched you, standing like you’d made a silent request that he couldn’t say no to.

“I won’t bite,” he said, hands reaching out to yours. Taking your fingertips and pulling you towards him. Like you were still on that dance floor, like he was as lost in the moment as you were. 

As you drew near, you caught a glimpse of his smudged eye shadow, the way it was starting to smear. His eyes, darker than before in the low light of the lamp, only on you.

Yeah, you weren’t thinking about consequences anymore.

“I have to be up early in the morning,” you whispered, nearly chasing his lips with yours.

He nodded. “You can leave whenever you want,” he said softly, thumb brushing your lower lip. “I do want you to know that I want to kiss you so bad it’s going to kill me.”

“Well, why didn’t you just say—”

Eddie kissed you fiercely, nearly knocking you over. 

It was like he was chasing after you. Wherever you moved, he moved. Whenever you gasped, he gasped. Your hand met the back of his neck, so his moved to yours. 

It was the kindling of a fire.

If you dared to utter it, you would call it passion. 

You slowly made your way to his neck, scratching against the choker as you went. Eddie inhaled sharply, trembling as you made your way down his chest. Desperate to feel all of it. Desperate to understand where he started and where he ended. Wondering if you’d truly be granted full access.

But it was his fingers that flipped a switch. Eddie carefully moved the tips along your jaw—gently, like he was trying to learn exactly what you felt like. And before you could register it, Eddie pulled your head to the side and latched his lips to your throat. 

There was a release of a moan, the high pitch shocking you. 

Because here you were, feeling a lightning strike against your neck, rumbling like chills down your back. Before you knew it, you were limp in his arms.

You were giving in.

Slowly, Eddie helped you out of your dress, trying to take his time. But you were a little more fast-paced, nearly ripping off your own underwear before reaching towards him. Mainly because he only had a jacket on, but you were also extremely close to losing your mind if you didn’t have him inside you in the next ten minutes.

“Now, why’re you going so fast?” Eddie asked, voice hushed in the silent room. His lips met yours again, leaning back just enough to look into your eyes. “Shouldn’t you give yourself some time to enjoy it?”

Dumbfounded. That’s the only way you could describe yourself. Eddie was standing in front of you, offering you the chance to experience not just sex, but pleasure.

“Can I?” you asked him, desperate to be told again. 

He kissed your forehead.

“Yes.”

Eddie gently lowered you to the bed, helping you scoot up to rest your head on the pillow. He paused, peering down at you as he unhooked his choker. It was the tucking of his lip into his mouth that captivated you, beckoned you to reach up to his lips.

You couldn’t remember wanting anyone else’s mouth this much.

And amongst the kissing and the harsh breaths, Eddie had his pants off, quickly kicking them aside to focus on you. You immediately clocked how he had not worn any underwear.

Fuck.

You had no time to look down at his length, instead feeling it as he rocked his hips against your mound. With lips against skin and a fever building, you hardly formed a thought as you tried to push his hand towards your pussy.

“Eddie,” you whined. “Please.”

“Whatever you want,” he murmured. “Promise.”

His fingers danced around your entrance, the calloused tips stroking your clit as he went along. Your hips bucked, but it was nothing against his grip on you. Instinctively, you moved your face to the side, wanting to hide your face in the pillow. 

“Shh, it’s alright,” he whispered, placing a small kiss to your nose. “Let yourself go.”

Before you had any time to respond, Eddie was inside you. His fingers pumped in and out, the squelching sound of your wetness filling the near silence.

Eddie wasn’t done annihilating your neck, leaving more and more marks as he went. There your sounds returned, nearly choking on your breath as you whimpered. 

It went on like this for a while, Eddie taking his time to bring you to the brink of an orgasm. Once. Twice. Unable to edge you a third time when you came uncontrollably and suddenly. You’d come down only to find his fingers on your clit again, beckoning you.

“Can you do it for me again?” he asked.

Feverish nods, hushed confirmations.

Another orgasm. Another bout of emotions that were ripping through you.

When you finally came down from your third orgasm, you knew you needed more. It wasn’t a want. It was a need. Eddie hadn’t touched himself, hadn’t given in to his own pleasure. It was all you.

All you.

“Can you, um,” you tried to start, breath still heavy. 

“What is it?” he asked.

With shaky fingers, you reached down between you, lightly stroking his cock. Eddie let out a hiss, arms struggling to hold him up. It was his turn to quiver.

“Ah,” he finally said, a nervous chuckle eliciting from him. “I, uh, would really like that.”

Without another word, he ran his tip over your clit, a groan leaving your lips before you came back to reality.

“Wait," you sighed, pausing. "What about you?” Gently, you pressed a hand against his chest. “Don’t you want me to, uh…”

You were too embarrassed to ask him point blank if he wanted his dick (cock? Big Ben? Woodpecker?) sucked. Because you knew that if you were to say it out loud, you would be a fumbling mess of Do you want me to suck your cockbenpecker? And then you’d have to leave and kill yourself out of sheer embarrassment.

But Eddie didn’t laugh at you. Instead, his lips found your shoulder. “No, I’m alright. Thank you for the offer, though.” He slowly trailed his tongue to the other side. “Rain check for that?”

You nodded. “Y-yeah, absolutely.”

He carefully slid in, eliciting strained moans from both of you. You watched his eyes widen; mouth agape as he looked at you. Took your silent nod as confirmation to rock into you. He didn’t go too quick, seemingly taking his time to feel you. 

And as he built his momentum, you couldn’t help but find yourself becoming a a mumbling mess.

His cock was filling you, completing you. Aching as though you’d been missing each other your entire lives and you were finally colliding.

He lifted your leg over his shoulder, seemingly desperate to go deeper. You felt as he shivered, like he was unable to control himself while trying to maintain the control he already had. It drove you wild, moving with him to get him to keep going. Getting as close to him as you could to keep him vibrating above you. 

It was addicting, keeping your eyes connected as you tried to give back what he was giving to you. There was a silent connection forming, one where you were desperate to make him feel the way you did. Craved the ability to make him bend at your will, a carnal desire to make him fall apart at your hands.

Eddie smiled, nearly laughing as you grabbed his ass and pushed him deeper into you. And even though you were close to cracking a smile, it was quickly taken away. He thrusted again, harder, intensifying the wave of ecstasy washing over you. You cried out, unable to hold it in anymore. 

“That’s it,” he said. “You sound so pretty, you know that?”

A fourth orgasm ripped through you at his praise, cum coating his cock as he continued to rock into you. He slowed, only for a moment, just enough to help you down before he picked you right back up again. Cradled your face in one hand, his other lightly running up and down your calf. For the first time, you weren’t thrown into overstimulation.

For the first time, you experienced true pleasure from sex.

As you continued to writhe in his arms, trembling as he left you in wave after wave of euphoria, you felt something shift in your chest. You couldn’t see it then, but there was a part of you that would want him the moment he was gone. Because when he finally came, pulling out and spilling onto your stomach, you were disappointed that he hadn’t cum inside you.

It was in the way he took his time with you, treating you like a lady, praising you with each orgasm. Instead of whatever you imagined, something fast and filthy and rough, you were… Well, you were worshiped.

It was much more than whatever a one-night stand between strangers was supposed to look like. And you’d never had a one-night stand, but you were ninety-nine percent sure it was not this. Strangely, you were very, very okay with that.

When you two were officially finished, he pulled you into his chest, your head resting above his thrumming heart. And you stayed there. Without any thought of the future, without any thought of your hotel room or your manager or the flight you had to take tomorrow. No, you were somewhere else. Somewhere lovely. Somewhere safe.

“Tell me something true,” you whispered in the dark.

“What do you mean?”

“Something you probably haven’t talked about to the press or whatever. However personal you’d like to get.”

“I have two cats,” he said. “And I’m actually considering getting a third.”

“That’s really cool,” you responded. “But I’m curious.”

“Hm?”

“How do you have cats when you’re always away from home? I’ve always wanted to adopt one, but I’m scared we’ll have separation anxiety.”

“Easy. I bring them with me.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, I have special bags for them and everything. They fucking love traveling if you can believe it. Goddamn angels on airplanes.”

You couldn’t help your jealousy. It had always been a dream to have a cat. A companion, a friend to curl up next to at night. But your parents despised animals and then, well, you were suddenly never home. You wondered what it would feel like to be able to bring a piece of home with you wherever you went.

“What about you?’

You peered up at him. “Me?”

“Yeah, you,” he said with a smile. “Tell me something true.”

“It’s so stereotypical, but…” You took a deep breath, contemplating if it was okay to be so vulnerable so soon after meeting him. “I get really sad when people talk about my body.” You watched his eyebrows furrow. “I like myself, but it’s hard to be, like, not skinny and still be the artist I am as if my body determines whether I’m good enough at my job.

“Sometimes I wish I could just be a person who happens to have this body and that was that. I’m healthy…what more do people want out of me?”

Eddie’s arms tightened around your waist, fingers brushing against your tummy. “People are fucked up. Genuinely.” 

“I agree. It’s like… Either I’m too big for someone to love me but my reputation is that I’m fucking everyone within a ten mile radius at any given time. Like a fucking fuck radar.” Eddie laughed. “Like which is it? ‘Cause I clearly can’t be both and I can’t be neither.”

“You know what I say to that?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“Hm?”

He raised his fist. “Fuck ‘em.”

You gave him a fist bump, nodding. “Yeah, fuck ‘em.”

“Also, if I may add, you’re fucking beautiful.” You shook your head. “No, I’m serious. I saw you walk up to accept your award tonight, which you totally had in the bag by the way, and I couldn’t help but think, ‘Wow, she’s more stunning in person.’ And I was at one of the tables in the back.”

 “You really thought that?”

“Please, I think Jeff was getting annoyed at how much I was staring. Said Radiohead wrote ‘Creep’ about me.”

A laugh fell from your lips but you still shook your head.

“I genuinely like you for you,” he whispered, lightly lifting your chin up. “It’s something true.”

“I think…I believe you.”

“Please do.”

But when you finally fell asleep, you were thrown into something ferocious. The sky turned black, with crows and ravens circling the trees. You ran along a path, trying desperately to find shelter. In the distance, you saw Eddie, walking with some other girl. One arm behind his back, his other hand holding hers. Just like he did with you.

And then it occurred to you: Now that you’d gotten a taste of Eddie Munson, you didn’t want to share.

It was supposed to be a random hookup. Just a fleeting glance at the unusual mixture of metal and pop, leather and lace. But when you woke up to the sound of your alarm, having to get on a plane as soon as possible to do promo in Chicago, you decided to wake him up.

“Hey,” you said. “Wake up, sleepy.”

He opened his eyes slightly, taking in your already dressed appearance. “Where are you going?”

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you shrugged. “Chicago. I have a podcast to go on to talk about the Grammys and bullshit about having anything written for the next album and do promo and all that.” You looked down at the white duvet, all wrinkly from the long night (with a hint of his smeared eye shadow.) “I just wanted to thank you for last night and tell you that I had fun.”

“Yeah?” You nodded. “I did, too.” 

For a moment, you were quiet. Watching as he bit his lip, noticing how you were chewing on yours. Wondered what to say. What to think. How to end an interaction you really didn’t want to end.

“Favorite Beatles song this morning?” he asked.

You tried not to smile, but you couldn’t help it as you looked up at his cheeky expression. 

“‘I’ve Just Seen A Face’.”

“Help!” he nearly shouted in a fake scared voice, clasping onto his face. 

Rolling your eyes at his antics, you said, “If I didn’t know better, you know every album they’ve ever done.”

“Maybe I’ll tell you the answer next time I see you.”

You chuckled, telling yourself that this was just something people say. Next time this. Next time that. And there’s no follow up. Just a glance here and there at events. No one calls. No one cares.

You tried to get up, but Eddie gently grabbed your hand, rubbing his fingers along your knuckles. “Actually, in all seriousness…I wouldn’t mind seeing you again sometime.”

“Do you really mean that?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

Without a word, you disconnected your hand from his and started towards the door. Started towards what was ultimately going to be a long day with endless naps and replacing the water in your body with coffee. 

And as you placed your hand on the cold doorknob, Eddie said his last words.

“I’m going to miss you.”

You glanced over at him, your armor starting to come loose. 

But it tightened as soon as the weakness was identified. Because there was no way to make any promises, no way to guarantee anything more than what this moment in time had provided. 

“I’ll see you soon, Eddie. I’ll make sure of it.”

After that, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. The way he was just so honest. Upfront. Wanting you close.

He told you he was going to miss you. He told you that he liked you for the person you were, not the person that everyone expected you to be. And he was the same, his reputation being nothing more than a façade for the lovely human being underneath.

The rest of that day, that week, you could only think of him.

Shouldn’t you give yourself some time to enjoy it? his voice echoed. 

It’s alright. 

Just let go.

Early October, 2024

His makeup smeared down his face as he held your eyes. You’d never seen him so soft, so gentle. Full of emotions reserved just for you. Desperate for the one thing he ever wanted. 

You.

And in that moment, it all froze mid-air. The laughter and gasps of the crowd. The sound of the photographers shouting his name, shouting yours. The videos and the comments that felt like sticks and stones. Ronnie’s hurling words that felt like daggers.

It dissipates as you remember the start, as you remember why you were there in the first place. Why it mattered.

“Okay,” you murmured.

Eddie's eyes widened.

“I’ll stay.”

[x--daughters-of-darkness--x]

EVANESCENCE'S AMY LEE HAILS SLEEP TOKEN: "I'M BLOWN AWAY"

Sleep Token are Revolver's Artist of the Year, and their towering instant-classic Take Me Back to Eden is our No. 1 album of 2023.

So yeah, you can say that we here at Revolver HQ are big fans of Sleep Token — and we're hardly alone in that.

Beyond their devoted cult of worshipers, the anonymous, masked band have earned glowing praise from many of their fellow musicians in the heavy-music world. In fact, one of their most famous fans is Evanescence frontwoman Amy Lee.

In the 2000s, Evanescence spearheaded a captivating mix of heavy-rock bombast and moody, ethereal atmosphere. On their debut album, Fallen, Lee and Co. demonstrated how explosive metal surges ("Bring Me to Life") and melancholy piano balladry ("My Immortal") could coexist harmoniously.

So, in a way, Evanescence were tapping into Sleep Token's sonic wavelength while Vessel was possibly still inhabiting a past life. Unsurprisingly, Lee is over the moon about Sleep Token's shrewd songcraft and jaw-dropping ambition.

"I love Sleep Token. I'm blown away," Lee enthuses to Revolver. "How do they do it? How do they go so many different directions and call it one song?

"It took me three listens of ["The Summoning"] to realize that when they do that whole psychedelic section at the end, that it's actually the same chorus as it was before, only in a completely different way. And I love it even more for that.

"I thought they just went a whole new direction and wrote a new part, and then I was like, "Wait that's the same… but not at all."

She continues: "I love it. I think as a musician, music like that gets your brain tingling. It's exciting. It's like, wow, anything's possible. It's inspiring. I like them a lot."

While Lee has been the very public face of her band for the past two decades, Sleep Token are, of course, fastidiously anonymous. Yet despite the very different approach, the Evanescence frontwoman is quick to affirm Vessel's choice to remove the cult of personality from his project and put all the focus on the music.

"I think it's amazing," she says of Sleep Token's secrecy. "I think too much these days the focus is on everything but the music with a lot of the mainstream. And for me, if there's not the music then what are we doing? That's what this is supposed to be about. I love it. I think it's awesome. It's creative. It's really cool."

[neverlostmycrown]

My Heart is Broken - moodboard ✨

Amy Lee revealed the inspiration of "My Heart Is Broken" saying: "A good friend of mine heads up an organization in New York that rescues victims of sex trafficking. My husband and I got involved and were really moved and horrified. As I was writing the song I was putting myself in that place - what would it be like to be trapped? Threatened? Alone? Unable to tell anyone what was happening because you're afraid of what would happen?" (x)

[mystra-midnight]

Haunted Hoedown - DAY FOUR

summary: it felt like a thunderstorm was roaring in your head. Yyu heard him, but his words didn't register in your brain the way they should have. there was only building, mounting, and ruining pleasure that was spreading through your organs and seizing your limbs.

warnings: ghost!eddie x reader. mentions of an unsatisfying sex life/readers ex being a douche. masturbation. voyeurism. somnophilia. eddie being a tad mean/dom.

words: 5.7k

notes: day four of the haunted hoedown challenge being hosted by @inklore and @psychedelic-ink. a bit delayed because i was away seeing amy lee live and in person and fangirling. i tried a different style here with that i'm not 100% sure i love but i hope you enjoy reading.

prompt: american horror story Inspired + “i would burn the world for you.”

May 7th. 2001.

"Tell me why this place is so cheap."

You looked wide-eyed around the apartment. It was utterly perfect—exactly what you'd been hoping for when moving to Hawkins, Indiana. The walls were painted off-white, there were brand new stainless steel appliances, and there were timber floors throughout. The ceilings were high, and there was a little reading nook, two large bedrooms, and a large clawed bathtub.

But the best part was that it was advertised at more than half the true market value. It was absolutely ridiculous, crazy, and completely illogical, and you couldn't understand why.

You saw the realtor flinch at the question, which immediately brought you down from the clouds. Shit. Of course, it was too good to be true. There had to be something wrong with the property for the owner to be selling it for practically next to nothing.

With a sigh, you faced him. His expression was grim.

"Well, you see, um, there was, uh," he stammered, tripping over his words as he searched for the right ones, the ones that wouldn't scare you away. "About fifteen years ago, before the urban development and technology boom came to Hawkins, a young man died in the trailer park that used to be on this lot."

Your heart dropped as the horror of his words sank in, but the feeling was fleeting. Someone who was a stranger to you died ten years ago. They hadn't even lived in the apartment, so that didn't explain the next-to-nothing price. You said as much to the realtor, pressing him for more information.

"The owners want to sell the property quickly, rather than for money. They've explained that there were some... how do I put this? Some strange events occurred while they were living here."

"Such as?"

"Things would move when no one was around. There were always problems with the central heating. The televisions and radios would change channels in the middle of programmes or turn on in the middle of the night. I assume most of this is because of defective wiring somewhere in the building, but none of the electricians were able to find the cause."

You watched him cringe, as though saying the words aloud was physically painful to him. It all sounded ridiculous. And none of it was enough to make you turn down such a fantastic property for such a stupidly low price.

"That's all?" You teased, flashing the man a smile. "Consider the place sold.

June 11th. 2001.

Despite the realtor double-checking and then triple-checking, you crossed your T's and dotted your I's and bought the apartment that same day. You moved in the following month, piling boxes upon boxes, each one with a specific room written on it in your scribble: kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, guest room, reading. You bought new furniture and decorated the walls with pictures of your family and the knick-knacks you'd accumulated after college.

It had taken weeks to sort out all the rooms and empty all the boxes, but the apartment finally felt like a real home, and you'd completely forgotten what the realtor had said when showing you the property: strange events.

It started after three blissful and uneventful weeks. Things had started to go missing, just like he said. It wasn't anything overly important, just small things like your rings, your glasses, or sometimes even your panties. Things would go missing for days at a time before reappearing in locations that they had no business being in.

And then the cold started. Not just cold, but freezing cold.

It got so bad that some nights you would see your own breath misting in the air. It never seemed to matter how high you set the thermostat or how many blankets you piled on top of you—you couldn't stop shivering.

But while all these things were certainly strange, they weren't illogical. You could explain each of them: you misplaced things because you'd moved towns—hell, you'd moved states—and were getting used to living somewhere new. It was also cold because the central heating was faulty. The lights would flicker because the wiring was done wrong. All of that made perfect sense.

But what didn't make a lick of logical sense was when things started to move while you were staring right at them. Hallway doors would swing wide open, slamming into the walls as though they'd been ripped open violently in fits of rage. Shadows would creep along the walls when you weren't looking. You'd catch a glimpse from the corner of your eyes of these stalking shapes, only for them to be gone when you turned to look at them.

Then the photos started to fall from their hooks on the wall, sometimes thrown across the room, so that the frames broke and glass shards littered the floors. You make yourself a meal only for the plate to be thrown off the table and against the wall, leaving the paint stained with splotches. It frightened you, leaving you turning off the lights, running to bed, and hiding under the covers like you were suddenly twelve years old again.

The worst of it was when the dissonant whispering started. It would wake you in the middle of the night, leaving you clutching a baseball bat for dear life. Your co-workers all agreed that you were stressed and overworked, probably exhausted from uprooting your entire life and moving across the country. None of them believed in ghosts, horror stories, or haunted houses.

You thought you might be going insane until you saw him.

July 4th. 2001.

Eddie Munson.

"Hey!" You called, startling the boy standing in front of your dresser. The top right drawer was opened, and your panties were on full display. Hidden beneath them was your vibrator, and you found yourself flustered, angry, embarrassed, and scared.

He looked at you with wide doe-eyes, swimming pools of brown that you could easily get lost in if he wasn't holding a pair of your panties to his nose like some god-damn pervert. You held a bat in your hand, ready to swing, when he turned and ran. You give chase, following him around the queen bed with fresh sheets and into the bathroom that joined the two bedrooms.

By the time you rounded the bed and made it through the doorway, he was gone, seemingly having vanished into thin air. Your panties were on the ground. You spent hours checking rooms, closets, and any nook and cranny a boy of his size could hide in. You even called the police and filed a report, but there was no evidence of forced entry.

In the days that followed, you took to sleeping with the bat besides the bed and a kitchen knife beneath your pillows. It was childish, but having them so close made you feel safer.

The next few weeks were surprisingly and uneventful, and soon you settled back into a familiar routine. Work five days a week, from eight in the morning until five in the afternoon, come home and eat, channel surf for a few hours, shower, and sleep. You were even able to have friends over without anything weird ruining the atmosphere.

It was as you were chancel surfing that you saw him again. You were looking through the music stations for something to listen to while you showered; you skimmed through the pop stations and skipped over the metal stations before setting on one that was playing When It's Over by Sugar Ray. The song was catchy and tended to get stuck in your head with how much it played on the radio, but it was a good one.

"Wait! Go back!"

You screamed.

With your heart pounding wildly in your chest and your stomach having fallen out of your arse, you stared at him. He seemed entirely unaware of your fright, instead gesturing frantically at the television. "Turn it back!"

This was the first time you'd gotten an up-close look at him. He was dressed in black jeans with rips in the knees and a shirt that said Hellfire Club. As he motioned between the remote in your hand and the television, it rode up, revealing a trail of hair that started at his navel and disappeared into his jeans. He had a leather jacket on and a denim Dio vest over it.

He looked like something straight out of the 80's.

"Back!" He yelled louder this time. He sounded panicked and frantic, and that was what snapped you from your stupor. You flicked backwards through the channels, finding the metal music one, when he ordered you to stop. He stared wide-eyed at the television, where Metallica was playing a live concert. You recognised the song; it was Fuel.

"That's James Hetfield," he said, his tone disbelieving. He flopped open-mouthed onto the couch as Kirk Hammett and Lars Ulrich began the opening rift. "This is Metallica."

"Yeah?"

"I don't know this song."

"It was released about four years ago; how can you not have heard it?"

You pressed yourself tightly into the arm of the couch, feeling it dig painfully into your back, when he whirled around to face you. His face was overcome with surprise, shock, and something else you'd yet to comprehend. Wild curls bounced around his face before settling into place.

"Four years?"

You shivered beneath the intensity of his stare and his emotions; even his presence in your apartment sent a chill down your spine. You nodded quickly, clutching the television to your chest like it was a weapon. Your grip was so tight that your knuckles ached.

"That's not possible," he whispered, turning back to the television as the lyrics started. "They look different. They sound different. This is crazy. They just released Master of Puppets?"

That caught your attention, and it was then your turn to be surprised.

"That was fifteen years ago."

"What?" He rounded on you a second time.

Over the next few weeks, you learned more about him. He’d lived in the trailer park with his uncle Wayne, and he’d passed in a tragic accident, an earthquake; his uncle had never found his body. You suspected there was more to it, but he was unwilling to give more details.

That accident had happened fifteen years ago, and the trailer park had been demolished about seven years later. A development block had been built to replace it, which eventually turned into an apartment complex as Hawkins expanded.

Eddie had only been twenty-one when he died. You learned that he liked music. Well, no, you learned that he loved Metallica and Dio. So you started to leave the television on when you went to work, letting it play from dusk to dawn to keep him entertained. Then you started buying magazines and comics to leave them open for him to read; you even bought home Metallica's latest CD.

And as the weeks dragged on, his presence in your apartment became less terrifying, except for the times he would seemingly materialise from nowhere. You even started asking him to hang out with you at night. The two of you would spend hours watching movies and music videos and just talking.

September 19th. 2001.

"Come on, Eddie!" You whined. He was behaving like a child, and you were exasperated and fed up with his antics. He was standing in front of the door with his arms crossed over his chest, obscuring the words on the front of his shirt.

"Don't you 'Eddie' me," he cautioned, his brown eyes narrowing into a glare. He hated the idea that you were mocking him, though he was smart enough to realise that wasn't what you were doing right now. "He's an asshole. I don't understand why you can't see it."

"Because I know him! You've only ever seen him! Briefly, I might add!"

Eddie threw his hands up in frustration; the sound that left his mouth was all but a growl. He wanted to grab you by the shoulders and shake you until your brains leaked out of your ears. Then you might be smart enough to realise that Michael was a fucking douchebag. "And I see you too!" Eddie spat, the fieriness in his tone making you roll your eyes and shiver simultaneously.

"Every time you've seen him, you come home frustrated, like the man doesn't know how to fuck or something! You always come back bitchier than when you left!"

"Eddie!"

If you could have hit him, you would have. His words hit too close to home for comfort. Michael was nice enough, if not vain and at times arrogant. He came from money, and he often acted and thought that money would carry him through the world. But he treated you well enough, and you enjoyed his company most of the time.

Except Eddie's intuition hit the nail on the head—Michael didn't know how to fuck. At least, not well. Each time you felt the familiar warmth of orgasm approaching, the same thing happened. It didn't matter that you'd be crying out his name and clawing at his back, begging him not to stop; he'd move, change his angle, change his pace, change his position, and you would be left a frustrated mess.

On the rare occasions he cared, he was able to make you cum. He'd work you over until you tumbled into oblivion, his fingers buried in your pussy as it clenched and spasmed around them, your back arched off the mattress. But he cared for his own pleasure above all others, and nine times out of ten, you didn't finish.

"Eddie!" He mocked. "Is my name the only thing you can say, sweetheart?"

"I'm not taking dating advice from a dead man!"

You regretted the words the moment they left your mouth. Tears burned in the back of your throat from how you swallowed the urge to cry, your emotions reaching a fever pitch as you walked through him. And as you passed, the cold of his presence enveloped you in a frigid hug but didn't stop you.

Instead, you left.

You drank too much that night; said too much, and let Michael work you over for far longer than you normally would. After being compliant and patient all night, he draped your legs over his shoulders, grunting and groaning as he fucked you, only to cum on your stomach before kissing you goodnight and slipping away. That had been the boiling point.

The relationship ended with you slapping Michael so hard that your hand hurt.

When you made it back home, the apartment was dark, cold, and empty. The television had turned off automatically at some point in the evening, and none of the lights were on. You’d expected him to be waiting for you with a smug smirk and an I told you so attitude, but Eddie wasn’t there, and that hurt more than the disappointing sex.

September 26th. 2001.

Six days later, you still hadn't seen him. Each night you tossed and turned, his absence from your life a gaping wound that often left you bleeding out and gasping for air. The apartment felt too large without him—too quiet and too empty. But you resigned yourself to the fact that you'd chased him away. He'd have found someone else to haunt, someone who appreciated him instead of insulting him. So you found something else to occupy your mind.

Except while you were settling into the mountain of pillows on your bed, the scent of clean linen and vanilla swirling around the room, he decided to make his grand reappearance. Well, no, not exactly.

The moment he chose to reappear was when you were sprawled on the bed, thighs spread wide, and heels dug into the mattress as you worked the tips of your fingers over your aching clit and into your leaking hole. You hadn't had sex since breaking up with Michael, but the ache had been in your belly long before that. The knot between your hips was pulled taut when you saw Eddie standing at the foot of the bed, panic bursting to life inside your chest. You snapped your thighs tight together, your hand flying to press into the sheets to hide the sticky evidence of your arousal.

"Don't stop," he said softly, his voice breathy and light. His wide-doe eyes meet yours. "Please."

"Eddie," you whispered as your face warmed with embarrassment. He didn't miss the way you rubbed your thighs together, desperate to stifle the ache between them. In that moment, you wanted him to be the one touching you. You wanted to feel the warmth and weight of his palms as he held you down and his breath on your neck as he kissed, bit, and sucked. You wanted him in the worst way, and it hurt you beyond words that you couldn't have him.

"Open them." His tone was harsh this time—forceful and demanding, enticing a soft whine from your parted lips. The smirk that found its way to his plump lips was sinful. "No wonder he couldn't get you off. Was he too soft, sweetheart? You need to be told what you want to do, fucked like a whore, to be able to cum?"

Eddie wanted to grab your ankles and drag you to him. Your little nub was so sensitive that he wanted to spread you open and rub the tip of his tongue against it until you were begging for him. He wanted to watch you cum on his cock, his fingers, his thigh, his tongue, and his cock again. He wanted to feel you with every fibre of his ghostly being. "Be a good girl and open your legs, yeah?"

You were slow to react. You parted your thighs slowly and shyly until you were exposed to his hungry gaze. The insides of your thighs were sticky and shiny with the evidence of your first orgasm; your puffy folds were still slick as you parted them with your fingers, moving to rub one on either side of your clit. Your breath hitched at the sensation and the way his eyes followed your movements.

"Eddie," you whined his name softly while your head tipped back, your throat exposed, and your chest heaving with each sharp intake of air. The crown of your head mashed against the pillows, leaving your hair a mess. You imagined the way his hands would feel—rough and calloused. He'd played guitar before his death; you knew he'd be good with his fingers. He'd be able to find that spot deep inside your gummy walls that made stars, no, galaxies, burst to life inside your veins.

"What a fucking prick." He spat the words through his teeth, each syllable filled with venom. "Didn't know how good of a thing he had until it was gone. Never even deserved to have such a pretty pussy if he couldn't get you off. I bet he couldn't even do it with his fingers buried in there or with his tongue, either. Bet he just rammed his dick in without getting you worked up first."

"He doesn’t.." You sighed, your breath airy and full of arousal. "He... he never tasted me."

If it were possible, Eddie would have cum in his pants like a fucking virgin. Not only had that asshole left you a worked-up and unsatisfied mess because he didn't know how to fuck you right, he'd never even tasted you, which was a crying shame. Right now, all Eddie wanted to do was have your sweet cunt beneath his mouth. You were a feast on display, and he was forbidden from tasting, touching, and fucking.

Eddie watched as you pushed your fingers into your clenching hole, chasing the orgasm that was starting to sear through your veins. You were so wet, your slick dripping down the crack of your ass, only to be lost in the bed sheets. "Forget about him," he followed up with a gentler tone, the cold of his presence enveloping the air around you until your nipples turned to hardened peaks that crowned your tits. "Forget about him. Just touch that hot cunt for me, sweetheart."

You answered him with a whimper, your lower lip quivering before being captured between your teeth as your fingers moved deeper, seeking and searching for that sweet stop. You heard his sharp intake of breath as you fingered yourself; the schlick sounds echoing around the room were obscene and pornographic. Your slick arousal coated your fingers, your hand, your palm, and your thighs, shining beneath the dull glow of moonlight that peaked through the windows.

"Harder," he barked, and you obeyed. The heel of your palm slapped against your clit with each thrust of your fingers. "Faster."

It felt like a thunderstorm was roaring in your head. You heard him, but his words didn't register in your brain the way they should have. There was only building, mounting, and ruining pleasure that was spreading through your organs and seizing your limbs. You come hard and long, crying a pretty symphony made up entirely of his name.

October 31st. 2001.

It worked for a while.

In spite of the entire situation making your face burn, you couldn't say no to him, not when he looked at you with those pretty doe-eyes or when he called you his good little whore. Thus, Eddie watched as you masturbated for him every night. He would tell you when to cum and how to touch yourself. You'd be told how many fingers to use and watched as you fucked yourself open.

It worked—until it didn’t.

After days and weeks, it wasn't enough to just touch yourself. You wanted him to touch you, but that was entirely impossible. So you threw yourself into your work and your social life to distract your meloncholy heart. But each night, in the privacy of your apartment, you belonged entirely to him. You worked a double shift today in preparation for Halloween. Eddie hadn't said anything when you'd come home exhausted. All you wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep like the dead.

And that was exactly what you'd done.

You didn’t remember falling asleep, but you knew you weren’t awake yet—you were floating on clouds in that blissful in-between. It was 3:15 a.m. in the morning, and you vaguely recognised the blurry red outline of the didgital clock on the bedside table. The witching hour on All Hallows' Eve.

It was only the sudden, sharp zing of pleasure that woke you.

You cried out. Your voice was hoarse, and your vocal cords were thick with a myriad of emotions: sleep, confusion, panic, and sudden desperation. Reality finally dawned upon you as honey-sweet pleasure swept through your limbs, making them feel heavy and sluggish even as you grabbed a handful of the thick mop curls between your spread thighs.

You bucked your hips without intention, pushing his face deeper between your sticky folds until he grabbed your waist and pinned you to the mattress. When he pulled back and wrapped his wet lips around your throbbing clit, you could feel him smiling. A deep hum rumbled through his vocal cords and vibrated through your core until you were moaning outloud, your back in a perfect arch as red-hot lightening sizzled through your veins.

"E-Eddie?"

The panic in your voice finally encouraged him to lift his head. His doe-eyes were blown wide with lust, almost entirely black. You saw the way his chin dripped with a mixture of his saliva and your slick; he was a vision of exctasy that made your brain short circuit. This wasn't possible—it literally wasn't possible. But it was real. You felt the weight of his hands on your waist, the way his fingertips dug into your skin hard enough to leave bruises, and the way his weight dipped into the mattress.

"Was wondering when you'd wake up, sweets," he mumbled, his breath hot against your mound. Your thighs trembled and squeezed around his head when he dipped his head to lick from your quivering hole to your clit, lapping at the slick that practically leaked from you. There was a part of you screaming, wanting to rage and be angry at him for doing something like this while you were sleeping. There was also a part of you that wanted to be as distraught now as you had been the day you found him sniffing your panties.

Both parts were quiet, making room for the horny, touch-starved part of yourself to come to the surface. Your nails scratched his scalp when you tugged hard on his hair. Eddie tightened his hold on your waist to stop your impatient squirming as he kitten-licked your folds. You were already embarrassingly close, and he knew. It was obvious from the way you were squeezing your thights around his head until his hearing muffled and how you squirmed and wriggled as the pressure in your belly built.

You made this sound—a little gasp of pleasure—that sent arousal rocketing through his veins and straight to his cock when he pushed two fingers into your tight pussy. His fingers were thicker than yours, larger and longer, reaching deep and rubbing against all of your nerves. You came without warning, slick walls clamping rightly around his thrusting fingers as the world shattered around you into sweet oblivion. Eddie kept his lips wrapped around your little nub, sucking and flicking his tongue against it as crystal shards of pleasure shot through her entire being. It felt like a bolt of white-hot lightning had struck your soul and set her world ablaze.

When you sagged against the mattress, Eddie climbed the length of your body, his lips leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses from your clit and up your belly, through the valley of your tits, until you were tasing yourself on his tongue. You touched him for the first time with shaking hands, feeling his skin against your palms, tracing the outline of each tattoo, and feeling how his muscles shifted and tensed beneath his skin as he settled between your thighs.

He was real; he was here, and he was yours.

As Eddie rubbed his cock against your sticky folds to get himself slick and lubricated, he groaned into your mouth. The flushed tip nudged your clit, causing you to gasp and arch beneath him. "Eddie," you moaned softly, your entire body burning and your eyes pleading for more.

"Say it." He growled. His breath was hot on your neck as he smeared open-mouth kisses along the column of your throat. He already knew what you wanted, but he wanted you to say it. He had to hear you say it. When you bucked up against him, desperate to feel him fill you or for friction of any kind, he pinned your hips down, refusing to give into your demands.

"Eddie," you whined. "Eddie, please, please, fuck me—ah!"

The stretch as he pushed inside was intense and immediate, more so than anything you'd ever felt. But it wasn't painful. No, it was deliciously mind-numbing. Your nails dug deep into his shoulders as you threw your head back. Your lips parted in breathless cries when he bottomed out, filling you so completely. The two of you have never talked about this moment, his size, or what to expect when having sex. Mostly because neither of you had expected this to ever happen.

Now that he was between your legs, holding them open with heavy palms, you knew that he was big—bigger than Michael and your other ex's. Eddie watched the way your lips clung to him as he pulled back, leaving only the crown of his cock nestled in your tight walls, and he moaned as you sucked in each inch of him when he snapped his hips forward. It felt like he was carving his way into your guts, rearranging your organs, or hitting the back of your throat. Maybe that was over dramatic; you were cock-drunk and delusional already. Maybe it was just the intensity with which you wanted him to act that made you irrational.

All that you knew for certain was that he was here, and he was fucking you, and you never wanted him to stop. You were crying, the tears having finally fallen, and you couldn’t stop shaking as lava pooled in your stomach. Eddie grabbed you by the chin, his thumb and forefinger pressing into your cheeks, so that you were pouting when he kissed her again. "Look at me when I'm fucking you."

Your eyes snapped open. When did you close them? You didn't know.

"This is what you needed, huh? You just needed a cock inside you—someone to fuck the attitude out of you. You're just a cockwhore, aren't you, baby?" His voice was rough as he growled the words through his teeth. He was hovering over you, hands on the mattress either side of your head, trapping you in the shelter of his body. You cried out when he made a particularly deep thrust; his aim never faltered. He found that spot that made galaxies come to life and made your thighs tremble around his slim waist.

"Answer me!" He repeated it louder this time.

"Yes!" You wailed. You felt racked with pleasure when he put a hand on your tit, palming it roughly and pinching your nipple to bring your attention to him. "Yes, yes, I'm a whore, just a cockwhore—of god, right there, right there."

"Whose whore?"

"Eddie, Eddie, please, need to cum—"

"You wanna cum?"

"Yes, yes, please." He was holding you at the edge of the world, leaving you staring into the abyss. You were buzzing with excitement, entirely ready and willing to take a leap of faith with him. You needed to free-fall; you needed to float through the clouds, and he wasn't letting you. Not yet. Not until you gave him what he wanted.

"Then tell me whose whore you are."

"Yours! Your whore! Just yours!"

Now that you'd given him what he wanted, he fucked you harder, impossibly so. The sound of his pelvis hitting the backs of your thighs was a constant smack, smack, smack. The headboard hit the wall with a resounding thud, thud, thud. The neighbours would surely complain, but you don't care because he's going to break you, ruin you, and wreck you.

The knot in your stomach unrolled quickly and all at once. A fresh wave of rapture raced through you like lightening arching through your veins, leaving you staring at the roof with wide-open eyes that took in nothing that they saw. Your back bowed into a perfect arch as you came harder than you thought was ever possible—even harder than you had the first time he'd watched you touch yourself.

Eddie buried his face against your neck, his abdomen dipping in and out as he chased his own release, his breath superheated against your skin while he panted. He was lost in you—the smell of your shampoo, the taste of your chapstick—utterly and hopelessly lost. Eddie came only a moment later, long and hard, painting thick ivory ropes along your quivering walls.

"So fucking good, baby. Pussy was made for me." He rambled between kisses, licks, and bites along your neck. Your nails scratched down his back as you preened beneath his praise, your mind somewhere in the clouds, no higher, in the thermosphere. "You're squeezing me like a damn vice. Fuck, you're perfect. I would burn the world for you. You're mine, aren't you, baby? My desperate whore. All mine."

Eddie kept you pinned to the mattress, legs still thrown over his shoulders as he huddled over you, almost folding you in half. He grabbed you roughly by the chin, forcing you to look at him. Your eyes were unfocused, and your face was streaked with tears. He felt your pussy still fluttering around his softening cock as you rode the coattails of your orgasm, each aftershock making you twitch and shake. He kissed you hard until you were breathless. You mewled into his mouth and pawed at him.

And you knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that you were his.

[ericmicael]

Interesting words from Jennifer Lee:

Social media, of course, is already on the case; an avalanche of opinion that Elsa should be gay is gaining force. “That’s dangerous storytelling,” Lee says. “I hear it occasionally in the studio: ‘I don’t want a character who …’

“But it’s not what you want, it’s ‘Who is this character? What does she need?’ It’s hard because you never know what the landscape is like on social media. You can only know what it’s like in that story room.”

In the text she also talks about Elsa's inspiration, which is her own sister, Amy.

“We were kids who grew up with a mom who worked a lot, our parents were divorced. Amy was the responsible one, she had all the burdens. She was magical to me. Everything she did I thought was the greatest thing, though I was not quite so magical to her.”

Lee grins. She’s like a good Disney movie herself. She can switch seamlessly between emotions. “I was the wild child. I had all the creativity, like Anna.”

And some about Elsa's personality:

“Elsa trying to tell jokes is one of the funniest ideas.” Not a natural comedian then? “She tries, the poor thing. I think of her having to face the crowds at Arendelle, an introvert’s nightmare. Things like that are in my head all the time.”

There are other interesting phrases in the interview, but I found these to be the most interesting. I think it's worth a more complete analysis of this interview, @greatqueenanna.

[imaginesbymk]

SUPERSTORE PREFERENCE

TEACHING YOU TO DRIVE

Characters: Amy Sosa, Jonah Simms, Dina Fox, Cheyenne Lee, Marcus White & Glenn Sturgis

Tags: mentions of drugs & reckless driving

A/N: the relationship between these characters + y/n for this pref is platonic, for glenn it would be familial too - big shoutout to @eddiecabotsmile cos i requested for them to write a reservoir dogs pref about them teaching the reader to drive, and this inspired me to do one for superstore cos them teaching y/n to drive would be undoubtedly funny <3 likes/reblogs/feedback are greatly appreciated!!! <333

support me on ko-fi & feel free to commission me!

AMY SOSA —

Amy's like a mother figure to you, so she helps you in any way she can.

you and Amy decide to use her car because it's more spacious and comfortable.

Amy's teaching abilities when it comes to driving are pretty normal. It's nothing too stressful, but at the same time, it kind of is.

"I feel like you're gonna write me up if I miss a road sign."

Would roleplay as the driving instructor, which makes things so awkward and pressuring for you now

You hit the brakes too hard and she goes flying forward

JONAH SIMMS —

Somehow Jonah makes it about him, telling you he's good at driving, he's helped his friends get their licenses, set up cones to help them practice blah blah blah.

Jonah makes Garrett tag along after he refuses numerous times. "Y/N's gonna drive? I don't even trust y/n on the intercom."

Jonah bribes him, promising him you'll stop for pizza on the way.

He lets you use his car, but once you knock over a trash bin, and nearly rear-ending Glenn's new car, he regrets it. Garrett glares at him with a "what'd I tell you?" face.

Things turn out okay. You listen to Jonah when he tells you what to do. Jonah is calm because you start to get the hang of it, so then Garrett is chill. Everyone is chill.

Then you realized you missed the exit to the nearest pizza place like you promised.

DINA FOX —

At first, she judges you for not knowing how to drive and asks why you didn't get your license sooner.

She agrees to help you, but takes it way too seriously.

"I will make sure all my birds attack you like Melanie Daniels if you ever so make a dent on my van."

Quizzes you on everything, even though you proved to her so many times that you have your permit.

Dina is timing you, yelling at you for going ten miles on a forty mile speed limit, and stresses you out over every small thing.

"GO!! GO!!!!!!! UGH. You could have went, y/n!"

Dina would literally scream at pedestrians or even drivers for going too slow or almost cutting you off.

CHEYENNE LEE —

She would not care if you accidentally hit another car trying to parallel park. As long as she's the passenger princess, she would definitely pass you.

She wasn't lying when she said she has bees in her car. You even glanced at the cup holder and found a baggy of ecstasy.

"Cheyenne, are you sure I'm doing a good job?"

"Hm? Oh, you're a natural! If you were my Uber driver, I'd give you a 5-star rating, or maybe a 4.4 because Harmonica drives her Barbie convertible better than you."

Cheyenne would not even be paying attention, she would just be on her phone the whole time, taking selfies or texting Bo or Mateo.

Hell, she would FaceTime Mateo so he could judge your driving on camera.

She would look up from her phone last minute and be like, "Oh, wait. The exit's here."

MARCUS WHITE —

If he never offered and insisted, Marcus would be over the moon when you ask him to teach you. He has a playlist ready and everything.

You immediately regret it, though, for valid reasons. He's making you use his car when the poor guy doesn't even have doors to his car, plus he's kind of gross.

He's a decent driver but would often ignore road signs, and wouldn't even care if you, the driver, wore a seat belt or not.

Marcus would eventually dare you to floor it down the highway.

Would make you stop at a Wendy's or something.

You only needed help reverse parking.......

GLENN STURGIS —

Glenn is THRILLED.

Glenn allows you to use his car, despite getting a new one every time they get damaged by every circumstance at work.

He sings children nursery rhymes to calm himself down if you go at least five miles over the speed limit, and would grip the handle. Typical boomer things.

"You almost hit Brett!"

"Brett is all the way at the cart corral!"

He would congratulate you for getting one small thing right, as little as checking your mirror or putting both hands on the wheel.

He demonstrates the different types of parking, but takes his sweet time.

You don't end up doing well on the first try, but he insists that you're doing your best — even after almost hitting a mother pushing her stroller at a red light.

[enyearns]

l.ch: Amy

in which lee chan is suddenly taken by the great urge to invite you over... or him to yours.

✧ listening to, and inspired by: Amy by Alexandre Desplat (Little Women 2019)

✧ genre(s): pure, domestic fluff ;o ✧ wc: 1k

✧ gender neutral reader! the title is Amy because i am listening to an ost titled 'amy' :) <3

waking up at 7 am to his alarm, chan's mind was foggy, yet he still found it in himself to unconsciously search for your warmth beside him.

feeling the flat surface, all null from your usual warmth, he slowly, and begrudgingly, opened his eyes. he slightly grimaced at the bright morning light filtering through the curtains, blinking a few times before finally adjusting.

he glanced to his side again, just to check if by some miracle you were there. you, of course, were not. 

he promptly got out of bed to further search for you, calling your name out groggily. as he gradually grew more alert, he realised that his apartment smelled like breakfast — he could smell eggs and toast. and sure enough, there you were, right there in the kitchen.

his lips curled up into a smile at the sight. 

you were like a scene from a movie. granted, right now he can’t think of the perfect film you would be, but you look like you had just stepped out of some comforting, romantic movie. the light, ambient soundtrack you had playing on the bluetooth speakers as you cooked breakfast definitely helped in painting the vision. 

you were bustling about in your pyjama shorts and the old spiderman graphic tee that he had given you just the night before. your hair was still unbrushed. even though it was slightly messy, it made you look all the more endearing to him. 

the morning light bouncing off your skin seemed to make you glow. you still hadn’t taken notice of his arrival yet, and he took a few moments to appreciate your concentrated expression before coming up behind you, lazily draping himself around you. 

you slightly jumped (you scare easily, he remembers affectionately), but you giggled and immediately eased into his touch when he drawled out a soft ‘good morning.’ 

“good morning,” you greeted back as he pressed a fond kiss on your hair. “i hope you don’t mind the mess… i used some of your eggs, but the rest are the stuff i picked up from the grocery store last night.” 

“grocery store…” chan thought back to last night with a warm heart. he had picked you up from work, and the two of you had gone out to eat at some b-rate fried chicken place. you were slightly bothered; you were so excited to eat here, only for it to be, in your words: “mid at best.”

that wasn’t the highlight of his night though. the memory he thought so fondly of was their supermarket trip after dinner. you had asked so sweetly to make a stop to the grocery store (you were playfully nagging for a bit before he complied (he was always intending to, he just wanted to tease you a little)), reassuring him that you won’t take long, and no, you won’t lose him in the supermarket.

holding true to your promise, the two of you were strolling side by side, with chan pushing the cart as you diligently skimmed through the ingredients list of whatever product you’ve got in your hands.

“i don’t like that sauce.” he had commented when he saw you picking up a can of worcestershire sauce. it was a particular brand that he came to hate. the taste of it was off. though… he doesn’t want to admit that it’s because he had, a long time ago, used it as a condiment months after its expiry date. 

“mmm, is that so?” you hummed absentmindedly, placing it in your cart anyway. a part of him quietly wondered if you did that just to spite him. “good thing this is for my apartment then.”

“oh.” he had been indulging in his daydreams of domesticity the entire trip, he had forgotten that this shopping trip was for you, not your shared home. “well… in the future, you’ll know that i don’t like that sauce.”

“mmm…”

behind your mask, he could see your eyes curling up into a smile. he grinned too, bumping into you playfully as you two continued down the aisle. one day, in the future.

“breakfast is almost done, baby. do you want tea, or coffee?”

“i want you to move in with me.”

“pardon?”

chan had blurted that out without really thinking. but… there were no regrets. “move in with me when your lease is up. or… you know, whenever it works for you.”

you broke out in a laugh, a pretty laugh, and you rested your head against his chest. “my apartment is better than yours though~”

“then, i’ll move in with you!”

this made you laugh even harder. you quickly turned the stove off and plated the eggs, then finally turned around to face him. he had moved his arms from your waist to the counter though, effectively trapping you. chan studied your face for a bit. you seemed to take what he said lightly. maybe because he had said it so casually, in which case he doesn’t really blame you, but… “i really mean it.”

“oh~? so you’re inviting yourself over now, are you?”

chan groaned, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. he could feel the vibrations when you’re chuckling, and it made him warm a bit. you feel and sound so close. “take me seriously.” he is close to whining now.

your fingers laced in between his locks, still giggling. “it’s hard to, when your hair is sticking up in all sorts of directions.” he looked up with a glare, a playful glare, which melted the moment he saw you staring back at him with a doting expression. “how about we look for a new place together? hm? how’s that sound?”

chan’s lips finally lifted up in a giddy smile, and he nodded enthusiastically. he leaned down and pecked your lips. “asap. as soon as possible.”

“let’s eat first. go freshen up chan, you stink.” you pulled a face, breaking down in laughter again when he obnoxiously placed another kiss on your cheek anyway. 

“i’m holding you to that.” 

“i won't secretly find a new apartment without you, don’t worry.” you pressed your hands flat against his defined chest and gave him a little push. “now go. oh, and also, you didn’t answer me, so you’ll be having tea with me. how's earl grey sound?”

he grinned. he isn’t big on tea, but it feels like they’re playing house. this brings about a rush of warmth, and he welcomed this feeling wholeheartedly. 

“yes, that, earl grey. that’s just what i wanted too.”

en's note: thank you to everyone who read this little drabble :) as with my last fic, this too has a massive gap between the dates of posting. i have hundreds (exaggeration >p<) of fics and drabbles that i write and just never post. i'm very, very shy. anyway! i'm just rambling now.., :o but again, thank you for reading (the fic, and my nonsensical thoughts!). maybe i will gain the confidence to post more often. be safe, everyone! take this very domestic ITS2 dino as a parting gift <3

[carlsdarling]

Playlist

Ok this is probably the weirdest combination of songs you’ve ever seen… there is a reason none of my friends wants to listen to any music with me. But it’s what I listen to when I write and I get a lot of inspiration from it… (yes a lot of 80’s, I just love the spirit of 80’s music a lot, and also some German bands)

Tags: @enid-rhees @wh0reishslxtsstuff

Ease My Mind - The Faim Scorpions – Send Me An Angel Don Henley – The Boys Of Summer The Hunna – Flickin‘ your hair Nightwish – Bless the child Nightwish – End Of All Hope Sirenia – The Path to Decay Sirenia – Lost In Life Blue Oyster Cult – Don’t Fear The Reaper America – The Last Unicorn U96 – Love Sees No Colour Alter Bridge – This Is War Alter Bridge – Open Your Eyes Seether feat. Amy Lee– Broken Pharao – There Is A Star Republica – Out Of The Darkness Bryan Adams – Summer of 69 Thirty Seconds To Mars – This Is War Genesis – In Too Deep Blackmore’s Night – World Of Stone The Cranberries – Zombie Good Charlotte – Life Changes The Killers – Run For Cover The Killers – When You Were Young Biffy Clyro – Black Chandelier Low Shoulder – Through The Trees Madonna – Live To Tell Whitesnake – Is This Love Ronan Keating – Iris Papa Roach – Feel Like Home Guano Apes – Living In A Lie Johnny Cash – Hurt Def Leppard – Hysteria The Naked And Famous – Young Blood The Naked And Famous – Rolling Waves The Naked And Famous – Punching In A Dream Breaking Benjamin – Diary Of Jane Fury In The Slaughterhouse – I won’t forget these days Prime Circle – Ghosts Ed Sheeran – Castle On The Hill My Chemical Romance – Helena Sunrise Avenue – Little Bit Love Rea Garvey – Can’t Say No Kings Of Leon– This Sex Is On Fire Steven Tyler, Red, White And You Churches – Leave A Trace Eddie Money – Take Me Home Tonight ASP – Ungeschickte Liebesbriefe RIVO DREI – Wie Flugzeuge Max Giesinger – Legenden Silbermond - Symphonie Oomph – Augen Auf Eisblume – Eisblumen Echt – Du trägst keine Liebe in dir Unheilig – Geboren, um zu leben Avril Lavigne -Losing Grip White Lies – Bigger Than Us Mumford & Sons – Ditmas Bryan Adams – Run To You U2 – City Of Blinding Lights Red Jumpsuit Apparatus – Face Down The Fray – You Found Me Lifehouse – Hanging By A Moment Lifehouse – Everything Lifehouse - Broken Kim Petras – Can’t Do Better Placebo – Every you, every me Counting Crows – Colorblind Puddle of Mudd – Blurry HIM – Heartache Every Moment HIM – Venus Doom HIM – Behind The Crimson Door HIM – Poison Girl Creed – Higher Sum 41 – Fat Lip Lee Ann Womack – I Hope You Dance Angels And Airwaves – Surrender Staind – Outside Staind – So Far Away Whitney Houston – It’s Not Right But It’s Ok (Thunderpuss Mix) Incubus – Wish You Were Here Disturbed – Prayer Blink-182 – What’s my age again

[andi1904]

PRETTY LITTLE DAISYS - JK'S VERSION

♡ pairing: college student!f x college student!jeon jungkook

♡ genre: friends with benefits to lovers, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff

♡ warnings: mentions of death, mentions of drug and drug use, mentions of alcohol and alcohol use, explicit language, mentions of depression and eating disorder, long distance, explicit sex, oral sex, dirty talk, fingering, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, masturbation.

♡ summary: "If there was a thing on campus she was known for, was her two moles, right under her left eye.

The most beautiful woman I’d seen, a sight to see, a vision to die for. I’d be able to record every single time I’d fallen for those pretty galaxies in your eyes, touched those strawberry lips and ran my fingers through your silk-soft hair.

It was all so fast, you came into my life and turned it upside down, but it wasn’t your fault though, I was anticipating it. I always liked the “easy to read” kind of girls more, but you were as mysterious as a black cat, and I felt the need to know everything you hide from the world. I couldn’t say I wasn’t hoping you’d come to your senses and understand that I’m not the man for you, that you deserve so much more, but I was still selfish and wanted you only to myself. Would you forgive me for wanting you so bad that no other guy could ever have you?"

♡ a/n: I'm so happy to finally be publishing a story, after so long since I used to write and publish when I was younger (about 7 years ago). Just so you know, English is not my primmary language, so 'm really sorry if I make any mistakes and feel free to correct me :)

It's a Jk x Reader but for the context of the story, the fem character will be a Korean Female named Lee Areum (Amy Lee in english) and she'll be born in 1999. This story is on Jungkooks point of view, but I hope to remake a "Areum's Version" in the future. I'm also getting inspiration from certain songs and each chapter will have one song dedicated to it!

Hope you guys like it and good reading ♡

[burntb4bydoll]

I saw Amy lee and Avril and age 6 and decided that they were who I wanted to base my entire fashion style and personality on

ME TOO!!! OMG TWINS

AVRIL WILL ALWAYS BE MY BIGGEST INSPIRATION SHES MY FAV EVER

the best compliment ive ever got was someone telling me i look like her🥰🥰

[x--daughters-of-darkness--x]

"It’s more than sales – it inspired an entire generation of young girls to know they had a place in heavy music." Inside Fallen: the album that turned Evanescence into instant 21st century metal superstars

No rock band had an explosive a rise in the 2000s as Evanescence. This is the story of their classic debut album

Evanescence’s Amy Lee was at one of the many awards ceremonies she attended back in the first half of the 2000s when she was approached by a fan. This wasn’t unusual in itself, except this fan happened to be rapper and mogul P. Diddy.

“He said, ‘I love your album, I listen to it when I work out’,” Amy tells Hammer today. “And I was like ‘Really? That’s awesome!’ That was surprising to me. You know who I am? That’s weird.” Weird is right. Just a couple of years earlier, Amy had been a shy, aspiring singer and songwriter who had played no more than a handful of times with the band she’d co-founded as 13-year-old almost a decade earlier. And now here she was, getting star-spotted by hip hop A-listers at swanky awards ceremonies.

“What do they call that thing? Imposter syndrome!” she recalls today. “I definitely felt like I’d snuck in the back door and somehow got to go to the Grammys. Like, ‘I’m not supposed to be here and people do not know who we are and this is a prank.’ I think part of that is just it all happening so fast and being so young.”

The reason for the attention was down to the blockbusting success of Evanescence’s debut album, Fallen. Originally released in March 2003, and about to be reissued as a deluxe 20th anniversary edition, Fallen appeared at the tail-end of the nu metal boom. It offered a gothier, more dramatic take on that sound, which bridged nu metal and both the rising symphonic metal and emo scenes. It would go on to sell more than 10 million copies in the US alone, turning Amy Lee into an icon and role model for a generation of young, female fans.

Amy describes the young, pre-Evanescence version of herself as “a little bit shy”. Earlier this year, she told Hammer’s sister magazine, Classic Rock, that the death of her younger sister, Bonnie, when Amy was six, was a catalyst for “this soul, spirit- searching, expression mode”, which would eventually manifest itself in music. She wrote her first song aged 12, and others quickly followed. “I wrote plenty of songs that were crap,” she says with a laugh. “You just haven’t heard them.”

Things became more serious when she met future Evanescence guitarist Ben Moody in 1994 at a Christian Youth Camp in Little Rock, Arkansas, where her family had moved to a few years earlier. She was 13 and Ben a year older, though the two decided they could make music together. Amy describes their initial endeavours as “more like an electronic duo, like Massive Attack” than an actual band, though some of their early songs would end up on Fallen, including Imaginary, Whisper and My Immortal.

The nascent Evanescence didn’t play a gig for nearly six years, partly because of their youth, and partly because they wanted to concentrate on honing the songs they were writing. “The live part for me at that time just wasn’t my focus,” she shrugs. “I wanted to make stuff.”

Their first release was a self-titled debut EP that came out in 1998 via local label Bigwig, followed by another EP, Sound Asleep, the following year (both featured songs that appeared on Fallen). They’d played a few a low-key acoustic shows in their early days, but their first proper, plugged-in show was at a bar named Vinos in Little Rock on January 2, 1999, less than a month after Amy turned 17.

“It was difficult to be on stage at first,” she says. “I had to really work at being a good performer. I remember the first time we played a gig and four people knew the chorus to one of our dumb little songs,” she adds, self-effacingly trailing off.

It was an early version of My Immortal that caught the attention of Diana Meltzer, head of A&R at Wind-up Records, in 2001. Amy had just enrolled in college to study music theory composition when she got the message that Wind-up were interested in Evanescence - essentially herself and Ben.

“I still wanted to make music, but I was going to study so that maybe one day I could work on film scores as a backup plan,” she says. “We got signed three months in. I had one semester of school. I literally went from graduating high school to moving to LA and making our album in a year and a half.”

Producer Dave Fortman can remember the first time he heard Amy Lee sing Bring Me To Life in the studio. The guitarist in 1990s rockers Ugly Kid Joe pivoted to production after the 1997 break-up of that band, working with the likes of Superjoint Ritual and Crowbar before signing on to produce the debut album by an unknown band from Arkansas called Evanescence. After listening to their demo, he jumped at the chance to work with them. And then came the moment when Amy began singing in the studio.

“Amy was in the booth and this voice just came out,” Dave tells Hammer. “My engineer, who has worked with some of the biggest names in music bar none, turned to me with his jaw on the floor and said, 'Goddamn! This girl can sing.’ You just forgot where you were, you weren’t working anymore, you were just in awe of her. They were the most talented people in their age I’d ever been in contact with.”

The Evanescence that recorded Fallen was Amy and Ben, plus keyboard player/string arranger/co-songwriter David Hodges (who joined the band in 1999) and an array of session musicians, including future Guns N’ Roses/Foo Fighters drummer Josh Freese. Dave Fortman estimates the album cost around $250,000 to make – a sizeable sum now, but relatively modest at a time when seven-figure budgets weren’t uncommon (Korn’s 2002 album Untouchables reportedly cost $4 million). Some of that budget went on the real-life orchestra that Amy insisted on using for many of the songs – a bold move for a new band, when an electronic recreation would have been cheaper.

“None of us were ever going to back down on that,” says Dave Fortman. “It had to be that way or it wasn’t going to work. We recorded the orchestra in Seattle where they have no union, so it was cheaper. If we’d have known it was going to smash in the way it did, hell yeah, we would have just recorded them in LA!”

Evanescence didn’t get everything their way. Bring Me To Life, which addressed Amy’s feelings of numbness while in an abusive relationship,  was augmented by the inclusion of rapper Paul McCoy in an attempt to appeal to the nu metal market - a decision that went  against the band’s wishes. “I was so scared in the beginning that we were going forward with something  that wasn’t a perfectly honest picture of who we were,” Amy told Metal Hammer earlier this year. “But it didn’t last long. After a few songs, the mainstream was able to hear more than the one song and it was like, ‘OK, they at least sort of get what we are.’”

Advance expectations for Fallen were modest when it was released on March 4, 2003. “If it had gone gold [500,000 copies], we’d have A all been delighted with that,” says Dave Fortman. As it turned out, the album smashed it, selling more than 140,000 copies in its first week of release alone and reaching No.7 in the US Billboard charts. Bring Me To Life was a huge factor in that success. Like My Immortal, the song made its first appearance on the big- budget, Ben Affleck-starring Daredevil movie, which hit cinemas a few months before Fallen came out. 

When it was released as a single in its own right, accompanied by an expensive-looking urban-gothic video that saw a nightdress- clad Amy somnambulantly climbing the side of a tower block, like a cross between a character from an Anne Rice novel and a comic book superhero, Wind-up reps had to beg radio stations to play it (“A chick with piano on a rock station?” was a common response). Those that did air it soon found their phone lines jammed with people who wanted to know what it was that they’d just heard. It entered the US Top 10 and did even better in the UK, where it reached No.1.

Bring Me To Life and subsequent singles Going Under and My Immortal put wind in Fallen’s sails. Those 140,000 sales shot upwards at a vertiginous rate: within a month, it had sold more than a million copies in the US alone. By the middle of 2004, it had reached seven million (in 2022, Fallen was awarded a diamond certificate for US sales of more than 10 million). The speed of the ascent left Amy Lee dazed. “There was just so much going on,” she says, exhaling. “I don’t know if I got to focus on it that hard at the time.” 

The label wanted to get Evanescence out on the road to capitalise on that initial success. A touring band was assembled around Amy and Ben – guitarist John LeCompt, drummer Rocky Gray and bassist Will Boyd were recruited to back them. Their rise as a live band was equally dizzying. The day Fallen was released, Evanescence headlined the 200-capacity Engine Room in Houston, Texas. Three months later, they made their first UK appearance playing the Main Stage at the inaugural Download festival, sandwiched between Stone Sour and Mudvayne. Two weeks after that, they returned to the UK to headline a sold-out show at London’s prestigious Astoria.

Inevitably, given the scale and velocity of Evanescence’s success, it didn’t take long for the backlash to kick in. Amy was the focus of much of the criticism, with the barbs ranging from the petty (one magazine questioned her goth credentials) to the outright misogynistic (she was painted as a diva with absolutely nothing to back it up other than the fact she was a woman). Evanescence themselves were perceived by some of their detractors as nothing more than a cynical marketing experiment; the phrase “Linkin Park with a girl singer” appeared a depressing number of times back then, which diminished the decade or so Amy and Ben had invested in their band and music.

“I felt a lot like people wanted to see me fail, especially in the beginning,” Amy says. “I think it’s partially that they want to see if you’re the real thing, and when you shoot up so fast and you have a lot of success really quickly, I think there’s a little bit of a human nature thing that wants to poke a hole in that. I felt on the defence, I felt misunderstood – I’ve got a badass, bitchy look on my face on the album cover, so obviously I must be some kind of bitch.”

Amy was just 21 when Fallen was released, and the criticism took a toll on her. “It was hard as a young person to feel misunderstood,” she reflects today. Things became even more complicated when Ben left acrimoniously in October 2003, just six months after the release of Fallen, with creative differences cited at the time as the reason for the split (in 2010, he admitted to trying to force the singer out of the band they had founded together).

“I felt frustrated,” says Amy. “I wanted to hide a bit in that initial aftermath. People always wanted to attach me to drama, like Ben leaving the band. All of that was trying to be made to make me look bad, like it’s my fault or, ‘Well now it’s going to suck because she didn’t actually do any of the work, obviously all the men behind her did all the writing and the creation.’ It just made me angry a lot.”

The criticism and fractured personal relationships may have been difficult to deal with, but the impact Evanescence had was undeniable. Fallen landed at a transitional time for metal. By 2003, nu metal was on a downward trajectory creatively and commercially, with scene heavyweights Korn and Limp Bizkit both releasing dud albums in the shape of Take A Look In The Mirror and Results May Vary respectively. The New Wave Of American Heavy Metal was bubbling up, but it didn’t possess the same kind of mainstream crossover potential.

Fallen was different. Nu metal may have been in its DNA, but so was goth and electronic music. It was heavy enough for metal fans but it was also dramatic and heartfelt enough to draw in the emo crowd and pop fans alike. The soaring piano ballad My Immortal, with its narrative of a grieving relative haunted by the spirit of the family member they’re mourning, and Going Under, another song detailing the feelings of hopelessness that come from suffering in an abusive relationship, were unquestionably dark, but Evanescence wrapped them up in ear-worm hooks and gothic allure, while Amy’s presence imbued them with a distinctly feminine spirit that was a world away from nu metal’s over-testosteroned aggro.

The broad-church appeal of Fallen was reflected in the range of musicians who garlanded it with praise. Over the years, it’s been cited as an inspiration by everyone from Lzzy Hale and The Pretty Reckless’s Taylor Momsen to pop star Kelly Clarkson. Björk praised Evanescence and so, more surprisingly, did Lemmy, a man not known for his love of goth-tinged ballads.

“They’re fucking excellent,” said the late Motörhead frontman when asked for his view of the band. Even more significant – and noticeable – was the devotion Evanescence, and Amy in particular, almost instantly inspired among fans, especially female ones. The look she sported in music videos, magazine photo shoots and TV interviews – goth-style corsets, black and red eye make-up - was taken up by countless rock club kids up and down the country.

But arguably the most lasting impact Fallen has had is musical. It marked a changing of the guard: not just the end of nu metal, but the beginning of the rise of symphonic metal. Bands such as Nightwish and Within Temptation released albums before Fallen, making sizable waves in mainland Europe, but Evanescence put a distinctly American spin on it, turbocharging symphonic metal’s rise on the back of Fallen’s success. Even now, Amy’s too modest to acknowledge the influence that Fallen had.

“People are always asking me that question: ‘What is it about that album that resonated with people so much?’” she says. “I don’t know. Some of it’s just out of your control. At that age and that time in my life, I don’t think I would have given myself that credit.”

Dave Fortman is far more forthright on the subject. “Did I notice it?!” he says. “How could you not?! That’s what happens when you become, not just a big band, but an icon. She truly changed things. All those symphonic bands that came in their wake? They’re all Amy’s children.”

Fallen helped turn Evanescence into one of the biggest bands of the 21st century. They beat superstar rapper 50 Cent to the award for Best New Artist at the 2004 Grammy Awards (Bring Me To Life also took the trophy for Best Hard Rock Performance). To date, the record has sold more than 17 million copies worldwide – only Adele, Eminem, Norah Jones, Lady Gaga and Linkin Park released albums that have sold more during that time.

Dave calls Fallen “a life- changing album”. He explains: “It’s more than sales – it inspired an entire generation of young girls to know they had a place in heavy music. To show they didn’t have to ever compromise.” It’s a sentiment Amy shares as she looks back at the shy 21-year-old of 2003.

“It was crazy, it was awesome,” she says. “But there was a lot for me that was going on personally, turmoil and relationships within our band. It was just this wild time where so many things that felt huge were happening at the same time. Did it change the musical landscape? I don’t know. But it inspired somebody for something good, it made them walk back from the edge, feel their self-worth in some way. I think it’s truly a gift and a blessing in my life.”

Originally printed in Metal Hammer #381

[youngsamanda]

hello party people ! i am suffering w school and would love some new plots so if you’ve got any interest below i have listed faces and plots i’d love to write ! please give this post a like or message me if you are interested ! i exclusively write on discord and please be eighteen plus if you are going to like the post ! preferences are bolded !

wanted fc: ashley johnson, nathalie emmanuel, rachel sennott, chase sui wonders, joseph quinn, khadijha red thunder, devery jacobs, alexa demie, keke palmer, alex meraz, amber midthunder, maika munroe, nicole kidman, oliver stark, sarah michelle gellar, alice braga, mia goth, karen fukuhara, sonoya mizuno, natasha liu bordizzo, emma d’arcy, madison bailey, vera farmiga, danielle galligan, odessa a’zion, courtney eaton, aubrey plaza, mackenzie davis, ella balinska, michael evans behling, emily browning, natalia dyer, evan mock, oscar isaac, sophie bush

wanted opposites: boyd holbrook, margot robbie, adria arjona, drew starkey, steven yeun, ryan carr, olivia cooke, calahan skogman, rudy pankow, yahya abdul mateen ii, fabien frankel, alperen duymaz, lee pace, rachel sennott, peter gadiot, alexander skarsgard, bill skarsgard, emmy rossum, martin sensmeier, joe keery, ryan guzman, mia goth, keke palmer, daniel kaluuya, trevante rhodes, danny ramirez, alex meraz, simone ashley, david harbour, andrew garfield, dianna agron, davika hoorne, adria arjona, wolfgang novogratz, brady skjei, zach tinker, diego luna, felicity jones, evan rachel wood, archie renaux

wanted ships: emma d’arcy x ryan carr or olivia cooke, madison bailey x rudy pankow, vera farmiga x patrick wilson, danielle galligan x calahan skogman, odessa a’zion x drew starkey, lili reinhart x danny ramirez, jeremy allen white x emma greenwell, mason gooding x grace caroline currey, madison davenport x dj cotrona, madchen amick x skeet ulrich, emily browning x ricky whittle, henry cavill x amy adams, halle barry x keanu reeves, ryan guzman x oliver stark, matt daddario x victoria justice, gugu mbatha raw x mackenzie davis, oliver jackson cohen x gugu mbatha raw, pedro pascal x boyd holbrook, miles teller x glen powell, zoey deutch x glen powell, daisy edgar jones x paul mescal, thomas doherty x evan mock, jessie mei li x archie renaux, henry cavill x anya chalotra, richard madden x gemma chan, adam brody x rachel bilson, 

plots: older scooby doo multi - muse, aged up recasted teen wolf multi - muse, aged up recasted vampire diaries multi - muse, sons of anarchy inspired multi - muse, zombie apocalypse inspired multi - muse, older titans / young justice / dc multi - muse, rich kid / socialite via addicted book series inspired multi - muse, messy divorced couple still in love, angsty baby plots, just angsty older couples i want an excuse to use nicole kidman as a fc, literally anything based on beach read so small town authors who were once enemies to now lovers, something like this, the adult plot to 13 going on 30, bridgerton era inspired plots, or even like earlier period piece tudor era style plots give me yearning and longing especially, gay vampires via interview w a vampire / lost boys vibes, gay cowboys, “ we’re lifelong best friends and accidentally got married in vegas “, enemies AND lovers, beauty and the beast inspired plot

canon ships: jack x rose ( titanic ) peter x gwen ( spiderman ) peter x felicia ( spiderman ) sam x deena ( fear street ) nancy x steve ( stranger things ) steve x eddie ( stranger things ) riven x musa ( winx club ) nesta x cassian ( acotar ) feyre x rhysand ( acotar ) kaz x inej ( six of crows ) mattias x nina ( six of crows ) katniss x peeta ( the hunger games ) michael x selene ( underworld ) older susan pevensie x prince caspian ( narnia ) jason todd x roy harper ( dc ) wanda x vision recasted ( marvel ) bucky barnes x natasha romanoff ( marvel ) frank x karen ( marvel ) makkari x druig ( marvel ) matt murdock x elektra ( marvel ) bucky barnes x steve rogers ( marvel ) arya x gendry ( game of thrones ) older theo x liam ( teen wolf ) anakin x padme ( star wars ) emmett x rosalie ( twilight ) emily x mike ( until dawn ) laura x max ( the quarry ) spike x buffy ( buffy the vampire slayer ) annie x hughie ( the boys ) klaus x caroline ( the vampire diaries ) richie x eddie ( it series ) ellie x dina ( the last of us ) hades x persephone ( greek myth ) patroclus x achilles ( song of achilles / myth ) van x tai ( yellowjackets ) evelyn x celia ( 7 husbands of evelyn hugo )

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

Hi! Can I ask for Seduce me the otome, the boys with a singer reader? Like they’re really famous and how the boys feel about it? Specifically a female reader if you don’t mind. Thank you so much! I love your work!

Of course! Thank you so much for your request! I’m going to try to do a different artists for each of the boys, for someone that I think would fit they’re personality. Enjoy!

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James: ( Artist inspiration by Sade )

Your voice is so soothing and he loves it

Your genre is a mix between Jazz and Pop music as well as R&B, and James likes the combination

He enjoys hearing your voice, and your songs are always on

He likes sitting with you during the song writing process, and likes to help come up with ideas and feelings for songs

Furthermore, he also likes finding the deep meanings to your songs, and he loves how everything, especially your lyrics, make his heart feel

He enjoys watching you sing live, your voice is soft and delicate but powerful as well and James is in love with it ; and you of course ;)

His favorite song for you to sing would be Pearls :)

Erik: ( artist inspired by Ella Mai )

He hears your voice AND IT IS LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT FOR THIS MAN !!

Save his heart he was going to pass out he thinks your beautiful

He loves and gushes over the way you sing, and will preform with you sometimes, usually playing an instrument ( the piano )

He feels so honored to just be with you and know you personally, he’s absolutely infatuated with you

He likes watching you work, he loves the way your mind works and loves the way you make and handle your music, the raw emotion you put into it makes his heart sing to yours~

His favorite song for you to sing would be Naked :)

Sam: ( Inspired by Amy Lee/ Evanescence )

His. Jaw. Dropped. When he heard you sing for the first time.

His face like a mix of ‘Wtf’ and ‘This is amazing.’

could not put his emotions into words, like at all. He was asking a hundred-and-one questions

Like who taught you to sing like that? How long have you been singing? What’s your band like? What’s the hardest song you’ve ever had to sing? He goes full in with interest

He hears you sing and will literally block out the rest of the world, he can literally only focus on you when you sing, like vision is just YOU and your voice.

Sometimes you’ll sing to him and he’ll nervously laugh about it but he starts to hide his face because he just thinks your so fucking angelic ITS INSANE.

His favorite song for you to sing would be Call me when your sober or My immortal but he always tears during it so don’t sing that in public he will seriously cry

Matthew: ( Artist inspired by Sza )

He will have your songs on repeat 25/8

He’s like your biggest promotion and it’s not even an exaggeration he will seriously talk about you all. The. Time.

He makes Damien learn your entire album and will sing your songs with you, or just becomes your backup dancer

He will learn your dance routines, trust, and he will dance with you when you want to practice at home

He also loves going with you to photoshoots, he takes all the BTS pictures and sends them to you to post, with his credit due of course, your fans love Matthew to pieces

Matthew will often be a question brought up in interviews, like when you went on SNL to promote your new album, and you were asked about Matthew and how he affected the making of the album

“ He’s truly one of my biggest inspirations. You know? He just gets me so much and he’s my biggest supporter. I don’t know where I would be without him. He’s made such a big difference in my life and my view on the world I think he deserves just as much.”

yes he cried when hearing your answer and no we do not talk about it

his favorite song to hear you sing is Hit Different :)

Damien: ( Inspired by H.E.R )

You two write songs together, I can already see it

He enjoys listening to you find a rhythm for the lyrics, he also really enjoys when you play the guitar

Sometimes he’ll ask you to sing to him, your voice relaxes him and he can’t thank you enough for it

He loves the energy you bring with your music and how you’re voice just flows like the sweetest thing he’s ever heard

He likes going over tracks with you, he sits in the studio with you on nights where you get really stuck there finish up songs, with food and water snacks and blankets to make you comfortable as you work

He’s always the first one to hear songs and he has all the unreleased songs on his phone, listening to them whenever he misses you or just wants to hear them

His favorite song to hear you sing would be Comfortable :)