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hiddenreamers · 8 months ago

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I was in your music video - f1 drivers x singer!reader

SUMMARY: They say that if a poet loves you, they will write you into immortality. But if you date a musician, they might write you into the Billboard 100. Which is exactly what happens to your driver boyfriend.

Featuring: Lewis Hamilton, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Carlos Sainz Jr, Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc, George Russell

Note: Yes, two songs are sung by male artists. Yes, I'm going to ignore that fact and you should, too.

Lewis Hamilton

He's been in the room maybe five times. The space always felt strangely sacred to him - this is where you write, compose and practice songs with your band; this is where the magic, so to speak, happens. Walls are absolutely covered with tour posters, polaroids and printed-out articles. There's a large mirror that seems to be a message board considering all the sticky notes and words written with a marker. The only somewhat de-cluttered space is surrounding the setup. It's an unspoken testament to being a musician in a band.

There's a certain tension inside the driver. You've never asked him to listen to a song before it's finished. Sure, he has listened through your albums before they were officially released but it was always just that - a recording, not a live version. So what's different this time? Why is it vital he hears this song early?

Walking through the room, Lewis has to carefully watch where he's going. He doesn't want to accidentally break something by stepping on a cable or kicking a box with unknown contents. Inside a garage, he knows what not to touch but a recording studio and instruments are pretty much an unknown world to him.

Lewis is standing around a tad awkwardly, hands in pockets, when the bassist pushes a big black box closer to the driver.

"Have a seat." The musician points to the chest.

Lewis frowns. "On the box?" he asks, unsure. "Is that okay?"

"It's the Lucky Chest, Hamilton," the bassist announces. The other band members snicker at the title. "You have to sit on it."

"What's lucky about it?" Lewis inquires. More than the seating choice, he's interested in the reason for laughter.

"The first time we played at a big festival," the guitarist begins, her story slightly interrupted by her tuning the guitar, "we were sitting on it and listening to Green Day's stage, wondering 'how the fuck are we supposed to play after them?'."

"We were doing like a punk-rock tribute thing," adds the drummer. He's adjusting his seat and judging by the constant up-and-down movement, he can't make up his mind. The process is finally over when he reaches to tap the high-hat and nods to himself, content.

"After we finished our set," you take over retelling the story, "Billy Joe Armstrong came up to us and said we did great."

"So now it's the Lucky Chest," concludes the bassist.

Perhaps it's another testament to being a musician in a band when multiple people together tell one story without cutting details or creating chaos. A true harmony, though a joke a little on the nose.

"Well, I'm honoured," Lewis says. An airy giggle escapes him as he's still thinking about how easily teamwork comes to you and your band.

"You should be." The guitarist points her finger at him in a joking but accusatory way. Then she looks over her shoulder. "Whenever you're ready, drummer boy."

Music fills the room and Lewis is instantly captivated by you. He noticed it the first time he saw you on stage, how something inside you changes the moment you hear the instruments playing. Intensity, fire - passion in its most primal form. But this time around, the look in your eyes is different. You're no longer looking at the audience but him specifically; instead of singing a song, you seem to be telling him something.

So he listens.

I'm a desert, you're an ocean It's your motion that I need Without you I am broken, left to thirst out in the heat

And how strange he suddenly feels: all of the sentiments he already knows but now that you've put them into words for the whole world to hear, he can't help but find some revelation in them. For a moment, there's only the two of you and your confession of desire. Every word resonates with him and Lewis feels like he could say all of those things about you, too.

The song is far from over but he has already decided - he will listen to it before every race.

Lando Norris

Nothing seemed different about that day.

Lando is streaming while you're still at the studio. In an hour or so, you will come back, he will end the stream and the two of you will sit down to eat something. You will talk about your day, he will say something silly and both of you will laugh. Just like you always did.

To his credit, Lando couldn't have known about the song because you never told him. Some part of you thought it would be a bit dramatic to announce that you've written a song about him but can't play it yet because it's not finished. It would spoil the fun, wouldn't it? Therefore, you decided to tell Lando only after he listened to the final product. Perhaps you also wanted to seem a lot more nonchalant about the whole thing, planning on giving him just an off-hand comment of "oh, by the way, this one's about you". Life, however, rarely turns out the way we plan and that's exactly what happened that night.

If it was just one or two people calling Lando "honeybee" on the stream, he probably wouldn't even notice. But even he will pay attention when the comments are going on hundreds if not thousands.

He can't help but grow flustered at the pet name born out of his visceral fear of insects.

"Who told you that?!" he yells in a comically angry tone, a poor attempt at hiding embarrassment.

The comments come flooding again, explaining the situation only in variations of your name and the title Espresso. And like a detective following a crime, Lando immediately searches the internet.

"I feel lied to," he speaks up. "She didn't tell me she has a new song coming out. Why am I the last one to know? When I literally live with her? This is so unfair, I'm obviously the biggest fan, I should know first!"

Lando plays the music video. From the first line of "he's thinking about me every night", his bashfulness only gets worse. What starts as an excited smile, grows into a flustered, giggly mess. Although his pride is on the line, he can't deny any of the claims you make in the song. Yes, he couldn't sleep one night thinking about you and texted you about that. Yes, he does call you often even though he hates making phone calls. And yes, Lando Norris is, in fact, wrapped around your finger. What a horse is everyone can see and similarly, everyone can see and define who Lando is when it comes to his girlfriend:

"Simp?" he reads one of the comments. "Look, maybe I am but at the end of the day I'm dating her and you're not so who's the real loser here?"

Lando can only laugh his heart out when the chat gets flooded with identical comments: You.

"Okay, I admit. I'm down bad for my girlfriend and I'm proud of that."

Tomorrow's headlines are bound to be interesting...

Oscar Piastri

Although Oscar has seen you in musicals countless times, this situation feels a lot weirder and more uncomfortable. When he comes to watch your show, he's in the audience and you're on the stage. Now you're sitting side by side on the couch in your shared apartment, about to see your first movie. You're both the audience and the creator, which leaves you unsure how to act.

Unfortunately, your discomfort only grows. Oscar seems to be enjoying the movie but joy is not granted to you on this day. With each minute, you know your big part is coming. Oh God, what is he going to think?

Then, you suddenly pause the film. Oscar looks at you confused.

"There's something you need to know before you watch this scene and listen to the song," you say before he can ask you about your strange actions.

Oscar's frown only deepens. "You're making it sound really serious."

"Because it is. The thing is... " you hang your voice, unsure how to put words together. How do you tell someone this without making things awkward? "This is more embarrassing than I thought it would be but the song you're about to hear, I wrote it thinking about you."

He's trying to smile but the shadow of embarrassment on his face doesn't go unnoticed. You can only hope it's good kind of nervous.

The movie is resumed. As your discomfort is barely tolerable, you're looking away from the TV, fidgeting ever-so-slightly. Once or twice, you glance at Oscar, trying to see his reaction. The problem is, he's sitting unbelievably still. True, Oscar Piastri tends to be on the calmer side but right now it feels off. As if lost deep in thought, he appears to be diligently contemplating the scene in the movie; picking apart the words that came to your mind while thinking about him.

When the song comes to an end, you pause the film once more. A tense silence falls between you and Oscar, both longing to say something and yet neither willing to.

"So?" you begin hesitantly. "What do you think?"

Oscar shifts awkwardly. "Erm... I don't really know what to say."

A nervous giggle escapes your lips. "It's really sappy, I know." You try to downplay the situation, fearing that his reaction is born out of something negative. Does he think you're clingy? Obsessive? Too dramatic to handle?

"It's not that," he quickly denies. "Well, okay, it is kind of sappy but it's good sappy?" Oscar's tone raises slightly, revealing that he's unsure whether it's the right choice of words.

"Good sappy?" you repeat.

It feels as though woe has weaved a nest inside your viscera. "Good sappy" sounds like a lovely, diplomatic euphemism used not to hurt someone's feelings.

"Yeah, it's just..." Oscar doesn't finish his sentence. He runs his hand through his hair, then rubs the back of his neck nervously. Finally, he looks at you but not in a way you're familiar with. There's something ethereal in his gaze, a glint of inexplicable emotion that would escape a less observant eye. "It's really beautiful," he says. "The fact that you feel this way about me?" You could swear there are tears in his eyes as he lets out a flustered giggle. "I can die happy now."

Carlos Sainz

As old tradition entails, the Thursdays before a race weekend are meant for golfing. And who is Carlos Sainz to not give in to the custom?

He's sitting in his car, impatiently ploughing through the traffic of the city centre. Why are people out and about at this time, anyway? Shouldn't they be at work? Wanting to get his mind off of the fact that he's going to be quite late to the game, Carlos turns on the radio. The man is mindlessly skipping through the stations until something catches his attention - the announcer introduces you as today's guest.

"Hello again, pretty girl," Carlos says to himself. A small smile enters his face.

"First of all, I'd like to thank you," the radio host begins. "Unfinished Business is just the album I've been waiting for this year. And not only me! Have you seen Billboard 100 lately?"

Your flustered giggle is just as adorable as always. "Yesterday evening, I think?"

The broadcaster sighs dramatically. "Then you have ancient news. I have the site pulled up now and check it every few minutes. Let me tell you, Unfinished Business has climbed twenty spots since morning."

"Oh, shoot."

"Indeed." The announcer laughs and Carlos does with him. It's such a familiar theme for the driver - you being more humble than you really should be, surprised by the success you entirely deserve.

"Now, to address the elephant in the room or rather on the music charts. Over and Over Again is like a love letter all of us have written but never sent. Tell me all about it!"

"I guess 'love letter' is a pretty good description," you explain. Curious, Carlos turns up the volume. "For some time, I was trying to put my thoughts together and tell someone how I felt but never could quite do it. I can write good songs but in real life, I'm pretty terrible at speaking my mind and talking about feelings. I just don't want people to misunderstand, you know?"

"What are you saying, hermosa?" Carlos asks aloud, although there's no one to answer him.

"At least you can write a song about it! We regular folk are stuck with memes and playlists."

"Thank God, I can!" You laugh and, as embarrassing as it may sound, Carlos feels a sudden warmth spreading through his chest. "I was struggling with saying what I wanted to say to him, so at some point, I just decided I could put those words and feelings into a song. He likes to listen to the radio when he's driving so he might even be listening right now."

Although nothing bad or negative is going on, Carlos feels himself growing tense, nervous. There's no doubt the "he" you keep mentioning is him but what exactly is it you've been trying to tell him? Is there something he's missing?

"Did you tell him you've written a song about him?" the radio host asks.

"It might have slipped my mind," you answer coyly.

The announcer only laughs. "Oh dear, what a way to find out! Without further ado, let's hear your love letter to the mysterious man. I really hope he's listening to us right now. Don't you dare change the station, you lucky guy."

To his own surprise, Carlos recognizes the melody - you've been humming it for weeks now. But as you begin singing, the words leave him in disbelief. Do you really... mean all of that?

Carlos is lost in the song, feeling as though the lyrics aren't just lyrics but your genuine confession; a true love letter, as you have said yourself. He's brought back to reality only when the car behind him honks and Carlos is a hair's breadth away from picking a fight with the other driver. Nothing requires more haste or attention than his girlfriend exclaiming to the whole world that he will always be the one for her and that she will love him over and over again.

Charles Leclerc

You don't hear Charles coming in - you're too lost in your own thing to remember there's an entire world outside of the song and the piano in front of you. On the other hand, Charles doesn't announce his arrival as he doesn't want to disturb you. To be perfectly honest, he's a little too curious to interrupt you. It happens very rarely that you practise outside of the studio and so Charles doesn't really get to hear your more casual singing, not an embellished performance for the audience.

As quietly as he can, he makes his way towards you. Charles casually leans against the doorframe, your back turned to him as you continue playing the piano. He barely bites back the smile that creeps onto his face whenever you effortlessly sing the high notes - they are difficult for professionals and yet you execute them so cleanly, they appear almost too easy.

The lyrics haunt him but in a truly delicious way. A particular note of sincerity in your voice makes the words stick to him like rain does to a reckless passerby. Sure, they will slip away, although not before drenching him; their vital piece will forever lie with him.

When the song comes to an end, Charles (without thinking twice) gives you a hefty applause. The surprise makes you almost fall off the chair.

"Shit, you scared me!" you yell at him. It takes a couple deep breaths and your boyfriend's apologies, to collect yourself. "How much did you hear?"

He shrugs, suddenly realizing that he wasn't supposed to hear even one note of the song. "Pretty much all of it."

Your expression must not be joyful as Charles resumes his apologies and poor attempts at excuses. Suddenly, you cut him off. "How'd you like it?"

For a moment, he only hums and mindlessly knocks at the doorframe, looking for the right words.

"I loved it," he confesses. A strange tension in his voice proves he's telling the truth. "It's a beautiful song."

"Good," you answer absentmindedly. Quietly, you nod to yourself before looking back at Charles, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "It would really suck if you hated a song about yourself, you know?"

His eyes grow wide and Charles seems to forget about blinking for a good minute. Judging by the changes in his expression, you can tell the exact thought process he's experiencing: realizing you've written a song about him, joy caused by that, remembering the lyrics and finally taking them personally.

The more observant fans might notice a new addition to his helmet: "Claire de Lune" written in elegant lettering.

George Russell

Common sense might tell you that a race car driver must have no fear. And that would be correct, although quite imprecise. They must have no fear on track, yes, but daily life is quite different from racing, isn't it? Or maybe George is discovering a range of emotions he has not known before.

Your relationship is fresh but that isn't to say it's not serious. The weight of the connection the two of you share is a major part of the reason why George has been dead set on taking things slow. The other part is him knowing what media circus will play out once the news breaks. It's hard to blame him for wanting to keep at least some aspect of his life private, especially one that means so much to him.

As understanding as you are, George's apprehensiveness is tiring. You perfectly understand his reasoning and to some degree share the sentiment but at the same time, you are just somebody in love - you itch to scream it to the whole world. Or, at the very least, share a picture of the two of you. Both of you haven't been middle-schoolers for quite some time now, so why act like ones?

George, like the supportive boyfriend he is, loves to see you in your element. He watches the music videos, yet, but he much prefers the dance practice videos, where you're visibly enjoying each second of the choreography. Therefore, when you upload a new dance video for your song, he's probably the first person to play it.

It's a catchy tune that makes even the most boring people want to dance a little. With his head moving to the rhythm, George doesn't focus much on the lyrics until something in the second verse catches his attention:

So used to hiding We built our kingdom around The right timing

The lines, understandably, hit a little too close to home to be a pure coincidence. Now suspicious, George replays the video - this time, he's actually listening to the words instead of focusing on your dancing. Any hesitation that he's the true recipient of the song is gone with the first line of "Say you want me". The desperation in your voice is simply too candid to be just an act for the sake of the performance.

With the song loudly playing on a loop, George is scrolling through his phone's gallery in search of the best pictures of the two of you. He can't help but mouth the lyrics along with your singing, only to randomly giggle as the thought once again settles - it's about him.

Your phone can't stop vibrating. The notifications are coming nonstop. What on Earth happened? Upon opening Instagram, the mystery is solved. The internet seemed to be set on fire when George posted a series of pictures of the two of you with a caption that earned a giddy chuckle from you: "Setting us in motion".

Max Verstappen

Max and you both understand how much support can change. Sometimes just knowing that this other person is out there, watching and cheering, can change everything. As such, the two of you try to attend each other's events as much as you can. Unfortunately, the universe isn't always kind and you end up on the opposite ends of the world. The only support you can offer then is watching the live-streamed event - just like Max is doing right now.

He's sitting in his driver's room in Singapore, while you're at an award show in the USA. Quite the distance. There's something unbearably humbling about having to watch your performance like most of the world, when Max is, without a doubt, not most of the world.

In the back of his mind, Max is still thinking about the conversation he had with you earlier. Although he never misses your performances, you made it a point to tell him to watch this one. In your own words, he's supposed to look out for something fun, like a detail that will make this show different from the others. So as though he is a hawk, or more of a vulture, Max is hyperanalizing everything that's happening on the screen. He's not about to miss your little surprise.

The song begins and as much as he wants to enjoy watching you in your element, Max is a missile on a mission. Nothing specific seems to catch his eye but that t-shirt you're wearing...

Max knows it all too well. Theoretically, it's his t-shirt but considering you wear it more often than he does, it's practically yours. Now it's styled to fit the concept and image of your bandmates but the colour, the logo, the number, are all unmistakeable. Considering how much you're touching the article of clothing, compared to other dancers, he's convinced he's found what he was meant to look for.

Before he can wonder why you've chosen to wear his t-shirt for your performance, it's you who gives him the answer through the lyrics:

I feel like for the first time I am not faking Fingers on my buttons and now you're playing Master of anticipation, don't you keep it all to yourself

Max Verstappen doesn't get flustered but if he did, he'd be beyond flustered right now. The realization hits him like a derailed train - the song that everyone has been obsessed with through the summer and that has pretty obvious sexual lyrics is actually about him.

And if he did get flustered, the emotion would be rather short-lived, giving way to pride. After all, the core meaning of the song is that he's a generous lover, right? Clearly, he's been taking good care of his girlfriend.

Now, each sung line of "Just the touch of your love" makes Max all the more frustrated that the two of you are so far apart. He's earned his title of "Master of anticipation" and he intends to keep it.

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shieldofiron · 3 months ago

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Steve Harrington was not meant to go surfing. This was proved over and over again as he got tossed back in the waves, water roaring in his ears.

Really roaring.

Stuck actually.

Robin drives him to the hospital after he has a panic attack that night that it won’t come out and that he already has hearing loss he can’t lose anymore.

So they drive in, Indiana plates still on the car, and while Robin is parking, Steve heads in the emergency room.

And smack into the wide chest of one Billy Hargrove. Who’s not supposed to be alive.

Turns out Billy’s an emergency room nurse, and he obligingly stays after his shift to check Steve’s ear and chatter with Robin. Apparently they know each other or something.

Knew. Know?

Steve is feeling all mixed up. Billy touches him, gently, clinically, and he’s on fire. If he does have water in his ear it’s going to boil into steam.

As it turns out there is water in his ear, but Billy’s official diagnosis is to just do some head exercises to get it out.

His unofficial diagnosis comes when he walks them out to the car.

Steve wishes Robin wouldn’t lag behind.

“You know, Pretty Boy, California suits you I think.”

Steve stares at him, blinking. “You mean apart from the water in my ear and the ocean hating my ass.”

“The ocean will warm up to you. God knows I did.” How the fuck do Billy Hargrove’s eyes twinkle in the dark?

It takes a few moments to sink into Steve’s brain. Meanwhile, Billy’s pulled his arm over and is scribbling something on Steve’s hand with the sharpie dangling from his lanyard. His lanyard that says “I don’t know, I just work here.”

“There. My number. In case you get water in your ear. Or need surfing lesson. Or whatever.”

“Surfing lessons?”

Billy winks. “Or whatever.”

Steve Harrington was not meant to go surfing. But he’s somehow glad that he did.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #my writing #nurse billy my beloved #billy x steve #steve x billy

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lostcauseeilish · 7 months ago

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older

billie- 22, you- 18

warnings: age gap, fluff, mentions of smut, slight smut

you are in college, sat in english lit when billie messages you. the end of class is soon and you can officially leave the campus. 3 more minutes. the loud notification echoed through your classroom and a few people looked at you. "phones on silent everyone," your teacher said, unamused as he carries on his lecture.

you take your phone out, theres no rules against it so why not? theres a missed message from your girlfriend, billie. "baby im outside your college thingy, im driving you to my place". you reply with a short "thanks bils xxx!!!" and look at the time, 1 minute.

the bell goes and you pick up your bags, jogging to the door as quick as you can. after ages of walking, you finally see billies car outside the gates. the rain is chucking it down and dripping over your jacket, soaking your hair. in a hurry, you run to billies car and get it, jumping in the front seat.

"heyy darling. you cold?" she asks, her ocean blue eyes softly watching you. her hand holds yours.

"hi, uhh im.. yeah.. freezing.. actually soo," you awkwardly stutter out, smiling at the way she's wearing a face mask to hide her identity.

she turns the heating up and takes off her hoodie, slightly showing more of her and making it easier for fans to find her.

"baby, no its yours," you try to argue softly.

"no way, its yours now," she defends her actions. passing you the oversized hoodie.

the rest of the drive is comfortable silence. billie hums to the radio softly and you sit back and admire her.

when you get to her house, she pulled you onto the couch by your waist and sat you in between her legs. her soft, warm hands were yet to move and her head was on your shoulder. you sighed and relaxed, feeling the tension lift from your shoulders due to being in her embrace.

gently, she traces little kisses up your neck to just below your ear, "i love you, sweetheart," she whispers quietly, her warm breath on your ears making you blush even more.

"l- i love you too bils," you barely get out, shuddering at the kisses barely grazing your skin. suddenly, she moves. climbing on top of you, you feel a bulge in her pants.

"are you wearing it?" you nervously ask her, not wanting to ruin the moment.

"uh huh, thought you would've noticed by now!" she grins, teasing you softly.

"fuck off!" you exclaim gently, giggling.

shes me rn..

#wlw #billie eilish fluff #billie eilish #fanfic?#fanfic #age g4p

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ledesaid · 5 months ago

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Billy has a fever🌡️

♦-♦-♦-♦-♦-♦-♦-♦-♦-♦-♦-♦-♦-♦-♦-♦-♦-♦-♦-♦-

Well, it's official. He doesn't have much luck today. Well, he hasn't had much luck in recent years. He was barely eleven years old (ten years and seven months) and was delirious, alone, in his small corner of the world.

Billy had been proud of having avoided getting sick until this point because he already knew what would happen next: he would have to turn himself in to social services so they could take him to the hospital and then he would escape again. Complicated. Not many had luck in that last part of the plan; he had friends who, after that, couldn't escape the system again.

The problem was that he barely had enough strength to move an arm, he couldn't get up, much less go out into the streets in search of a police officer or a precinct. This left him with two options: call the League on his communicator or use his chalk to open a portal.

The cold December wind whipped against his window hard enough to drown out his thoughts. But one broke through strongly enough to make him decide.

How was he going to bring one of his colleagues to the little hole he tried to call home?

Well, is the portal.

Billy had an emergency circle that would take him to a beautiful island hidden somewhere in the Pacific Ocean. Titan Gaia had entrusted him with that place if he fell ill, and now was the time. He could barely distinguish the symbols the chalk left behind, but he was sure he had written beloved caretaker of green life. What he wasn't sure about was if he had properly delimited the spatial jump.

Maybe that's why he was looking at a redheaded woman before passing out instead of a thirty-foot-tall humanoid mountain.

"Well, this isn't something you see every day... Who are you, kid?"

Billy can't respond, and the next thing he knows is that he wakes up in a warm room, fortunately without windows being battered by intense snow. Very clean, clear walls, drawings of plants on the walls, but it wasn't the hospital.

Then he notices that he was in a bed shaped like a giant bunny, no, it really looked like a giant bunny plush with a mattress in the middle of it. A little madness.

A soft, warm, and fluffy madness.

By this time, Billy notices his fever has disappeared. Yes, his head hurts slightly and he has an IV connected to his arm, but he feels strong enough to patrol for a couple of days.

"How do you feel, little fern?"

Billy: Little fern?

"We've taken care of you like a fern, and Harley wanted to nickname you that until we knew your name."

Billy: Thanks, I'm Billy.

Pamela: Good, I'm Pamela, and soon you'll meet Harley, she's my wife. She's a bit energetic, so I apologize in advance for the noise, but that's how she shows her affection.

Billy doesn't know quite what to do or say. If the portal had failed and brought him in front of this woman, it would be hard to explain how it was possible, and escaping would be a bit complicated until he could call the captain.

A wonder indeed was his situation.

Pamela: Don't think too loudly, Billy, we're not going to turn you over to social services or the police.

Billy: Really? * he said a bit confused * Why?

Pamela: We're not exactly lovers of that side of the law, but we know how to recognize a kid in trouble who needs a hand.

Billy grabbed the soft, fluffy sheets that covered him tightly. It was time.

Billy: Thank you very much, really. If you give me a couple of hours, I'll be gone and you'll never hear from me again. I promise.

The woman raised an eyebrow in disbelief, possibly, Billy wondered if he had said something wrong, but he didn't understand exactly what. Was a couple of hours too much? He could really leave in just twenty minutes.

Billy: But I can leave earlier if...

Pamela: Sorry, kid, but it's too soon for you to get out of bed. You came to me with a 103° fever, delirious...

Before Billy could ask about what he might have said, a door was heard slamming not far from the room where Billy had slept and, a few seconds later, a sing-songy and shrill voice made them look. Blonde with a high ponytail, the one and only Harley Quinn. Billy finally put the pieces together, so that's why the names and appearances seemed familiar. Don't blame him, he didn't associate Pamela with Poison Ivy, maybe because he associated the color with Martians... it was strange. He was so exposed to extraordinary and impossible things that he was indifferent to being excited by mere skin color or an ex-supervillain in front of him.

Harley: I'm glad you're okay, little lost boy.

Billy: Uh... Th-Thanks.

The black-haired boy was being hugged tightly by the blonde woman in one of the sincerest embraces Billy could ever remember.

Pamela: Let him breathe, love, Billy still has the IV...

Harley: Oh, right! Sorry... Is your name Billy? Hi, I'm Harley Quinn. Do you want a big plate of waffles with ice cream, toast, strawberries and cream, and maple syrup?

Maybe it was the residual effects of his fever, the hunger of possibly four days, or the warm hug, but Billy nodded his head in affirmation, feeling that if he opened his mouth, he wouldn't be able to avoid crying in front of this warm couple.

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gracie-eilish · 3 months ago

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hi can u pls do a fluffy one shot about billie and reader having a horse riding date, maybe where reader is afraid to ride them at first, but billie reassures and helps reader with her fear :)

horseback🐎

guys i have one more fic to post and then ive officially gotten through my og requests😅🥳 and ofc to celebrate i have a surpriseeee for uuuuu👀 if u requested something since i re-opened requests, that will be out in a few weeks. i haven’t written most of them yet and i have a few stand alone fics i wanna post in between:)

an: i have not been on a horse in YEARS and even that was like a one time thing, so pls forgive any horsie mistakes in my writing🤦‍♀️

The crisp morning air smelled of hay, earth, and something warm and familiar. It was early, but she had practically bounced out of bed, dragging me along with her, a glimmer of excitement in her ocean-blue eyes. She was dressed effortlessly in her riding gear: fitted jeans, riding boots, and a cozy hoodie that she’d pulled over her messy, dark hair. Meanwhile, I was still trying to shake the last bits of sleep from my system, bundled up in one of her oversized jackets, equal parts groggy and nervous.

Because today, Billie was teaching me how to ride a horse.

“You’re gonna love it,” she promised, lacing our fingers together as we walked toward the stables. “Once you get used to it, it’s, like, the best feeling in the world.”

I gave her a skeptical look, glancing warily at the massive creatures in their stalls. “They’re huge,” I mumbled, gripping her hand a little tighter.

Billie bit back a smile, stopping in front of a beautiful chestnut mare with a white blaze down her nose. “This is Daisy. She’s a sweetheart. Total beginner-friendly girl.” She reached up, gently stroking the mare’s nose. “Aren’t you, mamas?”

I hesitated but copied her movements, hesitantly brushing my fingers over Daisy’s velvety muzzle. The horse snorted softly, nudging my palm, and I jumped back.

Billie laughed, reaching to steady me with a hand on my waist. “Relax, baby. She’s just saying hi.”

I exhaled slowly, watching as Billie pulled out a sugar cube from her pocket and let Daisy take it from her palm. Then she turned to me, eyes twinkling. “Wanna try?”

I eyed the cube she handed me, then Daisy, who was now looking at me expectantly. My heartbeat picked up as I hesitantly held out my hand. Daisy sniffed, then gently took the sugar cube from my palm, her whiskers tickling my skin.

I giggled—actually giggled—before turning to Billie. “Okay, that was kinda cute.”

Billie smirked, looping her arms around my waist from behind. “See? You’re already a natural.”

“Feeding a horse doesn’t make me a natural, babe,” I retorted, leaning into her warmth.

“True. But it’s a good start,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to my shoulder before pulling away. “Alright, let’s get you in the saddle.”

And that’s where the nerves really kicked in.

Billie walked me through everything—how to mount properly, how to hold the reins, how to sit so I wouldn’t feel off-balance. But when Billie brought over the little step stool and it came time to actually swing my leg over, I hesitated.

She noticed instantly. “Hey,” she said softly, coming to stand beside me, her hand resting on my thigh reassuringly. “It’s okay, baby. I got you.”

I swallowed, meeting her gaze. There was nothing but patience there, pure encouragement.

I took a deep breath and finally swung my leg over, settling into the saddle. The second I was up there, though, I tensed, gripping the reins like my life depended on it.

Billie chuckled, moving to stand beside Daisy’s head. “Alright, superstar, loosen up before you give poor Daisy an anxiety attack.”

I let out a breathy laugh but nodded, forcing myself to ease my grip a little. “This feels so weird.”

“Yeah, it’s new, but you’re doing great,” she reassured me, running her hand along Daisy’s neck before looking up at me. “Now, try giving her a little nudge with your heels—gently.”

I hesitated but did as she said, and to my amazement, Daisy started moving.

“Oh my God!” I gasped, gripping the reins again.

Billie laughed. “Easy, easy! You’re okay. Just breathe.”

I exhaled shakily, nodding. Billie walked beside me at first, guiding Daisy while talking me through each little movement. The way she spoke—soft and confident—kept me grounded. And when I finally got the hang of it, she stopped walking, letting me take full control.

“Look at you!” she called. “You’re a natural.”

I couldn’t help but grin, the initial fear giving way to something almost exhilarating. “Okay, this is kinda fun,” I admitted

Billie beamed at me, then suddenly got that familiar mischievous glint in her eye. Before I could ask what she was up to, she brought us back over to the stall, bringing the little stool and setting it beside me before effortlessly swinging herself onto Daisy behind me.

“Billie!” I squeaked, but she just laughed, her arms wrapping around my waist as she settled in behind me.

“Relax, baby,” she murmured into my ear, her breath warm against my skin. “I’m just helping.”

I swallowed hard, acutely aware of how close she was. Her hands ghosted over mine, subtly adjusting my grip on the reins. “There you go,” she whispered. “Just a little softer.”

I inhaled shakily, my entire body buzzing—not from the nerves this time, but from the way she was wrapped around me, her hands guiding mine, her chin resting lightly on my shoulder.

“You’re doing amazing,” she murmured, her fingers grazing over my sides as she adjusted my posture.

I shivered. “Are you actually helping, or are you just flirting?”

Billie chuckled, her arms tightening around me just a little. “Can’t it be both?”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at my lips.

We rode like that for a while, Billie guiding me when I needed it but mostly just holding me close, murmuring little praises in my ear. And as the morning sun warmed my skin, the scent of hay and Billie’s perfume surrounding me, I realized something.

I wasn’t nervous anymore.

I felt safe.

Because Billie had me.

#billie eilish #wlw #billie eilish fluff #billie eilish x reader #fanfiction #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish x y/n #billie x you #billie eilish fic #billie eilish x you #billie eilish fanfiction #billie x reader #🧡

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vintagelasvegas · 8 months ago

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Sands Hotel & Casino '52-'96

Sands, December 1952

Kit Carson Club ('46-'50) Kit Carson Motel ('46-'64) La Lue nightclub ('50-'51)

'46: Kit Carson Club opened by H. Bynum, D. Anderson, G. Frisbee on US Hwy 91 outside of Las Vegas, adjacent to Kit Carson Motel. The club will later become LaRue nightclub, then the Garden Room of the Sands Hotel.

'50: Kit Carson Club reopened as LaRue nightclub by Billy Wilkerson, Nola Hahn, 12/23/50.

'51: LaRue closed by summer. Mack Kufferman buys LaRue and hires architect Wayne McAllister to build around the existing club. Kuffman and partners apply for gaming license. The project is called Sands by 12/51.

Sands ('52-'96)

'52: Kufferman gaming license denied in Apr., sells to Jake Freedman (RG 4/9/52, RG 6/13/52). Partners running the Sands are B. Barron, E. Levinson (casino manager), S. Wyman, J. Entratter (showroom & restaurants). Hidden partners are believed to include J. Stacher, M. Lansky. Sands road sign designed by McAllister, built by YESCO.

'52: Dec. 12, Sands opens with 200 rooms in five buildings arranged in Y-shaped layout. The guest wings are named after race tracks: Arlington Park, Belmont Park, Haileah, Rockingham Park, Santa Anita. Three other wings of equal size were added circa ’53-54 (two were named Churchill Downs, Hollywood Park), another by ’58, and larger wing by ’60. The total room count in ’60 was 465.

'53: Frank Sinatra plays his first engagement at the Sands and becomes 2% owner in Oct; Carl Cohen joins the Sands as shareholder and casino manager in Oct.

'54: Sign modification: Second reader board added below the main board, Feb or earlier. Antonio Morelli joins the Sands as musical director for the Copa in Jul.

'55: Sands partners assume control of the Dunes in Sep. They sell the Dunes in four months later.

'58: Jake Freedman dies 1/19/58; Jack Entratter becomes Sands president.

'59: Sign modification: Attraction board attached to the sign, Feb or earlier. Baccarat begins at the Sands. Sands acquires the former Orinda Motel, property to the south, used for expansion of the Sands parking lot.

'60: Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr, Peter Lawford, and Joey Bishop (the "Rat Pack") are first billed together in the Copa in Jan-Feb. during the filming of Ocean's 11. Senator John F. Kennedy visits during the Democratic primary campaign.

'63: Opening of Aqueduct hotel wing (83 rm) in Apr. Julius Gabrielle, architect (RJ 4/28/63). Sinatra surrenders ownership 10/7/63.

'64: Sands acquires the former Kit Carson Motel; Belmont and Arlington buildings (base of the Y) moved southward to accommodate construction of a hotel tower. Sign modification: The frame around the main marquee painted tan.

'65: Second sign in Aug; tower completed late in the year and officially opened Jan. ’66. Martin Stern Jr, architect.

'67: Howard Hughes buys the Sands, 7/23/67. Sinatra leaves his Sands residency after confrontation with Cohen, 9/11/67.

'69: Dean Martin leaves Sands to join Riviera.

'71: Entratter dies, 3/8/71.

'73: Cohen leaves the Sands, Jan. '73.

'80: Inns of America buys the Sands from Hughes heirs Summa Corp in Oct.

'81: Oct., Sands third sign and new porte-cochere.

'82: Jan. 15, Completion of remodeling effort including new Copa room.

'83: Summa Corp re-assumes control of the Sands, 4/5/83.

'88: Kirk Kerkorian buys the Sands in Jan. Kerkorian sells to Interface Group led by Sheldon Addison in Apr.

'90: Sands Expo and Convention Center opens.

'94: Remodeling of the casino.

'96: Sands closes 6/30/96. Tower demolished 11/26/96.

Photos of the Sands

Sources include David G. Schwartz. At the Sands: The Casino That Shaped Classic Las Vegas, Brought the Rat Pack Together, and Went Out With a Bang. December 1952 photo courtesy of Slidetreasurehunt.

Construction of the sign, 1952. The pylon sign pedestal was 56’ high, 21’ wide, with the S at 34’ tall. Design by Wayne McAllister, fabricated and installed by Young Electric Sign Co. Photo: YESCO Corporate Records (MS-00403), UNLV Special Collections & Archives.

Opens Dec 15. Danny Thomas, Connie Rusell, Lou Wills Jr, Ray Sinatra Orchestra. Nevada State Museum, Las Vegas, 0007-0345.

Aerial view of Kit Carson Motel and the Sands, '62

#Sands #1952

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averokagejd · 1 year ago

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THE NAMES ADDED TO JD+ FOR PEOPLE THAT DIDNT SEE ALL OF EM

24K Magic (P1): Eddie 24K Magic (P2): Jesse A Little Party (Alternate) (P1): Lawrence A Little Party (Alternate) (P2): Lisbeth A Little Party (Alternate) (P3): James Acceptable in the 80s: Heather All About That Bass: Nancy All You Gotta Do: Harmon Alphabet Song: Angel Gibbs Am I Wrong: Indigo Animals (P1): Dualis Animals (P2): Dualis (BUGGED) Animals (Extreme): Ravid Another One Bites The Dust (P1): Everett Stellar Another One Bites The Dust (P2): Emery Stellar Another One Bites The Dust (P3): Oscar Stellar Another One Bites The Dust (P4): Astrid Stellar Another One Bites (Alternate): Vic Aquarius/Let The Sunshine In (P1): Poppy Aquarius/Let The Sunshine In (P2): Daisy Automaton: U.N.I.T. Baby Girl: Rid Baby One More Time (P1): Barbara Baby One More Time (P2): Brittany Baby One More Time (P3): Betty Baby One More Time (P4): Brooke Baby Shark (P1): Pinkfong (BUGGED) Baby Shark (P2): Maris (BUGGED) Bad Guy: Blair Bad Guy (Billie Version): Billie Bad Habits: Lysander Bad Liar: Delilah Bad Romance (P1): Blanche Bad Romance (P2): Claire Obscure Bad Romance (P3): Bianca Bad Romance (Official Choreo): Daray Baiana: Orion Bailando (Enrique) (P1): Natalia Bailando (Enrique) (P2): Estevan Bailando (Paradisio): Summer Barbie Girl (P1): Dolly Barbie Girl (P2): Dan Beauty and a Beat: Joshua Beep Beep I’m A Sheep: Sheep Believer (P1): Doran Believer (P2): Mael Big Girl (You Are Beautiful): Bella Blue (Da Ba Dee): Da’blu Bonbon: Falka Boogie Wonderland (P1): Leigh Boogie Wonderland (P2): Uriel Boogie Wonderland (P3): Favian Boogie Wonderland (P4): Breeze Boogiesaurus: Boogiesaurus Born This Way (P1): Copper Born This Way (P1): Adameve Born This Way (P1): Silver Born This Way (Alternate): Isaac Born To Be Wild: Lycan Boys: Andrew Boys (Alternate): Harlem Cake By The Ocean: Hadri Cake By The Ocean (Alternate) (P1): Maren Cake By The Ocean (Alternate) (P2): Dylan Carmen (Overture) (P1): Azul Carmen (Overtune) (P2): Vermell Carnaval Boom: Allegra Cercavo Amore: Elvira Chandelier: Inane Chandelier (Alternate): Voidalys Cheap Thrills: Melody Cheap Thrills (Alternate) (P1): Preity Cheap Thrills (Alternate) (P2): Farhan Cheerleader (P1): Elio Cheerleader (P2): Lellani Cheerleader (P3): Leo Cheerleader (P4): Eleni Chiwawa (Alternate): Barbie C’mon (P1): Mia C’mon (P2): Panda Cola Song: Dulcie Cola Song (Alternate) (P1): Mashow Cola Song (Alternate) (P2): Lolli Cola Song (Alternate) (P3): Lico Cola Song (Alternate) (P4): Mintu Come On Eileen (P1): Eilidh Come On Eileen (P2): Seamairan Cool For The Summer: Vespera Cosmic Party: Goldie Crazy Little Thing Called Love (P1): Jackie Crazy Little Thing Called Love (P2): Ortiz Crucified (P1): Lady Mairwen Crucified (P2): Lord William Crucified (P3): Lady Odelia Crucified (P4): Liege Rosal Dagomba: Lightfire Dame Tu Cosita: Rana Dance Of The Miriltons (P1): Honey Dance Of The Miriltons (P2): Polly Dare to Live (P1): River Dare to Live (P2): Xia Dare to Live (P3): Galvin Dare to Live (P4): Primrose Diggin’ In The Dirt: Bryn Don’t Call Me Up: Petra Don’t Worry Be Happy (P1): Serge Don’t Worry Be Happy (P2): Franklin Don’t Worry Be Happy (P3): Jean-Michel Down By The Riverside: Faith Dragostea Din Tei (P1): Officer Relax Dragostea Din Tei (P2): Captain Catastrofa Dragostea Din Tei (P3): Para Chutist Dynamite (Taio) (P1): Richard Dynamite (Taio) (P2): Helen Dynamite (Taio) (P3): Mary Dynamite (Taio) (P4): Donald E.T.: Rusga’thors Epic Sirtaki (P1): Nikolaos Epic Sirtaki (P2): Kostas Epic Sirtaki (P3): Dimitris Everybody (Backstreet’s Back) (P1): Ser Aleksander Everybody (Backstreet’s Back) (P2): General Edward Everybody (Backstreet’s Back) (P3): Captain Walter Everybody (Backstreet’s Back) (P4): Lord Henry Feel So Right: Westley Fernando (P1): Agnetha Fernando (P2): Frida Fire On The Floor: Ember Fit But You Know It: Oliver Flash: Shalf Flying Carpet: Mahsa Funhouse: Folie Funkytown: Xooorgrott

(1/2)

#just dance #just dance 2024 #jd24 #jd+#im not tagging all these characters #or games #jdplus

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flowersandskeletons526 · 3 months ago

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"Bluer Than A Butterfly" - Warriors Concept Album fanfic

A short study in grief featuring Rembrandt and Cleon.

(Yes the title is a Billie Eilish lyric, don't make fun of me)

-------

“You should be asleep.”

Cleon wasn’t surprised by how she found Rembrandt: partially curled in on herself in the corner of the roof, her head leaning on the short perimeter wall as she overlooked the ocean, with a cigarette burning between her lips and a pile of singed filters by her feet. She was barefoot in ripped cargo pants and a cropped tank top despite the frigid wind whipping her hair into tangles around her face. Silhouetted in the moonlight, she didn’t turn as Cleon stopped a polite distance from her. The only indication of attention Cleon got was a shift in the light dancing in Rembrandt’s eyes as she glanced at her.

Rembrandt puffed on her cigarette without ever moving it from its place in the corner of her lips. “So should you,” she said quietly. A lifetime ago, there would have been a sharp quip, a biting comeback with bright eyes and a smirk accompanying it, but not now. Rembrandt’s voice now was hollow and cold as the wind coming off the ocean.

Cleon didn’t sit beside her - she knew better than to crowd Rembrandt in a moment like this - but she took a tentative step closer. “Aren’t you cold?”

“Nah.”

“Come inside.”

“No.”

“Rem-”

“Are you talking to me as Cleon or Warlord right now?”

“I’m talking as your friend. You’ll get sick out here.”

“Who cares.”

“Rembrandt,” Cleon said more forcefully.

She regretted it the second it left her mouth. Rembrandt twisted to look at her, halfway through lighting another cigarette, and Cleon was almost glad she couldn’t make out the expression on Rembrandt’s face. All the Warriors were struggling to navigate this new life and learning the new people they couldn’t help being reborn as, and Cleon still hadn’t learned much of anything about the version of Rembrandt sitting in front of her. Once upon a time, she could read Rembrandt like a book. She was afraid of just how lost she’d be if she tried to understand the look Rembrandt gave her now.

She shoved her hands deep into her pockets, not attempting an apology. “I’m going down to the boardwalk. Will you come with me?”

“Is that an order?”

Let it be known that Cleon did not frequently pull rank outside of official gang business. Certainly not when she was trying to be emotionally supportive, and she did it so rarely with Rembrandt in general, but right now she was sorely fucking tempted to say “Yes, that’s an order, get off your butt and take a walk.”

Instead, she managed, “I would appreciate it if you did.”

She prayed Rembrandt didn’t think her voice sounded as weak as she thought it did. Whether she did or not, it got the tagger moving. Cleon forced her to put on her busted Converse at least but didn’t push when she refused a jacket, locking the door behind them before they headed out into the quiet streets. Rembrandt followed silently, a half step behind Cleon no matter how many times Cleon slowed down trying to get her to walk beside her.

The boardwalk was abandoned. No unhoused residents of the neighborhood, no rogue gang members encroaching on their turf, no couples sharing a long walk on the beach. There was just a broken warlord and what remained of her tagger, strolling over the weathered wooden planks and listening to the crashing waves.

Cleon sat on a bench facing the water. Rembrandt stayed standing for a moment, staring into nothing, before sitting beside her. Slouching in her seat, Rembrandt lit a cigarette. Cleon grabbed one from her own pack in her jacket, rummaging around in her pockets with a frown.

“Fuck, Cochise stole my lighter again,” she grumbled.

Rembrandt motioned to her wordlessly. She was so much taller than Rembrandt, even seated, and with Rembrandt slouched the way she was, Cleon had to lean almost completely over her to press the ends of their cigarettes together and light hers. Rembrandt avoided her eyes as she sat back. Cleon couldn’t deny how badly it hurt.

The tagger always had such a piercing stare, sharp and observant and searching, taking in everything around her. Cleon remembered when Ajax first brought Rembrandt home. She remembered those wide eyes, full of fear and anxiety but burning bright with a spark of hope. There was nothing in them now but frigid anger and defeat. Even the anger was rare, with Fox’s funeral a week behind them, like any remaining life Rembrandt clung to had finally been stripped from her with the close of the service. And it hurt.

Cleon met her as Rembrandt the artist. Cleon fostered the strength in Rembrandt the Warrior. Now Cleon sat beside Rembrandt the ghost, an empty shell slowly blowing smoke into the night air, destroyed to such a state by the aftermath of an event Cleon insisted they attend.

She looked out over the water and took a long drag off her cigarette. “Ajax has been asking about you,” she ventured.

Rembrandt inhaled sharply, and Cleon caught tears starting in her eyes before she turned away. She let go of a choked laugh. “Did you really bring me out here to jump me about that?”

“I think it would be good for both of you if you came with me to go visit her,” Cleon pressed gently.

“Did you tell her what I said?” Rembrandt asked pointedly. Cleon hesitated. She had not, in fact, repeated much of what Rembrandt had to say to Ajax in recent weeks, mostly because she was mildly uncomfortable with the impressively creative ways Rembrandt could tell someone to go fuck themself. Rembrandt rolled her eyes. “If I go see her right now, I’ll end up getting arrested.”

“You can’t stay mad at her forever.”

“It won’t be forever. Just right now.”

“Rembrandt-”

“I’m going back to the apartment.”

“Sit down.” Cleon flinched at the harshness of her own voice. Rembrandt sat with a huff, crossing her arms and puffing on her cigarette. “Listen. I’m not asking you to get over it right this minute. I’m just asking you to talk to her.”

Rembrandt pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. “I don’t want to talk to her. Believe it or not, I’m trying to save my fucking relationship right now because she’s not going to forgive me if I say what I want to.”

“She misses you. And I know you miss her, too, and I know you might want to blame her-”

Before Cleon could grab her, Rembrandt vaulted the railing of the boardwalk and stalked off down the beach towards the water. Stubbing out her cigarette, Cleon followed, calling her name but getting no response. Just when she was sure Rembrandt was going to straight up walk into the ocean, the tagger abruptly stopped. Cleon stopped behind her. She watched the gentle rise of fall of Rembrandt’s shoulders, the way her curls brushed along the back of her neck in the wind, the near perfect stillness of her as she stared out to the midnight horizon.

It was completely foreign to Cleon, the idea of Rembrandt being still for any longer than a few seconds. She was always moving, fidgeting or looking around or bouncing on the balls of her feet if she had to stay in one spot. She was a lot like Ajax in that way, both of them pent up balls of energy, even if in vastly different respects.

Cleon’s heart ached. It ached for Ajax, stuck in a cell away from her friends, her family, unable to attend Fox’s funeral and cut off from her partner who refused to see her. It ached with the loss of Fox, who shouldn’t have even gone to the summit in the first place but Cleon in her infinite wisdom was just so convinced it was safe, so deluded by the prospect of peace that she barely thought twice about bringing along their youngest Warrior. It ached seeing the change in everyone, from Swan’s newest nightmares and Cochise’s quiet withdrawal to Cowgirl’s unusual reservedness and Rembrandt’s… stillness.

The emptiness. The cold detachment. Cleon tried to think of the last time Rembrandt was warm, the way she used to be, tried to remember that flame of life she used to hold, and realized it was that dawn on the beach after the night from hell. She’d seen it when Rembrandt was the first to call her name, the first to jump into her arms when they all reunited. Well, almost all of them. The last bit of warmth she had left in her soul, she’d used it up on Cleon.

And what could Cleon do now? She could do nothing. All she could do was watch Rembrandt drown.

Rembrandt sat heavily on the sand. Cleon sat beside her. The moon cast a cold bluish light over her face, flashing in her eyes as she stared at the waves lapping at the sand just a few feet in front of them.

“I don’t blame Ajax,” she whispered. Her voice was barely audible. “I don’t… I don’t want to blame anyone.”

“If you need to-”

“I’m not blaming you, Cleon. Please, for the love of god, don’t make another martyr,” Rembrandt begged. Cleon shut up. Rembrandt glanced at her out of the corner of her eye. “Did Ajax get that from you, or did you get it from her?”

Cleon sighed. “I think it was mutual.”

“I think it’s better if you’re the one that keeps visiting her until she gets out.”

“No-”

“I’m only gonna hurt her.”

Words did not often fail Cleon. If they had, the Riffs would have killed her and this conversation wouldn’t be happening. She wouldn’t be home, sitting on the beach with her tagger and watching her gang fall to pieces in the wake of everything that happened. She wouldn’t have to sit across from Ajax, watching her toughest soldier come apart at the seams grieving one person that would never come home again and another who refused to speak to her. She wouldn’t be forced to hear the hollow resignation in Rembrandt’s voice as she said probably the most bullshit thing in the world that she wanted so badly to refute but couldn’t.

If words failed, if she was killed in retaliation for a murder she didn’t commit, she wouldn’t have had to identify Fox’s body. Swan would have, or maybe Rembrandt, the only who brought her to the Warriors in the first place, and that truly would have been the end of the world.

Cleon barely had the strength to drag herself out of the vortex of what-ifs spiraling in her head, tuning back in just as Rembrandt continued talking.

“I should have known what she was going to do.”

“You know Ajax doesn’t back down once she’s set on picking a fight.”

“I’m not talking about Ajax.”

“What?”

“I should have made sure she stayed on the train.”

Oh.

“Rembrandt, you couldn’t-”

“I should have grabbed her to make sure she stayed with us or seen her move or pulled the emergency brake or something-”

“Hey, hey, stop that.” Cleon risked a hand on Rembrandt’s knee. “From what you all told me, no one knew what Fox was going to do. Not you, not Swan, no one. You said you didn’t want to blame anyone for what happened, and you have to include yourself in that. You’re going to go insane thinking about it if you don’t.”

Rembrandt went silent. Cleon took a deep breath, watching the little bubbles of foam crest each wave. She squeezed Rembrandt’s hand.

“Why did you bring me out here, Cleon?”

Cleon reached into her pocket. Her fingers closed around a cold loop of metal. Holding Rembrandt’s hand up, she pressed the loop into Rembrandt’s palm.

Rembrandt frowned as she held the object in both hands. “Is this…?”

“Fox’s chain,” Cleon said. “I got it when the coroner gave me all her personal effects.”

She didn’t add the fact that she spent an hour scrubbing it to make sure there was no blood left between the links.

“She thought she was so cool when she got this,” Rembrandt mumbled, more to herself than anything.

Cleon chuckled. “I remember. She wanted one that looked like Swan’s.”

“And then Ajax convinced her to get the bigger one ’cause she called Swan’s a choker and said it looked stupid.”

“And they got into a fight about it.”

“That you had to break up.”

“Yeah, that I had to break up.” Cleon touched Rembrandt’s shoulder, watching for a reaction, and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Do you want me to put it on you?”

Rembrandt nodded and handed Cleon the chain. She lifted her hair out of the way as Cleon moved behind her, settling the chain in among Rembrandt’s other necklaces and securing the clasp at the back of her neck. She kept one hand on Rembrandt’s shoulder as she sat back, watching the careful way she gripped the metal and held it against her skin. She closed her eyes and bowed her head as she started to shiver. Cleon wasn’t sure if it was from the emotions she knew Rembrandt was holding back or if the cold was finally getting to her, but she took off her jacket and draped it over Rembrandt’s shoulders before pulling her close.

Rembrandt opened her eyes but wouldn’t look at Cleon. “She knew we loved her, right?”

“Yeah, Rem. I’m sure she did.”

“I wish I did something different.”

“So do I.”

The tagger ran a hand through her hair. “Don’t tell Ajax the shitty stuff I said. Please.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.” Never removing her arm from its place around Rembrandt’s shoulders, she grabbed two cigarettes from her pack and passed one to Rembrandt. They kept their faces close together as Rembrandt lit both their cigarettes with the same flame. “Is there anything you do want me to tell her?”

“Just… that I love her. And I’m waiting for her.”

“I’ll tell her.”

----------

Jesus this is my first fic in over a month, I've been slacking. Hope you enjoyed!

#warriors musical #warriors concept album #writing #fanfic #rembrandt warriors #cleon warriors #background remjax #other characters mentioned #dealing with grief #short and not so sweet and inspired by sad music #as it should be #this is my first time writing Cleon's POV so I'm hoping it was good #please be nice to me

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wildglitch · 1 year ago

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What if Zombies!Spidey x DCU LETS GOOOOOOOOO-

O K-

So, This is the (Probably not the last, don't worry) post with ideas for my What If Zombies!Peter In the DCU AU. This is the post that (Finally) Focuses on the DC side of things. This post Is also going to be mainly focused on Peter and what he's up to cause he's the focus of this AU, but I’m probably gonna make another post with info on the other heroes, so If your interested in that, don't worry cause I am thinking about them (Bucky & Loki = Brainwashed bros)

Its also part 1 of Idk since this post kinda got away from me with its length (oops)

Anyways, without further adieu, let's start :D

-So! starting this off with something fun and not that serious that I just found out. this should have probably gone in the first post but I didn't know this until now so here, a +1 info on “facts about the zombie apocalypse” tm.

Ok, so at this point you know I like to play around with the timeline right? Ok so, I’m researching the dates and events things take place in right? Turns out, the snap happened in either May or June, and one source even said that it happened on May 31. Now, with this in mind and the fact that I said the apocalypse lasted between 7-8 months, what happens if you subtract 8 months from May? You get October. And if you add the date to it? Guys…I accidentally made it that the zombie apocalypse starts on Halloween! That's just insane!

The official timeline now is 7 months of the zombie apocalypse, no more no less, sorry, I don't make the rules :^ (omg I made Antman & the Wasp a halloween movie lmao. It fits)

-Alright so, Peter, Head Scott/w the cloke and T’challa are on a plane on their way to Wakanda when all of a sudden, well, how many of you seen the Young Justice Episode s1e19 Misplaced? (Btw have I talked about how much I love Billy batson? I will one of these days ok, and that's a threat) well anyways

Airplane squad: *”peacefully” traumatized on a plane to Wakanda

Airplane squad: *the people on the plane fucking fazes out of reality leaving him alone to fly the plane*

Peter: *Panik*

Peter: *feels a pull wanting to take him but fighting it off as he tries to fly a fucking plane*

Peter: *also fades out of reality but much later the other and is now falling to certain doom in the middle of the ocean*

Peter: “Oh What the F-”

Ya that-

I mixed aspects of the snap and scene from misplaced as their way of splitting up. And, they did split up. A high speed plane plus the time it took them to disappear firmly separates Peter from the rest of the heros. And thus the adventure commences

-unlike Billy who can fly, Peter falls head first at top speeds and a thousand meters high into the ocean. This can happen a few different ways

1) Peter is stranded, and is found by Young Justice or any superhero team that was passing through the ocean and thinks “Oh shoot, that's a child”. And this is how he ends up with the league. This one is kinda fast and there wouldn't be any identity reveal since at this point this Peter has no concept of such a thing. But a good way to work around this is memory loss. Not really my cup of tea but I can very much see this happening considering how hard he hit his head

2) …So Peter fucking dies-

Listen! I somehow started off with my 2 most opposite extremes of ideas, but hear me out. The fall? It kills him. But lets say that some cult or the league of assassins or some shit find his body, realize he’s a “meta” and decide “Yeah, this is a good revival candidate” And they revive the poor sucker. He is held captive HYDRA style and they try to turn him into a weapon. Obviously, he escapes, set free onto the world with a few months of trauma and a stolen one way ticket anywhere. And that anywhere just so happens to be Gotham. I’ll let your mind take it from there

3) This is the last version of events I’m gonna mention and I think this one is the one I'm sticking with, purely for the comedic potential I can see coming out of this. So Peter fought back the spell right? Well unlike the snap where he was fighting a force of nature were he would not have won, Peter was fighting Loki off, which,

Peter: Fighting off that staticy feeling that's trying to take him

Loki: *Genuinely struggling to get this non magic kid to corporate with him*

Loki: Damnit CHILD! I'm trying to save your worthless life!

Peter: *Legit almost wins and gets left by himself in the zombieland*

Loki: …What did they feed you?

Yeah, so since Loki had to focus on getting that idiot spider child to cooperate, he loses track of everyone else, and all of a sudden, the fuzzy mental image he had of everyone dissipates, and Peters becomes the full focus. This lets him save the kid from the crash, but he now doesn't know where all of the others are, including his brother, and now he can't really get to any of them.

-Peter is saved with a spell that's basically the bubble from steven universe but Loki style. He can breathe just fine, but he can't get out or call for hell. He spends many Hours like this.

-Ok so, Loki is a god. We have established this, I keep mentioning it (sorry) he himself brings this up multiple times. What is something gods tend to have sometimes? Avatars, people who act out their will on Earth. You see where I'm going with this? Since Peter is the only mortal from his world he has access to, and because he is stuck on the watchtower, he decides to make a deal with Peter to make him his Avatar and have him look for the others (Thor). Peter, after having most of the situation explained to him, accepts his offer, with a few conditions here and there that prevent Loki from taking full advantage of him. But at the end of the day, they are both desperate and accept the others' offers and conditions with little fuss.

-Deals and conditions for the avatar contract between Peter and Loki

Loki’s Mission: Find the other mortals and spread chaos as his agent Loki’s Offer: Slight magical aid, “ability boost”, Protection from other magical entities, Godly guide and knowledge and Loki wont force Peter into doing anything too grotesque Loki’s conditions for Peter: He will be able to access anything Peter is seeing and be able to take control of any situation if he sees it fit, he must go on the missions he sends him on, And if the situation ever truly demands it, he will listen to everything Loki tells him to do Peter’s Mission: Finding his friends and finding a cure to his world in this new one as Loki’s Agent. He must also make good impressions on other Magical being in this world as to not shame the god he’s representing Peter Offer: His loyalty and tentative trust, he won't argue too much and will do his absolut best to find Thor. he will Listen to Loki and do what he says Peter’s Conditions for Loki: Will become his Avatar as long as he gets to keep being a hero and doesn't have to hurt or kill people. He will only do a mission once a month, and he will not advertise the Avatar bit. Peter gets free will, He can refuse to do something as long as he isn't demanded of it.

With this, a hand shake, and some blood, The deal is made in the bubble in the middle of the ocean.

-Peter is now Loki’s Avatar, Moonknight style, Yay! They don't really like each other that much due to circumstance but it's fineeeeeee. I did this because 1) I thought of a scenario that didn't really make sense unless Peter was somehow talking to him 2) It’s a little nod to the fact most of the fics have the snapped souls with Peter on his adventure. I thought that this way he can still have his voice in his head , it's not that crowded because it's only one voice, and it's not that Intrusive because Loki isn't going to be with Peter 24/7 only when he needs him, he's using some of his powers, or when he can sense distress or danger coming from Peter- Other than that he's stuck at the watchtower trying to plan his next moves. And 3) Cause the thought came to me and i thought it was fucking Holirouse.

-With Some trickery, Peter sneaks onto a boat and spends his time hidden under the deck pretending and hides like a corner spider the whole trip

-Peter in his, Hasn't been around actual living breathing humans for such a long time, self, breaks down and cries at the docks. Coincidentally, The bats are doing a drug bust there and a wearhouse not 10 feet away from him blows up.

-Peter in his typical fashion, Puts on his mask and runs into the building looking for survivors.

-The bats, not knowing what happened, see’s this costume stranger helping the thugs get away and immediately clocks him as a villain. Opps

-They fight, misunderstandings happen and now, The friendly neighborhood Spider-Man Is on the front page as gothams hottest new Rogue. Well shit

-Peter being the smart guy he is, squats at an unoccupied apartment and claims it as his. Then Loki shows up after weeks of radio silence, takes one look at the place and says, hell nah, and fixes the place up with magic making the place more than livable. With some (probably magical) persuasion, the guy renting out the place actually puts him on the lease with 50 bucks of monthly rent. Does Peter feel guilty…well? Gotta roll with the punches man. Plus, this place looks nice, ignoring his 20 something neighbor that has enough blood on him to turn his white hair dye red that had sent his spider sense. This is fine.

-With some help from the voice in his head and walking through dark alleys at night, he finds a guy that works for immigration and was selling sketchy (But legit) identities. Not really trusting the guy but in desperate need and ID for the lease he was about to sign, He coughs up all the savings he had, took a Photo, and Ben P. Riley was born. He said he didn't trust the guy.

-Peter has decided to go by an alias for a few reasons, like not knowing if there was already another Peter Parker in this reality and not really wanting to risk it or the plain fact that he didn't really trust anyone in this new reality with it (Loki and his magical guidance, he has firmly decided to never give out his name so freely ever again). His name is one of the last things from his past life that he can call his own, And if his “Villainous” identity was revealed as Peter Parker, he didn't know if he could handle it. The most simple reason was that he just missed his family and wanted something in this new life he was making for himself to remind himself of them. Ofcourse, he still added that P in there middle so as to not completely erase himself.

-Peter spends a full month just trying to get used to living in a society again, This causes some problems and misunderstandings.

-After many series of misunderstandings and mishaps, everyone thinking he's evil, Peter decides, YK what's, If I can't beat them, join them. Peter starts going out as the “Villain Spider-Man” doing sketchy shit (normal teenage shit) and causing a commotion in Gotham. Peter counts this as his act of mischief and Loki agrees when he sees the kid sell his own photos to the newspaper. Peter isn't actually doing anything evil, it's just his presence that brings fear. The fact that the bats have caught him breaking into multiple high security facilities doesn't really help his case

-Peter spends his months looking through files and files of info searching for the others, but has just about no luck on anything.

-Peter, forced by a mission, goes undercover in Gotham prep to follow one of Loki’s leads. He doesn't really know what he's doing here, but this Tim guy is pretty nice

-Cause of the amazing pictures he keeps selling to the paper, the company hires him full time as their photographer for special events and even lets him write a few articles when they see the notes he puts next to his pictures that provide contexts and stuff like that. This job opens Peter to search to a whole new horizon.

-With Peter's new job, hes sent to many different cities which introduces him to many different people

-He meets Jimmy Olson on a trip to Metropolis and hits it off pretty well with the older man. Jimmy introduces him to his friends and coworkers Lois and Clark, both of whom are just a delegate. Though that Clark guy as not stopped setting of his spider sense since he met him

-The next place he went to was a city called Fawcett, where he was sent to help with a story with one of the local reporters who was apparently his age.

Boss guy: Ben, meet Billy. You two will be working together on the report for this years summer festival

Peter: *Looks at Billy*

Billy: *Looks at ‘Ben’*

*Insert that one Spider-Man meme*

The two sniff each other out as godly “employees” and exchange numbers. And thus, a friendship was born as Billy decided to keep an eye out for any other reality travelers, and Peter is put as one of his emergency contacts to help him get out of shit since he was “technically 20 according to his ID”

-Peter is also sent to Gothams sister city Bludhaven. Peter,ends up meeting a weird police officer that keeps expecting him to take pictures of the guy. But he's nice enough and bought him a hotdog and a cinnamon roll(even though he now thinks he's allergic to them), so the weird outweighs the good.

-On his trip to Bludhaven, Peter decides to go out as spider-man. Not to cause trouble, but to go sightseeing and swinging without the interference of a bat. He ends up sitting upside down on an old building (like that one Atsv scene) working on some leads he has when all of a sudden, Nightwing appeared right behind him dangling off the side of the building like a mad man giving him a heart attack. Nightwing is about to confront the spider after his sneak attack was caught, but before he does, Peter holds out the cinnamon roll towards the vigilante as a peace offering rushing out the words “Please don't hit me!” and Nightwing just stares. He stares long and hard looking between the treat and the Spider mask. Peter was about to run from them when Nightwing sort of just…sits. Or sits at the best of his abilities with no gravity defying powers. He actually does a pretty good job at it. Nightwing takes to offering with a nod and the 2 just sort of sit there in silence. It's awkward and weird, and quiet but for some reason he doesn't feel as uncomfortable as he thinks he should. Even less when he feels the ringing of his spider senses slowly die down as the minutes pass until it's just a constant hum at the back of his head

-They don't talk after that but from here is a turning point as to how the Bat clan view the spider.

More? Nay I say! (There will be a part 2 to this specific post, but it has gotten too long and I need to go to bed. So hopefully this will do for now :^) Plus this feels like agood stoping point since I feel like that ending would mark the ending to an arc

Please let me know what you think of this AU. I love seeing other people's ideas and thoughts. It fuels me lo

And make sure to keep an eye out for Part 2 of this post.

Later

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