#and bela is like cool :) thanks :) now fuck off and leave me alone i hate you die and goes to do demon shit

[quietwingsinthesky]

watching taxi driver but what i am actually seeing is the elaborate alternate version im constructing in my head where lucifer has to escort sam through hell in order to save bela, who didn't deserve the fate she got, and sam is so filled with hope that he can right this wrong and complete the trial and then when they get there she's a demon <3

[rae-gar-targaryen]

only as alone as i wanna be | [bh]

A/N: Well instead of working on my Peter Parker writing challenge fic, Billy Hargrove won’t leave my brain alone. So here we go. 

I’ve retconned the Billy & Max relationship a bit for this, so it’s a lil au. Sorry!

Please let me know if you think I should continue!

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x fem!Reader (I’m still trying to get the hang of writing for the “reader.” Hopefully this is vague enough that you can imagine yourself. If not, send me feedback so I can get better!) 

Warnings: Language. Passing, vague mentions of sex. Some Billy Hargrove chain-smoking. Bad writing with a jumpy plot. Seriously, I think I’m way too abrupt. Please send feedback. This one is probably doomed for a re-write. 

Word Count: 2.4k of nonsensical, self-important musical references and haphazard, fleeting feelings.

Summary: The snarky record store girl does not like Billy Hargrove. Not at all. 

**NOT MY GIF!** 

—

Winter, 1984

The bell dinged above the door, a jarring interval between the wistful tones of Siouxsie and the Banshees’ Take Me Back. Prompting you to look up from your stack of records in mild annoyance. It had been such a productive day until now, and the vinyl wasn’t going to restock itself. 

Well. 

Had you known Mr. Born-In-The-USA-Bruce-Springsteen himself was going to walk in, you would’ve played something far less his taste than Siouxsie. Just to annoy him. Serves him right, right? 

He paused in the doorway of the shop, wrinkling his nose almost imperceptibly as the sound hit his ears, before striding on toward the “Pop/Rock” section of the store, thumbing his way through Motley Crue’s latest.

Figures, you thought. A man who douses himself with as much commercial-ass hairspray and cologne would like some commercial-ass garbage “metal.” Besides, you’d walked past the blue Camaro enough times in the school parking lot to hear the dulcet tones of whatever bland-ass hair metal he was currently into trying its best to blast the doors off of his beloved metal steed. 

You felt a twinge of guilt. You shouldn’t judge the customers for their musical taste so quickly– but between the old church ladies who came in for Handel’s Messiah or whatever they had heard over public radio that week, and the girls from your class riffing on Madonna, you had had just about enough. 

Hadn’t anyone experienced the true depth of Queen? Keep Yourself Alive, man!

You had been working at Hawkins’ local record store during the summers since childhood – Old Mr. Cohen who owned the place used to let you sort tapes into piles for cents on the hour until you were old enough for a real job. Immersed in the music since a young age, you appreciated the breadth and depth the shop had to offer– your favorites developing into pieces heavy on synth. Bonus points if the lyrics made you feel especially existential. You loved that moody shit. 

Now, at 17, you practically ran the place, Mr. Cohen comfortable with leaving you to your devices at the store, so long as the till was counted and inventory was properly stocked. You were grateful for the freedom– squeezing homework into slow nights and chatting about deeper portions of discography with regulars.

Billy Hargrove was not a regular. Neither did he promise a slow night, if the rumors amongst your female classmates were to be believed. Not that you partook in the Hawkins High rumor mill. 

He was a recent, but obtrusive, arrival in your high school’s social scene. Mere months into his appearance in your town and the age-in-kind female population had seemingly lost their brain cells faster than inhaling their usual clouds of hairspray could do it for them. 

Still, you had to admit, he was good-looking. The Springsteen comparison was apt. Billy Hargrove wore jeans like he was doing the denim a favor. His shirts usually two-thirds of the way unbuttoned, even in winter, which was not an unkind sight. His sun-kissed, California boy skin stood a stark contrast to the pallor of the Indiana natives you grew up with. His eyes were crystalline and swam like oceans of trouble and broken promises. 

My god. You were a moody-ass bitch. Waxing poetic about this jock-strap of a human being who you’d heard pummelled Steve Harrington and nearly drowned himself in beer and barely-legal pussy. Come on, babe. Get it together.

He strode up to you at the counter, his boots clunking against the store’s tiled floor. Shout at the Devil was clutched in his fist. 

He dropped the vinyl on the counter, eyes cast down and swiping a cigarette out of the packet in his jacket pocket and lighting up, the clink-thwip of his lighter meeting your ears before you could tell him to put it out. 

“You can’t do that in here,” you told him. 

He hummed in not-acknowledgment-acknowledgment, choosing to ignore you as he inhaled deeply.

“Seriously, dude. Old man Cohen hates that shit. Put it out or go outside and finish it. If your tits don’t freeze off. Since they’re, you know, halfway out of your shirt like that? You do know it’s December. In Indiana. Right?” You pressed, knowing full well you were being obnoxious. If only to make a point. Game recognize game, right? 

He looked up, ocean eyes meeting your own. His frown was instantaneous. 

“Fine,” he huffed. Before promptly stubbing out his cigarette on your freshly wiped counter, dropping the butt to the floor and twisting it under his booted heel.

“Ugh. Come on, man. I have to clean that now.” 

“You were so adamant about it before.” 

“Whatever man. Just the Motley Crue for you today?” You pressed. Why is he prolonging this interaction?

He rolled his eyes, his line of sight catching on the promotional sign above the counter. 

“Well, now, that says new vinyl is two for one. Which one can I get with this?” 

You dropped your head and exhaled deeply– So this was how this evening was going to go. You gestured at the New Release wall to the left of the front counter. 

“Anything from here, Pretty Boy. New vinyl.” 

Cool as you please, if you please.

Billy glanced at you, sensing your annoyance. A smirk graced his lips. He knew if he prolonged this interaction it would surely get a rise out of you.  

He held up Burning From the Inside, Bauhaus’s latest release. New, but not new.

“What about this one? Cover art is alright.” He gestured at the gothica aesthetic adorning the front jacket.

“That’s Bauhaus,” you informed him, as though that would explain everything.

“Bauhaus? What is that?” 

You snorted. 

“No, seriously. What is that? Is that like … a sex thing?” he asked, derisively. 

“It’s not a sex thing. It’s more of a not-your-kind-of-thing thing,” you stated primly. 

“And how would you know what my thing is, princess? I’m guessing by the black-on-black and torn fishnets you’d be all to familiar with whatever a Bauhaus is,” he retorted.

“Well….” You went to the used pile and grabbed Press Eject and Give Me the Tape, before putting it over the speakers. As Bela Lugosi’s Dead started to play throughout the store, Billy looked unamused. 

“They broke up last year. Gone too soon,” you explained, wistfully. You put your hand over your heart as though in mourning. 

He leaned one arm on the counter, Motley Crue seemingly long forgotten. 

“So, what is this song?”

“Bela Lugosi’s Dead? Like, Stairway to Heaven, but for goths, I guess,” you reasoned. “I’m guessing you’re more of a Scorpions kind of guy? We have Love At First Sting,” you gestured vaguely toward the wall. 

Billy quirked an eyebrow at you. 

“And how would you know what kind of guy I am, princess?” His voice lowering as he leans even further over the counter.

“Um. If the female population at our school is to be believed? Well, you get it…” you trailed off. “Plus, I don’t know, have you looked in a mirror lately? Scratch that. You probably don’t stop looking in mirrors. Should I cover the reflective surfaces in the store, lest you get distracted?” 

Billy at least had the decency to look shocked at your barb. 

But not before recovering quickly. 

“Maybe you just cover the reflective surfaces in here to hide the fact that you don’t have a reflection,” he quipped.

You were stunned. Your eyes widened.

“Was that a– vampire joke, Hargrove?”

Billy shrugged. “Well, If the post-punk bullshit shoe fits… I mean, what even is playing over the speakers right now? I’m in here enough to know Cohen lets his employees pick the music from the Used pile during their shifts. Though clearly I don’t come in often enough during your shifts.”

“Thank God for that,” you sighed. 

Deciding he’d had enough of the banter, Billy snagged Black Flag’s latest off of the New Release wall. 

“Two for one, right?” he snarked, slapping down enough cash for one album before grabbing his findings off of the counter and striding out into the wintery evening– the bell over the door clanging after him for good measure. Like an exclamation point on whatever the ever loving fuck that conversation was. Did you— offend him??

You decided, sweeping up the not-forgotten ash from his cigarette off the floor that you didn’t ever need to have an interaction with Billy Hargrove again. You were most decidedly not post-punk bullshit.

–

Billy Hargrove had never been so ruffled in all of his life. 

Throwing the two vinyl sleeves down in the passenger seat of his beloved Camaro, he slammed the door behind him.

Clink-Thwip.

Billy lit up, the chemical rush of his deep inhale-exhale instantly soothing his frazzled nerves. 

He flicked the lid of his lighter a few more times, for good measure. A nervous habit. Clink-Thunk. Clink-Thunk. Clink-Thunk. 

“ ‘Never stop looking in a mirror,’ my ass,” he grumbled, meeting his eyes in the rear-view before realizing what he was doing and looking away. 

He’d seen that girl before. She sat alone in the cafeteria most times, headphones on, reading a book. She seemed like the type to enjoy Slyvia Plath. Not that he knew enough about Slyvia Plath to really know what that type of girl was. He swore his mom owned a coverworn copy of some novel or another with that name on it. 

He drove away, tires squealing behind him, hair metal blasting from his speakers. Okay, so maybe you’d been right about his musical taste. It’s not like he’d give you the satisfaction. Besides, he’d bought BLACK FLAG, for Christ’s sake. You didn’t know him. 

But still, he couldn’t deny, there was something about your demeanor. Your witticism. Your bad type. And yeah, maybe he’d sneaked a peek at your ass when you came around from the counter to scold him for smoking. Sue him, he was only human. 

He knew there was more to you. A sweet undertone– like peaches and cream. Also maybe he liked ruffling your proverbial feathers. Just maybe. 

He had asked Tommy about you at school the next day. 

Tommy shrugged, but not before looking over at the corner of the cafeteria where you sat. 

“I don’t know man. She’s hot. But, like, in the way weird girls are hot. You can look, but touching may cost you.” 

Billy didn’t know what that meant. But Tommy was literally too stupid to insult. So he bit back a comment effectuating that he didn’t care and slammed the rest of his can of Coke. 

–

You had seen him before. From his tire-squealing entry into your town, you were certain you’d had him pegged from Jump Street. The chain-smoking, that infernal clink-twhip of his American Flag lighter. The keg stands. The raucous screaming in Steve Harrington’s face.

“Plant your feet, Harrington!”

Plant your feet indeed. Lest you be bowled over with unwanted, obtrusive thoughts of the potential depths of Billy Hargrove’s soul. If such a thing existed.

Seriously, though. Why would he buy a Black Flag album? If there was one thing Billy Hargrove was not, you decided, it was punk rock. 

You’d seen him take his sister to the arcade, and wait for her after school. Was it brotherly affection that motivated these little Babysitter’s Club moments, or was he forced to? Still, you saw the way that girl on the skateboard looked up at her seemingly cool older brother. Like he hung the stars. 

He did brush off Tina after the basketball game last week. And, he bought Black Flag. That man had never listened to Black Flag in all of his life. You were sure of it.

Could he really be all bad? 

–

The semester pressed on. Billy Hargrove at the fringe of your thoughts and your eye-line. Was he trying to talk to you in school?

You had the closing shift at the store again on Saturday. You were in the midst of carrying a box of tapes up the stairs from the storage room when you heard the ding of the bell above the door. You sighed, put the box down, and made your way toward the front to greet the customer. Upon seeing the back of Billy Hargrove’s perfectly coiffed, curly head, you were ready to turn back around and act like you hadn’t seen him. Too late. He clearly knew you were working. 

“Please don’t let it be you,” you groaned. 

“No promises, dollface.” 

You stood in front of him, hands on your hips. 

“So? What can I do for you?”

Billy smirked. “I can think of a few things, sweetheart,” he drawled, quirking a perfectly arched brow just so. You hated that you now noticed these things about Billy Hargrove’s perfectly stupid and stupidly perfect face. 

“I don’t have time for this, Pretty Boy.” 

“When are you off?” He asked.

“After close,” you said. 

“Go out with me.” Billy Hargrove said, now surely unsure of himself.

“And why in the ever-loving-fuck would I do that?” You had to hand it to yourself. You were doing a damn good job of looking like you didn’t care. Meanwhile, your insides were pudding and you were just sure he knew it, too.

“Because you want to. Because I want you to. Because– Because I want to. Because I listened to Black Flag. Because I get your whole thing, plaid skirt and all,” he stated, gesturing vaguely over your person. 

You rolled your eyes, choosing not to answer him. Instead, you diverted. Diversion is good, right?

“Where’s your usual crowd of hairsprayed hangers-on? Or are you always alone after school?”

“Only as alone as I wanna be, doll,” He drawled. 

You’d had to hand it to Billy Hargrove. He could definitely turn a phrase when he wanted to. His crystalline eyes could definitely see right through you. As the flush travelled through your body, taking in his artful smirk and powerful visage, you knew:

Billy Hargrove was going to be the death of you. Like the satisfyingly sweet pour of languid waves of syrup cascading over waffles, drowning you in a beautiful, thick avalanche of a saccharine dream. A powdered sugar kiss dusting over your better senses, coating them in the flush of dripping endearment. 

Surely you could be alone together? The crystal ball and the odyssey. 

Would you go?

tagging bc you inspire me:

@nappingtopknot @ayeayecaptaingally @hey-its-grey @tigerlilynoh @andallthatmishigas @oh-star-how-the-mighty-fall @youngmoneymilla @noturjacky  (If you don’t want to be tagged, feel free to ignore, or tell me firmly -- but possibly politely?? to fuck off) 

[imnotasuperhero]

Little do you know (I’ll love you till the sun dies)

Soooo... I just had this thing happening last night (I’m at lack of sleep, so all mistakes are mine). I just had to write something, and I’m surprised I could finish it in just one sit. I missed the feeling of acomplishment! It feels great.

I hope you enjoy this and please, if you happen to have  prompt, send it to me so I can go back in shape :)

Pairing: Mitchsen

Summary:  "I'll love you like you've never felt the pain, I'll wait

I promise, you don't have to be afraid, I'll wait"

Wordcount: 1895

Read on Ao3

Seriously, how could she be the one person Aubrey fucking Posen set eyes on? Being honest, she doubted someone as perfect as the blonde could mold to her messy attitude, for lack of a better word. But she’d expected more from her. She’s earned it for leading the Belas to win the ICCAs championship, didn’t she?

Beca was never one to brag about her abilities and she would never ask for people to worship the floor she walked on. But she’s been expecting for her co-captain to show up at the airport. Or at least for a text wishing her good luck.

“I guess this is it,” a very teary Chloe interrupted her thoughts.

“Don’t do this,” Beca tried to keep her voice even. She hated when Chloe cried, and even more when it was her fault. “You know we’ll keep in contact.”

“That’s until you get all egocentric once you get famous that you’ll forget about us, simple mortals.” The pout on Chloe’s face was doing wonders to Beca, really.

“I’m better than that, Red. I will never forget about you, nor the Bellas.” Beca wrapped her arms around the redhead’s waist before she even could think about it. Something that surprised them both.

In all honesty, by the last few weeks, she’s starting doubting her decision of leaving Barden after the year was over. Not that she’ll ever admit it, but she has found a family in this group of misfits singers. She’s connected with them by now and she knew this was a hard decision to make. But when she got someone presenting her the opportunity in a silver plate, she was no idiot and knew that this kind of train wasn’t easy to catch up. So she agreed. She agreed to pursue her dream without looking back. It was what she’s always wanted, right? To make music and become a producer someday?

“Just promise you’ll get time for me when I go visit?” Chloe searched her eyes for confirmation.

“You know I’ll always have time for you,” she couldn’t resist tucking a strand of red hair behind Chloe’s ear. Something she’s got used to. “I’ll even let you snuggle up-” she was cut off by Chloe’s eager arms around her waist. “If, you behave.”

“I promise I’ll be in my best behavior.” Beca knew it was a lie, but she opted to just kiss her forehead instead. She was never the one to initiate contact, but Chloe’s turned from this insufferable ball of sunshine with no sense of “personal space” to Beca’s precious thing bit by bit and she knew she’d miss the heck out of the redhead. So she just stood there, taking in the scent of Chloe’s shampoo just to have something she could remember, just to feel closer to her.

That is until the speakers called for Beca’s flight to board the plane that’d change her life completely.

Aubrey had tried to get her feet moving, she really did. But it seemed like her body was growing roots right there. Just feet apart from the brunette.

All she wanted was to be there, to hold Beca in her arms for the last time in hopes that she’d stay with her. All she wanted was to just breathe her, one last time. Yet, she was unable to walk the few steps to the living room in where her Bellas had thrown a farewell party for Beca before she left.

She knew she couldn’t bear the feeling of Beca walking out from her. After all the bumps they had since the beginning of the years, all Aubrey wanted was to grasp Beca in her arms and never let her go. But some unknown feeling kept her hidden in her room. Her lungs seemed to lack oxygen every time she tried to go meet them. So she just stayed there, like the coward she was.

The feeling of being left alone was just too much for Aubrey to handle. Beca has settled camp in her heart and just refused to give up. Even if Beca was oblivious of the fact - and without even trying - she’s turned Aubrey’s world upside down. And that was something terrifying for her. She was so fucking obsessed with being in control of thing that she had literally shut down her emotions.

Aubrey was just incapable of understanding her own emotions, so it was easier to just push them away. It was oh, so fucking easier to just avoid them and continue her day on autopilot. It was painful to see, really. But it was all she could do to keep her shit together.

Yet, the envelope in her hands could change everything. And if she’s got accepted, she sure as hell should pick up her game and just woman up. She wasn’t a kid anymore, she was a fucking grown-up lady and she should act the age.

********

All Beca wanted was to come back home, change into comfortable pajamas and chill out for the weekend.  Who knew being an adult could be sofucking stressful? Certainly not her. She almost wanted to be a kid again. Almost. Having economic independence was something pretty cool, actually. She wouldn’t lie.

But what she found when she reached her floor was something she’s never even dreamed of. Not since a few days ago, anyway. She just gave up on the possibility.

So when she saw Aubrey sitting at her door playing with her phone, her heart literally stopped beating. For a whole 10 seconds, she stopped breathing altogether. Just like that. And it was thanks to her burning lungs that she somehow re-learned the activity all over again.

She had to pinch herself to accept this was real. Aubrey fucking Posen was at her door, without a warning, waiting for her. She was here, of all places.

Her legs moved in a way aking to Bambi when he just started walking. The shock was so strong yet, that she felt like walking on shaking grounds. All her senses telling her to just run before the blonde could disappear into thin air, but her body just walked cautiously as if she was offering herself to her predator while doubting her decision all the way.

Thousands of words wanted to escape her mouth at the same time yet, she just went with a timid “Hi.”

Aubrey froze at the words and looked up, incredulity in her eyes. As if she hadn’t traveled all the way to New York to her place.

“Beca, hi.” The blonde eagerly got up to just stand there burning holes into Beca’s skull.

“I can’t believe you’re here. Why are you here?” Beca’s confusion was written all over her face. She just knew it.

“I just… I was hoping we could talk?” Aubrey tried softly and it somehow soothed Beca’s soul. Whatever the blonde had to say, the fact that she's come to her, was enough to fasten up her heartbeat.

“Uh, sure. Come on in,” she offered when she held the door open to the blonde. “You’d like something to drink?”

“I’m… coffee is good.” Aubrey corrected herself and Beca was glad she had something to busy herself with before facing her. God knows her whole body was shaking at a molecular level thanks to the presence of Aubrey in her apartment. It wasn’t something she was used to.

“Thank you,” Aubrey accepted the steaming mug smiling something so shy that got Beca all mushed over the floor. “I’m sorry I came up unexpectedly.”

“‘S okay,” Beca couldn’t help but inspect the blonde’s features all over again. It was as if she was discovering her for the first time all over again.

“Ugh, I hate this, so I’ll be direct, okay?” Aubrey paused waiting for a reply and Beca was so eager to nod her agreement that she felt her brains jumping all over the place. “I was a coward. That’s why…” Aubrey breathed deeply before puffin out. “That’s why I didn’t want to face you. I knew you were leaving and I just… I couldn’t be good with it. I didn’t want you to leave us. To leave me,” Aubrey found interest in her coffee after she’s spoken the words. And Beca was just a fucking puzzle to even care.

All she really wanted was to dissect the confession she just got placing the parts in order to just understand. She wanted to understand the blonde’s actions so bad.

“Why?” she found herself asking after a few -way too long - seconds of silence.

“Because.” Was all Aubrey seemed able to offer. “I wasn’t ready to face my emotions. God, I’m not even ready now . But like… I just had to act up on it before it was too late,” she confessed with pain tinted in the words. “I hope I’m not late?” She finally looked up at her and Beca could see the uncertainty in them. The same uncertainty she’s been feeling lately.

“Why now?” Beca didn’t want to be rude, really, she didn’t. But the words just escaped her mouth before she could shut them. Something that just seemed to leave the door open for more. “It’s been 5 months, Aubrey. Why now, after you’ve ignored my messages?”

The long silence was just too suffocating. Beca wasn’t sure if the dizziness was because she just stopped breathing or she was about to just get sick, but she sure as hell wanted the air to reach her lungs.

“I told you. I wasn’t ready-”

“Bullshit,” Beca cut her, she knew it was pure bullshit. “We’ve been close before I left, and I don’t remember fighting. So pardon me if I don’t believe you.” Beca paused for a much-needed breath after her words came rushing. “I find it hard for you to just ignore the friendly messages I’ve sent. I was trying to keep you in my life, dude!”

“I CAN’T SEE YOU AS MY FRIEND!” Aubrey got up and started pacing between the couch and the coffee table. “I can’t see you as my friend, Beca.” Aubrey’s hand started to play with her hair. Something the blonde did whenever she was… a mess.

“I can’t have you as my friend because I love you, Beca. I fell for you and I’m shitless scared about it because what if-”

Beca didn’t know what possessed her to do such stupid thing, but one second she was watching Aubrey pace in front of her and the next she was kissing her .

She was kissing Aubrey as if her life depended on it. She was kissing her as if all her world ended in that furious yet sweetest kiss. And Aubrey was kissing her back as if Beca was the oxygen she has lost long ago. She was kissing her back as if it was just the rightest thing to do.

“Beca,” Aubrey tried to talk after breaking apart for much-needed air.

“Shh. Let me have this moment,” Beca shushed resting her forehead on Aubrey’s before she searched her lips one last time. She knew they had a lot to talk, but that should have to wait.

All she wanted right now, was to enjoy the moment and just let themselves go. God knows she’s dreamed about kissing the blonde countless times… but this? Sweet baby Jesus, this couldn’t even compare with her dreams. This was so much better.