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liminalpebble · 10 months

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Eddie's Education: Chapter 9

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Minors DNI

Chapter 9

Dale, who conveniently always scheduled Eddie and Leia together, suggested that they feel free to wear costumes on shift throughout the month to promote the October festivities, and of course, he really wanted them to go all out when they work the blow-out party on the 31st.

Since they were both absolutely crazy about Halloween, they were only too glad to oblige. As they greeted each other to begin their shifts on Tuesday, they spent a moment appreciating each other's costumes. While Eddie was dumbstruck by her Wednesday Addams, complete with knee socks, braids and collared black dress, she took the opportunity to speak.

“Hey! You look great, Eddie! Are you...from a video game...or Lord of the Rings?”

Eddie blushed uncontrollably at her praise, but he already felt a little weird, in his pseudo-medieval get up, complete with a fake fur thrown over his shoulders.

“Thanks! But..uh...come on..you don't know who I am?”

“Can I have a hint?”

She yelped in surprise as Eddie flung himself up on a table and strutted across it while belting out, “HOLY DIVERRRR. You've been down too long in the midnight seaaa!!!” and making wild hand gestures, pretending to swing a sword.

He looked down at her sweet little white-powdered face, as she shook her head in confusion.

“I am Dio!” he hollered, arms outstretched in an a gesture between a shrug and a wizard summoning a demon, then dropped his arms with a sigh. “Ronnie James Dio? Started out in Black Sabbath..ring any bells?”

“I'm sorry,” she said. Looking a little more distraught about it than she should have, remembering all the times Sam would react with disbelief and belittle her for not knowing about one of his obscure bands or authors or artists or films. She braced herself for it.

Picking up on her tension, Eddie jumped off the table and held her by her slumping shoulders. “Hey,” he said meeting her eyes and smiling. “Don't worry about it! It was way before your time. I'm old, remember?”

She chuckled and the expression on her face was like a storm cloud parting for sunshine.

“The band plays in like half an hour. I'll ask the guys if we can play some Dio for you.”

She smiled. “I'd like that.” Relieved now, she went back behind the bar, prepping the glasses and the taps for the (probably) few but faithful drunks who would come to see Corroded Coffin this evening.

Studying her face a moment, appreciating her skillful pale make up and black-lined eyes, Eddie had an idea. “Hey, you wouldn't happen to have that black and white make up with you, would you?”

“Oh, uh, yeah! I brought it along. Why?”

“Would you mind doing some corpse paint on our faces? Me and the guys. It'd be so fucking metal!” he said, dark eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

“Yeah! Of course. I'd love to!”

“Sweet! You can do that!?”

“Yeah! I got really good at stage makeup in Chicago.”

“Oh?” he said, as he emptied the dishwasher, then checked the bottles in the speed rack.

“Yeah, I used to dance with a neo-vaudville troupe in Chicago, in this run down old Victorian theater. It was so fun.”

Eddie looked at her wide eyed. “No way! That's so cool! You danced?”

“Yeah,” she said with a nostalgic grin. “Oh yeah. All kinds. Tap, jazz, ballet, etc. I danced since I was a kid...tutu and everything.”

Eddie stood all the way up now, meeting her eyes with a big silly grin, bringing out his laugh lines. “Well, I'll be damned Miss Vespero. You're just full of surprises! What a colorful life you've had.”

Her smile dropped a moment and a cloud of remembered dread crossed her dark eyes. “Yeah...'had' being the operative word here. I gave it up.” She snapped out of it, avoiding Eddie's concerned gaze by wiping down the counter, even though it was already clean.

“Why'd you stop?” he asked, hating that he could already guess the answer.

“Uh...after a few years...Sam wanted me to stop. Said it was stupid and ridiculous...like a bunch of adults dressing up and putting on a second-rate school play. I guess he was sort of right.”

“So what?! Look at us now! It's fun right. Wasn't that the point?”

“Yeah,” she chuckled, “yeah, it's really fun. I forgot how much I loved it. I forgot how much I loved a lot of things.”

“Well, this silly bastard is here to help you remember not to give a fuck what other people think, especially dickhead hipster ex-boyfriends. Come on, the guys just got here. Help us look undead?” he pleaded, grabbing her hand.

She nodded. “Mr. Munson, it would be my absolute pleasure.”

----

Dale minded the bar while Leia sat the four metal heads in a line of chairs before her, dabbing black and white make up into the panda-like smudges of death metal face paint. Eddie introduced her to his band mates, trying to seem nonchalant, but nonchalance was not exactly in Eddie's nature, and to Gareth, sitting next to him, the situation was abundantly clear. He side-eyed his friend, knowingly and asked, “So, Eddie, any word about your GED, my dude? Did you get it?”

Eddie let out a tired huff, accidentally blowing a makeup sponge full of white powder onto Gareth's face, as Leia held it in front of him, poised to dab.

“Goddamit, Eddie!” he exclaimed, as Leia stifled a laugh and gently patted the spilled powder off of Gareth's face and shoulders with a cloth. Eddie was laughing hysterically.

Gareth said pointedly to her, “Thank you Princess Leia,” and kissed her hand in a mock-courtly gesture, “unlike my friend here, your manners are exquisite.”

She giggled. Eddie glared. Gareth was riling his oldest friend on purpose, trying to gauge just how smitten Eddie was with her. His jealous glare told Gareth, in no uncertain terms, that he was head over heels.

“Anyway,” Eddie said clearing his throat, “They said we won't know for a few weeks.”

“A few weeks!” Gareth exclaimed.

Leia added, “Yeah, it can take a long time to get the results. It can be stressful.” She meant for the students, but of course it was stressful for her too, as she hoped the folks she helped would make it to their goal. She added, with a smile to Eddie, “Room 66 misses you, by the way. Andy asks about how you're doing all the time.”

“Aww, that's sweet. Tell him I'm doing fine, and tell that old timer to stop snoring in your class and drooling all over the desk. It's rude and gross!”

She laughed. “I will.” She looked around at her table of supplies. “Hrmm...hold on guys a need to grab a wet rag to clean up the powder avalanche. Be right back.”

As she hurried off, Gareth immediately turned and whispered frantically to Eddie. “What the actual fuck are you waiting for, Eddie! This is the girl, right? Jesus Christ, you're hopeless! She likes you too, you big dumb idiot.”

“We're friends. She was my teacher. Drop it,” Eddie said, in a warning tone.

“Bullshit, Eddie. I saw how you look at her, and I don't blame you, man. She seems pretty cool.”

“It's not like that.”

“Oh isn't it? I think I'll ask her out then.”

Jeff piped up from Eddie's other side, “Nope. I call dibs.”

Eddie grabbed his friends by the shirt collar staring them down in turn as he growled out, “don't you fucking dare.”

Gareth and Jeff both laughed. “See? Just admit it. Why are you putting yourself through this?”

Eddie rolled his black-smudged eyes dramatically. “Because she's my teacher, and coworker, and way too young for me, and way too good for me, so drop it.”

“She's not your teacher anymore, Eds,” Jeff commented.

Eddie let out a loud frustrated squawk, dropping his head in his hands and rubbing his face, forgetting about the make up. “Oh for fuck's sake,” he declared as he saw his hands covered in paint.

When he looked up, Leia was back with the washcloth, staring wide-eyed at the scene before her, having heard Eddie's barbaric yalp from across the room. “Are...uh...are you guys okay?”

“We're fine!” Eddie barked. The rest of the guys looked at each other, realizing their faces were ready, they agreed through silent nods that they had tormented their friend enough and went to the stage to finish setting up. Leia knelt in front of Eddie's chair with her make up kit, and lifted his chin so she could see his face. Meeting his concerned eyes, she smiled sweetly and said simply, “There you are, handsome.”

He smirked as she touched up his face paint, saying quietly, “Yeah, sweetheart, here I am. But I don't know who you're calling handsome in this get up.”

She was examining his hands now as she gently cleaned the make up off of his broad palms. She cradled the backs of his knuckles with her small soft fingers as if big scary Eddie Munson was actually very breakable. And she knew, of course, that he was; knew that there was some deep pain inside of him that he didn't dare to talk about with most people and she wondered what it was, or if he would ever tell her. Once she checked her work she nodded, and said, “looks like it's go time. Break a leg out there, Eddie the Banished,” he got up and strode to the stage like a viking lunging into battle thinking, This one's for you, Princess Leia.

------

It was a surprisingly large crowd after all (large for the Hideout, anyway). Several dozen back yard revelers and frat boys had brought their weekday drinking to the bar to enjoy some seasonal flare, tired of the scenery of their own suburban fire pits and red solo cups full of booze. While Eddie did his thing on stage, Leia and Dale hustled non-stop bartending. Still, Leia managed to find time to glance at the metalhead in total admiration. Eddie was so talented; a born performer, creative and passionate, no matter who was watching, how many there were, or what they thought. He was unapologetically himself and it thrilled her in ways she was trying to pretend it didn't. She felt like a horny teenager, lusting after the guitarist onstage, but she shrugged it off, figuring that every girl who's ever watched him in this town must have felt that way. She told herself her feelings were nothing special, and she didn't even think herself pretty enough to be a one night stand for him (probably just one of many at that). He could probably have his pick after all. Leia had no idea how very untrue so much of that rumination was.

After closing, Dale invited the guys to stick around and have a few free beers. They laughed as they guzzled the cheap alcohol and talked about D and D. Leia listened curiously from where she was wiping down tables as they did. It all seemed pretty mystifying to her. She was always interested in learning to play but never had the guts to ask a group to teach her. They already seemed so well established and knew what they were doing. She figured a newbie would just be frustrating. Not to mention, she couldn't begin to imagine the delightful field day Sam would have had teasing her about that.

When everything else was done and Dale was counting the register, Leia came over with a damp washcloth, held it up and said, “Okay, who's first for make up removal.”

All their hands shot up. “Uh. I uh...I guess I'll just start at this end.”

She carefully wiped off their face paint and finished it off by giving them each a kiss on the head. Eddie was last, and his kiss on the head lasted just a little longer. “Great show tonight, guys...night.”

“Good night Miss Vespero, they all said in unison,” as a joke, and she chuckled as she shrugged on her bag and Dale held the door for her, offering to drive her home tonight since the boys were getting hammered.

“Take care of her Dale, please, make sure she gets home safe.”

Dale shook Eddie's hand, “I won't drive off until she waves from the window. I know. I'll treat her like my own daughter. Hey, be sure to lock of up when you leave, okay fellas?”

All four nodded and grunted their “goodnight”s.

As soon as Dale and Leia were gone, each guy took turns yelling in Eddie's face, commanding him to ask that girl out before someone else does.

@sunflowerdaydreamer

#eddie munson x ofc #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #stranger things #strangers things fanfic

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hungercityhellhound · 7 months

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Bands I follow on Spotify with less than 500K listeners per month. I feel like it will be most of them. I will use the tag #<500K if you want to track along. I'll be doing 10 at a time.

Format Band name (# of listeners per month)

Rhapsody (466K)

Wargasm UK (401k)

Savatage (257K)

Nox Doloris (489) They remind me of what would happen if Nile went Black Metal

Cyanide 4 (289)

The Rods (23k)<-- The lead vocals are Ronnie James Dio's cousin and you can hear it.

The Jeff Healey Band (363k)

Steel Panther (489K)

Pretty Maids (121K)

Watain (107K)

#<500k #Rhapsody #Rhapsody band #Wargasm UK #Savatage #Nox Doloris #Cyanide 4 #The rods #the rods band #Jeff Healey Band #Jeff Healey #Steel Panther #Pretty Maids #pretty maids band #Watain #Spotify

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deliriumsdelight7 · 2 years

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Tell us more about your Kas!Eddie fic!

Gonna throw this under a tag because this is spoilers for like the ENTIRE premise. Minus the fuckin’.

So, a couple weeks ago, I was looking at… well, never mind what I was looking at. And I thought, you know what Hellcheer smut needs? Tentacles. Oh, sure, there’s a few fics out there where Chrissy finds that issue of Heavy Metal with the tentacle smut in Eddie’s room. But we don’t have, like, actual tentacle smut (if I’m wrong SEND ME THAT SHIT). And as anyone who reads my smut knows, even my filthiest stuff tends to be all tender and emotional. So wouldn’t it be fun to make some really tender, intimate tentacle porn?

Yes. Yes it would.

So we all know about the Kas!Eddie theory, which states that Vecna is going to bring Eddie back to life as a vampire next season. Which I’m positive isn’t going to happen because ELEVEN was Kas, but anyway. I started to think of the, I dunno, the mechanics of it. Unlike his namesake, Vecna a.k.a. Henry Creel is not a necromancer. He can’t just make vampires. But if he saw a random teenaged boy bleeding out in the Upside Down, deeply traumatized by everything he’d suffered over the past few days… it would be relatively simple to bind Eddie’s mind to his, and to transform Eddie’s body in the way his own was transformed after he was exiled to the Upside Down.

Yeah. Wetly writhing tentacles and all.

Now, anyone who knows me knows that I love all things Beauty and the Beast. It bleeds into a lot of my writing. I think the idea of a truly grotesque beast, a freak of science and nature and maybe a little magic, has serious potential for a ton of hurt/comfort.

I was also partly inspired by Dio’s Dream Evil album cover, in which a monster lurking outside a window watches over a young girl as she sleeps, all the while horrors lurk under her bed. Here:

Now, I don’t know what Murray (the demonic Dio mascot in the window) is meant to be up to. But based on the fact that he’s doing the horns with his fingers - something Ronnie James Dio himself said his grandmother used to do to ward off evil - I think it’s a benevolent presence. A sentinel, warding evil away from the girl’s dreams.

All of that goes into this premise: A year or so after the events of season 4, Chrissy, who (survived/came back to life/don’t worry about it) Vecna’s attack, has started having nightmares again. But every time, before they can get too bad, she’s saved by a steady, soothing presence that she recognizes as Eddie Munson. Which is ridiculous; even if Eddie could somehow get into her dreams, he died a year ago.

Eventually, those horrible visions start bleeding into her waking hours, just as they had a year ago. And this time, when that presence - when Eddie - drives it away, she begs him to reveal himself to her. And that’s the last thing in the world Eddie wants to do (sure, he looks badass and metal as fuck, which is awesome, but he also knows that he’s objectively hideous), but for Chrissy? He’ll do it.

Cue 100% unplanned hurt/comfort, squishy wriggly sex, and some kinda ending that I can’t even BEGIN to figure out.

Thanks for the ask! Hope this sounds interesting!

#tmi tuesday #ask answered #hellcheer #GVD look away you don’t need to see where my twisted mind goes

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feverinfeveroutfic · 3 years

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chapter twenty-four: showtime

“Alright, gentlemen,” Sam started with a rubbing of her hands; she glanced over at the three men on either side of her as if they were her students. She was ready to head on out to the castle: the first time she would be witnessing a show near a castle.

“Alright, what?” Dan asked her as he gave his feathery hair a little toss back with a flick of his head.

“It's nearly showtime, isn't it?” she pointed out.

“Within like a couple of hours, yeah,” Charlie replied: he had just woken up from his nap. He had already put on those notorious bright red shorts for the show, but he seemed to be in no hurry whatsoever. And as far as Sam and Marla knew, he would have to take a whole series of naps on this stint of their tour. At least the two of them and Belinda were headed home after this show: she couldn't hardly think about Charlie having a difficult time just to keep his eyes open for a whole flight over to the next stop, and then the next one. Nevertheless, Sam stood there in between the beds with her hands pressed to her hips as if she meant business with them.

She glanced over to either bed, to Charlie and Dan there on her right, and to Frank on the left: Joey had gone out somewhere, and yet he left his guitar behind.

Stormtroopers of Death all over again for her, except this time around they were in a genuine hotel room rather than the front seat of Charlie and Marla's car.

“Where'd Joey go, by the way?” she asked Frank.

“He left for a few minutes to play fetch for a few minutes,” he replied with a straight face.

“For a few minutes and also for a few minutes?” she retorted back to him.

“Yeah! At least that's how he told it to me.”

“Well,” she cleared her throat, “don't you guys wanna like—go to the castle and rehearse for a bit?”

“Bon Jovi's the headliners so—not yet,” Charlie croaked out, complete with a rub of his eyes.

“Well, if they're the headliners doesn't that mean they go on last?” Sam asked him, to which he hesitated for a second and he gazed up at the pale ceiling above them.

“Yeah, they do. Fuck.”

“It's alright. Because it's a couple of hours, we can walk over there.”

“Walk or skateboard?” Frank joked.

“You can skateboard, Frankie,” Sam told him off with a straight face. “We kind of need our lead singer, though.”

“We?” Charlie tried to hold back that bout of laughter but he wound up laughing so hard regardless of that fact.

“You kind of need your lead singer,” she corrected him.

The door swung open and Joey stumbled right into the room right then. He gave his long black curls a toss back from the side of his face and the side of his neck, and he showed Sam a little smile.

“Hey! There he is!” Frank proclaimed.

“Here I is—what's happening?” He strolled over to the bed closest to the window and he picked up his guitar from the floor.

“I just suggested to the boys here that you guys ought to head on over there,” she informed him.

“It's not for a couple of hours, though,” he pointed out as he crouched down onto the floor with the guitar cradled on his lap. He then poked his head up over the edge of the bed.

“You got that little bag in your purse still?” he asked her.

“No, I took it out of there when Marla and I got home a couple of weeks ago,” she said.

“Damn.”

“Besides, you don't need that shit, Joe,” Dan pointed out.

“It's just pot, Danny,” Joey insisted. “It ain't gonna kill me.”

“It was stinking up my purse, though,” Sam told him.

“It's good for inspiration, though,” he said.

“It's also taking a hit on your memory, too,” she added.

“Lemme play—lemme play!” he exclaimed.

“Okay, okay—don't be such a baby.”

“I ain't no baby,” he scoffed.

“I'm gonna check on Marla and Bel—and Aurora, too.”

“How's she doing by the way?” Charlie asked her.

“Who, Aurora?”

“Yeah.”

“Hung over like crazy earlier. Her and Emile both got drunk under the table last night—and I thought they were still drunk, too. Now my only hope is that they're good to go. If not, well—we'll see how things go with them and we'll see how Jon and Marsha both react to it. I'm especially worried about her because she's my best friend.”

“What about him?” Charlie tucked his hands underneath his head.

“He's my old landlord and I'm not paying him rent anymore—it's still worrying, though.” She paused for a second and then she recalled what had happened the day before.

“Does Alex know about those drawings?” she asked him in a low voice. “Like, who did them?”

Charlie lifted his head a bit and he glanced across the room to Joey crouched down on the floor. “He has seen them,” he replied, also in a low voice, “yeah he has—but I didn't see his reaction, though. The next time we see him, ask him what he thought about them. He's like me and Lars—he's really into art. I'm sure he liked all four of them.”

“You know where they're staying?” she asked him, to which he shook his head.

“Aurora probably knows but who knows how she's feeling right about now.”

“True.” Without another word, Sam left the room and headed on back across the hall: Marla ran a brush through her candy apple red hair right before the mirror on the wall. She lifted her gaze over to Sam and nodded her head at her: the light from the lamp behind her shone onto her hair so it looked as though she had a soft pink crown upon her head.

“How's Aurora doing?” Sam asked her as she stood in the doorway.

“Still out like a light,” Marla replied. “Bel's doing better, though.”

Indeed, Belinda, who had taken her spot there on the edge of the bed closest to the door, turned to Sam and showed her an exhausted smile.

“It's been a little difficult,” she confessed, “but it's been better, though.”

“Do you know where Testament is staying in?” Sam asked the two of them; Marla shook her head and Belinda shrugged.

“I only saw Alex and Greg the other night at dinner,” Belinda admitted, “haven't seen them since then.” She then smirked at her. “Why, you got a date with one of them?”

“I wanna know what Alex thought of those drawings I made for Anthrax,” Sam told her, “I also wanna know if he knows that I made them.”

“I'm sure they're around,” Marla assured her as she picked up her brush again and tossed her hair over her shoulder. Sam fetched up a sigh and turned her attention back to the corridor behind her. They had to be close by there in the hotel especially since Metallica also pitched in for dinner for them.

“God, I've never been so tired in my life,” Belinda groaned. “I'm better than I was before, but still.”

“I've been off kilter a little bit, too,” Marla consoled her. “Not as bad as that, but it's still nothing to sneeze at, though—”

Sam then doubled back into the corridor and she strode onto the front room for any signs of life. A few other guests congregated around that big heavy table but no signs of them. She headed outside to the porch and she hoped that a single walk about the place would give her a view into one of their rooms somewhere in there. But then again, the trees all along the one side of the building there kept her from doing anything more than that. She returned to the hotel and she walked past the table into that short nook back there.

A few more rooms, but each of them had their doors closed.

How five men had vanished into thin air in there in the hotel was beyond her. She stood there in the middle of the floor with one hand pressed to her hip and another hand upon brow in repose. How five men just disappeared in there.

She had no idea if they were even in those rooms; they could have been in the hotel down the street for all she knew. Thus she returned to her own room for another few moments, or at least until Belinda felt up to snuff on her part.

“No clue where those guys are,” Sam confessed to them.

“Well, shit.” Marla gave her bright red hair a little tousling over the shoulder, and then she put on some perfume in to go in junction with that black velvet camisole.

“You guys always look so rock n' roll,” Belinda groaned out from the bed. “Especially you, Sam—you got a pendant from Ronnie James Dio for god's sake. And a bracelet from Joey.”

“A bracelet Ronnie gave to Joey,” Marla corrected her.

“Hey, the very second I saw you in Bill's class I thought you were a total punk chick,” Sam assured her as Marla gave her a spritz of perfume on her wrists.

“Punk chicks come in all shapes and sizes,” Belinda pointed out. “Especially as Zelda will tell you.”

“Kudos to her, by the way,” Marla added as she put the cap back onto her perfume. “For watching Genie and the apartment.”

“And just kudos to her, too,” Sam chuckled.

A knock on the door caught their attention.

“Come on in,” Marla called out. Frank poked his head in there.

“You girls ready?”

“Born ready,” Sam told him, and Charlie laughed from right behind him. Belinda stood to her feet and the three of them headed out of the room. Frank and Charlie led them towards the front door, complete with that skateboard tucked underneath his arm.

“Joey and Danny already went over there,” the latter informed them once they stepped outside to the cool, crisp late afternoon: the overcast sky darkened into a rich royal blue with the setting sun behind them. It would be nightfall by the time Metallica and Anthrax took to the stage.

“Oh, I see—they don't want me to come along,” Sam jeered at that.

“They're guitar players,” Charlie assured her. “Joey's also the lead singer, too, so—they kinda have to be. None of us make the rules and one of us probably should've told you that but—it's water under the bridge at this point.”

Sam shook her head at that: the silver pendant Ronnie gave her clinked a bit with each and every step in the meantime. They crossed the street towards that treeline, which was then followed by the tent; beyond that stood the stage before the castle: the sounds of music caught her ear, and she wondered who had gone on right then. They reached the tent's doorway when Sam spotted Joey over in the corner where she and Ronnie had congregated the two days before.

“This way, Char—” Frank declared from behind her. A cloud of smoke emerged from that corner of the tent.

“Sounds like W.A.S.P already took to the stage?” Marla said aloud.

“No idea, to be honest,” Belinda confessed; she turned to Sam with those tired eyes. “We're gonna go check this out.”

She nodded in response and the two of them went ahead to the other side of the tent. Just so long as she got alone with Joey again.

She made her way over to him and the cloud of wispy haze that surrounded him. That rank smell coupled with something a little more fragrant. His eyes were closed part of the way all the while. He nodded at her and showed her a little smirk, but she gaped at him in concern.

“Joey, it's nearly showtime and you're baked out of your wits—”

“It's not out of my wits,” he insisted with his eyes still closed part of the way. “I just had a couple of puffs of smoke and that was it. Nuthin' more, nuthin' less than that.”

“Where did you get some?”

“Remember that lighter Frankie had?” he asked her.

“Vaguely.”

“Well, apparently, he still had a good deal of juice inside of it. So I asked Lars and then he gave me a couple of puffs and then he himself had a couple.”

“Lars had some pot on him?”

“Not a lot, mind you—but still enough to loosen me up.”

She frowned at him. It wasn't a drink, but he still had a hit of marijuana so soon before showtime

“Well, I worry about you screwing up, though,” she said, concerned, “especially on your own song, for chrissake.”

“I'll be fine,” he insisted.

“Fucked up—insecure—neurotic—and enigmatic,” she stated complete with a counting on her fingers.

“You mean emotional,” he pointed out.

“Whatever—well, at least you got it right. That tells me you're lucid.”

“Lucid? Loose is more like it.”

“Loose—like a loose pair of underwear.”

“Loose like a loose cannon is more like it,” she retorted back to him. She gazed down at those dark lips as they parted a bit for her. She hesitated for a second, and then she peered up at his brown eyes, those twin gaping dark holes as they gazed back at her from the hazy darkness behind him. She had to do something, something to get him back on track, even if it was just a little hit from a joint. She had nothing else to resolve it, except for the fact she had seen him naked, twice, and he always nudged her to be on display for the world to see—

She lunged for the sides of his neck and she moved her face into her own.

“C'mere, you,” she insisted.

“Whoa, what?”

“You're not going up on stage like that—no way, no how—” She pressed her lips onto his, firm and hard as if she meant it. She held his face back from her own and he looked at her in a gaze.

“Whoa. You really wanna go there, don't ya?”

She glanced around them.

“Not in here, though,” she said in a low voice and with a scowl still plastered on her face.

“But sounds good, though.”

He slung the guitar off of his shoulder and showed her his tongue. She gripped onto his hand and led him out of there; the last thing she heard as they left the tent was W.A.S.P leaving the stage on the other side of the tent. She forgot the exact lineup that evening, but she knew Anthrax were going on after Metallica.

She had to do this quick.

They headed out to the trees right as the sky darkened some more, that time into a rich violet color: the canopy overhead only added to the impending darkness.

“Where we going?” Joey chuckled.

“Right here—” She turned around and she pressed him back to the trunk of a tree. She pressed her lips onto his once again, complete with her hands tucked behind the back of his head: all through those soft ringlets near the nape of his neck. His deep chest pressed against her own. His slim belly as soft and silken as the very tongue she caressed against.

Metallica rang out through the dense dark trees that surrounded them. Joey dropped down a little more towards the bottom of the tree trunk just so Sam could put her arms around his slender little body. Her lips locked onto his and their tongues met one another in the middle: he tasted like that burnt end of the joint coupled with a bit of coffee. At least he wasn't drinking.

Jason's bass floated through the branches and Sam closed her eyes once she recognized its grinding thunder noise under Kirk and James' guitars. Lars thumped on his kick drum and everyone in the audience clapped along with him.

“How now brown cow,” James bellowed into the microphone. “I said, I said, I said'a—how now brown cow!”

Joey ran his hands down Sam's sides and onto her hips.

“Oh, fuck—if only we had a little more time,” he pled.

“You'd fuck?” she teased him.

“Just for a li'l quickie—but Metallica only got a short set on hand this time around.”

“So you gotta be back up there?”

“Yeah.” He then stood to his feet and ran his fingers through his black curls once more.

“Alright. But afterwards, we're picking up where we left off.”

“Of course, of course.” He flashed her a wink and the two of them returned up the pathway to the tent. Sam walked on to the side of the stage as Joey fetched the guitar and doubled back into the backstage for Frank, Dan, and Charlie. She rounded a corner and she recognized those five heads there at the side; beyond them was Metallica as they wrapped up the final song of their set. She skirted along the curtain and they turned their heads to her.

“Hey, there you guys are!” she declared.

“Yeah, we never left!” Eric joked, and Greg and Louie burst out laughing at that. Before she could say anything more, the audience behind them erupted into cheers for Metallica: James' long golden blond waves floated behind his head as he waved at everyone. Kirk and Jason gave everyone the sign of the horns while Lars blew Sam a kiss.

Like clockwork, Anthrax took to the stage: Charlie had tied up his hair into a tight ponytail behind his head while Joey had taken off his shirt, thus the flood lights shone onto his bare brown skin such that he resembled to a ghost.

“Hello, Britain!” Joey announced into the microphone head. “It's been a while.” He let out a long low whistle; even though the noise died down before him, a sound barrier began to form before Sam, such that she couldn't say anything more to the five men behind her; she turned around in time as Joey picked up that white flying V guitar and slung it over his shoulder, and took his black curls out from underneath the strap. “As you can tell we are officially a four piece now—but it's alright 'cause I got this guitar here courtesy of a guy you all might know, Dave Mustaine—”

Several people before him cheered at that.

“But anyway, we ain't messing around here, though,” he pointed out. “We're gonna have some fun tonight and while we're in Europe. Some new songs, some songs you may've heard of, some old ones, too! Fuck yeah, let's do this!”

He stepped back and ran his fingers through his black curls before he held onto the guitar neck and spread his legs apart. Frank led them into it with a rising bass line. The sound of Charlie's drums resembled to that of a gunshot. Frank gave his long lush dark hair a toss back with a jerk of his body and Joey mirrored him all the while. It was so strange seeing them perform as a quartet rather than as that five piece, but Sam stood there off to the side of the stage with Marla and Belinda with her eyes keen on the stage before them.

Charlie let out a short little drum solo before Joey picked up with the singing. He stood there with one leg forward and one leg back and his body stooped forward, and the guitar down by his thighs.

They had the sound to keep them apart from Metallica and even Testament, and Joey's voice was indicative of that.

“What is it!” Frank shouted into his own microphone.

“Caught in a mosh!” Joey followed up as though they were talking over each other.

They also had that sense of humor.

Sam peered out at the audience, at the mosh pit that formed out there in front of them. It went on for the entirety of the song no less.

“This song is definitive Anthrax if you ask me,” Joey declared into the microphone head. “Off our new album Among the Living. This is called 'A Skeleton in the Closet'!”

“This is a good song,” Chuck remarked.

“For real,” Sam replied back to him with a chuckle.

“Joey's a machine!” Marla declared over the roar of Frank's bass in junction with Charlie's thundering drums. Joey turned away from the audience so he could better receive feedback from his amp. His black curls obscured his face from Sam's view; she peered over her shoulder at the sight of the vast stretch of audience beyond the edge of the stage. Most of them were there to see Bon Jovi and Cinderella, but she could tell that most of them were in fact enthralled by the sight before them. Joey with his hair down in his face as he kept up the rhythm.

He was no solo artist like Dan, but he could play those powerful, grinding riffs. She kept her eyes fixated on his fingers down over the pick guard: he played like that and with his fingers to boot. Meanwhile, Dan's feathery hair fluttered and waved about on the crown of his head against the gentle cool breeze: he kept his gaze fixated on the strings underneath him and he let the solo out of the cage.

She thought of Alex right then: he stood somewhere back there and she knew he was feeling down and out about the sight before her. She peered over her shoulder at Chuck and Eric right there, and complete with looks of awe plastered upon their faces. She only saw the back of Alex's head but she knew that he was watching with a bit of that outsider feeling.

Much like their brothers in Metallica, they only played a short set before they cut things loose for Dio and then lastly Bon Jovi.

Joey took off the guitar and gave a big wave to everyone as they all gave him cheers. They were cheering for him. Sam ran her tongue along her lips as they all backed away from the side of the stage so as to give them room. Everything was dark, and yet Joey's silhouette and that upstate accent proved to be enough for her. She followed him back towards the tent while the boys from Testament were laughing about something.

“Back here, Sam—” he coaxed her. She followed him off the stage and towards the tent, which was lit up by the mere flicker of a hurricane lantern outside of the doors.

“Wait, Joey—don't you wanna see Ronnie go on?” she called after him. Using only the ambient light from the castle and from the stage lights, she followed him towards the trees; but he never replied to her as they returned to the same exact spot there in the bushes. He then stopped and turned around, which in turn made her stop right in her tracks. They were only a few feet away from the street and the sidewalk, but that particular spot in the trees kept them away from any prying eyes in their direction.

“So, hey, you wanna do that again?” he offered her.

“Why, you think you can do that again?” she teased back at him.

“Well—'cause Cliff touched you but he never went any further than that, though,” he pointed out.

“Besides, you didn't answer my question, either,” she told him. “Don't you wanna see Ronnie and his band?”

“We can listen,” he replied as he extended his arms to her once again. He brought his chest in closer to her and he bowed his head for her again: she pressed her lips onto his. Unlike the first time, he didn't taste like a joint anymore, but rather like salt dissolved in fresh water. He hadn't broken out a sweat on his brow, but he had exorcised some of that adrenaline out through his body like the work of a wizard. He had even more adrenaline now courtesy of being up on a stage before some several thousand people all the while.

She wasn't the one performing and yet her heart hammered away inside of her chest as well.

His rough hands ran up her back towards the hooks on her bra. They were going to do it right there out in the wilderness, out in the open, out there for all the world to see. And yet they had no one else around them. Her bra loosened and the straps slid down her shoulders a bit.

She gasped at the feeling of his lips against her neck and her collar bones. She could feel his fingers wedged right in between her legs. She shuddered at the feeling, such that he stopped right in place.

“What's wrong?” he asked her in a hushed voice.

“I can't,” she confessed.

“It's okay—I got you covered. I'll walk you right through this. I promise—just follow my lead.”

She then gasped and pulled away from his lips.

“What's the matter?” he asked her.

“I just realized why my mom likes you so much,” she whispered to him.

“What's that?”

“You're like my dad,” she said, to which he stopped what he was doing to her.

“I—I am?”

“Well, you have similar traits as my dad,” she corrected herself. “Between your protection towards me and your dark hair—it makes sense. You remind her of my dad. But then again, that's just a guess. I don't know exactly why she likes you as much as she does. I have to ask her.”

“Next time you and I see her, you gotta,” he insisted.

“Well, duh.” She scoffed and rolled her eyes at him, and he chuckled at that. He leaned in for another kiss on the lips, one that had a little more power to it that time around. She ran her hands up his back towards the base of his head and those especially soft black ringlets under the bulk of his hair. Even if her mother had a thing for him, she had to make her claim on him. Joey was hers now, there in the trees as Ronnie crooned out to the black sky overhead.

She let go of his lips and she looked right into his serene face, and those closed eyes, now soft and smooth. His skin looked much healthier and more radiant than before. Playing guitar had saved him.

Something moved from the corner of her eye. She glanced over and she spotted Alex right there at the sidewalk with a wounded look on his face: the plume of silver over his brow shone under the ambient light from the castle. She gaped at him, but then he bowed away from there and into the darkness.

Sam returned to Joey and the placid look on his face, just in time for his eyes to open up for her once again.

“You done?” he challenged her, to which she shook her head at him. She brought her lips back for another round with him, but she couldn't hardly shake the look on his face. There was something there with Alex that he wasn't telling her. She had too many questions now as Joey kissed the side of her neck and ran his fingers through her dark hair.

“You seem uncomfortable,” he confessed right into her ear.

“I'm not,” she assured him. “I promise—I'm not.” He moved his head a bit so he could have a better look right into her face.

“You just seem a little bit more tense than normal.”

“It's okay,” she said in a broken voice, “it's okay—I'm just—not used to—doing this outside.”

“Oh, I see—it's alright. It's just us here. Although—the ground is a little bit soggy. Think sump'n bit me, too.”

“Something bit you?”

“Yeah, right on the ass.”

“Sure that was an insect and not my own fingers?” She pinched him right then which in turn made him gasp. Some voices caught her attention.

“I hear people comin', too,” he said.

“I do, too.” He pouted his bottom lip for a few seconds and then he gave his black curls a little flick back with a movement of his head.

“Let's go catch Ronnie, shall we?” he offered her.

“We shall.”

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crashdiet · 3 years

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Cold Sweat? What's that? 👀

HALLELUJAH

YES COLD SWEAT

Let me explain, Cold Sweat is my fav band and i always like to talk about them. So it all starts back in 1988 when Marc Ferrari (who had played with Keel and had some projects with Pantera) left Keel because he want to start his own band.

He had every member expect for a singer, as he started searching for singer which happened to be Oni Logan to join his band at the time called "Ferrari" as he came to L.A. The original lineup consists of Anthony White (drumer) , Erik Gamans (guitar) , Oni Logan (singer) , Marc ? (bass) and Marc Ferrari (guitar) . So their first bass player as Chris McLernon joined. Anthony who had previously played with Chris told him that they needed a bass player, he used to play rhythm guitar and he was playing bass for the demos in the band he was before as he joined Ferrari.

Original Lineup

L to R: Oni, Marc, Erik, Anthony and Marc

They started to write songs and make demos. The night they were gonna get signed was the audition for Chris opening for the BulletBoys at the Palace on january of 1989. They got signed to MCA records. Oni left the band to join Lynch Mob (not gonna talk about the incident again in here). Rory (Roy) Cathey a 22 year old kid from North Carolina became their lead screamer singer.

Second and last Lineup

L to R :Marc, Anthony, Chris, Erik and Roy, my bois are SO pretty

They released their debut album Break Out in agust from 1990. They went smooth through all the record 1 or 2 takes from Roy and complete takes of Anthony.

tracks i recommend to listen

Let's make love tonight

Take this heart of mine

Four on the floor

Cryin' shame

I just want to make love to you

They were the opening act for Savantage and they toured with Ronnie James Dio in Europe. Was a big success the first weeks as they got more and more recognition. They toured Europe as the news that would change all appeared. One good and one bad, the good one was that MTV Headbangers Balls showed their music video "Let's make love tonight" (which is super cute). The bad news was that the record label had dropped them, they didn't knew why, we still don't know why. As they split, they made separated projects but in 2020 30 years later they made a reunion!!

Now they still look good tho

thank you!! 💞

#the way this band has ruined me is 😌#i love them so much #is always a pleasure to me to talk about them #cold sweat #marc ferrari #erik gamans #anthony white #oni logan #chris mclernon

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tetrapodomorpha · 3 years

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5,8,9,13,15,28 from music asks?

5. name an album you feel is perfect

Solveig by Seven Spires. Every song on this album is fantastic on its own, and they complement each other so well on the album in a way that really elevates it as a cohesive whole. I don't think I've ever heard another concept album that works so well as an entire work of art

8. name an artist/band that isn’t touring at the moment who you’d really like to see in concert

Cain's Offering. It sucks that they're only a side project for two artists with other large commitments because I would love to see more from this band across the board (music, merch, etc) in addition to seeing them actually tour

9. name a musician who is no longer living who you wish you could see in concert

Ronnie James Dio ofc and also David Bowie

13. if you could talk to any musician, who would it be? what would you want to say?

Maybe Elvenking? I find them really interesting musically and stylistically but so few interviews exist and 90% of the ones that do are in Italian so it would be cool to get to know the people behind the music a bit more

15. have you ever traveled outside of your area to see a concert? if not, would you want to?

The farthest I've ever traveled for a concert was to see Kreator and Sabaton, but I think it was only a ~2 hour drive so that really isn't much. I'm thinking of going to ProgPower next summer which would be very far but I think it could be a cool vacation (especially because I also want an excuse to Atlanta so I could go to the aquarium there, they have whale sharks and that would be sick as hell to see). Also going to Wacken or another big European festival has been a dream of mine since I was a kid so hopefully that'll happen one day

28. name a song (or a few songs) that would need to be included in a movie about your life

Life Finds A Way by Helion Prime, The Cabaret of Dreams by Seven Spires, Painkiller by Judas Priest, and Black Roses for the Wicked One by Elvenking

Thanks! :D

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steve-vai-grab-my-thigh · 4 years

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Okay. Here we go. It's the 10 year anniversary of Ronnie James Dio's death and I just wanna say some things about him. First of all, he's one of my favorite singers. My god man, the power in his voice. He just puts so much emotion into his singing, it's incredible. A big part of music for me is the feeling. Because if you're not truly feeling what you're playing, why are you playing at all? To impress people? No, that's not what it's about. If your whole thing is trying to show off how well you can sing, or how fast you can play, no, that's not what it's about. And Ronnie was very honest about what he was doing, what he was writing, and what he was singing. He left Rainbow because they were going in a more commercial direction, and he didn't want to do that. He didn't want to just conform to the new popular style. He was very honest about what he was writing and singing, he wasn't the type to just go along with trends. And not only was he honest in his music, but as a person too. A big part of why I like musicians is not only what they play, but what they're like as people. Cause even if you're a great musician, if you're an asshole to everyone you work with, you won't be able to keep a band together.

This interview I saw a couple weeks ago. Where Ronnie was talking about one of his first gigs with Rainbow. He was saying this was probably the first actual Rainbow tour, and they were somewhere in Sweden I think. They go out and there's about 200 fans waiting outside the venue, all wanting autographs. Also keep in mind it's raining and probably about 1:00 in the morning. And since this was Rainbow's first tour and no one really knew Ronnie or the others that well, most of them wanted Ritchie Blackmore's attention. Without even looking at them Ritchie just got in his car and left. All the fans are like "wait, no, but we missed our train for this!!" and Ronnie just looks at that, at what happened, and he said at that moment he vowed to himself that he would NEVER let that happen again, at ANY of his shows with ANY of his bands. He never wanted to become the one to disappoint all those people like that. About 10 or 12 years later, maybe longer, when Ronnie was in his solo band, he went back to that venue. Same thing happened. A bunch of fans waiting outside, it was even raining like before. Except now it was more like 2000 fans instead of 200. And Ronnie.....invited them all in, and stayed until 6 in the morning signing all of their stuff. Yeah they missed their train but that was their choice, he said. And here's ANOTHER thing. Someone else telling that story may have followed the Ritchie bit with "he's such a fucking asshole", but Ronnie didn't say ANYTHING LIKE THAT! He said something along the lines of "Ritchie's gone through some things he shouldn't have gone through, he's more jaded than I am, he reacts differently to fans, but I just never want to let that happen again, I don't want myself to turn into that" like he understood why Ritchie was a jerk about it. Someone else might have said "man my guitarist is such a dick to fans" but Ronnie didn't!

Ronnie was a good guy. This other interview where he was on his tour bus, he was getting annoyed when people were talking in the background as he was answering a question. But it didn't seem like an ego thing. It seemed like he was getting mad FOR the interviewers, because before it started, he was saying things like "Does this look good? Is it okay if I sit here? Is this a good shot?" Like this guy really cared. He really did care about his fans. In that same interview where he talked about the Ritchie situation he was talking about how he never wanted to forget that without his fans, he wouldn't be sitting there doing that interview. He was always nice to his fans because he really cared about them. He knew he wouldn't have his success without them.

Okay, I should probably shut up now. I'm getting ready to make a chocolate cake 😂. But I just wanted to talk about Ronnie for...longer than a minute lmao. He was just a good guy, honest guy, not an egomaniac like a lot of lead singers often are. Just a good guy. Rock in peace, Ronnie🤘🤘

My favorite songs are probably "Rainbow Eyes" and "Stargazer", both by Rainbow, and "Rainbow In The Dark" and "The Last In Line" by Dio (solo band).

#ronnie james dio #dio #man i don't know fjdjfjskhskfj #i just felt like going on a tangent about one of my favorite singers fjskfjskjfd #text #my posts

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ritchieblackless · 5 years

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Cozy Powell vs Ronnie James Dio.

Okay, I'm not pretending speak shit about Dio because he had a great voice and was very nice with fans but NOT with everyone. Besides, it's a kinda interesting what happened between them, I mean, it's a good anecdote of Rock maybe.

(Remember, I'm just telling you my theory and a little bit that I discovered reading a lot of things)

Well, let's start.

First Problem: Presence on Stage and Studio.

It's well known (or maybe not) that they don't get along very well from the start. I don't know why. I think (here comes my little theory) It's well known too that Dio was a bit egocentric man (like everyone i think) I noticed that when in his "Brutally Honest Tour Bus Interview" the interviewer gave him the discography of Rainbow to talk about each one. He picked up the first one 'Ritchie's Blackmore Rainbow' where the drums were not loud enough either a lead drums (like in Rising) and his voice is predominant. And when he picked up Rising he said "The first side it's very good but the second is eighteen minutes of drums and guitar, good for you" Which in a way is true but these 'eighteen minutes' are perfect, not more, not less. In any moment he says "But it's a brilliant drumming" like everyone. He just said "Brilliant" when it comes to himself. So my little theory is that Dio was a little bothered by Cozy's strong presence. (Which is wrong on his part because his voice never lags behind is so strong too but I don't know why Dio thought so)

(It should be noted that Dio never spoke about Cozy until the day of his Death. I never heard the name 'Cozy' come out of his lips.

Now here comes what Cozy said about the little trouble between them.

Second Problem: Dio's anger.

The first thing is a radio interview of 1979 where Cozy "explains" why Dio is not in the new Rainbow album. I will put it here (and it's kinda cute how he "defended" ritchie)

He clearly says "I mean, follow (i think is follow) Ronnie Dio wasn't easy anyway. Graham is much more easy"

The Second thing is a written interview. (i'll put it here, the link is not working in my phone so I'll try to remember what Cozy said about it)

He said something like "After Ronnie left the band he phoned me asking me to play drums in his solo album to get rid of Ritchie. I turned him down because it was wrong. I think he hated my guts after that" (In my opinion Dio was very childish here.)

The Third, last but not least, problem: Black Sabbath incident.

Well, in good old 90s Cozy was in Black Sabbath recording demos for "Deshumanizer". In the middle of that, Cozy broke his hips in a Horse riding. Just at the same time Dio wanted to back to Black Sabbath and guess what? Obviously Dio kicked out Cozy because he didn't want him in the band (I think Cozy didn't want him either. But the thing is Cozy get fired because Ronnie. Reminds me of someone...). Later Dio refused to open for Ozzy and left the band again and Cozy returns.

I'll let you a little interview of Cozy talking about this here.

The curious thing about that video is that Ronnie talks about Cozy indirectly y'know, and he don't say anything about the "Problem". Ronnie just talks indirectly (And it is not very understandable). Which it means that Dio hadn't a real reason to be angry with Cozy. Cozy, in other hand, he had, because he said what Dio did to him and he admitted that the chemistry wasn't quite right.

So, let's get this straight: Dio hated Cozy for turned down his solo album and then he did that (Black Sabbath incident) to Cozy just because of that? It seems that Ritchie was not the only bad person there, I'm just saying. Because is kinda similar to Deep Purple incident, that Roger gets fired because of Ritchie.

I think that Cozy couldn't stand the Dio's attitude, a bit selfish and bossy. Like normal people that couldn't stand the attitude of other people. And the same happened to Dio (But I don't know why because Cozy was a such a easygoing boy) I think (like I said before) Cozy was nice guy, lovely etc. But it seems that Dio's attitude bothered him in a certain way so Cozy wouldn't be like that with him, i think.

---

Well, there you go, a large post about two childish musicians. Like I said, my intention is not insulting Dio or stand Cozy's side but the things are a bit clear.

I like the Rainbow music anyway so who cares about the fight of the members but I thought that would be interesting and funny writing this and you must know about this too.

#cozy powell #ronnie james dio #ronnie dio #Dio #rainbow band #rainbow #ritchie blackmore #large post /#classic rock #rock #rocknroll #metal #cozy vs dio #black sabbath #ozzy osbourne

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nowitsdarkfic · 5 years

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creatura della notte // a joey imagine

Started this the other night before the power went out, and then picked up last night. Enjoy 😘😘😘

⚠️ Big fat risqué content warning ⚠️

“Then if anything grows while you pose, I'll oil you up and rub you down. And that's just one small fraction of the main attraction: You need a friendly hand and I need action!” -”Touch-A, Touch-A, Touch Me”, Susan Sarandon

He is the outsider of the band with his hailing from the lush backwoods of upstate, like a prince in his fitted black leather and lustrous kinky black hair. You would think he would be carrying a revolver in his high waisted stud belt, the gunslinger in search of the dark tower looming out from the dense banks of lake effect snows, but he never did brandish anything like that, at least not around you. Or so you believe. You don’t know.

The quintessential strong and silent type, his gaze steely and with the shrieking wail to accompany it, and yet you foresaw his inner silky soft nature. Something about him puts you at ease, even when he flashes a glare at the most unruly of audience members and throws his most guttural of vocals during “Armed and Dangerous”, “S.S.C./Stand or Fall”, and of course, “Raise Hell” which holds the most potent of moments wherein you find yourself curling your toes inside of your Chuck Taylors and your breath even stopping in place. You found yourself orgasming there with him, and yet you feel soft at the sight of him. Was it his big brown eyes? Was it his soft, smooth looking brown skin all over his svelte body? Or the fact he always behaved like a little boy when on stage with them?

You never could put your finger on it, especially when you had an actual moment with him in the back corridor of the concert hall. While on your way to the venue, you put in a little Steve Perry in your stereo and thus you had “Oh Sherrie” stuck in your head at that moment. You couldn’t help it: that first line slipped out from your lips once you rubbed rear ends with him in the bathroom line.You saw him out of the corner of your eye, but he already stepped away before you could continue in your inward singing. It was such an offhand moment but you wanted to hold onto it. You made a rush into the ladies’ room and then returned out when your hands were still dripping wet. He happened to be there outside of the lines, posted up on the other side of the hallway. Shaking your hands about, you wove your way through the people so as to reach him. He was exactly how you saw him in those paper magazines back home, except now he stood there, flesh and blood and without a drop of ink. “I couldn’t help but overhear you back there,” he said as part of his greeting, his fusion upstate Italian American accent smacking you right between the eyes, “that was the very first song I sang for Scott and Frankie in my audition.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s a good song, isn’t it?”

“It’s beautiful. I wish I was there to hear you sing it.”

“Well, I might be singing it tonight when we play.” He flashed you a sly grin and a twinkle in his eye. “Keep your ears astute and your body even more astutely.”

You let out a light little giggle when he spoke again.“Are you here by yourself?”

“I am, yes.”

“Meet me at the backstage door,” he advised you following a lick of his lips, “after the show. If nothing, I can give you a private show—“ His voice trailed off and you filled in the blank. He repeated it for his own sake and for yours, and without another word, he ducked out behind the curtain like a creature of the night.

*************************

Following their one hour set, and riding the rail with the mind’s eye of lightning arising from the crowd, you bustled out of the concert hall and into the chilly New York midnight. You zipped up your coat as you made your way around the corner towards the backstage entrance. Charlie stood hunched near the door with his hands stuffed into his jeans pockets, his hair tied back in a taut ponytail, and his skin milky and opaque against the floodlights on the side of the building: you found him fearless given he wore no sleeves against teenage temperatures and a falling mercury, but it made sense from his diligence that evening.

“Ah, you must be the lady of the hour,” he greeted you, the devil’s cleft in his chin growing more prominent with his impending grin. He curled his index finger back so as to beckon you into the quaint little area, small and cramped but cozy in comparison to the frigid cold outside and the thrown elbows behind you. Scott’s stringy but long hair floated back from his head as he breezed past to the tiny water closet: before closing the door, he raised his thick black eyebrows at you to acknowledge you a greeting.

Frankie and Danny were pouring themselves a drink each, and then he entered the room from the door on the far end, his belt high up on his svelte waist and his shirt hanging around his body like a curtain of lace. He had tousled his black hair back out from his face and his neck; he greeted you with an unassuming smile full of prominent star’s teeth.

“Wow, that was quick,” he remarked, “here—come sit with me.”

The two of you had a seat on the shabby looking olive green sofa next to the refreshments table. Despite the bright sheen upon his neck and his cheeks, he smelled soft and clean, like he had just climbed out of the shower and dried off with haste, in time to meet you there.

“Would you like something?” he offered. “Cup of coffee? Prosciutto? Penne? Pro pens?”

“Pro pens?” echoed Danny, cracking a smile.

“Pro penis, Daniel,” Frank corrected. “It ain’t that pro, though, you guys,” he retorted, wagging his finger at them.

“Damn, Joe, you’re actually going there with our lady here?”

“Hey, at least it’s not all the way,” he pointed out, and Charlie and Frankie burst into a fit of laughter. You felt your face grow warm as you sank down there in lumpy cushion next to him. He then returned to you, with a warm rosy glow spanning over his face and his brown eyes glimmering as if a suggestion crossed his mind.

“So... tell me. What do you have with you? What’s your story?”

“Well, I have a new flat on the fringes of the Big Apple—I moved here from Chicago. I’m a musician.”

The door of the water closet opened and Scott stepped out; meanwhile, the other four men raised their eyebrows and tilted their heads forward.

“Y-You are?” Charlie choked out.

“Yes.” You showed them a sparkling smile because you know you uncovered a sweet spot.The five of them crowded around your shins like children awaiting a story from their wise grandmother.

“Go on,” he coaxed you in a low voice as he nudged closer to you against the lumpy back cushion.

“I drum and play piano.”

Danny and Frankie, both of whom were seated at your feet cross legged, erected their spines at the sound of that.

“Care for a jam session in the future?” suggested Scott. You gave them a modest shrug but you knew you wanted it to happen. “I can sing, too. In fact, he’s one of my favorite singers ever.”

That rosy glow flushed more with modesty: he glanced over at his band mates in hopes of figuring how to respond to that.

“Me?” he stammered.“Yes.”“No wayyyy.” He blushed even more, his brown skin flowing with that lovely warmth.

“Who else do you like?” Scott asked you.

“Well, let’s see, I also like James Hetfield, Ronnie James Dio, Janis Joplin, and Robert Plant.”

“We know you like Steve Perry, too,” recalled Danny.

“Well of course.”

“How ‘bout Geddy Lee?” he added.

“Geddy Lee or bust,” you replied; and with that, he took your hand for a delicate kiss on the back. He showed you a sweet, endearing smile, but it wasn’t smarmy or riddled with the type of sleaze you might expect from boys his age. The sight of his smile added a warm soft feeling to your heart, and a peculiar tingling sensation right in between your thighs.

“By the way... that is a gorgeous color for you,” he spoke out of the blue. You peer down at the rich oxblood red top underneath your coat. You opened your coat to show them the color in its entirety.

“Ooh, hot!” Frankie declared. Scott raised his eyebrows at you, while Charlie and Danny both checked you out. But he showed you a little smirk and a raise of one eyebrow. You began to think about it: you rubbed butts, he caught you singing a song that meant the world to him, and now he had this look upon his face like he was seducing you. The red shirt became the sole thing separating you from him.

*************************

You didn’t see him again after that, and in that time, you found a decent job at a nearby bar called Snarky’s in order to help pay your rent and everything in between. You still desired to play gigs and to show him what you had with you in your repertoire. You wanted to see him again, to be in his presence, and most of all, you wanted to feel his derrière again, to give it a nice hearty caress and maybe a squeeze or two. You wanted to know if he had the best butt you had rubbed against on accident ever.

It drove you crazy, in fact, the desire to feel him in your hand, to feel him pressed against your body. You wore a red button up silk shirt for your waitress job, and once happy hour rolled around, you let one button loose to show more skin and ultimately for more generous tips, and more tips all around. You thought about him, the possibility of seeing him again and perhaps turning the tables on him. The thought of him made you feel sexy, like you could enthrall anyone.

One night was slow in particular, and you were so bored out of your wits that you took out your bun to let down your hair: you actually thought the timers in the building would shut off all the lights in there because nothing was going on. You then took a seat behind the bar and thought about what to do next.

There were things to do in the bar, and in the back in particular, and God forbid anyone caught the new girl lounging around on the job. You stood to your feet and turned around in time to catch him standing right there at the bar with his hand on the back of the chair next to you. You had your face right in his chest. He had on a soft looking leather jacket over a black sweatshirt and denim jeans: sometimes baggy clothes are the best. Meanwhile, he had tousled his black hair to where most of it sprawled over his shoulders; he raised his little black eyebrows at the sight of you.

“Oh,” he gasped. “Hello. I didn’t think I would see you here.”

You chuckled and then clutched at yourself, which in turn brought attention to your chest and your collar bones. He nibbled on his bottom lip and slipped the tip of his tongue out before he cleared his throat.

“Um, have a seat,” he stammered. You collapsed back into the seat of the chair and kept your left thigh over the edge of the seat to bring attention to your crotch. He took a seat next to you and crossed his legs underneath the bar: you took a glimpse down at his belt and the baggy crotch of his jeans. He looked cozy, not the same dark prince you had in mind at first.

“You know, I’m a waitress here,” you began, “so what would you like, babe?”

“You got any pasta?”

“I think we do. I don’t know if our cook is in yet, but I can make some for you.”

“That’d be—kinda hot, actually.” His voice in conjunction with that Italian American accent was utterly erotic to you. You nodded and ducked out from the other side of the chair before he could make out the blush on your face. You rushed into the kitchen for the pot of water and some linguine. You could hardly believe it: you were making dinner for a boy, and a sexy boy at that, too.Once the water was just shy of one hundred degrees, you felt a tap on the shoulder. You peeked over your shoulder and he padded up behind you. He taken off his jacket and slung it over his shoulder with two fingers.

“Getting eager, are we?” you teased him.

“Maybe. It’s also kinda boring out there. You know, we’re the only ones here and whatnot.” He set the coat down on the metal rack near the stove. You watched him toss his hair back from his neck and chest, and you caught a jingling noise underneath his sweatshirt. Your curiosity piqued, you stuck your hands into the back pockets of your jeans to bring attention to your hips and your curves.

“So what’s your last name?” you asked him after clearing your throat.

“Belladonna,” he answered, his voice low and soft. “It’s actually Bellardini but I go by that one instead.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah.” You hovered in closer to his face; eyeing his chest, you considered running your fingers along his neck and to the buttons on his collar.

“You know—I have always found Italian Americans to be the most... sensual of Americans.”

“Oh, really?” He swallowed and nearly gagged on his own oxygen.

“I think your accent is sexy.”

The tip of his tongue caressed over the edge of his teeth, and you wanted to exchange saliva with him right there. You take a fleeting glimpse down at his body, slim and lithe, and yet you could sense his toned muscles underneath that sweatshirt. A soft clean aroma emerged off of his neck and his hair. There was something so delicate and comforting about him at the same time. Even standing there, you could tell he was a lush man of many colors and layers, all of which you wanted to experience under your tongue.

“The other part of me is Iroquois,” he almost breathed those words.

“Chief Italian Stallion—“ You take one hand out of your pocket.

“What say—uh—I take you home with me to Oswego?” You know he blurted that one out. You brought your lips closer to his, but you didn’t kiss him. Instead you placed your hand on that full hip: your thumb rested on the bone and he relaxed at the feeling. He had such voluptuous hips, a gentle curve that would look too effeminate on another man, but were sensual on him. You then recall that night.

“You have quite the booty,” you whispered into his face.

“Do I now?” He licked his lips as you reached behind him and lay your hand on his lower back for a moment before sliding it down.

“You’ve got it—real thick back here—like the rest of you is nice and slim, but—“ You put extra emphasis on “but” as you pulsed your fingers. He rolled his eyes back into his head before snapping the lids shut; he nibbled on his bottom lip once again. He swallowed and accompanied it with the tilt of his head to show you his neck and his Adam’s apple.

“Should you put the linguine in or should I do it?” he choked out; for a second, you misheard that as “lingerie”, but then you hovered closer to his face right as he let out an aroused gasp through gritted teeth.

“I’ll do it. You just relax and be the little slinky stud muffin you are back out front.” You gave his butt another gentle squeeze before letting go of him. He opened his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. You returned your attention to the pot of water with the rolling boil to pour in the pasta.

One dinner was up to par, you served the pasta in a big clean dish for him, accompanied with a generous amount of sauce, a light dusting of Parmesan cheese, and a slice of garlic toast. There was a part of you that wanted to join him there at the bar but a couple of patrons entered the place and you had to care for them.

Every so often, you moseyed on over to him to make sure he was enjoying himself.

“My compliments to the cook,” he told you in a throaty voice at one point before sticking a large twirl of linguine into his mouth.

When he had finished, you sashayed over to him for his plate; and he leaned back into his chair with his hands rubbing over his slim stomach.

“That was too good for words,” he confessed, shifting his weight. You show him a warm smile, and it dawned on you that you had your hair down the whole time. He must have taken your word for it because he showed himself to you, in all his preciousness and his softness. It was that moment you realized he was perfect: you couldn’t resist him any longer.

“I think my jacket is still—mmm, ‘scuse me—in the back there.”

“I’ll—uh, get it for you, big boy,” you whispered into his face again: you followed that up with a run of your tongue around the circumference of your lips. You knew you were succeeding in this seduction, and now you needed the cherry on top.

As you returned to the kitchen to put the dish on the counter and to fetch his coat, you were positive you had him in the palm of your hand. You picked the pile of soft leather off the shelf: before you turned around, you felt a pair of hands wrap around your waist. Fingers crept down the front of your trousers, onto the button. You recognized his olive skin as he unfastened the button. You turned to find him there before you with his chest heaving and his face flushed.

“Kiss me—“ you begged him.

“Only if you kiss me.”

You lay the coat back on the rack so to better lunge for him. You wrapped your arms around his delicate waist as he shoved his tongue right into your mouth. His chest heaved; his belly was soft and so warm from feeling full. You ran your fingers through his dark hair as you sensed his hands over your back: he was unhooking you.

You hoped no one would walk in on the two of you as you moved your head back to hear him breathe.

“You wanna go into the back room here, baby doll?” he whispered to you.

“Please,” you pleaded to him. He took you by the hand and led you into the small narrow nook of a back room, where you were met with a loveseat and a stack of boxes. You nudged the narrow door closed behind you, and without hesitation, he peeled off his sweatshirt. He had smooth, silky looking skin with a healthy kiss of brown, a deep strong looking chest, and a stomach as flat as an ironing board. You could feel that tingling sensation between your thighs again, and then you unfastened the buttons of your work shirt.

“Take it off,” he commanded, gesturing to your bra straps. You unhooked and let the straps fall down your arms. He lay down on the loveseat, on his back.

“My jeans are getting tight,” he confessed, “and not from the fact I made a complete pig of myself back there.”

You, however, let your pants drop down to the floor and you climbed on top of him. Your hair cascaded over his face and neck. Your chest hung right over him, and you could see your nipples tightening and hardening.

“What were you gonna do back there with the unbuttoning?” you asked him.

“Touch you. Like what I’m doing right now.”

You took a glimpse down at your waist in time to catch his fingers down your crotch.

“Spread eagle for me, baby—“

You straddled his waist so he could make a better, deeper caress into you. You gasped out at the feel of him stroking your clit—you didn’t realize his fingers were that long! You gasp and buck your hips at the feeling. You breathe heavily from the feeling, until you take a glimpse down at his waist. He’s getting hard.

“Go comatose for me, baby,” you breathed into his face.

“Gladly—“ he grunted through gritted teeth. You reached down to undo his jeans and peel back his underwear. So big and full.

“Wow—“ you gasped. “Italian Stallion.”

“Giddy up, cowgirl,” he challenged you as he continued to finger you. The tips of his fingers reached that dime sized bundle of nerves in your coochie and then you were ready. You moved your hips forward for a seat on his erection. You ground your hips around like you were churning butter.He gasped and groaned at the feeling. Every gyration of your hips led your closer and closer to the cowgirl he said you were.

“MOTHERFUCKING YEEHAW!” he shouted. You hushed him with a finger over his lips.

“What would the neighbors and patrons think?” you demanded.

“Let them—“ he growled. “Let them see us!” He threw his head back against the pillow of the loveseat.

“Oh God—oh fucking hell—“ He opened his eyes and parted his lips: his face was riddled with lust for you.

“Say my name,” he said in a husky voice.

“Huh?”

“Say my name!”

“Joey!”

“Louder!”

“Joey!”

“Louder, dammit!”

“OH JOEY!”

“YES!”

He gripped onto your hips and yanked you down onto the cushions. He lifted himself up over you, and straddled over your hips. His hair flooded over his shoulders, while his cheekbones filled out with the accompanying warm blush. His lips puckered up at the sight of your face.

“You’re cowgirl, I’ll be Indian,” he told you in a broken voice. You could sense it between you, especially with his hands on your hips like he was going to turn you over onto your face.

“Want me to roll over?”

“God, yes.”

He lifted up for you to roll onto your stomach: you protected your chest from the rough fabric of the loveseat with the backs of your hands. You felt his hands gently holding onto your hips. You spread eagle for him.He thrusted forward right into your clit. You gasped at the feeling, but on the second time you gave him a soft moan from the back of your throat. He thrusted again, and again; the smacking sound filled your ears. Every so often he let out a groan, but once your moans led to a loud squeal he gave away every inch of feeling within him to relish in every inch of you: he surrendered to the feeling.

“Hey—hey—okay—okay—!”

Another thrust, and that time it was the hardest.

“FUCK!” you shouted, and you felt yourself coming.He shrieked, a high piercing shriek with a vibrato as if he was singing.

“Okay—!” he choked out; he let go of your hips and yanked out. You fell onto your hands for a moment: you felt him climb off the loveseat and then he padded out of the back room for something. When he returned, you rolled onto your back. Your breasts poked out for him as he lunged towards you with his jacket in hand, but he slid in between you and the back of the loveseat. He cloaked you with his jacket and put his arm around your body: you know he did it to feel you and hold you close.

“That was—everything I wanted and then some,” you told him in a broken voice. “Shouldn’t we have a blanket other than your jacket?”

“Keep it, sweet cheeks,” he whispered to you, following it up with a low whistle. “God, you did that like a fucking pro.”

“That’s what I get for finding your dick so delicious,” you croaked out.

“What say—uh, you and I call it a night here and mosey back to New York in the morning,” he suggested, putting his arm around you.

“Sounds like a plan. It is closing time after all.”

He nestled closer to you with his fingers on your hip: he still felt full and soft as he pressed himself closer to you. Your eyelids grew heavy right then as the timers shut off all the lights for the night. Your hope was that he would continue to hold you when you awoke in the morning.

#joey belladonna #anthrax #one shot #imagine #smut #lemon #fanfic #heavy metal fanfiction

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eldritchsurveys · 5 years

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477.

So what's up with everyone dying again? If you don't know, so far this year we've lost Peter Steele, Ronnie James Dio, and Paul Gray. [RIP] <3 >> (This survey is from 2010.) Ooof, I remember when Pete Steele died, because it was literally 4 months after I finally saw Type O in concert and met him. It’s like I squeezed in right at the end. If I’d missed that show for some reason and then he died I would have been so fucking pissed, man...

How do you take your coffee or tea? >> I take my tea plain or with a little honey.

Name one band you absolutely can not stand. >> *shrug*

Thumb rings: Yay or nay? >> I like to wear rings on my thumb sometimes.

Tell me the truth: Are you even a little bit racist? >> I mean, probably, because of socialised prejudices. But I wouldn’t treat someone badly just because of some stupid shit that pops up in my head that I learned from some jackass in childhood or whatever.

Ever been to a REAL metal show? >> I don’t think I’ve been to a metal show at all (lot of hard rock and shit, but no metal). I keep missing out on them.

Are you allergic to nickel? >> Not that I know of.

Do you listen to songs more for the lyrics or the sound? >> I listen to songs for the sound first and foremost. The Mountain Goats have great lyrics, but I don’t like the way the music sounds, so I don’t listen to them.

Everyone knows Alice In Wonderland; So which char. can you relate to most? >> I don’t relate to any of the characters.

Going on any road trips soon? :3 >> No.

Have you ever cut your own hair and been satisfied with the outcome? >> Yeah, I do that all the time. It’s extremely hard to fuck up a buzzcut.

How do you express yourself? >> Er...

Is it just me, or is blue eyeliner fucking weird? o.o >> It’s kind of weird, I guess, in the sense that most people don’t wear blue eyeliner. But it being weird isn’t inherently a bad thing.

Why did you talk to the last person you talked to? >> Because they exist?

Are you easily excited? >> No, it’s really difficult for me to feel excited for some reason. That wasn’t always the case, so something must have happened in recent memory to suppress my ability to feel excited.

What or who can always make you happy, no matter what? >> ---

What is one thing you've always wanted to do? >> *shrug*

Do you like harmonicas? >> No.

Do you multitask well? >> No.

Mayonaise: love it or hate it? >> I’m not fond of it as a sandwich spread, but it’s fine in recipes.

When was the last time you couldn't stop smiling? :3 >> I... don’t know. Oh, wait, I caught myself grinning like a lovesick fool while watching Hannibal yesterday. Because that’s just the kind of bastard I am.

What's the weirdest object you own? >> I don’t own anything I consider weird.

Do you like the taste of blood? >> Meh.

Would you rather drink from a can, a plastic bottle, or a glass bottle? >> A glass bottle.

Do you like making up nicknames for people? >> I don’t do that.

If you could have one wish, what would you wish for? >> ---

What sounds can you hear right now? >> My typing, distant traffic, a plane.

Are there any names you can't stand? >> Yeah.

Leather or lace? ;D >> I think wearing both looks real badass.

When was the last time you felt like you were on top of the world? >> I don’t know.

What was the last compliment you recieved? >> I don’t remember.

Would you consider yourself a child at heart? :3 >> No.

Did you know Gary Coleman died?? I literally just found out. O.O >> I was aware.

Have you ever heard of God Dethroned? >> They sound vaguely familiar.

Is there anyone you wish you could talk to right now? >> No.

Anything bugging you at the moment? >> No.

Do you like making signs for people? :3 >> Signs??? Is this referencing that thing that we used to do on MySpace and VF where we’d write someone’s username on a piece of paper with like hearts and shit and then take a photo of ourselves holding it? I think the last time I did that was like... 2012.

When was the last time you had an epiphany? >> I don’t remember.

Do you have any odd talents? >> No.

Do you get jealous easily? >> No.

What are your views on society today? >> I don’t have any “views on society”.

Are you totally jonesing for a smoothie, like I am right now? D: >> Nope.

What do you usually like in your smoothies, anyway? >> I like berry smoothies.

Do you take sex seriously, or are you just 'Ehh, whatever' about it? >> I take it seriously in the sense that I wouldn’t have it with anyone (and if I ever did change my mind on that, it’d be because that person went above and beyond my expectations for the average human and I was attracted to them on a level that I generally don’t experience except Inworld), and I take safe sex practices and the issue of consent seriously.

What do you do when you have a headache? >> I don’t do anything, usually. Drink some water and wait until it goes away. If it doesn’t after a few hours and it’s really messing with my ability to function, then I’ll take a naproxen.

System Of A Down: yay or nay? >> Yay.

Don't you hate it when people get all up in your grill? o.o >> I very much hate it when people are in my personal space without my explicit permission. I mean I fucking hate it. It takes a monumental effort not to punch people when they get too close to me, which sucks because I’m sure most people don’t mean to be invasive (they’re just... not as sensitive to it as me), but that’s just how strong my aversion is.

Isn't cracking your back the best feeling ever? <3 >> I guess.

Do you do better with taking or giving commands? >> Giving.

Is there something else you should be doing right now? >> Nah. But I guess now that this is over I’ll get up and do bio stuff and maybe think about eating.

#surveys #survey #random survey

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leasstories · 1 month

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Letter ten

TW : Depiction of grief; after Eddie’s death

Letter 9 - Letter 11

May 5th, 1986

Dear Eds,

I just brought Dustin home, they had an Hellfire session at my place. Everyone had a good time, they all defeated Dustin's big bad. I didn't play though, I am not ready yet. It's not the same without you. Dustin is a great DM, don't get me wrong, but he is not you. He is not you Eddie. The little shrimp talked about growing his hair. To be like his hero he said. We all know he meant you. It hurts but it also warm my heart, he really loved you Eddie, so much. You are his hero, you are our hero. Wayne did grocery shopping for me, he said he used to do that for you in 1984, before your father came back, before me. We told Ronnie, she came back to Hawkins. She was so glad to met me, you should have seen her excitement. She told me that she should have come sooner, to meet me in proper circumstances. She is kinda might at herself to be honest, she said she apologies for the both of us for not coming sooner. She said it would have been cool to spend time the three of us. She's nice, I understand why she used to be your best friend. You even look like siblings honestly. I'm trying to spend time with her but she reminds me so much of you, that it is kinda hard. But i love her really she has been so nice to me. She old me all your childhood embarrassing stories. It's kinda funny how you told her you were digging a hole to go... I don't remember where and she offered to help. I can see that the bond between you and her was really strong. As strong as ours, maybe even more, but different. She told me how you tried to kiss her and it made me laugh so much. It's the first time I laughed since that deadly night. You still manage to make me laugh even now. You're still my light in the dark Eddie. no matter where you are now. I hate what you did, but do not feel guilty, you did what you thought was best. And even though I'd rather have died than you - because I think you would have handled it better - you did it to protect us, to protect your little sheep, to protect me. I know exactly what wet through your mind, and even though it hurts, it was your choice to make. I am still mad, but not at you, at myself. I should have tried harder. I cannot be mad at you, not anymore. Because I know why you did it and even though it was stupid, it was also brave. You were metal. I'm sure if James Hetfield or Ronnie James Dio heard about it, they'd be proud as hell. Your own idols would be proud of you. I brought you Dandelions today, I went with Wayne. I handpicked them all one by one, I know you always did this for me, so I told myself I'd do it for you. About the roadtrip, I'm going to go, in July, Dustin wanted to tag along so we're going to go together, with Steve. Yes things haven't changed he is still the babysitter. And I'm ashamed to say that but he is my babysitter as well. We'll talk more about it later, so much happened today that I'd rather make a proper letter talking about the roadtrip alone.

I love you my Eddie

Your love,

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x yn #the loneliest universe

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uh-oh-minerva · 5 years

Text

Tell me, what do you know about me?

I know if you asked me I can say that I know all I need to know about you.

I know your favorite color is navy blue.

I know that you love the cubs.

I know that you can’t cook to save your life!

I know you hate seafood.

I know you love Italian.

I know you LOVE cologne.

I know that you come from a line of witches.

I know that you like keeping your nails long.

I know that you love hats and that you like wearing them backwards.

I know that you NEVER back down from bets/ dares.

I know that you love being embarrassing, you don’t care who’s watching.

I know at at least 3 of your all time favorite movies, Grease 2 (you like the first one but think 2 is more rad), To Wang Foo, and Dracula.

I know that some of your favorite artist are Marilyn Manson, Stevie Nicks, and Ronnie James Dio.

(When it comes to favorites, you like so much that could never give me top 5)

I know that you love old school Rock, Freestyle (you and your mom will destroy anyone in a game of “who sings this, what’s the name of the song”), and real Mojado music.

I know that you have this weird way of eating at a table wear you slightly turn your plate and body to the right and you have no idea why you do it.

I know that it’s hard for you to hear from your right ear, so that’s why you typically get close to people when you talk.

I know that you have slight OCD when it comes to being clean and neat (which I find odd because you love to mess with me when we eat by moving things around the table knowing I’m just gonna fix them while talking).

I know that you LOVE wearing long sleeves even when it’s hot.

I know that you love making videos, even if people don’t understand them or the actual concept behind it. Sometimes they don’t even have meaning and it still comes out beautifully.

I know that you’re a Buddhist but you don’t consider yourself a true Buddhist because you still get mad about things.

I know that when you’re listening to people you do this face where your eyebrows crinkle in the middle and people think your either mad or confused.

I know that when you think something is cute, you do a slight smile kinda like a smirk, where your eyes look relaxed and the right side of your mouth shows more of your teeth right before you do a full smile.

I know that bracelet on your right hand you NEVER take off besides the one time you did to fix it up and replace the leather.

I know that when someone starts to have feelings for you, you’re stomach starts to hurt and you start feeling trapped.

I know that you’re super close to your family, your sister E is practically your bestfriend, and your little sister J is practically your daughter. You’re dad well I mean as much as you’re like your mom’s twin, you act so much like your dad.

I know you HATE your feet being touched

I know that when I run my fingers from down your back and up through your hair is a feeling you like but not a feeling that is familiar so odd for you.

I know when I touch your scars on your chest, you get this strange tingling feeling almost like a million little needles poking you.

I know you do not lie (you have no reason to)

I know that you’ve been sober since Aug 7th so today marks 55 days.

I know that you’ve been through hard times, times I WILL NEVER make you talk about.

I know that there are three dates that are very sensitive to that situation so you need patience from the people around.

I know that you’re not afraid of anything, especially not death.

I know that as much as you love certain people in this world, you don’t care about anyone.

Now ask me what I think...

I may be completely wrong, I’m actually pretty sure I will be wrong. But I think that you get scared of people caring about you because you might end up caring about them just as much, or that you might hurt them. I think that you don’t let people in because you don’t want them to get to know you, you don’t want anyone knowing anything personal about you and that’s okay. I think it might be easier to push people away then to let them stay and see what would happen.

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andrewrosswatson1987 · 5 years

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REVISIT: RAINBOW PROVED DIFFICULT TO CURE THIS DAY IN 1981

Rainbow released their classic fifth album, Difficult To Cure, which came out today (February 3) in 1981, released via label, Polydor. The Anglo-American hard rock super group really picked up from where they’d left off on Down To Earth (1979), the latter spawning smash hit and future classic rock compilation perennial, “Since You’ve Been Gone”. Apparently Richie Blackmore’s admiration for bands like Foreigner very much informed the change of sound pursued since the tail end of the Seventies. Singer, Graham Bonnet, was sacrificed come this album in question despite having the winning formula with both aforementioned hit album and single. This came in conjunction with, arguably, an effort to further improve the formula. One way of doing this, beyond changing the instrumentation was to put Joe Lynn Turner in place of Bonnet. In turn, Turner was joined by fellow American, Bobby Rondinelli, in place of drumming legend, Cozy Powell. Roger Glover remained on producer and bass guitar duties, with Don Airey remaining on keyboards, too, maintaining some semblance of normality. The album artwork was designed by British graphic design company, Hipgnosis. It was originally designed for the Black Sabbath album, Never Say Die!, but was declined by the band. Singles for this album were “I Surrender/Vielleicht Das Nächste Mal (Maybe Next Time)”, “Can’t Happen Here/Jealous Lover” and “Magic/Freedom Fighter”. First track, “I Surrender”, clamours for drama in your ears. Thick chords mixed with high vocal histrionics combine for a classic slab of rock and roll. And that lead melody on the guitar. Majestic and classically informed. “What does it take to stay by my side?/You know I’ll do what you want me to, don’t take away this feeling inside” a question in the age old debate raging in popular music. Stabbing piano underpins the whole thing. Over the top? Yes. A touch too much? No. “Spotlight Kid” is high intensity, tempo up a notch and hammering ahead. Chugging without a seatbelt. The organ sounds lending a bit of the, let’s say, Deep Purple to proceedings. “You’re in love with the spotlight” like fame and fortune. Unfortunately, if you fall off after those fifteen seconds you’ll crash and burn. The classical elements are emboldened, a progressive bent unusual for the band’s newfound kind of audience. “No Release” broods almost menacingly at the start, synthesiser rumbling as licks of blues inspired guitar hit the gut like that pounding bass drum. Then comes the grooving syncopation. The guitar solo wild yet not a hundred miles an hour. “Set me free, baby, let me free” ushers and heralds the middle section of, “Can’t get no release”. Moody, fingers clicking before going, yet again, headlong into all before it. Fortunately a change in tempo ups the ante. Rocking. Then comes a spot of “Magic”. Rolling drum cues drama and then an emphatic classic, immediate riff. “I know who you are, and there’s magic in you” like pursuit, the thrill of the chase. Come midway there’s a hint of tragedy. Is this revelling in some sort of defeat? “Seeking for truth hidden by the word of his wisdom” and, “Only the stranger knows why” perhaps endeavour to clear up the narrative in your mind. “Vielleicht Das Nächste Mal (Maybe Next Time)” is tears in the eye of a lonesome blues guitar, complemented with delicate touch of the piano. It, too, glass eyed to an extent. Sparse drum like reaching for a handkerchief between hits. Then classically bent synthesiser rises above all, yet the mood still unchanged. Still, it takes flight, nonetheless. The latter phrases of guitar wail and then come to, arguably, an unceremonious end. Hold onto your butts for “Can’t Happen Here”. It doesn’t mess about, on its feet and loving it. “All about the future” decrying what’s due for us ahead. Driving with a swagger, that’s for sure. Midway through the adventure doesn’t halt, it strives evermore. “Satellites spying for the CIA, the KGB and the men in grey/Wonder if I'm gonna see another day” heightens the sense of danger, on the run and frankly not giving a damn. You die or get locked away for life. “Freedom Fighter” resurrects that sort of syncopated riff you’d maybe presumed had died when Ronnie James Dio left the band. “You can't take my freedom you know it is my right/If you try and stop me I'm gonna fight/With all of my might” combative, toe to toe like the instrumentation. The solo so deep it rumbles, with the bite of a Deep Purple organ. “I can’t take it anymore, I’m a freedom fighter” almost like locked away for life yet forever plotting your escape. “Midtown Tunnel Vision” is bluesy to the point of doom, a step further downward to the basement than usual. Despite this unfamiliar territory, it’s carried with aplomb. Moody and brooding. Though the bass hardly a shrinking violet on this album, it’s afforded space to breakout into. A workout for all band personnel. “Can’t see nowhere/Don’t know and I don’t care”. It rings out emphatically, soundwaves broadcasting into outer space. Finale, “Difficult To Cure (Beethoven’s Ninth)”, is instrumental. This really goes for the jugular in the inevitable classical stakes. It kind of plods, despite the sense of urgency afforded by the pulsing synthesiser. It’s got a rocking attitude, though elements of it still sound rather twee. Some of the harmonies are quite satisfying, however. Full of ceremony, much so with that tolling gong. Organ breathes new life into it, thankfully. This was proof Rainbow could knock out classic albums even when seemingly going out their way to widen their audience and pander to pop sensibilities. It was some feat to even go toe to toe with Down To Earth a couple of years later. You could argue the highlights of this album are a mixture of the syncopated rock they almost engineered themselves, combined with those aforementioned pop sensibilities. Sometimes they married blues and classical aptly. Picks from the album are “I Surrender”, “No Release”, “Magic”, “Can’t Happen Here”, “Freedom Fighter” and “Midtown Tunnel Vision”. There’s some degree of aesthetic symmetry looking at this selected track list. First track for the beginning, the second last for the end and the other three at approximately the middle. The remaining three are by no means bad, either. Instinct made Rainbow an ever evolving band. Ritchie Blackmore finally proved that very unfashionable rock could be moulded, with a keen ear, into something the masses would take interest in. He didn’t totally abandon syncopated riffs and organs, though their presence was getting scarce. Mixing addictive pop sensibilities with said Joe Lynn Turner offering the heartthrob focal point. Rainbow’s Difficult To Cure can be listened to on Spotify, here.

#Rainbow #Down To Earth #Difficult To Cure #Foreigner #Graham Bonnet #Joe Lynn Turner #Bobby Rondinelli #Cozy Powell #Roger Glover #Don Airey #Black Sabbath #Never Say Die!#Never Say Die #Deep Purple #Ronnie James Dio #Ronnie Dio #Dio

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feverinfeveroutfic · 3 years

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chapter ten: adrenaline rush

Careful not to make her head spin any more, Sam sat upright next to Joey on the flat surface. The bottle of water lay on its side right next to her hip and the trail mix rested right under her hand. She still felt unsettled in her stomach, but given the short bit of rest she had had, it had backed off enough to where she could yearn for something to eat for herself. She glanced back at Joey, who was still sound asleep with the bag of chips on his stomach.

She set a hand on his arm and she shook him.

“Hm?”

“Hey—do you know what time it is?” she asked him with a break in her voice; she cleared her throat and she let her tongue hang out of her mouth like that of a dog.

“Dunno...” He, too, cleared his throat, and then he rubbed his eyes, and he raised his wrist for a look down at his watch. “Quarter to five.”

“We only slept for two hours?” She was stunned by that.

“Apparently so.” She shifted her body about a bit for a better look at him. “How's your stomach feeling, by the way?” he asked her.

“Better,” she answered with a bow of her head. “Kinda hungry now, too. And thirsty. And I'm ready for a walk, too, I dunno 'bout you.”

Sam shifted her body about the other way and she slung her legs over the edge of the bed. She stood to her feet and stretched her arms over her head. She thought about Rosita and those long acrylic nails, and she realized she was alone with Joey there in that back room there in the venue. She wondered if the Cherry Suicides had already left for the next stop or if they awaited them outside of the building there.

Joey groaned and grunted, and she turned for a look at him, and his arms extended before him. It looked as though he struggled to do a crunch, but his legs were still straight out before him.

“What's wrong? Need help?”

“Nah,” he assured her; several locks of his black hair sprawled down his shoulders towards his chest as he finally managed to sit upright. The bag of chips landed right into his lap and then right in between his legs.

“That was lucky, wow,” he pointed out.

“I'll say. Wanna just leave our stuff here and then we'll come back to it?”

“I don't see why not,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders.

Sam offered to help him off of the bed, but he insisted that he had it under control and yet he still fell off of the side of the bed on the floor. She gasped at him, but he raised an arm over his head.

“I'm okay!” he insisted. He scrambled to his feet and he straightened out his shirt before he joined her there at the doorway. They stepped out to the backstage area, now silent and deserted. A few cables had been strewn about the floor to the left and Sam flashed back to when Stormtroopers of Death toured that summer. Every so often, she swore a pain in her leg came back up again, but that wound had long healed.

That riff that Alex had played the few hours before stayed with her. It swirled and picked up again, almost like that of a spiral, and one that drilled its way into her mind. It was a fine wire to walk upon with these two men, especially since they both had their moments, and their flaws and foibles. Alex had shown her a little nugget outside of the restaurant in Syracuse, and she wished to see more of it. She knew it was there, but the question lingered over her.

Joey ran his fingers through his black curls and gave them a slight toss back over his shoulder. Sam caught a whiff of sweat from under his arm and she hoped he would shower later that day, whenever they reached their next stop and checked into the hotel there; at least he didn't smell of a beer bottle or an ashtray, or something worse.

“Hate when my head sweats,” he griped as he lifted his curls off of his back and shoulders, and revealed the back of his slender neck.

“Me, too—because your head itches every few seconds.”

He chuckled at that and he led Sam towards the side door in front of them. The sun hadn't risen as of yet, but the deep violet of the night sky began to wane away with the new shade of milky white over the ocean behind them. The crisp sea breeze sent a chill down her spine: even after two years, there were times in which the feeling of living on the West Coast still hadn't shaken off of her yet. Joey lingered close to her as they began down the alleyway towards the street.

Providence was a good sized city, but nothing like New York or even Syracuse: the deserted street greeted them with a series of pale yellow street lamps and a storm drain coated in a morning dew. There had to be a music shop or an art shop near there: it was close to the artistic side of town after all.

“So what's your next stop?” she asked him as they began towards the corner.

“Boston. I think? Two dates in Boston. We'll have to hustle back to the venue before the sun rises so Marla can come and get us 'cause I'm the one with directions.”

“Unless Danny's with her,” Sam pointed out.

“Unless Danny's with her, of course. But still. I'm the one with the directions.”

“She and I also walked here, too, so Danny might be with her for all we know. Also, not to change the subject, but did you happen to see a music shop or an art shop around here or anything like that?”

“Nah, I haven't. I also doubt we'll see anything like that on this walk here, either—it's still early after all.”

She nodded at that, and then she thought about what Alex had said to her the night before. She didn't want to think of Joey as lazy, especially after he said that to her. But then she thought of his drumming. He still had yet to show her his drumming, either with Anthrax or one of the bands he played in.

“Joey, I have a question,” she started again.

“I'm listenin'.” And he ran his fingers through his black curls once more.

“How come I've never seen you play the drums?”

“Well, like I said—I haven't really had the chance to do it lately. I also just haven't had the motivation to do it yet, either. It's almost like a sudden thing with me.”

“What do you mean?” she asked him with her eyebrows knitted together.

“I just kind of had to forfeit the drums for a bit in order to sing. Once I started singing more, the doors opened for me and I focused more on that.” He then stopped for a second, and Sam stopped right next to him.

“Maybe that's why my father is a little terse with me,” he said in a soft voice.

“Did your dad help you out with the drums?”

“He loaned me a bit of money for my kit, but I never got the chance to pay him back, though.” His brown eyes gazed down at her and a thoughtful expression appeared on his face.

“And what if you do?” she asked him. “Would that help things with him?”

“It'd definitely help things out, for sure. But I don't really know, though, to be perfectly honest. Like I said earlier before we fell asleep, my parents are ultra conservative with a lot of things. Not really musical in any way, either.”

He turned his head a bit and he gazed out to the street behind her.

“I have a question for you now,” he started in an absent tone.

“Go ahead.”

“Are your parents artistic at all?”

“Somewhat. They both took an art class when they were younger but that's where it starts and ends, though.”

He brought his gaze back to her again.

“That's it,” he breathed out.

“What's it?”

“That's why I feel so close to you. We both have conservative parents.”

She shrugged. “I think that's one reason, anyways,” she corrected him.

“I ought to introduce you to Ronnie James Dio at some point,” he suggested. “The current singer for Black Sabbath and a good friend of mine. He would like you because he was kind of the same background as me. Of Italian descent and from upstate New York—Cortland, to be exact. Just due south of me.”

“I like his name,” Sam remarked.

“Like—oh, mios dio! Or something like that.”

“Right!” she laughed.

“Well, the band I played in before I joined in Anthrax, Bible Black, consisted of guys from Rainbow and Elf, two bands Ronnie played in before Sabbath picked him up after Ozzy. I sang in Bible Black for a bit and then I went to Anthrax and they split.”

“Aw—I was just gonna say, I'd love to see a Bible Black show with Joey Belladonna at the helm.”

“It was back when I went strictly by Joey Bellardini, too, so be careful with that deadly nightshade bastardizing.” That brought another laugh out of her, and then Joey led her to the street corner up ahead.

They reached the gutter and the pavement, and Sam spotted a tailor shop across the street. Even though the big front windows were both dark with the remnants of nightfall, the mannequins in the front window made her think of those wooden mannequins for poses in drawing. It was a tailor shop, too, as in “Marla Taylor.” Joey glanced either way over the street, and then he looked down at her.

“Which you wanna go?” he asked her.

“Let's go down this way,” she pointed down the sidewalk to his left. “It's towards the water.”

He ran his fingers through his black curls once again and he scratched his head as the two of them walked side by side along the edge of the street. She kept her eye fixed on the tailor shop across the pavement, and she thought about all the possible poses she could do with them. There was that painting she made of him before, and then there was that old idea she had had upon the first day of school: a stained glass piece of Joey himself. She never realized that there was so much that she wanted to do for herself until that very glance into the shop windows.

“I need to draw you again,” she confessed to him in a low voice, which took him aback.

“What medium this time around?” he asked her.

“What would you like?”

“Well, what do you charge?”

She stopped right in her tracks.

“What do you mean?” she asked him.

“What do you charge? I wanna pay you.”

“What for?”

“'Cause you're a damn well and good artist, Sam. I feel like you should get paid to do this.”

“Joey—”

“No, I mean it,” he insisted. “I wanna charge you for a drawing of you. It's only fair to you. You're an art student, for god's sake.”

“I'm aware of that, y'know,” she teased him.

“But I'm serious, though. I don't wanna see a piece of art from you that's about me unless I can give you your money's worth.”

And then she realized he was being completely serious.

“You know, I have the very first penny I made taped to my bedroom wall,” he continued.

“Do you really?”

“Oh, yeah. I was proud of that penny so I put a piece'a clear tape over it to keep it right in its place. That's my penny and there ain't no one getting it. The other reason why I have it there is 'cause it was minted in 1960, the year I was born. I made a promise to myself that I would keep it up there 'til I was sixty.”

“You really think you're going to keep that penny in its place until 2020?”

“I know for sure I will,” he promised her. “Things you're personally proud of last forever.” He flashed her a wink and then he kept on walking down the sidewalk towards the waters up ahead. Sam shook her head about and she rubbed her eyes. If only she had a little more time to think about things, but that time was all she had.

“You know that song that we—Anthrax—do called 'Medusa'?” he piped up again.

“Vaguely, yeah.”

“Another band I played in was called Medusa, and there was another one called Megaforce, and before you ask, it was some time before the label came to be. Those two bands, I drummed in. In fact, I'll tell you what.”

“What's that?”

“When we get back to upstate after this tour—whenever that'll be, I'll have to ask Danny if and when we see him later on—I'll show you some drum grooves. But under one condition.”

“And what would that be?”

“You give me a price for a piece of art. Some time between now and the last date of the tour, whenever that is.”

“I'll do it—” Sam extended her pinky finger, and he turned towards her with his pinky finger extended as well. Not just her friend anymore but her business partner and her first real customer as well. The thought of making a bit of money off of a piece of art made her heart flutter a bit.

Soon they reached the end of the street and they were met with the sight of a stretch of grass before them as well as a dark patch and a slight wall of white noise. The ocean hung right there before them under the milky pink sunrise.

“Red sun at night, sailor's delight,” Joey declared. “Red sun at morning, sailors take warning. I think that's how it goes.” “I think you're right,” Sam assured him. “Little soon for hurricanes, don't you think?”

“No way,” he said. “Wait 'til you experience your first Nor'easter in the winter time. We get hurricanes just like how the South does, except ours are freezing and a lot more merciless.”

The two of them stopped at the corner once more and they glanced both ways about the deserted street. Joey then put his arm around her, even though she lingered a bit away from his otherwise sweaty body. She was a little sweaty herself but not as intense as him.

They reached the patch of grass on the other side of the street, and Sam could smell the salt and the seaweed even from there. Joey took a step forward and he peeled off his shirt: his brown skin had a bit of a sheen to it, which the milky light from the sunrise only added to. Sam stood still as he slung his shirt over his shoulder and rubbed his hands together.

“I ought to run like hell right now and really show you what I'm made of,” he suggested.

“You sure you want to do that?” She raised an eyebrow and tucked her thumbs into her shorts pockets. He had just woken up from a night full of drinking and thus she was wary of his knees as they quivered a bit in the morning breeze. Add to this, he had barely eaten anything except for a couple of potato chips before he fell asleep there in the dressing room.

“Positive,” he told her. “You even said it yourself—you want to protect me from the bad things in life, so I better help out.”

He tossed the shirt off to the side, right next to her feet, and he darted towards the other side of the grass. It was just like how things were at the hockey rink, except he had broken into a full rain over the dewy grass towards a line of low trees there on the far side. His black curls sailed behind his head and he kept his body low to the ground. In the dim light, she saw him reach the trees, and then he pirouetted before one and he sprinted right back to her.

He skidded to a stop right in front of her: his chest heaved from the feeling of adrenaline throughout his little body, but he showed her a grin in response.

“Wish I had a stop watch,” she said.

“Hang on—here—” He stuck his fingers underneath the band of his watch and he slid it off of his wrist. He handed it to her right as his breathing calmed down.

She held the watch closer to her face so she could better read the second hand. Joey crouched down to the grass next to her with his hands pressed down: he held one knee closer to his chest.

“Hang on a second,” he spoke out of the blue.

“What?”

“Sump'n's missin'.” He stood up and he gazed on at her.

“What?”

“Seeing as it's just us here...”

She shook her head at the sight of the twinkle in his brown eyes. “No, Joey. Not outside.”

“What? I just want you to take your shirt off.”

“Why do you want me to take my shirt off?”

“First off, you got to see me without my shirt on—shit, you saw me naked. Twice! So I wanna see you now. Plus it'd make things more sporty here. You bein' down to your bra and whatnot. Yeah, you're not wearin' a sports bra, but we gotta make do with what we've got.”

“But you want me to be comfortable, though,” she recalled with a wag of her finger.

“Of course. But don't you wanna get out of that shirt, though? Remember the Stormtroopers of Death tour? Remember how miserable you were?”

“How could I forget? And yeah, I am a little hot.”

“I want you comfortable, but I also realize how you feel about yourself, too—why I pointed out that it's just us right now.”

Sam sighed through her nose, and then with one hand, she peeled off her top and showed off her bare skin and her beige brassiere to him. Joey nodded his head at her as she slung her top over her shoulder. She held the watch closer up to her face once again and she raised a finger. He crouched down onto the grass once again.

“Alright, Joey, you ready?” she announced to him.

“Ready when you are.”

“Go!”

He darted towards the trees again: even in the darkness, and with every occasional glance up from the watch's ivory white face, she could make sight of his legs pumping hard. He was indeed a fast runner: all those years of playing hockey and sporadic drumming gave him strong astute legs, even if they were rather thin and sleek in build. His black curls were the only things that made him resemble to a ghost as he ran along the grass. He flashed her a devilish grin as he pirouetted once more in front of her and sprinted back towards the trees.

By the fourth lap, his breathing quickened up and his chest heaved more, but he persisted. He ran four more laps before he finally staggered to a halt right in front of her.

“Okay—” he stammered as he almost lost his balance right next to her. “Okay, that's—that's enough—time?”

“Four and a half minutes exactly!” she proclaimed.

“Shit, that's a record for me!” he panted: his voice broke to where he coughed. He patted his chest and then he rested his hands on his knees. His black curls dangled all about his head, and his chest and his back heaved from the intense amount of running.

“You okay?” she asked him as she stooped down next to him.

“Yeah—it's just—” he choked out in between breaths. “—it's just—like I said—that's a record. The last time I ran like hell like that—it was almost—five minutes.”

“Wow! And how long ago was that?”

He stopped, and then he swallowed.

“'Bout five years ago, I think?” he sputtered.

She gaped at him. And he lifted himself upright and let out a loud groan. He then set his hands upon the crown of his head. In the first rays of rosy light from the sunrise, she noticed the slight sheen of sweat about his forehead, his neck, and his shoulders. He barely broke a sweat!

“I have an idea now,” he said, still out of breath.

“What's that?” She handed the watch back to him.

“If I ever do get to play drums again, I want to do it for as long as I can. And I mean for as long as I possibly can. I mean like a few hours rather than for thirty minutes like what Anthrax and Testament do. So to play like the length of an orchestra basically.”

“I imagine that being kind of tough, to be honest,” she confessed.

“Doesn't have to be,” he pointed out as he slung the watch onto his fingers but he never put it back onto his wrist. He continued to huff and puff from the sprints. She thought about Alex right then: maybe Joey was lazy with the whole music business, but the Joey she just saw there was anything but lazy. She wanted him to see that Joey for himself.

“Wanna head on back up there?” he offered her as he picked up his shirt from the grass: the dew had left some wet spots on it and thus he slung it over his shoulder.

“Sure.”

“It's still early, so I'd keep that top off if I were you.”

“I dunno, Joey.”

“What? You're a doll and a half, Sam I am. Look at you! All curvy and womanly. I like it, you know.”

He patted her on the shoulder and then he walked on to the street.

“You ever work out real hard like that,” he started again, “and you get this weird, almost hollow feeling in your chest?”

“Not in a long time, but yeah, like something kicked up in your lungs a bit?” she followed along.

“Yeah—got that feelin' right now.” He cleared his throat once they reached the dark pavement. The street lamps began to switch off for the new round of daylight, which meant they in fact needed to hustle along back to the venue to meet up with Marla once again.

“So where's your hotel?” he asked her at one point, and she caught up with him so they walked side by side back up to the corner. She stopped right there so he could see where she pointed up to.

“It's actually right up the block here. Given it's just us, if we see them, we'll know it's them—”

Indeed, once the words left her lips, a small beige car up the block turned out from the hotel driveway. Joey raised his hand and waved at the car, which flashed its lights at them.

“Yeah, that's totally them,” he remarked. “Suddenly I'm hungry.”

“I am, too. Boston you said?”

“Two dates in Boston, yes!”

The car behind them turned the corner and rolled up to the curb ahead. They walked on a bit more until she recognized that alleyway: she also recognized Marla's head of shiny hair in the passenger seat, still iridescent after a few months. She rolled down the window for a good morning.

“There they are!” she declared.

“Didn't know Rocky Horror was playing this early in the year,” Dan called from the driver's seat next to her, and the three of them burst out laughing at that.

“Sam would be in fishnets and Joey would be wearing lace, though,” Marla pointed out. She then returned to them.

“Just did a bit of early morning running,” Sam gestured to Joey.

“That'll wake you up,” Marla declared with a raise of her eyebrows. “You guys wanna grab a cup of coffee, though? What's the next stop again, Boston?”

“Two dates in Boston,” Joey corrected her.

“Yeah, two days,” Dan chimed in. “It's gonna be just a little bit of a trip, but it's gonna be something, though, so you guys better hold onto your butts.”

“Well, at least let Joey and me grab our snacks from last night, though,” said Sam.

“Of course,” Marla encouraged her. “I have to catch the next bus ride back to the Big Apple in a few minutes, though, so make it quick.”

“You're not coming with us, Marla?” Sam inquiringly asked.

“I'll be at the New York City show with Bel and Aurora, but you know—I have to find a place, though. And Bel isn't home, either, and Genie gets lonely, too. Anyways—chop chop.”

Sam and Joey retreated back down the alleyway for their things, and then they headed back to the car that awaited them at the curb. The two of them took to the back seat: it was only for a couple of blocks to the bus stop, but Sam and Marla still embraced each other once they got out together.

“I'll call you when we get there,” Sam vowed with her chin upon her shoulder.

“I'll be waiting for you, too,” Marla whispered to her.

To think it wasn't that long ago in which Sam actually didn't like Marla. She hoped that Joey would have the same change of heart towards Alex at some point, and vice versa.

#fanfic #fanfiction #chapter 10 #fever in fever out #fever in fever out fanfic #a skeleton in the closet #book three #anthrax #anthrax fanfic #joey belladonna #dan spitz #ocs #oc tag #also on ao3 #also on wattpad #writing #text

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