#this ones rough

ROUND 1: The Doors vs. Tommy

The Doors - The Doors (1967) Genre: Psychedelic rock, art rock Singles: Break On Through (To the Other Song), Light My Fire, The End* Grammys: N/A RIAA Certification: 4x Platinum Rolling Stone Rank: 86

One of the great classics of psychedelic rock and 60s counterculture, massively influential rock band The Doors' eponymous debut remains their most iconic. Particularly praised for the brooding vocals of charismatic lead man Jim Morrison (who would die under mysterious circumstances just four years later) and the versatile keyboard stylings of Ray Manzarek, The Doors is considered one of the greatest debuts in rock history and a cultural touchstone.

*This album is preserved in the National Recording Registry.

The Who - Tommy (1969) Genre: Rock, hard rock Singles: Pinball Wizard / Dogs Part Two; I'm Free / We're Not Gonna Take It; See Me, Feel Me / Overture from Tommy Grammys: N/A RIAA Certification: 2x Platinum Rolling Stone Rank: 190

Primarily written by guitarist Peter Townshend, the Who's fourth studio album was one of the first rock operas, telling the story of the titular Tommy Walker, a fictional "deaf, dumb, and blind kid" who goes down a path that leads to him becoming a messianic figure. Considered to be the Who's breakthrough to wider audiences, Tommy is widely regarded as an extremely influential rock album and has been reinterpreted in many forms, including a ballet, a stage opera, a film, and a Broadway musical.

so so so

today is,,,fizz’s birthday !!!

yeah my two internet friends have birthdays one day apart what were the heckin odds

anyway so forever ago I wrote this au where Albert was this weird low key villain and now heres part three

part 1

part 2

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ship: I honestly dont even know, failed ralbert, platonic sprace ??

genre: the phattest angst

warnings: character death, car accidents, bleeding, lots of blood, abuse mentions, sex mentions, mentions of low key cheating, sorta panic attack, major guilt, sad stuff, rain, thunder storms, cursing, be careful kids

editing: m e h

words: 2030

_____

Spot squinted into the rain, flinching every time a boom of thunder banged in the sky above him. The wind was howling, almost drowning out the pounding of his heart that sounded in his ears with every breath. The dirt road was thick with mud and he knew that he could get stuck at any moment.

But getting stuck wasn’t an option. He had to find Race.

Hopefully there was still a Race left to find.

The rain was coming down in sheets so thick that even with his headlights on high he could hardly see a foot in front of the car. It didn’t help that he was on one of the back roads of the Blue Ridge Mountains and was, hence, surrounded by trees.

But, this was Race’s thinking spot. There was a clearing about another mile or so down this road that Race would go to when he was overwhelmed and needed to clear his head. Spot couldn’t imagine that there was any other place he could have gone, but he had made Romeo stay at home just in case Race decided to come back.

“Fucking hell,” Spot cursed as a crack of lightning pierced the sky. He hated the thought of Race being out in this weather: alone, miserable, and suffering. They wouldn’t even be in this predicament if it weren’t for Albert Fucking DaSilva.

Spot still couldn’t believe that Albert had intentionally hit Race. It didn’t matter what someone’s past was, any person should have the decency and the sense alone not to hit someone.

And then there was the fact that he had made out with someone mere minutes after hooking up with Race. Spot understood that one night stands came with their own set of rules and were not for those, like himself, who had standards, but it seemed odd to him that Albert had decided to make out with Finch when Race was standing in the same room and then have the audacity to ask for a round two.

But then again, what did his virgin ass know?

The bottom line still remained though: Albert had hurt Race worse than anyone had in years, and, once Spot found Race, they were not allowed near each other again. There was no one in the entire world that Spot cared about more than Race and Romeo. At this point the both of them practically lived with Spot and his mom since Race’s dad was never around and when he was he was always drunk and both of Romeo’s parents spent weeks on end in DC where they worked with the Secret Service.

The three of them had grown up together and vowed to always protect each other. He and Race had wreaked havoc on a few of Romeo’s particularly nasty exes. Spot was certain that he and Romeo would be doing the same to Albert. No one messed with their family.

There was a piercing BOOM! and Spot jumped, losing control of the wheel for a second. His tires slid across the slick mud and he struggled to regain control of the car.

“Fuck come on!” Spot tensed his arm muscles as he turned the wheel as hard as he could into the skid. His foot fumbled for the brake pedal and he put all his weight into slamming it into the ground. He held his breath, waiting for the car to stop and hopefully not skid into the tree line, but, just when he thought he was safe, he felt his car smack into something very, very solid.

Spot’s eyes flew open - when had he closed them? - and was met with the sight of the bed of Race’s unmistakably totaled pickup truck smashed into the front of his car.

For one second Spot sat paralyzed with fear, a million scenarios running through his head: he had just killed his best friend, no, Race wasn’t in the car, no he had to be in the car, but, since he had hit the bed of his truck maybe he was okay, Spot’s airbag hadn’t gone off so maybe it wasn’t that bad but he could be bleeding out or dead or dying or severely injured or dead he could be dead he could be dead what the hell was he doing he could have just killed his best friend-

Spot wrestled with his seatbelt and pushed open his door, not even feeling the rain as it soaked him through. The drivers door of Race’s car was smashed in -which later Spot would realize meant that the accident was not his fault because he had hit the bed of the truck, not the side- and after struggling with the handle for a minute Spot gave up and went around the passenger’s side. Thankfully, the door was fully intact on this side and Spot pulled it open.

The first thing he registered was Race leaning against the wrecked drivers side door and he breathed a deep sigh of relief. Then he saw the blood.

It was everywhere. On the seats, the door, the dashboard, the floor the shards of broken glass, and Race’s clothes, face and hair. Spot had never seen so much blood.

He pulled out his phone, praying that there was service out here in the middle of nowhere in a rainstorm, and dialed 911 - better to do that now than when he was choked up and overwhelmed by his actions later.

Then he ducked into the passenger seat and pulled the door shut behind him. If he was going to die, he might as well be a little less soaked.

“Race?” Spot called over the rain. “You with me?”

There was no response.

Spot’s stomach clenched and he scooted closer, extremely mindful of the broken glass scattered around him. He reached out to touch Race’s shoulder, but stopped short when he remembered the earlier interaction with Albert.

“Fucking DaSilva,” Spot muttered, opting to instead lean closer to his best friend. “Antonio,” he said firmly. “Can you hear me?”

Please respond, please respond, please respondpleaserespondpleasepleaseplease-

“S-sean?”

And just like that, everything was okay again.

“Yeah, I’m here, it’s okay.” Spot tried to sound soothing despite his nerves and the terrible looming thought that he was the one responsible for the accident. But, he needed to hear it from Race. “What happened kid?”

“Seanie, you’re-” Race coughed painfully and Spot winced, “uh, bleein’. Wha’ ‘appened?’”

“What?” Spot was confused and looked down at himself briefly before remembering that he was not the primary concern. “That doesn’t matter right now, kid. Can you tell me what hurts?”

“M’ ‘ead,” Race mumbled, closing his eyes again. “An’ m’ leg is stuck.”

“Okay.” Spot surveyed the wreck and saw that Race’s left leg was, in fact, pinned between the seat and the crushed door. Spot then noticed with alarm that there was a bloody stain on both the driver’s window and the steering wheel that matched with the injuries on Race’s head. At first, Spot wondered why the airbags hadn’t gone off, but then he remembered that Race had taken his airbags out to replace them with better ones because when he had bought his truck there had been a recall on them, but had never gotten around to it.

Spot put his head in his hands. He had insisted that Race reinstall the airbags in his truck, but clearly he hadn’t tried hard enough. Maybe if he had tried harder this wouldn’t have happened. Like maybe if he hadn’t agreed to let Race go to that party he wouldn’t be bleeding out right now. Maybe if he had just put in a little more effort, cared a little more this wouldn’t have-

“S’potti’?” Race’s weak voice pierced through Spot’s thoughts. “Wha’s wron’?”

There were so many things he could have said. I’m sorry I let Albert hit you? I’m sorry I let you go to that party? I’m sorry I didn’t force you to put those new fucking aribags in your truck? I’m sorry we’re sitting here right now? But Spot instead blurted out: “I’m sorry I hit your truck and hurt you like this, I skidded on some mud and it was dark and raining, and I didn’t see you until after I had already hit you and I’m just-I’m so sorry Tony.”

“‘ean, no, i’ wasn’ you- i-” Race’s words started to run together more, but there was a firmness behind them. “I’ wasn’ you. I’ ‘as som’ guy, he ‘it me ‘n drove away, an’ I go’ pushed int’ ‘he door, ‘n then a few mi’ut’s ago somethin’ ‘it th’ back o’ my truck ‘n my ‘ead jus’ bump’d th’ ‘teerin’ wheel, ‘n-”

“That was me Tony,” Spot whispered, cutting him off. “I hit the back of your car. God, I’m so sorry I really didn’t mean to, you must be in so much pain, I-”

“No, no,” Race mumbled. “‘topp’d bein’ able t’ feel mucha anytin’ afta th’ firs’ few minutes o’ so.”

This comment did absolutely nothing to calm Spot’s fears.

“‘re you okay tho’?” Race asked, cracking open his eyes again to look at Spot. “‘f your ‘urt you needa take care’o yourself.”

“No, I’m fine kid. Don’t worry about me. The ambulance should be here for you soon anyhow and if they decide I need help, I’ll let them help me.”

Race shot him a sideways look that almost made Spot laugh before his eyes fluttered shut again. For a few painful seconds the silence between them was filled by just the rain pounding on the roof.

“I wish I never let you go to that party,” Spot whispered, toeing at the worn carpet with his boots. “Then none of this would have happened.”

“Don’ be sorry,” Race muttered, barely audible over the rain. “‘s betta this way. I was neva gonna ge’ betta anyway ‘n I was gonna de’troy m’self at somepoin’, betta now than latah, ya know? I’ve fough’ so ‘ard already anyway. There’s no poin’. Least I gotta ‘ave sex wit’ a hot guy on’ las’ time befo’ I died.”

Spot’s head snapped up. Why was Race acting so self destructive? He had probably just had a panic attack and that combined with whatever injuries he had sustained had sucked the last bit of energy out of him. Spot knew that that wasn’t good, Race always gave up in some sense after a panic attack, and he couldn;t have him doing that now, especially not now. He needed Race to keep breathing and survive this.  

“Tony? No, hey, I need you, a lot of people need you, and you're gonna be fine anyway. The ambulance is gonna be here soon and they’re going to help you. It’s all going to be okay. Save your strength, okay?” Most of those words were for Spot’s own sake. He knew it was a very real possibility that Race would not make it, and Race’s own calmness toward the situation was not helping. Whenever Race had previously been injured, he had been freaking out and his state of calm was only adding to Spot’s nerves.

“Sean,” There was a sadness to Race’s voice that Spot had never heard before, “Everythin’s not goin’ t’ be okay, ‘n tha’s alrigh’. You’ll be fine, Ro will be fine, ‘s gonna be okay. I’ve ‘ad som’ time t’ think abou’ it. Jus’ know ‘s not your faul’ alrigh’?”

“Antonio, no, stop that,” Spot felt tears spring up behind his eyes. This was it, he was losing his best friend, and there was nothing he could do about it. What did you say to someone who had already accepted their death? What were you supposed to say? Did it even matter anymore?

“‘s okay Sean,” Race whispered. “I-” He coughed again and Spot felt his heart clench. “I love you.”

“I love you too, kid,” Spot whispered.

“‘ell Ro I lov’ ‘im too.”

“I will,” Spot promised. “I promise.”

“Thank you fir everythin’,” Race struggled to keep his eyes open. “I couldn’ ‘ave ask’d fir a betta frien’.”

“Of course Antonio,” Spot whispered, watching powerlessly as Race’s eyes fell shut and didn’t open again. “Of course.”

_____

and thats that

there will be one more installment and hopefully you wont have to wait 6 months oops

hbd fizz

feedback is always appreciated hmu to be on the taglist