Thanks to everyone who has made this community come alive! Keep posting, sharing, and commenting! I'm so glad it's actually started to take off! So here is a reward fic, heh. :)Title: WarriorFandom: RPS; Sex Pistols/The ClashRating: PG for foul language and mention of gay sexPairing: Paul Simonon/Sid ViciousVery Clash-centric. Just a shortie about the impact of Sid's death on Paul. If you don't like the Clash, don't read it. He banged his head against the wall- hard. Joe was in the other room, dealing with it in his own way. He would probably write a song or something, get it out of him all nice and clean. But Paul knew it wouldn’t be that easy for him. Not only did he not understand his own emotions, he had never been one to express them. He’d been quite the opposite. “Hey, mate, are you all right?” It was Topper. His voice was soft, out of respect, but Paul sensed a real fear there, like he was tiptoeing around a caged lion. “No.” Topper walked over slowly and hooked his hands around Paul’s torso, holding him backwards as Paul just flattened his face against the wall. He couldn’t find the tears to cry, but he had definitely hit on an emptiness that hadn’t been there before. Topper didn’t say a word. He just held Paul until his arms started going numb. .He couldn’t even remember the day he started hanging around with Sid. They had been fast friends, bonding instantly over their near magnetic love of reggae. Sid admitted that he wasn’t exposed to much, so Paul started turning him on and after that, they never ran out of things to say to each other. Pretty soon, they were squat mates, roomies, because they were in equal states of financial distress and neither one particularly enjoyed the company of their old flat mates. Sid was still slumming around the scene. He had made a few amphetamine fueled stage appearances, but he was more than likely still found bouncing around at his friends’ gigs. Despite his loyalties to the Pistols and his long-winded and somewhat volatile friendship with John Lydon, who wasn’t a huge fan of the Clash, Sid made his presence known anytime the Clash played and he was free to pogo. He was intensely loyal and he even befriended Joe despite Johnny’s insistence that Sid needed to pick sides in the constant rivalry between the two bands. It was nice to have a friend inside and outside of the band all at the same time. .“No, I don’t understand, Paul, because you won’t talk about it!” Mick dropped his guitar on the side of the wall. He hadn’t actually intended to play it, that much was obvious. The album was over and they were just in New York waiting to hear the final cut. Mick was just pretending that he had some control over the Epic/CBS situation. “We get here, me and Topper, and a day later, he’s fucking dead. That’s it, okay? That’s all.” “It was that broad that did him in, you know that, right?” “I suppose.” “No. It really was her, Paul. Don’t beat yourself up over this shit. He was a fucking washout loser. He wasn’t your friend anymore. Don’t fucking worry about it.” “But he was still my friend, Mick, you don’t get it. If you started using hardcore drugs, I wouldn’t let you run off to New York and OD just because you might go to jail or just because you were so fucking dumb that you didn’t know how much you were taking or any of that shit! You know I wouldn’t.” “Then why did you let Sid?” Paul picked up the abandoned guitar and smashed it. Luckily, it was one of the studio guitars that Mick had never gotten fully attached to or the skinny guitarist might have stabbed him with one of the shards. Instead, he just nodded. That’s all. Paul could have slugged him. .He couldn’t remember the first time, either, except that it had to have been stimulant or dope fueled. They wouldn’t have just done it sober then, they were too afraid of getting the shit beaten out of them. Just because they hung in gay clubs and some guys and girls on the scene were openly gay didn’t mean that it was all right for any punk to be gay. He could remember lots of times after that. Really, it had always been more an act of desperation than some phony profession of love. They were young, they were bored, they were horny and that was all there was too it. They didn’t feel any more or less attached after they started fucking. But when Sid joined the Pistols and started getting into smack and the Clash started getting (relatively) more money and Paul moved in with Caroline Coon, their relationship kind of fell apart. Paul kept an eye on him, but he couldn’t stand watching him fall apart, so he just kept his distance. He knew about Nancy Spungen and the heroin den they were shacked up in South London. And he knew when they left to find a “new life” in New York. But Mick had been right. If he had had any true feelings for the bloke, he would have at least tried to stop him. He could hide behind circumstance; he was living on 25 pounds a week and the handouts from Caroline and there was no way he could get to America. Junkies were hard to deal with. Spungen kept him locked up like a child and wouldn’t let any of his old friends talk to him. But the fact still remained- if he had wanted to, if he had cared, he would have done it. And it was that knowledge that hurt him the most. .Joe just wrapped an arm around him before they went on stage, slinging his arm around as if to serve as Paul’s backbone. “I know I don’t know what you’re feeling, mate,” Joe said softly in that way of his. That way that zoned in on you and made you feel like the only person of importance in the whole world. “And I know you’re never going to tell me. But I’m here with you. Your personal soldier. I’ll fight anything with you. Side-by-side.” Paul banged his forehead against Joe’s, smiling for the first time since he had heard about Sid. He knew that he was going to play his heart out this show, just for Sid.
I have an account just forgot my password haha. Anyways. I liked this, I really like the clash, and I was wondering ifyou knew of any fan fictions?
Thanks. I actually do not, but I'm sure there are some LJ communities. I'll let you know if I see anymore!