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Will update upon receiving requests. Check chapter cleverly titled "⭐️Requests Open!⭐️" for more details (it's the 10th chapter!)
You can never have too many classic rock one shots, can y...
Muse: Swedish Actor and Musician Björn Andrésen Musician: American Singer/ Songwriter Janis Joplin Time: Early Seventies
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[Request]
It was a mostly out-of-body experience. It had to have been, or else Dylan surely would've thrown up his lunch. But somehow, with his feet anchoring his jittery body, he managed to keep his composure. Maybe it's that he didn't fully believe what was happening yet. Or maybe that his endless fantasies rendered him more than prepared for this enchanted experience. Fans littered the grass: some standing on the outskirts and still seeming a little less than pleased, others stoned and entranced by the music. He should've been among them — in fact he was, and he still would be if it wasn't for the very thing that almost killed him.
They say that one's concert experience is half in the hands of the performer and half in the hands of the audience. A crowd won't go crazy over a snooze-worthy show, and you can't expect an artist to perform to a sea of uncanny mannequins. This saying is especially true of one who happens to be getting crushed in the dark by people too inebriated to realize their actions. That person, of course, was Dylan.
Janis had just taken stage and he was dead set on weaving his way to the front of the crowd. This wasn't much of a task seeing his stature, and most people didn't even notice him. But this advantage eventually revealed itself not to be all good. People continuously jostled and shoved him without knowing he was there. He then made the rookie mistake of trying his luck around the edges of the crowd, which is where most of the kids who were kicking up a storm chose to hang. He'd just taken his second elbow to the rib when he decided to settled for his place halfway to the edge of the stage. But, much to his dismay, the same elbow that'd just knocked the wind out of him decided once wasn't enough.
One blow to the nose and he was down. Though it never got so bad that people actually stepped on him, he was taking an awful lot of kicks and nudges from heavy boots, heeled shoes and bare feet. He'd been down for about 20 seconds before someone noticed him, only it wasn't one of the people who were just moments away from knocking his lights out — it was Janis.
Yes, Janis Joplin.
Dylan wasn't sure how she saw him with the blue and purple stage lights in her eyes and the dark night engulfing him. She stopped the music and called for everyone to clear away from him, many of the fellow fans were just now noticing the boy.
Thousands of eyes, watching him.
A security man swiftly came over and helped the blond to his feet. He didn't have it in him to raise his face; he couldn't bare to see the hundreds of judging faces with their twisted undertones of pity.
The officer guided him out of the crowd by way of a tight grip on his arm. He could hear that the guard was talking, but he couldn't make out a single word he said. In all honesty, he wasn't even trying to. Almost all of his focus was put into his vain attempts to stop his body's incessant shaking.
