Billie Eilish vs Tatiana Shmayluk
In the sleek, modern waiting room of the high-profile producer's studio, the air had tension. Two women sat across from each other, each surrounded by a whirlwind of their own entourages. Billie Eilish, the ethereal pop star with a penchant for baggy clothing and dark makeup, twirled a lock of her neon green hair around her finger. Across from her, Tatiana Shmayluk, the fiery metal singer with a commanding presence and piercing gaze, tapped her combat boots impatiently against the floor. Both were there for the same reason: to record a track together, a fusion of their vastly different worlds that had the potential to shake the music industry.
Billie leaned over to her manager, a seasoned veteran named Larry who had seen the music scene evolve over decades. "Who's the rocker chick?" she whispered, her voice as soft as the melodies she sang. Larry glanced up from his paperwork, his eyes darting to Tatiana and then back to Billie. "That's Tatiana Shmayluk," he replied, keeping his voice low. "Your label wants to do a collaboration." Billie's eyebrows shot up. "Why her?" she questioned, her curiosity tinged with a hint of skepticism.
"They think it's a chance for you to explore a new sound," Larry explained, his tone measured. "The label wants to keep your fans on their toes, stay ahead of the curve."
Billie rolled her eyes, the thick kohl liner smudging slightly. "Yeah, sure," she murmured. "But metal? That's not exactly new."
Without missing a beat and with her eyes still locked on the phone, Tatiana said loud enough for everyone to hear, "At least metal is real."
Billie's manager, Larry, sensing the impending clash, quickly stepped in, "Now, now, let's not start anything. You're both incredibly talented in your own right." His words floated over the room like a peace offering.
Tatiana's manager, a stern woman named Elena, who had fought hard to get her client into the mainstream spotlight, mirrored Larry's calm demeanor. She placed a firm but gentle hand on Tatiana's arm. "Remember, we're all professionals here," she said with a hint of a Russian accent.
Ignoring the tension, Tatiana pushed herself off the couch and announced, "I'm going to grab a drink." Her voice was smooth yet had a bite to it, like the riff of a bass guitar. She strode out of the room, leaving a trail of curiosity and discomfort in her wake. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Billie and her entourage in an awkward silence.
A few moments later, Billie took a deep breath and stood up. "I've got to hit the bathroom," she said with a forced smile, her eyes flicking up briefly to meet Larry's concerned gaze. "I'll be right back." She slipped out of the room, her sneakers whispering against the floor.
Following the sound of clinking ice, Billie found Tatiana in the adjacent room, her back to the door as she surveyed the table of refreshments. The room was dimly lit, the neon lights from the hallway casting an eerie glow on the metal singer's silhouette. The smell of freshly brewed coffee mixed with the faint scent of cinnamon from the snacks.
"What did you mean by that?" Billie asked, her voice a mix of curiosity and accusation. She stepped into the room, the door clicking shut behind her. Tatiana turned, a bottle of water in her hand, her eyes meeting Billie's. For a moment, the two women just stared at each other, the tension thick as the bass lines Tatiana was known for.
"What I said," Tatiana replied, her voice even, "is that metal is real. It's raw, it's honest. It's not manufactured to be something it's not." Her gaze never wavered as she twisted the cap off the bottle.
Billie felt a flush of defensiveness rise in her chest. "And what's that supposed to mean?" she challenged, crossing her arms over her chest. "That my music isn't real?"
Tatiana shrugged, her leather jacket creaking with the movement. "Look, I didn't come here to start a fight," she said, her voice carrying the same no-nonsense tone as before. "But let's be real. Your sound is a mainstream product, carefully studied to sell as much as possible. It's not like you're out there screaming your guts out about the injustices of the world."
Billie felt a sting of annoyance. "You don't know me," she said, her voice rising slightly.
"No, I don't," Tatiana conceded, taking a swig of water. "But I know your type."
"My type?" Billie echoed, the annoyance in her voice growing.
Tatiana leaned against the counter, her eyes never leaving Billie's. "Yeah, the type that thinks they're edgy and 'alternative' because they dye their hair a weird color and sing about their feelings," she said, her tone dripping with a blend of disdain and amusement. "But when it comes to real issues, your music is as harmless as a kitten video."
Billie's jaw tightened. "You don't know the first thing about me," she retorted, her voice sharper than the points of her nails. "Or my music. Just because it's not about breaking skulls and burning churches doesn't mean it's not real."
Tatiana smirked, the corners of her mouth curling upward. "Oh, I know your music," she said, her laughter bouncing off the walls. "Everyone does. It's plastered all over the radio and streaming charts. But have you ever heard one of my songs?"
The question hung in the air, unspoken accusation heavy in its wake. Billie felt her cheeks heat up, knowing full well that she hadn't. "What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, trying to regain some of the lost ground.
Tatiana put the bottle down with a thud, the sound echoing in the small room. "It means that you sing about sadness and heartbreak, but it's all packaged up in a way that's easy to digest," she said, her voice gaining momentum. "It's like you're telling your fans it's okay to feel down, but only if it doesn't actually challenge them or make them uncomfortable. It's all just sugar-coated crap for people who think being sad makes them deep."
Billie felt a tremor of anger shake through her. "How dare you," she spat, her voice laced with venom. Without a second thought, she strode over to the door and locked it, the click echoing through the room like the final beat of a dramatic crescendo. She turned back to face Tatiana, her eyes blazing. "Take it back."
Tatiana's smirk grew, the challenge clear in her eyes. She slid her leather jacket off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor with a dramatic flap. "Go ahead," she said, spreading her arms wide. "Make me."
Billie took a step forward, her fists clenched at her sides, her breath coming in sharp gasps. Her heart hammered in her chest like a bass drum, and she could feel the eyes of their managers, who had gathered at the door, watching them through the small window. The room was suddenly too small, the air too thick with unspoken accusations and hidden frustrations.
Tatiana's smile never wavered as she watched Billie approach, her arms still outstretched in a taunting invitation. But as Billie closed the distance between them, something in the metal singer's eyes changed—a flicker of surprise, maybe, or a hint of respect for the pop star's sudden fire.
The room was silent except for the sound of Billie's fist connecting with the air where Tatiana's face had been a moment ago. Tatiana had ducked with the grace of a dancer, her reflexes honed from years of dodging flailing fans at metal shows. As she came up from her crouch, she shot forward, her shoulder driving into Billie's stomach. The pop star gasped, her body folding over as the air was knocked out of her.
They crashed onto the floor, a tangle of limbs and fabric. The plush carpet did little to soften the impact as they rolled, each trying to gain the upper hand. Billie's nails raked against Tatiana's arms, leaving red trails in their wake, while Tatiana's stronger grip pinned Billie's wrists to the floor. The smell of sweat and hairspray mingled with the sweet scent of the snacks, creating a cacophony of odors that seemed to mirror the chaos unfolding before them.
Their managers pounded on the door, their voices a jumbled mess of concern and panic. But the two singers were lost in their own world of anger and misunderstanding. Billie's breaths were shallow and ragged, her chest heaving beneath Tatiana's weight. "Take it back," she repeated, her voice strained.
Tatiana smirked, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "You're just like every other pop star," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "All talk, no bite."
But Billie had had enough. With a snarl, her right hand shot upward, nails aiming for Tatiana's face. The metal singer's eyes widened in surprise as the sharp tips of Billie's nails scored a line down her cheek, leaving a trail of red in their wake. The sound of skin tearing filled the room, as raw and real as the music that defined Tatiana's career.
Instead of retreating, however, Billie's ferocity only grew. She twisted her body, using her weight to flip Tatiana onto her back, and in one swift motion, she grabbed Tatiana's right forearm. Her teeth clamped down, sinking into the flesh of the taut muscle. The metal singer yelled out in shock and pain, her free hand flying up to wrench Billie away, but Billie's grip was unrelenting. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth, but she didn't care. All she knew was the rush of power that surged through her as she held her ground.
The pounding on the door grew more frantic, the voices outside rising to a fever pitch. But neither Billie nor Tatiana paid any attention to the chaos beyond the four walls of the room. They were locked in a battle of wills, a dance of aggression and dominance that neither was willing to concede. The floor vibrated beneath them from the impact of their bodies and the stomping of their entourages' feet outside.
Tatiana's eyes widened in a mix of pain and fury as Billie's teeth sank into her flesh. With a roar that could've come from one of her own metal tracks, she reached up and grabbed a fistful of Billie's neon hair. She yanked with all her might, her biceps bulging as she used her grip to pull the pop star away from her. Billie's eyes watered as she felt the roots of her hair being torn out, but she refused to let go.
In a swift countermove, Tatiana's left hand shot up, her nails digging into Billie's cheek, drawing a line of fire across her skin. Billie's grip on Tatiana's arm loosened, and with a final twist, the metal singer managed to break free.
They both scrambled to their knees, breathing heavily, glaring at each other through a veil of pain and adrenaline. The room felt hot, the air thick with the scent of their struggle. Billie's eyes never left Tatiana's, her chest heaving with exertion. "Is that enough bite for you?" she panted, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Tatiana's smirk grew, despite the beads of sweat forming on her brow. "You're full of surprises, aren't you?" she said, her own breathing labored. Her hand touched her cheek, feeling the stickiness of her blood.
With a snarl, Billie lunged again, her eyes flashing with a fury that was anything but mainstream. This time, Tatiana was ready. She caught Billie's wrists, stopping her from reaching her face, and in a move that seemed almost choreographed, the two of them tumbled back onto the floor.
Their bodies rolled over the plush carpet, a blur of limbs and snarling faces. The sound of their breaths and grunts filled the small space, punctuated by the occasional crash of a knocked-over chair or the clatter of a fallen lamp. The room was a mess of overturned furniture and discarded snacks, a testament to their all-consuming rage.
Tatiana managed to get on top, her legs straddling Billie's waist, pinning her down. With a feral grin, she grabbed a fistful of the pop star's neon hair and pulled back, exposing Billie's throat. The pain was intense, but Billie didn't scream—instead, she met Tatiana's gaze with one equally as fierce. She could feel the metal singer's breath, hot and heavy on her face, and she knew that the next move could determine the outcome of this unexpected brawl.
Tatiana's hand tightened in Billie's hair, and with a sadistic glee, she started slapping the pop star's face. Each smack echoed through the room, a brutal counterpoint to the sweet harmonies they were supposed to create together. Billie's head snapped back and forth with each hit, her eyes watering, but she never lost her defiant gaze.
In a flash of desperation, Billie realized that her hands were useless against Tatiana's iron grip. She had to change tactics. With a sudden surge of strength, she stopped trying to free her wrists and instead brought her hands up to the metal singer's chest. Her fingers dug into the soft flesh of Tatiana's breasts, not to grip but to inflict pain.
Tatiana's eyes went wide with shock, her smirk replaced by a grimace of pain as Billie's nails found their way through the fabric of her shirt. She screamed, a sound that was more beast than human, and tried to pry Billie's hands away. The pop star's grip was surprisingly firm, fueled by a mix of anger and survival instinct.
With a sudden burst of strength, Billie managed to flip Tatiana over, reversing their positions. The metal singer's hair cascaded around them like a fiery halo as she lay pinned beneath her newfound adversary. Billie's nails continued to rake at Tatiana's exposed skin, the fabric of her t-shirt ripping like paper beneath her frenzied grip. The sound of tearing cloth filled the air, a stark contrast to the sweet melodies they were expected to produce together.
Leaning in close, Billie's face mere inches from Tatiana's, she whispered, "You want real, bitch?" Her voice was low, menacing, a stark contrast to the soothing croons of her Grammy-winning hits. The room had gone eerily quiet except for the harsh sound of their panting breaths, the frantic beating of their hearts, and the distant murmurs of their concerned teams outside the door.
Before Billie could react, Tatiana's head snapped upward, her teeth sinking into Billie's cheekbone with a feral intensity that took everyone by surprise. Billie's eyes went wide with pain, and she let out a muffled cry that was muffled by the pressure of Tatiana's mouth. The pop star's grip on the metal singer's shirt loosened, giving Tatiana the opportunity she needed to break free.
With a grunt of exertion, Tatiana rolled off Billie and was back on her feet in an instant, the adrenaline coursing through her veins like a live wire. She grabbed the back of Billie's baggy t-shirt and with a swift, practiced motion, she pulled it up and over Billie's head, trapping the pop star's arms in the fabric. The move was so sudden and unexpected that Billie's only response was a startled gasp.
Tatiana's hands shot forward, grabbing Billie's bare breasts—massive and soft, a stark contrast to her own muscular physique—and squeezed with all her might. Billie's eyes bulged in shock and pain as the air was pushed from her lungs. The room spun around her, and for a moment, she thought she might pass out. But the rage inside her grew, feeding on the pain and humiliation.
"You think you know what's real?" Tatiana snarled, her grip tightening. "You're just a pretty face with a sad little voice, singing about shit that doesn't matter."
Billie's breath came in ragged gasps, her face a mask of fury as she bucked and twisted, trying to break free. But Tatiana was relentless, her hands mauling Billie's breasts like they were the strings of a bass guitar. The pain was intense, but Billie's determination was stronger.
With a surge of strength, Billie threw herself backward, her shoulder slamming into Tatiana's chest. The metal singer staggered but didn't fall, her grip on the t-shirt tightening. They spun around the room, a bizarre dance of rage and pain, the fabric of Billie's shirt stretching and tearing with each step. The pop star's neon-green hair flew around them like a tornado, a vibrant blur against the stark white walls.
Using Tatiana's own momentum, Billie bent her knees and pushed back with all her might. The impact sent the metal singer careening into the wall with a thud. The air in the room seemed to still, the only sound the sharp intake of breath from their entourages outside the door.
As Tatiana stumbled backward, her grip on Billie's t-shirt loosened. Billie saw her chance and took it, wrenching her arms free from the fabric that had trapped them. The shirt tore away, revealing her naked torso and the deep red marks left by Tatiana's vicious grip. The room spun, but she didn't falter. The pain was a white-hot flame, but it only fueled her anger.
With a snarl, Billie's knee shot upward with a swiftness that belied her usually graceful movements. It connected with Tatiana's crotch with a sickening crunch, the sound echoing in the room like a drum hit at the climax of a metal song. The metal singer's eyes bulged in shock and pain, and she crumpled to the floor.
Billie was on her in an instant, kneeling over her. "Take a closer look," she hissed, her voice filled with venom. Her hands shot up to Tatiana's face, her fingers digging into the skin of her cheeks. "If you want to talk about what's real, then take a real good look at what you've been playing with."
With surprising agility, Billie pulled Tatiana's face towards her chest, her breasts smothering the metal singer's nose and mouth. Tatiana's eyes bulged, her nostrils flaring as she tried to suck in air. Her hands came up, clawing at Billie's arms, trying to break free from the suffocating embrace. But Billie's grip was like steel, her arms a vise that wouldn't budge.
The pop star giggled, the sound high-pitched and eerie, as she watched the panic flicker in Tatiana's eyes. The metal singer's face turned a mottled red, her struggles becoming more frantic. Billie leaned in, whispering sweet nothings into her ear, her voice a mocking caress. "You like that, don't you?" she teased, her giggles turning into a dark cackle.
But Tatiana wasn't going down without a fight. Her teeth clamped down on the soft flesh of Billie's tit, biting through the barrier of skin with surprising strength. The laughter in Billie's throat transformed into a scream of agony, the sound piercing the tense silence like a shattered glass.
The pop star's grip loosened for a split second, and Tatiana used that moment to free herself from Billie's crushing embrace. She gasped for air, her chest heaving as she rolled away, clutching her injured face. The pain was a white-hot brand seared into her flesh, but she couldn't let it distract her from the rage that was still coursing through her veins.
The two women knelt opposite each other, panting and glaring, their bodies bruised and their clothes disheveled. Their managers' shouts outside the door had turned into a cacophony of alarm, but it was as if the two singers were in a vacuum, their world narrowed to the battle between them.
Tatiana lunged first, her fist aiming for Billie's face. But Billie was ready, her forearm shooting up to block the blow. The impact was jarring, sending shockwaves up her arm, but she didn't let it deter her. She swiped her hand across Tatiana's face, her nails catching the metal singer's cheek and leaving a fresh trail of blood. Tatiana's eyes flashed with a mix of anger and surprise.
The two women began to exchange sloppy, desperate punches, their movements fueled by adrenaline rather than skill. Billie's slaps were more about the intent to cause pain than actual technique, her hands connecting with Tatiana's face and neck in a flurry of motion. Tatiana's punches were more powerful, driven by her stronger arms and the rage that burned in her soul, but the exhaustion was beginning to take its toll, making her swings wide and unpredictable.
Slowly but steadily, it was apparent that Billie was the one with less energy. Her once fiery eyes had dimmed to a flicker, her arms moving slower with each blow. Tatiana, noticing the shift, felt a surge of victory. She pushed herself up from her knees, standing over Billie who remained on the floor, her breaths coming in heavy, desperate gasps. The pop star's eyes narrowed, her movements becoming more deliberate as she tried to stand, but her legs trembled, refusing to hold her weight.
With a vicious grin, Tatiana took advantage of the moment and lunged forward, her body slamming onto Billie's midsection. The pop star's air was pushed out in a whoosh, leaving her dizzy and disoriented. The metal singer straddled Billie, her knees pressing into the soft flesh of her stomach, cutting off her air supply. "You're pathetic," she spat, her voice filled with contempt.
But Billie wasn't done yet. With the last of her strength, she raised her head and spat directly into Tatiana's face. The spittle ran down the metal singer's cheek, mixing with the sweat and blood that already painted her features. "Fuck you," she whispered, her voice a hoarse rasp.
Tatiana's rage boiled over at the gesture, her eyes going wild. With a roar that could've been pulled from the throat of a banshee, she began to slap Billie's breasts with a ferocity that sent them swinging like the pendulum of a crazed clock. The smacking noises filled the room, a macabre symphony of flesh on flesh, as each hit left a red imprint on the pop star's pale skin.
Billie's eyes watered, her teeth clenched tightly together to keep from crying out. But she didn't give Tatiana the satisfaction of hearing her pain. Instead, she used it to fuel her own anger, her words spilling out like a stream of venomous fire. "You think you're so much better than me," she rasped, her voice strained with effort. "You're just a screaming bitch!"
The slaps grew more erratic, as if Tatiana's energy was waning, each impact less powerful than the last. Her face a contorted mask of rage, she finally stilled, panting heavily as she stared down at Billie. The pop star's chest heaved with the effort of drawing breath, her eyes never leaving Tatiana's. The metal singer's hand hovered in the air, poised to strike again, but something in Billie's unwavering gaze made her pause.
A smirk tugged at the corner of Billie's swollen, bruised lips. "Had enough?" she rasped, the words coming out like a taunt. The smugness in her voice was a slap in the face, more potent than any physical blow could ever be. It was clear she was on the brink of defeat, but she wasn't going down without taking Tatiana with her.
Tatiana's hand hovered over Billie's chest, the urge to strike again warring with the sudden absurdity of their situation. Two world-renowned artists, reduced to a brawl over artistic authenticity in a producer's office. The irony wasn't lost on her, and she couldn't help the bubble of laughter that burst from her chest. It was a raw, uncontrolled sound that seemed to break the tension like a pin to a balloon. Her shoulders shook with mirth, the anger draining from her as she stared down at the pop star sprawled beneath her.
Billie's smirk grew into a full-fledged grin, the pain in her breasts momentarily forgotten. She couldn't hold back her own laughter, the sound a mix of disbelief and relief. The two of them, both so different and yet so alike in their passion for music, found themselves caught in a ridiculous battle of wills.
Tatiana's hand finally dropped to her side, and she rolled off Billie with a grunt. "Fuck," she muttered, rubbing her sore jaw. Billie lay there, chuckling through her pain, the absurdity of their fight settling in.
The banging on the door grew louder, and suddenly, it dawned on them that they weren't alone. "You've got to let them in," Billie gasped, her chest heaving with laughter-induced breaths. "I'm not moving."
Tatiana raised an eyebrow, her expression a mix of amusement and disbelief. "So, you're admitting that I won?" she asked, her voice a playful purr.
Billie's laughter subsided into a chuckle, and with a wince, she managed to rise her arm, her hand shooting up to give Tatiana the middle finger. The metal singer's smirk grew wider, and she couldn't help but appreciate the gesture. It was clear that Billie had a fire in her that she hadn't expected, a kind of resilience that was surprisingly... endearing. With a dramatic sigh, Tatiana pushed herself off the floor, her muscles protesting the movement. She stumbled over to the door, her hand reaching for the handle with the grace of a drunken pirate. The banging had turned into a frantic plea for them to stop, but she knew the damage was done. The look on their managers' faces when they saw the state of the room—and them—was going to be priceless.
Tatiana wrenched the door open, and Larry and Elena's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. They took in the scene—the overturned furniture, the blood, the torn clothes—and their jaws dropped. The silence was so thick it could've been cut with a knife.
"What's going on here?" Tatiana asked, her voice a perfect blend of innocence and feigned confusion. "We were just getting into the vibe of our new track."
The managers stared, their expressions a mix of horror and disbelief. The sight of their two clients—one bruised and bare-chested, the other with a cheek marred by a fresh scratch—was not what they had expected when they sent them in to discuss collaboration.
Tatiana took a deep, wobbly breath and straightened her posture, the last remnants of her laughter fading into the background. She turned to Billie, who was still on the floor, her chest heaving with the aftermath of their brawl. "Alright, pop-tart," she said, her voice still carrying a hint of playfulness, "you've got your edge now. Let's see if you can keep it in the studio."
Billie's grin was a mix of pain and triumph. She managed to lift her middle finger once more, aiming it at Tatiana. The metal singer couldn't help but chuckle at the gesture, her own adrenaline-fueled energy slowly dissipating. The room was a mess, a testament to their unexpected clash, but the tension between them had shifted.
