#Indianapolis music photographer

[melodieyvonne]

Southport's July 4th Parade A Joyous Celebration

[raincliffs]

Heather

[rustedhearts]

Head Over Heels (Boxer!Steve x Librarian!fem reader)

summary: you meet the handsome boxer Steve Harrington at a party. he falls head over heels for you instantly.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

♡ the steve collection ♡

author’s note: if you’re new to this series (since i didn’t write chronologically but this is the first fic): the reader’s name is “libby” which is just a stand-in for “librarian.” it’s still you!

warnings: fluff, casual dominance (yes, even from the start), steve being uncharacteristically sweet and nervous

hawkins, indiana july, 1989

The house seemed to be a rotation of young, twenty-something year olds, and the upbeat thump of the radio’s biggest hits. Right now, the stereo was blasting Rick Springfield, and though you knew the song and hummed the words, you couldn’t find it in yourself to dance. Instead, you remained seated in the La-Z Boy in the corner of the living room, watching your friend twirl between different men. You’ve been out of high school for two months, and she’d already been through a handful of them. You were by far the youngest here, and though you usually wouldn’t be so easily intimidated by a crowd, you were when you locked eyes on him.

Steve Harrington.

About thirty minutes ago—as your gaze wandered the room, chin in palm with boredom numbing your brain—you spotted him. Through the thick sea of people wading back and forth, on the other side of the wide living room, Steve Harrington lounged on a gingham sofa. Cigarette in hand, sunglasses tucked in the collar of his navy blue polo, biceps bulging and straining against the cuffs.

He looked just as handsome as he did four years ago, when he graduated from Hawkins High as swim team captain and resident heartbreaker. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t stop and stare at each one of his photographs in the display case near the gym.

Since he graduated, Steve started boxing. The town gossip usually fixated around him and his new career, and when he had his first big title fight in Indianapolis last year, Hawkins displayed a giant poster of him at town hall. Now, rumor had it they were asking for Steve in other cities around America, impressed by his violent skills.

And now he was staring at you. You shifted in the chair, cheeks warming under his steady gaze. The thump of the music found home in your chest, the rhythmic beat of your heart so forceful and intense that you felt flushed all over. You waited a beat, and looked up again. He was still looking. A girl walked in front of you, and as her blue skirt flitted by, Steve tipped his head to find you around the obstruction.

Your lips cracked into a giddy smile. He was watching you. At the sight of your pleasure, Steve mirrored it: a half-mouthed grin that softened the intensity of his brooding features. It was princely and handsome, and your smile only broadened knowing that it was directed at you. Steve took a drag of his cigarette, tipped his head back in place, and drew his arm across the back of the sofa. His eyes never left your figure, tucked in the armchair in a floral cardigan and denim shorts. Your sneakers were perfectly white and tidily knotted.

In a room full of blazing neon blue and painful bubblegum pink, you were soft and glowing. If he was being honest, Steve had been watching you for a while now—watching you glance around the room with your lip between your teeth, playing with the white laces on your Reeboks, fiddling with the most adorable pair of tortoise shell glasses perched on your nose. You hadn't spoken to anyone since you entered the room, but when you thought no one was watching, you sang along to the songs playing on the stereo. At first, he glanced over on accident, but he found himself mesmerized by your quiet grace and natural beauty.

Stomach flip-flopping and heart thumping, you inhaled shakily and tried to tear your eyes away from the handsome boxer. You weren't clueless—you'd heard all about his promiscuous (whoreish) antics all throughout high school and beyond. There's no way someone like that would bother with you.

Just as you swiveled the chair for a change of scenery, a boy nearby stumbled back into the arm of the chair, tipping his red solo cup onto your leg. You gasped at the cold, sticky beer sloshing over your bare thigh, leaping from the chair just as the boy jumped back.

"Oh, shit, I'm so sorry, are you—"

"—hey! Why don't you watch where the fuck you're goin'?" A new voice suddenly barked over the music.

Heads turned and cheeks warmed (mostly yours, now blazing hot and fiery) at the sight of Steve Harrington standing beside you, glaring sharply at the perpetrator with an empty cup of beer. Steve's hand cupped around your elbow to pull you away, and the rough touch of his big, warm palm had you shivering.

"S-sorry, man, I didn't mean to."

Steve only waved his hand, head shaking as he dismissed the beer-spiller. The younger boy skittered away, and when he was gone, Steve turned to you. His hand hadn't left your arm and you couldn't stop blushing. Your entire body felt like it was on fire. God, were you sweating through your shirt? Beer was still running down your leg and into your white socks.

"You okay?" Steve asked, brows furrowed.

You swallowed, nodding mutely. Steve looked you over, frowning at the beer on your leg. He snatched a napkin from the coffee table nearby and watched you rub it over your leg.

"Fuckin' idiot," he huffed, eyes flitting back up to yours then. His cheeks suddenly pinkened. "I...Sorry, I just...I came rushing over—I'm Steve."

Left hand on your arm, he extended his right for you to shake, and your smile returned as you peered at it. A musical giggle bubbled out of you as you clasped it in a gentle shake, flashing that pretty smile that his knees buckling. His chest felt so tight and odd. Something ached in his throat. Your hand was soft, and up close, you smelled like something sweet and floral—lilacs. Lilacs and...beer. Your lips were shiny against the yellow lamplight.

"I'm Libby," you declared.

Steve inhaled sharply. Your fingers slipped away and he found his eyes chasing them. Jesus, what the fuck's wrong with you Harrington? He only had one beer, he wasn't drunk—but he surely felt like he was. His head felt light and full of air. He's staring at you for too long, now.

Clearing his throat, Steve ran his hand through the front of his hair—long, chestnut brown, fanned outward behind his ear—and motioned toward your beer leg.

"Should I—do you want—if you want, we can...get out of here? If you're not...doin' anything? The, um, music's givin' me a headache anyway." What the hell, Harrington?

Steve clenched his teeth and exhaled sharply through his nose. You were just so much prettier up close. He could barely think with your eyes blinking up at him from behind those glasses. And blink you did (in disbelief) at his proposal. Your mouth ran dry, heart on your tongue, palms slick with sweat, stomach bloated with butterflies.

All you could do was nod for a moment, before you swallowed once more and finally found your words. "Yes. Y-yes, I'd like that."

It was hard for Steve to contain the joyous grin that broke out on his face, but he did his best. It showed face with another lopsided smirk, and then Steve was stepping back to motion toward the door.

"After you."

It was exquisite, to be leaving a house party with half your senior class and a group of random twenty-something year olds watching Steve Harrington trail after you. Heads turned to watch the two of you head toward the door, mouths moving rapidly to murmur about the predicament. Steve's friends hollered after him in search of explanation, but Steve never even stopped to justify.

He opened the door, smiled, and waited for you to pass through.

♡ ♡

After deliriously wandering along the sidewalk for about ten minutes, the both of you decided that the refreshment situation at the party was dastardly—and you were starving. Steve immediately questioned what your favorite food was, promising you whatever you liked. As you approached the town square, suddenly all you could think of was Tony's, the tiny mom-and-pop pizza parlor on the corner next to Melvald's.

Steve pulled your chair out and pushed it back in once you were seated, and as you waited for your greasy cheese pizza to share, set his eyes upon you with eager attention. Your shoulders squeezed together, lips pursing to conceal a smile, and your eyes touched the wooden table with nerves reddening your face.

"What?" you squeaked under his stare.

Steve eased back into his chair, head cocking toward his shoulder. You peeked up through your lashes and watched his eyes roll over you. He took his lip between his teeth and shook his head as though in disbelief.

"Just lookin' at you," he graveled.

You giggled, reaching up on the table to grab the paper straw wrapper, playing with it in your lap to ground yourself. He was so handsome. His shoulders were broad and muscular, and he smelled like something musky and manly. You didn't even mind the cigarettes. Something about them sticking out of his back pocket made your heart flutter. Your mother would lose her mind.

After a moment of silence and low jazz on the stereo overhead, you piped up. "Is your head any better?"

Steve furrowed his brows for a moment, before they relaxed and he grinned. "Oh, s' fine. I get 'em a lot, headaches. Comes with the territory. I'm a—"

"—a boxer. I know," you murmured sheepishly, ducking under his raised eyebrows.

"Oh, is that so?" Steve squinted amusedly, tapping his finger on the table.

Your eyes followed, admiring the wideness of his hands, the slender length of his fingers. He wore a brown leather-banded watch around his wrist, and you swallowed at the sight of it.

"Yeah. It's...kind of hard to miss your face on the side of the Super Mart." You giggled.

Steve's cheeks reddened, a chuckle huffing out of him. He scratched at the nape of his neck and shifted in his seat.

"Yeah. Yeah, you got me there. And, uh, what do you do?"

He watched you perk up, hands tucked under your thighs. Pride seemed to glimmer in your eyes as you tipped your chin up and smiled nervously.

"I'm a librarian. I started last summer just for fun, and when I graduated they gave me a full time position."

Steve's eyes flitted over you adoringly again. A librarian made so much sense.

"And you like it?"

You bobbed your head eagerly, eyes rounding behind the reflective lenses of your glasses.

"I love it. I love books, so...I guess that helps." You laughed.

A waiter in a black t-shirt and jeans came to table and slid a metal tray with a steaming, gooey, and glistening pizza on it between the two of you. When he was gone, Steve grabbed one of the plates at the head of the table and pointed to the tray.

"How many do you want?"

Your cheeks swelled with heat again. "Two, please."

He handed you the slices, and you waited until he had four of his own to begin biting at yours. You took tiny, delicate bites, and Steve watched over the pull of his white cheese as you paused to sip at your water occasionally. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was something gentle about the way you moved. He could still smell your lilac scent.

"What's your favorite book?" Steve mumbled around a mouthful of cheese.

Your eyes popped over to him, surprised at the question. In all honesty, you were surprised he hadn't chuckled at your occupation. Most of the boys you'd gone out with poked fun at it—or made inappropriate jokes about bending you over in your cardigan and pencil skirt. You were either terribly sexualized or laughed at.

But Steve Harrington did neither.

"Oh, um...ever? Or right now?"

Steve chuckled, wiping his shiny fingers on a thin napkin crumpled beside his plate. "I didn't know you could have both."

You beamed. "Of course you can. My favorite book changes the more I read."

Steve smiled, watching you swoop down for another bite of your nibbled pizza.

"I'm not much of a reader," he explained. "I was never very good at it."

You shrugged, wiping your own fingers.

"That's okay. I'm sure I wouldn't be very good at boxing."

Steve chuckled, reaching over the table squeeze your bare bicep. He smelled like pizza and Marlboros and he was so pretty. You always thought his eyes were brown in the dully-colored photographs at school—but in the fluorescents of the pizza parlor, they held sparks of olive and gold, more hazel than anything. His lips were plump and pink and soft and he had a bruise on the underside of his jaw that you hadn't seen until now.

"With these muscles? I think you could give me a run for my money."

You giggled, rubbing at your arm where his touch was when it disappeared back into his lap.

"Should we bet on it?"

Steve placed his elbows on the table and leaned forward. "Whatever you want, baby."

Your entire face felt like the surface of the sun, and you did your best to hide your smile in a mouthful of pizza. But his flirtatious stare caused a giggle to burst through, and you felt like you were in fifth grade passing notes to your crush all over again. Steve cocked his head again, the smallest tip to the left.

"What?" you pouted, riddled with anxiety at his stare.

Steve arched his brows, holding his empty hands up. "I'm just lookin' at you."

You shifted on your chair, gazing down at your plate. Steve tipped his chin down to follow.

"You're nice to look at," he murmured gently.

You were certain you'd never felt this giddy before. You tucked your hair behind your ear and played the ends anxiously, gnawing on the inside of your cheek. Your stomach rumbled with hunger but you couldn’t find it in yourself to eat. Steve was too handsome, too pretty, too sweet.

And though he looked a little mean if he didn’t plaster on a smile, and the sheer size of him made you nervous, and the sound of his voice, gruff and unemotional even with the sweetest sentiment, made you shiver and squirm and your stomach ache—you could tell that beneath that broody exterior, Steve Harrington was a kind and loving man.

You could see it in the way he coaxed you to eat just one more slice of pizza, and offered to refill your Coke once it was down to the ice. It spoke through the way he collected your trash and pulled out your chair, and held the door open for you in the wild whipping wind. He moved you to the inner position on the sidewalk so you weren’t near the road, and wrapped his arm around your shoulders at every crosswalk.

He was an attentive listener, and didn’t seem the least bit bored when you went on a rant about why Virginia Woolf was better than Jane Austen, but why it wasn’t fair to compare the two all the same. He was humble with his boxing stories, and refrained from boasting about his current undefeated status across America.

“I have a fight comin’ up in Cleveland, actually,” Steve said.

You trailed along the streets through the town square, past the closed shops and darkened window displays. The street lights bathed the mostly-barren road in a soft white glow. Your fingers had been brushing together for the past twenty minutes since your departure from the pizza parlor, but you were both too nervous to join hands. Steve didn’t any to push, and you didn’t want to assume.

“Oh, that’s cool,” you beamed, tipping your head back to gaze at him. “How many cities have you fought in now?”

Steve pursed his lips, humming lowly. “Fifteen, I think, but some are in the same states, so…s’ nothin’ too special. My coach says I might be goin’ big time soon, though. Like…bigger than state clubs.”

You smiled, scuffling to a stop near the movie theater entrance. Under the glowing yellow bulbs of the promotion sign, Steve turned to face you.

“I’m happy for you, Steve. It seems like you’re really passionate about it. Which means it is special.”

Steve gave a sheepish shrug, stepping closer. You could smell him again, feel the warmth from his buttoned chest. You swallowed as his eyes moved to your mouth.

“S’ the only thing I’m good at.”

At your side, he brushed his fingers against your wrist. Your breath hitched, eyes rounding in delight. Steve took that as a sign to slip his fingers into your palm, and when it flowered open in invitation, he wove your fingers together.

“I’m sure that’s not true,” you whispered.

Steve smiled, reaching with his free hand to tuck a strand of hair falling in your eyes behind your ear. The side of his knuckle grazed the arch of your ear, trailing down the side of your neck. You straightened at the wandering touch, skin buzzing with warmth and excitement. Steve followed his touch all down your neck. When his hand fell to your shoulder, he took it away, and met your gaze again. His was soft, round, warm and gentle. He had the faintest collection of hair above his lip.

“You’re so pretty,” he confessed quietly.

You could have burst with delight. Though it was always implied when boys took you on dates, or made out with you in the back of their cars in the gymnasium parking lot, rarely had anyone told you how beautiful they found you. Rarely, in the company of a man, had you ever felt it.

But standing under Steve Harrington’s gaze, you felt like the most beautiful girl in the world.

“Steve?”

Steve seemed surprised by the sound of his name coming out of your mouth. His eyes widened.

“Yeah?”

You smiled a soft, shy smile, and tipped your chin down. “Can you…can you kiss m—“

Two fingers curled under your chin and lifted your head before you could finish, and then a mouth attached itself to yours. Steve’s mouth: warm and soft and filled with the aftertaste of pizza and a faint, few-hours-ago trace of tobacco. You squeezed your eyes shut and sighed against his cheek, tipping your head to meet the ministrations of his mouth. Your hand squeezed tighter around his. His fingers left your chin to cup your cheek. He handled you like something delicate and special.

You broke away when the air grew thin, and each of your eyes fluttered open to blink dazedly into each other’s flushed, swollen-mouthed faces. You brought your free hand to your mouth and giggled against your fingers. Steve’s smile was broad and boyish, and he gently stroked his thumb against your cheek.

“Like that?”

You nodded your head quickly. “Exactly like that.”

♡ ♡

Your spontaneous date with Steve Harrington came accompanied by a restless night of sleep. You tossed and turned and kicked your sheets, mind full of images of Steve kissing you under the streetlights, and again on your porch when he walked you to the door. You scrawled your number on the back of an old receipt, and, unbeknownst to you, Steve stared at it in his hand all night.

The morning came sticky and hot, with a soft golden sun that filtered through your floral curtains and cast pink blobs across your sheets. You were finally sleeping peacefully, drooling onto your pillowcase, sprawled out across your ruffled bedspread, when the phone shrilled downstairs. You groaned at the sound, burying your face deeper into the pillow. Your mother, flipping pancakes in the kitchen, answered the phone.

Less than a minute later, she poked her head into your room.

"Honey?" she cooed.

A moment passed without response.

"Honey, it's for you."

Blearily, you rolled onto your back and grunted.

"Whois it," you slurred, dazed from sleep.

"Someone named Steve? He said—"

You jumped out of bed, hurriedly shoving your feet into your ratty bunny slippers. You practically flew down the stairs and into the kitchen, where your father was reading the newspaper at the table. He furrowed his brows over the rim of his glasses as you picked up the phone and rubbed your eyes free of sleep.

"Hello?" Suddenly, the sleepy mumble of your voice was gone—replaced with a chipper coo.

"Hey, beautiful."

Your cheeks immediately bloomed pink, and you glanced over your shoulder toward your father at the table. You slipped into the dining room, stretching the coiled cord as you went.

"Hi."

Steve chuckled. "Hi. I'm sorry for calling so early, I just...I was hoping I could see you again."

Easing back against the floral wallpaper of the dining room, you took your lip between your teeth and held your breath. A flutter entered your chest.

"Libby?"

You released your breath and swallowed. "Yes, I...I'd love to see you again. When were you—"

"—what are you doing right now?"

For Steve Harrington, your answer was nothing. You were doing nothing at all but rushing to your room and readying for a morning full of him. When the doorbell chimed, you breezed down the staircase in a white sundress and what Steve still called 'the fuckin' cutest' pair of powder blue kitten heels. Through the frosted glass of your front door, Steve was a blob of white and blue and a pop of vibrant pink—swinging open the door, you realized the pink were a large bouquet of pink peonies.

"Oh, Steve," you gasped, eyes wild with delight.

Steve's cheeks burned, holding them out by the stems. In the kitchen, your mother peered around the corner to snoop. You collected the flowers in your arms and beamed at him. The faintest smile touched his lips, but inside, he was melting. The back of his white t-shirt already gathered with sweat.

"They're beautiful."

Steve didn't know a fucking thing about flowers, but if they got him a reaction like that, he'd buy you a bouquet every day for the rest of his life.

"I'm glad you like them."

You drove this time, tucked neatly into the passenger seat of his burgundy BMW. He parked on the curb of Laurie's Diner and held your hand until you were seated in a vinyl booth pressed up against the window. You plucked a laminated menu from the table and flapped it open, looking over the options. Your hair was pretty today, and Steve found himself flitting between his menu and your head, unable to take his eyes away. It caught the light in such a glorious way.

"I'm not very fond of omelets, but I love scrambled eggs. But then, French toast sounds good, especially now that strawberries are ripe," you rambled, with a certain air to your voice that made everything sound like poetry.

Steve felt like he couldn't breathe just watching you read a fucking breakfast menu. You were still gazing down at it, brow furrowing frustratedly at your own indecision.

"Steve?"

Steve blinked back to reality, cheeks blazing hot again. "Sorry. Just lookin' at you again."

You giggled, hiding a blush behind the menu. Steve set his down, flipping over his coffee mug.

"Get all of it, if you want. French toast, scrambled eggs, pancakes—whatever you want," he declared.

You closed your menu, placing it on the table. "Really?"

Steve shrugged, tossing his arm on the back of the booth. His watch glinted in the sun and temporarily blinded you.

"Really. Whatever you want, angel, s' on me."

The new nickname made your stomach flip, and you toyed with the ends of your utensils to avoid meeting his amused gaze.

"Only if we share."

Steve chuckled. "Fine by me."

You grinned, sliding your menu toward the end of the table with a new sense of determination and cheery delight.

"I hope you can eat, champ."

When the food came—pancakes, scrambled eggs, fried eggs, French toast, two kinds of muffins, sausage, hash browns, and practically every drink on the menu—the two of you made good on your deal and split it fairly evenly. Steve was surprised at how much you could put away, watching with raised brows as you finished your fourth pancake and third egg.

All the while, you made him laugh. You told him about the library—which he never imagined to be such a fun place but you made it sound like DisneyWorld—and when you asked him about boxing, you seemed genuinely interested.

"So...you can knock someone's teeth out?"

Steve reached over and took the strawberry jam from your hands, twisting the lid off and holding it out.

"Mhm, and I have. It's a rite of passage, only a matter of time until mine are gone."

You giggled, dropping dollops of jam on your plate as you scooped it with a butterknife from Steve's palm.

"I hope not."

When your toast had been buttered and jammed, you took a bite, and held the other half out to Steve. The two of you seemed to move with the comfort and familiarity of a five year relationship, never pausing to anticipate, never stopping to wonder—you just knew. You knew what Steve was going to do before he did it, and he knew what you were going to say before the words even came out of your mouth.

Your stomaches burned from laughter and your cheeks throbbed from blushing, and it was as Steve watched you hiccup from too many giggles that he suddenly could no longer ignore the weeping ache of his heart.

"I really like you," he murmured softly.

But over the chime of the bell above the door, and the chatter of diner eaters, and the clank of dishes and utensils, those words were all you heard. You smiled, full-mouthed and pretty, and reached over the table for his hand. Between the half empty plate of scrambled eggs and a bowl of blueberries, your fingers intertwined.

Steve really liked you. And he knew, as you collected his mouth in a syrup-sticky kiss, that in no time, Steve would love you, too.

♡ ♡

[railwayhistorical]

The Allman Brothers Band

Re-posting this with some additional details...

When Gregg Allman (1947-2017) passed nearly seven years ago, I was driven to the negative archive to see if I had any decent shots of the man. I had attended at least two concerts in 1979, as I recall, which would put these images in the Enlightened Rouges time period. I was not thrilled with the quality of the negatives I found, but I was glad to have them nonetheless.

Gregg used his Hammond B-3 with Leslie speaker, of course, but what one sees above is an electric piano with “Hohner” printed thereon. In addition to Gregg, there are three other original members of the band playing during this time period—Dickey Betts, who can be seen playing his Gibson Les Paul, as well as both drummers: Jai Johanny Johanson (Jaimoe) and Butch Trucks.

In the end, one can say that Gregg Allman certainly had an interesting life, with extreme highs and lows. Musically, he had a unique voice and wrote some very memorable songs. The band, which Gregg and his talented brother Duane formed in 1969, was extremely influential and enjoys a firm place in the history of rock and roll. Duane is often to be found on lists of "best guitarists" of course—he was an unusual talent, to be sure.

Three photographs by Richard Koenig.

The close-up of Gregg was taken in Indianapolis at Market Square Arena on May 26th 1979. The other two: the Band from afar, with the second highlighting Dickey, were shot at Alpine Valley, near East Troy, Wisconsin, on August 18th 1979.

[josielyndphotography]

I Heard They KILL Live!

Ice Nine Kills in Indianapolis, IN

11-7-2023

Ice Nine Kills (INK) puts on, once again, a killer performance while on the Kiss of Death Tour. The Massachusetts “horror-core” band have just ended their month long tour with In This Moment, supported by Avatar and New Year’s Day on December 2nd.

The audience was electric when the first few notes of “Hip To Be Scared” started playing and the band hit the stage. Stage actor Michael Meaney contributed to this beginning energy with his role as Paul Allen from hit film “American Psycho”. The unity felt within the crowd when everyone shouted “HEY PAUL!” right before the breakdown was unmatched.

The setlist consisted of a healthy mix of new and old songs that catered to both the new and older fans. They started with songs off of “Welcome To Horrorwood” (2021) and “The Silver Scream” (2018), but added in a song from the 2014 album “The Predator Becomes The Prey”, as per fan request through the Psycho’s Only app.

The set consisted of many visuals that referenced horror movies, most notably the performance of the song “The Shower Scene”. This act visualizes the 1960 film “Psycho”, in which Amanda Sahr plays the role of Marion Crane, and INK’s frontman Spencer Charnas plays his own version of Norman Bates. The song is another tune in which crowd participation is incredible. Hearing everyone shout the chorus together during one of the music breaks is such a powering experience to hear as a fan.

Throughout my years of supporting INK, I have been faced with nothing but community in regards to interacting with other fans. Everyone seems to come together and share their common interests in heavy metal, horror, and performance art.

At this show, I was with a good friend of mine, Miko Puno. He is a fellow photographer based in Indianapolis, and was happy to come along with me to the show, despite not listening to metal.

“From a person who does not listen to metal, I enjoyed it significantly, and quite frankly, I’d go on to say I would do it again.” He says to me when asked about his thoughts on the show, “I was told Ice Nine Kills would be the highlight of the night, and they were correct. If I were to only talk about the ‘sights’ of Ice Nine, it was a sight to behold. Numerous horror movie references, as well as evident passion for their music and their role; it was clear to me that they loved their music, and their fans sure did too.”

My personal favorite song to see performed that night was the newest released song “Meat & Greet”. This song was released on October 13th of this year, and was the conclusion of the Horrorwood Saga as of now. The song consisted of many references to the film “Silence of the Lambs”, and the live performance of the song didn’t disappoint.

Lane Nobriga and FRANCO, two stage actors for INK, did an incredible job in bringing the song to life and creating intriguing and exciting visualities playing opposing roles as Hannibal Lecter and an officer.

I feel the conclusion to the show was one to remember. The band ended the set with “Welcome To Horrorwood”, containing an exhilarating guitar solo from Miles Dimitri Baker and fast paced drums from Patrick Galante. Normally, in other performances during this song, Charnas would climb into the crowd and be held up by fans during the last chorus, but given the set up of the venue, that didn’t happen this show. Though that didn’t take away from the head-banging, voice-losing, thrilling encore. With Ricky Armellino on guitar and Joe Occhiuti on bass, along with the rest of the band, the whole performance was one to remember. This makes the second time I’ve seen Ice Nine Kills, and I’ve been blown away by their production every time. If you’re a horror/metal fanatic that loves theatrics and passion for music, Ice Nine Kills is the band for you.

[officialaemondtargaryen]

Never Told You

Summary: Before you move on, you just have one thing to say.

Characters: Eddie Munson x Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warning: Mentions of character death, angst

Author's Note: Surprise! Two fics in two days?! I could not stop thinking about this idea. Sorry to share my suffering with you.

The owners of the Hawkins, Indiana Cemetery refused to allow Wayne Munson to buy a burial plot in his nephew's name. When the ground opened up to hellfire and brimstone and swallowed half of the town, the media placed the blame on the young metalhead; stating that he had opened up a portal to Hell after performing a series of ritualistic murders. They were afraid that a headstone in his honor would attract local Satanists- the other members of his cult- who might use it as an altar for satanic worship.

However, Wayne was a determined man. He went out of state to have a small headstone made, and with the help of a few of his friends from the Plant, nestled it quietly in the woods behind Forest Hills Trailer Park, where Eddie used to play as a child.

You had been back to Hawkins a few times since the evacuation.

It wasn't the same small town that you had grown up in. It was a ghost town. Most of its residents had chosen to flee to one of the neighboring counties or Indianapolis for a taste of big city life. The majority of businesses had closed their doors permanently and graffiti had now littered the abandoned storefronts. Missing person flyers were tacked to every street light and stop sign for miles.

You hardly recognized it in the months that had passed as you drove through downtown. The faces of the folks who had stayed behind were gaunt; frowns and permanently wrinkled in worry and sadness. Most of them were ones whose family members had gone missing and they were still holding a candle of hope that they would return.

One of them was Wayne Munson.

Even after he learned his nephew's fate, he didn't give up hope that maybe the boy had just left; took his guitar and his van and was out there- somewhere- playing music in a new band and making his own way in the world outside of the cruelty of Hawkins, Indiana. As much as you wished that to be true, you knew better, yet you would never fault Wayne for believing.

Forest Hills Trailer park had been abandoned. It was one of the four places that had been hit the hardest by the 'earthquake'. It had also been looted and nearly destroyed. Near the picnic table, there was a small memorial to the victims who had lived there that lost their lives on that day; four people, five if you counted Eddie, all of whom you had known and grew up with living in that same trailer park for most of your life.

You pulled your car over. The gravel crackled beneath your feet as you walked over to the memorial. It was littered with leaves and dead flowers, and as you usually did when you would come to visit, you dusted off the dried petals and cobwebs and placed a fresh rose underneath each picture frame. One for Ms. Debbie who used to babysit you when you were a child. One for Mr. Lloyd who was a kind old man who never turned down a plate of leftovers. And two for Mr. and Mrs. Roots who weren't the nicest neighbors but still didn't deserve what happened to them and their dog Cooper.

Your eyes began to burn as you looked over the photographs of the people that you had once known; the photos, the empty trailer park, all of it a reminder of the tremendous loss that you had felt. It wasn't just the people, the memories, your childhood- it was your home. It hadn't gotten any easier over the last seven months, despite how hard you tried to move on; looking out of your bedroom window at a street you didn't recognize, a neighbor that you didn't know waving as you drove by, trading one small town for another and having this trauma fester in your chest while everyone else seemed perfectly fine...

Eddie's grave sat at the base of a giant oak tree.

The green ivy that was growing up the tree had begun to spread along the headstone, and somehow, made it even more beautiful.

The old tire swing still hung from the largest branch and you remembered the countless nights spent out here with him; playing hide and seek when you were kids, pretending that you were characters from one of Eddie's fantasy books in an enchanted forest. Wayne would come out and set up a tent and you and Eddie would camp out for the night, telling scary stories and making s'mores. When you both got older, it became your spot to hang out and smoke and talk about all of the people that you both hated. You still came out to talk, only now it was less often and Eddie could only listen.

Sometimes it felt like you could still hear him.

You placed the last rose at the base of his headstone before taking a seat on the cold ground. All you could do is stare at his name in front of you; Edward Munson, beloved son, nephew, and friend.

"It's not getting any easier," you whispered quietly as you picked up a dry, brown leaf and mindlessly fiddled with it to keep your hands busy. "I thought that it would, you know? It's been over six months."

The cold, early October wind sent a chill through your body.

"I'm still waiting for you to call," a tear fell to your cheek. "I'm still waiting for someone to tell me that this was all a big joke and for you to bust through the door with that big, stupid smile."

Silence hung in the air around as you waited for a response that you would never get. You chewed on your cheek as you stared at the cold, grey stone in front of you.

"You know I told myself that I wasn't going to come and see you anymore," you admitted. "I told myself that I needed to move on, and my parents agreed." It was almost as if you could hear him chuckling from beyond the grave. He never really got along with your parents. "But I can't do that, not until I-" you paused for a moment and pulled a piece of paper out of your pocket. "I wanted to tell you this before, but I was terrified that you didn't feel the same way. And now I'll never know."

"Dear Eddie," you began, letting out a breath. "Right now, you're playing 'Romeo and Juliet' on your acoustic guitar and you think that I'm studying; I am, just not trigonometry. Instead, I'm studying the way that your hair falls over your shoulders and how your tongue sticks out when you're concentrating on the more difficult chords. You're so fucking cool, sometimes I hate you for it."

"That's not true. No, the truth is that I love you, Eddie." Your eyes burned with tears as tiny droplets fell to the crumpled paper below and left behind damp, grey circles between the lines. "I always have. Ever since I moved into this little trailer park, ever since you came knocking on my front door asking if I wanted to come outside and play. I'm pretty sure that you're my soulmate. You'd probably laugh at me if you knew I believed in stupid shit like that, but it's true. I wish that I had the guts to tell you, but I can't. I'd never risk ruining this. So you'll continue believing that I'm in love with that asshole, Tyler Sneed, and I'll continue to pretend that I am so that you never find out that it's really you. But it is you, Eddie. It will always be you."

You sighed and breathed in deeply, the cold air clearing your sinuses as you reached up to wipe your cheek with the back of your hand. You folded the note back up and sat it at the base of his headstone, next to the rose.

"So now you know my big secret," you let out a breathy laugh and instinctively waited for a response. A frown spread across your lips, once more, when you didn't receive one. "I should have told you that night. You don't know how bad I wanted to. But, there is a small part of me that is glad I didn't. Because I can't help but think that if you felt the same, if we had been together, it would have made losing you that much worse."

As you sat there, you couldn't help but feel the creeping sensation that there was someone there with you; watching.

Behind you, a branch snapped and you whipped your head around as you inadvertently gasped. Your eyes darted from side to side, searching for the source of the sound; heart pounding at the thought that you were not alone. But it was just the wind; the tops of the autumn-colored trees swayed back and forth as if they were whispering to each other.

"I'm not coming back here anymore, Eddie. I can't." Just saying those words caused you pain. "It just hurts too much. I have to figure out some sort of way to start healing, even if it takes the rest of my life to do so. I know that you would want that for me, even though I also know that you're probably getting a kick out of watching me wallow in my misery from wherever you are. You were always kind of sadistic like that." You made yourself smile at that. "I miss you more than you could imagine and I love you."

You stood to your feet and dusted the dirt from your legs. Looking around, you took in your surroundings once more. You knew that this wouldn't be the last time you ever came to visit him, but that it would be the last time for a long time. As you made your way back through the wood, you could have sworn that you heard someone say, "I love you, too". Coming to a stop, you glanced over your shoulder, only to see dried leaves fluttering across the ground. Your lips turned up into a smile as you shook your head and continued back towards your car, and with your head held high and a weight lifted off of your chest, you left Forest Hills Trailer Park in your rearview mirror.

The radio was kept off on the ride home, not wanting to hear anything that was going to remind you of Eddie. You wouldn't be able to avoid it forever, but you were doing better than you thought you would be, and you wanted to keep up that facade for as long as you could. You didn't allow your eyes to linger on the arcade where you spent countless nights trying to beat each other's high scores or the tire shop he used to work at as you drove back through town; they were both shut down now, anyways, as was the pizza place you frequented after school on Fridays.

You'd always have your memories of this place, but it was time to leave Hawkins behind.

As you pulled into your driveway, however, you noticed a familiar figure sitting on your front porch. You bit down on your bottom lip and sighed as you opened your door and climbed out of the car. Just when you thought that you would be able to move on...

"Dustin?" You asked, not having seen him since you moved six months ago. "What are you doing here?"

The younger boy stood up and rung his hat in his hands. He looked anxious, and it worried you.

"Is everything- is everyone okay?"

"Y/N," He began. "There's something I have to tell you."

[teddypickerry]

( order for lunes! )

I SHIP YOU WITH ... jonathan byers

𓆩♡𓆪

A/N!

i saw your pfp & i knew i would

like you. you reminded me of

someone jonathan would like

(since i am a jonathan kinnie),

so i thought it could be a cool

ship! for @lunesispunk

HOW YOU MET!

you were at tina's halloween party for

no longer than ten minutes when you

wanted to leave. it's not that the party

wasn't cool, it was how your friends

were all off with random people —

coupling up and making out like

it was ninth grade.

you had on a simple star wars costume,

one that not a lot of effort was put into

considering this was a last minute thing.

not one person had commented on it

until jonathan did.

he made his way over towards you, he

matched your awkward & annoyed look

as you leaned against a wall. "cool costume"

he complimented with a small smile. you

could hardly hear his words, but you

heard them just enough to smile back.

that's when you both decided to go outside

for a breather — and break from the loud

noise of billy hargove doing god knows

what to a cheerleader. the night ended

in a midnight run to a fast food place after

hours of talking.

WHAT DO YOU GUYS DO!

you and jonathan became best friends

pretty quickly after that night. hawkins

all had their own assumptions about the

both of you but you didn't really care. the

two quiet, rock obsessed people found one

another. on your typical hangouts, you blast

a new record that you've both been dying

to hear. at least once a month you're at

a new concert either in indianapolis

or a small place just out of town.

WHAT KIND OF BF IS HE!

+ jon is a pretty quiet guy but he LOVES

listening. so talking to him for hours

while he takes in and admires every word

is typical.

+ SHARING BAND TEES! or simply

him buying them for you at his mom's

store. same music taste so why not?

+ you reading and he randomly snaps a

photo of you. saying it's a good one. he

is def your personal photographer.

+ watching star wars with him and his little

brother will, who idolizes you <3

+ also drawing with will and just hanging

out with will anytime jonathan can't since

joyce trusts you with him.

+ movie dates where you completely

forget about the movie and start talking

about random nothings

+ you're both sarcastic and get eachothers

jokes before anyone else can

+ you can also tell what eachothers thinking

without even saying anything

+ it drives steve crazy because he always

thinks you guys are bullying him

+ def little road trips together :)

+ for your birthday he gets you a photo

album of photos of you, concerts you've

been to together, etc. soooo sweet <3

<3

[ace-sailor-uranus]

i want a st fic where steve starts doing porn and then maybe eventually blue mags bc he's strapped for cash and, like, he knows he's hot, he's regularly told he's hot, he absolutely has that sweet-boy-next-door vibe and also hunky-jock can-pick-you-up-and-fuck-you-against-the-wall kinda thing. And, like, why not. He's good at it (he's regularly told that's all he's been good for) and it pays...well, decently enough, at least, even if it's not excellent. Quickly becomes fairly popular, because he's kind of just an every-man that every man wants to be, y'know?

Current mental debate is if I want this to be modern or time-accurate, bc both if them have their pros and cons. Modern!AU then we get this fancy thing called the internet where he could maybe start as an 'amature' solo channel, y'know? but also we could do time accurate and have it be where after vecna is destroyed eddie (and wayne) get whisked away by the government bc hawkins is still out for blood or whatever, and steve had to FIGHT to get him his phone number. anyway, steve and robin go to Indianapolis, so robin can go to school and steve finds a job at a (gay) bar that he doesn't realize at first is a gay bar, and one night he thinks he's getting hit on but actually he's getting a job offer (for porn)

actually i take my first sentence back, i want him to do blue mags first (it's an easier jump in. he's used to pictures, being still and looking pretty and empty-headed is one of the few things his mother ever praised him for) and at first he does, like, the 'normal' stuff but then he branches out into the easy kinkier stuff like lace and leather and collars and chains

his most famous photoshoot (the one that eddie finds, bc listen, he's still basically a teenager, and he knows what he likes, and he's talked to steve on the phone at least once a week for a year, traded shitty polaroids that traveled halfway across the country ((they got settled into Portland, OR maybe? idk yet) anyway most famous photo shirt is generally categorized as 'The Club' pics, and he's wearing smeared red lipstick and running mascara and glitter in the chest hair over his tits. Tight little red lace panty and bra set that match the color of his lipstick, and a cropped leather jacket. (eddie basically implodes, bc holy shit did janky polaroids not prepare him for THAT) the photos look almost like paparazzi shots, taken with a bright flash to highlight the glitter and the sweat. in one of them he's got his head thrown back, taking a shot (it's just apple juice. steve doesn't drink. hasn't done anything more intense than the occasional joint since the russians)

robin convinces him to move to san francisco after the kids graduate and scatter (she doesn't have to convince that hard, tbh) (besides, he hasn't seen the ocean since he was really little, and his grandparents were still alive) (this is where he starts doing porn?)

(eddie still hasn't told steve that he knows) ((it's not that steve's ashamed or anything, but, well, he knows the stereotypes and he knows exactly what kind of risque stuff he does))

idk how else it would go, other than eddie and steve get together and eddie...becomes an artist? i think that'd be fun. (don't get him wrong, music will always be his first true love, but once upon a time he played a one-man-band performance that kinda helped save the world, and he still gets shaky hands if he thinks about it) or maybe also steve's primary photographer?

anyway. steve does porn, there's feels about it.

[theold-ultraviolence]

Getting my request in at the last second for the Halloween prompts but could we get some Eddie going to a haunted house with the reader? I think that would be a fun date idea 🥺

Bestie! when you sent me that ask a few days ago about Eddie at a haunted maze, I was lowkey freaking out because it was exactly what I already had in mind for this prompt! I think this one is the most wholesome out of all the stories so far, so I hope it'll lift your spirits! (pun intented). Thank you for participating in the spooky fest!!

Spooky ficlet fest masterlist

Snapshots 🎃 Eddie Munson x gn!Reader

“So!" Eddie huffs out with the energy of a man that has just run a marathon, guiding you by the hand away from the haunted maze you’d just been through. "That was fun, wasn’t it?”

If his voice wobbles a little bit from the scare actors dressed up as evil clowns and grim reapers roaming around the fields in stilts, he masks it by puffing out his chest, shrugging, “not scary AT ALL, sweetheart!”  

You halt in your step and look him dead in the eye, “WHAT!? Babe!” laughing, you playfully shove an envelope right in his face, “I’ve got photographic proof that says otherwise!” 

“Fuck off, not true!” 

“Oh really!? see it for yourself!” You open the envelope to find the complimentary photo they were giving away to those that went into the maze.

About halfway through, a camera had flashed right during one of the jumpscares.

The stand with the pictures at the end of the maze was filled with rows and rows of snapshots of friends and families frozen in the funniest poses, with their faces caught between a mix of terror and fun. 

“Nope. That’s not me.” Eddie crosses his arms, walking away with a little sprint in his step because a masked guy with a chainsaw was looming close, before fiercely clutching your hand in his as the scare actor quickened his pace towards him. “Anyway, want to go get corndogs?” 

You couldn’t help but laugh, “Ohh, this is just gold! Deny it all you want, but I’m gonna get this framed and hung at home,” you taunt him spiritedly, snickering at the the picture of Eddie crouching behind you with his fists pulling at your hoodie, doe eyes bulging with fear and mouth wide agape, forever immortalizing his high screeching when the scare actor had jumped at you from an behind a curtain. 

While shaking your head, your mind’s gleefully replaying the events of the evening. 

Ever since getting to the Halloween Fair in Indianapolis, he’d been all talk about wanting to go through the lengthy haunted maze that was the main attraction.

Waiting in line, he’d been babbling on and on: “I’ll protect you, babe!”, “don’t worry, baby I won’t let any monsters get you!”, “Me? Scared? Nothing scares the dungeon master, baby!” – while enthusiastically bobbing his head from side to side to the rhythm of the scary music playing in the background. 

Since the line was so long, on the last stretch of the wait, when the creepy ambient music got louder, the night got darker and colder, and the fog machines started clouding your vision to the entrance of the maze, Eddie had gotten even more obnoxious. He’d do the – ch-ch-ch-ah-ah-ah – tune of Friday the 13th, whistle the notes of the Halloween theme, poke your lower back and moan like a ghost right in your ear. Waiting with him had been a whole thing in itself. 

Until entering the actual maze. 

All grandeur went out the door, and you became Eddie’s own human shield. 

If only you had a recording of all his yelps and litany of curse words screamed at the scare actors.

Your favorite moment had been when a Leatherface-looking guy targeted him specifically because he’d seen him hiding behind you, so he cut through the two of you to chase him, and Eddie yelled, “What the hell did I do to you, man!?” 

You’d have to check in the mirror for a six-pack, with how much your tummy had contracted all throughout from laughing so hard at Eddie. 

“You know what?” you keep teasing as you reach the corndog stand, “maybe I’ll check with Jonathan to see if he can get this re-sized to have it printed on a bigger scale and hang it on your living room.” 

“Well, you know what, sweetheart? People that live in glass houses shouldn’t be throwing rocks!” he says around a mouthful of corndog, purposely withholding your own - lifting it in his arm and out of reach to you.

“I have plenty of compromising polaroids of you that I’m sure Byers would looooove to look at. Now stop messing with me or I won’t give you your corn dog!” 

“Aww Eds, I’m just fucking with you, now give me my food!” you chase him with puckered lips, trying to reach for your snack as well as to smooch his face after all the teasing. You’re sprinting all over the fair, kissing and goofing off to lift up the creeps that Eddie finally admitted he got earlier. 

It was all fun and cheer in the end. 

Until the leatherface guy came hauling towards Eddie once more, making him drop his corndog to the ground and start running, while you took a snapshot of the moment with the disposable camera you’d brought to the fair. 

[backtorome]

Photo References

Andrews, Evan. Buildings Along a Cobblestone Road, Appian Way, Rome, Italy. 2021. Print. https://www.art.com/products/p56123964715-sa-i8474649/buildings-along-a-cobblestone-road-appian-way-rome-italy.htm. 

Jarvis, Dennis. The Peristil. 2013. Photograph. Wikipedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Diocletian%27s_Palace#/media/File:Croatia-01239_-_The_Peristil_(9551533404).jpg. 

Lauro, Giacomo. Thermae Aggripae. 1699. Copper engraving. Sanders of Oxford, https://www.sandersofoxford.com/shop/product/thermae-agrippae/. 

Lebrecht Music & Arts. The Roman Empire - Peasants Farming and Plowing the Fields. 2007. Print. Alamy Stock Photos, https://www.alamy.com/stock-photo-the-roman-empire-peasants-farming-and-plowing-the-fields-romans-farm-83349226.html?imageid=606B677D-7F29-4AE0-882C-84A560B8884E&p=54604&pn=1&searchId=3fdb93e13f75fd255466612fd5ee01f5&searchtype=0. 

Niermann, Till. Statue Augustus. 2007. Photograph. https://cdn.vox-cdn.com/thumbor/qqjbdExskA7xpX0k2LnCA4H3sJE=/0x0:1500x933/1400x1050/filters:focal(860x112:1100x352):no_upscale()/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_image/image/60113307/Augustus.0.png. 

Panini, Giovani. Roman Capriccio: The Pantheon and Other Monuments. 1735. Oil on canvas. Indianapolis Museum of Art, https://www.flickr.com/photos/sniegowski/48982350777. 

Robert, Hobart. Fire in Rome. 1785. Oil on canvas. Wikipedia, https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/3/3e/Robert%2C_Hubert_-_Incendie_%C3%A0_Rome_-.jpg/1200px-Robert%2C_Hubert_-_Incendie_%C3%A0_Rome_-.jpg 

Uriya. 6 Facts about the Circus Maximus. 2016. Photograph. Rolling Rome, https://rollingrome.com/6-facts-circus-maximus/. 

[melodieyvonne]

Rod Tuffcurls and The Bench Press Make Epic Return HiFi to Annex

[raincliffs]

Georgi- Midwest Gothic

[wintbuffalo]

Def leppard 80s

Rex, Mott the Hoople and almost Queen," Collen said. "I'd done this song 'Kick,' which really kind of sounded like something from the early '70s, like Bowie, T. Collen and Elliott worked on pieces from their homes. The writing occurred organically as the COVID-19 pandemic began rolling and was not immediately earmarked for Def Leppard, Collen said, but rather as a celebration of songwriting in general. More: Mötley Crüe, All IN fest and more: 10 big late-summer shows around Indianapolis It's the lifeblood, I think, and so we've done that."ĭef Leppard's latest album, "Diamond Star Halos," was inspired by the '70s glam rock that motivated Collen and vocalist Joe Elliott to get into music. They keep going, and they always put new music out. Unfortunately, they'll still have to sit through Poison to get to it."But we're not a nostalgia act, obviously," he continued. The band's recent collaborations with Tim McGraw and Taylor Swift are simply inexcusable.įortunately, set lists from recent shows have stuck mostly to the band's early catalog, which should come as welcome news for longtime Def Leppard fans. "Let's Get Rocked," the first single from the band's 1992 album Adrenalize, featured lyrics as trite as the worst Poison song and marked the beginning of Def Leppard's decline. Some fans were put off but the pop sheen of 1987's Hysteria, even as it went on to sell more than 20 million copies worldwide. That's not to say that Def Leppard haven't had their musical missteps. The combination of Def Leppard's songwriting chops and Lange's layered, meticulous production spawned such classic hard-rock staples as "Photograph," "Foolin'," and "Bringin' On The Heartbreak." Def Leppard's 1980 debut, On Through the Night, fit nicely into the NWOBHM mold, but it was a partnership with producer Robert John "Mutt" Lange that produced a pair of bona fide masterpieces in 1981's High 'n' Dry and 1983's Pyromania. It may come as a shock to some younger fans who associate the band with the strip club staple "Pour Some Sugar on Me," but Def Leppard was once at the forefront (along with Iron Maiden and Judas Priest) of the "new wave of British heavy metal" during the late '70s and early '80s. Instead, the band's primary focus, at least for the first decade or so of its career, was solely on its music. Aside from a penchant for sleeveless T-shirts and short shorts emblazoned with the Union Jack, Def Leppard never appeared to put much thought into their image. Songs like "Talk Dirty to Me," "Nothin' but a Good Time," and "Unskinny Bop" set the bar so low that a host of similarly hackneyed, second-generation hair-metal bands inevitably followed in Poison's footsteps.ĭef Leppard, on the other hand, were really never a hair-metal band at all. While the androgynous cover photos from Poison's debut album, Look What the Cat Dragged In, might have inadvertently caused countless adolescent boys to confront uncomfortable questions about their own sexuality, the band's music posed no such deep, philosophical quandaries. From the moment they broke onto the national scene in 1986, Poison was the embodiment of everything that was wrong with heavy metal in the 1980s: simplistic, derivative song structures, inane lyrics, lipstick, eyeliner, and, of course, ridiculous hair. The two most common terms for the style of the pop-inflected metal that proliferated in the '80s are "hair metal" and "glam metal." It's significant that those terms specifically refer to the genre's image, whereas labels for other genres described (go figure) the actual sound of the music - such as "thrash metal," "speed metal," and even "grunge." The average hair-metal band's popularity was frequently defined by how much Aqua Net, spandex, and mascara they employed, as opposed to the music they produced.įew bands epitomize hair metal's reliance on style over substance as thoroughly as Poison. But upon closer examination, Def Leppard and Poison represent nearly opposite ends of the '80s metal spectrum. After all, they're two of the most successful bands of the 1980s and, no doubt, they probably share a significant number of fans, which should bode well for this tour. At first glance, a bill featuring Def Leppard and Poison seems a natural fit.

[takenbycass]

I’m drowning at sea

And it’s people like you

Who make people like me

Drop to our knees 🦋 // Perceptions

12.09.18

[abztractphoto]

So last night I went and seen probably one of the best bands I have heard in awhile. I want to say thanks to @creative_guise_photo for inviting me out to Connors. I will add more photos after I stop again on the road. #nikon #nikonphotography #nikondf #photography #photo #photooftheday #photographer #connorspub #juicedad #music #fun #instagood #instadaily #instagram #colors #indy #indyphotographer #indiana #indianapolis (at Connor's Pub)

[tonyvasquez]

Mayday_Parade_April 25, 2017 by Tony Vasquez Via Flickr: April 25, 2017 Mayday Parade - A Lesson In Romantics 10th Anniversary Tour in the Egyptian Room at Old National Centre, Indianapolis, IN. : Tony Vasquez