#i bet you had a really cringe song

[morgan-blackwood]

I admitted I used MySpace ONCE just to see what all the fuss is about and suddenly I'm ""95""

- 😵‍💫

you would have had a myspace account while martin did. you might have seen his account. how do you feel about that.

[star-girl69]

In A Good Way

Clarisse La Rue x Fem!AphroditeCabin!Reader

—-

sypnosis: basically episode two but if clarisse had a gf (so what should have been canon pretty much)

a/n: sorry dior is so fine i had to get the thoughts out this is kinda shitty also but anyways i hope you all enjoy!!

In A Good Way - Faye Webster

warnings: some violence, swearing, soft and ooc clarisse but only bc i wholeheartedly believe she is soft only for her gf and i love soft clarisse, also protective!clarisse my weakness, i’m insane, cringe, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

You watch Clarisse bump into the poor boy.

You’re sitting with your siblings, Tyla and Jackie, but your eyes were drawn to her even across the courtyard. Your eyes are always drawn to her.

She shoulders him hard, then immediately turns around and pushes him straight to the ground. Tyla gasps next to you as he crashes sharply into the dirt.

“Your girlfriend is a literal menace, Y/N,” Jackie scoffs.

“How do you think I feel having to deal with her?”

You really do feel bad for the boy, Percy, you think. Regardless of whether or not he really killed the Minotaur (Clar spent the entire night talking your ear off about how it simply can’t be true) it’s his first day at camp. He’s helpless, to say the least.

Feeling less than your whole life and then finally coming to a place where everyone else is like you, finally getting answers- it’s a shock.

You always feel bad for every new camper. Especially the young and tiny ones like him. Besides, you like his cute blonde hair.

“Oh, haha,” Jackie rolls her eyes. “You love her.”

You start to get up, faking a dramatic sigh, “I do.”

Tyla giggles as you walk away and come into earshot.

“Hey. Knock it off, Clarisse. It’s like his first day, come on.” Luke seems as unimpressed as he always does, slightly apathetic, as another Hermes cabin member tugs Percy up.

“Wait, so, this is the kid who killed the Minotaur. Is that right?” she takes a step forward, a misleading smile on her face.

“Yeah,” Percy says, awkwardly looking around.

“I’ll bet,” she smiles, her eyes lighting up in prospect of someone new to torture. “Look, you want attention around here, dummy? You better be ready for it when it comes.”

Her eyes meet yours.

“Clarisse!” you say in a sing-song voice, walking up to her and placing your hand on her shoulder. “He’s, like, twelve.”

“Oh, but he’s strong enough to kill a Minotaur?”

Your eyes lock, her hand brushes your hip, and you get those same cliche butterflies in your stomach you always do when you look at her.

You smile.

You see her eyes soften.

She turns back to Percy after a moment, faking forward, and he flinches so hard he almost falls back.

Her and her Ares siblings laugh, you roll your eyes, and push her away. She walks away, her siblings in tow, and you turn back to Luke.

On Luke, Thalia, and Annabeth’s last stretch to camp, they came across you. Your satyr protector had been killed by a monster protecting you, and Luke had held your hand and promised that all of you were going to make it to camp.

You’ll always have that bond with Luke, even though Clar hates his guts and his best swordsman in camp title.

You place your arm on his shoulder, he slings a loose arm around your waist.

Luke is pretty much the only person who can get away with touching you like this, or else they’ll receive a nice message from Clarisse in the form of a dagger barely missing their face.

“Ares kids,” Luke explains to Percy. “They come by it honestly. You got lucky today. If Y/N hadn’t come around, you probably would have gotten knocked over again.”

“Hi,” you say, sticking out your hand. “I’m Y/N.” Percy shakes your hand, smiling awkwardly.

“She’s Clarisse’s girlfriend and the only thing that stands between the camp and total destruction.”

“Oh,” Percy says, not quite able to hide his surprise and slight disgust. “She seems… nice.”

“Well, if you look like me, she’ll love you. But… I don’t think that’ll happen.”

Percy chuckles a bit.

“Why don’t they bother you?” he asks Luke.

“Ah, they know better,” he says, squeezing you closer to him.

“Yeah, Luke’s the best swordsman in camp,” one of Luke’s siblings says. You can see something in Percy’s eyes, a light that reminds you a bit of Clar.

“So, they stay away from you because, glory? So, if I get glory, Clarisse wouldn’t mess with me either?”

“Exactly,” Luke affirms. You look at him out of the corner of your eye. What the Hades is he teaching him?

“And people think I’m a big deal?”

“Well, sorta-”

“And my dad’s got no choice but to claim me.”

Oh. Your heart squeezes for him.

“You… you can’t force the Gods to do anything,” Luke says, trying not to hurt Percy too much.

“Well, yeah, but… it would make it a lot harder for him to pretend I don’t exist, right?”

“Maybe,” Luke concedes.

“Great. Where do we start?”

You laugh. “Ooh, I like the way you think.” You slip away from Luke, smiling at Percy. “Come find me if you wanna try your hand at some Aphrodite skills.”

—-

You find Clarisse sitting outside her cabin at a picnic table, polishing her spear, her favorite activity.

You sit down next to her.

“Hey, baby,” she murmurs, a bit too entranced with the gift from her father.

“I only have a few minutes before I go to archery, but… I think you’ll enjoy this.” She looks over at you for a second, then right back to the spear. “Don’t make me charmspeak you, La Rue.”

“Okay. Okay, sorry, what?” she sets the spear down in her lap, staring up at you with a smile as if she hadn’t been ignoring you a second ago.

“Percy Jackson wants to find glory so you’ll stop bothering him,” she snorts, “and so his father will have to claim him.”

She hums.

“Well, I like him. I think he’s cute.”

She shoots you a bored look.

“Don’t say horrible things like that.”

You play with a curl hanging over her shoulder. “We both know I’ll say whatever I want.”

“Oh, I know.”

—-

“What happened to you?”

You turn to look at Clarisse’s smirking face.

“What?”

She rolls her eyes. “C’mere,”

You lean forward, across the space between the Aphrodite cabin and the Ares cabin tables. Clarisse puts her hand to your face, thumb tracing along your cheekbone. She pulls back, and you stare at her dirt covered thumb.

“You’re covered in dirt, gorgeous.”

You hurriedly raise your hand up to your face, groaning when your palm does in fact come away covered in dirt.

“Percy is definitely not a child of Apollo,” you mutter.

“What d’you mean?” Clarisse asks, handing you a few extra napkins as you begin to wipe off your face, a spot on your shirt you had noticed.

“Luke’s taking him around, trying to figure out what he’s got a talent for. It was funny, actually, he shot the arrow over all of us on the side and we all went crashing into the ground.”

She doesn’t seem to find it as funny as you do.

“It was an accident, Clar!” you say, all sing-song again.

“Oh, I’m sure it was. Exactly why I don’t believe he killed that Minotaur.”

“Adrenaline makes even mortals do crazy things.”

“You don’t kill a Minotaur with adrenaline,” she hisses.

—-

Capture the Flag is held the next day. Clarisse and two of her siblings have been particularly pissed off all morning, and no matter how much you bug her, she only says “you’ll see” in this horribly nerve-wracking tone.

You have the same job you do every game. Sit in front of the flag, and charmspeak anyone who tries to come near it.

You’re decent with a bow, okay with a sword, but this is one area where you really shine, where you can really help.

After the first game, the blue team has learned to wear ear plugs when they come near you. But you’re like a siren, you come around and take out their ear plugs anyways. They’re scared to touch you, because one of the Ares kids will run right off to Clarisse, and she tells you all the time that she’d rather lose dessert privileges for a month then see you with one scratch.

Chiron stands imposingly on the large rock at the start of the small river that divides the two halves of the woods.

“The first team to retrieve the opposing flag and return it across the river shall be the victor.”

You know these rules by heart.

Ever since your first Game, the day you met Clarisse, you’ve loved them. You’re not the most violent person, nothing near Clar and her insatiable thirst for competition, but there’s just something about the game.

She walks forward through the sea of red-marked armor, digging her spear into the ground and glaring at what you can only assume to be Percy Jackson.

“Any magical items you may possess are permitted as well. Every camper who is not injured has to play. Prisoners may be disarmed, but may not be bound or gagged.”

You suppress a laugh at that rule. That one was only implemented a few games ago, right after the one where you had been taken prisoner and tied with vines to a tree. When Clar had heard, she actually almost murdered a few kids and maimed some more.

Although it made keeping prisoners a little awkward, Chiron had proclaimed it was in everyone’s best interests.

“Let the games begin!” he shouts, the conch blows, and the entire team screams in a terrifying war cry.

The blue team bangs their shields and weapons together, and now you have 20 minutes before game on.

Clarisse is the captain of your team, of course. She marches around barking orders to everyone, as if their positions aren’t already drilled into their heads.

“Hey Clar,” you say. You’re surrounded by a few Ares kids, a few other good fighters, ready to protect the flag and by extension you- with their lives.

Capture the flag games are taken seriously.

She looks at the red flag in your hands, smiling in that smug way she always does. She doesn’t smile this way when it’s just you and her, but you can still see the softness in her eyes even now. With Clarisse, her emotions are all about the eyes.

“You all know what you’re doing?” she asks. All the kids behind you nod. “Good,” she smirks, starting to walk away.

“Are you hunting in your usual woods today?” you ask, heading in the same direction as her.

She smiles, a full toothy grin.

“Oh, baby, I have something even better planned.”

Clarisse is not one to change the strategy.

You can’t get it out of your head what she’s been saying about Percy.

“If you kill someone, I’m killing you.”

She just smiles.

—-

One of the kids holds the flag from up on a rock, acting like a lookout. You lean against that rock, your armor digging into your thighs at the awkward angle, waiting for someone to come. Everyone else surrounds you in the flag, in battle stances.

The conch blew about 20 minutes ago, and you should be seeing someone soon.

“I think Luke’s coming,” Corey, the Apollo kid lookout says.

“Of course he is,” you mutter. He’s always in charge of getting the flag, because he’s not afraid to touch you. Clarisse knows he’s just your friend, or else he probably would have been dead by now. They emerge from the woods, not bothering to try for stealth, all in defensive positions.

Everyone lets you take the lead. You understand why Clarisse loves power. It’s addicting, it’s like lightening in your veins.

“Hi, Luke,” you smile.

He can’t hear you, but he returns the smile.

“You’re all going to turn around and walk 300 feet in the other direction.”

Luke sighs as one of the kids actually turns and walks away, heeding your command. Everyone else has their earplugs in tight, but it always gets one or two of them.

You roll your eyes. “You always make this so difficult, Luke.”

You walk towards him, maybe you can surprise him and rip the ear plugs out of your ear, but he suddenly springs his leg out so you trip, slamming into the ground and getting a face full of dirt.

“Bitch,” you mumble, ready to get up. Suddenly, a Hermes girl throws herself on top of you, slapping a hand over your mouth.

As soon as you hit the ground, the fight erupts around you.

“You can’t do this, Luke, it’s against the rules!” you screech, but it’s muffled through the girls thick leather gloves.

Matty, one of Clar’s siblings sighs heavily. “Fuckin’ hate this dude,” he mumbles. “Marjorie, go get Clarisse.”

The girl runs off, and Matty adjusts his helmet.

“Don’t know why you do this to yourself, man.”

Luke kneels down in front of you while you scream obscenities next to his name. He makes a big show of taking out his earplugs before ruffling your hair.

“Thanks, Y/N.”

He whips around and his sword immediately clashes with Matty’s, and they’re locked in a flurry of metal clashing and glinting in the sunlight. Matty is really good, probably bested only by Clarisse, but Luke is still the best swordsman in camp.

He puts up a valiant fight, but Luke disarms him.

Your back is really, really starting to hurt like this.

It’s whirlwind, but there were more blue team then red team, and sometimes sheer number beats out even the best of the Ares cabin.

They grab the flag and run for the beach.

The girl waits for another moment until one of the Ares kids points his sword at her.

“You’re really gonna want to let her go,” Matty says. She stands up and books it, following her team.

“Eat dirt!” you scream as she runs away, but she still has her earplugs in.

Matty helps you up.

“Clarisse’s gonna kill us all.”

“I hate Luke Castellan. I hate him, I hate him, I wish him nothing but pain and suffering.”

Matty claps your shoulder.

“Hey, at least we all get to watch Clarisse beat up the Hermes cabin at sword practice tomorrow.”

And you do like seeing Clar fight, the way she’s so focused and truly in her element, sweat making her skin glisten in the sunlight…

“That will be fun,” you concede. Matty laughs, and you all make your way down to the beach.

—-

The scream scares you.

All the kids around you jump up with their swords, thinking a monster had somehow made its way near camp, but you recognize that voice.

“Clarisse,” you mumble, feeling frozen.

“What?” Matty asks, his eyes scanning the forest. “What’d you say?”

“Clarisse,” you repeat, breaking off into a run towards the sound of it, towards the beach.

“Clar- wait, Y/N!”

But you’re already long gone.

—-

You make it to the beach a minute after the conch sounded, the blue team having won, making it just in time to see the blue trident appear over Percy’s head. You can barely even register the fact that he’s a forbidden child, your eyes immediately finding Clar’s siblings, the ones she was supposed to be hunting with today.

“Hey, hey,” you breathe out, almost slamming into one of them. “W-where’s Clarisse? I heard her scream-”

You love her so much it’s like your heart will break if you even think about her being hurt. It always seems like Clar is the one who loves you more, only because of her proud and overprotective nature, but really you love her just as much.

You just never have the opportunity to threaten to kill someone like she does for you. She does that all on her own.

“Oh, uh, she went that way,” he points in the direction of a barely there path, heading into the woods and back to camp.

“Great, thanks!” you shout, already running after her.

You catch up with her after a minute, your gaze landing on her practically stomping through the woods. She’s angry. She’s angry, why?

“Clar!” you shout, and she whips around, standing still while you sprint over to her. “Clarisse, Clarisse, are you hurt? I-I heard you scream-”

You run your hands up and down her arms, and after a tense second of her staring at the ground, she puts her hands on your hips.

“I’m not hurt, I’m fine.”

She looks like she’s about to cry. But you know she won’t ever let herself cry, won’t ever let herself be perceived as weak.

You wrap your arms and let her put her face in your neck. She’s almost shaking with how angry she is, her fingers digging into your hips, and she stops herself and lets go before she can hurt you.

“Oh, baby,” you murmur. You’re not sure what happened. But she screamed like that, not like she was scared, but like she had just lost something. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” She says into your neck, simple, and you respect it.

“Okay, well, let’s go back to your cabin. You’re not gonna believe the day I had. Will it make you happy to know I give you permission to beat up Luke?”

She looks up at you with skeptical eyes. You both ignore the tears staining her cheeks. “Really?” she asks, slightly hopeful, even through all her anger and sadness.

“Come on,” you smile, letting go of her and sliding you hand into hers. She meets your pace and wraps her arm around your waist. She doesn’t tell you she loves you, but you know.

—-

You flop down onto Clar’s bed. As the head counselor, she gets the best bunk. On the second floor loft, where there’s only enough space for single beds, meaning she doesn’t have to deal with bunk beds, all the way in the corner for a little privacy.

She stands in front of you, slipping off her shoes, and your reach forward to work at the knots of her breastplate.

She stares at you until the armor is lose around her, and she lifts it up over her head and leaves it haphazardly on the ground.

You lay flat, stretching your aching back, and Clar leans over you to help you take off your armor. You probably don’t even need armor, but Clarisse is overprotective by nature, by blood. It makes her feel better, and it really doesn’t bother you much. She lifts it over your head, letting the metal crash into the floor before laying down next to you.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “I’m supposed to be here for you but I’m so tired, and my back hurts so bad…”

She laughs. You smile, and it falls into comfortable silence.

“Can I really beat up Luke?” she says after a second.

You open your eyes and she’s laying on her side, propped up her arm and staring at you.

“Oh, you can.”

“Why?” she asks, still not quite believing you.

“Okay, so, Luke comes over, right. And you know, I try to charmspeak them but only one of them goes. I walk over to Luke and he fucking trips me! It was so embarrassing, baby, I literally ate shit.”

She smiles and puts her arm around your waist, tugging you closer to her.

“Then, some girl tackles me before I can get up, and puts her hand over my mouth so I can’t do anything. Which first of all, is completely against the rules, and second of all, it really hurt my back! Then, then, Luke has the audacity to say ‘Oh, thanks Y/N!’ and ruffles my hair, like? I swear to Gods, I just want him to… well, I don’t know. Suffer.”

“Don’t worry, gorgeous,” she mutters into the top of your head. “I’ll make sure he’s unrecognizable.”

You smile. “I don’t know what I would do without you, Clarisse. Who would defend my honor and fight my battles?”

She seems sort of placid, tired, like she’s just a still lake reacting to your body wading in deeper. It’s almost like she’s gonna fall asleep, and she’s always tired after capture the flag, so it’s not unusual.

“I’d be there,” she mutters, her eyes closed.

You’re both silent for a few more minutes, just the two of you together, her strong arm around you, the way it’s always meant to be.

“He’s a son of Poseidon. Did you see?”

“Yes,” you whisper. “I saw.”

“It’s not fair,” she says, like the child she never got to be. “I spend so much time, so much time trying to make him proud- it took months for him to claim me and he gets claimed on, what, his third day?”

Her head lands on your chest, your hands smoothing down her hair.

She touches the necklace she gave you months ago, bringing it out from under your shirt, the simple chain with the pretty charm that looks like a spear. More so an arrow, but it’s supposed to be her spear.

“He broke it,” she whispers.

“Broke what?”

She sits up a little higher, her hands reaching behind you and undoing the clasp on your necklace. You haven’t even taken it off since she put it on you, so of course she would be the one to take it off.

“He broke my spear.”

“Oh, Clarisse…” she stares at the necklace before folding it up tightly in her palm. She breathes out as she lays back down on your chest, her legs entwining with yours, your hand back in her curls.

“The Hephaestus kids can fix it, but it won’t be electrical anymore.”

You don’t say anything. Most people would say “it’s better than nothing” but you’re demigods with absent divine parents.

Clarisse didn’t tell you it was better than nothing to at least be claimed by Aphrodite when one of your siblings got a magic item from her. She didn’t try and tell you “maybe someday” when you cried in her arms.

Because more often then not, you’ll die before your godly parent even claims you. More kids die on their way to Camp Half-Blood then Chiron would like to admit.

And what would the Gods do? Nothing. They would do nothing about it, because they don’t care.

Clarisse doesn’t cry, but you know she wants to, and you let her know that she can cry if she wants to. She can, if she has to. You’d never turn her away.

If she hasn’t realized already, you’re in this for the long run.

—-

Clarisse fell asleep in your arms, then pulled you back when you tried to go back to your own cabin, and you figured Chiron wouldn’t mind this once.

She finally let you go after you screamed that she couldn’t kiss you before you brushed your teeth, mumbling about how you’re depriving her.

When you meet up with her again, she has her sword in hand and her armor strapped tight to her body.

It was just a great big coincidence that the Hermes, Aphrodite, Ares and Demeter cabins all had sword practice at the same times. Clarisse looked all too happy at being able to get out some anger from yesterday, because sparring is the only way Clar has to work out the intense feelings she inherited from her father.

“So, who should I metaphorically kill?”

“Ooh, big word,” you tease. She grabs your chin, making you look at her, but she’s smiling too much for it to be a threat.

“C’mon, baby, who?”

“Luke. And…” you point, “That’s the girl who tackled me. Oh, and that’s the boy who fought Corey and got the flag. I don’t know his name.”

“‘Cause he’s irrelevant,” she says. You hum. “You just wait right here, gorgeous, enjoy the show.” She winks before sauntering off in the girls direction, smiling in that misleading way, asking her if she wants to spar.

You beckon Jackie and Tyla over to you, who both seem unimpressed.

“Please don’t tell me you put Clarisse up to attacking the Hermes cabin,” Tyla sighs.

“I didn’t put her up to anything. She did it all on her own.”

“Oh, sure she did,” Jackie rolls her eyes.

“Don’t act like you all aren’t gonna enjoy it.”

Tyla meets your eyes, then Jackie’s.

“Sorry, Jacks, it’s, like, really entertaining!”

You all laugh as Clar leads the girl into the circle, laughing even harder when she disarms her after a minute. The boy who took the flag barely lasts 45 seconds.

When Luke walks up to her, she throws her sword down and tackles him. You give her a minute before you pull her off.

—-

clarisse, about to beat up percy

y/n: oh no no no no you don’t

clarisse: ok i won’t kill him rn 😍😍😍😍

—-

y/n: yeah like idk what i would do without you who would protect me and fight my battles

clarisse “i would be there” la rue: bitch our love transcends the laws of physics I WOULD BE THERE

—-

y/n giggling and kicking her feet watching clarisse beat up luke

—-

[sashaforthewin]

[on Ao3] Rated M, sex mention, Steddie

ATM Boy

The song started as a joke. Eddie wrote it to see Steve's reaction. 

It had a catchy tune and the lyrics began as a love song of sorts. Steve sat on the couch in Gareth's garage tapping his foot along to the heavy beat and smiling at Eddie as he sang. Until he got to the chorus, of course. 

"He's my ATM boy, my ATM boooooooyyyyy"

Steve rolled his eyes, assuming this was some dumb jab at his being rich. He was upper middle class, at best.

"I can tell he loves me / I can tell he's true / cause when we're in bed there's a thing that he lets me doooOOO!"

Steve was already frowning as soon as Eddie mentioned them in bed but Eddie kept singing, holding eye contact the whole time.

"He let's me go ass to mouth, ass to-"

"EDDIE! EDWARD J MUNSON, ABSOLUTELY NOT!"

The song cut off as various members of the band, Eddie most of all, lost their collective shit at Steve's reaction, laughing at his outburst.

Steve strode over to where Eddie was cackling into the mic, hands on hips, and when Eddie didn't stop, Steve just smacked the mic to the floor.

"Hey, that's expensive!"

"Then you better make sure not to sing about our sex life with the rest of your band present after you buy a replacement, huh?"

Everyone except Eddie agreed that Eddie had sort of deserved it and should replace the mic. Steve forgave him fairly quickly, though, since it was just some harmless joking among friends that would laugh it off. 

That was, until the gig. 

Corroded Coffin got booked to open for the metal band Devastator that were out of Indy. They had three times the fan base of Corroded Coffin, so probably upwards of twenty people were at the show. Sure, those people were also local musicians that were friends of the main band, but a fan is a fan, shut up.

Since the gig was at a shitty dive bar in the city, the kids couldn't come; but Robin, Jonathan, and Argyle decided to come along, as well as Murray, for some reason. Nancy had flat out said she didn't want to have to ride all that way to stand in a smoky bar and hear music she hated, so nobody tried to talk her into it.

Steve was up front in one of Eddie's home-made Corroded Coffin tee shirts. He was still wearing his light wash jeans and a pair of bright orange earplugs, though, so he didn't entirely fit in, but he wasn't as out of place as he thought he would be. There was a guy in a yellow disco suit in the crowd, after all. 

The gang were having a great time. Murray along with yellow disco suit dude were both at the center of the moshpit, slamming and being slammed, Jonathan and Argyle stood around Steve, helping block the worst of the crowd while Steve's hearing was muffled and he wasn't paying attention to anything but his boyfriend, and Robin was alternating hanging with Steve and going to hang against the wall where it was safest. 

Eddie and the boys seemed so happy and were doing great, aside from a few minor difficulties. One of Eddie's strings broke during their second song, but the guitarist from Devastator was quick to loan Eddie his own guitar for the rest of the set. 

The  rest of the Corroded Coffin set was going smoothly after the guitar swap. The crowd was really into the music, and Eddie looked like a natural up there. He introduced the band members and thanked the audience and Devastator for having them, and then announced that this next song would be their last. 

As the opening notes rang out, Eddie risked a glance at Steve and cringed. He was furious and Eddie would definitely be sleeping on the couch tonight. 

But the thing was, the song ATM Boy really was very catchy. It was daring, it was sexual, it was devious and queer, but above all, it was a bit of an earworm. The audience went nuts for it, they were screaming when the chorus hit and by the final chorus, a bunch of people were singing along. It went over better than they ever even thought it would. 

Which made it all the worse that Steve continued to stare at Eddie as if he had been betrayed in the worst possible way. He just stood there. Eddie had to force himself to concentrate on the crowd, not on Steve. As soon as the set was done, Corroded Coffin grabbed their shit and made way for Devastator while the party surrounded Steve and tried to pretend they hadn't just heard a very intimate fact about their friend, discussing the crowd energy and how good the boys had done and literally anything that wasn't the elephant in the room. Steve did not participate in the conversation at all, he was quietly seething. 

He refused to talk to or be touched by Eddie the entire rest of the night, making sure to put his arm around Robin so that only their party would know he was the so-called ATM boy. The ride home was awkward and a bit tense, but the fight was saved until they were at home, alone in Steve's house. Steve pulled off his Corroded Coffin shirt and threw it at Eddie's face before storming off up the stairs. 

"Baby, I'm sorry! Baby, come on, it was funny!"

"You asshole, you just told all our friends and Murray that I let you… that I… it was a one time thing! Do not think I am ever letting you do that again after you did this!"

"Yeah, that's fair. But baby, it's just shock value! And it's a surprisingly catchy tune, I don't know why it came out that way but it did! I swear I wrote it to make you laugh, but the guys all wanted to play it at the show. I voted not to but was overruled! Come on, please forgive me. Baby? Please? Baby?"

"Ugh... Fine, okay, fine. I forgive you for humiliating me in front of our friends. At least the kids weren't there and only about thirty people heard it. I guess. And now it's over and I won't see most of those people ever again. So, I guess, yeah, it's kinda funny."

"You know I love you and I respect you so much. I'd let you go ATM on me as an apology."

Steve just huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes, but he allowed Eddie to kiss him and wrap him in a hug. He was just glad this was the end of it.

Months went by and Steve had nearly forgotten about the whole thing. 

Until Eddie and the Coffin boys recorded their first demo. It wasn't anything professional, it was recorded in a large truckstop bathroom with decent acoustics and it was recorded with a portable cassette recorder, but it was recorded nonetheless. 

They had made a bunch of copies, sent them off to a few radio stations, and sold a bunch to indie record stores, handed them out to friends and sold them at their weekly gig. In the second week, a few new people showed up specifically to buy their tape because they had heard their friend's copy.

Eddie was so excited for the growing buzz that he wasn't thinking when he popped the tape into Steve's stereo to celebrate. He had been very careful to only play Steve Side B, never Side A, up until now. 

As soon as ATM Boy came on, Steve slammed on the brakes so hard Eddie nearly broke his face on the dashboard. When he saw Steve's expression, Eddie thought maybe breaking his face would've been preferable. 

Eddie slept on the couch for a week after that, but Steve eventually forgave him. 

Steve had nearly gone back to a completely normal life free of mortifying embarrassment, having convinced himself only subculture dwelling weirdos had heard the song.

But then a local radio station played ATM Boy. Not just once, they put it into their evening rotation. And then another station farther away picked it up. And then another. And then things spiraled from there. 

The only saving grace was that the radio had censored it. The lyrics were now "he lets me go ah- - t'mouth" though Steve suspected people probably still got the gist of it from the rest of the song. 

Corroded Coffin got signed to a record label and they recorded their first album in an actual studio. On the studio release, it was decided for the lyrics to become "he lets me go A T M" even though "to mouth" did not strictly speaking need censoring, it flowed better. 

ATM Boy, meanwhile, was starting to spread. It reached the billboard Top 100 list and started climbing. The band started touring for real, not just road trips to Indy and Chicago. They started selling out mid-sized venues and meeting other bands and forming friendships with fellow creatives. 

Eddie was finally the rock star he had dreamed of. 

And Steve was struggling to be supportive while also wishing he was invisible and unknown to anyone. He was living in constant fear of being found out. Not just because he wasn’t publicly out, but because Steve did not want to be known as the ATM boy and he felt even being seen in Eddie’s presence would damn him. 

At first he refused to tour with Eddie and the band, but after not seeing his boyfriend for months, Steve was both lonely and worried Eddie would cheat or leave him for someone else. It took Eddie a while to notice how badly Steve was handling everything but once he did, he hired Steve as his hairdresser so that he would be able to drag Steve around and have an on-the-books excuse for his constant presence. He groveled and doted on Steve and tried everything in his power to atone for the embarrassment, paranoia, and distress he had caused the man he loved.

There were many rocky years but they managed to stay together through it all. Caring for Steve and focusing on him was actually what helped Eddie avoid the pitfalls of fame that so many bands fell victim to. Who has time to do drugs when they have so many beautiful moles to kiss and a gorgeous toned back to massage?

And on a talk show, nearly forty years after the song ATM Boy was written, Eddie Munson told the audience about his wonderful husband and about the real ATM boy.

“It wasn't my husband, just some other guy I slept with.” 

Unfortunately, two minutes later in the interview he off-handedly mentioned Steve is the only guy he's ever slept with or dated.

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

Hii I was wondering if maybe you could write a Aemond Targaryen fic? Where Aemond is like Gomez Addams and he says, "Look at her --I would die for her. I would kill for her. Either way --what bliss." With maybe even a taylor swift song? Thanks :))

EITHER WAY WHAT BLISS ( House of the Dragon x Reader )

AUTHOR NOTE! It makes me so happy to know that you requested my writing! I love this idea! He does ( lowkey ) give off this vibe <3

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Fem! Tully! Reader 

prompt: Aemond is willing to die for the Reader if it means he'll get an ounce of her love.. ( The inspo was 'Gorgeous' by Taylor Swift. )

key: h/c = hair color, Dahlia = random servant girl, Evan Tully

word count: 2,000+ words

Brushing away a strand of white hair from their face, Y/n scans the rows of men, her eyes lingering on her brother Brynden. Her name day was supposed to be a small affair between her family and her bethorthal’s. But, the King was stubborn and insisted on having a Tourney at the very least. So, she’d be sitting through at least an hour of jousting, games of archery, and grueling duels. Not exactly what she wanted to do on her name day. But, what can she do? 

Picking at her bottom lip, Brynden gives her a weak smile as he adjusts his armor, her heart clenched tightly. He could barely hold a sword, and of course, he had to enter a bloody swordsman match. Feeling Dahlia nudge her side hard, she snaps out of her daze, her cheeks flushing red from embarrassment. Shit. Turning to look at Dahlia, she tries to smile as the black haired girl continues to ramble away about something about men and their ‘walks’. 

“I bet you my finest necklace, that knight. The one in black armor is really fine under that helmet.” Dahlia giggles, twirling a strand of her hair. 

“Oh? How do you know that? For all you know he’s got the face of a donkey. How good he looks in armor, doesn’t mean that he’s that good in regular clothes.” Y/n scoffs, following Dahlia’s eyes. 

“It’s the walk. Look at how he holds himself. A fine looking man walks with a little extra pep in his step. Like he knows that the moment he removes that helmet, girls are going to swoon over him.” Dahlia smirks, “Just like your little Prince.” 

“Just because you want to fuck my betrothed does not mean that I wish to hear about it, Dahlia.  Keep that talk for the other maids.” Y/n scoffs, rolling her eyes. 

“I am envious that you, little Y/n Tully, are going to call that man her husband. The ungodly things I would do make him look at me the way he does to you. He looks at you like you crafted the moon and stars.” Dahlia rambles, a dreamy look on her face. 

Scoffing at Dahlia’s teasing, she narrows her eyes at the knight, inspecting the black armor he adorned. His face was hidden under his helmet. Looking for some kind of hint of which house he was from, the only thing that was kind of a hint was the sapphire blue cape he was wearing. But, even then it could mean nothing. Tilting her head to the side, she didn’t like that the man was a mystery, why was he hiding? What was he hiding? Watching as he strolls over to Brynden, she stands up a little straighter in her seat, her jaw clenching. If he so much as touched a hair on her baby brother’s head, she’d make Maegor the Cruel seem like a baby compared to her. 

“Brynden will be fine, Y/n.” Dahlia reasons, but her voice is weak. 

“Brynden cannot even hold a sword upright.” Y/n argues, “Not to mention he’s got two left feet!” 

“Well you’ve always looked rather pretty in black?” Dahlia weakly smiles. 

“Dahlia!” Y/n scolds, shooting her friend a look. 

“I know! But, at least he’ll look good dying?” Dahlia cringes at her own words, “I don’t know! I don't really know what to say..”

Slapping Dahlia’s shoulder, the pit in her stomach only worsens, her face curling up in anger and uneasiness. She did not have any other siblings but Brynden. He was her whole world. Her baby brother. She had practically raised him! She was the one to teach him how to say his first words. She was the one who taught him how to walk. She was there to teach him how to handle a horse. How to be a just and kind Lord. How to be the perfect husband. She did everything that a parent would do. Except how to hold a sword. 

Picking at her bottom lip with her teeth, she slowly rises from  her seat, pacing back and forth in place. She wouldn’t be able to stomach her baby brother getting hurt. It’d kill her, surely! Feeling Dahlia grab her arm, she’s pulled from her darkening thoughts. The taste of blood floods her mouth. Shit. Wiping her bottom lip clean of blood, she’s aware of the eyes that now shifted onto her. The maiden of the day.  Aemond Targaryen’s betrothed. The sweet little Tully girl born with white curls. The Enchantress of the Realm. 

"Ocean blue eyes looking in mine I feel like..I might sink and drown and die.."

“If that was your attempt to make me feel better, it failed..” Y/n breaths out, “Perhaps, I should just talk to him about pulling out. It’s not too late..” 

“My Lady…” Dahlia tries, but Y/n doesn’t hear her. 

“Do not try to talk me out of this, Dahlia. I will not allow my brother to make a fool of himself, or worse kill himself.” Y/n shakes her head, “I have made my mind! Come let us⎯”

“It’s your future husband..” Dahlia speaks through her teeth.

“You're so gorgeous, I can't say anything to your face..'Cause look at your face..gorgeous...” 

Furrowing her brows at Dahlia’s odd words, the black haired girl turns her around, forcing her to look down. Shit.  She finds herself staring down at Aemond, the mysterious knight in black armor. Her face flushes a bright red from embarrassment. The knight they had⎯Well the knight Dahlia was gawking at was Aemond. Staring at him with wide eyes, Dahlia nudges her side, trying to snap her out of her little daze. But, it feels like her tongue is made of lead. Looking him up and down, his long white locs are braided back from his face, but a few stray strands frame his face. There’s a small smirk on his face, as he adjusts his armor. Gods almighty, he looked gorgeous in armor. 

“And I'm so furious..At you for making me feel this way..But what can I say? You're gorgeous..”

“Aemond..” Y/n breathes out, “You're the blue knight..I..I thought you didn’t give a shit about Tourneys?” 

“I don’t. But, it would be a shame if I did not participate in my future-brides Name Day Tourney.” He smirks, licking his bottom lip. 

“I..Aemond, could you..?” She chews on her bottom lip, “Could you possibly? Please watch out for my brother?” 

“I will.” He nods, making her smile gratefully. 

“Thank you.” 

He kept his word, or at least that was what Dahlia was telling her. She hadn’t dared to open her eyes just yet. She didn’t not care if that made her a coward. She just couldn’t stand to watch the fights and not think about her brother while men pummeled each other with swords. Squeezing Dahlia’s hand tightly, she tenses at the call of her brother’s name and Aemond’s. Her eyes shoot open, her jaw dropping slightly. No. No. No. No. That couldn't be right! She must have misheard! Sharply turning her head to the fighting circle, she bolts from her seat, leaning against the railing. Her nails dig into the wood like a cat’s would. Her eyes are flickering between the two of them. 

One of them would get hurt, she was sure of it, whether it be intentional or not. Her breathing grows ragged, her heart pounding against her ribcage. She was afraid that it would jump out of her chest. Watching as they  raise their swords, she stuck in a trance as they slowly circled each other. Their swords collide, her eyes shutting tightly at the horrid sound of metal against metal. Biting her lip, she doesn’t know why her eyes peel open, but her heart stops in her chest as  she catches the sight of Aemond falling to the ground. His sapphire blue cape slowly turned red. She nearly faints at the sight of red, he’s bleeding. Oh gods..He was bleeding. 

“You make me so happy, it turns back to sad, yeah..”

“AEMOND!” She shouts, the words escaping her lips before she can stop it.

“My Prince!” Someone shouts, their voice a blur in her mind. 

No. No. No. No. Watching with blurry eyes as Maesters rush to him, she wants to bolt to him, but her legs are frozen in place. Brynden drops his sword, the realization creeping on his face. Feeling Dahlia’s arms wrap around her, it seems like the Arena explodes with chaos in an instant. Everyone is shouting loudly. Guards are rushing around in every direction. But, throughout the chaos her eyes are on him. Her Aemond. 

“He’ll be okay…” Dahlia reassures, “Maesters are tending to him..” 

“Take me to him.” Y/n breaths out, tears flooding her eyes. 

“Y/n..” Dahlia nervously warns, “I..I don’t think we should. Not right now at least.” 

“Take me to him.” Y/n repeats, her voice more firm than before.

Shooting Dahlia an icy glare, Dahlia chews on her lip before nodding her head at the request, a nervous look on her face. What if it was bad? What if he died? Would Brynden be punished? Gods, how in the Seven bloody hells did this happen? Following Dahlia, she picks up her skirt, her eyes searching for the white haired man that was to be her husband. Pushing past frantic Lords and Guards,  it felt like an invisible force had her by the throat,  squeezing her lungs and throat with each step she took closer to a bleeding out Aemond.  

Seeing him laying on the ground, his chest piece was removed, his white tunic cut open to reveal the rather gnarly gash on his stomach.  Tears flood her eyes at the sight before her.  Covering her mouth with her hand, she rushes to his side,  her eyes scanning every little detail that she can. His chest was moving up and down, he was drenched in sweat and dirt. That was a good thing. Looking at his face, his eye patch was removed, his hair completely unbraided and spread around him like a halo. 

“Oh..Aemond..” She whispers, petting his sweat soaked hair. 

“My Lady, you should not be here.” 

“He is my husband to be, I will not be leaving.” She argues, turning back to Aemond. “Aemond, are you okay, love?”

“I am fine. Do not worry.” He grunts, clenching his jaw.

Staring into his eyes, she tenses up at the sight of his missing eye-patch. Fuck, he looked gorgeous with that scar. Looking up at her, he notices her attention on his face. Lifting a hand to touch his face, his face drains of color when he doesn’t feel the leather of his eye-patch. He had been purposeful in hiding his scar from the world. He didn’t want to be viewed as a monster. But, she looked at him with such softness in her eyes. Hunching over him, she casually places her hand over his eye, hiding his eye from everyone. Giving him a small nod, his breathing grows shaky. 

“You dodged his attack. But, not like someone as experienced with a sword as you are, would. Why?” Dahlia asks, narrowing her eyes at Aemond.  

“Look at her, I would die for her. I would kill for her. Either way⎯what bliss.” He whispers, High Valyrian flowing off his tongue. 

“You are a lovestruck fool, Aemond Targaryen.” Dahlia scoffs, “I hope this is the bloodloss talking.”

“What did you say?” Y/n furrows her brows, “Dahlia..?”

“He didn’t want to risk hurting your brother. That he rather he be the one hurt and not your brother. Come, let us reassure your little brother that he hasn’t killed your beloved.” Dahlia lies smoothly, nodding her head at Aemond.

Y/n looks between Dahlia and Aemond unsure, chewing on her bottom lip. She didn’t know enough High Valyrian to understand what the two of them were discussing. But, she trusted Dahlia enough to take her word for it. Opening her mouth to speak, Aemond grabs onto her hand, stopping her. Looking down at Aemond, her cheeks flushing involuntarily, her heart was pounding frantically in her chest. She wanted him to keep on looking at her like that. 

“Go..” He nods, "I will be fine."

[rinhaler]

MY BOYFRIEND'S BACK, AND HE'S COOLER THAN EVER!

CHAPTER SUMMARY : Bags are packed, parents are disappointed, and Chigiri has arrived to ride up to the Itoshi family cabin together !

ex-fiancé!rin x f!reader

WARNINGS : 18+, alcohol mention.

WORDS : 4k

notes : me vs wanting to fuck almost everyone in the cabin 😩

LAST CHAPTER ┊ MASTERLIST ┊ NEXT CHAPTER

“Ready to go?” Chigiri asks, coming inside to assess the situation. He looks at your enormous suitcase and several travel bags before looking back at you with a quirked brow. You look away from him quickly, pretending something on your phone has caught your attention. “You know we’re only going for a week, right?”

“I want to be prepared!”

“It’s crazy,” he laughs, “because I know that somehow you’re gonna come home with more things than you left with.”

“Not true! Your birthday presents are in here!” you smile, shaking the large gift bag in your hand. He tries to take it from you to peak at what’s inside, but you move it out of his reach.

He pouts.

You pout harder.

“Fine, I’ll carry the heavy suitcase. Even though it’s my birthday week.”

“Thank you Chigs~!”

“Don’t call me that~!” he repeats in your sing-song voice.

You laugh, picking up another bag and carrying it to the car. You load them into the back before rushing into your house again and getting the last few bags. He takes them for you, allowing you to lock the door. If you’d had more warning, you definitely would have gotten a house sitter. But you’re trying not to worry about that, you just want to get on the road and leave all of your worries behind.

Worries, including your family. The family who are less than impressed that you’re abandoning them to spend a boozy week with friends instead of them. You don’t care, though. You delivered their gifts and wished them well.

It’s stupid, really, that they’re so frustrated that you won’t be spending time with them. You can’t stomach spending time with your dad and his new girlfriend. He knows you can’t control your face and you say the first thing that comes to your mind.

You inherited that from him.

Your mother however, was devastated when you told her. You figured she’d be okay since she has a larger family to spend the holidays with. But you’re her only child, you suppose you are being a little selfish.

It’s something you have to do though, you feel. You’re not over Rin and you don’t want to spend Christmas with family grieving what should have been you and him spending the day together. This way, you get to actually have fun. It’s not forced or superficial to keep up appearances for your relatives.

No one is going to expect anything of you at the cabin.

“I’m proud of you,” Chigiri smiles, looking at you briefly before focusing back on the road. You scoff, turning the radio up in the car, Mariah Carey blasting through the speakers. You both groan before he hands you the aux cord. “Not in a cringe way. I just mean, I know you’re a people pleaser. So I’m impressed that you put yourself over your parents.”

“Ugh, they were both so disappointed in me. I spent thousands on presents for them both. I even got some toys for my stepdad’s ratty step-kids. What more can I do?”

“God they are ratty.”

“They’re giving Damien from The Omen.” you tell him, both of you laughing loudly as one of your playlists plays softly through the speaker. You turn it up a little, both of you whooping as you hear Boss Bitch by Doja Cat play. “I know I was shitting myself when Sae texted, but I’m so glad we’re doing this.”

“Me too, I was dreading spending my birthday with your miserable ass.” he chuckles and you slap his arm lightly. “Wait! I know you’re still down about Rin, so, this will be a fun distraction. Plus I bet you end up hooking up with one of Sae’s friends, you haven’t had your rebound yet.”

“I am not doing another footballer, I can’t.” you shake your head.

You both laugh lightly and carry on chatting about the events to come. It’s like a weeklong party, essentially. And ever since you’ve known Chigiri, you’ve both loved a party. But it’s never actually the party itself.

The days before a party are always the best. Whether you’re hosting or attending, it’s always exciting. A theme is always ideal but not essential. Either way, you’ll spend weeks talking about it. Who’s going? What will you wear? What are you gonna drink?

You go on numerous shopping trips and buy endless amounts of clothes until you find the perfect outfit. Only to wear it that night and never again. But it’s worth it, every time. Hearing people compliment how gorgeous you look never gets old.

No one’s words meant more to you than Rin’s, though. The way he’d rest his hand in the small of your back while showing you off made you feel like a princess. He’d whisper sweet nothings about how you’re the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen and the things he wanted to do to you when you got home. It made your legs weak and your face flush with heat. And yet, he was always so calm. So cool. He liked to rile you up and pay you no mind as you look up at him expectantly. Acting as if he hadn’t said something so salacious and lewd while chatting with guests.

It drove you wild.

But, truthfully, where your best friend is concerned, your favourite part of a party is the morning after. If he spent the night at your place, especially. You’d wait for him to message you to let you know he’s awake and leave Rin’s side while he was snoring softly. Hyoma can’t handle his drink, and you’re no better. You’d crawl into bed with him and burrow under the duvet after handing him some water and painkillers.

Hungover or not, though, you loved gossiping with him. You’d trade stories about what happened throughout the night and things you heard. It made your day; it made the hangover worth it.

And now, you’re driving towards a week’s worth of that.

You groan as the song changes from Doja Cat to Lust for Life by Lana Del Rey.

“Nope!” he objects, “What kind of psychopath has Doja and Lana on the same playlist?” Chigiri asks, skipping the song. You throw your head back against the headrest, sighing as you think about Rin, again.

The album featuring the eponymous song is one of the first gifts Rin gave you. In vinyl form, of course, along with a pink record player. You had a record player already, but you told him a few times that you’d always wanted a pink one. It was a birthday gift, you remember crying so much as you unwrapped it.

“And I thought we could listen to this together.” you reminisce on him telling you as he handed the album to you. You told him you’d never listened to it before when you were going through her discography. It was a throwaway comment you didn’t think he’d even remember.

You cried listening to the self-titled song, wrapped up in his arms as he held you close. Truthfully, you’ve never felt so loved. And unfortunately, you don’t think you will again. You told him, repeatedly, how in love with him you were.

He couldn’t keep his hands off you after that.

“I need to make a new playlist.” you sigh, Chigiri nods, agreeing. “You’re right, Doja and Lana on the same playlist is psycho behaviour.”

“And you’re only just realising this?” he laughs again.

“I bet he’s got a new girlfriend now. Girls always threw themselves at him, even when we were together.” you tell him. “Oh my God, I miss him. I miss him so much I feel sick. I can’t do this.”

“Shut up.” he tells you, sternly, “I haven’t seen anything on his socials about a girlfriend, but that’s none of your business anymore anyway.”

“You’re still on his socials?”

“… anyway…”

“You know how private he is, Hyoma. If he’s seeing someone he wouldn’t post about her.”

“He posted you.” he reminds you, and you shrug defeatedly. “Besides, you broke up with him. You ended things and you’re still heartbroken. Imagine how depressed he probably is. He’s a workaholic, too. He’s probably distracting himself with work, not girls.”

Hyoma always knows what to say. Deep down, you knew that. But you never would have thought about it until he said. It was a miracle that he even asked you out, after all. His friends never failed to tell you how surprised they were. He’s too focused on football to bother with girls.

But you… you were different.

“You’re self-sabotaging, idiot.” Chigiri tells you. “We’ll get there, we’ll have fun, and you won’t think about Rin at all. I’m banning Rin talk for the rest of the week.”

“Fine fine fine.” you relent, shaking your body in an attempt to dispel any further thoughts of your ex. Though, to be honest, Sae might make it hard to not think about or discuss him. He’s his brother, after all. You can’t expect him to not talk about his little brother. And you certainly can’t ask him not to. “You’re gonna love the cabin. It’s huge. And there’s a lake we can ice skate on.”

“Perfect, can’t wait.”

There are several cars parked outside as you pull up. Chigiri parks, but is frozen in place as he looks at the cabin. It’s clear that the place is not what he expected. You end up leaving him alone to process his thoughts as he drinks it in. It’s the closest he’ll get to feeling like a celebrity, he suspects.

He follows you out, rushing to help you lift your suitcase as you struggle under the weight of it. You smile, gratefully, as he drags it towards the cabin. You decide to pick up his much smaller suitcase as well as all of your other bags. It isn’t hard to keep up with him as he struggles to pull your luggage through the snow.

“This isn’t a cabin. I was expecting a log shack with a few amenities. This is a mansion.” Chigiri tells you as you walk by his side. You giggle, agreeing, you felt exactly the same way the first time you came here with Rin.

You walk up the stairs ahead of him and knock on the door, starting to shiver as the biting winter air begins to attack you.

Chigiri manages to get your suitcase to the top of the stairs before anyone even knows you’ve knocked. He’s cold, tired, and impatient, and decides to ring the doorbell. You can both hear music playing inside.

It gets louder once the door swings open, and you see a familiar face.

“Oh hey, are you the little sister?” Oliver asks, forgetting that you’ve met before. You assume that’s how Sae has been referring to you as when talking to his friends, so, you nod. He smiles at Chigiri and takes your heavy suitcase from him, lifting it with ease as he welcomes you in. “They’re all in the lounge, grab yourselves a drink from the kitchen.” he tells you, winking as he sets down your case with all of the others at the bottom of the stairs.

There’s a lot of luggage, though the amount seems to double when you and Chigiri put the rest of yours down. You aren’t sure how many people must be here, but the nerves are setting in.

“She’s cute!” you hear Oliver tell the group as he goes into the lounge, it’s quiet, but you hear it clearly.

“You’ve met her before, idiot.” you hear Sae tell him, his voice getting closer to you as he comes to greet you. “Hey you.” he smiles, hugging you and placing a soft kiss on your cheek. You hug him back, feeling surprisingly calmer as you allow yourself to melt into his embrace.

You aren’t sure why, but you were worried he’d be weird with you when he saw you in person. This is only the second time you’ve seen him since you and Rin split, after all. The first was a coffee date to explain your side of things face to face. You’re happy you decided to keep in contact with Sae, he’s been so sweet and supportive through it all.

So, really, you aren’t sure why you expected him to be off with you.

Especially since he invited you here.

“Nice to meet you, man.” Sae smiles at Chigiri, holding his hand out to shake, which he does. “Your birthday is on the 23rd, yeah? We’ll plan something fun.”

“Being here is fun enough, don’t worry.” Hyoma responds, looking around. “This isn’t a cabin, by the way.” he laughs.

Sae laughs too, walking back towards the lounge. “Come meet everyone.” he insists. You and Chigiri look at each other, but follow.

You’re the only girl here, by the looks of things. You aren’t sure if that’ll change or not though. Maybe they all have partners who are arriving together later. You’re a little surprised by the headcount, you were expecting more. Including Sae, there’s only four of them sitting around the fire, drinking together.

“Apparently we’ve met before?” Oliver’s brows knot in contemplation, and you nod. “Sorry, sweetheart. Normally I don’t forget a pretty face.”

“Yeah ya do, bullshitter.” Tabito snickers, looking up at you from his seat on the floor. You’ve never met Karasu, but you’ve heard a lot about him. Mostly from Rin about when they used to play together. And you may or may not have stalked his socials before, so you’re familiar with his face. “Nice to meet’cha, heard a lot about you.”

“Likewise.” you smile.

“Do you smoke?” you hear another voice speak as you get further into the room. Your eyes lie on Eita Otoya as he pulls a blunt from behind his ear, and you shake your head. You’re surprised to see them letting loose like this, though you suppose they mustn’t get the chance to often.

Rin found it hard to relax and unwind. He’s always been so career focused, never wanting to do anything to harm his reputation. And you understand that, you do. You’re the same, really. You have an image to maintain, people seem to think being a model is just turning up and looking pretty. But you take it seriously, like Rin.

Though he doesn’t seem to know how to turn it off.

“No Ryusei?” you ask, a little surprised he couldn’t make it.

“Not yet, he should be here soon.” Sae assures you. You laugh, knowing you’re in for a really fun week once Shidou gets here. Sae turns back to look at you, taking you back to the entrance. “I’ll show you to your rooms. Did you want to share? There’s enough for everyone to have their own.”

“She snores, I’ll take my own.” Hyoma tells Sae, earning a smirk from him. You try to argue, but your best friend seems to be too convincing. The rest of the guys join you, offering to help with your bags and carry them up to your room.

And, really, who are you to say no?

Chigiri rolls his eyes, carrying his own case and entering the room Sae had planned for him. You realise Sae is sleeping in the master bedroom downstairs when you see all of the other rooms have been claimed by sneakers and jackets from the other guests, all of them are just too lazy to bring their luggage up.

Though none of them had a problem helping with yours.

Your heart sinks when you realise Sae saved your usual room for you to take. The room you always shared with your ex whenever he brought you here. The guys don’t give you much time to feel sorrowful, though. Not when they’re laughing and joking beside you. Sae notices your forlorn expression, pulling you aside slightly.

“I thought you’d feel comfortable in here, but we can switch if you want.” he tells you, but you shake your head. “Ryusei will be in the opposite room so I’m sure you won’t be thinking about anything other than how annoying he is.” he smiles.

“Thank you, Sae.” you smile, albeit a little weakly. It’s bittersweet, that’s all. “At least I have the best view.” you tell him, opening the doors to the large balcony that looks over the lake. You think about how the nearby town’s lights twinkle at night.

“Right.” he puts a sympathetic hand on your shoulder. “Everyone out, let’s leave her to unpack.” Sae announces, ushering the other three men out of the room.

You smile, waving at them all as they leave. Once they’re out, Sae closes the door behind himself and leaves you alone with your thoughts. As much as you want to sit and dwell on things, you decide to occupy your mind and unpack instead.

You’re startled, a little, when Chigiri comes in to see you. Though you’re relieved when he starts to help.

“You did not need to bring all of this.” he grabs a gold glittery mini stress and holds it up. “I— I’ve never seen this in my life. Oh my God, did you buy new clothes for this? You are trying to get a rebound.”

“No I’m—”

“Yeah, you are.” he stops you immediately. “I’ve been stalking all of their socials in my room, they’re all single. And they all had their tongues hanging out for you when you came in.”

“You work too fast.” you laugh. He shrugs, grabbing a few items of clothing and hanging them up in the wardrobe for you.

You’re thankful for his help, it goes a lot quicker than it would have otherwise. Plus you get to gossip about the week ahead. You try and dodge his questions, but your facial expressions always give you away. You have quite a good poker face, but it doesn’t matter when it comes to Chigiri. He has a way of making you shy and giggly when you’re trying to keep a secret.

“Which one?” he asks, and you tut. “I feel like they’re all your type.” he tells you, handing you your toothbrush to take to the ensuite.

“They are.” you laugh from the other room. You return, zipping up your case and pushing it away. “I’ve always had the hots for Ryusei low key though, but I think Rin would be livid.”

“Rin isn’t here and he’s not our problem.” Chigiri smiles. You both sit on top of your bed and flop backwards with a sigh. He turns his head to the side to look at you while you’re too busy disassociating, staring at the ceiling. “Don’t just do it because you feel like you have to, by the way.”

“What do you mean?” you ask. “Oh, rebound.”

He nods, “We’re here to have fun. So, if you’re going to fuck one of them, do it because it’s fun.”

“I won’t.” you agree. “I’m worried about feeling guilty too… they’re Rin’s friends, after all. I don’t want to upset him.”

As Chigiri is about to respond, he’s stopped by the sound of the doorbell ringing. You smile, widely, when you realise Ryusei is here. Hyoma knows all about Ryusei. His feral replacement whenever Rin used to take you around the world for his away games.

Hyoma isn’t jealous, of course. Especially when he knew you had a little crush on Ryusei. You and Hyoma have only ever been friends, and you’ll never be closer to anyone than you are with each other.

“Should we wait a few minutes so I don’t look desperate?” you ask, sitting upright and resting your bodyweight on one hand as you look down at him.

“Yeah.” he nods.

You nod too. You start lying back down, slowly, looking around at the room as you do. “I can’t.” you tell him, jumping off the bed and heading towards the door. He sighs, but hurries after you.

All of the guests are gathered in the entryway as they greet Ryusei. They exchange hugs and handshakes as they all chat and catch up. You descend the stairs slowly, but not fully, standing at the halfway point with Chigiri as you watch the scene unfold.

His bright smile turns to a look of wonder when he notices you. Eyes softening as he realises you’re here, you’re really here.

“No way…” he smirks, “Hey, kid, how are ya?”

“I’m good,” you nod, an embarrassingly wide smile on your face. “And you? How are you, Ryu?”

“Better for seeing you,” he laughs. “Didn’t know you were comin’.”

“Shut the door, man, it’s freezing.” Sae tells him, approaching to do it for him. But Ryusei stops him, keeping him at arm’s length so he can’t.

“I actually picked someone up on the way.” Ryusei announces, side stepping a little as he waits for the mystery guest to hurry. Chigiri’s eyes widen in horror, the realisation hitting him before anyone else as he looks at you. You’re too busy feeling deflated that Ryusei has brought a girl along with him.

“Oh no.” Chigiri speaks, and you look at him. “We should go back upstairs.”

“What? Why?” you ask him, confused. Though your attention is forced back downstairs when you see another figure enter the cabin out of your peripheral view.

Your heart sinks.

“Rin?” Sae asks as he watches his younger, yet for some reason taller, brother set down his suitcase.

Your heart keeps plummeting deeper through your body as you watch him, too. God, he looks even better than he did the day you ended things. He’s always been striking, beautiful. Just so God damn handsome. But he looks older, more mature.

You feel your breathing get heavier and more intense the longer you watch him. The way he dusts the snow from his expensive looking coat. And that familiar ruffle of his hair as he fixes it into place.

“You said you weren’t coming.” Sae tells him.

“I changed my mind,” Rin responds, gesturing to Ryusei. “He begged, really.”

Sae holds his eyes shut, sighing. Rin isn’t sure what the issue is. He was invited, after all, he just declined. He expected his brother to be happy to see him, he thought it would be a fun surprise. Though maybe he only invited him out of obligation.

Shidou hadn’t made it seem that way, though.

“Look who’s here.” Ryusei smiles, pointing up at you.

Rin’s weak smile drops to a stoic straight line as he follows his friends directional finger and his sights land on you. You’re frozen. You can’t smile. You can’t say hello. You can’t even wave. You’re just staring at each other, both absolutely paralysed with no idea how to act.

“H— Hi…” you struggle to speak. Hyoma is thankful you’re too distracted looking at Rin to see the way he’s cringing horrendously behind your back, but not showing his face to the lower floor.

“Hey.” Rin responds, even smiling a little when he hears your voice. It’s been so long, after all. “I didn’t know you were coming.” he explains.

“Same…” you tell him, hoping he believes you. “I wouldn’t have come if I knew you were coming. Wait—” you interrupt yourself when you realise how horrible that sounded.

“Stop talking.” Hyoma whispers, and you clear your throat.

Everyone else seems to see the funny side, all except Rin. He appears a little downtrodden, though he disguises it well. You know him, though. You’re sure he knows you didn’t mean it how it sounded, but you can’t help feeling a little guilty.

“You made it very clear you weren’t coming, Rin.” Sae tells him. “If you said you were coming I—”

“It’s fine. I didn’t know you were still talking, though.” Rin says, the annoyance in his voice very evident. You can’t tell if he’s purposefully trying to hurt you or if it’s just Rin being Rin. “But we’re adults. I’m sure we can co-exist for a week, right?” he asks, looking at you with his intense, teal gaze.

“R—Right…”

© 2023 rinhaler

[srslyscary]

The Final Breath

contents/warnings: SFW , reader is written as she/her, major angst, mentions of illness, mentions of death, bang chan is named his birth name in the narrative, lowercase intended

including: bang chan x reader

note: I CRIED WRITING THIS. why I got the inspiration to make something hand written? i have no clue. I thought I should start writing more often. seriously had to stop writing this just to cry for one second. this may or may not be ooc (just a slither) because i have problems writing personalities of people I don’t know in person.. please enjoy!

_

chris wiped the sweat from his brow as the final beats of the song faded. practice had been intense, as always, but his mind was elsewhere. his bandmates, felix, hyunjin, and the others, were still catching their breath when chris glanced at the clock.

"hey, guys, I need to head out early today," he said, grabbing his bag.

felix raised an eyebrow. "again? you’ve been leaving early a lot lately. everything okay?"

chris forced a smile. "yeah, everything's fine. just some personal stuff I need to take care of."

the others exchanged puzzled glances but didn’t press him further. they had their suspicions—but ultimately thought he was going home to his girlfriend, whom they were all very aquantined with. little did they know, his destination was far more somber.

chris’s heart ached as he drove to the hospital. YN, his girlfriend, was battling a brain tumor, and the prognosis was grim. the visits had become a daily ritual, a blend of love, fear, and a desperate hope for a miracle.

he entered her hospital room, greeted by the sterile scent of antiseptic and the soft beep of monitors. YN's face lit up when she saw him, her smile weak but genuine.

"hey channie!" she whispered, her voice fragile.

"hey, beautiful," he replied, sitting beside her and taking her hand. "how are you feeling today?"

she shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "same as always. but seeing you makes everything better." she laughed, nearly cringing at herself. “I bet it does.”

they spent the next few hours talking, laughing, and simply being together. chris recounted funny stories from practice, doing his best to lift her spirits. they watched videos on his phone, and he played her snippets of new songs he was working on. for those precious moments, the world outside the hospital room faded away. nothing else mattered to them but the time they spent together.

as the days passed, YN's condition slowly worsened. chris continued to visit daily, his dedication unwavering. the hospital staff began to recognize him, greeting him with sad smiles as he made his way to her room.

one evening, chris arrived to find YN's family gathered around her bed, their faces etched with worry. her mother stood up, giving chris a small, grateful nod.

"thank you for coming, christopher. she talks about you all the time," her mother said, her voice trembling. “I’m sorry we have to meet under these circumstances..”

chris nodded, his throat tight. “It’s fine, really.” he approached YN, who was asleep, her face pale and drawn. he sat beside her, holding her hand and whispering softly. "I’m here, YN. I won’t leave you."

when she woke, she smiled weakly at him. "channie, you’re here."

"of course, I am," he replied, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "I always will be."

as the night wore on, chris and YN talked about their future—one filled with dreams they both knew might never come true. they spoke of travels, adventures, and the life they had planned together. it was a bittersweet conversation, filled with love and an unspoken understanding of the reality they faced. “hey.. do you think.. I’ll be able to see outside again?”

“of course you will. i have no doubt about that, beautiful.”

the next day, chris convinced YN's doctors to let her leave the hospital for a few hours. he wanted to give her a change of scenery, a taste of the usual through the chaos of her illness. “let’s set you in, first time in a wheelchair huh?”

she laughed only slightly, being carried and put into the wheelchair. “yeah, it feels really funny.” and with that chris began to take her outside the hospital, talking a small stroll to the nearest park. he pushed her wheelchair along the winding paths, the spring air fresh and invigorating. YN marveled at the blooming flowers, the chirping birds, and the children playing nearby. It was a simple outing, but it meant the world to her.

"thank you for this, my love." she said, her eyes shining with gratitude. "I needed it more than you know."

chris smiled, though his heart ached. "anything for you, sweetheart. always."

they sat on a bench, watching the world go by. for a few precious hours, they were just another couple, enjoying a day at the park. but as the sun began to set, reality intruded once more.

YN's condition took a drastic turn for the worse. she was confined to her bed, her strength fading rapidly. chris continued his visits, each one more heart-wrenching than the last. he spent every moment he could with her, knowing their time was running out.

then the day finally came, that day both of them never dreamed of happening. as he sat by her bed, YN's breathing became labored. chris held her hand tightly, his heart pounding with fear and sorrow.

"baby.." she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I'm scared..”

chris leaned closer, his eyes filled with tears. he wanted to keep strong for her, for the one he loved, even through this hard time. "I know, YN. but I'm here. you’re not alone. and you’ll never be alone.”

she looked at him, her gaze filled with love and pain. "promise me... you won’t forget me. live your life, be happy."

chris swallowed hard, his voice choked with emotion. "I promise, YN. i’ll never forget you. you mean everything to me. i’ll love you till the end of time.”

“then promise me one more thing.. please swear you’ll keep this promise.”

“Anything beautiful— what is it?”

“just promise me.. that if you’re not happy, that you’ll find happiness with someone else.” she said, her lips shaking slightly and her eyes barely could keep open.

“no.. no i can’t promise that. i’ll love you and only you. i can’t possibly—“ “chris please.. please don’t do this. just promise me.” YN began to tear up, looking at him.

“…i promise. but.. you’ll make it out of here just fine.. don’t say that.”

she smiled, running her thumb against his hand. “thank you for everything, my love.” and with a final, shaky breath, YN closed her eyes, her grip on his hand loosening. chris felt his world shatter as she slipped away, the silence in the room deafening.

“hey.. hey sweetheart- get up..!” he held her face, kissing her cheeks and tapping her arms slightly. “please.. don’t— don’t close your eyes.. don’t go..!”

but it was too late, she was already gone. chris quickly got up and tapped the call button, screaming for the nurses.

the days following YN’s passing were a blur for chris. he attended the funeral, supported her grieving family, and tried to make sense of a world without her. his bandmates, finally aware of the truth, rallied around him, offering their support and understanding.

chris threw himself into his work, trying to drown the pain with music and dance. But no matter how busy he kept himself, the void YN left behind was inescapable. he found himself visiting her grave regularly, bringing her favorite flowers and sitting in silence, lost in memories.

every night, for two years straight, Chris called YN’s phone. each time, he left a message, his voice filled with longing and sorrow. "hey, YN. It’s me, channie. I miss you so much. it’s hard.. knowing you’re really gone. i wish I could just wake up and come straight to your apartment to see you each morning, like usual. i wish I could take you out on dates at your favorite places, like usual. i want to be angry for you leaving me.. but I know I shouldn’t. i know I should think better about this. it’s just so.. hard. i love you so so much.”

the calling became his way of coping, a connection to the girl he loved and lost. he gained hope for the shortest moment everytime he heard the call go straight to voicemail, the last thing he had left to really remember what you sounded like. “Hi this is YN! Sorry i couldn’t answer the phone. I’ll get to you as soon as i can! Leave a message!”. even as the number eventually became invalid, chris continued to dial, his heart refusing to let go. each call was a reminder of the promises he made and the love they shared.

_

it had been a year since YN’s passing, and chris found himself standing in front of her grave once more. the seasons had changed, the world had moved on, but his grief remained as fresh as the day she left.

his bandmates, who had become his rock, stood beside him, their presence a silent support. felix placed a hand on his shoulder. "we’re here for you, bro. always."

chris nodded, his eyes never leaving the gravestone. he sniffled, trying not to let tears fall. "thanks, guys… It means a lot."

he knelt down, placing a bouquet of YN’s favorite flowers on her grave. "Hey, YN. It’s me, channie. I miss you so much. It’s been a year, but it still feels like yesterday. i feel emotional everytime i come here, knowing I was just fine 3 hours ago. i don’t think you really know how much this affects me. im slowly getting better but.. it still hurts.”

as the sun set, casting long shadows across the cemetery, chris and his bandmates stood in silence, remembering YN and the love she had brought into his life.

through all, chris kept his promise to YN. he lived his life, pursued his dreams, and found moments of happiness. but he never forgot her. she remained a part of him, a cherished memory that guided him through the darkest times.

he found even more solace in his music, channeling his grief and love into his songs. His bandmates stood by him, understanding the depth of his loss and the strength it took to keep moving forward.

on the anniversary of YN’s passing each year, chris visited her grave, bringing her favorite flowers and sitting in silence. He spoke to her, sharing his life and achievements, as if she were still beside him.

and though the pain of losing her never fully faded, Chris found a way to honor her memory in everything he did. she had taught him the true meaning of love and loss, and that lesson became a cornerstone of his life.

in the quiet moments, when the world felt too heavy, chris would close his eyes and remember YN’s smile, her laughter, and the love they shared. and he would find the strength to keep going, knowing she was with him, always.

[shieldofiron]

Pretty Boy Live in Santa Fe, 1977

Part 1/3 Also on Ao3 here

For @harringrove-relay-race. Very happy with how part 1 turned out, and there will be more to come. Thanks to @foxxtastic for the intro and next up will be something stunning from our fearless Relay Race leader @half-oz-eddie

Rated M / 5k words / Part 1/3

Part 1: Into Hades

Rolling Stone Magazine - May 2002

Billy Hargrove arrived after I did, in his lovingly maintained blue Camaro, the subject of his song, “Lady Blue.” “Lady Blue” was recently named #93 on Rolling Stone’s Top Love Songs of the Century.

“I wrote, ‘She’s the wind in my hair, the rumble in my soul.’ I thought it was so obvious,” He laughed, his blue eyes still boyish. “My niece made it her wedding song, I said ‘Really? It’s about a fuckin’ car!’”

He showed me several pictures of his niece, the supermodel Tyler Sinclair. It seems good looks run in the family. He suggested the diner and he ordered waffles, winking when I mentioned that we’ll be here a long time.

The decades have been kind to him, maybe a few more lines. It’s not hard to imagine him stepping right back onto the stage, as if no time has passed at all.

“A little extra glitter on the eyes,” He said with a smile, “to hide my crows feet. That’s all I need.”

I ask what he’s going to wear to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame ceremony for Kaleidoscope's induction and his smile dims only for a moment.

“I think I should pull out some old costumes. You know, the butterfly still fits.”

He was referring, of course, to the sheer butterfly cape costume that nearly had him thrown off the stage in Houston Texas in December 1976. He caved to putting on a pair of silvery shorts rather than the nude underwear it was designed with. He later wore it with the nude underwear on the inside cover of Kaleidoscope, the album that will be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in just a few short weeks. Kaleidoscope was his last album with the iconic Glam Rock band Pretty Boy, which famously broke up at the height of their career while touring for the album, onstage.

It’s not often that a band is inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and there’s a question if all of them will even show up.

“I’ll be there,” Hargrove said, fiddling with the silver band on his middle finger. “I have no problem with seeing him.”

The him is, of course, the lead guitarist and other lead singer of Pretty Boy, Steve Harrington.

Steve Harrington invites me to his oceanfront house in Malibu later that afternoon.

“I haven’t decided if I’m going to go,” He said thoughtfully, his brown eyes darting around the room.

When I mention that Billy is going to go, he seems surprised.

“He didn’t say he was going to punch me, did he?” Harrington smiled, but it doesn’t seem like much of a joke.

For one of the most famous rock stars of the 70s, Harrington is shockingly low key. He wears a t-shirt and slouchy linen pants, and he jokes that he ought to have shaved when I take out my camera. The house is stunning but empty, with miles of blank white walls and overstuffed white furniture.

“I’m looking for a little peace,” He shrugs, “I used to have all these pictures up, all this furniture… It was too much.”

It was hard not to see him as an artist without a muse. He drifted listlessly, picking things up and putting them down as we talked. So it was a surprise to me to hear that he’s been recording.

“I may never release it but… Yeah,” He laughed, “Music. After all this time. Bet you didn’t know.”

He picks up a rare photo from the piano. It’s from the early days of Pretty Boy, before Billy Hargrove. Harrington has his arm around his bandmate, Eddie Munson. Their drummer Chrissy Cunningham is balanced precariously across their shoulders, laughing and cringing at the same time. Bassist Robin Buckley smirks from the corner of the frame, messy bangs in her eyes.

“Who knew, right?” He asked no one, shaking the frame a little.

There are no pictures of Billy Hargrove.

“That’s a… a long story,” He said, when I asked.

But I have time. I tell him Rolling Stone will pay for it. At least that makes him laugh.

It was just by chance that Pretty Boy’s last concert was filmed.

“We were meant to just film in Vegas,” The director, Argyle Molina-Zapata, sat down with me after a private screening of Pretty Boy Live in Santa Fe, 1977, “But there was a freak rainstorm, and I couldn’t get my camera’s out of the back. The crowd was digging it, refused to leave. I remember when Billy hit the high note for ‘Mother Make Me,’ there was this lightning crack… brilliant.”

Molina-Zapata shook his head, “But the footage, what I got of it, was awful. Awful! So I begged Murray to let me come with them to Santa Fe.”

Murray was Murray Bauman, famed tour manager, who handled the Boys, later Pretty Boy from their first album Starfire, all the way to Kaleidoscope.

“And I was lucky,” Argyle nodded, “They had that extra tour bus.”

The tour busses are featured in the first few minutes of the film. They roll around the corner, one reading Billy Blue (Billy’s original stage name was  Billy Blue before he dropped the Blue), and the other, Steve’s Six (Named after Steve’s best friends from his hometown.)

“They were nightmares,” Murray Bauman’s voice crackled over the phone, “Nightmares on tour. Separate buses. Separate hotels. Fuck me, I swear to god at one point they wanted separate stages. And the label caved on almost all of it. Fucking nightmare.”

It’s almost impossible to imagine it when you see them on stage together. There’s something electric that passed between Billy Hargrove and Steve Harrington, something that drove crowds wild. They gravitate towards each other on the stage, orbiting like planets until they can share the same mic. They can’t seem to stay apart.

It’s hard to see exactly what happened that night.

“I’ve watched it a million times,” Argyle laughed, “But the only two people who can really say what happened are Billy and Steve.”

What you can see is this: Steve tearing into “Pride & Prejudice”, the lead off Kaleidoscope and the last song of the night.

Billy was trembling, visibly shaking as he sang and Steve harmonized along.

What can I say, if you ask me to walk away?

Baby, there’s no words for you.

Baby. I don’t know what to do.

Billy danced closer, joining Steve, his handheld mic loose at his side.

Can you ever put away your pride?

Is it worth it to not have me at your side?

I guess it must be, because I’m yours,

Regretfully,

Baby.

Billy leans in, sharing Steve’s mic for the bridge.

Is it really a mystery?

What I mean to you, and you mean to me?

Is it really, baby?

Billy shook his head, curls bouncing. He looked into Steve's eyes. He smiled. Steve looks at Billy, and Billy looks at him. It almost looks like Billy mouths something, but bootleg footage also has appeared where it looks like Billy just nodded. Steve goes a little shell shocked, hand freezing on his guitar, falling out of sync.

And then Steve turned away and left the stage, handing his guitar to a stagehand. Billy turned to the crowd, his expression strangely triumphant. He was always magnetic on stage, but this moment transcends that. It somehow feels like he’s getting everything he wants.

So I guess I’m losing you,

You promised me you would and it’s true.

Baby, there’s no words for you.

Baby. I don’t know what to do.

Steve Harrington hasn’t performed in public since 1977.

“None of us knew what was going to happen that night,” Chrissy Cunningham curled up next to her husband, Eddie Munson, on the large white couch of their Seattle home.

They’re a handsome couple still, draped in rock and roll finery. He toyed with the edge of her scarf, and she curled his long hair around her long fingers.

“We had some of our own shit going on at the time so…” Munson shrugged, “Maybe we were distracted.”

Their living room was crowded and verdant, every spare flat surface covered in plants. Their partner, former record executive Jason Carver, puttered in the kitchen in an apron that read Plant Papa.

“Yeah,” Chrissy smiled, “We had some stuff going on at the same time. But still… It seemed like they were getting better. Didn’t it seem like they were getting better?”

Munson shrugged, “The thing about Billy and Steve… they were soulmates. You don’t write music like that and not… it was like they had a second language, just for them. They were soulmates, I really believe that. Everything they did, everything that happened… they could only hurt each other that badly if… yeah.”

When I ask what they did to each other, Eddie and Chrissy just scooted closer together, like teenagers in a slasher, hiding from the killer. She laid a hand over his leg, her two stone diamond ring catching the sunlight.

“Steve never wanted Billy to be in the band,” Eddie shook his head, “but Jim had a soft spot for Billy. And Steve had… I mean Jim was…”

“Jim was like a father. To all of us.” Chrissy’s knee jiggled.

“We were this little tiny band from Nowhere, Indiana,” Eddie nodded, “And Jim believed in us.”

“I was just a junior exec at the time. I was put on the Kaleidoscope tour in case of catastrophic failure, which by the way it was,” Jason Carver is making risotto while we speak, the steam curling the lock of hair that falls over his face. “But it wasn’t my fault although I was high as hell on coke half the time. I guess I deserved to get fired. But Jim was the real deal. Gold records out the ass, best wife in the world, and his daughter, I mean… she was something else.”

They’re referring, of course, to Jim Hopper, producer on Kaleidoscope as well as Billy Blue and The Boys’ records, and the father of pop superstar Eleven aka Jane Hopper.

“Jim was…” Steve Harrington’s eyes always got a little misty talking about Jim, staring out over the ocean. “Yeah, I guess he was a little like my dad. My own parents were always gone. Which is like… I grew up so privileged so like I’m not saying… I just mean I grew up mostly by myself. And we were just so lucky he even agreed to listen to us when we got to LA.”

“I remember that night,” Joyce Hopper’s voice was raspy, cigarette-y in the way only old movie stars are. She’s a gorgeous woman in jeans and a gardening hat, speaking to me while she tends to her garden at her home in Castellammare. “He came home and said, ‘I have the next ones, the next big ones. Fuck, Joyce, they’re brilliant. Unpolished, but brilliant.’”

When I ask about when Jim discovered Billy Hargrove she just laughed.

“If Steve and the rest of The Boys were unpolished, Billy Hargrove was a fucking ten carat diamond,” She said. “But Steve’s band was Jim’s, and he could polish them up how he wanted. And then when he thought they were just right for it… he set the diamond.”

Jim Hopper was a big man, larger than life both in appearance and in personality. His fingerprints are all over some of the best hits of the decade.

Watching him on old interviews, there’s an immediacy to his presence that leaps off the screen.

“My daughter is the one who really found him. She snuck out with her sister and wandered God knows where. And she just… found him. Called me the next morning, saying ‘Dad, you have to hear this guy.’ He was playing in this… terrible club,” Jim said, tapping his cigar on the table of Merv Griffin’s set. “Absolute shithole, pardon my french. And he’s got a great voice, you’ve heard his voice, right?”

“I have,” Merv said.

“I had to get him out of there. He was a star.”

Billy Hargrove was a teenage runaway from San Diego when he came to LA in 1971.

“I had a girl’s backpack from my stepsister, eight dollars, and an extra pair of underwear. By the end of the next week? I had two more dollars,” Billy laughed. “But I got lucky. I met Heather.”

Heather Holloway was a showgirl at Wildwoods, a nightly revue. She found Billy at the backdoor, and took him to her apartment.

“She saved me,” He frowned. “Whenever I needed her most.”

Heather Holloway, Billy Hargrove’s first and only wife, died in 1979. 

“I got a job singing at Sugar, this great gay club downtown. It was in the late afternoons, so I had a crowd of about… two. But those two brought two more,” Billy smiled, “Heather would talk me up to all the promoters. He’s a singer, he’s great, you’ll love him, he’s so cute.”

“He was an instant hit,” Sugar’s manager, Bob Newby, tells me by phone as well. “I did have to keep a couple of creeps off him, when he just started he was only nineteen. But even if you closed your eyes… he was a hit.”

“Guys used to think that because I was a part of the entertainment, I was fair game. And let me tell you, the novelty of that wears off mighty quick,” Billy shakes his head.

He shares a diary entry from his late wife of a night in April 1972. He came to her home with blood all over his face.

“Some guy thought because I was a fag…” Billy’s mouth twisted, but he went on, cradling the little marble notebook in his hand. “He could do whatever he wanted to me. When I fought back… he cracked a bottle over my head.”

He’s not just a piece of meat. He’s a person. I don’t understand these people. I just don’t understand, Heather Holloway wrote. I cleaned him up and he’s sleeping now.

The next diary entry is from a day later. April 12. Billy and I drove to Vegas and got married. When we spoke in the morning he said he was afraid for me too, even though I’m careful with the girls. He’s afraid of the cops trying to bust up the Wildwoods and picking me up. At least this way, he says. He and I can come home to each other. Look out for each other. Always. The groom wore band aids and his great velvet pants. The bride wore lavender. It was perfect.

“And lucky too. Because within a month… I met Jim,” Billy smiled. “And my whole life changed.”

Upside Down Records signed Billy Blue, unagented, in1972 and he spent the next year working on his debut album with Jim Hopper.

“I didn’t even realize, when it happened,” Billy shook his head. “A couple of girls came by after a show, wanting to talk to me, wanting to meet me. That wasn’t that unusual. But they were young, far too young to get into the club. And the little one, she was asking all these weird questions. Did I have an agent? Did I know if I had enough songs for an album? Weird fuckin’ questions. And then she said I have to meet someone. To be honest, I thought she was coked out of her mind when she said, ‘You have to meet my dad.’”

“I was not,” Eleven promised me, “coked out of my mind. But that’s just Billy.”

Eleven aka Jane Hopper, meets me backstage at one of her shows. She’s dressed in slouchy leather pants, to match her sister and drummer Kali Hopper.

“I knew he was something special. My dad was always talking about the IT factor. That thing that made a person something special. But I didn’t get it until I saw Billy Blue singing on that tiny stage,” She smiled. “He didn’t just have the IT factor. He was IT.”

It’s odd then, that Billy Blue’s first album had a surprisingly tepid response. His first single, in 1973, “Let Alone,” came in at only 26th for the month of April on the pop charts.

“People liked it,” Billy shrugs, “But I don’t think they knew what to do with it. You have my songs, these like… little pop love songs and ballads. I wasn’t that strong of a writer at the time. It was like half my songs, half covers. And so they’d book me, expecting fucking… Peter Frampton. And here comes this big queer with glitter on his nipples.”

But the lyrics of “Let Alone” would hint at his later songs, a hallmark simplicity that shone off his raw voice and poetry that hinted at a troubled past.

And if you were meant to care for me

You would, and that’s how it has to be

You said I couldn’t go on without you

Ha, look at me, looking brand new

At the same time, The Boys’ song “Paper Girl,” penned by Harrington, was number one.

She’s my paper girl

She’s my paper girl

Wakes me up every morning, right on time

She got me smiling, got my head in a whirl

Picture perfect, paper girl

“Billy didn’t have much commercial appeal. Sex appeal, yes,” Jason laughed, toying with Chrissy’s hair. “But for sales? That’s where The Boys came in.”

“I hated that name,” Eddie said, “To start with we were half girls.”

The Boys had already had a somewhat successful tour under their belt by the time Jim suggested a collaboration with Billy Hargrove.

“It was a nice, short tour,” Steve Harrington glances away when I ask about the first tour.

“It was a nightmare. Balls to the wall nightmare,” Robin Buckley’s voice is a warm crackle over the phone. “Steve went on like thirty overlapping benders at once.”

Her partner, soap actress Vickie Carmichael cackles behind her, at their home in Salt Lake City.

“The thing about Steve is… well… he’s never found a good way of coping with himself,” Robin huffs. “Music was about as close as he ever got. But in those early days, he just kept looking for more and more.”

“You don’t think it was about-” Vickie asked, just barely into the phone.

“No.”

“It was about Nancy,” Eddie said confidently when I mentioned their first tour. “Nancy, Nancy, Nancy.”

The Boys got their start in the late sixties, beginning with Eddie and Steve. Eddie gave Steve guitar lessons, which turned into some talent show performances. They used to practice at Eddie’s Uncle’s trailer.

“That’s where we got the name,” Eddie nodded, “My uncle used to just call us that, and it stuck.”

“I don’t even remember,” Chrissy said.

“That’s not how we got the name,” Steve shook his head, when I mention Eddie. “It was our first gig, after we got Chrissy and Robin. Robin put it down after the headliner kept asking when ‘you boys’ would go on, and kept addressing it to Chrissy’s chest. She blew him out of the fucking water.”

Nancy Wheeler was there that night, writing about local bands for a tiny column in the school paper.

“She was beautiful. Smart. So smart. Could hear her talk forever,” Steve said, eyes falling.

Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler were married in 1972 after they graduated high school.

“Steve made his own choices,” Chrissy shook her head.

That summer, the Boys plus one drove to LA and Nancy Wheeler took a job at Women’s Day Magazine and later, Rolling Stone. Steve Harrington and The Boys got a “steady gig” at La Bonita Rosa on the strip, playing for drunks every night from seven to eight.

“I really liked playing at La Bonita,” Steve said. “The audience, right there. You could smell the sweat. You could see on their faces if you were bombing. And we used to bomb. A lot. But it was a great place to try things. Experiment. We played there for about a year but… it felt too short.”

Within the year they had met Jim Hopper, who got them into the recording studio and sold their demo nearly on the spot to Upside Down Records.

“They had a great sound. They had got this way of playing. Smooth like a polished stone. Everything sounds good sitting in a frame like that,” Jim said in an interview with Rolling Stone in 1981. “Their songs were… catchy, but basic. But they had the sound.”

Upside Down records set the Boys on a US tour after “Paper Girl,” and “Joy to Love You,” both charted.

“It was like… overnight. One day we’re in a studio, messing around. Kid stuff. I was nineteen,” Steve Harrington shookhis head. “But…”

“That tour,” Chrissy trails off, playing with her ring again.

“I…” Steve Harrington scratched his nose. “I was losing it. Majorly losing it. It felt like we had just moved to LA and we were already neck deep. I mean, I had a number one fucking song. And for some reason I got it in my head to call my mom. She told the maid she wasn’t home. And I could hear her over the phone. My mom. So yeah. I lost it. Lost about half my damn mind on that tour. And people will say it was because of Nancy, because we got married just out of high school, and she wasn’t supportive… but that wasn’t true. Nancy saved me.”

“Nancy never wanted him to be in the band. But… she also didn’t seem to care that much either,” Eddie shook his head, “It’s… complicated. Love is supposed to be. Simple. Like the chords of a song. 1-3-5.”

Jason Carver rolled his eyes at that, “Then what are we?”

Eddie grinned, “We’re a band.”

Nancy Wheeler met me on a Thursday in New York City, slim sunglasses dominating her small porcelain face. We get lunch at her favorite deli shop, and she perches at the counter, loafers dangling. She’s an editor at The New Yorker now, but she still has a soft spot for rock and roll, as evidenced by the Grateful Dead t-shirt under her blazer.

“That tour. I didn’t even know anything was wrong. He just came home with a funny look on his face, saying, ‘We’re headlining.’ So I said, ‘That’s great, Steve.’ He just kept… saying it. It was starting to piss me off, if I’m being honest,” She shook her head. “I should have known something was wrong.”

“I wish she had stopped me. But how could you know right? Hindsight is always 2020,” Steve Harrington said. “I mean, she was my wife. How could she not want me home? But that’s just… sorry. That’s not fair to put on her. I chose to go.”

“I flew out to meet them when they were in Indianapolis, visited my family, and I came a day early to see him,” She smiled warmly, and then it fell. “He was… Well, first, Eddie Munson tried to intercept me at the hotel, so I wouldn’t see him. I told him, ‘I’m here to see my fucking husband.’”

Steve Harrington didn’t add any more details about the tour, just shrugged when I asked.

“He was coked up like you wouldn’t believe,” Robin scoffed. “She walked in on him with two girls and coke all over his… well.”

“I just asked him. Do you want to come home? Do you want to get help? Or not?” She purses her lips. “And so he came home and we found a rehab place near Hawkins.”

“The tour kind of… fell apart. Obviously. We had lost our lead singer and guitarist to fucking… Hawkins, Indiana,” 

Everything stopped for the Boys. Upside Down offered to let them out of their two album contract, but Steve couldn’t afford to pay it down.

“Rehab,” He shrugged. “Is expensive.”

Right as it seemed that everything would be over for the Boys, things were looking up for Billy Blue.

“Jim was always saying, ‘the record is selling alright, the songs are getting there but he needs a… push,’” Joyce said. “‘He’s so close. So close. He’s a star.’”

“He always believed in me,” Billy smiled, toying with his ring again. “Always. Even when I threw a jug of milk at his head.”

Joyce laughed when I asked about that moment, “He came home saying, ‘He milked me, Joyce. But he’ll fix the song tonight.’”

“And I did,” Billy said. “And the album was going alright. I did a little tour, socal and the southwest. And then one night, Jim brings me this song. He said, ‘I want you to tell me what’s missing from this.’”

The song was, of course, the Boys’ biggest hit, “Hades.” Steve Harrington’s first version was called, “To Orpheus” and the chorus goes:

Don’t turn back don’t look behind you baby

I’m close, I’m right behind

The future's so bright, and I want you to take me

Wanna be holding your hand when I make it across the line.

“It was fine, but just kind of… nothing. It was supposed to be about Eurydice, but it was so… nothing. She just loved Orpheus and that was it. There were no insides to her. She was going to follow him to her doom,” Billy shook his head. “That’s not right.”

This was not the version that made it to the recording booth, of course. The Boys’ single, “Hades featuring Billy Blue,” came out in 1975. The actual chorus goes: 

Turn back on me and I won’t forgive you baby

Don’t want you to see me like this

Up ahead is bright, and I want you to take me

If you’re strong enough to cross that finish line

“‘Hades,’ was a real step forward for the Boys. Gone were the teenybopper tunes,” Steve Harrington’s biographer and personal friend Dustin Henderson wrote in his book The Pretty Boy. “Their first album got the kids dancing. But the second proved that they actually had something to say.”

“Still hate it,” Steve Harrington said. “I wrote that song in rehab. It was deeply, deeply personal to me.”

“He came out, all ready. He wanted to start recording right away,” Robin sighed. “Like I mean the next day. All these songs, just pouring out of him. But the label had lost faith in us. And they certainly weren’t going to let us start recording with a guy who had only just earned his thirty day sober chip.”

“The song wasn’t ready,” Billy shook his head. “But I guess he was. Jim said he needed this. So Jim asked if I would come and like… pitch some stuff as a personal favor. Songwriting credit, that’s all it was supposed to be. Get the songs moving, get them going.”

Steve Harrington takes a long time to continue speaking about it. 

“I felt it, writing for that album. I felt proud of those songs. They didn’t belong to anyone else but me,” He toyed with some piano keys while we talked, and then finally sat down and began to play something tuneless and half formed.

“That album was all about Nancy,” Chrissy said. “I mean. I know it. You know it. Nancy knew it. And she kind of hated it. But-”

“You can’t leave your husband right as he gets out of rehab,” Nancy said to me, toying with her wedding ring. “When he writes all these songs about how you’re the only thing… Steve was always like that. Heart wide open. That’s why when he met Billy. I almost thought… it would all be okay. That sounds fucked up but. I thought they could save each other. That the music could save him.”

“It was just a songwriting credit,” Billy raised his hands. “Jim swore up and down. I was just gonna come in there and sit down with this guy Steve. But when I walk into the studio, there’s two mics set up.”

“I was the Boys’ only singer,” Steve Harrington shook his head. “And to be absolutely honest, I was kind of a jackass about it. So to have some guy come in and say he’s gonna sing me my song… well…”

“Steve was the only one who would ever argue with Jim, And he let him have it that day,” Eddie laughed. “He called him the most low down, dirty, rat bitten bastard in California, and that he would die rather than give up his band to someone else.”

“I did not want his band. I did not know his band. And I did not care. And his song sucked. And I told him so. And then I sang it. Better.” Billy smiled.

“Billy was…” Chrissy shook her head. “Incredible.”

I ask Steve what Billy was like that first day in the studio.

“He was,” Something passed over his face. “Alright. He has a great voice, alright.”

“I was good. Better. Best.” Billy smiled.

“But he didn’t understand the song. He wanted Eurydice to… doubt. To think she wasn’t going to get out,” Steve slammed his hands on the keys. “It’s been… almost twenty years. I still don’t understand it.”

I asked why he let Billy stay. But Steve doesn’t have an answer.

“They were like oil and water, right away,” Chrissy said.

“Yeah, but oil on the water can catch fire,” Eddie shrugged.

“Jim asked me to stay,” Billy looked away from me, down at his waffles. “It was a favor to the label.”

“If Billy said louder, Steve said mute,” Robin snickered. “It was kind of great, actually. Finally someone called King Steve on his shit. One day I came in and they were arguing over how close the microphone should be to your throat. Almost got in a physical fight over a fucking microphone. I mean, I love Steve. But he always thinks he’s like… the babysitter. It’s his job to do everything for everybody.”

“Like who was this guy? Really? He came into my studio with no shirt on, most of the time still half smashed from the night before, and he thinks he can make all these changes. But Jim keeps telling me it’s just business, the label thinks it’s good business.” Steve frowned, and then smiled, and then frowned again.

“Yeah, I never wore shirts back then. Or underwear,” Billy said with a grin. “I was a rockstar!”

“Steve fought for every song on that album,” Nancy Wheeler patted her lips primly with a napkin. “He only lost on one.”

“Billy Hargove has songwriting credit and lead vocals on “Hades.” Dustin Henderson wrote.

“Billy was all over that album. He’d make some minor suggestion, maybe this chord instead of that, this word is better. And Steve would flip out, yell at him, yell at Jim, threaten to storm out… and then two days later quietly tell me to change the chord, he’d start singing the new words. Billy was there with us about every single day,” Eddie said.

“Of course, it was our biggest hit,” Chrissy laughed. “Everything but that song, Steve did what he wanted. Oh we had Billy in the studio, making suggestions. But Steve did what he wanted except for ‘Hades.’ Jim said that song is the album, and he wouldn’t cut it.”

“Jim was always right,” Steve closed the piano. “The bastard.”

Hades exploded onto the radio in late 1975. They didn’t have the same distribution as their first record, but the Boys had another hit.

“Billy had this way of singing it. Still does. He broke four mics when we recorded it. Singing so loud I had to keep an eye on the cymbals to stop them from shaking. You can feel him, right in your chest.” Chrissy giggled. “Like he was trying to wake all the dead from Hades. If anyone could, he could.”

“It’s a really, really great song,” Robin said.

This song belongs to Billy Blue, Rolling Stone wrote in 1976. The only question now is, what will The Boys do next?

“I remember that article. Fucking… Harrington said that he basically wrote the whole song. But he said, ‘the label thought bringing Billy in was a good idea,’” Billy gets tense for the first time. “I’m not saying I was like… I just mean. It would have been nice. To treat me like an equal. I’m more than just a singer. I’m not just… a piece of meat.”

“Billy was really pissed about that article. I remember, the day after the article came out, we were getting breakfast at this tiny place off La Cienega. Steve had this car back then, a big maroon BMW, and Eddie had got him a vanity plate when he bought it. Stupid thing it said, ‘BIGBOY.’ Anyway, We’re having breakfast, and we hear this screech outside, like an accident,” Robin Buckley gets uncharacteristically quiet as she goes on through this story. “Billy’s car is parked halfway out of the parking lot, and he comes in like a bull in a charge. Billy… he wasn’t some wimpy guy. He was small, but he was strong as hell… He came right over and grabbed Steve by his collar and lifted him right off the counter. And he said, I’ll never forget it because Steve used to recite it from memory, yell it at me, ‘Tell me I’m not dreaming. Is that Steve fucking Harrington? The lead singer of the Boys. Hey man, I love your song ‘Hades.’ How’d you get your voice to sound halfway decent for once?’”

“I don’t remember that,” Steve Harrington said flatly when I asked.

“And Steve used to be a fucking dick in high school. So he starts getting real bitchy, shoving Billy off him, asking what his problem is, why he’s such a dick all the fucking time, when it’s not even his band. And Billy said something like, ‘No one wants your shit band. Not with you in it,’” Robin paused for a moment. “And they just. Stare at each other. Like… daring each other to do something.”

Billy just shrugs when I ask, “I was pissed. I gave this guy a number one hit, and he still wanted to treat me like some… airhead singer the label brought in as a stunt. I’m not just a singer. I’m not a piece of meat. I’m a person.”

When I ask Steve about that day he’s pretty quiet, deflated at his piano. He only wants to talk about the song. The music. Can’t seem to talk about Billy any other way.

“He sang it like he not only knows Orpheus can’t save him, but that he won’t. It was supposed to be hopeful. A happy ending.” Steve said.

“So you still hate the song?” I asked.

“No, I don’t. It’s brilliant. And that’s the whole problem.”

To be continued...

Next up is Half-Oz-Eddie's piece at 7:00 pm. GET HYPE!

[gowonders]

getting friendly ♥ c.bg

apart of the ‘growing pain’ event for @napofamoon!!

notes: tee heee this was sooo different to write.. kind of based on the girl i’m with so this was SO personal but wtv.. this was definitely more draining than my other pieces so… hope y’all enjoy

warnings: english isn’t my first language, not proofread!, fem (barely a switch) sub! reader, dom! gyu, implied childhood best friends, nicknames (doll), manhandling, unprotected sex (wear a condom yall 👍) , lmk if i’ve missed any~

soft strumming of beomgyus guitar could be heard echoing from his room as his callused fingers run over the strings. “you’ll be fine, gyu.” you assure, cooing in his ear as he has an obviously nervous look on his face. he had his first big concert in a few days, and you came over to watch him practice. after all, he is your best friend! “well.. i know! i just don’t want to ruin our chance to get bigger as a band.. like, what if i just do so.. bad?” he says, pausing the way he just plays random things, or as he calls it— noodling. your finger nudges his thigh as you shake your head, looking up at him with a kind face. “i bet you won’t, i’ve heard you play, you’re so good!! you won’t mess up, and i’ll be there, you know it.” you say, giving him a smile, which he returns and nods. “thanks, doll.” he winks, and you roll your eyes. “ugh, save that for the girls you’ll flirt with after your show.” you respond with a laugh.

sure, you kind of had a thing for your best friend, but that didn’t mean you’d date him. yes, he was insanely fine and charming, but that doesn’t mean you’ll actually give in to dating him. he obviously was some sort of playboy, buying girls drinks and complimenting them after his bands gigs, leaving any girl feeling giddy that txts main guitarist was flirting with her. but not you, you couldn’t fall for that, but it’s sweet to see him try.

“sure, sureeeee.” he responds, a snicker leaving him before he finally straightens out his face, focusing on a song to play. your gaze settles on his face, lips a straight line and dark eyes focused on the fretboard. he looks back at you and catches your eyes, and he winks at you with a hum. like, an “i caught you” hum. it was so annoying. so, your eyes quickly snap to the fretboard he was focused on, looking over his well manicured nails, callused fingers, and overall.. such pretty hands. beomgyu stops playing and nods at you, snickering a little before he speaks.

“you know, these fingers aren’t only good at guitar. they’re good for anything and everything… if you catch my drift.” he says, smirking at you.

oh my god. oh my god? sure, he made lewd jokes all the damn time, but it caught you off guard this time. why?? was it the way it was so out of nowhere?

no. it was the way he was getting friendly. too friendly. wayyy too friendly for best friends.

but you couldn’t just.. not return the energy. and you definitely couldn’t just stay silent at the way he smirks at you, and how his finger started to trace lines on your hand resting on his bed. “..show me, then.” you say with nonchalance, looking at his finger on your hand. and he just pauses, he really wasn’t expecting you to react like that. “i- what?” he spits out with a chuckle, he was shocked to say the least. “you heard me, gyu. don’t act like you’re not trying to rile me up.” you say, still avoiding his gaze.

he sighs, putting his guitar down with a gulp, pulling away from you and ‘subtly’ putting a pillow over his lap. “i don’t know what you’re- what?” he sputters, he really, really wasn’t expecting that. “gyu.. do you want to fuck me or not?” you cringe internally when you say that.. it’s coming off a little forward, but anything goes at this point. “well. uh- i mean-“ he coughs on his words a bit, before a small “yeah” peeps in there. “are you sure..?”

if he’s being honest with himself, he really has wanted to. for a while. ever since you started showing up at his gigs, he would always brag about the many girls he’d take home— all in hopes of getting you jealous so you could be the next girl. and if this is the way it happens, then so be it.

“oh my goddd, yes! you’re getting waaay too close for this to just be friends. just fuck me, gyu. we’ve known eachother forever, it was bound to happen.” you scoff, sitting up to look down at the boy who was still laying down, fidgeting with the hem of his pillow.

“shit… say less, then.” beomgyu says, clearing his dry throat and getting up onto his knees, pushing you back down onto the mattress. it felt crazy surreal, the way your best friend practically glared at you, his callused fingertips brushing over skin, his hard swallows being barely heard, and especially the way the dim lighting of his room hits his face.. it was so strange to think about. for both of you. but you definitely wanted to just.. make it a little more comfortable for you.

“nooooo..” you whine out, pushing up against his hand to sit up, swiftly flipping him over to straddle him. “i wanna fuck you, though.” you say, a pout on your lips as your fingers hook under his shirt, starting to pull it up before his hand wraps around your wrist, stopping it.

“hell no. i’m fucking you, yn. you’re crazy if you think i’m not gonna absolutely ruin you.” he states, you could hear how upset he got in a moment, and with that, your lips part and your eyes widen, before you could even start to stammer, he mutters under his breath. “didnt dream of this for years just for you to be a brat.. jesus.” and with that, you’re getting slammed back into his mattress, his hands gripping your shoulders tightly before they move down to the waistband of your pants, his thigh slotted between yours, beomgyu scoffing at the way your thighs squeeze around his.

“you know how i said i was gonna show you how good my fingers are? yknow, multipurpose.” he asks, and you nod in response. “use your words with me.. anyways. i’m gonna make you cum with only my fingers.. punishment, you’d understand.” his fingers hook under the fabric , pulling it all the way off, leaving you only in your panties. “gyu…. i wanna-“ you start, but he quickly cuts you off. “don’t even, you’re lucky i’m giving you anything at all.” you just sigh, and beomgyu shoots you a glare.

“you know…” he starts as he pulls the thin fabric of your underwear to the side. “i really thought that you were gonna be an easy fuck, but like.. clearly, you just like to be a little brat, huh?” beomgyu spits, his fingers easing into your core, a quiet whine leaving your lips at the feeling.. he really wasn’t lying about being good with his fingers, i guess. “i wonder what happened to the girl i’ve known for so long… i thought you were all sweet, but you’re just some feen for my fingers, right? begging for them, it’s cute, really.” he says with a evil grin, letting his fingers pump in and out of you, not really caring about the way your nails dug into his back, and the way you quietly pled for him to slow down between mewls.

however, he in fact did not stop! an evil chuckle leaving him as he thumbed your clit, still using his fingers like it was nothing. it was definitely not nothing though.. because just a few moments later, your back is arching up and off the matress, and you’re letting out the most pathetic whines of your life. beomgyu definitely wasn’t lying, his fingers were definitely.. talented. maybe playing guitar really did pay off for that man, and maybe getting laid after every gif paid off too, because he definitely knew how to get a girl so worked up and desperate for more.. because right before.. what felt like nanoseconds before.. he fucking pulls out.

before you could even open your mouth to complain, beomgyu cuts you off. “ah ah, don’t be so quick to whine.” he spits, a smirk on his face. he was good at what he did.. in this case.. and he knew it. you start to watch him unbuckle his belt, and as he does so, he raises a question.. which almost seems like a statement. “you wanna ride me, yn?” he whispers, looking down at you. you nod as soon as he finishes his sentence, honestly, he just left you so.. needy, you’d take anything from him at this point. “oooof course.” he drags as he sits on the bed and pulls his waistband down just enough for you to do so. “i’m not complaining though.” he says as he motions you over , helping you straddle him.

sinking down on beomgyu, you let out a small whine, swallowing hard at his size. you could definitely see how he got so many girls after his gigs..

his hands wrap around your hips, looking up at you and asking a silent “you ready?” with his eyes. god, you loved his eyes, they were so expressive and pretty. and they could seriously convince you to do anything. so, you nod, and his hands are guiding you to start moving, and a low groan is heard from him. “fuckkkkk..” he starts, dragging his words out. beomgyus hands slip down slightly before his short nails dig into the plush of your thigh, making an hitched mewl spill from your lips.

the feeling of your velvet walls around his length had him in a trance, and he could’ve sworn his hips were moving on their own, even if he was having you ride him. “yn—“ he chokes out, his nails digging into your thighs even more. “y-you know.. everytime i fucked a girl backstage- shit.. i wished it was you.” he says, and his words have you fluttering around him. “r-really?” you ask between moans, hanging your head low with pleasure as your hands wrap around his arms. “mhm. always,,, like- you just always looked so good at our shows— shit-!” beomgyu cuts himself off with a broken groan, throwing his head back. he could feel you getting close since you were already pretty close from earlier, and honestly that just set him off.

“goddddd, doll-!” he groans out, swallowing hard at the way you tighten around him. you could barely speak, and if you could, it was incoherent and cut off by a whine. and beomgyu loved seeing you like this.. almost broken just on his dick. your grip on his arms tighten and a loud, broken whimper rings through the room. “are you close, y-yn?” he asks, eyes screwed shut at the feeling of you around him, and how pretty you looked during it. “yeah…” you say shakily, starting to practically collapse over him.

“t-then cum for me.” he spits, leaning his head further back on the pillow under him, his thumbs weakly rubbing your hips. that was basically your final straw, anyways. your walls clamp down hard on beomgyus length as you reach your climax, which hits you, so hard.

and it really doesn’t dawn on you for a bit that your best friend of all people just fucked the daylight out of you. and just made you practically scream for him. what the hell. no, like seriously.

luckily, beomgyu snaps you out of your thoughts, with a huge grin and a simple question. “are you still coming to my gig tomorrow?”

and you sure as hell were.

[ricflairdrip20]

Grief - (Emily Prentiss x Reader)

A/N: This is somewhat based on my personal feelings because I’ve recently lost someone I love sm.

You let out a shaky sigh as tears dripped onto your pillow and bedsheets once they filled up your entire eye sockets. You laid curled up in a comfortable fetal position while your brain goes through every memory you can come up with that features Emily Prentiss. Your girlfriend of almost 6 months, the love of your life. Your other half. On the outside, 6 months seems like a short amount of time, but to you and Emily, you both knew you were right for each other.

Your dark apartment was practically untouched by you, the only source of light is through the crack of your closed curtain, only revealing trash and a crumpled up piece of paper that contains a rough draft of your eulogy. You lost weight, you barely ate. You wouldn’t have eaten at all if it wasn’t for your lovely best friend Penelope Garcia constantly going to your apartment with food and self-care products every chance she gets. She also made sure to clean up your apartment and feed your cat Sergio, but took him in under your request because you feel inadequate to care for him in your condition. But she does bring him every time because the furry creature reminds you of her.

Part of you died that day when your best friend J.J. told everyone, “She never made it off the table.” The word replayed in your head over and over again. Probably to make sure that it’s real.

She never made it off the table.

Your stomach churns at the memory of you holding Rossi tightly. Never thinking you’d lose her even in your line of work. Just 4 months prior, after Haley was killed, you were back to the FBI office trying to keep it together in the break room. When Emily walks in, all bets are off. You held her as you cried on her shoulder, telling her you feel so bad for Hotch for losing someone special to him, even when they’re no longer tied by law due to Hotch’s over-dedication to his job. It sickened you knowing you could lose someone like that relating to your line of work.

Although you had taken time off from the BAU, you weren’t sure if you wanted to go back to work. The silence would be too loud for you. No Emily sneaking kisses with Morgan teasing you or just being goofballs in-between cases.

Your heart feels numb as it occurs to you that you really will have to go through the rest of your life without her. Your heart aches when you hear songs from her favorite band Siouxsie and the Banshees. You would laugh at her high school photo in her chaotic choice of outfit, especially the hair, to which Emily would cringe at.

Sighing, you gathered all the energy to sit up on your couch. You sat there for a full minute before slowly getting up to get yourself a glass of water. You stared off into the distance of the living room connected to the kitchen. You sighed again. You’re not sure how you’re ever gonna get over her.

[zerolune]

Let Them Know - Song Eunseok (Pt.1 here)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. NSFW AHEAD.

It's been a while since you and Eunseok began your...arrangement, however the doubt still remains can he be yours? And a Friday night changes that.

Warnings - Eunseok calls reader a slut, mentions of him leaving marks on her, sort of unsafe sex (do not be like them please) and let me know if I missed anything.

University au. Not proofread....

Trust me. You were trying your best- you really were. You were trying your best to keep your attention on the laptop screen- you were trying your best to meet the essay's word limit- you really were. Trying to keep your thighs shut tight as the slick kept dripping, your poor undies already soaked. Damn you Eunseok...And damn your goddamm heavy voice travelling to the depths of your arousal.

"Seriously? You're seriously going to be completing that essay? You're going to spend your entire Friday night completing that shitty assignment?" Eunseok whined, sitting on your bed in his wide jeans and a grey tank top- his leather jacket thrown on your red bean bag.

"For god's sake...we have two whole weeks to complete that essay- why do you wanna be such a suck up?" He got up from the bed, walking closer to your desk where you sat.

"You should really come to this party...who knows you might actually make a friend..." he rolls his eyes- that soon travelled to your clenching bare thighs exposed due to the courtesy of your tiny shorts.

"No thank you, I'd rather not have friends that choose to risk their degree for one night of fun." You reply, cringing at your own reply. Pick-me much? But you had to complete this essay- there was so much piled up, and this was the easiest task at the moment.

"You don't want friends like that but you don't mind taking a dick like that?" He chuckles, referring to himself as he bent down- reading the words you managed to type out.

"No way...you're actually sucking up to the Prof....really? Writing his opinion- when you don't even agree with it?" He scoffs in disbelief at your petty words.

"It's just this side has more information." You reply once again- your lie as obvious as your soaking undies. Eunseok's fingers traced figure eights on your thigh as his breath tickled the side of your ear.

"Bet you just want the professor's attention since he's a tad bit more than mid and you're a slut."

That's it. That was the last straw. You turned around- your eyes screaming furious as your eyebrows furrowed and your lips parted to begin retorting-

"Okay okay don't be mad- I crossed a line and I'm sorry," Eunseok apologised, his hand now caressing your thigh.

You relaxed your brows, standing up after closing your laptop shut. "Fine then," a sigh leaves your throat as a smirk replaces the grin on his lips. "Okay then," before you knew it his lip pressed against yours. He bites your lower lip- letting his tongue into your mouth as you begin to taste the strawberries he was munching on a while back.

You pull away as your breath came out in short pants and gasps. "You won't get an asthma attack will you?" He looks at you with worry laced irises, as his own cells themselves were in oxygen debt.

You roll your eyes, remembering when you told him about your extra-mucus producing airways. "Look at you...always getting mad," he too rolls his eyes before dipping down to suck and kiss your neck, leaving his marks all over your skin.

"Do you have to make it so obvious that we're fucking?" You say- pulling his face away from your side. "Do you have to make it so obvious that you don't want people to find out?" You could've swore that for a second his face fell as his lips frowned.

"I thought you didn't want people finding out..." you look down, not sure of what else to say. "Hey...y/n look at me," his fingers pulled your chin towards his gaze. "You think I ditched my friends and their party so I could come over to your apartment so people wouldn't find out?"

He picks up your figure as he sits down on your bed, letting your legs straddle his lap.

"You're the top student, you're the only second year student in our department to live on their own in the apartment they're paying rent for. How are you still so dumb?" His hands snaked up your tshirt, pulling the fabric up over until it reached the top of your chest.

Your gaze couldn't meet his...feeling ashamed of your obliviousness, your palms pressed against his shirt.

"I'm sorry..." you muttered. "What are you even sorry for? Y/n...I have you as my lockscreen, do you still think I don't want you? You still think I don't want people to know?"

"Then...let...let them know." In a gush of boldness you smashed your lips onto his as he played with your boobs- his finger fondling the flesh as they occasionally pinched your nipples making you gasp.

"You should be more confident Y/n, I liked that." He said as he picked up your hips to get rid of your shorts and lower his own jeans.

"You've seriously been this soaked? God...y/n...why are you so afraid of letting yourself have fun?" He spoke as his hands worked to align his cock with your entrance. "I don't know," you answered- wondering why you were actually so afraid of letting yourself have fun.

"Then I'll let you know-" you cut him off his you let out a sharp yelp- never getting used to his size. "I know baby...I know..." he soothes as he distracts you by playing with your perked nipple. You let out a whimper when he pinched to hard. "You sounded like those porn stars making those fake moans-" he couldn't help but chuckle at the high pitched yelp you had made as he caressed your thighs with his other hand.

"I think I can move now..." you say before moving your hips up and down. "Oh...that...that feels good..." he groans, his voice coming out weak. He leans forward to take one of your breasts and put them in his mouth- his lips kissing your bud as his tongue swirled over.

Your apartment was filled with the sounds of his praises and groans and your mindless mumbles. He watched your tits bounce as he guided your hips to move up and down faster- reaching his high.

"Oh god- fuck...I'm gonna have to pull out..." his voice is broken as he shudder- lifting you up as he puts you down...his fingers rubbing against your cunt to make sure you reach your high too as he comes all over your boobs.

"You look so good like this...God if anyone knew just how pathetic that nerdy and uptight y/n can get." He mumbles, reaching for his phone. Before you could calm down from the feeling of ecstasy you heard the sound of a camera shutter.

"You're so beautiful." He coos and strokes your hair. "So.." you take a deep breath. "Can we let them know?"

"Let them know what?" He quirks a brow.

"Let them know that you're mine?" You say before sitting up to kiss his neck.

.....

Tags : @annielovescry @melobin

So...here is the part 2-

[live-laugh-lenney]

Greetings!

So I was listening to “Glue Song” by Beabadoobee, and it just reminded me so much of Arthur! I’ve only ever see people say good things about him when they get a chance to meet him. You also just KNOW he’s someone you couldn’t forget upon meeting. I think a little short fic based off this song would be so cute!!

honestly, every single time this song plays (because it's one of my 'soft' playlists that have songs that belong in a playlist for a rainy weekend afternoon), all i think about is arthur now and i'm really honestly not mad about that... it belongs to him, without a doubt.

being christopher dixon's best friend had it's moments.

there would be many times where he would ask her to accompany him in filming a video for his latest video because he needed another pair of hands on set to stand behind a camera, or help set up for each sessions, or where he would have her running his errands for him because he was falling behind in his ever-so busy schedule of being a youtuber. there had been times when she'd dropped off some lunch for him because he didn't realise his shoot was going to take as long as it had done, buying him groceries because he always forgot to buy bread and milk, bringing umbrellas for the rainier weather so that he and his video guests weren't stricken with a cold every time, just in the background and being there as an involuntary personal assistant - that, quite honestly, she didn't mind.

but being christopher dixon's best friend did have its perks.

the list of opportunities that she had been given was forever growing and she couldn't be any more thankful that he had taken her along on his journey; she had travelled to different countries, been invited to so many exciting events, had the chance to work for different brands and companies and meeting his circle of friends had brought brand new memories and so many new friends into her life that she couldn't dream of being without now.

his roommates had always been here favourites.

george clarke had wit. he was funny and sarcastic, he broke the ice on their first meeting by trying to flirt with her but failing to even get out his pick-up line without cringing first, and he could joke with her over things that she couldn't really joke about with anyone else. but he had a soft spot that made him feel like a big brother, someone that she could always go to if she didn't feel comfortable telling chris.

arthur hill had talent as well as a sense of humour. once she found out that he was an upcoming singer and was releasing his own music into the world, she was hooked because she loved listening to any music that wasn't mainstream. and you bet that she attended every single one of his shows that she was able to attend. being that friend who was supportive in every single thing that he did.

arthur frederick had something about him that she just couldn't ever forget. he was no different to george and arthur and chris on how he acted - boys will be boys - except his personality was somewhat on a different level. he was much softer with her when they spoke one on one, he was interested in her and what her likes and dislikes and her hobbies were before he spoke for himself, he was sweeter and where they could joke, he was always weary about what he could joke with her about.

and she liked that.

she gravitated towards him.

there was just something about him that she wanted to be around, all the time, just because he felt so inviting and warm. and he was on her mind, almost all of the time when she was at home. she would think about what he was doing and whether he was working or sleeping or filming a new video. whether he was on alone or whether one of the boys was with him. whether he was a work with music in the background or a silent man who could only work in the silence with no distractions.

at a friends party, she always waved at him and slowly made her way towards him throughout the evening, saying hello to everyone so she didn't look like she was there for him and only him, making herself a lot more social to not seem rude. at any events that they would both attend, she would always linger around him - she still felt out of place at movie premieres and launch parties and he was just a sense of comfort and someone she knew the most - and he wouldn't mind it in the slightest. at video shoots for any of chris' or george's videos, he would be there by her side... even though she was most comfortable doing a set task that someone had given her for the duration of the filming... he just liked to be near her...

and, of course, chris picks up on them being a little closer than usual.

"i know it's not my place to, you know, comment on relationship stuff and all," and he brings it up at the worst time possible; she would have been fine having it privately, without the nosey ears of one of his three roommates in the room and the other two occupied with whatever they seemed to be doing with their day, "but, you two have become awfully close."

"can't we just be friends, christopher?"

"i mean, look at today. he made you a cup of tea as soon as you came in through the door. he never makes anyone a cup of tea," chris points at the mug in her hand and she shrugs playfully, "i'm not saying it's a bad thing. just-"

"tell your face that then."

"i actually think you're a good fit together. of all the people you could date, i'd say arthur was number one on my list," chris tells her and she rolls her eyes, "what?"

"i didn't realise i had a big brother," she teases him and he scoffs and his cheeks go pink for just a moment, "i appreciate you looking out for me and all but, i think i'm old enough to pick a man to date. me and arthur, we're just friends."

"just friends," he scoffs again, using his fingers to act as quotation marks, "you really aren't fooling anyone."

"you really aren't as slick as you think you're being," george perks up from the dining table, laptop open and notes filling a page on google docs, "might as well just kiss him and get something started."

"no one asked you, george," yn frowns at him and he holds his hands up in defence, "i don't even think he likes me in that way. heck, i don't even know if i like him that way. he's just-"

"he's a different breed," chris states in a matter-of-fact way, like it was obvious that he was something of a special character, "what won you over? the animal obsession? the chess head? how terrible he is at a game of football?"

yn rolls her eyes and sets her mug on the kitchen island and stands from the stool she was sat upon.

"i don't have to stay here and listen to this," she threatens and chris just sits back and smirks at her as she grabs her cardigan and her bag and manoeuvres to the front door of their flat and she takes one last look at him before realising the stupid look upon his face, "what now?"

"you're totally in love with him."

she flips him off with her middle finger and slides her feet into her shoes, reaching for the handle of the front door, "lovely as always to see you boys. i'm going. see you never again."

and she closes the door behind her and leaves the two boys grinning at each other, concealing her own smile as she trots down the hall and towards her own flat down the corridor, knowing she'd probably grace them with her appearance later on that evening - she just felt the need to be dramatic as she left.

"yn left?"

chris and george see arthur standing outside of his bedroom door, a look on his face that was full of disappointment yet almost with a look that seemed to be an attempt to hide the sadness. he'd clearly been asleep; his eyes were sleepy, his hair was a mess and he had a pair of shorts and a jumper that was creased from him being in the same position for at least most of the hour he had disappeared into his bedroom.

"yeah, chris was being a dick," george jokes and chris throws him two fingers as he stood from his stool and stretched out his back, "she left in a hurry."

"is she okay? what did you say?"

'i actually said nothing," chris lies and he shrugs his shoulders, "she just said she had to leave."

"hmm," arthur hums softly, scuffing into the kitchen and reaching for the cup she had left on the counter, "maybe i'll pop around and see if she's okay."

"yeah, she'd probably like that," chris smiles and as arthur occupies himself with washing up her mug and wiping the tea stains from the inside, chris looks over at george and they both roll their eyes - two lovesick puppies pining for each other but neither one knowing where to start, "she'd definitely like a familiar face."

if you read this far then i think i may have gotten a little carried away and actually forgotten what the prompt was all about... but i hope this is good... obviously wanted to do it justice because it's a song so fitting for arthur... let me know what you think and don't be afraid to send in some requests! i'm probably here all afternoon slash evening so come keep me company! xx

[catbountry]

Does anybody else remember Pandora? Not the box, or the fictional planet where James Cameron's blue alien cat people live where there's a literal mineral called "unobtanium" that can only be harvested from that particular planet. My man literally called that shit "unobtanium," fucking portmanteau of "unobtainable" and the "-ium" suffix for newer elements. No. That has absolutely nothing to do with anything else I'm writing beyond this point. This is a post about music.

This is a post about the customizable internet radio station Pandora. And also it's going to briefly cover ClickRadio, it's going to talk about my experiences with YouTube Music, Spotify, my own iPod and how I find and listen to music, and how it's a core part of my creative process and I put a bunch of music references in pretty much all of my creative work. None of it being musical, by the way. I can barely carry a tune and I can't play any instruments more complicated than a kazoo.

It also got really long and rambly, look, I'm high, I'm sorry. You've been warned.

It's 2001. I'm in high school. My life looks like this drawing I made a few weeks ago.

Music is a big part of my life. The internet was a lot slower. It would take several minutes to download an .mp3 file of a song that was only about three and a half minutes long, so I would listen to the radio a lot. But the thing about listening tuning into radio is that it's not the internet. You can't pick which song to listen to whenever you want. If you want that, your best bet is to own the songs you want on their physical CD releases, or risk exposing your mom's computer to a million viruses. But in order to skip a song, you have to press a physical button to skip a song. And of course, if you're listening to the radio where you can discover new songs, you can't skip the latest Limp Bizkit or Disturbed track with the vain hope that maybe they'll play "One-Armed Scissor" by At The Drive-In or "Go With the Flow" by Queens of the Stone Age, or any single off of Kid A. Everything you hated the most, hated more than Britney Spears or the Backstreet Boys, was all lumped together under the formless "alternative rock" label, which weirdly included hip-hop artists like Eminem, House of Pain, Beastie Boys, Cypress Hill, Gorillaz and Outkast; all stuff that I guess radio stations looked at and thought "yeah, this can appeal to white people."

You know I heard Dynamite Hack's version of "Boyz N The Hood" before I ever heard Eazy-E's? That should be a crime. That should be considered a human right's violation. Fuck you, Dynamite Hack for introducing the entire world to the concept of ironic hipster covers hip-hop songs which led to the fucking white people with ukeleles versions of Tupac songs. I am so glad that we, as a society, have all come together against these dynamite hacks and decided this was cringe and something that belongs in the past.

But this isn't an essay on awful YouTube music trends of the early 2010's, this is listening to music in the internet age in the early 2000's.

In 2001, ClickRadio launched. It was a desktop application that allowed you to listen to radio stations via the internet, but it had something real radio stations did not; if a song like, say, Dynamite Hack's cover of "Boys N The Hood" came on, you could click a thumbs down button and it would let out this cartoonishly loud "thud" and then that station would never play that song for you again. And if they played a song you really liked? You could click a thumb's up button and it would play that song more often.

I cannot understate how fucking mindblowing an idea this was in the early 2000's. Yes, ClickRadio would slow down your computer as the Neopets Flash games you would play gringing for Neopoints to get a Halloween brush for your Lupe that you named after a member of your favorite band. Anybody else do that?

No? Just me? Okay then.

ClickRadio would quickly get enshittificated, within only about a year or two being filled with more and more unskippable ads. I went back to just loading up MP3s in Winamp and playing music that way by the time I was in college, but it was a pain having to listen to whatever song I had physically on my hard drive, or a few years later, going to YouTube to see if somebody uploaded a crusty version of a NoMeansNo song with a Spanish-speaking DJ speaking in the opening bits of the video. Not ideal.

But then Pandora showed up.

I don't remember where I first heard about Pandora, but after Napster, there were a bunch of music start-ups hoping to be legitimate in the eyes of artists and record labels. Clickradio was just a radio station. But Pandora... was an experiment of The Algorithm.

You see, Pandora started what is known as the Music Genome Project, a way of organizing music into hundreds of different subgenres across five large umbrella genres; Pop/Rock, Hip Hop/Electronica, Jazz, World Music and Classical. What Pandora did was use this as a way to allow users to craft their own custom radio stations. And not only would it play the stuff you liked, but it would be tailored to a seed artist or song; you put in Nirvana, you get a lot of 90's alt rock radio faire, but then maybe it plays Mudhoney. Maybe it plays Sonic Youth. Maybe it plays Melvins, and you like it. And when you give a thumbs up, you hear more and more artists in similar subgenres. And let's say you've been looking into obscure or underground music for years before you start using Pandora, and suddenly you're introduced to artists you never would have come across more organically. And buddy, you'd bet my Pandora station was a fucking hodgepodge of hundreds of seeds, which allowed me to discover highly influential /mu/ core bands like Swans, Animal Collective and Neutral Milk Hotel, but also bands that are so obscure that their Spotify listens are in the lower four digits at maximum and maybe a couple tens of thousands of views on YouTube. So many songs I found through Pandora are from bands that I very rarely hear a lot of people talk about, but they've made songs that have just lived in my brain for decades.

And for a couple years, I'd be listening to Pandora radio while writing up new TF2 fanfiction to terrorize TF2chan with. Certain songs would come up so often because I specifically bookmarked them. I didn't really know a lot about shoegaze before Pandora, but now I own a physical copy of all three of Slowdive's albums, and you fucking bet "When the Sun Hits" was in heavy rotation while I was writing Respawn of the Dead.

Yes, this was playing while I was writing out Respawn of the Dead, chapter by chapter. And so was "Beautiful Plateau" by Sonic Youth, "The Sound" by Swans, "Dead Flag Blues" by Godspeed You! Black Emperor and "End of the Line" by Murder By Death. And also this song by a band called The Clock Work Army, which split up and reformed into another band called Calico Horses, and I know this because I found this out while trying to track down a song that would play constantly on my Pandora station and it has, as of writing this sentence, 2,588 listens. And it might have more by the time you read this because I might just put it on loop because oh my god, I love this song so much, it hits so perfect for me, why don't more people know about this song?

It's not on YouTube, where I usually tend to listen to music, since I'll go through a rotation of songs that I call "work songs." I put on music while I write, and some songs are just so perfect that I can listen to them on loop with a very select number of songs that just never, ever get old for me. My neurons in my brain light up as though I was hearing it again for the first time.

Swans, Sigur Ros and The Dillinger Escape Plan are all artists who I found through Pandora that I've had the privilege to see live. By the time I was just discovering bands because I had a bunch of friends and mutuals with similar taste in music to mine, Pandora was slowly getting more and more ads. It was getting to the point where the free service would, if you were lucky, play only three or four songs before playing an ad. And when the length of those songs can span anywhere from less than three minutes for much of my beloved 80's and early 90's punk, to up to a half an hour for post-rock, noise, or ambient music. And the number of ads that played between songs had increased. What was just one every half an hour or so was now two to three for what could potentially be only after seven minutes of music. Pandora really doesn't like it if the music you like includes a lot of songs that are longer than an episode of The Simpsons.

I never hear anybody talk about Pandora anymore. Spotify is THE name in internet music streaming, and it favors listens of entire albums and other people's playlists. I don't like Spotify; sometimes I just want a specific song from a specific album. I could make a playlist of these "work songs," but I like when YouTube notices that I'm listening to music, and in the recommendeds, there's another song that I've listened to on repeat. Why yes, I would like you to play "Classical Homicide" by Dälek for me again. What's that? An hour loop of Deadmau5's "Professional Griefers" featuring Gerard Way? Yes please. I apologize for nothing. That dude's way better than Skrillex.

God, do you guys remember the Deadmau5/Skrillex shipping that was all over Tumblr in the early 2010's. I remember it. I remember it so hard. Everybody shipping them and the members of Daft Punk, posting Steam Powered Giraffe (blech) and Die Antwoord (lol) on my dashboard. In Die Antwoord's defense, they had some pretty funny music videos.

I got AdBlocker for YouTube, so the ads aren't a problem there. I mean, I could make a playlist for Spotify of my go-to songs, but I'd have to deal with ads. And there's something nice about YouTube's robots that sell my precious data to faceless corporations at least having the courtesy to be like "You look like you could use another stream of 'Anything (Viva!)' by Foetus. Or Scraping Foetus off the Wheel. Or... whatever, fuck it, it's J.G. Thirwell's band, okay? It's the guy that does the music for Venture Brothers."

Foetus was introduced to me through a friend but it was Pandora serving me up more of their music that made their albums "nail" and "Flow" ones that got the honor of Being Downloaded onto my iPod so I can Listen to This in my Car. I still use my iPod and even if there's albums that I haven't gone back to in years on there, I like having them there. I haven't listened to the soundtrack for Panty and Stocking in ages but having access to it so that I can FLY AWAY NOW, FLY AWAY NOW, FLY AWAAAYYYY on a long drive? I like having that option.

I still buy CDs so I can burn albums onto my iPod. My iPod doesn't have ads and switching between artists doesn't mean I have to flip through a CD binder. I also try to buy albums off of Bandcamp. Especially for smaller artists, or artists whose work I love enough to want to give them my money. I don't want to listen to ads. It throws off my workflow, shakes me out of the trance-like state that is pure, focused creativity. Whether it's working on comics or thinking about things I want to do in those comics, I'm usually listening to music. Sometimes the same album, hundreds of times over. I admit I haven't listened to that much King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard, but I've listened to Nonagon Infinity front to back more times than I can count.

Nowadays it feels like I don't have a lot of friends who share my taste in music. I've so fully entrenched myself in fandom circles that I've been exposed to the average person's taste in music and I'm like "oh yeah, most people aren't as big of a fucking nerd about this as you are." You know how hard it is to get people who aren't music nerds to get into The Residents? Everybody I know that likes them already knew about them before we met, and people who had never heard of them before they met me usually find them deeply weird and never get fucking obsessed with them like I have. I own a physical copy of, not their original version of their album The King and Eye, which is an entire album of them covering Elvis that sounds like this, but the fucking remix of that album that does shit like this to their covers of Elvis songs. And you know what? I love both versions, but that remix of their cover of "Surrender" is a work song.

Listening to music is the only way I can guarantee that I'm actually working on something and not playing with my phone. I guess what I'm saying is... it sure would be nice if Pandora existed like it did back then right now.

Especially because I stopped cleaning up a page of my horrible Deltarune fan comic (MASSIVE Dead Dove warning, not even kidding, the entire story hinges on some very upsetting topics) just to write all this down and make sure there were links to every song in this essay. And like... I've even used the comic as a not-so-clandestine way into tricking them into listening to my music before. Whether it be directly namedropping bands and songs, writing about a specific character's taste in music and using that in the story somehow, or literally just making the title of one of my comic installments... this.

It is really good. 686 listens on YouTube. Absolutely criminal. And the example above? That's me not putting in hundreds of references into the comic and wondering if anybody else has noticed them.

I guess what I'm saying is that I am a huge music nerd, even though I always feel like I'm getting into artists super late (unless they're like Death Grips, but that was only after The Money Store had come out), but I fucking hate Spotify. I want more physical releases that can be preserved digitally, and I don't have the money to get into collecting vinyls as a hobby. All the vinyl I own is toys, and uh... I own a lot of those.

Thank you for reading through pure, uncut music autism mixed in with nostalgia and griping about capitalism because that's apparently where my head is at all the time when I'm not daydreaming my little stories or making up video essays in my head that will never be made. That's why I do stream of consciousness Tumblr essays full of minute details that absolutely are not necessary, but this is how my goddamn ADHD brain works. Now you know what it's like to be in my Discord server.

That post is, of course, pinned in the music channel.

As it should be.

... Fuck Pandora, I don't even fuck with it no more, I miss Grooveshark, weh, my playlist on that site was eight hours long before they shut it down in 2014. Devastated. I was in the middle of using it when it went offline.

Okay now I'm done for real, sorry.

[thequeenofsarcaasm]

Chapter 12 of Love is in the hands

Summary

After getting kicked out of his home for being queer, Suguru comes across his childhood sweetheart in a strange gay bar that is owned by his new “family”: a bunch of queer social rejects who were taken in by Yuki, an eccentric matriarch. He finds a new home (and his lost love) there.

Extracts

I couldn’t decide on one so I selected two excerpts

1-“Is there anything these fingers can’t do?” he asks, making Suguru laugh.

“Satoru, stop,” he giggles.

Satoru sits up. “I think it’s insane how talented you are. You weren’t even looking at the sheet and I know you haven’t played these songs in years. You should drop law school,” he says.

One again, Suguru cannot stop himself from laughing. “And who would kickstart the LGBTQ revolution that sets us all free from the shackles of an oppressive society?” he asks, believing his own words much more than he should. That’s Riko’s influence at play.

“You can do both,” Satoru shrugs. It’s touching how hopeful he is.

“I can’t do both,” Suguru says, gently extending his arm to touch Satoru’s hand.

“Sure you can. I could be the Miriam Makeba to your Nina Simone, if you want. Or the Frida Kahlo to your Josephine Baker. It doesn’t matter,” Satoru says, intertwining their fingers.

He sounds stupidly in love, and undoubtedly is. It’s a good thing he was never good at hiding things from you Suguru.

“Should I play something else for you?” Suguru asks.

“Something short,” Satoru requests. “I can only fall in love with you so many times before my heart explodes.”

“Satoru you huge sap.”

2- “What’s truly ridiculous is that we both have mommy and daddy issues. Insane,” Satoru says. 

“I know right? Maybe being a parent is more difficult than what we think,” Suguru reflects. To him, family was never truly about blood to begin with. It was always about responsibility.

“Nah, they just suck,” Satoru voices, shaking his head to solidify his case. “I’m not a genius in that department but I know good parents don’t kick their son out for watching gay porn. Your dad would be livid if he knew I put it up your ass,” he laughs, almost choking on a piece of kikufuku.

“And he’d truly be disgusted if he knew how much I liked it,” Suguru chuckles. “You should sit. I don’t want you to end up dead,” he says, helping Satoru up.

“Maybe he should try,” Satoru says, coughing. Not even a near death experience will stop him from gossiping. “He was super close with that one man. The guy he was always hanging out with. I bet getting railed would change the chemistry of his brain,” he says.

“Satoru, ew,” his partner cringes. “That’s his first cousin. Don’t ship my dad with his cousin,” he says, slapping his shoulder lightly.

“Maybe they’re not really cousins,” Satoru puts his finger against his temple. “Maybe that’s his fuck buddy. Do you think he ever bottomed? Do you think he’s a slut just like you?” he whispers.

“Satoru, you’re terrible,” Suguru laughs. “Now, I’m sure your mom had a bisexual ‘phase’. Let’s talk about that instead.”

[empressgeekt]

Idk if you're aware, but im pretty sure Medleys and Mashups are actually like... REALLY hard to do and still sound good. A lot of different songs don't really mix well together, and it can be really jarring when a track suddenly switches to a different song, case in point, the Pop Medley from World Tour. It was meant to be cringe (which with Branch is legit very difficult to pull off the guy's VA could probably make a screaming banshee sound angelic), but it's a good example of how strange and difficult medleys can be, even a good one. Or an even better one in the Holiday Special when Branch himself did a Friend Medley with the intent to annoy Poppy as much as possible. And example of a legitimately amazing medley would be Brozone's Back and even then you can feel a but of awkwardness at the beginning of the song before Branch joins in (although that may have been on purpose)

So the fact Creek asked Branch, someone everyone assumes has never performed before and is talentless on top of that, to do a medley is actually a really mean thing to do. Unfortunately for Creek, Branch is ex boyband, and his brothers had a habit of changing choreo and song lists right before a performance if what happened in the flashback is to be believed.

I sing in a choir at my church and learning the music without having the remix it. Creek was a fool to make a bet without knowing who he was betting against.

[sarasometimes]

hi sara do u like vocaloids :) there's a lot of cool and spooky vocaloid songs I think you would like a lot! this is one of my favorite ! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tvrv1YZWjRY

ah dude fuck i love vocaloid

KAGOME KAGOME that fucking takes me back dude wait hold on ok i had 2 look it up again but dark woods circus fundamentally changed my brain chemistry as a teenager

somewhere out there is tthe really cringe n awful fan cover i made of that hwn i was like 14 for a school project lol

i need to revisit these i bet theres a bunch of new creepycore vocaloid jams

[anonymous-kotlc-thoughts]

I’ll be honest here guys (this is quite embarrassing but, you know).

When I was like fourteen and I think Legacy had just come out, but I was OBSESSED with BTS at the time. (To a semi unhealthy degree). While reading the book Shannon mentioned a post of a boy band on Amy Fosters wall that Sophie had never heard of before. I am assuming she was meaning to imply this was one direction. But you know. I’m insane. So I researched deeply into the KOTLC Time line and lined up all the events. Anyways Sophie left in 2012 which was a YEAR after one direction released their first album. Now 1D wasn’t at the height of their fame; snd Sophie was a socially awkward tween BUT I’m TELLING YOU GUYS. THEY WERE EVERYWHERE . Literally inescapable part of the western world, especially I would say in America where literally everyone fawned over UK accents. Uh anyways. From this thesis I figured that Sophie just could not have not know 1D. And I bet you right now they were on her iPod music playlist. Anyways I concluded that the boyband poster was BTS. Also one of my favourite songs from them at the time is called black swan. I had an animatic planned to it.

Now is where the ask SHOULD stop. Because, well… the rest is quite embarrassing but I think it’s funny.

With the collision of these two interests of mind some insane washed over me and I decided I had to write a fanfiction. It was about Amy Foster joining the neverseen around the same time as Tam and Glimmer were around and it had an ungodly amount of BTS references and fandom jokes that I think were there purely to make me giggle. I was having QUITE the time you see and I posted maybe four chapters to Ao3? It was a complete cringefest. But I enjoyed it and that’s all that mattered at the time !! (I still kinda live by that statement). Anyways I didn’t expect for it to be exactly a hit but I got a couple of hits and like maybe 2 Kudos. I was like cool, people are enjoying this. That’s great! Anyways I got a comment on the fic. It was something along the lines of “Imao what is this.”.

And dude.

Look I’m not THAT great at reading text but that broke me. I gave up writing the fic and pulled it from the platform. Suffice to say my tolerance for criticism wasn’t that good- but I’m proud to say I have really built up that cringe but free mindset lately and every year I grow stronger. Anyways to anyone who’s ever written a fic or done something that they found fun and joyful and whimsy and someone else was being a little hater (even if they didn’t mean it) I see you, I feel you and I hope you are able to find a happier space where you csn be cringe and free !!! 💜

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