#Billie Joe Armstrong imagine

[sophmere]

Who are you most excited about seeing at AMAs50?

Look how happy Jisung is!

[just1riqht]

where’s the Tre Cool fanfiction

[sdvbraindump]

I have a vision and it involves someone in Pelican Town...

[mosspapi]

I have boulevard of broken dreams stuck in my head so ofc the autism has decided I need to echolalia it. Which is very not fun on my still post-strep throat barely half an hour out of an hour-long therapy session which was Also very not fun on my still post-strep throat.

[donald-trump-official]

President memory loss aka sleepy joe aka crooked Joe can’t even remember which room he is currently in! Imagine a president who is that incapable of cognitive awareness. It’d be like Billy Jean Armstrong, was the first person on mars, saying “that’s one small step for woman”. It makes no sense

[m00nsbaby]

BABES HEAR ME OUT- Ever heard of the song "the moon will sing" by the crane wives?

I was wondering if I could get "I loved you like the sun; with no light of my own, I shine only with the light you gave me"? With the moonboys 🥺💗

I CRIED???? Y'ALL NEED TO STOP SENDING ME SONGS THAT SOUND LIKE THE BABIES BECAUSE I CRY LIKE AN IDIOTLKSDJFKLG

I LOVED THIS ONE, HERE WE GO

The moon will sing.

Moon system x reader.

Tags & warnings. A bit of angst (you know me), fluff and some self steem problems.

Word count. 2.4k

Summary.

I loved you like the sun; with no light of my own, I shine only with the light you gave me.

Over time, you came to understand that this couldn't be, at least not in a romantic sense, but you had no problem accepting that the four of you worked incredibly well as best friends.

You loved them, and there was no greater reward than seeing how your love had been a significant support in their lives. Sometimes, there's nothing like watching the love of your life grow. However, no matter how hard you worked, there was something they still couldn't shake.

But the silver lining was that many times, they just needed a little reassurance.

In Steven's case, it was always his memory.

As it turns out, Steven, for logical reasons, didn't remember much of his life, and he never really thought about it until now when he was in this strange balance with Marc and Jake. Even though the three of them stood thinking, "Hey, this is better than how I felt in the past," there were things in his head that they never expressed because sometimes comfort gives you a false sense that you shouldn't complain about your current situation.

That you should be grateful.

And Steven Grant was thankful for many things. He was grateful for Marc and Jake, grateful for you, grateful for his life, and even grateful for Gus's new friend. So when throughout the day he heard or saw something that triggered a false deja vu, he suppressed the urge to cry, knowing that it was probably a memory of Marc that he wasn't identifying correctly.

Much of his life was spent questioning what had been real and what was a product of his imagination.

"Listen, listen," you whispered, looking at him intently.

Both of you were sitting on his carpet right in front of the sofa, your backs against the couch and your shoulders touching.

You were introducing Steven to the magic of Green Day, and he was the only one who could tolerate your habit of pausing every song to say, 'this is the best part,' in a short 3-minute period.

Well, this one was really the best part. The build-up during the 'Til then I walk alone' always gave you shivers, and it did the same for him, but for a completely different reason.

It was silly to think that a young Marc Spector, unsupervised and burdened with a thousand problems to deal with, didn't take advantage of every opportunity to distract himself in any way he could, like at parties.

In 2004, at just 16 years old, "Boulevard of Broken Dreams" was one of those things that made you say, "Woah, this is definitely the best thing humanity has ever created." It was at one of those ridiculous parties that Billie Joe Armstrong figuratively opened his eyes.

Suddenly, Steven wasn't with you anymore. He was on an uncomfortable couch surrounded by cigarette smoke, and the taste of beer lingered in his mouth. He could deal with the memory, but not with the flood of feelings that hit him like a runaway truck. The feeling of being a lost child, without parents, without friends, without his brother, and without any desire, fighting not to sink as the days went by.

Sometimes, it was a good reminder of how much of an anchor he was for Marc.

He ripped out his earpiece before the song could finish, and he looked at you with fear. You furrowed your brow, confused but not as detached from the situation as you had been in the past. It wasn't the first time.

"Steven? Are you okay?" you whispered, putting your phone aside to look at him.

"Yeah, yeah, I…," he stammered, closing his eyes for a few seconds just to catch his breath. "It was a… It's nothing."

You placed your hand on his cheek to seek his gaze, and he immediately melted at your touch, his head tilting toward your hand like a puppy seeking affection.

"What happened?"

"I… I remembered."

Oh, so that was it.

You nodded slowly, and your arms slid around his shoulders, he hugged you by the waist to pull you closer to his body. You learned with time that Steven's love language was physical touch.

You felt him squeeze harder with his arms, and his forehead rested on your shoulder.

"It's okay if you want to cry," you knew he was holding back.

Like clockwork, you felt your T-shirt getting wet from his tears.

"I can't anymore," he whispered with difficulty, his body experiencing small spasms from crying. "I can't anymore, I don't know what's… I don't know," he stammered, and you nodded slowly.

"I understand." The position was uncomfortable, but you weren't willing to let go. "I understand, Steven."

"I don't know what's real, I don't know." He took a deep breath. "I was at… at some kind of party," he tried to laugh at his silly memory while sniffing.

"And were they listening to Green Day? It sounds like fun," you joked back with a slight smile, your fingers combing his curls to your liking. "Marc definitely had a Green Day phase."

You managed to make him laugh, even with his difficulty in breathing.

"Maybe," you whispered, trying to get his attention again. "We can talk to him; he'll help you remember."

"He doesn't like to talk about it."

You moved away just enough to look him in the face. Your hands traveled from his shoulders to his cheeks, which you squeezed with your fingers while giving him a small smile.

"He'll understand," you whispered, the tip of your nose brushing against his. Finally, you saw him smile back.

"Do you think so?"

"I do," you confirmed, wrinkling your nose at him affectionately.

For Marc, it all depended on embracing his inner child, both literally and symbolically, the one who was always scared and never knew how to express it.

The sound of one of his crystal glasses shattering made you look up from the sofa. He was looking at the floor in annoyance, and within seconds, you heard a second crash, him hitting the nearest wall.

"Shit!" he exclaimed loudly. You sighed heavily and got up to go to the kitchen.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I… yeah," he said, looking at his hand, which had a cut on the palm. You could hear his heavy breathing, his chest rising and falling in front of your eyes.

"Calm down."

"I am calm," he replied immediately, looking at the juice stain on the floor.

"Marc, it's okay." The glass crunched under your shoe, and you almost gave him a nervous tic. You were making an even bigger mess; you were going to get him in trouble.

But with whom?

Who was going to punish him?

"Look at that." Your voice was soft, and he found it ridiculous how your expression wrinkled in concern when you noticed the cut on his hand.

He'd been impaled once; this was nothing.

"It doesn't hurt."

You ignored him, placing your hand under his to bring it closer to your face. Your other hand removed the tiny shard of glass stuck in his skin, and he hissed; it hurt a little, just a little.

Very little.

"Come on, let me…" You whispered, bringing his hand with you. This time, his shoes completed the mess beneath both of you. You turned on the sink and held his hand under the water.

He stayed still, obedient to you. He could feel the rhythm of his heart slowing down.

He watched as you put soap in his palm and then rubbed it with yours as if he were washing his hands himself. It stung, but he paid little attention when you were so close. The genuine concern you felt for him made Marc's stomach turn; this hadn't happened to him before.

The blood stopped flowing within seconds; it wasn't anything serious, just as he had thought.

"Do you think you need a band-aid?"

He thought you were teasing him until he saw you smile with your characteristic tenderness. He slowly shook his head, not knowing what to say.

His gaze dropped to the floor, and you did the same.

"Oh, that."

"Take off your shoes." He moved to the dry part of the floor, doing as he had asked you to do. His tone was so gentle that your smile unconsciously grew on your face.

This was the point you wanted to reach with him.

"Let me pick up the glass, okay? Get a towel to dry this."

And together, as if they were on a children's show, you cleaned up the mess Marc had caused, without raising your voices or arguing.

"Do you want to choose the movie for tonight?" You gave him a little nudge with your shoulder as both of you finished washing your hands, and he pushed you back in the same playful manner.

"I thought that was a given." It's amazing how quickly you can forget your mistakes when no one scares you for making them.

You were willing to stay as long as it took for Marc to understand that accidents were just that—accidents. If only someone had told him that many years ago.

The rest of the night passed as if nothing had happened. He hugged your shoulders, and you ate popcorn from the bowl resting on his stomach. Marc chose the worst action movie you had ever seen, but you enjoyed his silly comments as well as his laughter when the effects were terrible.

A broken glass wasn't the end of the world; it never was.

Topics with Jake were always deeper, both literally and symbolically; the conversations you had about the existence of human beings always seemed like a philosophy class.

Because unfortunately, he still had trouble feeling like a person with autonomy, not just an extension of Marc and Steven's needs.

He wasn't just a tool.

"I don't understand why they need another room." He looked around with a furrowed brow, still not sure how you managed to get rid of all the clutter in that room.

It was completely empty, except for an old desk that Steven refused to get rid of. It was the perfect space.

"For you."

"Huh?" He looked at you as if you were crazy.

"For you. I talked to Steven and Marc, and they both agree that you deserve to have a space for yourself that isn't your car."

He rolled his eyes.

"I don't spend that much time in my car."

"Steven says you like the car more than him."

He thought about it for a moment.

"Well, that's true."

This time, you rolled your eyes.

"But…" He continued. "It's not necessary. I'm sure Steven's books would make better use of the space. Why do I need a room?"

"For listening to music? Reading? Watching those dramatic afternoon novelas? Watching pornogr…”

"Fine! I get it!" He wasn't thrilled with the idea. You could see it as he continued to look around the room, not sure if he was planning something or simply disdainful of the idea.

"Do you like it?"

"No."

He was the most difficult person you knew; that wasn't a surprise. But he gradually warmed up to the idea, especially when you brought him two different posters, each with a completely different painting printed on them.

Café Terrace at Night by Vincent Van Gogh.

Vs.

Las Meninas by Diego Velazquez.

It took him hours to decide; every now and then, he would stop to look at the paintings and examine every detail.

"Did you know…" He caught your attention as you organized some books on the desk, new books he had chosen. "Van Gogh didn't sign this painting?" He pointed at the poster, and you looked up to analyze it as if you were going to refute it. "Historians know it's his because he mentioned it in letters before."

Well, that was something you didn't know.

Steven probably said he knew it from the headspace.

"I had no idea."

"I think I'll go with that one."

"Then that's the one."

And so began the extensive collection of meaningless decorations on the walls of Jake's new room. He had a thousand photos with no order, pictures of Marc and Steven (anyone who walked into the room would think he just had very high self-esteem), pictures of you, cats he saw on the street, his car or cars he thought were cool but would never be his.

He had photos of the moon and Queen posters. Papers that made him look like one of those hoarders from the reality shows you watched with Steven, because when he realized he could find a bit of his reality in the smallest things, he didn't stop.

A parking meter ticket, some from the corner convenience store where he bought spicy potato chips that painted his fingers red, the wrapper from one of his favorite candies, some tickets from different movies at the cinema, that note you left on the passenger seat wishing him a good day.

The collection was so extensive that you'd probably never finish listing it.

Oh, he also had a shopping list from Steven.

He never thanked you out loud, but the fact that he started using the space was enough for you. Ah, and the way he lifted you in his arms to make you laugh.

"Jake! No, no, no!" Your legs were wrapped around his hips, your fingers gripping his shoulders.

"You're amazing, you know that, cariño?"

"Why?"

"Just because you are." He kissed your entire face, oh, never the lips; he didn't cross that boundary even though the temptation was constant, especially when your huge eyes fixed on him in this way, your forehead resting against his.

"Just because you are." He repeated with the same smile.

The truth was, neither Steven, nor Marc, nor Jake had much in mind about what their life was like before you, and that's why they were afraid to think about what it would be like without you in it.

Maybe that was why they were so afraid to take that extra step, why they enjoyed your love the way they did, without giving you the exchange you deserved.

What if it didn't work out? Could they live with the memory of how well you had treated them?

What were they before you?

And what would they be if you weren't there?

None of them wanted to imagine it.

So every night, Steven held you tighter, praying that you would never realize that you deserved more than this, more than fixing someone broken; Marc told you stories you had heard before, as a way to let you know how much he cared, how confident he was that if someone wouldn't judge him, it was you; and Jake kept buying your favorite chocolates as if that would be enough to keep you, oh, and sometimes he kept the wrappers.

If you ever decided to leave, those would be proof that you were once with them.

Mk's tag list :)@ninebluehearts @icreatedthisat317am @onefinnedwonder-fm @shousha133

this one wasn't that bad, right?

[microposting]

macro/micro, all m/m, nsft, noncon, ownership, objectification

A man meets someone at a punk show with some unique (and unwilling) piercing jewelry.

He was a little embarrassed about it. Whole basement full of people in t-shirts, hoodies, jeans, cargo shorts, understated glasses, natural-color hair, normal, ordinary, perfectly attractive people, and here he was stealing glances at Mr. Hot Topic. Like a time traveler from 2005. Like a kid’s show’s idea of a punk rocker. But fuck if the eye shadow wasn’t doing something for him.

Bo leaned over to Mickey. “Billie Joe Armstrong over there,” he shouted. Might as well be whispering, the band was so loud. This was why he didn’t go to punk shows.

Mickey laughed. “Gerard Way over there?”

“Yeah, yeah, Pete Wentz over there. You know these people. He into dudes?”

He shrugged. “Fucking look at him. If he’s not bi, I’ll eat my socks.”

While the bands switched over, Bo approached him with a beer. He was sweaty from moshing, his dye-fried hair tussled, and very glad for the beverage. The guy was a few inches shorter than Bo, chubbier. His tattoos were numerous and seemed mostly DIY, and Bo was pretty sure he caught a glance of nipple piercing when his shirt settled just right.

“You’re pretty hardcore, man,” he opened. “No way you don’t have a band, right?”

He laughed. “Aw, I’m kind of in-between right now. Why, you trying to start something?”

“Well, I wanna start something .” Bo rose his brows.

He looked him up and down and licked his lips. “Teddy,” he said.

“Bo.” 

They shook hands.

The shed in the backyard was unlocked. Bo slammed him against one decaying wood wall, between a scrap metal shelf and a lawnmower, and a shower of dust rained on them. Tongues in mouths immediately. Fuck yes, a tongue piercing. The next band was starting up, he could hear them muffled through the wall. Grimy, throbbing, loud. That would make a nice soundtrack.

Against his tongue, something… moved? Did Teddy’s tongue piercing just move?

Bo pulled back. It was way too dark in here to see anything but the outlines of his face. The slightest shadow betrayed his frown. “Um, I think your piercing, um-”

“Oh!” He laughed. “Fuck, sorry, I forgot. Hold on.” Teddy took his phone out and shone the flashlight into his mouth. 

“Oh, shit!”

There was a guy in there. In his tongue. Some sort of plate encircled his chest, keeping him in place. His arms were spread out over the tongue’s surface. Couldn’t have been taller than an inch. Teddy flipped his tongue up to show off his little legs, kicking frantically. He was nude, except for the hardware. 

Teddy flicked off his phone light and Bo stuttered weakly. He wanted a better look, he wanted to figure out that mechanics of that whole thing. Was it clamped on? Screwed? Who agreed to do that? Why was there a tiny guy? 

“Bandmate,” Teddy said, as if that explained anything. “That’s why we broke up. There was some weird electrical incident during practice while I was on a smoke break. I like to keep an eye on ‘em.”

“And they’re cool with that?”

He cackled. “Absolutely not!”

Bo slipped his hand up Teddy’s shirt. His “nipple piercings” were soft and warm and wiggled at his touch. It felt like these two were strapped lengthwise along barbells. Cuffed at the wrists and ankles, maybe?

“Here’s a fun game,” Teddy said. “See if you can make them all come.”

“And what’s the prize?”

“I’ll suck your fucking dick, Bo, obviously.”

He smiled. That was fair.

Kissing first, then. Bo lapped at the tiny man’s chest. He imagined him sputtering and shouting. Couldn’t actually hear anything over the music. Of course, it didn’t take much to drown out a voice that small.

He paused. “Who is he, anyways?”

“Rich. He was tryna get us to call him Dragon, though. Drummer.”

“He’s in your mouth, and he’s not the vocalist?”

Teddy laughed. “You’ll get there.”

His tongue returned and slipped down underneath. The man tried to kick his legs against him to keep his tongue away just a little bit longer, so Bo twisted it vertically and slid in between. He pressed up hard and dragged back slow, rocked his tongue back and forth, grinded against him. If he really focused he could taste it… the musk, the sweat. He must be sweating nonstop in there, far more humid than any sauna. Bo flicked his tongue against the tiny sack. With the smallest bit of pressure, his tongue could press in and envelope his entire package. He wiggled it until he felt the whole body stiffen, and then the littlest hint of salt.

Bo pulled back. Saliva dribbled down his chin. “That was hot,” he panted.

“Don’t stop now,” Teddy teased back.

He pushed his shirt up and slicked his inner lip against Teddy’s solid, wrinkled nipple. His piercing strained against the contact. 

Teddy gasped and sighed. “That’s Al. Bassist. But I just call him lefty now.”

Bo could slide him out to one side. He kissed his lower half and felt the nub of his straining cock poking between his lips. Could just barely hear him yell… Not sure if it was a scream of pleasure or resistance, but both ideas were getting him hard. He was so little, he couldn’t even penetrate halfway through Bo’s pursed lips. Bo half-sucked half-kissed on him. The tiny man awkwardly tried to hump back and he smiled. “I think lefty’s liking this,” he muttered.

Teddy laughed. “Oh, are you being a good toy, Al? You being a sweetie?”

Bo smiled and gave his nipple another kiss. He tasted cum.

He wondered if they’d all wind up obedient and eager one day, like this one seemed to be becoming. Maybe it was just too overwhelming. The smell, the taste, the feeling of his flesh encircling them. They were almost part of his body. It had to be maddening. 

“Good boy,” Bo whispered. He heard a squeak in response. 

He brought his hand to Teddy’s right nipple. Righty had a lot more fight in him. Bo leaned in and brought his ear up. God, he was screaming, but he couldn’t begin to make it out. It sounded a bit more like desperate begging than anger, he thought. Bo spat on him and brought his ear back, right up to him, then pinched the piercing longways and wiggled him back and forth so the saliva worked its way between him and the interior of the nipple keeping him captive. His shouting devolved into humiliating, uncontrolled noises, and finally a long moan and quiet panting.

“Your vocalist’s got lungs,” Bo muttered.

Teddy laughed. “Nah, Grant was lead guitar.”

He frowned. “You’re vocalist?”

“Nope. Keyboard. Still gotta make the vocalist cum.”

Bo’s fingers trailed down to his belly button. Empty.

“C’mon, dude, you being dense?”

His eyebrows twitched. Oh. Duh. 

Bo reached down and slowly, carefully unzipped Teddy’s jeans. He tugged down his underwear, that smooth-textured mesh kind, and felt up his cock. On the short side, with a nice thickness and shockingly soft skin. And there on the very tip, one last tiny body. Prince Albert style, ankles and wrists cuffed together by a strict straight piece of metal, coated completely in pre. 

“Fuck,” Bo whispered. “Lemme see.”

“Go ahead.”

He got down on his haunches and turned on his phone flash. God, the little guy was soaked . Long hair flattened against him, thick liquid coating his whole body. He looked right into Bo’s eyes and even at his tiny, tiny size his expression was clear. Contempt. And exhaustion.

Bo took his sweet time looking at him. The erection must have been constricting him even further, what did that feel like? To be so directly at the mercy of another man’s libido? When Teddy came… when he pissed …

He leaned in and slowly licked up his shaft, taking his sweet, sweet time dragging the very tip of his tongue up the man’s body. Teddy moaned, and even more pre bubbled up around the man. He sputtered and gagged. 

“Frontman gets front stage,” Bo muttered.

“Now you’re getting it.”

He turned off his phone and stood back up. Before Teddy could argue, Bo pulled out his dick. With a hand, he carefully pressed their heads together. Fuck. God, fuck, it was incredible feeling the little man against him. The prisoner. He was like an insect compared to a of couple dudes fucking in a stranger’s garden shed.

Bo jacked them both off, tip to tip, the little piece of jewelry smashed in the center of them. “Jesus,” he hissed. “It’s so fucking hot, Teddy, they live in you.”

“It’s all I think about,” he panted. “He feels every twitch in my cock. They-they feel everything.”

“They should worship you.”

Teddy moaned and spurted over his hand, his cock, and no doubt half-drowned his prisoner. “Oh, fuck. Shit. Sorry, I─ Jesus, you got me hot.”

“Please suck me off,” he muttered.

“Yeah, dude. Yeah, yeah.” Teddy got down on his knees and licked up Bo’s shaft and oh god, he nearly forgot about the tiny in there. His arms fruitlessly fought off the tide of his flesh, and when Teddy took him in and pumped in and out he flailed to find any stability at all. “Are you jealous?” Teddy asked.

“God, yes.”

“You’d like some too, wouldn’t you?” He brought his tongue up and expertly slid the upper half of the little body down Bo’s slit. Oh, god, all those tiny movements suddenly dancing around inside of his cock.

Bo gasped and grabbed at his hair. “Yes!”

“I could… set up another accident. Maybe some of your friends. Or a hookup.”

“Please, please. Let’s be gods, Teddy.”

“You’d really be willing to do that? To another human being?”

“Yes!!” he squealed.

Teddy chuckled. “Good to know. I actually was thinking about a navel piercing.”

Bo froze. “Wait─” he muttered, but Teddy had already gone back to sucking him off, even more vigorously. He tried shoving him off and his hands faltered, his collar slipped over his shoulder, his pants slipped down. “Wait, Teddy─” he whimpered, and his voice was already so much smaller. Teddy bent over further and further down until he had to scoop Bo up, letting his shirt fall to the ground. Sitting in his hands, he was handheld. And the tongue, it was just so overwhelming. Bo couldn’t manage to get any sort of grip to push it off, just a helpless victim to its pressure. He came into Teddy’s wide-open mouth, assaulting him with awful humid air, and he could feel it, he could tell it could easily fit him in by now. Bo scrambled desperately away, but to where? There was palm on every side of him, and an awful fall past that.

Light blinded him and the surface he laid on tipped around as his new owner inspected him. “But maybe a scrotal piercing would be better… How ‘bout a trial run?” The light flicked off. His world turned and tumbled Bo went into a rapid free-fall. He hit some tense fabric, trampoline-like, and that shifted too until he was pressed up against bumpy, musky skin, squashed directly underneath his sack. “See how you like it, hardware,” Teddy called down. “Not like you’ll have much choice.”

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Greg Owen at LGBTQ Nation:

Green Day’s bi front man Billie Joe Armstrong inspired an internet meltdown on Tuesday as MAGA supporters screamed about a Donald Trump mask the singer held aloft with the word “idiot” scrawled across the forehead, saying that it was a “severed head” and that it was mean because Trump got shot at last month.

“Green Day had a concert here in DC last night. They decided it’d be a good idea to hold up a severed Trump head. Just TWO WEEKS after he was sh*t in the head,” MAGA influencer Nick Sortor posted along with a photo of Armstrong and the “head.” “These people are SICK.” For the record, Trump was possibly shot in the ear, but investigators have not been able to confirm that claim. Sortor’s post sent “severed head” trending on social media platform X and earned 23K comments, but a high percentage were users calling him out for his ignorance, manufactured outrage, or both in trying to gin up a Kathy Griffin-worthy response to Armstrong’s display. “That’s not a severed head, it’s a halloween mask,” one user explained. “Imagine being mad at a punk band for not liking the government,” wrote another.

MAGA fake outrage squad in action, this time over a “severed” head of Trump by Green Day.

[midnightrain-and-cleandays]

So I found out there were 164 songs that were banned the day after 9/11 so i got curious. Here are all the ones that were banned.

3 Doors Down – Duck and Run

311 – Down

AC/DC – Shot Down in Flames

AC/DC – Shoot to Thrill

AC/DC – Dirty Deeds

AC/DC – Highway to Hell

AC/DC – Safe in New York City

AC/DC – TNT

AC/DC – Hell’s Bells

Ad Libs – The Boy from New York City

Alanis Morissette – Ironic

Alice in Chains – Rooster

Alice in Chains – Sea of Sorrow

Alice in Chains – Down in a Hole

Alice in Chains – Them Bones

Alien Ant Farm – Smooth Criminal

Animals – We Gotta Get Out of This Place

Arthur Brown – Fire

Bangles – Walk Like an Egyptian

Barenaked Ladies – Falling for the First Time

Barry McGuire – Eve of Destruction

Beastie Boys – Sure Shot

Beastie Boys – Sabotage

The Beatles – A Day in the Life

The Beatles – Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds

The Beatles – Ticket To Ride

The Beatles – Obla Di, Obla Da

Billy Joel – Only the Good Die Young

Black Sabbath – War Pigs

Black Sabbath – Sabbath Bloody Sabbath

Blood Sweat and Tears – And When I Die

Blue Oyster Cult – Burnin’ For You

Bob Dylan / Guns N’ Roses – Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door

Bobby Darin – Mack the Knife

Boston – Smokin’

Brooklyn Bridge – Worst That Could Happen

Bruce Springsteen – I’m On Fire

Bruce Springsteen – Goin’ Down

Bruce Springstein – War

Buddy Holly and the Crickets – That’ll Be the Day

Bush – Speed Kills

Carole King – I Feel the Earth Move

Cat Stevens – Peace Train

Cat Stevens – Morning Has Broken

Chi-Lites – Have You Seen Her

The Clash – Rock the Casbah

Creedence Clearwater Revival – Travelin’ Band

The Cult – Fire Woman

Dave Clark Five – Bits and Pieces

Dave Matthews Band – Crash Into Me

Dio – Holy Diver

Don McLean – American Pie

The Doors – The End

Drifters – On Broadway

Drowning Pool – Bodies

Edwin Starr – War

Elton John – Benny & The Jets

Elton John – Daniel

Elton John – Rocket Man

Elvis – (You’re the) Devil in Disguise

Everclear – Santa Monica

Filter – Hey Man, Nice Shot

Fontella Bass – Rescue Me

Foo Fighters – Learn to Fly

Jimi Hendrix – Hey Joe

Frank Sinatra – New York, New York

Fuel – Bad Day

The Gap Band – You Dropped a Bomb On Me

Godsmack – Bad Religion

Green Day – Brain Stew

Happenings – See You in September

Herman’s Hermits – Wonderful World

Hollies – He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother

J. Frank Wilson – Last Kiss

Jackson Brown – Doctor My Eyes

James Taylor – Fire and Rain

Jan and Dean – Dead Man’s Curve

Jerry Lee Lewis – Great Balls of Fire

Jimi Hendrix – Hey Joe

John Lennon – Imagine

John Mellencamp – Crumbling Down

John Mellencamp – I’m On Fire

John Parr – St. Elmo’s Fire

Judas Priest – Some Heads Are Gonna Roll

Kansas – Dust in the Wind

Korn – Falling Away From Me

Led Zeppelin – Stairway to Heaven

Lenny Kravitz – Fly Away

Limp Bizkit – Break Stuff

Local H – Bound for the Floor

Los Bravos – Black is Black

Louis Armstrong – What A Wonderful World

Lynyrd Skynyrd – Tuesday’s Gone

Martha & the Vandellas – Nowhere to Run

Martha & the Vandellas – Dancing in the Streets

Megadeth – Dread and the Fugitive

Megadeth – Sweating Bullets

Metallica – Seek and Destroy

Metallica – Harvester or Sorrow

Metallica – Enter Sandman

Metallica – Fade to Black

Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels – Devil with the Blue Dress

Mudvayne – Death Blooms

Neil Diamond – America

Nina – 99 Luft Balloons/99 Red Balloons

Nine Inch Nails – Head Like a Hole

Norman Greenbaum – Spirit in the Sky

Oingo Boingo – Dead Man’s Party

Ozzy Osbourne – Suicide Solution

Paper Lace – The Night Chicago Died

Pat Benatar – Hit Me with Your Best Shot

Pat Benatar – Love is a Battlefield

Paul McCartney and Wings – Live and Let Die

Peter Gabriel – When You’re Falling

Peter and Gordon – I Go To Pieces

Peter and Gordon – A World Without Love

Peter Paul and Mary – Blowin’ in the Wind

Peter Paul and Mary – Leavin’ on a Jet Plane

Petula Clark – A Sign of the Times

Phil Collins – In the Air Tonight

Pink Floyd – Run Like Hell

Pink Floyd – Mother

P.O.D. – Boom

Pretenders – My City Was Gone

Queen – Another One Bites the Dust

Queen – Killer Queen

All Rage Against The Machine songs

Red Hot Chili Peppers – Aeroplane

Red Hot Chili Peppers – Under the Bridge

R.E.M. – It’s the End of the World as We Know It

Rickey Nelson – Travelin’ Man

Rolling Stones – Ruby Tuesday

Saliva – Click Click Boom

Sam Cooke – Wonderful World

Santana – Evil Ways

Savage Garden – Crash and Burn

Shelly Fabares – Johnny Angel

Simon And Garfunkel – Bridge Over Troubled Water

Skeeter Davis – End of the World

Slipknot – Left Behind

Slipknot – Wait and Bleed

Smashing Pumpkins – Bullet With Butterfly Wings

Soundgarden – Blow Up the Outside World

Soundgarden – Fell on Black Days

Soundgarden – Black Hole Sun

Steam – Na Na Na Na Hey Hey

Steve Miller – Jet Airliner

Stone Temple Pilots – Big Bang Baby

Stone Temple Pilots – Dead and Bloated

Sugar Ray – Fly

Surfaris – Wipeou

System Of A Down – Chop Suey!

Talking Heads – Burning Down the House

Temple of the Dog – Say Hello to Heaven

Third Eye Blind – Jumper

Three Degrees – When Will I See You Again

Tom Petty – Free Fallin’

Tool – Intolerance

Tramps – Disco Inferno

U2 – Sunday Bloody Sunday

Van Halen – Dancing In The Street

Van Halen – Jump

Yager and Evans – In the Year 2525

Youngbloods – Get Together

Zombies – She’s Not There

[krash-and-co]

haven't done this in a while, so here !! l&co as stuff I've heard/said in the past few months, bc I don't remember exact exchanges before then 👍👍

arguably more unhinged for reasons unknown. fate of Gods favorite clown idk

Lucy: I thought Billie Joe Armstrong went to the moon for a long time, honestly.

~

Lucy: [calling Barnes] there's a stranger at our house. she tried really hard to get in, and--

Lockwood, in the distance: we broke all the stranger danger rules.

Lucy: we broke all the stranger danger rules.

~

Holly: Lockwood, you have the coolest style.

Lockwood: thanks!

Lucy: what?!? she just tells me I look gay.

Lucy: and homeless.

~

holly: I want to help disabled kids ride a tricycle. wait, I meant to say horses.

lockwood: you want to help disabled horses ride a tricycle??????

~

Lucy: I don't have mommy issues I just don't like my mom.

~

Lucy: you gave me a framed photo for my birthday

Lucy: and within thirty minutes you stepped on it.

Lockwood: but then I bought you a new frame!!!

Lucy: and then I opened it, and it looked like you stepped on it.

Lockwood: well I'm not buying you another one.

~

skull: ugh, theyre so obsessed with how they look.

lucy, nodding: yeah, they're all "oh I'm so perfect!" preps. they definitely shave their legs.

~

Lockwood: I need to work on my swearing problem, cuz there are adults around and they don't li-- *drops thermos* ow FUCK

~

Lockwood: shut the windows. shut the fucking windows, I feel like we're being watched.

Lucy: hahaha, this is fucking terrifying.

Lockwood: here are the knives.

Holly: do you have any baseball bats? I don't want to stab people.

George: no, but we have crutches. we can hit people with them.

Holly, nodding: that's good.

~

Lockwood: I'm stupid.

Kipps: no you're not- yes you are. I don't know why I said you're not, so I had to correct myself.

~

holly: if we kill someone, we'll get in.... trouble.

~

George: shit!! I mean fuck!!! I mean crap!!!

Lucy, hitting him repeatedly: stop CURSING YOU FUCKING-- DANG IT!!!!!

~

Holly: do you ever get the urge to be randomly violent, like-

[loud clatter as lockwood and kipps beat each other up in the background]

holly: yeah like that.

~

Kipps, on searching for Bobby: I used to just grab any kid I saw about his height with brown hair, but that caused problems.

~

Lucy: what's your biggest fear?

Lockwood: what? spiders.

Lucy: no the other one

Lockwood: change.

Lucy: no the-- the other one.

George: what do you WANT FROM HIM-

~

lucy: you're going to make me have a gambling addiction.

skull, nodding: that's the idea.

~

George: pff my mom says im special.

Lockwood: im also special! they put me in classes about it.

[Lockwood and George burst out laughing while everyone else stares]

~

[Lucy and George are punching each other, screaming, and spewing out profanity in sign language]

George: literally nobody even looked up

Lucy: we're at the point where it's normal

George: yeah, haha!

Lucy: haha!

[a moment of heavy breathing and grinning before they begin fucking attacking each other again]

~

George, to Lucy: ugh im so sore. why do you keep punching me.

[Lucy punches him]

~

ok last one but this was a hell of a fucking convo and it was so funny everyone just jumped in with random twists 😭😭

[kipps crew, l&co, and flo are all sitting in barnes otherwise empty office]

George: kipps sounds terminally online, but I can't figure out yet if it's the normal kind or if he has. like. a kin list.

Lucy: the two extremes. normal or homestuck.

George: I read all of homestuck but it's okay I'm normal now

skull: im-

lucy: skull YOU'RE terminally online, but like the video gamer kind. kipps sounds like he had a my hero academia phase.

Lockwood: I was friends with someone who would roleplay mha all the time.

George: like pretend to have powers or something?

Lockwood: no, like pretend to be the characters. interact as them.

bobby: I don't roleplay, but I like to imagine I'm a different person with powers sometimes :)

ned: ha, furry.

flo: furry? one of my friends knows a furry who got her tail stolen, and she's in the office right now.

Lockwood: like today??

flo: yeah today. she's there right now.

Lockwood: [silence] oh.

flo: yeah they just. yoink.

[silence]

bobby: .....im not a furry but--

Lucy: aaaand gonna stop you right there before you make things worse for yourself

kat: why can't we EVER have normal conversations

[cadaverousconsumer]

today i see my future husband. i imagine it will play out a bit like a mid-2000's harry styles fanfictiton. i will be standing inthe crowd. my future husband 52 year old billie joe armstrong, frontman of pop punk band green day, will notice me in the crowd being quirkalicious. he will realise that this one sorta pretty 14 year old girl is worth leaving his wife of 30 odd years for. we ride off into the sunset. this is how its gonna go down. will let u know after the concert

[thebreakfastgenie]

#sorry to bring up green day again oops @dilfsuzanneyk

Don't apologize for bringing up Green Day! I know like three of their songs but this girl I went to middle school with in an extremely conservative area hated George W. Bush's guts just because Billie Joe Armstrong told her to. I imagine there were other kids like her out there, being deprogrammed from the teachings of their Republican parents by Green Day. I love and support them for that alone.

[notahorseindisguise]

i told my older brother i thought american idiot era billie joe armstrong was hot. and he said. "he looks like if david tennant played edward scissorhands". then he paused to give us both room to imagine it. and my imagined version was pretty hot. and he mustve realised my type cause he went"... which is probably very attractive to you."

[subcon-crybaby-charlie]

My Billy is a bit grouchier than he is in canon and would be just a little bit meaner. He gives the kids harsh criticisms on certain things, like say Spencer's homemade props, or all in all is sometimes seen as unfair by the kids point of view, see canon Billy's 'diva tantrum' from episode 2 that was actually completely justified. 

My Billy's career started when he was 12, being the youngest boy in a boy band, and his solo career began when he was 15, but ended when he died. He died at home, thus why his ghost was tied there before the kids found his stuff and he was able to follow them around town. He had been into music from a young age thanks to his mother, who had tried to go solo some time in the 70s/early 80s but failed. When her husband/Billy's father passed, and she had to raise the boy alone she ended up turning unreleased songs into lullabies just for him and showed him how to play certain instruments, like an acoustic guitar. It was like this until he was 12, where he begged his mom to let him try out for the boy band he was in, and then his manager ended up marrying his mom by the time he was 13, he kept his father's last name though. Sadly his mother passed when he was 15 and it devastated him. (I imagine my Billy is a bit of a Mama's boy, if you want a fun visual I always imagine him to the song underworld, from the epic underworld saga, in which the segment where Odysseus is talking to his mom would be him if his mama were a ghost.) he gets his taste in home decor from her :3

a lot of his arrogance is played up as a stage persona, I also changed his genre from pop to rock to more heavily reference Billy Joe Armstrong who he's said to be based on. Similarly, he would absolutely dropkick a guy from the stage, like Billy Joe Armstrong did at a concert to protect a lady being harassed in the crowd.

Like I mentioned in Spencer's post Billy and Spencer have a SIBLING dynamic and depending on the episode his roll would either be an annoyed older sibling, a babysitter, or he's having a moment being one of the kids. I also imagine for my version of Mallory he gives her pep talks on how to tell people no and how to stand up for herself (I will explain more about her when I get to writing her post.) he also originally did not want spencer and his family in his house, but seeing as it currently keeps him from being lonely he's fine with it, for now.

As for my design for Billy, his hair replaces his jacket lapels as the whole 'cobra hood' thing. He doesn't have pupils because of ghost lore that will get a separate post, and instead of wearing short clothes that hed probably wear at a concert he's wearing his own merch, which I imagine hed wear casually either at home or as pajamas, maybe outside as well if he didn't want to get recognized, considering my version died at home he's in his casual wear and thus his own merch, granted it's old merch since he's been dead for 10 years but what can he do, he's dead.

[iyearnforsanity]

Between the Stringx

The stage lights flickered, casting a glow that bathed the crowd in anticipation. The roar of the fans echoed through the venue, a deafening wave of energy that made Ronnie Radke’s heart race. He stood backstage, running a hand through his hair as he paced back and forth, his mind racing. Tonight wasn’t just any night—tonight, he would be sharing the stage with someone who had always been a source of inspiration for him.

Billie Joe Armstrong.

The lead singer of Green Day had always been a legend in Ronnie's eyes, his voice, his presence—everything about him captivated Ronnie from the moment he first picked up a guitar. To be this close to him, to share a stage, felt like a dream come true. He had always admired Billie Joe’s effortless charisma, his raw emotion that poured out through every lyric.

Ronnie’s thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock at the door. He turned to see Billie Joe standing in the doorway, a smirk playing on his lips.

“You good?” Billie Joe asked, his voice smooth and comforting, though there was a slight twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

Ronnie chuckled nervously, running a hand through his hair again. “Yeah, just… you know. A little nervous.”

Billie Joe stepped into the room, the scent of his cologne mingling with the backstage chaos. He didn’t seem nervous at all, his confidence practically radiating off him.

“You’ll be fine,” Billie Joe reassured him, moving closer. “Just let the music take over. That’s what we’re here for, right?”

Ronnie nodded, trying to ignore the butterflies that had started fluttering in his stomach. Being this close to Billie was surreal. The two had met before, briefly, but tonight felt different. There was an undeniable pull between them, a tension that hung in the air every time they locked eyes.

Billie Joe placed a hand on Ronnie’s shoulder, his touch warm and grounding. “Listen,” he said, his voice lower now, “I know you’re nervous, but I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think you were amazing. Just… relax and enjoy it.”

Ronnie’s heart skipped a beat at the sincerity in Billie Joe’s voice. He had always looked up to him, but to hear such words of encouragement felt like something more. Billie Joe wasn’t just a mentor or idol—he was someone who truly cared.

“Thanks,” Ronnie whispered, his voice shaky. He didn’t know what else to say. The words felt insufficient compared to what he was feeling inside.

Billie Joe gave him a knowing smile before pulling him into a hug, one that was brief but lingering. “You’re gonna do great. Just trust yourself.”

The sound of the crowd grew louder as the start of the show neared. Billie Joe stepped back, giving Ronnie a nod. “Let’s go show them what we’ve got.”

As they walked to the stage together, the atmosphere felt electric, the anticipation of the crowd only adding to the intensity of the moment. Ronnie found himself glancing over at Billie Joe, who seemed completely at ease, his confidence infectious. Ronnie could feel his nerves slowly dissipating, replaced by the thrill of the performance ahead.

They took the stage, the lights blinding them for a moment before the roar of the audience drowned everything else out. Ronnie could feel the heat of the spotlight as he grabbed his microphone, standing beside Billie Joe. The connection between them was undeniable as they launched into the first song.

Their voices blended together seamlessly, Ronnie’s raw energy complementing Billie Joe’s controlled power. The crowd was electrified, singing along to every word. Ronnie couldn’t help but be in awe of the way Billie Joe commanded the stage—how effortlessly he drew everyone in.

During a brief moment between songs, as the crowd cheered, Billie Joe leaned in close to Ronnie, his breath warm against his ear. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate, sending a shiver down Ronnie’s spine.

Ronnie swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. He had imagined this moment in countless daydreams, but nothing could have prepared him for the reality of it. Billie Joe’s closeness, his praise—it was almost too much to handle.

When the show ended, the applause was deafening. Ronnie and Billie Joe stood side by side, soaking in the energy of the crowd. As the last notes of the final song echoed into silence, Billie Joe turned to Ronnie with a grin. “We did it.”

Ronnie smiled back, his pulse still racing. “Yeah, we did.”

Billie Joe’s hand brushed against his arm, a fleeting touch that left an imprint on Ronnie’s skin. “Let’s get out of here. I know a place where we can relax,” Billie Joe said, his eyes glinting with something more than just casual friendliness.

Ronnie’s breath caught in his throat as he nodded, the chemistry between them undeniable. He followed Billie Joe offstage, heart still pounding, wondering just where this unexpected connection would take them next.

[starlizlia]

Ok this is a stupid confession and au idea in my head..

Just imagine We should all make a au where All of our favorite bands were in a object show competition Where the prize is Something stupid I mean cool stuff and the contestants are based off real people like examples a piece of bill debt paper with a red tie named Bill debt was based off of Billie joe armstrong and While A air fryer with a red hat was based off of Fred durst would be insane LIKE WHAT IF THE HOST OF THE SHOW WAS NOT BASED OFF OF A REAL PERSON JUST IMAGINE THE HOST IS A FUCKING MICROPHONE STAND OR NOT LIKE IF THIS IS REAL THEN I WILL WATCH IT

Ok end of Ted talk :P bye