#album cover frames on my wall

[phoebebuggers]

inviting a girl over and then she realizes my room is a shrine to harry styles

[autobahnmp3]

[pandorxxx]

Watch and Learn

Neteyam (23), Lo’ak (22), Jake (Too damn old but we love a good dilf😮‍💨) x omatikayan fem reader (21)

[it took me 4 cinnamon pop tarts and the entire HSM 3 album to write this😌. I got to the good part when “a night to remember” came on😎]

Tags: @touchedflowers helped with this storyline. Love you girlyyy🫶🏽❤️

🔞Minors, do not interact🔞

Warnings: SMUT THE HOUSE, p in v, squirting, cumming, cursing, hair pulling, orgasms (multiple)

“Where the hell are those boys.” Jake whispered to himself as his sons were late to the war party meeting, yet again.

“Should we just start without them?” Norm questioned, as he looked out into the crowd of warriors. Jake sighed, looking around before he spoke.

“I’ll go find them, just keep the warriors here! I’ll be back.” He commanded as he walked off to find lo’ak and Neteyam.

It had been around 20 minutes since Jake decided to go look for his sons, with no luck.

“I am going to kill them, I swear to G-“ he stopped in his tracks when he heard faint whimpering and screaming. He snapped his head towards the sound, noticing that it was coming from your hut.

“Shit…y/n!” Jake shouts, running towards the hut.

“Y/n, are you hu- what the HELL is going on in HERE??!!” Jake stopped in his tracks with a shocked look as he watched the scene infront of him:

Y/n, sitting on the table, completely naked as lo’ak stood between her legs. Neteyam, fondling her breasts harshly. The boys look up, scrambling to get their cloths back on.

“We- i” Neteyam starts, getting cut off.

“We- i, my ass! I thought she was dying, but you two knuckleheads are just in here trying to kill her I see.” Jake started with his hands on his hips.

“Why do you have her on the table like that, boy? That’s not the right angle! You’ll never get her to cum in that angle! We talked about this!” Jake explained, gesturing angrily.

“Yes, sir.” Lo’ak says sharply as he picked you up, placing you on the ground. Jake shakes his head before snapping his head at Neteyam.

“And what the hell were you doing, boy? Squeezing her breasts like that? What have I always told you?” Jake shouted, pointing his finger at an ashamed Neteyam.

“Tease ‘em, don’t squeeze ‘em…” he answered, barely above a whisper.

“That’s right!” Jake nodded, snapping his head at your small frame as stood between his sons.

“Y/n, how were they treating you, babygirl?” He asked, looking into your innocent eyes, as you swayed back and forth.

“Uhhh, they were fine.” You nod, covering your chest with your arms.

“Fine.” Jake smirked sarcastically, darting his eyes between the two boys.

“How in the absolute HELL were you two just fine….THERE ARE TWO OF YOU FOR CRYING OUT LOUD.” He gestured angrily, shaking his head.

“Let me show you two knuckleheads something.” Jake said, walking over to you. You couldn’t help but blush, smiling in your hand before meeting jakes eyes. You almost broke your neck trying to stare at him, as he towered over your small frame. He picked you up with ease and placed you on the table. The boys watching their dads every move. He placed you on the table, and turned it so that the boys could see everything.

“First of all…never EVER put her in this position again. If you want to fuck her like this, she has to be on the wall so her back is supported.” He explained sternly. The boys nodded in agreement.

“if you want to make her cum…” he started, taking you off of the table, turning you around so that your ass was on his already throbbing cock.

“You wanna put her like this.” He bent you over slightly, holding you by the bends of your elbows.

“Now if you want her to squirt” he picked you up by your hair, making you whimper. He grabbed the back of your thigh, placing it on the end of the table.

“You put her in this position, got it?” He snapped his head at the boys, as they nodded in unison.

“Good, now let me show the difference.” He put you in the previous position as he untied his loincloth, letting it drop to the ground. Your eyes widened at the feeling of his tip rubbing against your clit.

“You don’t just shove it in, you tease her first, and then….” He slowly slid into you, making your mouth fly open at him filling you to capacity.

“You slide it in, slooooowly” he explained, placing one his huge hands on your hip. He looked at his sons to meet their attentive gaze, before looking down at you.

“How you doing, sweetie?” Jake asked you, pulling your hair out of your face.

“F-fine, sir!” you grunt, trying to get used to his size, as his sons were no where near the size of him.

“You always wanna check on her, making sure she’s ok. What’s the fun if you’re hurting her? Or she’s not into it? Like watch this.” He thrusted into you slowly, causing you to let out a light moan.

The boys watched you, getting aroused all over again.

“It’s all about the angles, too. The sweetspot is upwards, so you wanna thrust upwards, like this.” He angles his hips, thrusting up into you, making your eyes roll back, letting out the prettiest moan.

“You keep doing that, and she’ll cum in no time.” He started to thrust into you, fast and deep. You were a mess under him, as he continued to hit your sweetspot.

“FUCK!” You shouted, filling your high coming already.

“Watch your mouth, y/n!” Jake growled as he slapped your ass, thrusting into you at a steady pace.

“I-I’m sorry, sir!” you whimpered, as you shut your eyes tightly.

“If you really wanna get her off, just talk her through it. Tell her what she wants to here!” He shouted over your loud moans. He bent down to your ear, kissing it.

“You like when your leader fucks you sensless ,huh?” He whispered in your ear, nibbling on it. Your mouth flew open, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“Mhmmm!” you hum with your bottom lip in your mouth. Jake kissed your neck before pinning you back to the table. You felt like you were about to explode.

Neteyam and lo’ak were both jerking off watching you become an absolute mess. Desperately waiting to get a turn.

“If you do everything that I tell you, she should-” he was interrupted by you screaming as you convulsed on his cock. He looked down to see his cock covered in your cream.

“Cum…” he chuckled, slowing down his thrusts to help you ride out your high. You were panting heavily as you tried to catch your breath. You were laying flat on the table, completely exhausted. Jake rubbed your back, comforting you.

“Now, it’s time for the main event.” He lifted you up by the back of your neck, putting your leg on the table. He lined his cock up with your throbbing cunt before sliding in slowly again. You threw your head back on him, crying out loud.

“I know, I know, you’re alright.” He tapped your stomach in an attempt to calm you down, before thrusting into you, at a steady pace. He wrapped his arms around your small waist, angling his thrusts upwards. You felt your high coming again, but more intense.

“Right when you feel her clench around you, that’s when you rub her clit.” He reached around to demonstrate. Your knees buckle, as the pleasure became too much. You scream out loud, as your eyes rolled back. You felt the knot in your stomach unravel as you squirted everywhere.

Neteyam and lo’ak’s eyes widened at your intense release.

Jake pulled out of slowly, as your juices ran down your legs. You were still shaking from your orgasm, laying on the table to calm yourself. Jake looked down at you, and then back at the boys, putting his hands on his hips.

“Ok, both of you pick one position, and make her orgasm. You can pick any method, I don’t give a damn, Got it?” He looked between the two boys, as they looked at each other.

“Neteyam, you go first boy.” Neteyam nodded, walking over to your limp body. He looked back at his dad, not knowing what to do with you in this state.

“She’s fine, just alittle tired. You got this, don’t be nervous, boy!” Jake clapped, before resting his hands on his hips again.

Neteyam looked back at you, leaning down to your ear.

“Uhhh, y/n? are yo-“ neteyam was cut off by lo’ak laughing.

“Dad, you should’ve let me go first. He’s being a wuss!” Lo’ak gestured towards Neteyam.

“Hush, boy!” Jake shouted at lo’ak. He snapped his head back at Neteyam with a disappointed look. Neteyam sighed, knowing what he had to do. He didn’t want to wear you out, but he didn’t want to disappoint his father either.

He grunted loudly before pulling you up by your hair. You yelped in pain, holding onto his arm.

“That’s what I’m talking about, boy! You got it!” Jake shook his fist, watching Neteyam to see what he would do next.

“I’m sorry, y/n….” neteyam whispered in your ear before sliding into you slowly. Your eyes widened, as you bit your lip. He gently shifted his grip from your hair to the folds of your arms. He thrusted up into you slowly, trying to take it easy on you.

“Mmmmm, don’t stop!” You moaned, letting your head go limp. Neteyams eyes widened at your response to his thrusts, making him speed up his pace.

“Yes!!! Yes!! yessss!!!” You cried as you felt him repeatedly hit your spot. He bit his lip, leaning down to your ear.

“You look so pretty, moaning on my cock.” He whispered, licking your ear lobe. Your eyes rolled back as you felt your high approaching quickly.

“That’s it, boy!” Jake shouted as he watched his oldest son dominate you, like a real man is supposed to.

“NETEYAMMMM” you whined, reaching to grab his hand. He intertwined his fingers with your as he clenched his jaw, watching you come undone on his cock. He looked down to see your cream covering his cock. He slowed down, letting you ride out your high.

“Like a real warrior! That’s what I’m talking about, boy!” Jake shouted proudly.

Neteyam pulled out of you slowly, gently laying you back down on the table, before walking away. Jake patted him on the back, followed by clapping.

“Ok lo’ak, it’s your turn, boy!” Jake motioned for him to step up. Lo’ak smirked at Neteyam before walking off.

“You made her cum, how cute. Now watch me make her squirt, dumbass!” He shook his head, walking towards your limp body with such confidence. He reached you, immediately pulling you up by your hair, placing your leg on the table .

“Ok, boy! Bold move, trying to make her squirt. Don’t get discouraged if she doesn’t, it takes a lot of practice.” Jake explained to lo’ak, but he wasn’t listening. He knew he was gonna have you screaming in a few.

He slowly slid into you, making you hum at the emptiness in you being filled for the third time. He started off slow, thrusting up into you. Your hums rapidly turned into loud moans as you felt him hit your spot repeatedly. He got carried away, grabbing you by your neck from behind, speeding up his pace.

your mouth flew opened, as you felt your high coming for the forth time that night. You gripped the hand wrapped around your neck as a tear fell on your cheek.

“Good job, boy! Now rub her clit, she’s over the edge!” Jake shouted

Lo’ak massaged your clit, causing your knees to buckle. He held you up with one arm wrapped around your tiny waist. He leaned down to your neck, leaving hickeys before he made his was up to your ear. His fangs grazed your earlobe before he spoke.

“Squirt…” and on command, your whole body shook violently, as you screamed his name. You squirted all over his stomach and thighs. He thrusted up into you slowly, making you shake with every stroke.

“SHIT!!” You panted, biting your lip. He pulled out of you slowly, watching your juices fall to the ground, trickling down your legs. He let you down gently before walking away.

“Goddammit, boy!!! That’s how you do it!!” Jake shouted, turning towards the boys.

“I’m proud of both of you!!! Good job!” he smiled, before looking back at your almost lifeless body. He chuckled as he watched you twitched occasionally.

“Now, get her cleaned up, and get to the damn meeting!” He shouted putting his loincloth back on, before walking out of the hut.

The brothers looked at each other, and stared back at you, laid across the table.

“Do you think she’s ok?” Neteyam asked, still staring at you. Lo’ak stared at you before speaking.

“I’m not going to lie” lo’ak started with a sarcastic grin, as he looked back at Neteyam.

“I have no idea, bro…”

Okayyyy, this low key good mannn, i like it a lot.I’m veryyy surprised that I haven’t seen more fanfics with all 3 of them but hey, I like to be first anyway😎. I will be working on other suggestions throughout the week so look out for that. Anywaysss love y’all, and I’ll see y’all later.

Outtie ❤️🖖🏾,

Pandorxx

[shaisuki]

imagine surprising satoru with a album of the photoshoot you secretly took.

he remains silent. humming as he flips the pages. gojo satoru is many of emotions but never is quiet. this quiet while skimming through the pages of you, posing in a seductive manner that you didn't knew you can pull off. the photographer was a real help.

“wow.” he silently gasps. flipping page after page and the photos got more risque than the last one and thank the heavens above for this. his girlfriend dressed in different types of lingerie. there's even a photo where you lay in sheet of silks. covering the intimate of your body. flesh peeking through on your most private. satoru have seen you many times. bare and naked and in various lingeries. cute and sexy. stretch marks and cellulites displayed for him to see. daringly bold and fierce.

then there's a particular photo of you. your side profile in display. dressed in a two piece baby blue lingerie with fairy wings the same color. your round stomach poking in that piece and satoru finds it beautiful. thick thighs are pressed and he knows they're doubled in size. thicker and plumper. your head is slightly raised in the picture like you were a fairy waiting for that little dew drop to fall. it's alluring. adding an air of mystic that captivates who ever sees it. hypnotizing. too bad, these are only for his eyes.

a goddess you are in these photos and duh, in personal also. satoru prefers you in your natural beauty and the photos are the mixed of different varieties of sweets. ready to be eaten and he's one hungry man. he's almost salivating from these photos. how could you be this beautiful and satoru takes a pause in looking at the pictures and gazes at you.

“do you like it, satoru?” you asked him. a shy smile on your lips and satoru could think that the woman in these photos and you are different from how you act around him. like is an understatement. he loves it more than he can say so he pulls you to his lap.

“like? i should get this all framed up and displayed on my wall for me to see.” his blue eyes shimmering with a boyish smile in his lips. “gorgeous you are in these photos but i rather prefer you dresses in these pieces personally.” he said. trailing kisses to your neck.

say no more, satoru.

and the next surprise he got is you sitting in the middle of his bed with the photo he loved the most.

[thatrickmcginnis]

THEY MIGHT BE GIANTS Toronto 1990

John Flansburgh and John Linnell - known as "the Johns" or "the Two Johns" (a joke only '80s alt-rock nerds will still get) - met in high school in Massachusetts but formed They Might Be Giants in 1981, when they moved into the same apartment building in Brooklyn after attending different colleges. They built up a following playing clubs in the NYC area, a duo playing accordion, saxophone and guitar backed by a drum machine or taped backing tracks. They had just emerged from what we used to call the indie circuit and released their third album, Flood, on Elektra Records in 1990, when I was assigned to photograph them for the cover of NOW, the big alt-weekly in the city.

They Might Be Giants had proved to be deft hands at self-marketing during their years as an indie acts, putting on a theatrical stage show in NY clubs and running Dial-A-Song on an answering machine starting in 1985. Fans could call a number (718-387–6962) and hear demos or incomplete songs from Flansburgh and Linnell. More than a gimmick, it helped establish the band's identity as creative but unpretentious, produced a compilation album and was still in service until 2008 when they had to retire it and the number. (It was revived in 2015 as a toll-free number, a website and radio network.) The band have written themes for TV shows like Malcolm in the Middle, songs for musicals and won Grammys for their children's albums.

It was still early in my time at NOW magazine when I got the assignment to photograph They Might Be Giants for a cover story, which meant both colour slide and black and white. I have no memory at all of where these photos were taken - probably a hotel room downtown - but I know I brought my single Metz flash on a light stand shooting into an umbrella, and used my Nikon F3. NOW covers were shot to a rigorous formula at this time - the subject squeezed into at most two-thirds of a vertical frame with space at one side and the top for the logo and cover type. It was restrictive and tiresome, but we had just innovated slightly by convincing the paper to drop their unofficial (and baffling) ban on white backgrounds.

I had obviously found the white wall in whatever space where this shoot took place, and got the band to tuck themselves into my frame. Flansburgh and Linnell were more than cooperative - they seemed to sense what I needed to convey the quirky energy of the band, and provided me with more than enough material for the cover layout - a big deal since I still felt very much on probation at NOW at the time. This is the first time these photos have been published since the story ran almost 35 years ago.

[td-brick]

Sierra!! I was trying to think of something fun/witty to caption this but i couldn't so. Lol

without filter:

closeups:

[ID: a drawing of sierra from total drama. she is laying down on a bed (which is presumably hers). she has one foot lying flat and the other kicking up. one hand is scrolling on a laptop and the other is resting on her face. she's smiling. there are many pillows and plushies on her bed. on one of the pillows rests a cd player and headphones, with a stack of cds and various stray ones lying around (which are all specific albums: drums and wires (xtc), violator (depeche mode), goodbye my 4-track (logan whitehurst), and homogenic (bjork). her laptop has 4 stickers on it, the first being of a seal, the second just a red heart, the third a simplified rendition of the album cover of skylarking (xtc), and the 4th being a rainbow heart. she has a lot of stuff on her wall as well. the first thing is a total drama island poster, the second is a corkboard with a string of polaroids, a to-do list, a picture of cody, and a blue ribbon, the third thing is a phantom of the paradise poster, the fourth is a framed photo of her holding up a gymnastics trophy, and the fourth is a poster of a unicorn with a rainbow mane. End ID.]

[f1nalboys]

Gotcha Something - Bo Sinclair

Bo Sinclair x Fem!GN!Reader

something short and sweet! happy valentines day guys! enjoy this thing ive been cooking up for a bit and failed at the execution <3

WORD COUNT: 1513

WARNINGS: nice gift gone sexual fr, bo is a perv but hes OUR perv, photos of reader in sexual situations, brief descriptions of wounds and past abuse from bo, stockholm syndrome is our readers defualt setting now, reader has the same scars as bo, bo calls reader his 'girl' but no genitals are mentioned. some nsfw photos and a hint of recorded sex but nothing actually graphic. slight somno mention in one photo. mostly proofread but hey im just a guy

“Happy Valentine's Day, darlin.” Bo places the package onto your lap, sinking down onto the couch beside you. You glance at him with a cocked eyebrow and he grins, something sinister hidden underneath the charming exterior. “What? You ain’t expect me to getcha something?” He asks, placing a large hand over his heart, tsking at you. “You’re my girl, remember?”

He purrs into your ear, the springs of the couch creaking with his shifting weight. He taps the package with his fingers and sits back, waiting. You pick the gift up carefully, letting out a hum at the weight of it. “You wrapped it in newspaper?” You ask, a hint of teasing in your voice, and he snorts, shrugging. “Did a pretty good job, honestly.”

He watches you with an amused expression as you carefully untape the package, pulling the leatherbound photo album out with an awe-filled gasp. “I do good?” He asks you smugly as you fawn over the barely-decorated cover, fingers brushing over the black sharpie. ‘You and I through pictures’ was written in his familiar scrawl, all capital. “Fixed up that old camera I had, been taking photos. Figured I should put it to use.”

“I love it already.” You say and you mean it, you do. You can’t quite remember the time before him, before Ambrose and the suffocating walls of the garage and his house. Leaning over and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek, you look back down at the photobook with a small smile. Flipping it open to the first page you gasp, the smile falling as you stare down at the first photo.

It was a polaroid of you. Taken from behind in the garage, you look at yourself looking at the wall of fan belts, one hand down by your thigh, the other reaching upwards to grab one of them. Whoever had taken this photo, Bo you assume, had been hiding from you, the camera taken at a lower angle, the corner of the counter in the bottom left of the frame. Your eyes drag down to the scrawled message just below the photo. 

“July 17 ‘20. First Time Meeting.” 

“You looked so fuckin’ sexy that day.” Bo whispers, his arm sliding across your shoulder to bring you a little closer to him. You keep looking at the photo. “Knew I had to have you. You remember that?”

You nod your head slightly. “Mostly. It’s hard to remember anything before the garage.” You admit, looking at him. His smile falters, his jaw setting, and you’re quick to continue talking, a flash of panic in your chest. “But I remember meeting you! Your smile, your charm, you know?” You say, forcing a smile, eyes searching his. “I thought you were so cute, I just needed your help to make a move, right?”

“That’s right.” He says, and your shoulders dip as you breathe out in relief. You look back at the photo album, letting your finger trail down your frame in the photo. “Glad you broke when you did,” he purrs into your ear, his hand on your upper arm squeezing tightly for a moment. “That way I got to keep ‘ya. Would’ve been such a waste otherwise.” You hum, agreeing with him. Of course you agreed. Before Bo, you had too many opinions, too many thoughts in your head. He helped you realize your place wasn’t out there in the world, dealing with the headaches of everyday bullshit, it wasn’t here by Bo’s side, helping him get through the day and letting him put up with you. “Keep goin’.” 

He sounds excited, leaning forwards to grab his pack of cigs and lighter from the coffee table, lighting one and taking a puff as he watches you flip to the next page. This photo is dated a day later, but the photo makes you wince. You were strapped to the chair in the garage, your face cut to hell, duct tape over your mouth, your eyes filled with tears and fear. You can barely make out the red and raw skin on your wrists and ankles due to the grain and you let out a shaky breath when Bo’s fingers lovingly run along your wrists, the warped skin warm to his touch. 

You glance up at him and see his eyes transfixed onto your wrists, a pleased smile on his lips. “You used to cry for so long,” He whispers, pressing his thumb against the scar, the cigarette dangling from his lip. “In the beginning. Used to piss me off, kinda like a dog whinin’.” He chuckles, finally letting go of your wrist. “Kinda turned me on, though. Hearin’ you beggin’ me to let you go, to undo your wrists…” 

“Yeah, I know it turned you on,” you say with a slight laugh, tapping the next photo, dated a month and a half later. “See? You even wrote ‘Our First Time’ on it.” This photo does bring a smile to your face. Your face is covered by your hands, dried blood on your wrists, your legs spread wide for him. Your shirt hung off your shoulders and if you think hard enough you can hear the sound of his knife cutting through the fabric. Bo’s jean clad legs could be seen in the bottom of the frame where he was positioned in between your legs. They were unbuttoned and showed off his freckled stomach and the thick line of hair that disappeared under his boxers. 

He had been surprisingly gentle that night, lighting the melted down candles and playing jazz on the stereo upstairs. Bo had laid you down on the dirty mattress, his eyes taking in every single inch of your body, his grip only tightening when you attempted to cover yourself. It had been the turning point for you in some strange way, seeing that side of him. It made you realize that he had been telling the truth; you did love him. 

“Still just as tight,” he says, his attempt at a compliment as he takes control of flipping through the album. Each photo causes you to blush harder, squirm in your seat. A photo of his cock inside you, bruise marks on your thighs. Another showed you on your stomach, wrists held back by his belt, hand prints on your ass. You strapped to the chair with a smile on your face and a fresh cut on your cheek. You looking up at the camera through your eyelashes and a pleading look. A photo of you sleeping and his cock pressed between your lips.

And those were just the photos where you were mostly aware of the camera. 

The end of the photo album had three photos to a page, a quickly scrawled date and word next to each one. The photo of you in the kitchen wearing Bo’s button up shirt at the stove was captioned ‘10/13/21. Cooking.’ The one of you asleep in Bo’s bed was captioned ‘11/08/21. Sleeping.’  You fixing up Bo’s mechanics uniform, 12/23/21. Sewing. You reading a book on the couch, 1/02/22. Relaxing. You with Vincent and Lester at the kitchen playing a boardgame surrounded with pizza and beer, 5/28/22. Game Night. You hunched over a cake with your tongue poking out and a piping bag in hand taken from the hallway, 9/18/22. My Birthday.

“You really took all these?” You ask, glancing at him. He seems a little bashful now, his cigarette smoked down to a stub for once. He shrugs, putting the cigarette out onto the ashtray and settling back against the couch. “I love it, Bo.” You say, your voice cracking slightly. “This was sweet.”

“Yeah, well… figured you deserved it.” He says with a roll of his eyes, eyeing you carefully. Sure, some of the photos were perverted, and it chronicled exactly what he put you through in the very beginning, but it showed that he had planned to keep you from the very beginning. You give him a quick kiss, deepening it by placing your hand on his chest. “Really loved it, huh?” Bo teases, kissing you back. He gives you a sideways smirk when you move to straddle him, his hands instantly resting on your hips.

You fiddle with the top button of his shirt, biting back your own pleased grin. “For your gift, I was thinking…” Bo cocks an eyebrow at you as you trail off before you lean in, whispering in his ear. “Maybe you can get that camcorder from Vinny and use it tonight? Whatever you want?”

“Whatever I want?” He asks, amused, his grip on your hips tightening slightly. His eyes are dark. “Guess I need to do sappy shit for ‘ya more often then if it gets ‘ya like this for me.” He grabs your hand, bringing your wrist to his lips quickly before he’s gently pushing you off of him. “Get on to the bedroom. Don’t think about takin’ those clothes off; I want the camera to see it all, darlin’.”

[evanpeterspeter]

Tate’s Mommy

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A/n: based off the votes, Tate with a mommy kink won! If anyone wants any specific requests, feel free to drop an ask or dm me.

Disclaimer: In no way this story promotes any act of pedophilia or any interactions with a minors. They are both over 18. Thank you! Enjoy.

Tw: Nsfw acts. M receiving, non protected p in v, mommy kink, (potential äge play? Idk) and so on :3

Wc: 1.5k

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After a long exhausting 10 hour shift at the library, tutoring other students in your university, you head into your doom and gloom home, kicking off your beat up Vans against the scuffed walls.

Upstairs is where you headed, to your comfortable bedroom. Your room was full of books, beautiful well fed plants, dim yellow lights and rustic vintage furniture. You still kept some of Tates 'taste' like his Nirvana albums, his radio player, his dirty, well loved Converse and small knickknacks. Looking forward you see a soft bodied boy, in a fetal position, fidgeting with his sock covered toes together, wearing a green striped long sleeve shirt, with a dusty colored blue of his jeans and is facing the other side. "My love?" You spoke softly as you plopped your bag by the door. Walking to him, you gently sat on the bed, caressing his waist and hip. "Baby boy...are you okay?"

No response. "Baaaabbyyyyyy..." you hummed to him, while still continuously rubbing him. You got a sniffle out of him and a soft whimper. "My love? What's wrong?" You sat by the head of the frame, pulling all of him up to your chest. He looked up at you with red watery eyes, his face very flushed and salty, he let out a wail of distress, clinging onto your v neck shirt. "My beautiful, baby boy what's wrong?" He lifted his heavy head to look up at you, with those big beautiful Astrid eyes. "I-I had a nightmare, w-where you left me and when I woke up..you-you weren't here!" He bawled, hiccuping in every other word. "I'm here now, my love. Mommy isn't going anywhere, okay?" "You were gone all day, I thought you left me f-forever!" He puled to you. You pushed his hair out of his flustered, damp face. "And why would I ever do that?" "I-I don't know...cause you don't like me?" You playfully gasp putting your palm to your chest. You earn a small chuckle from the blonde boy. "Why you little-.." you peppered his face is kisses while tickling his sides. He squirms and starts laughing. "Ahh, okay! You win!" He said between his pleas of laughter. You kiss the top of his head and caress his cheeks. "I love you, you are my world. I wouldn't know what to do with myself if you were gone. Mommy would never leave you okay?" You glid your thumb over his bottom lip. He gently nodded. "Good boy.." you said in a seductive manner. His eyes shot open and his cheeks became flushed. "Mommy is gonna shower okay? Did you shower?" The blonde nodded and held onto you.

~

Stepping out the shower, you felt so relaxed and refreshed, washing the day away from your body. You wrapped a towel around yourself, heading to your sometimes shared bedroom and then closing the heavy old door. There sits Tate with a big smile on his face, sitting criss crossed on the bed just waiting for you. "Hey, handsome. What are you up to?" You spoke smoothly, drying yourself off. "Watchin ya.." he looked you up and down, biting his lip. "Oh yeah?" You smirked, unraveling the towel around your soft body, you open it up showing off your beautiful frame. His eyes widened and his heart fluttered. Tate instantly put his hand over his crotch to try to hide his growing member. "What's wrong my handsome boy?" You dropped the towel and got on the bed, pushing him flat against the plump mattress. You hovered over his body, straddling his hips, one arm holding you up and the other pinching the bottom of his chin. "You wanna tell mommy what's wrong?" You leaned closer to his face, your lips grazing against his. His breath hitches as you feel his cock twitch against your sopping cunt. "I-I..you make me h-horny y-y/n.." he choked out. You let out a small huff of a chuckle and gently shook your head 'no'. "That's not my name, Love.." you press a soft kiss against his warm lips. He gasped gently and gripped the sheets with his fists. "M-mommy.." he said while fluttering his lids shut. "Good boy.." you deepened the kiss, feeling his tongue dance with yours.

You pulled away from his raw lips and looked into his eyes. He half liddedly smiled at you with his dimples peeking out. "Come here my baby boy." You laid on the bed and pulled him to your chest, he put his gentle lips on your nipple and suckled on it while he palmed himself. You arched your head back in pleasure, feeling your bunch soaking the bed sheets.

Looking back down at the beautiful dirty blonde boy, suckling on your nipple. You pull him off your tit by cupping his face. "You've been such a good boy, Tate..mommy's going to reward you now." You moved him to the side, crawling to in between his legs, palming his cock through his pants. He lets off a small sigh of relief. You unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, pulling them down to his thighs, then soon after his boxers. When pulling his boxers down his cock sprung up, smacking against his happy trail. "So hard for me..good boy.." you stroked his cock and kissed his hot pink tip. His precum seeped onto your lips like a gloss, you licked your lips, licking his salty juices off. He let off a breathy moan and tries thrusting his hips. You shook your head 'no' while still stroking him. "No no my love. Have patience." You wrapped your lips around his head and sucked on it. He grabbed the back of your head and squeezed a fist with your hair in his hand. You let off a small moan, pulling off with a sucking sound. He let out a whimper and bucked his hips, waiting for some more friction. You giggled and wrapped your lips around his impressive length and went down to the base of his member, your nose muzzling in his patch of blonde hair. You bob your head up and down while looking up at him. His head and eyes were rolled back as he enjoyed every moment. You pulled off with a pop and started kissing the sides of his cock, then stroking it at a fast pace. "Such a good boy." You kissed his inner thigh, leaving lovebites on him. "Mmmm...I'm gonna c-cum.." you instantly stopped and pulled away. He raised his eyebrows and pouted. "Noooo...please mommy?" You shook your head with a big grin plastered on your face. "I need you, please mama?" He whined softly. He grabbed his member but you promptly smacked his hand away. "No touchy.." his eyes water as he bucks his hips in frustration. "P-please.." he said as his voice cracked. "Okay okay..since you said please..I will reward you." You kissed his tip and crawled up on him.

You had your cunt against his throbbing member, rubbing it from your soft wet entrance to your tender bundle of nerves, up and down stimulating yourself.

Slowly lowering yourself onto his shaft you softly wince at his thickness and length, stretching out your core. "Mm fuck, baby.." you moaned. Finally lowering yourself onto the base, then you gently bounced on his cock. Tate let out some mouthy moans and held onto your hips to help keep pace. You tossed your head back, in bliss and pain, feeling how deep he hits in you. You fall forward and crashed lips as you rode him fast and hard. You felt your clit rub friction against his base, causing you to start feeling your core tighten. "I-I think I'm gonna cum.." whimpered Tate. "G-go ahead baby.." not long after saying that, your climax hit a high and you finished, tightening around his cock. You felt his thick white ropes fill you up, so much that it leaks down his shaft, while still pumping in you. He lets his small rabbit humps come to an end and then he turns limp on the bed.

You look up at his soft flushed face and pulled him into a bonded kiss. Once pulled away, he looked at you with his eyes heavy. You couldn't help but smile at his exhaustion. "I love you.." you whispered.

"I-I love you too.." he uttered back.

You pull off of his now relaxed member and he lets out a soft groan. You giggle and went to the restroom to freshen up and brush your teeth.

Once you came back, you wiggled his boxers back on and took the jeans completely off of him. Laying in bed you put the sheets over yourselves and he curled up on your chest, peacefully resting against you.

"Good night my love.."

———————————————————————————

Tag list: @evansonlylove @xrag-dollx @warrenlipkaswife @jazz-berry

[blusocket]

I've seen some people express some confusion about what Fortnight is about, why it opens the album, what's happening in the video, etc, so here's my attempt at an analysis. For the most part I'll be referring to the characters in the video with the names of the people playing them (Taylor and Post) but at times I'm going to be making direct reference to the events of Taylor's personal life and referring to the muses by their names (Joe and Matty) for the sake of clarity and simplicity.

The song itself uses the suburbia conceit as an extended metaphor for the beginning of her relationship with Matty (he's the neighbor she runs away to Florida with, Joe is the cheating husband.) For more eloquent and detailed thoughts on the narrative of the song you can check out Jaime @cages-boxes-hunters-foxes's post here.

The video is really dense, and I'm not 100% confident in every aspect of my interpretation, but I feel pretty sure that it's making extensive use of visual metaphor in order to tell roughly the same story as the song, just in a different setting. To start, Taylor wakes up chained to a bed in a white dress.

To me this suggests that she's been driven mad by being left at the altar, and is now trapped, surveilled and controlled, in a type of asylum. This represents the end of her relationship with Joe--waiting for a marriage that never came, feeling trapped, mentally unwell etc.

She then takes 'forget him' pills which reveal Post's tattoos on her face when she looks in the mirror.

This represents Matty (the "miracle move-on drug") and shows that he made a mark on her while she was still in the asylum--that is, still in her relationship with Joe. Additionally, in the wide shot where we see the mirror, its size and shape are very reminiscent of a one-way mirror, often seen in interrogation rooms and psychological experiments, further reinforcing the idea that Taylor is imprisoned here.

She then is able to go to the typewriter room and do her work, creating art about how she's feeling, shown by her repeatedly typing "I love you, it's ruining my life" on the typewriter. She's still in pain and feeling trapped. While there, she encounters Post and they create art together, which creates beauty and color in her life. The blue and gold obviously reference her writing about Joe, but the fact that her work is gold and Post's is blue may be a deliberate choice to draw parallels between Matty and Joe, as she does on numerous songs throughout TTPD.

The next scene, where Taylor's hair is down and she and Post are wearing the same black coat and pants, takes place inside her head (symbolized by the shape of the papers they're laying on.) She is dreaming about them being free and creating art together, represented by the papers surrounding them and book she's holding, which has the word "us" written on the cover. She's writing their story before it's begun.

She then reaches for his hand in her fantasy, accepting and asking for this relationship

Then we see that she's being studied and experimented on--the results of the lie detector test read "I love you, it's ruining my life." Her pain is an object of fascination.

Interestingly, Post is part of the group experimenting on her, but when the experiments begin to cause her pain, he liberates her.

This inspires Taylor to destroy the place where she's been trapped, which we see through her opening the filing cabinets that cover the walls and destroying the mirror. I also find the shot of her standing still while papers burn around her interesting and significant; I interpret this as Taylor destroying her own work about Joe. By choosing to leave, she is metaphorically burning--rejecting--the story she wrote about them.

Finally, Taylor and Post enter the dangerous outside world together; the rain echoes the lyric "I chose this cyclone with you" on the album's title track. While I do feel the meaning of Post being in the phone booth is somewhat ambiguous, the framing and the accompanying lyric--"I've been calling ya but you won't pick up" suggest that he's attempting to communicate with her but can't reach her. They are free of her prison, but still separated.

Then, he hangs up the phone and reaches for her hand, and she takes it. The final shot of the video is a close up on their linked hands, presenting us with a cautiously optimistic ending--they are lost and vulnerable in the middle of a storm, but they have each other.

I feel this is a somewhat less sinister, for lack of a better word, portrayal of the start of Matty and Taylor's relationship than is suggested elsewhere on the record, though I believe Post's character being part of the group experimenting on her is significant and the editing creates some ambiguity about exactly when and why she decides to break free. But I hope this clarifies how the video sets up the beginning of this story, the fallout of which is then chronicled over the course of the rest of TTPD.

[efingcod]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

He was just Simon to you. Just a neighbor at first. Someone you waved to at the grocery store.

Occasionally, you'd catch him sitting in his window reading a book and drinking tea. He was someone you wondered about.

Always had a hello for you, but you struggled to find a foothold for a conversation.

Then he invited you over one night for dinner. His house was not what you expected—filled with books and vinyl. The walls covered in framed concert posters, old oil paintings, and watercolors. There was an album on, low enough to talk comfortably over. It was there to fill the space. You were sure you recognized the beat but couldn't quite place it.

At the time, you didn't know that it was one of his habits. Fill his empty home with a soft sound to try to drown out the quiet.

Or his thoughts.

Where his thoughts drifted to in the silence when he was alone, you didn't know. Didn't talk about it, but you could make your own assumptions. As soon as you saw the scars, you had an idea of what kind of life he led before. But he never talked about it, and you never asked.

Thanks to @ohgeesoap for the inspo! And for listening to my nonsense on discord. 💙

[dancingtotuyo]

drabble. love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears

Woman | Joel Miller x Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: some days, the fear still lingers.

Tags: Joel Miller X Female Reader. Age Gap (13/14 years). HBO Characters. Mostly cannon compliant for show & game. Timeline is changed.

Chapter Warnings: anxiety, panic attack, hurt & comfort

Notes: yeah I saw that picture too and it sparked a bunch of inspiration.

Words: 787

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Playlist

Peace is hard to come by in this world. Even within the protected walls of Jackson, it alludes you with ease, but you manage to find small pockets of it. As your life has changed, as you’ve grown these past couple of years, it’s easier to come by. Joel’s hand in yours on your evening walks. Mornings spent in his arms. Pancake breakfasts with your kids. Ellie’s continued fascination with everything new. The rise and fall of Carter’s chest as he sleeps, limbs spread like a starfish. Willa’s head on your chest. Joel’s soft snores. It’s so easy now, lulling you into a false sense of security. 

It hits you without warning from time to time, the fear of losing everything again. You can be standing in the kitchen laughing at a joke and that little voice echoes that it’s only a matter of time before the hundredth shoe of your life drops. Sometimes you can push it away, diving back into the moment, but not always. 

Joel seems to sense it if he’s around, the tense of your shoulders, the glaze of your eyes, and the way you still. That’s what happens tonight with Carter chatting on at the kitchen table as he colors and Willa cooing contently as she plays with her newly discovered hands in a laundry basket as you chop vegetables. 

Joel’s hand covers yours, guiding you to safely set the knife down. His callused finger traces your hairline from forehead to your ear. “What do you need, Sweetheart?” 

You feel his warmth so close, yet giving you the space you need. Your mouth’s gone dry. You repeat the words in your head. You need to get outside. You need to move. You need to be alone. “Walk,” is all you manage to get out. 

“Alone?”

“Yeah…” 

“Go. I’ve got things covered here.” 

You nod, moving instantly toward the front door. You hear Carter ask where you’re going but you feel far removed from it all. 

Only once you’re at the farthest point from the houses, at the edge of the cattle fields do you slump to the ground, surrendering to the panic in your body. Tears race down your cheeks, chest tightening with each breath as you ride it out. 

The sun is set when you enter your home. Carter is practicing his reading on the couch. He offers you a smile and a hug when you come in. Your body is exhausted, but it helps soothe you. 

“Daddy took Willa upstairs.”

You smile, running your hand over his head and kissing his cheek. “Thank you, buddy.”

He beams at you before returning to his spot on the couch. You’re halfway up the stairs when Joel’s singing greets you, pulling you in like the ocean tide. The room is dim, the only light coming from the open door. 

Joel sits in the rocking chair, his head tipped back against the headrest and eyes close. Willa sleeps soundly against his shoulder as he continues to sing a slowed, softer version of Fleetwood Mac’s Monday Morning. You lean against the door frame, watching them in this quiet moment. You’re not sure when he decided that would be the best lullaby for your infant, but oddly enough, it works. 

You’ve never been able to track down a copy of the band’s self-titled album, and it tugs at your heart to hear it after two decades. Then, Joel makes it to those last few lines of the chorus. 

I don’t mind. I’ll be there if you want me to. No one else that could ever do. 

His voice is so soft, a deep baritone that coats you in warmth everytime you hear it. Accompanied by the slow creaks of the rocker, it tugs you further into the room, closer to him. 

Got to get some peace on my mind. 

You rest your palm on his shoulder. Joel’s eyes flutter open slowly as if he was singing himself to sleep. He offers you an easy smile, free hand wrapping around you, settling against the side of your lower hip. He shifts Willa up on his shoulder more, making room as you slide into his lap, nuzzling into his opposite shoulder. Your legs rest over the arm of the rocker. You are positive you’re cutting off circulation in Joel’s legs, but he never complains. 

You lay a hand over Willa’s back. Joel kisses your forehead as he starts to rock again. The slow creak of the floorboards start again as he sings the chorus over, but this time it feels like he’s singing to you.

I’ll be there if you want me to.

No one else that could ever do.

Got to get some peace on my mind. 

Taglist: @pedrotonin @amyispxnk @joeldjarin @ilovepedro @justagalwhowrites

@missladym1981 @jessthebaker @annieispunk @ashleyfilm @moel-jiller

@eloquentdreamer @lizzie-cakes @hiroikegawa

[someonelookingpraediti]

Bookshelf Tours All for the Game

I had to rearrange my shelves recently - my CD collection was lined up on top of my laundry bin, but it just got too big, and needed a full shelf. It was the perfect opportunity to make an "All for the Game" shelf, and finally have them all lined up together!

1. This is the Italian version, and it's a gorgeous hardback omnibus edition! It's the only hardback edition I've found (so far - I can't wait for the Rainbow Crate editions!) and it's also the only omnibus edition I've seen.

2. These are the French editions. The covers are really cool, and the titles translate to "Well Hidden Secrets", "Never Give Up", and "A Reason to Live". Honestly, I love that. Such cool titles!

3. The "Pipe Dream" fanzine by @llstarcasterll is so, so cool! It's full of the most gorgeous artwork, so is totally worth buying if you can get your hands on it. If I was flush with cash, I'd buy like, six of them, so I could pull them apart and put the pictures on my wall, in my diary, in my scrapbook.

4. The Spanish covers use the same artwork as the French ones, so I probably didn't need both, but I'm obsessive. These ones have the advantage of having really awesome chapter heading art.

5. These are the Russian editions. The artwork is, I believe, by @kiiakostet. This is some of my absolute favourite AFTG artwork, and I wish they were available as dustjackets for the English editions.

6. And speaking of dustjackets: These replacement jackets are by @llstarcasterll. They're beautiful, and I love how the spines look! I'm really looking forward to getting the "Raven Cycle" and "The Sunshine Court" jackets by the same artist. No idea where they'll go, though, the shelf is full!

7. And these are the @ouijacine jackets! I also have the prints of the artwork framed on my "All for the Game" art wall, so with this book facing outwards, it just looks like I'm super obsessed with this particular artwork. Oh wait. I am.

8. The originals. The ugly, terribly designed English language originals. I love them so much. These copies are messy and well-thumbed, and stuffed to bursting with colour co-ordinated page tabs. They are more annotation than book, at this point.

9. Ok. Technically, this isn't AFTG. But these copies of "The Raven Cycle" get a space on the shelf because the jackets are also designed by @ouijacine. Also, it makes the book stack sit at the exact perfect height.

10a. Special mention for the shelves above and below. The shelf above is my "Leigh Bardugo" collection, including some collector's editions, those gorgeous Illumicrate editions of the Nikolai duology, several beautiful copies of the Alex Stern books, and "The Familiar", which I still haven't read.

10b. The shelf below is the reason for the rearrange. I needed a long shelf, and a ridiculously tall one. These are my BTS albums. Yeah, I'm that person now. I actually still have a fair few to get, so there's a chance I'm going to overfill this shelf too. You can just see a couple of my boys peeping out over the top of the CDs, in flip photo form. I want to get one for each of the members, but weverse shipping is fucking extortionate.

At the moment, these all fit perfectly on this shelf, but with the many editions of the TSC duology I'm going to be buying, and the Rainbow Crate hardback editions? Yeah, I'm gonna need a bigger shelf.

[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!

[purityonice]

💚🎤 Velvet x Fem! reader 🎤💚

Requested? yeah :)

part 1

It was a loud night in mount rageous as superstar pop singers Velvet and Veneer’s first tour since the release of their first album. You were hyped as you manged to get closer and closer to the front stage, your face heated up as people jumped up and down knocking you around. The air was stuffy and humid as screams and hollars erupted from inside the stadium.

You saw the barracade get closer pushing dancing bodies aside before you were thrusted against the barracade by the crowd. A smile of victory as people continued to party lifting your gaze while your heart raced faster as your eyes landed on Velvet. She looked stunning while singing her body moved and danced along side Veneer while they sung in unison.

You felt yourself start jumping along to the tune rising your fist in the air as you screamed along with the duo and the flood of people behind you. Grabbing out your phone from your pocket in order to catch this moment not noticing that a certain popstar had locked her eyes on you.

You were adorable! she thought as your flushed face pointed your phone at the singers unaware that your phones flash was on. Velvet belted out her voice as she couldn’t get her eyes off of you scoffing at your ignorance as your flash almost through off her real voice almost slipping through.

She strutted her way towards the front of the stage as her brother continued to sing behind her your eyes widened as your smile grew wider, jumping off the stage and landing directly infront of you. This make you almost take a step back blinking as her eyes locked with yours. Your mouth agape as she took your phone from your hands and turning it to face her, She began singing making sure to get your shocked face in frame. A smirk crawling onto her face as she saw in the camrea you getting crowded by multiple people trying to grab her attention.

You were so overwhelmed you didn’t even notice Velvet talking into the phone before spinning around and shoving your phone back into your hands giving you a smile and grabbing your chin and closing your mouth as she got escorted back onto stage. Making her way into the middle of the stage as you felt tears prick in your eyes your hands covering your mouth as people shook you praising you on how lucky you are.

After the concert had ended you felt tired and sluggish from all the shaking and GETTING RECOGNISED BY ONE OF THE MOST FAMOUS PEOPLE ON MOUNT RAGEOUS! Sitting down on a wall away from the crowd as you were watching the video that Velvet had previously taken. Cringing in embarrassment as you watched yourself in the background sweaty and jaw practically on the floor until Velvets face took up the whole frame as you felt the world around you come to a stop.

“Hey you’re cute so i’m gonna do you a favor and give you my number dont keep me waiting!” Her voice was heavenly as you replayed that part over and over again kicking your feet and you couldn’t stop yourself from giggling out loud. Hearing your ride hock their horn for you to hurry up as you wrote down her number shaking as you hopped into the car. Your friends asking you about how the concert went and you bragged about the video purposely leaving out the part where she practically asked you out.

[mayajadewrites]

I Wish I Hated You (Levi Ackerman x Reader)

summary: You don't do second chances. Especially after you gave your heart to Levi Ackerman, and he decided to throw it away so the next person has to repair the damage. Will Levi put his ego aside and finally admit his feelings for you are far deeper than you imagined? Or is a second chance out of the question?

warnings: eventual smut, this is a slow burn

ao3

C H A P T E R O N E: G R I E F

this fanfic is inspired by ariana grande's new album: specifically the songs 'I wish I hated you', 'we can't be friends', and 'eternal sunshine'. enjoy! let me know what you think, comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated!

You wish you hated him.

The walls you let down to let him in - they need to be rebuilt brick by brick from his damage.

Levi Ackerman. 

You should've known it would end up this way. After 2 years of dating, Levi didn't want to ever get married, let alone have you move in with him. He had his house, you had yours. You slept over most of the time anyways, so what was the difference? 

Your lives are entirely different. Levi is the President of Smith Inc, along side his best friend Erwin Smith, who is the CEO. He has a large home, housekeepers, and spotless counters. You live in an apartment that's not ideal, but it's home. You've always had to work two jobs to stay afloat, even when Levi offered to give you money. You refused because you wanted to make your own income and not rely on anyone. You work at a coffee shop full time and you accept online writing gigs. Levi never understood why you cared so much about making your own money, but he accepted it. 

As you sit on your full size bed in your favorite sweatsuit, tears start to fall from your eyes. You look at your nightstand and see a small framed photo of you and Levi from his birthday last year. He doesn't like to celebrate it since it's on Christmas, but you refused to not acknowledge his birthday. You bought a tea tasting set from his favorite tea shop and set up a paint and sip at your house, but with tea.

In the photo is you and Levi, where he's sipping tea out of his favorite cup that stays at your house, and you're smiling from ear to ear. Tears fell onto the glass, covering Levi's face. You use the pad on your thumb to wipe the tear away as you put the photo in your drawer.

Levi dropped off a box of your belongings while you were at work yesterday, leaving them on your dining table. He still had a key since you haven't heard the heart to ask for it back. Your entire life with Levi was in that box. 

Your heard the vibration of your phone on your desk, the noise irritating you. It's been going off for a few hours, but you haven't had the mental capacity to answer it. 

You walked over to your desk, secretly hoping it was Levi that was trying to get in touch with you. 

Missed Call from Hange: 4

Of course its Hange. She means well, but she if nothing is persistent. 

You press 'call back' and bring the phone to your ear.

"Finally!" You heard Hange on the other side of your phone. "I've been worried sick about you." 

Hange works for Smith Inc, but she quickly became a friend to you after Levi reluctantly introduced you. 

"I'm fine." You look down at your nails that are in desperate need of a manicure.

"That's code for I'm not fine at all and Levi Ackerman broke my heart." 

You stayed silent.

"He's in a weird mood today. Like, way meaner than usual." 

"Okay..." You waited for something else to be said. "Is that why you called me? To tell me he's acting weird?"

"Well I called you 4 times to make sure you were alive. I know Levi dropped off stuff to you yesterday, I heard him talking to Erwin about it."

"What did he say?" You were more interested than you wanted to be. You shouldn't care about the man who made your entire world shatter. 

"He said that he went in your apartment and was expecting more of a mess, but that it was impeccably clean." 

You roll your eyes so far back you swear you could see the past. "I picked up a few cleaning tips from him so I clean more often now."

"He also said he wanted to see if there was any trace of another man being in there." 

"That would be none of his business. It's been a month since we broke up. He should know me well enough to know I wouldn't even let a man in my home that fast." 

"He specifically said he wants to be the only man that's ever in your apartment."

This statement surprises you. The only man? He let you let him go. He had no problem letting the last 2 years obliterate into the universe. "Well that's not gonna happen. What's done is done, and I don't do second chances. I'll get the key back from him." 

"You can try." Hange laughs. "Anyways, lets get drinks after work! I know you're off today." 

You wince at the thought of getting ready and leaving your house. "Hange." 

"Come on. I've let you rot in your bed for a month." 

"Fine." You sigh. "Our usual spot?"

"You got it. See you soon!" Hange swiftly hung up. Everyone needs a friend like Hange - one that will let you sulk but will bring you back out of the dark place you were in. 

Once 5pm hit, you grabbed your purse and looked at yourself in the full length mirror. You opted for a cropped white sweater, subtly ripped jeans and leopard loafers. Your hair was styled in lose waves that cascaded halfway down your back. You sighed looking at yourself, unfamiliar with the reflection. You've been depriving yourself of self care, letting your mind be consumed with thoughts of Levi: Why did he let you leave him? Did he ever care for you? Did he ever love you?

Your thoughts were interrupted by a text from Hange.

Hange: I'm heading over now!

You: Me too. 

You pull up to the bar - watching Hange's car pull up at the same time. "Hi gorgeous!" She practically jumped on you. "You clean up so nice!"

"Thanks, Hange. This is the first time I've gotten actually dressed in weeks." 

You and Hange share laughs and drinks, finally letting yourself let loose. After being so consumed by your own thoughts, it's nice to let your mind be at ease with the help of alcohol. 

You're on your 3rd drink when you watch the door open to the bar and you see the raven haired man that destroyed your life.

[joojdraws]

Two years... today has been two years in a row I love Rarold and my love never stopped ever since I've read BKMN for the first time on August 15, 2022... here's a drawing I wanted to make for our special day... I LOVE HIM!! 🌽♥️ (More under the cut!! ✂️)

My love for the corn man very is serious... I have my walls covered in pictures of him, my oc x canon ship with Mousey, some selfship art, itabags and so on... 🌽❤️

Tom's waits album "Real Gone" by Tom Waits!! (Gifted by my friend Sarah) the "Don't go into that barn" song is there... :3 1st and 2nd edition of BKMN... (I need the third!!) 2 Rarold plushies I tried to sew myself when I tried sewing for the 1st time... & my itabags!!! 🌽❤️

Framed pictures!!! A drawing traditionally drawn by the BKMN author themselves (I love it so much ❤️), a Rarold drawn by Omar from Team Egg I've got in a commission stream &&& Rarold and Kevin from the comic itself because I thought that was sweet to have that framed too!! 🌽❤️

My laptop is covered with corn stickers (two of them aren't corn cause that laptop is 5 years old and it already was here lol), Rarold keychains I designed myself, a cute corn keychain &&& a corn bookmark (Gifted by my friend Madeline) So many others corn items as well!!! The potato and corn plushies represent my comfort oc x canon ship with Rarold and Mousey... The both of them mean so much to me and I love to show my love to Rarold though my lovely oc Mousey 🌽🥔❤️💚 Rarold rug (handmade by my friend Madeline) and Rarold shirt with that one meme "do it for him" (I'm wearing it today for our two years anniversary as we speak 🤣🌽❤️)

And my very special item... My Rarold body pillow!! (Designed by my friend Rocky) 🌽❤️

Well, that is all... for now!! 3 plushies (2 big ones and a mini one) are currently being made by a friend of mine... The 2 big plushies will be Rarold and Mousey and the mini one will be my bkmnsona, a mini me!!! And I'll also get a Rarold figure by cadavercrafts! Exciting 🌽❤️

Thanks to everyone who always supported me with my love for the corn farmer... You, my friends, my mutuals, my followers and anyone else are the best... Excited to be next year for our three years anniversary... That just will be a-maize-ing!! See you next year, same day!! 🌽❤️

And of course... I LOVE YOU RAROLD!!! Thanks for making me feel special and loved for 2 entire days in a row. And Inspiring me so much. 731 days in a row (thanks February 29 this year) life is beautiful... I will always love you... You and your corn shenanigans!! 🌽❤️