#big money deluxe

[cherrysoftgames]

big money

[kurosurintomasu]

WHAT THE FUCK IS A BAD GAME

[autism-corner]

6=w=9

[arcecer]

[bigmoneydeluxe]

this will be my pin for now I made this haii

[seat-safety-switch]

Among car enthusiasts of a certain persuasion, there exists a yearning that cannot be satisfied by regular automakers. The hoi polloi are perfectly happy with their normal, pedestrian automobiles. The elites opt for penis-shaped zoom-zooms that cost more than a house. Those of us in the middle, who have an eternal love for going very fast for very little money, are abandoned. And as we all know, being in the self-described middle is the same thing as being morally correct at all times.

Back in the 50s, people really wanted to go fast for no money. It's what started the whole world of hot rodding. And they had lots of good options, thanks to the government suddenly having a ton of warplanes that weren't currently engaged in a war. Cool plane superchargers, engines, belly tanks – anything that weird nerds could get their hands on – got shoved into cars in the quest to go fast. And automakers were run by those weird nerds, back then.

Sure, a lot of them were putatively "run" by big-dollar, humanity-crushing fascists, but the real fun, in the research and development divisions? That was happening with the same hot rodder nutjobs who would go down to the beach after work and do skids in a car mostly made out of a bathtub, until the cops showed up. And in the late 50s, what those very same nutjobs were excited about were turbines.

See, turbine engines were getting exciting then. It was the jet age. Clean, efficient, very loud, screaming jets. Not inefficient, old clangy pistons with their oiled bearings and pitiful triple-digit horsepower. No, it was time to go fast, and so they dutifully started cramming turbines into street cars. Did it make sense? No. Were any of these cars even close to being practical? Absolutely not. Was it completely bad-ass? Yes.

Unfortunately, it was at this time that the nascent development of "management science" began to metastasize in the Western world. A lot of bosses came down and saw a screaming, shrieking demon burning nineteen litres of gasoline per minute, bolted loosely into a Ford Deluxe Coupe, and they asked: how many cupholders this got? Not having a sufficient answer that didn't start with "fuck you," these same bosses then began dismantling the apparatus that held a promise of a glorious, high-pitched-whining future of thirty-thousand-rpm engines.

There is still hope. For instance, things containing turbines get crashed all the time. Once the FAA is done looking at them to figure out what they fucked up (usually: aircraft contacted the earth too soon,) they don't really pay too much attention to what happens to the carcass. If you're quick, you can cut through the fence and get ahold of your very own helicopter turbine with which to start the project. And what do you use to slice through that fence and retrieve your futurist prize? A thirty-thousand-rpm battery-operated cut-off wheel, of course. Thanks, weird nerds.

[jvzebel-x]

Why do you hate rich people so much? I get hating that wealth equality isn't fair but damn lol

a couple reasons, lmao. i grew up in a place where wealth inequality was showcased to an obscene degree. because of how social structures work, i've stayed on the losing end of that my whole life so i can't ignore it, no matter where it is, lol. &i've spent too much time existing around people who lord their money+the privileges it affords them over people who have nothing, &i have spent MUCH too much time being the person who's having that money lorded over them, lol. there's something special-- truly special-- about the manner in which those with absurd amounts of money think that fact directly correlates to their worth as human beings in a wholly positive manner. &in every measurable way it kind of does in today's society, lmao, so my personal opinion is all i have&it's never going to get anything but worse as i am forced to continue to witness the actual correlation between money&human worth be directly inversed, lmao. anyone who can hoard money with the world looking the way it does now deserves a guillotine. end of story.

[darlingdaisyfarm]

✧・₊˚ 🕯️christmas with the gravity falls characters 🎄₊˚ ・✧

𝒃𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒄𝒊𝒑𝒉𝒆𝒓, 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏 𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔, 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒊𝒅𝒅𝒍𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

a/n: i know, i know, Stan and Ford are jewish, but still, i wanted to make this little gift for you all with your favourite characters

・₊˚ ❄️ 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬

definitely loves watching the same old black-and-white holiday movies, cackling like he’s never seen them before. you spend the day with him in the mystery shack, surrounded by all the tacky decorations he somehow managed to find for fifty cents or less, because of course he’d never spend actual money on something frivolous like a real christmas tree. nah, you get the plastic one he found at a garage sale, still missing half its branches but looking perfect in his eyes. and then he winks at you, smiling awkwardly, as if you didn’t just catch him trying to use duct tape to stick a piece of tinsel back on.

he’d totally try to sell you the idea of the “mystery shack christmas deluxe experience” where you roast hot dogs instead of chestnuts and every gift is “mystery-themed” (read: stuff he didn’t sell during summer tourist season). but then, once he realizes you're not buying into the grift, he’ll sit with you on the couch in his beat-up old slippers, placing an arm around your shoulder while you both share a bottle of wine, Stan keeps glancing at you during such quiet moments, because he’s simply not sure how he got so lucky to have you around for a holiday he didn’t even care about before you showed up in his life.

𓂃⋆.˚ his gifts come straight from the heart. something handmade, like a charm bracelet he cobbled together from trinkets he’s kept from his con days, or a mixtape full of the music that reminds him of you.

𓂃⋆.˚ he buys you your favorite snacks, no matter how obscure or hard to find. it’s his love language to see your beautiful eyes light up when you see them on the counter, all for you, his most beloved person in the whole world

𓂃⋆.˚ one christmas, he gave you a framed picture of you both, taken during one of the rare moments he wasn’t scowling at the camera. you’d been laughing, mid-snowball fight and he’d secretly printed and framed it because he thought it was the best picture of the two of you ever taken

𓂃⋆.˚ Stan loves christmas movies, especially the cheesy, feel-good ones. you’ll find him crying over the ending of It’s a Wonderful Life and insisting it’s “just allergies.”

𓂃⋆.˚ he’s a sucker for mistletoe. he’ll hang it everywhere, just so he has an excuse to kiss you. even when you’re not under it, he’ll point vaguely upwards and say, “hey, mistletoe,” before pulling you in.

𓂃⋆.˚ Stan puts antlers on the stanleymobile. he would

***

Stan isn’t big on planning, but he knows you’ve been looking forward to the holiday festivities downtown. he grumbles about the cold and the crowds, but the moment you take his hand and lead him toward the string lights and decorated shops, he softens.

he insists on winning you something at one of those cheesy carnival games, even though he curses every time he misses. eventually, he manages to snag a small, wonky-looking stuffed reindeer and hands it to you with a self-satisfied smirk.

���there. merry christmas, kid,” he says, ruffling your hair in teasing, affectionate way.

you drag him to the ice rink, and though he complains the entire time, he lets you pull him onto the ice. he’s clumsy as he tries not to fall, but when you laugh and hold onto him, he relaxes. by the end of it, you’re both clinging to each other, red-faced and breathless from laughter, but so happy to share this moment together.

when the evening winds down, Stan buys you both hot cider from a street vendor and finds a spot by the giant christmas tree in the town square. he slips his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as you both admire the lights.

“this ain’t so bad. . . as long as you’re here.” as he leans to kiss you.

✧𐙚 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬

ford’s version of christmas is surprisingly tender, a little awkward at first because, you know, the guy’s been trapped in alternate dimensions for thirty years and kinda forgot how to do this whole “holiday cheer” thing. he insists on going all out though: a real tree, real ornaments (none of Stan’s tacky nonsense), and actual thought put into the gifts he gives you.

you catch him late at night in the living room as he fiddles with an ornament in his hands. it’s something handmade, probably from one of his crazy adventures in random universes. when he notices you watching, he smiles shyly.

“this holiday. . . it reminds me of what i missed out on, but being here with you, it makes me feel like i’m reclaiming some of that.” he hesitates for a second, taking your hand in his. “thank you. . . for reminding me what home feels like.”

𓂃⋆.˚ he’s the kind of guy who surprises you with heartfelt little gestures, like writing you a short story as a gift or carving something intricate out of wood

𓂃⋆.˚ his gifts are so painfully thoughtful because he stays awake all night thinking about the perfect thing. a first edition book that reminds him of your favorite stories, complete with a personal inscription in his cursive handwriting

𓂃⋆.˚ little treasures from his multidimensional travels: pressed flowers from an alien world, rocks from another dimension that shimmer in the light, a hand-drawn star map of the night he first realized he loved you

𓂃⋆.˚ he’s too shy to hand them over directly so he’ll leave them on your desk or your pillow with a note that simply says: “for you.” his heart always pounds until you smile and kiss him in thanks

𓂃⋆.˚ he loves practicality but puts so much heart into it. one year, he crafted a custom notebook for you, complete with little sketches and a pressed flower he found on one of your walks

𓂃⋆.˚ he wraps everything with precise care. edges folded sharply, no stray tape. it’s absurdly cute watching this man hunch over his workbench, tongue sticking out slightly in concentration as he tries to make the wrapping paper perfect

***

Ford plans everything. he doesn’t let you know until the last second, of course, he just tells you to bundle up and meet him outside the cabin, a thermos of hot chocolate already waiting for you in his hands. his scarf is wrapped haphazardly around his neck and his glasses are fogging up as he waits for you.

“you’re going to love this,” he promises excitedly as he leads you toward a clearing in the woods where a telescope is already set up with its lens gleaming in the moonlight.

Ford’s breath is visible in the cold night air as he begins pointing out constellations. his voice is soft but brimming with passion as he tells you stories of orion, cassiopeia and scorpius. then he smiles and points to one bright star in particular.

“that’s sirius, the dog star,” he explains. “it’s the brightest star in the sky and it rises in winter.”

you’re so caught up in his voice that you barely notice him draping his coat over your shoulders to keep you warm. his arm brushes yours and he leans in close to adjust the telescope for you.

later, you both sit on a plaid blanket he brought along, sharing marshmallows from his pocket (a surprisingly cute habit of his). he points out meteors and tells you about the science behind them, but when you notice him stealing glances at you, you realize that he’s more interested in the stars reflected in your eyes.

🕯️✧ 𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐫

you’re pretty sure he doesn’t even understand the concept of Christmas at first. he just likes the idea of shiny things, chaos, and people losing their minds over last-minute shopping. this demon will conjure up decorations that shouldn’t exist in this reality, like ornaments that sing creepy songs when you touch them or garlands made out of what you hope are fake teeth.

“aw, sweetie, you mortals and your ridiculous traditions! let me guess, you want peace on earth, goodwill toward men, blah blah blah.” he laughs. but what you don’t expect is when he snaps his fingers to make snow fall inside your living room. romantic, isn’t it?

but just when you think he’s gonna ruin the whole thing, he floats close to you, winking at you with his single eye. “y’know, for a meat sack, you’ve got some pretty decent taste in holidays. let’s make this one memorable, shall we?”

and memorable it is. whether it’s him warping reality to give you the most extravagant gifts you’ve ever seen (did he just pull a diamond-encrusted reindeer out of nowhere?) or making the stars spell out your name as a “christmas present,” he’s nothing if not dramatic. it’s so chaotic and unsettling, but dating Bill, you got used to find it weirdly romantic.

𓂃⋆.˚ he doesn’t wrap his gifts. he just hands them to you saying “you’re welcome, sweetie.”

𓂃⋆.˚ snowball fights with bill are intense. he cheats., making snowballs hover in the air before pelting you with them. but he’ll let you win in the end, claiming it’s because you’re his “favorite meat sack.”

𓂃⋆.˚ bill tries to summon krampus just to spice things up. it does NOT go well.

𓂃⋆.˚ bill LOVES christmas carols, but he never sings them right. he changes the lyrics to absurd or downright creepy things just to make you laugh. “oh, the weather outside is frightful, and so are the screams of mortals!”

𓂃⋆.˚ bill would absolutely gift you something ridiculous, borderline threatening. you open it and it’s. . . what? a cursed snowglobe? a contract you accidentally signed by touching the ribbon? he’s laughing, until you roll your eyes and toss the whole thing in the fireplace. poor guy is shocked

𓂃⋆.˚ he’s got a twisted sense of humor, so his gifts are always a bit offbeat too, for example, a bottle of some mystical liquid, or even just an empty box with a cryptic note inside (pls don’t read it out loud!!)

𓂃⋆.˚ but then he’ll surprise you with something. . . oddly sentimental, like a necklace engraved with your initials in gold

***

Bill shows up uninvited on christmas eve because he loves bothering his little human. no warning, no knock on the door, just bam and your the fireplace goes cold and there he is: spinning lazily above your living room, his one big eye watching bc you. “surprise, sweetie! It’s me, your beloved demon!“ is he. . . wearing a tiny santa hat perched on his corner??

“HO HO HO! MERRY APOCALYPSE!” he shouts, throwing candy canes that explode on impact. your couch is gone, replaced by a pile of something vaguely moving. you don’t ask

he’s already decorated your living room. except “decorated” is generous, it’s like if christmas threw up on a nightmare. ornaments float mid-air, blinking like eyes; tinsel coils around the walls like it’s alive; the tree is definitely moving, it waves at you.

“you didn’t think I’d miss the holiday season, did you?!” he laughs loudly, his tone got a weird excitement in it, like he genuinely loves this. “ahh, Christmas, a time for giving, receiving and unraveling the fragile sanity of your pitiful mortal mind! i brought presents!”

he snaps his fingers and it’s not a good sign, because every time he does it, you prepare for something creepy and weird. suddenly there’s a pile of gifts under the writhing tree. you’re hesitant, obviously, because one of the boxes is hissing and another is. . . uh, glowing? but Bill’s so excited, floating in circles and chanting “open ‘em! open ‘em!” you cave.

you hesitate. “. . . what’s the catch?”

his single eye narrows, offended. “oh, come on, baby. dont you trust me?”

you don’t, obviously, but curiosity is a terrible drug. so you reach out.

the first box is full of. . . how cute, teeth. just teeth. human? animal? who knows. Bill cackles. “thought you could use some spare parts!” the second box explodes into confetti that screams too damn loud your head hurts. and the third. . . oh, the third box contains a perfectly normal sweater. you blink at it, suspicious.

“what? cant a guy be sentimental?” Bill grumbles, narrowing his eye. then he lunges forward, the sweater levitating out of the box and straight onto you. “aww, look at you! you’re adorable! now let’s go and sing carols and by carols I mean we’re summoning an eldritch horror to devour the moon!“

merry christmas, you guess?

🎄๋࣭⭑ 𝐟𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐦𝐜𝐠𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐭

Christmas with Fiddleford is the epitome of cozy. he’s humming holiday tunes while tinkering with some gadget that probably doesn’t belong anywhere near the christmas tree and the smell of something sweet and homemade fills the air. . . probably pie, because you know that man can bake.

a goofy smile is plastered on his face the whole day, his laughter fills the house every time you catch him singing off-key or accidentally setting something on fire in the kitchen, but don’t worry, he’s got a fire extinguisher handy.

“now don’t you worry, darlin’, christmas ain’t ‘bout fancy gifts or big ol’ decorations. it’s about spendin it with the folks ya love!”

he insists on sitting by the fire with you later with his banjo on his knee as he strums something soft and slow. he swears it’s not a carol! but god, the way this man looks at you while playing. . . you swear your heart melts a little right there. “merry christmas, sugar.” you smile and lean your head on his shoulder

𓂃⋆.˚ Fiddleford also loves making little gadgets as gifts. one year, he made you a wind-up snow globe that plays a soft lullaby and snows glitter. he was so proud of it

𓂃⋆.˚ he loves making you laugh so his gift might be something silly, like a tiny, dancing robot chicken. but it always comes with a heartfelt, “just somethin to remind ya how special you are to me.”

𓂃⋆.˚ oh, he knits. scarves, mittens, sweaters, you name it, he’s made it. he even knits little ornaments to hang on the tree. your first christmas together, he made you a scarf in your favorite colors and was so shy about giving it to you

𓂃⋆.˚ he always makes a little handmade card to go with his gifts, with a sweet note inside telling you how much you mean to him.

𓂃⋆.˚ he’s a baker during christmas. the smell of cookies fills the house and he always sneaks you a bite of dough, claiming it’s for “quality control.”

𓂃⋆.˚ when it’s snowing, he’ll insist on taking you outside to build snowmen!!

𓂃⋆.˚ gets really embarrassed but also so happy when you compliment his work. he blushes furiously and tries to brush it off, but deep down, he loves that someone appreciates him

***

Fiddleford’s kitchen is a mess of flour, sugar and cinnamon. he insists on baking cookies from scratch, even though he’s clearly winging it.

“don’t worry, darling, a lil bit of mess just means it’s gonna taste better,” he assures you, his whole face is dusted with flour.

he hums christmas carols as he works. when you try to help, he wraps his arms around you from behind and guides your hands as you roll out the dough. and damn, his touch is so comforting and warm, better than any fireplace.

“now that’s the spirit, love,” he says, nuzzling your neck.

the cookies come out slightly misshapen but so delicious and cute, Fiddleford insists on decorating them together. he smears frosting on your nose at one point, laughing when you retaliate by smearing some on his cheek.

later, as the cookies cool, he pulls you onto the couch with a cozy quilt and mugs of spiced cider. he kisses your temple and murmurs, “best christmas i ever had,” as the fire crackles softly in the background.

[y3ager]

STORYTIME I (26 F) FUCKED MY SUPERSTAR CLIENT (24 M) AFTER MONTHS OF SEXUAL TENSION!

— ‘i’m a manager for a pretty big music label and my client is the biggest dickhead in the world but i fear i fucked him after one of our usual arguments.. 😵‍💫’

eren y. x black!fem!reader

tags: modern au, smut, porn not much plot, hate(?)sex, cunnilingus, cowgirl, reader gets called ‘mama’ and ‘boss’, unprotected sex, mild choking, musician!eren, manager!reader. minors do not interact.

my first collab entry MAKE SOME NOISE YALL WTF!!! but no seriously thanks so much to @k9nto for letting me join your event i had a blast writing this! hope you all enjoy! 🤭

YOU’VE ENCOUNTERED SOME annoying people in your life. in kindergarten, a boy taunted you by picking up one your fallen hot pink knocker-balls and refusing to give it back to you. in high school, some chick named tiffany ripped down all of your junior class president posters that you spent weeks designing and printing out on the highest quality paper. your college advisor had been completely useless, you’d still be dragging yourself through your bachelor’s degree if you didn’t stay on your toes and realize the classes you were dropped in were a waste of time. but all of these people, and many more that have slipped your mind, shaped and molded you into the woman you were today. strong, tenacious, independent, a go-getter who never gave up and thus was able to reap her hard work, in the form of three nice crisp degrees and a never pitiful bank account.

but eren yeager, grammy award winning singer, songwriter and musician, with multiple weeks spent at the top of the billboard hot 100 and 200 charts, millions of units sold worldwide, and stadiums packed to the brim, took the fucking cake.

you were warned he’d be difficult. every manager he’s assigned quits before one of them ends up in a body bag. none of them have a single nice thing to say about him, and he finds that hilarious.

for better or for worse, you took the challenge because you’re a sucker for them. nothing in life comes easy, and you figured that the managers before just didn’t come hard enough. maybe eren’s fame and status made them falter, but such a fate wouldn’t befall you.

you dragged him to his magazine shoots, you kept his mouth in line during interviews, you kept his socials clean. he was never a second late to rehearsals and recordings. he was a reflection of you, and if you were perfect goddammit he was going to be too.

until today.

“i’m not putting in another extension, eren. the label is starting to get really irritable. we need to go to the studio now.” you furiously swiping along your ipad, pacing around the singer’s deluxe hotel room. while you’re dressed for the day in clean crisp clothes, sharp stilettos, and jet black lace front expertly melted and laid, eren’s still in the bed. the covers are everywhere, his shirt is next to a couple pillows on the floor, and he’s laying on his back eating a croissant from room service, paying you absolutely no mind. it takes everything in you to not chuck your device at his big head. “i’m serious. get. up.”

“and i said i’m not,” he mocks your assertive tone, voice oozing in sarcasm. “going.” he coughs, obviously faking. “my voice hurts. can’t make those greedy bastards money if my vocal chords ache. they’ll live.”

“you are on a strict deadline this era. if you want to catch award season, this album needs to be finished and dropped in the next month. amidst the press tour, your window of recording time is dwindling fast.” dates in your digital calendar glare at you, red and angry. every time you check something off your to do, ten new things pop up. you feel your jaw clenching, teeth gritting together uncomfortably.

“i’ve won enough awards. i don’t care. i’m not getting up.” eren finally raises up from the bed, narrowed green eyes meeting yours. it’s fire against fire, an unstoppable force that is a manager determined to do her job versus an immovable object, a musician who’s not budging from his spot. “it’s my album. it’s my music. i finish it when the fuck i get ready. that label will burn before they drop me.”

“if you don’t follow contract, they will drop you. they put a lot of money into you-”

“money i made back for those dumbasses-!”

“they are your bosses, without them-”

“they need me way more than i need them-!”

“get,” you toss your ipad over to a small couch, storming over to the bed. you snatch the edge of the covers and yank hard. enough is enough. if he won’t get up, you’ll make him get up. “the fuck out of this bed, eren, now!”

“you need,” the cover is yanked back, tugging you forward along with it. you lurch momentarily before righting yourself upwards, leaning back to give yourself more leverage in this childish tug of war you find yourself in. “to calm the fuck down, ___. i’m not going and that’s fucking it.” eren may be lean, but he’s toned like a MMA fighter, muscles rippling under tan skin when he calls upon them. another tug and you topple onto the california king bed, one expensive heel sliding off your foot and falling across the room.

your heads snaps up from the covers, brow furrowed deep in anger. “stop being so fucking difficult, you moron!” emotions welling, you grab one of his arms, preparing to drag him out of this bed. your to do list is a nagging itch on your brain that by the grace of god you are going to scratch. you’re not about to let this bad-with-authority dickhead best you when all he has to do is record a fucking vocal.

“oh, we’re doing this?” easily, too easily, so easily that you register your back hitting the soft bed before you realized he even grabbed you back. he pins you down easily, slightly calloused hands grip your upper arms firmly, pushing them down. he places his legs other either side of your hips so yours are forced in between them, but doesn’t keep you from writhing to free yourself. “whatever fucking—stop doing that—chip you have on your shoulder, you need to fucking solve it because shit’s not going your way today. i’m not going and that is final.”

the tussle leaves you two of you panting, eyes boring into each other’s. eren’s long chocolate brown hair is disheveled not only from a night’s sleep but from this impromptu wrestle. small beads up sweat trickle down his naked chest. your writhe again, and he presses down against you, a synonymous hiss sliding through both of your mouths.

“i hate you, eren.”

“whatever helps you sleep at night, ___. looks like you wanted an excuse to feel up on me.”

“oh, like you wanted an excuse to hump me like a mutt?”

there’s another beat of silence as you two watch each other. eren’s hands tighten their hold just a tad before he presses his hardening length hard against your clothed cunt. against your better judgement, your head tilts back and a small moan fights against your bitten bottom lip.

eren hums lowly, his dick bulging against the constraint of his boxers. “hate me too much to actually fuck me, huh? i’m only worth a dry hump.”

oh how eren frustrates you. how he makes even the simplest things in life painstakingly difficult. how he makes you want to smoke ten packs of cigarettes after a day of dealing with him. but oh, how handsome he looks under the lights at photo shoots. how his deep, smooth voice reverbs in your ears. how his fingers move so deftly on his guitar, as if it’s merely an extension of his body. who wouldn’t fantasize about that late at night, him bending you over and snatching down your pants to fuck the stress out of you, or yourself knocking him down a peg and making him beg to let you cum inside.

“shut-” another roll of his hips makes you gasp. “up..”

“i want you, ___,” eren confesses. his hips don’t falter, his cock becoming hungry for release. “i want that pussy. i wanna fuck that little attitude out of you, can i? i see how you look at me and i stare right back.”

you shiver, hand rushing to undo your dress pants and feel more of eren’s dick against your dampening cunt. his hands work with your perfectly, yanking your pants down. it’s a whirlwind of clothes, your sweater, bra, your other shoe.

eren reaches up to grab your breasts, rolling them in his palms, squeezing the supple flesh, pushing them together. “oh, pretty girl. pretty fuckin’ tits.” leaning down, he kisses down your sternum, stomach, inching closer and closer to your center. he wastes no time grabbing your thighs and licking a nice, long stripe against your drooling cunt and sucking on your clit.

your back immediately arches up and your hands fly to grip eren’s hair, tugging at the locks and pulling him in closer so you can feel everything. “oh my god, eren.” the singer’s not shy at all, audibly sucking at you and reaching up to twist and pinch your pebbled nipples.

with another languid lick eren pulls himself away. he pulls his boxers down on and off, freeing his dick from the constraint. he rubs the thick, weeping tip up and down your slit, staring hungrily at the juices leaking out. the feeling of it makes you shiver in anticipation.

“mmm, mm-mm.” you push yourself up. “let me get ‘n top..” there’s a greedy look in your low eyes as you place your hand on eren’s solid chest and lay him down on the bed.

“take charge here too, huh?” your forwardness makes him chuckle as he watches you straddle his waist. “okay then. ride me.”

you brace yourself on your toes as his hand and yours grasp his shaft, directing it to your pulsing hole. you slide down gingerly onto him, his size quickly stretching you out. “ahh, fuck, eren. fuck…”

“you got it,” he assures you, one hand on your thigh as you sink lower and lower, taking him in inch by inch. he bites his lip at the wet tightness of your walls, squeezing and sucking him in. it makes him throw his head back, a couple of small pants escaping his mouth. “mmhm, fuck that pussy feels so good. take that dick, boss.” his hand raises only to land on your ass check with a sharp slap.

you start out slow at first, letting yourself adjust to the wideness of his dick but that quickly gets old. you’re soon addicted to the feeling of him fitting inside so perfectly. gripping his free hand in yours, you swivel and raise your hips faster and faster, effortlessly, desperate for that feeling of him pounding that oh so sweet spot. your juices slide down his length, the slap slap slap of your ass against his muscled thighs filling the room. “‘s so big, feels so good,” your voice slurs.

eren hisses from his spot under you, eyes trained on where you two connect. mouth slightly agape, he watches your cunt swallow him up and the fluid that leaks out. “yes, mama. keep fucking me just like that. feels.. f-fuckin’ amazin’…” his hands grab your plump ass cheeks, fingers digging in hard as he thrusts his hips up, driving the tip of his cock even deeper inside you and pulling a loud moan from you. “keep goin, mama, ‘m almost there, don’t stop, please..”

his pleading make you clench even tighter around him, and that feeling deep inside your tummy aches for release. you place a hand around his throat to better balance yourself, relishing in his low groan. your thighs quake and tremble, your hips meeting his eager thrust perfectly. “oh, my god; oh my god. i’m— shit!” you throw your head back in ecstasy, cumming hard enough on your client’s dick to leave you numb.

“aw, fuck, boss.” eren thrusts up to push his cum deep inside, holding you against himself to ensure a single drop doesn’t leak. “take it, take it..”

the two of you are left panting hard, bodies sweaty and gleaming with the afterglow of sex. you gingerly pull away, cunt left sore and spent from a round of sex months in the making. eren reaches over to caress your ebon lips, admiring the smooth, wet feeling once you roll onto your back. “no more attitude from you, yeah?”

“no more attitude from the man reduced to calling me ‘mama’ and begging to cum either, i’d assume.” your teasing laughter is cut off by him purposefully sinking three fingers deep inside you. “mmh…”

“mhm, sure.” roles reversed, eren climbs on top of you and stares down with green eyes aflame with lust through his tousled brown hair. “now i want to see what i can make you call me.”

[stars-and-the-min]

☆ the wrong way to hard launch (7) | OP81

summary : oscar's girlfriend is a walking pr problem for literally everyone (including herself) social media au

pairing : oscar piastri x zhou!fem!singer!oc

a/n switch out one shitty ex for a slightly less shitty one

masterlist | last part | part 7 | next part

ARTICLE

Revisiting 'Twelve More Days' : How Empty Bottles Spun Their Signature Sound on its Head on Tour April 12, 2024 · Written by Catherine Moore

Almost halfway through the Asian leg of their world tour, it's finally time to talk about what the pandemic-era rock band Empty Bottles has been up to. For greener artists, it's the cookie-cutter way to stick to a genre that has previously worked and give the masses what they want but instead, Empty Bottles have taken their 2022 sophomore sensation 'Twelve More Days' and tweaked the songs for their world tour.

Long-time fans of the Sydney-born band are familiar with the classic rock elements that brought Empty Bottles into the spotlight; claiming influence from fellow Sydneysiders 5 Seconds of Summer, Arctic Monkeys and other croony rock artists, so it was a rather big surprise for critics and fans alike when the album opened with a much softer, hypnotising approach.

The even bigger surprise was the creative and musical approach they took with their tour. As noted by various critics back during the album release, 'Twelve More Days' had a not-so-subtle jazz flavour to their sound, and the band seems to have embraced the jazz-rock sound by opening their tour with a speakeasy-style set, complete with the band decked out in snazzy 1930s reminiscent suits and frontwoman Selina Bui in glittery minidresses, opera gloves and a thematic vintage ribbon microphone.

Despite close to three years since she last performed in front of a live audience, Bui took to the stage like a fish to water, instantly entrancing her audience with her universally acknowledged rich sirenic vocals, drawing in the attention and sending the venue back to a 1930s speakeasy. Strangely, she performs this part of the show without her trusty guitar, leaving the grunt work on the other lead guitarist, talented Lukas Zhang, who delivers without a hiccup with no twin guitar to help cover any mistakes.

Quite a few of the sophomore album's songs are given a jazz-rock twist that nobody could have predicted. Other already jazz-influenced songs - namely deluxe track number 13 'money talks' and track 6 'typo' - have been breathed to life, as well as a couple of songs from the band's debut album 'overtime'.

Empty Bottles then returns after a brief intermission with their award-winning pop-rock sound, spending the rest of the set in much more familiar-looking leather jackets and t-shirts and a guitar returned to Bui's hand. Bui, very well known for having an interesting sense of humour, made the choice of returning to the stage with the fitting song choice of 'do you remember me?'. One thing you have to give the 22-year-old is that she really does know how to pick her moments, and the now-iconic first chords of the cocky, energetic track are enough to send the crowd screaming.

The exploration into the many subgenres of what is considered rock 'n' roll has always been a very fuzzy point of conversation, and it's been an honour seeing Empty Bottles have fun playing jump rope over that line. What makes this tour such a raving success is their perfect balance of experimentation and keeping to what is tried and true for them; the classic, hard-hitting, no-nonsense, inane-lyricism rock coupled magnetically with Bui's captivating execution on stage.

Would you find me at one of their shows again? Absolutely, there was truly nothing more thrilling than the first moments you see Selina Bui walk onto stage with her infamous cheshire cat smile. What did I personally think about the sound change? I was pleasantly surprised at how seamlessly they've adjusted the songs to fit the jazz-rock genre, I also believe that they have found the perfect sound to complement Selina Bui's voice. It's uncanny how it just clicked that she was born to sing the soft, almost lullaby-like, calming songs. If they were to release another album with a similar soft sound, I would happily eat it up.

Empty Bottles wrap up the Asian leg of the tour in Bangkok, Thailand later this month and then shortly begin the European leg in Sofia, Bulgaria.

INSTAGRAM

cameliazzz

liked by aidan_ebass and 122,394 others

cameliazzz life lately 🐾 tagged: selinabui

aidan_ebass Yes ma'am 🫡 ↳ selinabui @aidan_ebass i'm dying u are such an old man ↳ lukaszhang @ selinabui he's like barely a year older than you??

cami.png the hottest drummer ever 💜💜💜

conangray a little commotion for the drummer pls and thank you ↳ cameliazzz @ conangray stop i'm blushing 🙈

TWITTER

fiona🩷 @fififorlina · 4h i mean we can all thank tommy for one thing and that's for twelve more days lmao ↳ lina bui x2 grammy winner @urdaisea · 3h i forget that not all empty bottles fans have read this article but i think they all should: Why 'Twelve More Days' isn't a Break-Up Album, it's a Healing One

emme @flowersforcami · 1h yes twelve more days is full of t*mmy slander BUT remember that all the band members have writing credits and they ALL helped write songs so basically what i'm trying to say is that twelve more days is actually the rest of the band roasting the shit out of lina's ex ↳ emme @flowersforcami · 1h every one of those bitches rocked up to the studio and went for blood. that is a universally hated man in their group chat.

amie <3 @mieflrs · 2h it's been 3 years, i think it's time to admit that keeping tabs is absolutely not about thomas fucking howard ↳ amie <3 @mieflrs · 2h i don't care how delusional u are, where in those 3 minutes 54 seconds did you hear a single line that sounds like anything like that sorry excuse of a man??? now a certain japanese-american singer who is exceptionally hot playing the guitar on the other hand... ↳ lukas 🔛🔝 @lukiepookie28 · 2h yes i agree it's not about t*mmy but it's also not about CHRISTOPHER like WTF R U ON???

oscalina real ?! @ emptyginbottles · 32m we're in an oscalina drought and it's plain to see not all of us are coping well

MESSAGES

from the phone of selina bui

INSTAGRAM

selinabui

liked by chrisyamada, oscarpiastri and 279,384 others

selinabui now he's thinkin' 'bout me every night, oh is it that sweet? i guess so

amelia_belrose pop!lina perhaps 🫣

oscarpiastri Didn't need to call me out like that ↳ selinabui @ oscarpiastri don't tell me u miss me already

sabrinacarpenter she's working late coz she's a singer

lukaszhang woman you hate coffee what are you on ↳ selinabui @lukaszhang why are u even here

MESSAGES

from the phone of selina bui

TWITTER

Yamada Updates @chrisyamadanews · 2h 🚨| Chris spotted at the Empty Bottles 'Twelve More Days' Tour in Seoul Night 2

Yamada Updates @chrisyamadanews · 32m 🚨| CHRIS ONSTAGE WITH EMPTY BOTTLES!!!

↳ Yamada Updates @chrisyamadanews · 30m this made me break ok, i am so fucking thrown off. WDYM WE GOT SELINA BUI AND CHRISTOPHER YAMADA ON STAGE TOGETHER IN THE YEAR 2024???

mabel @ maplemabel32 · 25m i can't breathe chris and lina??? chris and lina???????? after so long??? CHRISTOPHER AND SELINA???? as in "hello it's chris" "and lina"??? MY BESTIES REUNITED???

june @linafesting · 18m sometimes, i'm convinced lina spins a wheel on how to break the internet today

↳ kat ୨୧ @yamayaps · 2m with all due respect, this stunt was NAUT selina's idea, this was a move that christopher 'no boundaries' yamada suggested

INSTAGRAM

emptybottles_official Olympic Gymnastics Arena

liked by chrisyamada and 334,294 others

emptybottles_official Nowhere as incredible as Seoul! Always special to have @chrisyamada join us on stage. tagged: chrisyamada

chrisyamada someone better return the favor later 👀 ↳ selinabui @chrisyamada u begged me to let u come what are u on ↳ chrisyamada @ selinabui ok maybe i did

pi4str1 ok someone catch me up bc i did not know chris and lina were friends??? ↳ linasgirl4 @pi4str1 it's probably best we don't get into it

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

taglist @ririyulife @ashy-kit @fionaschicken @namgification @cherry-piee

[melissa-kenobi]

🎃 Kinktober 2024 🎃 Arthur Morgan + Glory Hole

Woooop, 3rd part of Kinktober, we've got Arthur Morgan up next!

Under 18s, DNI

Warnings: Prostitution, Dirty Talk,

Word Count:

🎃 Kinktober 2024 MasterList 🎃

***

After leaving your family, you'd found yourself working two jobs to stay afloat. Working behind the bar at a saloon being your daytime job and offering deluxe bath services for some patrons being your night job. You didn't enjoy it per se, but it paid well and to be completely honest, you needed the money.

You had a few regulars that often requested you, but they weren't anything sexual. They simply wanted someone to talk to. So you provided that.

But there was one patron.

By God. He was handsome, his freckled skin was gorgeous, and you loved to give him a deep clean. And his eyes, he had the most stunning emerald eyes, one you could probably get lost in if you stared long enough.

But he hadn't come around in a few weeks and you were a little worried. Well, not worried, but you get the gist.

Tonight was no different from any other day. You didn't have your hopes up high for him to turn up.

So you went about your business, serving members of the public and so on, until your boss called for you.

"Hey sweetheart, one of ya erm, customers requested you out back." He said almost embarrassed which was odd.

"Out back?" You question a little confused.

He grimaced, "Erm, yeah. He wants something a little more tonight. Requested you specifically."

You internally groaned and hoped it wasn't the creepy old man who'd been begging for you to help him out with his little problem, "Can't you say I'm not here?"

He shook his head, "Sorry sweetheart, says he saw ya in the bar already. Best get going, don't wanna keep him waiting."

You sigh and make your way to the back rooms. This wasn't the first time men had requested for you but alas it was your job and you were thankful that the men weren't as bad as you thought they were gonna be.

You bump into Mary out back, who smiles and grabs your hand, "Hey honey. Do you mind if we switch customers tonight?"

"Why?" You ask a little suspicious. Mary usually dealt with the more precarious side of sexual favours, such as giving blow jobs, hand jobs, just being a hole for the men to use in general. Something you weren't a fan of.

Mary blushes. Oh no, you know that look. She's got a crush on one of the men.

"Don't tell me you-

"Shush!" Mary says and quickly covers your mouth, "Don't say anything. He's in there. Please love, I promise I'll pay you back?"

You sigh. "Fine. But you owe me, big time."

She squeaks quietly with glee, "Yes! Thanks, love, you're a darling. I promise Mr Morgan's not as bad as he seems. He's a sweetheart, usually wants to talk."

You stutter in your steps, "Mr Morgan? You mean the big beefy man who hasn't been here in a week? Oh- no I can't-"

"You keeping tabs on him love?" Mary asks, now curious when she notices a blush on your cheeks, "Oh you like him, don't ya?"

Your cheeks blush red, and you look down, "I do not!"

"You so do!" She retorts gleefully. "Go, you don't wanna keep him waiting."

You roll your eyes before straightening your back and making your way over to his room. You slipped into the separated part where there was a bed and a hole for you to lay on. You quickly slipped off your clothes and slid into position, on your back and legs wide open through the hole.

The door on the other side opened and you assumed Mr Morgan had walked in. You could hear the jangling of his boots clacking on the floor and the sound of a belt being dropped to the ground.

"You're new, sweetheart." He says, a hand trailing along your soft legs, noticing the difference between the other girl who was usually here. His fingers were rough, but his touch was soft on your legs. You loved the way his calluses felt on your skin.

"Is that okay?" You ask, almost shyly, your skin tingling hot with his touch.

"Mmmhh." He responds before ducking down and attaching his mouth to your pussy, "Even better sweetheart. Ya remind me of someone."

"Fuck!" You curse loudly and grip the bedsheets as he licks and eats your pussy out. His tongue is relentless as he laps up every single juice that you leak out. He goes at it for a while, before giving kitten licks to your clit and moaning softly.

"So sweet." He mutters, "Wish you were her..."

His words leave you slightly confused, but you shake it off nonetheless. "Hey." You say breathlessly, "This is supposed to be for your pleasure, not mine."

He growls before roughly tugging your legs to his hips and wrapping them around him. He grabs his cock and pumps it a few times before slapping it against your pussy lips, teasing you gently.

"How do you want it sweethear'?" He purrs.

"Ya want hard? Or ya want it rough?" He continues.

"Both." You manage to moan out, hips thrusting against his cock.

"Dirty girl." He moans into the air and slides his cock into your pussy, before stilling, "Goddamn you're tight sweetheart. So tight."

Arthur pumps your pussy, thrusting harder and harder, skin slapping against skin, sweat dripping from the two of you. Groan and moans filling the air as he grips your hips tighter. Bruises left on your hips that you'll cherish for weeks to come.

His eyes flicker through the hole only to catch a glimpse of your face only to gasp softly and pull back, hie cock falling from your pussy in a low moan of disappointment and longing.

"No... come back Arthur..." You whine softly before suddenly realising your mistake. You weren't supposed to know who he was.

"No- you're- I didn't-

He begins to apologise as he pulls back and grab his underwear, "This was a mistake."

You panic. Oh shit, he must have seen your face and you'd stupidly called him by his name, "No wait-

You slide through the hole and freeze looking at him- fuck he looked even more gorgeous up close, "Arthur wait- please don't go."

"Sweetheart- if I'd have known it were you- I never would have-

"What's that supposed to mean?" You say a little confused and annoyed.

"You're- a pretty gal and I didn't wanna-

"You didn't want to what? Ruin me?" You say softly making Arthur's mouth drop open.

"No- I- you're too good for me. I wasn't expecting ya-" Arthur begins but you cut him off.

"Well, you've got me for the next hour or so, and I ain't complaining. So you can do what you want with me and I promise I won't mind." You smile sweetly.

Your words make Arthur drop his underwear and stalk over to you, "How about I make you mine instead?".

He grips your waist and lifts you sit on the edge of the counter, standing between your legs before leaning in for a kiss. "Let's take it slow this time. Wanna cherish ya."

***

[ladykissingfish]

*Hidan and Kakuzu out walking in a snowy forest*

Kakuzu: This is ridiculous. It’s freezing out here, and the snow is coming down so hard I can barely read this map! Are you positive Pein said we had to take this mission today??

Hidan: I’m sure, old fuck. Keep your pants on … *takes the map and squints at it* See? *points* We’re here, and our rendezvous spot is just half a mile ahead. So quit your bitchin’ and get a move on.

*Kakuzu quietly grumbles to himself as he pulls his cloak tighter around him and follows Hidan’s lead up the path*

Hidan: Ah — there it is!

Kakuzu: That place? I know that place; it’s a fairly expensive hotel. The client we’re meeting must be loaded, eh?

Hidan: Everything's always money with you, ain’t it? Greedy bastard …

*the two go into the hotel and shake themselves off in the doorway before stepping inside*

Kakuzu: Okay; now where is the guy we’re supposed to —

*Hidan walks away from him and up to the front desk*

Hidan: Reservation under “Jashin” for the deluxe suite, please.

*the hotel clerk hands him a key and Hidan walks back to to a confused Kakuzu*

Kakuzu: … Reservation? Brat, what —

Hidan: I booked this a whole week ago, ‘Kuzu. Surprise! *takes his hand and pulls him towards the staircase* I checked it out beforehand; our room has got a gigantic bed and a bathtub as big as a swimming pool and —

Kakuzu: Wait, wait; I’m confused. What about the mission?

Hidan: You dumbass; I lied, there ain’t no mission. Well, except one: make Kakuzu’s birthday a great one!

Kakuzu: Birthday? It’s not my — *pauses to look at a calendar hanging on a wall* Well, shit …

Hidan: Ha! Finally managed to get your ass!

Kakuzu: But … this place is pricey, isn’t it? How did —

Hidan: I talked red-eyes into using that sharingan of his to help me win big in a gambling den. Hey, are ya hungry? I made sure this place had that gross liver ya love so much, and —

Kakuzu: *pushes Hidan against the wall and kisses him* There’s only one thing I want to devour tonight, and I’m looking at him. *takes his hand* Lead the way.

Hidan, blushing: D-damn … okay, let’s go. Boy, at first I thought it was a mistake to take all that money from your secret stash to go play cards on, but now I —

Kakuzu: Wait … what?

Hidan: I … er … h-hey, did I mention this place has free massages and palm readings and —

Kakuzu: Palm readings, eh? To tell the future? Well I know what MY future is going to look like … but it remains to be seen what yours holds, my dear money-stealing brat. *kisses Hidan’s knuckles* Now, lead the way. While you can still walk.

Hidan:

[irkimatsu]

spicy wedding night with husk?👀

Spicy wedding night with Husk~

I sincerely doubt Husk is the type to wait for marriage before sex. For emotional intimacy, probably, at least by the time you met him; he's tired of one-night-stands and heartbreak, and he can't let himself be that sort of vulnerable with you until he's sure you're serious about him. But he doesn't need to put a ring on your finger before he's sweeping you off your feet with candles and music and gentle lovemaking into the morning. (Or until he's pinning you to the mattress and railing you until you can't feel your legs. He still likes some spice in the bedroom.)

But that wedding night is a whole other level. I think he'd like a big party for his wedding. Before he met you, he used to dryly joke about how if he ever got married again, he'd do it like in Vegas, get married by the first fucker in a suit he can find and sign the divorce papers in advance. But underneath that cynicism, there's a hopeless romantic who wants to celebrate his love and do it right this time. The party lasts long into the night, with Husk drinking and chatting with guests...

And staring at you, oh god, staring at you. He's always been attracted to you, but seeing you in your wedding best... that you're wearing because you want to spend the rest of your afterlife in this pit with him... he can't get his mind off you.

The way you smiled, tears in your eyes, before your first kiss with him as your husband... that smile will be in his mind for the rest of his existence...

A very drunken best man Angel is eventually going to get sick of Husk's pining and playfully shove you two out the door. Don't you guys have a reservation for the night? Go on, get out, go have fun!

Because, sure, you could just stay in your room at the Hazbin Hotel, especially if the reception is being held there... but where's the romance in that?

This is the first you've heard of a reservation, as Husk leads you to a fancy hotel some distance from the reception. He brings you up to a deluxe room, with a giant bed, a fireplace, a hot tub...

"Do you like it...?" he asks, surprisingly nervous.

You're afraid to ask how he afforded this; you know he's not the most responsible when it comes to making money...

But you'll leave that alone for now. Costs aside, of course you're delighted to spend your wedding night in a place like this...

He lights the fireplace with his magic - showoff - and puts on some music, and with that, he's holding you and kissing you more deeply than he has all night, which is saying something. He undresses you so slowly, allowing his paws and mouth to savor every inch of skin he exposes before removing just a little more of your clothing.

You're his now, you're his- and even more importantly, he's yours...

Before you're fully undressed, he'll have you under him on the silken sheets, still kissing your body as if he hasn't seen you in years. You undress him in turn, running your fingers through his fur, marveling at the idea that you've found someone this wonderful in a place like Hell.

His lips are locked with yours as he slides inside you, so slowly, for the first of many times that night. He gently rocks into you in time with the music, barely able to keep his mouth off yours, groaning as you lightly tug at the fur beneath his wings.

He's so gentle with you... for now, anyway. He's yours now, after all; he wants to do anything, anything at all, to help you enjoy your first night with him, and every other night following that. Every moment you're spending in bliss beneath his touch is bliss for him, too. If you just want to be gentle tonight, of course he'll honor that. ...on the other hand, if you want to check out the stock of sex toys that the room came with, maybe try something new...

It's going to be a long time before he can pull himself away from you. Hopefully he's booked more than one night here...

[oldwindowsicons]

Big Money Deluxe

[gluttons-for-punishment]

MY LIFE WITH QUEEN

One day in 1974 I was reading the paper and it said that "the Queen" was going to be on Top Of The Pops. Obviously this was a bit of typical puerile stupidity on their part. The Queen wasn't appearing on Top Of The Pops.

Queen were.

And they did. Seven Seas Of Rhye was their first hit, and I quite liked it partly because of the fun outro. Music had joy in it, back in the day.

The likes of Slade and Wizzard and Gary Glitter didn't take it all too seriously. They were all regulars on TOTP and it was a lot of fun.

Queen were on again a little while later with their follow-up, Killer Queen. Everyone liked that. Their lead singer was weird, exotic, almost Oriental-looking with big white teeth. He fitted into the now jaded Glam Rock aesthetic but with an edge, and more class than all the others.

I was listening to the radio the following year and I heard this strange record going "Mama Mia! Mama Mia!" and I thought what the fuck? That ain't Abba!

Then I heard the whole thing, Bohemian Rhapsody in its entirety, all five minutes and fifty-five seconds of it, and I was hooked for life. Queen were like a breath of fresh air, a sparkling gem amid all the Osmonds / Bay City Rollers / David Essex dross that was stinking up the airwaves. I set about investigating their back catalogue.

Someone taped their latest album A Night At The Opera for me. My mate Bernie had Sheer Heart Attack, so I got a copy of that too. Once I'd saved up enough pocket money I went out and bought Queen II. From this album, The March Of The Black Queen has consistently remained in my top three for nearly half a century.

That Christmas Eve, Queen's concert at Hammersmith Odeon was transmitted live on The Old Grey Whistle Test. I took an audio recording of the show on my little portable cassette recorder. The quality was pretty dismal but I played that tape to death and learned it all by heart. In the intervening years it's been repeated over and over again by the BBC, always in a savagely truncated form. It was finally given an official full-length deluxe box set release in 2015 under the title A Night At The Odeon, forty years after the initial live broadcast.

In the scorching endless summer of 1976 Queen announced that they were going to play a free concert in Hyde Park. I wasn't going to miss that. So I set off early in the morning of 18th September with a mate from school (whose name escapes me) after a fry-up made by my sister. We got to Hyde Park and sat on the grass with 150,000 other fans and stared at the empty stage. There was a middle-aged couple sitting behind us who may or may not have been Brian May's parents. A young hippy who looked like Jesus wandered through the crowd giving out cherries.

The first band of the day was Supercharge. Their lead singer was a big fat guy who came on stage wearing a leotard like the one Freddie wore. Next was Steve Hillage, whose endless noodling bored me to tears. Then it was Kiki Dee, who was in the charts at the time with her duet with Elton John, Don't Go Breaking My Heart. She performed the song with a cardboard cut-out of Elton, with the audience singing Elton's lines (Elton was actually present backstage at the time, but didn't appear on stage as he didn't want to steal Queen's thunder).

Then at dusk Queen finally came on with a blinding flash and blew me away. They opened with Procession and a clip from Bohemian Rhapsody and went straight into Ogre Battle.

"Welcome to our picnic by the Serpentine!"

By now, everyone had got to their feet and moved closer to the stage. I got separated from my mate. I didn't care. All my attention was focussed on the band.

The best bit was Freddie, solo at the piano, performing the as yet unreleased You Take My Breath Away. That was amazing. A flawless performance that's included for posterity on the 2011 re-release of A Day At The Races.

They finished with In The Lap Of The Gods... Revisited but didn't play an encore: apparently the show was running late and the band had been threatened with arrest if they went back on stage, due to the huge numbers of people out there in the dark.

My first ever concert experience was absolutely euphoric. It was like losing my virginity. I was still on a high as I drifted away in the dark to get the tube home.

Their next album, the first new one to come out after I became a fan, was A Day At The Races. I got the LP for Christmas, some two weeks after its release, but by some careful snooping I'd found it hidden in my mum's bedroom and played it a couple of times beforehand. When I finally got my hands on it, I played it to death.

By now I was a member of the fan club, and used to ring them now and again to see if there was any news about forthcoming releases (the music press were always a few days behind). I'd sometimes pop into their offices at South Audley Street if I happened to be in the West End, always hoping there'd be one or two band members present. There never were. One day I was up there with my mate Mark and we casually asked the fan club secretary if there were any plans to re-release I Can Hear Music, the pre-Queen single Freddie had recorded with the engineer Robin Cable and released under the name Larry Lurex in 1973. She said no, but she had a few copies for sale. Were we interested?

Hell, yeah! It was a one-sided white label seven-inch single, a test pressing as it later turned out. I was disappointed that the far superior B-side Going Back wasn't included, but it was the elusive and rare Larry Lurex so I had to have it. We got one for our mate Andy too. 75p each. Bargain!

My copy disappeared into the ether decades ago, but Andy still has his. And apparently it's one of the most collectible Queen items (second only to the 1977 Bo Rhap blue vinyl single) and sells for an absolute fortune.

[Whilst visiting and working in the West End in the late Seventies I went past Trident Studios in St Anne's Court, off Wardour Street, many times without really realising its significance. Standing opposite Dark They Were And Golden-Eyed, a fantastic science fiction bookshop (where I acquired loads of quirky unofficial Tolkien stuff when Tolkien fandom was an underground movement rather than a multi-million-dollar industry), this was where Queen recorded their first three albums. Elton, Bowie and The Beatles had recorded there, too. Further on from the studio, towards the Dean Street end, was a tenement brothel where the ladies would sit by the open windows and call out to you as you walked past.

Of course, it's all gone now. Dark They Were closed in 1981 and there are shops and offices where the ladies of the night used to ply their trade. Trident is now a post-production facility.]

My second experience of Queen live was at Earls Court with Mark and Andy, high up in the balcony, miles from the stage. I snuck my little Kodak 126 camera in with me and succeeded in getting a series of very muddy, very distant images of the massive crown-shaped lighting rig. At one point Freddie was performing You Take My Breath Away at the piano when, at a particularly quiet part of the song, someone knocked over the drum kit (at least, that was what it sounded like). Freddie looked startled for a moment then, like the total professional he was, continued as if nothing had happened. This was followed by a performance of White Man that was powerful enough to blow your bollocks off. Freddie: "This is a real bitch of a song that's really fucked up my voice."

For the encore, Freddie strutted on stage in a shimmering silver leotard that sparkled like a glitterball. A brief but brilliant segment of Saturday Night's All Right For Fighting was included in the rock'n'roll medley.

Later that year I went on holiday to Italy with my family. When I returned home on Saturday 8th October there was a postcard waiting for me from the fan club.

My postcard is long gone. This is someone else's that I found online.

I read the first couple of sentences and thought "oh! fantastic! I'm gonna be in a Queen video!" but then as I continued I realised that the event had come and gone and I'd missed it by two days.

Mark and Andy were there. They said the band ran through the new song - We Are The Champions - a few times so the audience would be familiar with it for the recording, and after three takes played a surprise fifty-minute concert. What a unique experience, that I missed out on by two fucking days.

Empire Pool, Wembley was a much nicer venue than Earls Court. I got to see Queen there three nights running in May 1978. On this tour they opened with the fast full band version of We Will Rock You and included the brilliant It's Late, which for many years was my all-time favourite Queen track, in the set. The low point was probably Get Down, Make Love, but the gigs were brilliant. Electrifying.

Following this tour they released the Jazz album, which was a bit disappointing. For the first time, there were more duds than gems on a Queen album. The only track I really liked was Jealousy.

I was in the HMV shop in Oxford Street one day in 1979 and there were three or four copies of Live Killers for sale, autographed in gold ink by all four members of Queen. I didn't buy one because I'd already got a copy of this (disappointing and lacklustre) album. I wish I had. They go for between five hundred quid and a grand these days.

Later that year they released Crazy Little Thing Called Love. I gave it a listen. "That's fucking crap," I spat. "The worst thing they've ever done. The final nail in their coffin."

You could say it grew on me after a while.

Queen went on tour at the end of the year. It was called the "Crazy Tour", as they were playing small venues. I got to see them three times that year, first at the Lyceum in central London on 13th December - fantastic, me and Kate were right at the front! The following day I was so hoarse from cheering and singing my lungs out that I was sent home from work by a manager who thought I was suffering from a bad throat infection.

The following evening it was the Rainbow in Finsbury Park. But the best was yet to come: their gig at the Tottenham Mayfair (formerly the Royal nightclub) five days later remains the best concert I've ever been to. A full account of this concert is elsewhere on this blog.

A year later, another tour, to promote the albums Flash Gordon and The Game. Two nights at Wembley Arena (formerly the Empire Pool) this time, 9th and 10th December. I woke up on the morning of the 9th to the devastating news that John Lennon had been murdered. That took the shine off the prospect of going to see Queen.

I still went. I was in the balcony, with a side view of the stage. At one point in the concert, with no announcement or fanfare, they played Imagine. Just Freddie and Brian. Freddie had the lyrics on a sheet of paper. It was the best moment of the whole evening.

My enthusiasm for Queen nosedived in the early Eighties after the release of Under Pressure. I didn't bother buying Hot Space until a few weeks after its release, and then only after I'd heard Back Chat. Bowie had replaced Queen as my favourite, and I just wasn't interested any more. Consequently I didn't bother to see them on the 1982 tour: the closest venue was Milton Keynes Bowl, and it just wasn't worth the effort.

Next time around, for the tour promoting The Works in 1984, they played Wembley Arena again so I grabbed a couple of tickets. Me and my friend Claire were in the balcony again for this show. At one point I mentioned how brilliant it would be if Bowie would appear with them to perform Under Pressure, but Claire pointed out that as the date was 4th September, it would more likely happen the following evening, on Freddie's birthday (it didn't).

Queen's "show-stopping" appearance at Live Aid (13th July 1985) has gone down in history as one of the greatest rock performances of all time, but at the time it was hard to figure out why: to an experienced fan like me, it wasn't really anything out of the ordinary. They were always that good. Usually they were better. But it was a revelation for the general public who'd seen them as some kind of novelty act or bunch of glam-rock throwbacks, and as a result they gained millions of new fans. I watched it live on the BBC that Saturday, recording it on VHS and - in stereo!!! - on cassette from Radio 1.

I missed the Magic tour, their final tour with Freddie as it happened. Following their Live Aid appearance, everyone wanted to experience them in concert so the shows got bigger and bigger. Wembley Stadium and ultimately, Knebworth Park. It was essentially a greatest hits show, with the band playing mostly their hit singles with little room for the deep cuts which were much more appealing for veteran fans like me.

I watched the Wembley Stadium concert on TV though, and they were on top form. The broadcast and subsequent home media release successfully capture the essence of the atmosphere you'd feel at a Queen concert.

As the Eighties faded away the AIDS crisis became more and more prevalent. The vindictive gutter press gleefully jumped on the bandwagon and harrassed any gay celebrity they could think of, including Freddie. Following his gaunt and frail-looking appearance at the Brit Awards in February 1990, they quite literally hounded him to the grave. For over a year these vultures were camped outside his home, hoping for a scoop and a hysterical headline, and every time he emerged into the outside world there were intrusive and sensationalised pictures of him all over the papers.

Not surprisingly, the vile S*n was the biggest culprit.

I thought: "you fucking wankers." - Roger Taylor on the British press

Like most fans, I was in denial. I didn't believe he was ill. I couldn't bear to believe it. There were repeated rebuffs from the Queen camp - "Freddie's fine, he's as fit as a fiddle" - that we latched on to. This became harder when the videos for I'm Going Slightly Mad and Headlong were released. Freddie did look ill.

Sunday, 24th November 1991, the headlines screamed: FREDDIE: "I'VE GOT AIDS". Just after 7:00 the following morning, Monday 25th, I was woken by my girlfriend rushing into the bedroom declaring "Gary! Freddie Mercury's died!"

They make his life a misery and hound him to his death, then pretend they care. Fucking wankers.

Monday morning. That was a very hard day to get through. At work, there was wall-to-wall Queen on the radio. The jokes started up already: rotten seamen, etc. I was so stunned that I could hardly concentrate on anything else. Queen had been a more or less constant presence in my life from adolescence through to my thirties, and now that was suddenly wrenched away.

That evening, the other half was out so I had the flat to myself. I got a few beers in to toast Freddie and settled down to watch the tribute shows on TV. I was able to keep it together until the premiere showing of Freddie's final video, These Are The Days Of Our Lives. He looked so ill, so thin and frail, so sad. What he must have been through, how he must have suffered. It was hard to believe that was actually the same man on the screen. I sat there and cried my eyes out.

Bohemian Rhapsody got a re-release and became Christmas number one again. John and Roger and Brian announced a tribute concert that would take place the following Easter. A plethora of cash-grab tribute books and magazines were rush-released; I bought them all.

The tribute concert took place at Wembley Stadium in April 1992. I went with a mate from work, Allan Harvey, but we got split up in the 72,000-strong crowd before the concert began (echoes of Hyde Park). The concert itself was a mixed bag: some genuinely emotional moments, and a hell of a lot of shite. Roger Daltrey and Robert Plant were just fucking terrible. Paul Young was OK. Bowie's performance wasn't exactly inspiring: he seemed to be making an appearance for the publicity, rather than to pay tribute to Freddie. And his "Lord's Prayer" moment made me (and the rest of the world) lose the will to live.

Elizabeth Taylor made an appearance, giving a speech about the AIDS crisis (man in crowd: "Get 'em off!" Liz: "I'll get off when I'm finished!"). Elton John gave a solid performance of The Show Must Go On and duetted with the notoriously homophobic Axl Rose on Bohemian Rhapsody. The climax of the show, featuring Liza Minelli (one of Freddie's favourite performers) trying to sing We Are The Champions was just plain embarassing.

The highlight of the show was, without a doubt, George Michael. He gave a fantastic performance of Somebody To Love, '39 and, with Lisa Stansfield, These Are The Days Of Our Lives; as live performers go (those that I've seen, anyway) he's second only to Freddie. I still think this was the only part of the concert that stands up to repeated viewing.

Three years later Made In Heaven, Queen's posthumous fifteenth and final album, was released. This was ingeniously cobbled together from bits and pieces Freddie had recorded before he got too ill, outtakes from previous albums, and a couple of re-worked Queen versions of Freddie solo tracks. Despite a couple of crappy fillers (My Life Has Been Saved, indeed) it was their best album for years. I bought it on the day of release and sat there that afternoon getting hammered on Tungsten lager and listening to these precious sounds.

These days "Queen" (minus John) are still touring with American Idol contestant Adam Lambert as their frontman. I'm not really interested. I'm not a fan of Lambert, I don't like the Broadway-style approach the band take these days, though a few people I've spoken to have said it's a good show. I'm content with the eleven Queen concerts I attended in the Seventies and Eighties with Freddie Mercury at the front of the stage (even though the last one was over forty years ago).

It's fairly safe to say Queen have stood the test of time. They're still immensely popular some fifty years after their first release, even though increasingly these days their fanbase weren't even born when Queen were in their heyday. Those of us who experienced Freddie Mercury on stage are beginning to die off now. But Queen still keep bringing joy to new ears, and I'm quite confident that their body of work will still be appreciated in another fifty years.

QUEEN

My experiences

Hyde Park: 18th September 1976

Earls Court: 1st July 1977

Empire Pool, Wembley: 11th / 12th / 13th May 1978

The Lyceum: 13th December 1979

Rainbow Theatre: 14th December 1979

Tottenham Mayfair: 19th December 1979

Wembley Arena: 9th / 10th December 1980

Wembley Arena: 4th September 1984

Freddie Mercury Tribute Concert, Wembley Stadium: 20th April 1992

[felixcloud6288]

Me trying to upgrade my big barn into a deluxe barn:

Summer 17: I have almost all the money I need to buy the upgrade. Let's sell these crops to Pierre. *Pierre's is closed on Wednesday*

Summer 18: I have the money now. Let's go to Robin's shop. *Robin is at her check-up appointment today*