#my rainbow rockstar
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rainbowharadise · 5 months ago
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♥️🎸✨ our rockstar rockstarring 🙂‍↕️ X
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janegumball · 7 months ago
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⚡️🌈My first ever holographic foil print is now available as an add-on in the Villain Pin Kickstarter!
I don’t know how well it comes across as a digital mock-up, but the lighting bolt across her face will be holo as well >:)
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indelicateink · 5 months ago
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(x)
@iamrebeccasblog HE DOES. or rather, he mentioned his reading list to the press lol, i got excited: Heroin Diaries, Nikki Sixx Mötley Crüe's The Dirt The First 21: How I Became Nikki Sixx Black Metal Rainbows The Art of Darkness: The History of Goth Set the Night on Fire: L.A. in the Sixties ETA correction: Set the Night on Fire by by Robbie Krieger -- hat tip to @la-femme-au-collier-vert Bonus, to watch or rewatch: Hedwig and the Angry Inch; Rocky Horror Picture Show
SUMMER READING LIST!
(in the past the writers used to be on twitter and mentioned books they were reading/references they were influenced by) ETA: @la-femme-au-collier-vert assembled this kickass list of s1 references last year
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nonbinarydollie · 1 year ago
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🖤miss reina “glitch” crowne🖤
(yes i made her extremely blue)
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fastwiemagie · 1 year ago
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I had a mighty itch to sew something new for this year's Vienna pride parade! I have my amazing rainbow dress of course, but I kinda wanted to add to my rainbow closet. I have a couple more clothing ideas, but due to what fabric I could find last minute I went with a rainbow flag skirt, with the 6 classic colours.
(So, red - orange - yellow - green - blue and purple.) Doing something with the updated flag would be cool aswell, though I see that one more as a top. I don't know why, but that's how it is! Anyway, for this year's new rainbow skirt I went with linen fabric - because linen is amazing and I love it dearly. Linen always makes me happy and I DEFINITELY need more linen clothes for sure!!
The skirt is made up of 12 stripes (/rectangles) of fabric: each 66cm wide and about 70cm long. I used the pre-made edges of the fabric for the hem, because I like the effect that gives the hem (and it also saved me a ton of work with hemming the almost 8m hem circumference the skirt ended up with!!). Each of the 12 stripes of fabric was gathered down to about 16cm at the top, (after sewing together all the sides) and then attached to the purple waistband.
And yes of course the skirt also has pockets!!!
There was a hole in the green fabric, which I immediately had to mend before it gets bigger. I covered it with a fabric patch cut from a scrap of the green fabric (see pic 5 for what I did, I folded the scrap around the paper shape I've drawn, removed the paper and hand stitched it over the hole).
[id]9 pictures in total:
First two show freshly bought fabric in rainbow colours: red - orange- yellow - green - blue - purple arranged in semi-rainbow-shape on a wooden table. The fabric is folded up in different rectangles. Under the fabric are 5 rolls of satin ribbon arranged. The satin ribbon is in the colours of the lesbian pride flag.
Pic 3 shows the washed fabric hanging on a metal drying rack, so it can air dry.
Pic 4 shows the cut to lenght individual pieces of fabric lying next to a purple/violett sewing machine, all ready for action!
Pic 5 is a close up of a paper pattern piece about to be cut out, with a pencil, a cute purple ruler, sewing thread and a brown muffin shaped pin cushion arranged aesthetically.
Pic 6 shows the rectangles already joined into a skirt, with the top edge gathered down, lying on the wooden table next to the sewing machine.
Pic 7 and 8 are close ups from the pride parade: they show a young fat white woman with long brown hair wearing a sunny-yellow summer top with big poofy sleeves and a red sports bra underneath. She's got classes and for accessories magenta coloured felt flower earrings (with yellow flower middles) and a rainbow flower necklace. You can see her friend in the background of the close-up (with her head cut off). It's a thin white woman, wearing a shiny silver-white close fitting cropped bodice and a circle skirt with pink, white and purple srtripes on it. Pic 8 shows the above mentioned two young women hugging and enjoying a moment of peace. There's a rainbow banner ceiling above them.
Finally, Pic 9 shows the young fat white woman with long brown hair standing ontop of a relatively empty pride parade truck, she's smiling and showing off her rainbow flag skirt. A green cloth scarf is tied like a belt around her waist and you can now see that she's wearing dark red velvet shoes with socks in a very similar colour. [/id]
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ghouls-rule · 2 years ago
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Straightened Carmen’s hair. I’ve been dying to do this since I got her. I did add back some loose curl after.
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avian-hearts · 5 months ago
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YELLS SO LOUDLY I'M IN LOVE LOVE LOOOOOOOOOVE 💖💕💞💞💖💞💖💘💓💕💞💖💘💗💖💕💕💓💗💖💘💝💗💕💓💖💝💕💗💘
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eastsidemags · 2 years ago
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Tee Franklin / Shauna Grant My Little Pony Signing
ATTENTION! THIS IS AN ALL (PONY) AGES SIGNING ALERT!
Legendary writer Tee Franklin (Bingo Love, Harley Quinn Animated Series comics) is coming back to East Side Mags this July to sign her debut MY LITTLE PONY issue - #14 - featuring her very own pony named VIOLETTE RAINBOW!
We’ve also got rockstar artist Shauna Grant (Mimi & the Cutie Catastophe, Adventure Time) who’s responsible for the interior art along with the artwork for the main cover!
About the issue:
Everypony meet Izzy’s most favorite crafting protégé: Violette Rainbow! Violette is super excited to see Maretime Bay, have a traditional Unicorn sleepover with her favorite fillysitter, and meet the famous Sunny Starscout. But she is feeling self-conscious about her spotty coat because it’s caused by vitiligo. It’s up to Izzy to help Violette see the beauty in her unique sparkle!
Don’t miss this FIRST APPEARANCE of a BRAND NEW PONY! Get your hands on a fresh copy, get it signed by BOTH creators and let’s have some pony-fun!
***PLEASE NOTE: FOR THE DURATION OF THE SIGNING, FACE MASKS WILL BE REQUIRED***
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rainbowharadise · 2 years ago
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The extreme levels of hadorable going on here 💖
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kandicon · 1 year ago
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AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH THIS IS THE COOLEST FUCKING THING EVER
Uuuumm that was… SUPER FUN, I’M FEELING TWELVE AGAIN
Part 1: the Glamrocks!!
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tinydefector · 8 months ago
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Transformers Energy fluid AU
Request are open
Original taste au is by @callsign-relic
There's alot of stuff over transformers loving the taste of humans, from the sweat of their skin and arousal and this got me thing and I went down a rabbit hole of transformers transfluid taste like Energy drinks. And humans can't get enough of it,
Imagine you're going down on your favourite bot and getting a mouthful, and instead of it tasting God awful, you're just there like. 'Why does that taste like monster Mango loco?' The bots don't really take much notice to it until they realise their partner seems alot more interested in oral with them.
And on that thought, imagine both sides of it, humans tasting amazing to Cybertronians and vice versa.
With that out of the way I present to you my chart of what I believe different bots taste like.
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Bulkhead: monster ultra paradise
Megatron: monster Zero Ultra
Rodimus: Ultra peachy keen
Ironhide: monster mule (ginger brew)
Ratchet: Mother Original
Ultra Magnus: monster Zero sugar
Tailgate: monster punch mango loco
Cyclonus: mother Lava guava
Drift, Rung: monster Ultra Gold
Optimus prime, Breakdown: Blue V
Starscream: monster Juiced Khaotic
Pharma: monster Juiced Monarch
Bumblebee: Mother Passion
Prowl: monster Juiced Pipeline punch
Knockout: monster ultra strawberry dreams
Whirl: Mother Epic swell
Swerve: V raspberry lemonade
Soundwave: mother original, zero sugar
Shockwave, Tarn: Mother frosty berry
First-aid: V original
Brainstorm: mother Rainbow Sherbee
Skids: red bull
Mirage: Rockstar Jucied El mango
Perceptor: Rockstar Recovery
Red alert: rockstar Refresh summer fruits
Thundercracker, astrotrain: Rockstar Punched
Thunderclash: rockstar original
Getaway: C4 original
Arcee: Mother Razzle berry
Blitzwing: monster ultra violet
Jazz: rockstar Silver Ice
Thank you for coming to my Ted talk and enjoy, use how you wish.
Let me know if you would like to be added to tag list (tagged for every fic)
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corroded-hellfire · 2 years ago
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Jack & Coke - Eddie Munson x Reader
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Collaboration with my darling @munson-blurbs
Summary: When your best friend Eddie betrays you, you head to The Hideout for a drink—and maybe something more.
Note: This is what comes from late night conversations and texts that say “I had another angsty eddie thought.”
Warnings: angst, family issues, smut, p in v, age gap but both parties are well over 18, oral, m receiving
Words: 4.8k
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“And then you put your middle finger riiiiight here,” Eddie explains patiently, tongue slightly poking out of his mouth as he adjusts your grip on the guitar neck. “Perfect. Now, give a little strum.”
The A-chord doesn’t sound as good as when he plays it, but it’s an improvement since you’d started this impromptu lesson half an hour ago.The fact that butterflies flapped their wings in your stomach every time he touched you didn’t help your concentration, either. 
“I still like it better when you play,” you tell him shyly, lifting the guitar and handing it back to him. “You’re, like, a natural-born rockstar.”
Eddie grins, leaning back against your bed. “Yeah, well, you can’t teach this kind of bad-assery,” he teases, booping you on the nose playfully and inadvertently sending a shockwave of shivers down your spine.
You’re about to muster up the courage to nudge him back when you hear the front door open.
“I’m home!” Andrea shouts obnoxiously, making you roll your eyes. You miss the initial flash of fear that washes over your best friend’s face, mistaking his grimace for a mutual dislike of your older sister.
You know that everyone has issues with their siblings; even ones that are close-knit still have their share of rivalries. But your relationship with Andrea goes beyond the usual bickering. Since you were very young, Andrea has bullied and tormented you incessantly. As kids, Andrea would break her old toys and tell your parents that you did it, that way they would buy her newer and better toys. From the moment that Andrea hit puberty, she was the “hot one.” Never mind not being the “pretty sister,” you had to deal with being invisible because all eyes were glued to Andrea. Then you practically were invisible when you started high school and Andrea pretended she didn’t even know you. It didn’t matter that you’d never ratted her out for all the times she snuck out of the house after your parents went to sleep. But any little thing you did wrong, Andrea went straight to your parents and snitched. It probably wouldn’t have mattered if you squealed on your sister anyway since she was quite obviously your parents’ favorite.
When boys did talk to you, it was because they wanted to get to your sister. Some of them thought treating the little sister as a charity case would get them into Andrea’s pants. The only time it was ever different was when Eddie Munson started talking to you your freshman year. He plopped down next to you at your lunch table and started talking to you about the copy of The Hobbit you had been reading. At first you thought this was another ploy to get to Andrea through you, but the longer he talked about things far nerdier than the book in your hands, you figured this guy might actually just want to talk to you. It was an odd and gratifying feeling. The first time you’d mentioned that you were Andrea’s sister, Eddie actually seemed surprised. “You two share blood?” he said. “She’s a goddamn tornado that destroys everything in its path. And you…you’re like a rainbow.” It’s the greatest compliment you’ve ever gotten. 
As your friendship with Eddie grew, you began to tell him more about how Andrea treated you. How she’d hurl the meanest, most vile words your way with no provocation. You didn’t need to provoke Andrea, she was constantly on the offensive. “Why does she treat me like shit all the time?” you’d ask, and Eddie would reply, “She doesn’t need a reason. There’s just venom in her blood.” 
Andrea was the walking embodiment of those luminescent fish that were so beautiful and shiny on the outside, only to lure the smaller, weaker fish in so that it could crush them. Her jet black hair was always shiny and never a strand was out of place. No blemish ever dared to appear on her skin, leaving her with the smoothest, most glowing complexion. Her curves seemed to be perfectly sculpted, defying anyone to not look at her and either want to be her or want to be with her. Obviously, it was impossible for you to keep up with her current flavor of the week. 
“Are you going to play for me?” you ask as Eddie just sits with the guitar in his lap. You scoot until your thigh is pressed up against his. It would be so easy to tilt your head and rest it on his shoulder. The comforting scent of cigarettes, Old Spice deodorant, and a hint of weed floods your senses as you try to be as close to him as you can—without being creepy about it, you remind yourself. 
“I, um,” Eddie mumbles, his eyes watching your bedroom door intently. “I thought you said your sister wasn’t going to be home?”
“I didn’t think she was,” you say with a shrug. “But you know Andrea, she does whatever the hell she wants. Maybe she met her quota for making children cry today and decided to come home early.” 
Eddie nods and looks back down to the guitar in his lap. He swallows so loud that you’re able to hear it, which has you raising your eyebrows. 
“Look, I know she’s demonic,” you say. “But she probably doesn’t even know we’re in here. Besides, if she was going to torture someone, it would be me, not you.”
“I don’t want her to hurt you. I’d rather she hurt me, actually,” Eddie says, still looking down at the guitar in his lap. More words rest on the tip of his tongue, but the bedroom door flying open stops him. 
“I said, I’m—oh, hi, Eddie,” she trills, giving a tiny wave. “Come back for round two?”
Round two? You glance over at Eddie, waiting for an explanation, but he just turns beet red and sheepishly drops his gaze. 
Andrea takes in the puzzled look on your face and laughs harshly. “Aw, did your best friend not tell you?” There’s nothing but malice in her tone, and you feel like a rock landed in your lower abdomen. “Well, let me fill you in.”
“N-No, I should…” Eddie starts, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “I swung by yesterday…I forgot you’d picked up that extra shift…”
Andrea rolls her eyes impatiently. “Write a goddamn novel, why don’t you?” she snaps. “I’ll summarize: you weren’t home, I was, and Eddie and I hooked up.”
“H-Hooked up?” The butterflies now have lead wings, and you feel the bile rising in your throat. 
“We slept together,” Eddie clarifies softly at the same time that Andrea quips, “we fucked.”
You try to blink back the tears that mist over your eyes. Your sister knows how you feel about Eddie; you weren’t naïve enough to tell her, she snooped through your diary and has been teasing you about it ever since. And while Eddie has no idea about the massive crush you’ve been harboring, he certainly is aware of how awful your sister is. His betrayal stings one thousand times worse. 
“Your bed is really great for sex,” Andrea sneers as you stumble to your feet. “Not that you’d know.”
This has to be a nightmare. You’re going to wake up at any moment, and the idea of Eddie and Andrea sleeping together will be a figment of your overactive imagination. It has to be, there’s no other explanation. But when you glance down at Eddie and see the shame that fills his face, you know. It’s real. Your best friend betrayed you in possibly the worst way he could have done so. All to get his dick wet.
“What the fuck?” It’s all that you can get out of your mouth. You suddenly feel like you’ve run ten miles. You’re lightheaded, your pulse is racing, and sweat is beginning to break out along your hairline. Eddie sets the guitar down and stands up. He reaches for you and you flinch away and pull back from him. The look of hurt that flashes in his eyes would normally make you want to wrap him up in your arms. But now? Now that you know that he fucked your sister in your bed, you don’t want him to ever touch you again. 
“Sweetheart, I’m—”
“Don’t you fucking call me that,” you snap. Looking past him, you can see your sister’s face is full of glee as a self-satisfied smirk settles on her lips. “What was in it for you, huh? Just to hurt me?”
Andrea scoffs and brings a hand up to her chest, reminding you of a southern belle clutching her pearls. “Are you insinuating that I don’t have feelings for dear Edward?”
Eddie rolls his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. Yeah, Eddie, you want to say, that’s the girl you slept with. 
“I would never insinuate that you have any feelings at all. Pretty sure you were born with a lump of coal in your chest instead of a heart. Come here, I’ll stab you with my letter opener and we’ll see the black blood come fucking rushing out,” you seethe. 
“Always so dramatic,” Andrea says with a sigh. “That must be why Eddie doesn’t reciprocate the silly little crush you have on him.”
Eddie’s eyes snap to you, and at any other time, you would’ve said him finding out is the worst possible thing to happen to you. But that’s been usurped now, so you really don’t care how he’s going to react. 
“Must be,” you retort, “or maybe he’s only into psycho bitches.” Clenching your fists, you turn to face Eddie. “I hope her pussy was worth it.” You storm over to your bedroom door, pushing past the both of them. Before you leave, you spin around to face the traitors. “I never want to see either of you again.” You don’t wait for either to respond; you just grab your bag and rush out to your car. 
You’re not sure why you drive to the Hideout; maybe it’s because you still want the comfort of Eddie, but you tell yourself it’s because the drinks are cheap and payday isn’t until next week. 
“I’ll take a Jack & Coke, please,” you tell Lou. The bartender nods, and you add, “you can put it on Eddie’s tab.” He is the reason you’re drinking, after all. 
The thought of their bodies melded into one, him holding her the way you’d only dreamed he’d hold you—it’s too much to bear. And now, like an idiot, you’d left them alone to do it again. 
Lou slides your drink over with a small smile, the most affection you’ve ever seen from the usually stoic man. You down the drink, and then another, frowning when you get the urge to break the seal. 
“Be right back,” you mutter to no one in particular, hoisting yourself off of the barstool and traipsing towards the restroom. You get a decent glimpse of yourself in the mirror: eyes still slightly puffy from when you’d been crying in the car, mascara smudged and smeared. A flick of the makeup wand has you looking a bit perkier already, and you practice your smile a few times before walking back out. 
Lou has another drink ready for you, cocking his head towards the other side of the bar. “Paid for by that gentleman over there,” he informs you, raising his eyebrows. 
You look to where he’s motioning and see a gorgeous older man giving you a little wave. His black t-shirt clings to his muscular frame, and you can’t help but notice the way his biceps ripple with each small movement. He looks to be in his mid- to late-forties, but his hair doesn’t show any signs of thinning. Short brown curls cover his scalp, cropped closely at the base of his neck. His upper body is covered in tattoos, and you immediately wonder where else he has ink. 
You saunter over to him, batting your eyelashes flirtatiously, just as you’d watched Andrea do countless times before. “I guess I should be thanking you for this drink,” you say, giggling and taking a sip. 
“Pleasure’s mine,” he offers, grabbing his green Heineken bottle and taking a swig. “Looked kinda sad, and pretty girls should always have a smile on their face.”
“It worked.” You rest your hand on his bicep, surprising yourself with your own brazenness. Or maybe it’s just tipsiness?
“You gotta name, pretty girl?” the mystery man asks, and you tell him. “Pretty name, too. Damn,” he muses. “I’m Jack. Just, uh, moved back to Hawkins a coupla days ago.”
“Moved back? So you don’t need the welcome tour?” you pout, earning a chuckle from him. 
“Pretty girl, I’ll take you up on anything you offer.”
You consider his proposition. “Let me finish this drink and we’ll see.”
His hand rests on your thigh as he tells you that he’s got a job lined up at the local power plant—immediately reminding you of Wayne, but you push the feeling down. You allow yourself to get lost in his sky blue eyes, somehow both haunting and comforting. 
You kill out your third drink, contemplating ordering one more. Either Jack was paying, or Eddie was, so all you had to worry about was how drunk you wanted to get. 
“What had you all upset earlier, hm?” Jack asks, running his thumb along the denim above your knee. “Don’t tell me it’s some stupid boy.”
“Fine, I won’t tell you then.” You giggle again—you can’t seem to stop giggling around him. “He’s not worth the time.”
Jack shakes his head. “He’s not. You don’t need to play his games. What you need,” he says seriously, “is a real man.”
“And where can I find one?”
His lips crash against yours hungrily, gently parting them with his tongue. He tastes like the hoppiness of beer and stale cigarettes, but you don’t mind. 
“That tour you mentioned earlier,” he murmurs in your ear, “can the first stop be my place?”
You give him a pout, leaning forward into his space, just enough for him to get a peek down your shirt. “I don’t know if I can wait that long.”
Jack looks around the bar, doing a doubletake when he sees the bathrooms in the back corner. He slides from his seat and takes one of your hands in his. There’s a smirk on his face as he walks backwards towards the bathrooms, tugging you along.
“Just as impatient as I am,” he says. “We shouldn’t wait any longer then.”
Without taking notice of if it’s the men or women’s room, you follow Jack in as he nudges a bathroom door open with his elbow. He’s quick to lock it behind you and his hands are instantly on you, grabbing at your waist as his mouth finds yours again. The kisses are urgent and sloppy, no teasing, just devouring one another. Your hands move down to his beltbuckle, making quick work of it and working on the button of his jeans. Strong, large hands grope over your chest as you shove his pants down, but just as you break from the kiss to get down on your knees, there’s a loud banging on the bathroom door. You’re startled and grab onto Jack’s arm, and he’s quick to wrap it around you reassuringly.
“Not in my bar!” Lou shouts through the door. 
Well, you think, can’t show my face at The Hideout again. Your face is burning in embarrassment as Jack huffs an awkward chuckle and resituates his belt. 
“I guess my place is the first stop on the tour then. That is, if you still want to?” Jack’s eyes meet yours, obviously wanting to convey that if you’re no longer interested, that’s fine. But a little embarrassment was nothing compared to how you felt earlier in the day.
“I want to,” you say. For emphasis, you grab the back of his neck and give him a kiss that proves how much you want him. When you pull away, there’s a dazed smile on his face that may be the most endearing thing you’ve seen all day. He takes your hand in his and slowly opens the bathroom door. Luckily, Lou isn’t standing on the other side of it, but you’re sure he’s not far off, watching to make sure the two of you leave. 
You force yourself not to look over at the bar as you and Jack head towards the door. It’s not like you think the bartender will tell anyone, but you can’t bring yourself to meet his eye at the moment. Jack’s car isn’t the nicest, but that’s not something you ever cared about anyway. If it gets you from point A to point B, that’s all that matters. The gentleman that he is, he holds the passenger’s side door open for you and you slip inside. He practically runs around to the driver’s side and it makes you let out a soft giggle. When’s the last time someone seemed this eager to spend time with you? And seem to be genuinely enjoying it?
The ride to his place is only about five minutes, and Jack makes sure you stay in the car until he can come around and open the door for you again. The apartment complex isn’t the nicest either, but what was in Hawkins? His place is on the first floor and you watch his hands as he fumbles with his keys. They’re large, calloused, from what you can only assume is years of work. Staring at them just makes you want to have them all over your body even more. 
As soon as he swings the door open, he’s all over you again. Frantic kisses keep his lips connected to yours as the two of you clumsily make your way to his couch. The material is worn, but not dirty, and you find yourself once again fumbling with his belt as he sits on the cushions.
“Picking up where we left off?” Jack teases, throwing his head back in ecstasy as you get back on your knees and take him into your mouth. The saltiness of sweat and pre-cum hits your tongue, his cock edging towards your throat when he brings his hands to the back of your head and helping you find the perfect rhythm.
“J-Jesus Christ,” he hisses, bucking his hips slightly and watching the tears involuntarily pooling along your lash line. “First time back in that dive bar in years, and I managed to find the girl who gives the best head in Hawkins.”
As if to prove his point further, you cup his heavy balls as you lick up and down his shaft. You keep at it for a few minutes, swirling your tongue around his overly sensitive tip before he pulls away.
“You’re good–too good; but ‘m not gonna lie to you,” he admits when you stare up at him with a puzzled expression, “I don’t bounce back as fast as those college guys you’re probably used to, and I gotta be inside your pussy tonight.”
You nod, tugging your shirt above your head as he helps you shimmy out of your jeans. “Like what you see?”
Jack doesn’t answer right away; just unhooks your bra and watches it fall to the floor. His gaze immediately snaps back to your bare breasts, beckoning you over to straddle his waist. His hard length presses against your lace panties, and the two of you moan in tandem.
“I don’t think you need these,” he mumbles, running his thumb over the lace before tearing them off completely. His middle finger easily finds your clit as he makes slow, deliberate circles.
You can’t help the way you grind against his touch, begging him to stretch you so good. The finger drags through your folds before he slips it inside you.
“So wet already, hmm? Pretty girl must need another finger.” You cry out in pleasure as his forefinger breaches your hole, pumping faster until you feel the familiar tension building in your core.
“N-Need your cock inside me,” you manage, barely able to formulate a thought, let alone a coherent sentence. 
He reaches into the pockets of the pants he discarded and fishes out his wallet to grab the foil-wrapped condom tucked away. Your eyes watch hungrily as he slips it over his cock, fucking his fist a few times to make sure he’s ready for you. His other hand grabs your waist and helps guide you until you’re hovering over his cock. Slowly, you begin to slide down, both of you letting out a groan as he first enters you. The stretch feels so good and from the way Jack’s squeezing his eyes closed and biting at his lower lip, you’d say it feels good for him as well.
“Shit,” he mumbles. “Gives the best head and has the tightest pussy.”
Your only response is a whimper as you lower yourself even further, letting more of his cock fill you up. Once you no longer need your arms to steady yourself, you brace your hands on Jack’s chest. When your hands meet the fabric of his shirt though, you frown. Unable to form words as he finally bottoms out inside you, you tug at the dark material of his shirt, hoping he gets the hint. Reluctantly taking his hands off of you, he maneuvers out of his shirt and tosses it on the floor with his jeans. Most of his chest is covered in ink and you find your eyes trailing the different designs as you rock your hips back and forth. You slide your hands down to rest on his abdomen, since there’s no tattoos there, and you can get a better view of the artwork above. A snake is curled near his right collarbone and a little beneath that there are some sort of wings, but you’re not sure if it’s meant to be an angel, a bird, or something else. On the left side of his chest there is a bird, and it looks like a crow. There’s also a small “E” down near his heart that you can only assume is for an old girlfriend. 
Jack starts rocking his hips up to meet yours and it has your mind completely forgetting about the tattoos as you close your eyes in pleasure. His hands feel rough where they rest on the skin of your waist, but it feels so good when he slides them around to the front and grabs your breasts. You give a particularly hard thrust of your hips when his thumb grazes over your right nipple. There’s a breathy chuckle below you as he sees how sensitive you are to his touch. 
“Feel good, huh?” Jack asks. Breaths becoming more shallow, you nod your head. That’s not good enough for him, though. He gently pinches your nipple, just enough to get your attention, not enough to hurt. “Use your words for me, pretty girl.”
“It’s good,” you say. “So fucking good.” 
“Tell me how it feels.”
“So deep,” you say through a moan. “You’re so big. I feel you everywhere.” It’s true. He’s definitely the largest you’ve ever been with, and in your position, it feels like he’s splitting you open. His arm wraps around your middle as he adjusts himself so he’s sitting up more, your faces closer together this way. As your eyes slip closed again, his lips settle on yours, licking into your mouth hungrily. His teeth graze your bottom lip and it causes you to moan into his mouth. 
“You’re close,” he says. It’s not a question, but a bonafide statement; he already knows your body all too well. “Cream my cock, pretty girl. Just let go f’me.”
The coil snaps as he thrusts into you harder and faster than before. He spills into the condom with a groan of your name but doesn’t pull out right away. You keep him inside you as the two of you catch your breath, coming down from your highs.
“I should go,” you murmur, realizing that there is no way in hell that Andrea won’t rat you out for coming in late and smelling of sex. “Could you give me a lift back to the Hideout so I can get my car?”
Jack nods, discarding the used rubber in a nearby waste bin as you get dressed. You start to look for your underwear before remembering how he destroyed it, and it has you getting wet all over again. 
He kisses you one last time in the bar parking lot. “Sorry I couldn’t stick around for round two,” you tease, “but maybe I’ll catch you here another time?”
“I sure fuckin’ hope so.”
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You’re in your bedroom a few days later, frantically searching through your cassette collection for your favorite AC/DC tape. It’s not in the “As” section, where it would normally be, and you realize with a sinking feeling in your stomach that you’d left it at Eddie’s a few weeks ago.
“Shit, shit, shit,” you mutter. He was the only one allowed to borrow it–you’d gotten it signed by Angus Young when you saw the band in concert, and it meant everything to you. You needed it back.
The drive to Eddie’s trailer seems to fly by, now that you’re dreading facing him. You knock on the door once to no answer, but his van is parked in front, so you knock again, louder this time.
“I need my AC/DC tape,” you snarl as soon as he opens the door.
He rubs his face, combing his fingers through his hair. “Can I drop it off later? And then maybe we can talk?” he asks meekly.
“No.” You shake your head and put out your hand. “Go get the tape and give it to me now.”
Eddie glances around the trailer nervously, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Look,” he starts, “now’s really not a good time…”
You scoff. “Why? Are you fucking another one of my family members? A cousin or something?”
A brief look of hurt flashes across Eddie’s face. He shakes his head and looks down at his feet before meeting your eyes again. “No. No, I wouldn’t…” he trails off with a sigh, sensing it’s useless—and he’s right. “My dad’s here.”
That’s one of the last things you expected to come out of his mouth. Your eyebrows raise in shock as you stare at him. Eddie hadn’t seen his father in years. Didn’t want to, according to him, no matter how many times his dad reached out. The relationship was tumultuous to say the least, but you felt you never had the right to offer any advice since you couldn’t relate to his situation. And Eddie never asked, so you weren’t going to say anything. 
“Your dad?” you ask, just wanting to clarify. 
“Yeah,” Eddie says. He keeps speaking, but movement in the trailer behind him catches your eye. You blink a few times to make sure you’re seeing what you think you are. An airy giggle bursts out of you, drawing both the attention of Eddie and the man in the living room—Eddie’s father, apparently.
“What?” Eddie asks, brow furrowing in confusion. He looks behind him to see his dad, then back to you, unsure of what is making you laugh. “What’s so funny?”
Eddie’s dad stares at you, eyes widening as he comes forward to stand next to his son at the door. The shit-eating grin on your face must be confusing both of them, but it’s wholly impossible for you not to find this whole situation highly amusing. 
“Eddie?” his dad asks. “How do you know the pretty girl from the bar?”
Your ex-best friend’s gaze shoots to his father, head moving so fast that the curls whip around his head. Seeing them next to one another, you can see the resemblance. About the same height and build, same nose, and both covered in ink. Their curls are roughly the same color even if one has brown eyes and one has blue. 
“W-What?” Eddie asks, looking from his dad back to you.
“Hi, Jack,” you say, giving the older man a wink. 
“Wait, what the fuck?” Eddie asks, the color draining from his face. You wait a beat while the realization sets in. “She’s…he’s…” He turns back to you. “You fucked my dad?”
You laugh, shrugging as you reply, “Guess so.” You waltz past your bewildered friend–ex-friend– grabbing Jack’s hand as you lead him back to Eddie's bedroom. 
“Wanna help me look for my tape?” you ask, hooking a finger through his belt loop and you bring your lips to whisper in his ear, “and maybe we can see about that round two?”
Jack grins, grabbing a handful of your ass as he follows you. “Looks like we found the next stop on our tour.”
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metalhoops · 2 years ago
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The place was Chicago. The year was 1990. 
It was early enough into the year that the term ‘1990′ still sounded space aged. It’d been the 80s for as long as Eddie cared to remember. It was late enough in the year that everyone kept telling him winter was over. Nevertheless, he wore the leather jacket he’d ‘borrowed’ from his ex-boyfriend. Spring in Chicago was worse than a million L.A. winters. 
Eddie hated California on principle, but his record label was in Burbank. Despite the band being one of the biggest rising stars in the metal scene, he didn’t have room to get cocky. He’d spent the break between tours last year with his aforementioned ex-boyfriend in his New York apartment. 
The place had been small enough that smoking with the windows open felt like a hotbox session. There was one window in the apartment. It was in the bathroom and only opened an inch if you could get it to open at all. It wasn’t the rockstar life he’d fantasised about back in high school, but he was getting by. 
So how the hell did he end up in Chicago? He was getting there. 
As the filmmaker he’d slept with in Toronto had told him, opening in media res was the best way to hold an audience's attention. Was that what Eddie was doing? Trying to retell the shitshow of his life back to himself? Trying to make sense of it all, make it climax to something meaningful? Maybe. 
Eddie had gotten into the habit of keeping a journal, mostly for lyrics. The band was meant to be recording their third full-length studio album in a matter of months and Eddie only had three songs that were worth anything. To make matters worse, the other two had been concept albums. 
Corroded Coffin’s first and sophomore albums had been different enough that the band hadn’t been boxed into anything. Yes, they were a metal band, but they got their fair share of punks, goths and even a handful of yuppies that’d shown up to their gigs in the past. Hell, their opening act had been a grunge band. It sounded pretentious as fuck, but Eddie wasn’t afraid to transcend genres. The metal scene was changing. They had to learn to change with it.
The nail in his goddamn Corroded Coffin was that the band were known for their concept albums. Their first album Knightmare was a D&D-inspired thrash, metal album. Think Ritchie Blackmore's Rainbow, with a few more homoerotic undertones. Their next album, Dream Dimension was more sci-fi leaning. It told the story of an unnamed group of kids who’d stumbled into another dimension. It was a little more glam metal. Some of the B-sides like ‘My Year’ and ‘Lakeside Interlude’ had been downright shoegaze. One magazine had likened the story to Dream Warriors, which Eddie thought was fitting. 
It wasn’t like Eddie didn’t have ideas for the next album. That was the problem. Eddie did have an idea. He just couldn’t write the damn thing. It was meant to be his magnum opus, the third album that’d stand on its own but also interconnect with the other two. 
He’d call it Daydream. It followed the story of a white-collar guy living the perfect nuclear family life, complete with a white picket fence and a Malibu Barbie, dream house. The thing was, the dude was miserable. He’d spend all his free time daydreaming about adventure and forgotten realms. 
The kicker was halfway through the album the listener would realise the guy was the titular knight from Knightmare. His perfect suburban life was turned upside down when his kid disappeared à la portal to another dimension. It’d be perfect. All Eddie had to do is write it, and that was the damn thing. He couldn’t.  
All his albums were about something. There was always a meaning beneath the meaning. Knightmare? Easy, that was about escapism. Dream Dimension? It was about growing up too fast. Daydream? That was more complicated. 
Daydream was why Eddie needed to write in his journal. It was why he needed to remember that the year was 1990 and that he was in Chicago. 
The thing was, Eddie didn’t remember writing Dream Dimension. There was a 1988 sized hole in his memory between their first and second US tours. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew exactly what caused it. In their early days, they were practically paid in 8 Balls and party favours. Eddie always had an addictive personality and getting into anything stronger than weed had been a bad idea.
It wasn’t until his bandmates had an intervention that he’d been able to see the forest through the trees. Realising there was a whole chunk of his life he’d missed out on was petrifying. So, Eddie kept a journal. 
He’d been sober for almost a year. He was practically fucking straight-edge without all the pretentiousness that came with it, but he knew one slip-up was enough to send him spiralling. That was how he ended up in Chicago.
It was the last show of their Dream Dimension tour, and they were in Chicago. Eddie was always lively on stage. Gareth had abandoned one of his drumsticks during a solo only for Eddie to run across the stage, slip and bite the dust with his ankle going one way and the rest of him going another. 
He’d woken up in a hospital with a lump on his ankle the size of a baseball and the uncomfortably familiar feeling of being high off his face on painkillers. 
To answer the question, Daydream was about getting older. It was about being okay with getting older. It was about doing it your own way. Back in the thick of it all, it’d looked like Eddie wasn’t going to make it to thirty. He was trying to be okay with the idea that he might. 
Last year, Jeff got married to a nice girl who’d been their costume designer for their first music video. It’d shaken him in a way he didn’t know how to explain. He was in his mid-twenties, yet suddenly he felt old. Wayne had retired and with Eddie’s help brought a Winnebago. He was probably fishing in Nebraska right now. 
See, the thing about the titular character in Daydream, was that he’d conformed to what life was supposed to be. By the end of the album, he’d have left that life behind for another, one of action and adventure, because Eddie could never understand why Dorothy wanted to leave Oz for fucking Kansas. Fuck Kansas, on principal.
Something about the album wasn’t clicking. Knightmare was leaving his boring life but ultimately, he was alone. Was that what getting older was all about? Being okay with being alone? When you were gay in 1990, it might be. 
After the tour ended he hadn’t wanted to go back to his apartment in Burbank. He hated it there. He’d entertained the idea of heading back to New York but it was depressing. It reminded him of Jack, and how so many of their friends weren’t around anymore. 
When all was said and done, he and Gareth decided to stay in Chicago. He never said it out loud, but Eddie was sure his friend had stuck around to keep an eye on him. 
Sometimes, Eddie just wanted someone to come home to. Maybe that was why he’d had a string of shit boyfriends. If you weren’t picky, people would walk all over you. 
Jack had been the one that’d made Eddie swear off dating. It wasn’t worth the trouble. He’d rather die alone. His name wasn’t even Jack, it was Corey, but everyone called him Jack. Short for Jacket. Eddie wished he was joking. That should’ve been the first red flag. 
The thing about Corey was he always wore the same goddamn custom-made, leather jacket, all year round. He’d liked having sex in front of his full-length mirror with Eddie always on his knees, which should’ve been at least a yellow flag. He never liked anything gentle. Corey liked the idea of having a rockstar boyfriend more than he actually liked Eddie or monogamy. That was why when Eddie left, he took his jacket. 
He didn’t know why he was still wearing it, but he was. He pulled it on as he hobbled in his moon boot across the street from his and Gareth’s rented apartment to the record store. He hadn’t gone outside in a week, and he was about to start climbing up the goddamn walls. He just needed to go somewhere, and Eddie loved record stores, especially little indie ones. 
Once inside, Eddie noticed the place was practically empty save for the guy behind the counter. They had an eclectic mix of records and zines lining the shelves. Eddie was glad the place was quiet. He didn’t have to worry about being spotted. It wasn’t like they were The Beatles. They could go places but in a big enough crowd, he was sure to turn a few heads. Some days, Eddie just wanted to disappear. 
They had Corroded Coffin records on the display shelf and a couple of magazines with his band's name on the cover, which made pride swell in Eddie’s chest, but he wasn’t here for stroking his ego. He wanted to know what other people were doing and get back in touch with the scene. 
He was busy sifting through the bargain bin when he felt someone slide in beside him. He cringed, almost expecting it to be some over-enthused metal head with a pen and a Corroded Coffin tee shirt, but it was just the dude behind the counter.  
“Sorry, can I squeeze past?” the guy mumbled, a crate of records awkwardly tucked beneath his shoulder.
Eddie did his best to make himself small, his dumbass ankle making a simple task seem like an effort. He didn’t miss the way the man’s free hand brushed over his side as he passed, as though trying to assure Eddie stayed stable. 
“Place sure is quiet,” Eddie observed glancing over at the man.
His jeans were fitted, tight in all the right places. He’d rolled up the cuffs of his shirt to reveal more of his bicep than Eddie deemed necessary and god his hair. There was something about his hair. Something about him seemed familiar. Eddie really hoped they hadn’t hooked up once. That’d be awkward as hell. 
“Yeah, we usually close around five,” The man replied putting an album on the shelf. 
It was almost six. Shit. 
Eddie hated when people did that. They treated him differently because his name was in the papers. Everyone wanted something from him, and they thought doing favours was a good way to win him over. It wasn’t. The guy could clearly see something shift in Eddie. 
“It’s no big deal. I have to stay an hour late to replace the stock, plus my roommate has a girl over, so I’d rather be here,” The boy laughed, shooting a look at Eddie over his shoulder, a stray strand of his perfect goddamn hair falling in his face. 
The boy paused, teeth worrying away at his lower lip, his hand falling to his hip as his eyes searched Eddie's face. 
“Do I know you from somewhere?” He asked. 
And there it was. Sometimes people did that. They played dumb about who he was before making a big goddamn deal out of it. Eddie suddenly wanted to crawl back to his apartment and spend another month in isolation. 
The boy snapped his fingers in triumph.
“Munson,” He practically shouted and holy fucking shit, that wasn’t what Eddie expected. 
No one knew his last name, not his real one. Everyone changed their names when they got famous. He’d gone for something simple, Eddie Emerson, it had some alliteration, just like Corroded Coffin. It wasn’t too far from his real name but not even the die-hards knew him as Munson. 
Then Eddie remembered. 
This guy was Steve goddamn Harrington. He didn’t remember many people from high school, but he remembered Steve. 
“Harrington,” Eddie breathed in disbelief. To his surprise, Steve screwed up his nose. 
“Unfortunately,” He admitted and stuck out a hand expectantly. Eddie leaned down and clasped Steve’s hand. From what he remembered of Steve, the guy had never been this friendly. 
“Nice to re-meet you I guess. I’d like to think I’ve changed a little in over five years.” He had, Eddie didn’t know how to explain how he knew, he just did. It was something about the way the boy held himself. 
“What brings you to Chicago?” He asked, seemingly oblivious to the fact that one of Eddie’s records was sitting on the shelf beside him. Honestly, it was a breath of fresh air to find someone who didn’t know who he was. He could keep the charade up a little bit longer. 
“Oh you know, work stuff,” Eddie answered vaguely, toying with his hair. 
That was something he did when he was flirting and holy shit, he needed to squash that right goddamn now. He wasn’t looking to date anybody, and he remembered Steve being very straight in high school. He needed to save himself from another heartbreak. 
“You live in Chicago now?” Eddie asked. The‘ because you didn’t seem like the type to ever leave’ was implied. 
“Yeah. Rob, my roommate, she practically dragged me here. We’ve been attached at the hip since I graduated. It wasn’t like there was anywhere else I wanted to be,” Steve answered. 
A little detail about the statement screamed for Eddie’s attention. 
“The same roommate that has a girl over?” He pressed and watch Steve fold his arms over his chest, all huffy indignation locked and loaded, begging for Eddie to choose his next words wisely. 
“The same,” he confirmed. Now that Eddie knew, he noticed they were selling a couple of queer zines. It didn’t necessarily mean anything. Steve might just be progressive. 
“I thought you were meant to be the lady's man, Steve,” Eddie tried hoping that was enough to make Steve’s defences fall. To his surprise, Steve snorted and shook his head. 
“Like I said, lots changed since high school. My luck in the dating department couldn’t be worse,” he admitted as he returned to stacking the shelves. 
Eddie watched the planes of his back move beneath his shirt, wanting to push himself against him, to feel what it was like for Steve to move beneath him.
He really needed to get a hold of himself. 
“Couldn’t be worse than my luck,” Eddie rebutted offhandedly. 
Steve shook his head and shot Eddie another glance over his shoulder. He inhaled deeply as though preparing to tell a long story. Eddie leaned against the shelf to show Steve he was all ears. 
“Last month, I went on a date with a girl and she asked me if she could call me by her ex-boyfriend’s name,” Steve began. 
Eddie screwed up his nose in response. 
“Worse still, I was so shocked she’d asked, I just agreed to it.” It was Eddie’s turn to snort. 
“Stevie, you didn’t.” 
Stevie. Goddamn Stevie. Don’t do this to yourself, Munson. Pet names are one step away from a full-blown crush. 
“I did. Do I look like a ‘Juan’ to you?” Steve asked honestly. The question had Eddie doubled over in stitches. 
“Alright, alright. That’s pretty bad, but that’s one bad date,” Eddie reasoned. 
“Dude, I wasn’t finished. The girl before that realised she was a lesbian, while on a date with me. Which is like... the third time that’s happened,” Steve admitted.
Eddie’s hand had betrayed him and returned to toy with a strand of his hair. He hid behind it as he tried to mask a laugh. This guy did have shit luck. 
“You’re a lesbian magnet,” Eddie reasoned watching as Steve hid behind his hands. 
“And the time before that, I thought I was getting somewhere with a guy. We’d been on three dates before he told me he had a wife.” 
Steve made the next confession a little quieter than the others, a little more reserved. Eddie felt the hairs on his arm stand on end. Steve had changed since high school.
“Once I hooked up with a guy who’d only give me head if I sang to him while he did it,” Eddie admitted, feeling the need to get Steve off the defensive and add to the pity party. He watched the boy’s features shift.
“Oh wow, that’s bad. You should’ve pretended to be tone-deaf,” Steve reasoned, once more proving he had no idea what Eddie did for a living. 
“See I was torn between that and singing La Cucaracha at the top of my lungs.” Steve snorted, honest to god snorted.  
The two lapsed into silence but it was a comfortable one. Steve smoothed down his hair five times within the space of a minute before taking a deep breath. 
Eddie knew what was coming. He wasn’t dumb, but a part of him would always be trapped back in high school. It kept screaming there was no way a popular kid like Steve would talk to a loser like him. He thought he’d buried that part of himself, yet here it was, rising from the dead. 
“Do you want to get a drink?” 
And there it was. Eddie didn’t mean to cringe, but Steve caught it, his hands stuffed themselves into the too-tight back pockets of his jeans. 
“Or not,” He muttered averting his gaze. 
“No. It’s not that. I... I don’t drink.” 
There you go Gareth. He was responsible enough to look after himself. 
“I could do dinner though,” Eddie tried to throw Steve a bone. 
Eddie waited for Steve to throw up one of the red flags he’d gotten used to seeing with all the men he’d dated or hooked up with. Eddie would say he didn’t drink, and they’d give him a funny look or mutter something about him being a killjoy. 
“There’s a place that does a wicked deep-dish pizza not far from here. You said you weren’t from Chicago, right? You’ve gotta have the pizza, it’s a rite of passage,” Steve ploughed on.
“Sure,” He muttered trying not to look as surprised as he felt. 
He watched Steve buzz around the record store, shutting up shop and then extending a hand shyly to Eddie. Right, his stupid goddamn leg. At least it gave him an excuse to get up close and personal with Steve in the street and not draw too much attention. 
The two made the short walk to the pizzeria at a plodding pace, talking about nothing in particular. 
“What happened to your leg?” Steve asked as they slid into the booth. 
“Slid on a drumstick and took a nosedive off a stage,” Eddie admitted. He wasn’t going to outright lie to Steve. 
“Ouch,” Steve mumbled, passing the menu over to Eddie. 
“So, you still do band stuff? I remember that high school talent show,” Steve noted, and Eddie cringed, letting his head drop to the table. 
“I really wish you didn’t,” He chuckled before confirming,
“Yeah, I still do band stuff,” as he raised his head and chanced a glance at Steve. 
“Cool,” was all he said before they shifted the subject. 
They were swapping stories about best friends, roommates, shared high-school trauma and generally flirting when a figure approached their booth. It was a kid, who couldn’t be older than fifteen with a shaved head and a battle jacket. He reminded Eddie of himself at that age. He knew what was coming.
“You’re Eddie Emerson, right? From Corroded Coffin,” the kid asked, his hands shaking. He watched as a furrow appeared on Steve’s brow before his jaw dropped. So Steve wasn’t totally clueless. 
“One and only. You want me to sign something for you?” Eddie asked, having gone through this song and dance a million times before. He tried to be nice, after all, it was a kid, but sometimes he got tired of always having to be on. 
To make matters worse it happened in front of Steve. Something about people coming up to him always sat wrong with other guys he’d been with. He wasn’t sure if it was jealousy or ego that did it, but he knew if he ran into a fan on a date, the rest of the night typically went sideways. 
He signed the back of a napkin as he listened to the kid rattle off praise for their music. He talked about his favourite songs and lyrics. Eddie wished he knew what to say, wished he knew how to take a compliment but he didn’t. To his surprise, he heard Steve speak. 
“Hey, did you make this?” Steve asked indicating the kid's battle jacket, forcing him to come up for air.
“Yeah, all on my own.”
The kid blinked and ran his hand over a couple of the hand-sewn patches. Steve obviously knew nothing about the scene because if you didn’t make your own jacket people would call you a poser. It was a nice shout though because he watched the kid light up. 
“Even the safety pins?” Steve asked curiously.
Eddie watched as the kid launched into a story of every little pin and stitch in the jacket, turning his attention away from Eddie, and giving him space to catch his breath. It was nice. He felt like Steve had seen him.
After another few minutes, the kid’s dad came to collect him and Eddie felt his body sag against the diner booth. 
“You get that all the time?” Steve asked, his foot nudging Eddie’s under the table. 
“You wouldn’t believe it,” He grumbled scrubbing his face. Steve nudged his foot again, giving him a goofy grin. 
“At least he liked your stuff,” He proposed. 
“I’m guessing it’s not your thing,” Eddie reasoned. He wasn’t one for stereotypes, but he really didn’t look like the typical Corroded Coffin fan. 
“I’m not too picky when it comes to music. I just listen to top forty stuff.” Eddie shot him a disbelieving look.  
“Dude you work in a record store,” he laughed and Steve shrugged.
“Among other things. I just got the job to hang out with Robin. She works there too. She only took the job to try and peddle her girlfriend Nancy’s zines. Sometimes I write the sports section because Nancy, Robin and Jonathan don’t know anything about sports.” Eddie rested his head in the palm of his hand, listening attentively. 
“Wait, is that the same Nancy that you dated back in high school?” He asked, trying to sound scandalised, glad to have a break from the rock star bullshit. 
“Like you said, lesbian magnet,” Steve grumbled, mirroring Eddie’s gesture, resting his head in his hand. 
“What are you actually doing in town?” Steve asked, more curious than nosy. 
“Trying to run away from writing our third album,” Eddie spoke. 
It’d been the first time he admitted it out loud. He didn’t talk about his music until he thought it was worth something, but Steve was a good listener. To Eddie’s surprise, he found himself spilling his guts to Steve. He told him all about the third album, about the goddamn symbolism, and the way things just weren’t clicking. 
“Why don’t you give him a reason to stay?” Steve asked when Eddie finished his monologue, as though it was the simplest solution in the world. 
“I mean, Dorothy doesn’t go back to Kansas because she doesn’t like Oz, she misses home. She misses her family. You want your knight guy to stay in fantasy land? Give him someone to stay for,” Steve proposed, and it was like the final puzzle piece sliding into place. It was brilliant.
“Stevie, I could kiss you,” Eddie spoke.
“Is that a promise?” Steve asked with a cheeky grin.
“Let’s get out of here and find out.”
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torchflies · 4 months ago
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Okay guys, I'm still drowning at work but here’s something good that's been keeping my head above water 🤣: retired rockstar Tom “Iceman” Kazansky. 
Ice is born to a pair of early hippies in VW Kombi bus painted with all the colors of the rainbow. He gets his first modeling gig after he's scouted at a Janis Joplin show on his Daddy’s shoulders, before or after Big Brother and the Holding Company. 
Anyway, fact is that baby Ice ends up with his face plastered all over everything from Camels ads to diapers. He eventually ends up doing commercials and then bit parts on TV shows and movies. He does Disney for a good long while, with Bobby Driscoll levels of success. But by the time the mid-70s roll around — teenage Ice is the frontman of a heavier crossed with glam rock sorta band: think Def Leppard, Kiss or even Mötley Crüe (way before their time on the Sunset Strip). 
Ice can sing just about anything the band needs him to — think Adam Lambert's levels of range, just straight-up incredible. He's tatted up from dick to tits and has tried just about every drug known to man by the time he's nineteen, starved himself for years, and spends every hour of his life pandering to people who don't give a shit about him.
At twenty-two he realizes that he doesn't even like himself anymore. He doesn't know who he is without being Kairo Jett (his stage name). 
Then, his friends start dying. 
It’s 1981, and sure they were occasionally dying before — booze, drugs or taking their own lives — but now they're all dying of something that doesn't have a name and he's terrified. 
So, he quits and runs away to a life of structure that he's never had. He runs to the USNA, dyes his hair bleach blond, stops wearing heavy makeup, starts eating again and just becomes Thomas Kazansky — then the Iceman, a new kind of stage name.
The Iceman, who has shared the stage with all the greats of rock music, watches Maverick serenade their instructor in the O Club with one of his old songs and has never been more enamored with anyone in his whole life. 
He falls ass over tea kettle the minute Maverick asks him if he's ever heard of the band Tommy Eats the Drum Kit.
Ice doesn't stop laughing for hours. 
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euaphora · 1 year ago
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FANTASIZE ABOUT IT ALL THE THE TIME | ft. Toji Fushiguro
rockstar-boyfriend!toji coming after this with the smut version. (part two basically!) characters are both in their twenty’s! au!
✎ᝰ rockstar!toji x reader
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rockstar!toji who met you through geto and gojo, you guys hit it off immediately when you both exchanged your playlist, realizing you both had the same music taste.
rockstar!toji who invites you to a concert he was having that night, “if you want, you can come see me tonight,y/n… no pressure of course!” He mentioned, quickly clarifying the end. He hated that he was acting so shy around you, he felt butterflies in his stomach? No, that can’t be right.
rockstar!toji who mentally jumps up and down when you told him yes, mentally jumping up and down like a little boy who just got handed chocolate ice cream with rainbow sprinkles.
rockstar!toji who went home and tried to pick the best outfit, almost ripping his shirts to shreds, than they already were from the arms pockets. Why did outfits all of a sudden suck now that he had someone to impress?
rockstar!toji who almost got there late but ended up making it, helping gojo and geto with the loud speakers while kento brought in the instruments. “God how long do you take to put on a shirt and pants, Fushiguro?” Kento pointed out, making Gojo and Geto laugh out.
rockstar!toji who saw you from the corner of his eye in a small baby pink dress, hair in two ponytails with bows on each side, white-beige cardigan wrapped around your arms. He noticed you brought two friends along, recognizing them, nobora and maki.
rockstar!toji who enter red the stage and had seen you already in the front row, holding onto your small white handbag with fur. He loved seeing you wear cute outfits but he couldn’t stop himself from seeing you without any clothes on even more.
rockstar!toji who plays the bass guitar, trying to keep his hands from shaking as he makes eye contact with you. He notices you’ve been staring at him the whole time, making his cheeks turn a darker shade.
rockstar!toji who packs the things back into the van, wishing he could have came up to you instead of this. He wanted to but he didn’t want to seem to pushy and clingy.
rockstar!toji who feels a small poke on his back, ready to tell another fan girl to back off, but turning around and realizing it was you.
“You did amazing, toji! I love the way you played, ‘sounded so good,” You smile at him, having to look up at him from his height while his scar on his lips spreads with the smile he had on his face.
“Yeah?” He asked while moving a couple inches closer, “you wanna go to hang out at my place? I could play something for you..”
“I was suppose to go hangout with my friends, can they come too?” You politely asked, grabbing your lip oil from your handbag.
He lets out a long sigh, trying to hint something but you didn’t get it, making him give you a smile and say, “of course, I’ll bring my friends, they already know your friends.”
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glitchyycatt · 4 months ago
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shout out to the hairdresser who saw my side shave and went “so your like a rockstar, emo?”
and then saw my rainbow flip flops and leaned in to wisper “are you gay?” and when i said yes went “that makes so much senseee nowww”
i would literally die for her
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