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doyoulikethissong-poll · 5 months

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Yes votes / Artist - Song title / Poll number / Showdown votes / * Showdown Winner

95% A-ha - Take On Me #91 - 45.2% *

94,8% Boney M. - Rasputin #37 - 49,3% *

94,3% Dolly Parton - Jolene #110 - 43,1% *

94,1% Britney Spears - Toxic #04 - 51,9% *

92% Fleetwood Mac - The Chain #116 - 44,4% *

90,2% Dead or Alive - You Spin Me Round (Like a Record) #163 - 30,8% *

86,3% Chumbawamba - Tubthumping #82 - 24,9%

86% Chuck Berry - Johnny B. Goode #53 - 18,6%

85,5% Dido - Thank You #120 - 5,6%

85,3% Ricky Martin - La Bomba #132 - 8,3%

85,2% Queen - The Show Must Go On #142 - 20,9%

85% Green Day - Basket Case #47 - 27,6% *

84,9% Ramones - Blitzkrieg Bop #41 - 15,8%

84,7% The Cardigans - Lovefool #135 - 24,2% *

84,5% Elvis Presley - Can't Help Falling in Love #136 - 18,8%

84,4% Daryl Hall & John Oates - Out of Touch #67 - 31,4% *

82,7% Nightwish - The Phantom of the Opera #144 - 8,6%

82,6% Junior Senior - Move Your Feet #76 - 6,5%

82,4% Myrkur - Tor i Helheim #54 - 7% 82,4% Tracy Chapman - Fast Car #145 - 32,5% *

82% Backstreet Boys - I Want It That Way #105 - 19,2%

81,9% Blue Swede - Hooked on a Feeling #152 - 17,1% * 81,9% 3 Doors Down - Kryptonite #167 - 15,1%

81,6% N Sync - Bye Bye Bye #52 - 26,9% *

81,5% Israel Kamakawiwo'ole - Somewhere Over the Rainbow #42 - 16,7%

80,7% Jamiroquai - Virtual Insanity #72 - 17,9%

80,5% Pixies - Where Is My Mind? #148 - 13,5%

80,2% Oasis - Wonderwall #157 - 16%

80,1% Soundgarden - Black Hole Sun #119 - 14,9%

79,3% Rick Astley - Never Gonna Give You Up - #Bonus Poll

78,8% Shakira - Ojos Así #75 - 7,5%

78,5% Kaoma - Lambada #57 - 4,2%

78,4% Danny Elfman - This Is Halloween #05 - 13,9%

78,2% Panic at the Disco - The Ballad of Mona Lisa #78 - 18,5% *

78% Panjabi MC - Mundian To Bach Ke #64 - 5,3%

77,6% Jimi Hendrix - All Along the Watchtower #95 - 13.1% 77,6% Nirvana - The Man Who Sold the World #118 - 10,7%

77% Elton John - Goodbye Yellow Brick Road #22 - 29,4% * 77% Kesha - Blow #38 - 12,1%

76,4% Salt-N-Pepa with En Vogue - Whatta Man #134 - 15,1%

76,3% Johnny Cash - Hurt #81 - 35,6% * 76,3% Red Hot Chili Peppers - Otherside #92 - 8.2% 76,3% The Offspring - Gone Away #143 - 5,9% 76,3% The Longest Johns - Hoist Up The Thing #169 - 7,8%

76% Foo Fighters - The Pretender #111 - 14,2%

75,9% Queens of the Stone Age - No One Knows #87 - 12,9%

75,7% Nothing but Thieves - Is Everybody Going Crazy? #113 - 3,7%

75,5% Tarkan - Şımarık #94 - 3.1%

75,2% Eiffel 65 - Blue (Da Ba Dee) #147 - 14,2%

74,9% Måneskin - Off My Face #151 - 7,9%

74,8% Måneskin - Zitti e Buoni #16 - 33% *

74,6% Nat King Cole - Nature Boy #09 - 7,2% 74,6% Within Temptation - Stand My Ground #165 - 6,4% 74,6% Pink - Who Knew #166 - 8,4%

74,3% Arash - Tike Tike Kardi #137 - 2,6%

73,6% Paula Abdul - Straight Up #156 - 6,2%

73,3% Beck - Loser #124 - 16,4%

72,6% Evanescence - Imaginary #44 - 13,5%

72% Robbie Williams - The Road to Mandalay #129 - 3,9%

71,7% Lil Green - Why Don't You Do Right? #34 - 1,8%

71,1% Cab Calloway - Minnie the Moocher #130 - 14,4%

71% Udit Narayan - Bholi Si Surat #141 - 1,5%

70,9% Nine Inch Nails - Closer #93 - 22%

70,7% Ryan Gosling - I'm Just Ken #159 - 12,4%

70,6% The Lightning Seeds - You Showed Me #59 - 2,7% 70,6% Savage Garden - To the Moon and Back #83 - 7%

70,5% Queen - Mustapha #29 - 11,4%

70,4% Soggy Bottom Boys - I Am a Man of Constant Sorrow #26 - 22,3% 70,4% Metallica - Wherever I May Roam #77 - 8,6%

69,9% MUCC - Ryuusei #19 - 7,4%

69,5% Spooks - Things I've Seen #104 - 0,8%

69,2% Flo Rida feat Kesha - Right Round #02 - 6,2%

68,9% Era - Ameno (Remix) #24 - 4,8%

68,5% Linkin Park - Bleed It Out #63 - 23,9% 68,5% Snow - Informer #139 - 4,7%

68,3% Run-DMC featuring Aerosmith - Walk This Way #127 - 10,9%

68,2% Limahl - The NeverEnding Story #60 - 9,8% 68,2% Nelly Furtado - Maneater #160 - 17,1% *

68,1% Stromae - L'enfer #89 - 9,8%

67,9% Urban Symphony - Rändajad #90 - 2,2%

67,8% Muse - Endlessly #107 - 9,4%

67,6% My Chemical Romance - Sing #80 - 17,3%

67,3% “Weird Al” Yankovic - White & Nerdy #43 - 16%

67% Avicii - Hey Brother #164 - 13,9%

66,7% The Hives - Two-Timing Touch and Broken Bones #58 - 2,7%

66,3% System of a Down - B.Y.O.B. #128 - 26,2% *

66% Texas - Summer Son #154 - 2,6%

65,8% Cliff Edwards - When You Wish Upon a Star #85 - 2,2%

65,7% Modern Talking - Brother Louie #50 - 4%

65,4% Harry McClintock - The Big Rock Candy Mountains #131 - 6,7%

65,2% Eimear Quinn - The Voice #32 - 2,5% 65,2% 2Pac featuring Dr. Dre and Roger Troutman - California Love #121 - 8,3%

64,7% Bloodhound Gang - The Bad Touch #162 - 9%

64,6% Gorillaz - Stylo #61 - 15,8% 64,6% Duran Duran - The Chauffeur #133 - 7,1%

64,4% Alice Cooper - Poison #01 - 10,5% 64,4% Depeche Mode - It's No Good #101 - 9,1%

64,1% Destiny’s Child - Jumpin’, Jumpin’ #51 - 12,7%

63,8% Kongos - Come With Me Now #17 - 15,9% 63,8% A. R. Rahman - Jai Ho #40 - 4,6%

63,3% Dua Lipa - New Rules #126 - 10,6%

63,1% Olly Murs - Heart Skips A Beat #106 - 2,2%

63% Moby - Why Does My Heart Feel So Bad? #123 - 3,8%

62,4% 30 Seconds to Mars - Fallen #30 - 5,5% 62,4% Beastie Boys - Intergalactic #153 - 16%

62,3% Childish Gambino - This Is America #71 - 18,2%

62% Billie Eilish - No Time to Die #168 - 5%

61,4% The Prodigy - Breathe #112 - 4,5%

61,3% Blue Stahli - One Last Breath #99 - 1.8%

61,1% Wham! - Everything She Wants #108 - 6,5%

60,6% Lordi - Hard Rock Hallelujah #70 - 9,9% 60,6% Kwoon featuring Babet - King Of Sea #115 . 0,5%

60,2% Toni Braxton - You're Makin' Me High #155 - 1,4%

58,9% AC/DC - Hail Caesar #158 - 3,2%

58,7% Duran Duran - The Wild Boys #21 - 9,6%

58,5% Nova Twins - Antagonist #68 - 4,5%

56,8% Mendez - Adrenaline #23 - 1,2% 56,8% Sash! - Ecuador #73 - 1,7%

56,7% George Michael and Mary J. Blige - As #62 - 3,2%

56,6% Nikka Costa - Like A Feather #48 - 0,6% 56,6% Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds & Kylie Minogue - Where the Wild Roses Grow #103 - 5,7%

56,1% Margaret Berger - I Feed You My Love #117 - 0,8%

55,9% Blur - Coffee & TV #56 - 9,7%

55,7% Big Brovaz - Nu Flow #65 - 0,9% 55,7% K’s Choice - Everything For Free #79 - 1,2%

55,4% Moby - Natural Blues #07 - 2,5% 55,4% Janet Jackson featuring Q-Tip and Joni Mitchell - Got 'til It's Gone #146 - 2,2%

55,2% Rammstein - Engel #35 - 7,3%

55,1% Maximum the Hormone - What's Up, People?! #138 - 10,6%

54,5% Billie Myers - Tell Me #86 - 0,9%

54% Aqua - Turn Back Time #28 - 8,2%

53,9% Ardis - No Man's Land #88 - 0,9%

53,5% Kylie Minogue - Confide In Me #13 - 5,2%

53,4% Apashe - Lord & Master #170 - 1,5%

52,8% Madonna - Who's That Girl #18 - 9,8%

52,7% Aerosmith - Falling in Love (Is Hard on the Knees) #84 - 3,5% 52,7% MUCC - Daikirai #161 - 2,1%

52,2% Marilyn Manson - The Fight Song #49 - 2,1%

51,6% Bomfunk MC's - Freestyler #14 - 6%

51,3% Mariah Carey - The Roof (Back in Time) #46 - 1,4% 51,3% Mori Calliope & Reol - 虚像のCarousel #55 - 5,6%

49,9% Basement Jaxx - Where's Your Head At #31 - 6,9%

49,8% Shaggy - Hey Sexy Lady #122 - 4,1%

49,7% Warren G & Sissel - Prince Igor #20 - 2,2%

49% Billie Eilish - NDA #10 - 2,6%

47,7% Massive Attack - Angel #39 - 5,9%

47,5% Adam Tensta - My Cool #11 - 1%

47,4% Slipknot - The Blister Exists #100 - 2,6%

47% Seether - Fuck It #74 - 2,6%

46,9% Rhiannon Giddens - Way Over Yonder #102 - 1,2%

46,8% Spiritbox - Rotoscope #66 - 2,6%

46,6% Sabrina Carpenter - Feather #25 - 4,6%

46% Prince - The Greatest Romance Ever Sold #69 - 2,6%

45,6% Jimmy Cliff feat Lebo M - Hakuna Matata #06 - 2%

44,3% 3T and Michael Jackson - Why #114 - 0,7%

43,9% The Prodigy - No Good (Start the Dance) #08 - 2,6% 43,9% David Bowie - I'm Afraid of Americans #33 - 8,5% 43,9% Faithless - Insomnia #109 - 2,9%

42,7% Fatboy Slim - Weapon of Choice #12 - 16,3%

42,6% Eminem - Rabbit Run #27 - 2,9%

40,6% Michael Jackson - Will You Be There #45 - 2,3%

39,8% Alanis Morissette - I Was Hoping #96 - 1.6%

38,8% Wyclef Jean - Gone Till November #36 - 1,1%

37,9% Ariana Grande - Yes, And? #140 - 1,8%

36,5% Jedward - Luminous #125 - 1,4%

35,3% Noporn - Geleia de Morango #150 - 0,3%

34,6% Ena Mori - Fall Inlove! #149 - 0,4%

33,3% Ryan Gosling - Put Me in the Car #15 - 3,2%

30% Darren Hayes - Spin #03 - 0,6%

29% Dreamcrusher - In Due Time #98 - 0.7%

28,2% BTS - Life Goes On #97 - 1.8%

#note

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mallbanger · 2 months

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zero day hcs

andre had braces for about four years and would tell cal horror stories about them before he got his to fuck with him

I think andre has a pretty extensive collection of vinyls (before it was cool) causing cal to pick up the hobby of collecting phys music

cal tried driving andres car once and nearly made them crash—andre brings it up every time he wants to drive

andre fucking sucks at driving though he is no better than cal

they both really like grunge more specifically Alice In Chains, Soundgarden, and Stone Temple Pilots

cal likes to dabble in other genres and gravitates towards heavier stuff—andre doesn’t place much importance on music but listens to whatever cal does

cals favorite movie is texas chainsaw massacre because it was one of the first movies he watched w andre

andre internalized homophobia truther (thanks to @zeroday2003yuri)

they both love postal and loved the outrage that came with its release

andre is a loser about tech and loves to browse obscure (shock) sites in his free time—cal joins in

cal bothers andre at work all the time

andre has borderline personality disorder and cal is his fp but he hates to admit it

cal likes to push andres buttons occasionally—he knows how to piss him off and will if he wants a genuine reaction

cal can skate

both cal and andre struggle with how they present themselves and their masculinity like a lot

andre has a complicated relationship with religion but ultimately is an atheist while cal is agnostic

goes without saying but they are extremely codependent on each other and can’t stand to be away from the other for more than a few hours

they have friendship bracelets from middle school

cal was a biter in elementary + andre was the kid that threw up a lot

these were all off the dome I don’t have fully fledged serious hcs for either of them but I will.. at some point.. enjoy this for now

#zero day #andre kriegman #cal gabriel #caldre #zero day 2003

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whorbidmore · 14 days

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okay, so, I've fallen victim to the leon kennedy brainrot steadily overtaking me, following me from Tumblr to Pinterest, to Instagram and even the absolutely fucking dreaded application of TikTok. I don't even use it that often??? and the algorithm is just like 'wow, yeah, this little fuckers gay as hell send in the 40 year old meow meow!!' and having watched Death Island fairly recently, I'm gonna have my opinions on what this dude would be like. Cus my brain loves to rationalize shit and think ab 'what if this mf was someone real?' so... fuck it.

Leon Soft Kennedy Headcanons

SFW

accidentally bigoted. - im sorry but let's be so fucking real here. he's a 40 something year old man who spent the majority of his life in either the military, a police training academy in the 90's, or otherwise working under the U.S Federal System with minimal/no time between missions to unpack absolutely everything he's got going on... the guys gonna have some problematic tendencies. Obviously that doesn't mean he means any of that or is incapable of change, etc. etc., but I know for damn certain this dude would laugh a little at Bill Burr's borderline to blatantly misogynistic material and has probably chuckled unironically at the attack helicopter jokes. But, he's not a complete dick, and would definitely become more critical of those kinds of jokes if it's pointed out to him.

honest to God, Dad Without Kids™ - it's not simply enough for me to leave it at 'but it's the vibes!!' so, I'm gonna break this shit down. Leon is absolutely Gen X incarnate. I can fucking guarantee you that on his off days he accidentally ends up dressing as an undercover cop; I'm talking cargo shorts, light blue button up, those fucking standard issue boots cus "they're perfectly good shoes" and those stupid ass sunglasses... you know the ones I'm talking about. Let's say you're living with him, right? And you're... you, and you wanna watch something on TV. This dude would strain himself getting up like a turtle fallen backwards on its shell, stand up, walk right in front of the TV screen and stand there with his hands on his hips. It doesn't matter that he had to piss, he needs to get a better look of what's happening! Does those really loud, obnoxious coughs and sneezes, absolutely blows his back out doing one at least five times a year.

Only watches British Reality TV - Considering he's canonically a film buff, I'll say that this is purely for whatever he gravitates towards on general streaming services. I honestly don't see him being the type to regularly tune in to standard American cable TV, or only does so under specific circumstances like American Ninja Warrior or maybe Forged in Fire if there's absolutely nothing else. It's not something that's exclusive to Americans, — I'm from New Zealand and I do this too, — but Leon absolutely falls into the category of watching British Reality and Game shows purely because of the accents. I'm talking Jeremy Kyle, The Big Fat Quiz of Everything, Taskmaster, The Great British Bake Off and so on and so forth. It doesn't matter that baking isn't his forté or a passion of his, if Josephine curdles her buttercream by over mixing, his hands are in his hair in utter disappointment. 100% tries to mimic their accents too. We all do it, don't lie.

Has... very dated music tastes - I don't know if you could guess, but the last paragraph included me calling myself out and name dropping some shows I watch anyway or grew up watching, and I'm just saying that this is gonna be no different. If anything? This'll be worse! Since I'm very passionate about the music I listen to and have the inability to keep my interests separated from the other, of course my love of particular bands will bleed over into my interpretation of Leon's character! Anyway, all that for me to say that Leon fucking LOVES 90's grunge musicians, specifically Pearl Jam and Soundgarden, as well as early nu metal bands like Korn (their dubstep phase did not happen.), TOOL, and Rage Against the Machine — and no, he unfortunately doesn't see the irony of him being a fed and listening to Rage, — but would also have a soft spot for psych rock, post-punk and shoegaze. My man's definitely laid awake at night, sobbing without expression as he struggles to accept that Ada never really wanted him like he wanted her while listening to fucking Slowdive. My hottest take here is that he doesn't really listen to Deftones. Like he'll occasionally blast My Own Summer, Change, Bored or Rosemary, but anything outside of those? He just didn't listen to 'em. My second hottest take is that he does NOT like Slipknot, which kind of pains me 'cus I do, but I fucking bet you this dude would actually adopt one piece of "Gen Z lingo" or whatever just call them cringe. Though admittedly he would've been jamming the fuck out to Psychosocial and The Devil in I when they came out. Went off the deep end in Vendetta, obviously, and drunk-cried himself to sleep on the couch listening to Linkin Park.

Very confusing spending habits - On one hand, we all understand that Leon came from money, — he was implied to have been born into a mob family from my understanding? And I doubt he'd ever really had to worry about being fully, irrevocably broke, — but I'm sure that growing up in the U.S Foster Care System made him at least a little more cautious of where his money comes from, where it's going, what he's spending it on, etc. So, on the one hand, he's apprehensive to spend recklessly, particularly on perishables. But also, if he can drop over $100,000USD on a motorcycle that got absolutely fucking cheese grated into the road, and spend a perceived, metric fuck ton of money on designer leather jackets and massive watches, it's gonna be hard for me to call him 'financially conscious'. On one hand, he gets apprehensive on spending more money than he needs to on food since he's "just gonna shit it out later", but if he sees a cool watch or a nice suit in a shop window? Money's suddenly not an issue! Not because he's materialistic, but because the one thing he really maintains a sense of control over in his life are his possessions and the way he dresses. The D.S.O can call him in for another months long mission whenever they please, and all he can realistically do is allow the government to tug on his leash and put him where he's needed. He may as well spend their money on things he wants!

Gets out... enough? But also, not really? - So, personally I've pegged Leon as more of an introverted person, — amateurly typed his MBTI as possibly ISFJ? — so he doesn't really feel the need to go out and meet new people or really hang out with anyone. If somebody invites him out? Sure, he'll go. Otherwise, it rarely occurs to him to meet up with friends or colleagues at a cafe or anywhere. I think he'd prefer to just go there alone, mostly for the sake of having somebody else cook for him as opposed to actively seeking out the atmosphere. It's pure convience in his mind. And remember when I said in the beginning about him accidentally being at least a little misogynistic? Yeah, that was me trying to say that he regularly tries to hit on younger waitresses. Not because he actually wants anything to do with them, but simply because it's an ego boost. He likes that he can make girls half his age blush or offer him their numbers, because it tells him that he's still desirable, and ultimately, that gives him the power to reject them politely and go about the rest of his day. If they don't reject him first, of course. Admittedly, Leon's audacity towards women peaked during Infinite Darkness.

Since I'm planning on posting more NSFW headcanons for this guy, — and more NSFW kinds of posts, — here is the obligatory Minors DNI attachment. For your own safety, I don't care if what I have to say is tame so far, you can hold it off I promise.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon kennedy fanfic #resident evil #resident evil leon #leon kennedy headcanons #babyfangs.txt #fangsfic #idk man im literally talking out my ass on all this 💀

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sweetsweetjellybean · 7 months

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In a city the size of Chicago, Eddie should be easy to avoid. Or maybe the city isn't as big as you thought?

Masterlist Listen to Sour Girl Here

What to expect: Second Chance Romance set in 2012 Chicago. Eddie and Steve are in their 30s. Fem!Reader is given a pet name from each of the guys. No other name mentioned. No use of Y/N. No physical description. Reader does have a bit of personality, as I find it nearly impossible to keep her blank for such a long fic. You may find yourself at times making choices that you wouldn't normally make, but I hope you can put that aside and enjoy the ride. Sensitive Content. 18+ Mentions of DV. Smut Guaranteed happy ending. This is my love letter to Eddie Munson.

WC:6558 beta'd by @superblysubpar

Plink.

Plink. Plink. Plink.

The old wooden frame of your window groans against the track, burdened with too many layers of paint to make the slide smooth. The swirls of creamy pinks and oranges have faded hours ago into the star-lit summer sky. The boy is below, standing in your backyard, fist full of pea gravel taken from a neighbor's garden. A smile twisting his lips lifts his cheeks, putting dimples on full display as he looks up at you from the darkness below. You raise a finger, signaling for him to wait before you turn away. Tossing a few things in your empty backpack, you take a pillow from your bed, and your comforter is wrestled free from the mattress. With careful footsteps, you creep down the stairs, stopping in the kitchen. The light from the fridge casts a triangle across the floor as you take a few Capri Suns to add to your bag. Leaving through the slider, the end of your blanket trails behind you through the grass that was trimmed that morning. You slip off your flip-flops, leaving them beside a pair of larger, well-worn sneakers with a chain wallet tucked inside the right shoe. Eddie bounces on the trampoline, his sock-covered feet launching him into the air, arms stretched for balance. You toss everything on before climbing on with him. With a final bounce, he lands on his butt beside you, grinning.

“I got it,” you tell him, tossing the pillow behind you.

“Nah-uh.”

"My dad took me to Tower this afternoon." Rummaging in your pack, you pull out a Discman and over-the-ear headphones with the cord in a tangled mess. "I could only get two. I had to choose between Rage," you begin, ticking off album titles on your fingers, “Soundgarden, STP, and Pearl Jam.”

“And?”

Taking out the CDs, you press them against his chest, letting go as soon as his fingers go around them. His brown eyes widen as he examines what’s in his hands as you pick apart the knotted cord.

“Songs from the Vatican Gift Shop AND Down on the Upside? You haven’t even opened this one.” He holds up the Soundgarden CD before using his teeth to rip open the cellophane covering the plastic case.

“I waited for you.” You smile.

His face softens. “You’re a doll.”

He lies back, his head nestling into your pillow, hands clasped behind his head, gazing up at the sky. After putting the CD into the player, you follow him, pulling the comforter over you both and resting your head on his bicep. The headphone speakers are flipped out, tucked between you, as Chris Cornell's melancholic voice begins to seep into your ears, velvety and dark like the night itself.

"Listen to this transition," he insists, his voice filled with the same awe that it always does when he talks about music, "The shift from acoustic to electric guitar is seamless."

“I wish I could hear it the way you do.”

As you gaze skyward, a slender branch sways in perfect rhythm with the chords, green leaves fluttering with the bass. The stars multiply and shimmer as if they’re caught up in the flow of the song.

“You do,” he says, his head turning toward you, “You’re the only one I know who loves it as much as I do.” He studies your face, his eyes locking with yours. The music building until it’s too intense, and he looks away. “It’s lyrics that hook you. You’ve always got so many words floating around in that big brain of yours.”

The disc spins, and you both listen, the scent of lilacs wafting in on the breeze, and fireflies painting the sky with their gentle glow. Time passes in the slow way it only does for kids on a cool summer night.

“Eddie?”

“Hmm?” He answers, eyes closed.

“Are they fighting again?”

He doesn’t talk about it, but everyone knows—an ugly secret festering on an otherwise picture-perfect street. No one wants to get their hands dirty by getting involved.

“Why won’t she leave him?” A simple question in a world of black and white.

“I want her to,” his adams apple bobs as he swallows, “She says she loves him.”

“Just stay here with me tonight, okay?” Rolling to your side, you wrap your hand across his chest, offering him the only protection that you can.

“Yeah, okay.”

When you wake the following morning, the songs and memories you were reacquainted with last night have faded to a dull throb–much like the martinis. But remnants of their lyrics persist, crawling under your skin, irritating like an itch, a tune hummed without the words to accompany it. Your phone’s screen lights up with an incoming text, the short burst of vibration sending it skittering across the surface of your nightstand. It takes a moment for your bleary eyes to focus on the notification on your lock screen.

Unknown: I admit last night could have gone better. Let me make it up to you. Coffee?

After tapping in your passcode, you open the message app to reply.

You: Wrong number

Darkening your screen, you let your phone slip from your hand onto the bed beside you. With a sigh, you lean back, staring at the ceiling, seeking answers that remain elusive. The scent of brewing dark roast and toasting bagels rises up the stairs with the sounds of Steve moving around the kitchen. A cup of coffee (or five) and a shower is what you need to wash away the past and leave it firmly where it belongs– in your rearview.

It's the bottom of your second cup when Steve walks into your massive walk-in closet with a towel wrapped around his waist, fresh from the shower, his hair still damp, the freckled skin of his chest looking golden in the soft glow of the elegant pendant lights.

“Is that what you're wearing to work?” He asks.

“Um, yeah.” You finish buckling the strap of your chunky mary-janes. “Something wrong with it?” you ask, catching sight of yourself in the mirror, dark distressed jeans and a band tee recut into a fitted v-neck.

“Of course not,” he sighs, running his hand through his hair before sitting down heavily on the leather bench. His shoulders slump as he looks across to the cherry built-in shelves holding the rows of tailored suits hung by progression of color. “You always look beautiful.”

Taking your watch from the marble top of the large center island, you wander over to where he’s seated. He hooks a finger into one of the large holes in your jeans, tugging you over to stand between his legs, his big hands wrapping around the backs of your thighs.

“Guess I’m just missing the days of wearing jeans and a jersey to work,” he says, his smile not smoothing the faint crease in his brows.

“You traded that in for a car service and a big fat paycheck,” you point out, kissing the top of his head and moving back to your side of the closet to select a blazer.

“How else am I going to keep spoiling you?” He stands, dropping the towel and picking up the black Tom Ford boxer briefs he set out before his shower.

“Steve, I don’t need all of this,” your hand sweeps in the air, gesturing to the lit shelves holding more clothes and shoes than you could ever need. “Just take me to a concert every once in a while.” Your voice trails off as notification chimes on your phone.

Unknown: Nice try, doll. Robin gave me your number.

“Can you imagine if we were still in that cramped apartment in Lincoln Park?” He scoffs, pulling on a light gray pair of suit pants. “We were tripping over all our stuff.”

Steve found the three-bedroom, three-bath brownstone on a tree-lined street in the ritzy Gold Coast neighborhood just after he got promoted from Metro, marking the beginning of his rise up the ranks in Second City Media. He spent a year and a chunk of his trust fund on a meticulous renovation before the two of you moved in. It is beautiful—large air rooms with lofty ceilings adorned with pristine white crown molding and wainscotting throughout, giving a modern but classic feel. Living with so much space is lavish in a city of this size. But you would be just as happy back on that ratty couch in Lincoln Park, drinking beer straight from the bottle and eating pizza without the fuss of plates, working on your laptop while he watched a Cubs game. Steve is driven–determined to be a success, and he is, but with the money came the stress. And it’s taking a toll.

Your finger hovers over the block button, but you press add to contacts instead. “Hey,” you change the subject, slipping your phone into your jacket pocket, “Did you ever look into that sailing charter you wanted to book out at the lake? We could do that this weekend?”

“I wish I could, Ace. I’ve got those weekend meetings about the streaming radio we're trying to launch. Pick out a tie for me?” He asks, pulling off a starched black button-up from its hanger.

“Sure.” You walk over and spin the rack holding up dozens of ties on shiny brass hooks.

“What do you have going on today?” The well-defined muscles of his sculpted shoulders, earned from never skipping a day at the gym, flex before disappearing into his shirt sleeves.

“Not a lot.” You pull the silky slip of deep maroon fabric off its hanger. “Lola is put to bed for this year. I just have an album review to finish up and a meeting with my editor today. Maybe a series on the Fall tours?” You propose, mostly to yourself, as you bring him his tie.

“Maroon, huh?” One brow raises with the question, “I would have picked black.”

“I know.” The corner of your lips turn up in a sly smile before you rise to your toes and place a kiss on his mouth, “I’m gonna go.”

“You want my driver to drop you off?” He asks, looking in the mirror and adjusting his tie.

“Nah, I’ll drive myself. Argyle and I are going to the Subterranean for drinks. Santigold is performing. Do you want to come?” You throw out, picking up your ancient army green messenger bag you can’t bear to part with, straining with the fullness of your laptop and notes.

“I’ll pass. Not really my scene.” As he fastens his gold cufflinks, they catch the gleaming light.

“You never come to shows with me,” you sigh.

“I know, I know. I’ll try and catch the next one,” he says, sliding his feet into shiny Italian leather shoes. “I’m meeting Robin for lunch. You want to join us?”

“No. I’ll let you have your girl time.” You blow him a kiss before heading out the door.

“See you tonight, okay?”

“Love you. See you tonight,” he calls after you.

Passing through rooms decorated with rich creams and calming moss greens, you yell over your shoulder, “Tell Robin I said we don’t have any more room for paintings of flowers that look like vaginas.”

“They’re a good investment,” his voice fades as you jog down your stairs, grabbing your keys from the stained-glass bowl on the table beside the door, ignoring the buzz coming from your pocket.

The world is full of cliches. Many become so ingrained that we accept them as unwavering truths. Every cloud has a silver lining. Don’t judge a book by its cover. Actions speak louder than words. A rotten apple will spoil the bunch. Don’t spit into the wind. Well, that last one is just good advice, but there is one that has stuck with you. Love what you do, and you’ll never work a day in your life. Music is your deity, and working at Stax is where you worship at its altar, spreading the Gospel of John, Paul, George, and Ringo. It’s a place where your lifelong obsession is not only validated, it’s celebrated. Your journey leading up to this point feels like destiny, like the universe conspired to harmonize your two greatest loves—the lyrical power of words and the soul-stirring magic of music. Each day within these walls is a new chord, a different tempo, and you revel in the ever-changing rhythm of your life. One spent intertwined with the music and the people that create it. The magazine's pages are your stage, your canvas, and with every keystroke, you paint the stories of the music, offering them to those who care to listen.

Without taking your eyes off your laptop screen, you reach for your coffee mug only to knock over the tittering tower of CDs that you had stacked on the corner of your cluttered desk. The plastic jewel cases meet the cement floor with a shattering crash, the noise echoing off the walls of the open industrial space that houses the offices for Stax Magazine in the heart of Fulton Market District. Clapping comes from other desks as you chase the discs rolling on their sides in all directions. Pausing, you bend into a dramatic curtsey, earning chuckles as the applause dies out. The perpetual chaos of your desk has become an ongoing punchline in the office banter. Your phone begins to ring at the same time an IM pops on your screen - both from your editor, the enigmatic J. Hopper.

“Art Garfunkel’s house of pizza,” you say by way of greeting, trying to get the CDs back in their cases and toppling a pile of mail in the process.

“Where are you? Why aren’t you here? We had a meeting at 2,” comes the gruff voice of a man who's clearly not amused.

“It’s only one forty,” you reply.

“Get your ass in here now,” he yells, disconnecting.

Hopper's bark has always been more bluster than bite. The towering, older man has been a fixture in this building since its days as a "hard-hitting" newspaper. While the city has evolved and transformed, Hopper and this old brick building have remained resolute, like an immovable rock in the ever-shifting stream of time. He possesses zero patience, holds a disdain for people, and dismisses any music created after 1978. You love him as much as your own father. He offered you a position fresh out of college when other magazines wouldn’t take a chance. He's pulled out your best work, often sending you back to your desk like a pouting child, making you the writer you are today. The wisdom he’s imparted is beyond the reach of any professor or workshop, and for that, you’ll always be grateful.

With a gentle rap of your knuckles against the frosted glass, you step into Hopper's office. He's seated behind a substantial oak desk, buried beneath a mountain of paperwork. A hint of cigar lingers in the air, though you've never been able to catch him smoking. He remains engrossed, squinting at his desktop screen with a furrowed brow. Settling into one of the vintage leather club chairs, you wait for his acknowledgment, your gaze drifting across the framed magazine covers and photographs lining the walls. One of a much younger Hopper clad in a tattered flak jacket catches your eyes. His face smeared with dirt and grit, standing amidst the ruins of a war-torn Kosovo street, a city reduced to chaos.

"Where’s my album write-up?" He asks without looking up.

"I emailed it to you before lunch," you reply, confirming on your phone.

He pushes back from his desk, propping up his feet on the edge, and offers you a soft smile from under the bushy mustache covering his lip, "How are you, kid? Everything okay? Harrington treating you, right?"

"Of course, Hop. He knows he'd have to answer to you otherwise. What about you?" You ask, leaning forward, "Is Joyce looking after you? Making sure you're watching that cholesterol?"

"Yup, she's got me eating all these organic vegetables, no booze, no smokes. Kinda takes all the fun outta life." He laces his hands behind his head, stretching out his back.

"Oh yeah, does that include that bottle hootch you got stowed in your bottom drawer?"

He sits up with a quick move, pointing his finger in your direction. "You don't know anything about that. Are we clear?"

The only one who can scare Hopper is Hopper's wife.

"I don't know. What are you going to do if I give Joyce a call? Seems to me that's something she'd want to know," you tease, crossing your arms over your chest.

"You'd be out on that sidewalk before you hung up the call. Don't test me." He shakes a finger at you, "Now, what are you pitching me?"

"Well, I'm going to a club tonight, so I'll have a live performance review. And I was thinking of a piece on the bands touring this Fall. Kind of like a road map that the readership could follow and hit all the good shows."

"Those sound good, kid, but I got a feature for you to cover." He leans forward, narrowing his eyes, "You know this Eddie Munson character?"

The blood drains from your face. "No. Not-not really," you stammer, "we're from the same town, but I haven't seen him in years."

"Well, it's time to get reacquainted. I want a series chronicling the opening of CursedSound Recordings, and I want you to write it."

A featured series is something that other journalists fight over, and usually, you'd jump at the chance, but not this time. Not this series. Not Eddie Muson.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you say, looking down at your lap.

“You don’t think–”

“Give it to Miles.”

“I’m giving it to you. Morales is busy with–”

“I don’t want it,” the words burst out of your mouth before you think better of it. Less than twenty-four hours after seeing Eddie, your world is spinning out of control.

Hopper's face turns to steel as he plucks the pen from behind his ear and throws it down on the desk. “I think that you’ve forgotten how this works. I give you an assignment. You write it.”

Your lips part before the protest in your brain is fully formed.

“If you’re about to tell me no again, it better be followed by a damn good reason.”

His eyes are locked on yours while he waits for a response, one brow raised in challenge.

“Listen, kid,” he picks up a stack of papers, shuffling through them as he talks, “I’ve looked into this Munson character. He has a good reputation in L.A. His name is in the credits for over half the multi-platinum releases in the last five years. And word is, his studio is booked out with big names for a year in advance.” He pauses for a moment to be sure his words sink in. “Establishing a good relationship with him is in the magazine's best interests. And what's good for the magazine is good for you. Are you hearing me?”

“Yes, Hop,” he answers for you when you remain quiet.

“Yes, Hop,” you repeat.

“Good,” he says, lacing his fingers together. "The printed word isn’t worth what it used to be. Everything's gone digital, the never-ending twenty-four-hour news cycle. The competition's cut-throat out there. Trust me, our friends over at Spectrum would eat this up for Chicago Lifestyles. Frankly, I’m surprised at you. I thought you’d be all over this. Especially since it was proposed by corporate. I figured you went around me and pitched it to Harrington directly.”

The mention of Steve’s name sets your teeth on edge. He hadn't breathed a word about this assignment earlier, and now he's reaching out to Hopper, painting a picture as if you're disrespecting your editor and exploiting your personal connections to secure a story.

“I would never do that,” you shake your head.

"Alright then. Call Byers at Metro," Hopper instructs, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. "Bring him with you. His assignment is just wrapping up."

You nod, your blood boiling and your mind racing. Taking a deep breath to compose yourself, you finally reply with an outward calm, "Okay."

Hopper's eyes remained fixed on you, his brow furrowing slightly. "Now, why are you still here wasting my time? Get out."

You don’t need any more prompting. Swiftly, you rise from your seat and make your way out of Hopper's office, formulating plans to murder your fiancé.

With a heavy sigh, you sit back down at your desk. The Stax logo bounces off the edges of your laptop screen. Your phone lights up with a photo of Steve. You let it ring a few times before sending it to voicemail. A few colleagues linger nearby, mugs in hand, their idle chatter blending with the hum of printers and the rhythmic clacking of keyboards. Your to-do list sits on your desk with strike-throughs on only half the tasks, but the priority of the ones remaining isn’t enough to capture your attention.

Reaching down, you tug at the handle of your tightly packed bottom desk drawer. It sticks, protesting the overload. The bright yellow color of the Sony Sports Walkman stands out from among the other clutter. You hesitate when reaching for it, the beginnings of the ache already tightening your chest. But you can’t resist, your hand closes around it, pulling it and the headphones coiled around out from under a pile of old concert passes attached to lanyards.

Swiveling your chair away from the desk, you face the windows and slip the headphones onto your ears. A gentle press of your thumb produces a satisfying click, and a soft crackling sound fills your ears as the capstans start to whir.

The crystal blue of the cassette is dulled behind the transparent black window, but you can still make out the handwriting on the yellowed label.

For when you miss me.

“Did you ever listen?”

Everyday.

A bird's eye view of the stage is perfectly spaced in your viewfinder, with Santi downstage dominating the mic, her other arm outstretched to the fervent crowd. Your finger clicks the shutter as a text pops on the screen.

Eddie: Seems this city isn’t so big after all.

With a huff, you close the screen, pocketing your phone.

“What’s going on with you?” Argyle shouts over the crowd, handing you back your drink as you both lean over the black-painted railing on the balcony at The Subterranean.

"Nothing," you reply, your gaze returning to the stage where Santigold is Chasing Shadows.

“You’re moody,” he accuses, leaning closer to your ear to be heard over music.

“No, I’m not.”

“It’s true,” he shakes his head. “You’re moody. Moody dick.”

The corners of your lips lift as you roll your eyes.

“This wouldn't have anything to do with mister dark and handsome sound engineer guy from last night, would it?” He probes as someone bumps into you from behind, throwing you off balance.

Your eyes narrow as he steadies you with a hand on your elbow.

“Hey, I know things,” he says, sipping his drink and looking back out over the crowd.

“Oh, yeah?” You ask, turning and leaning on the banister to face him, “What do you know?”

He turns his head toward you, his thoughtful brown eyes connecting with yours. “I know you looked freaked the fuck out when he showed up for drinks and even more so when he said he was staying. And I’ve seen you tell off enough people to know that’s what was going on at the bar when you walked away from him last night,” he says, looking back toward the stage, gesturing with his hands, “Now we're here, with my future baby mama killing it on stage, and you’re sucking all the energy out of the room.”

The song ends with the crowd erupting in applause. “I love you!” Argyle shouts toward the stage with his hands cupped around his mouth as the bass starts back up with the opening of High Priestess. Santi looks up, throwing him a wink, her voice low and fast as the reverb vibrates under your feet.

“Future baby mama?” You laugh.

“Yeah. Do you think you could use your press pass to get us backstage?”

“No. I don’t think you need to add to the population tonight.”

"See, you're no fun,” he complains, sticking out his lower lip, “So you really used to crush on that guy?

Chewing on your lip, you throw him a sideways glance.

“Yeah, you did. You crushed hard,” he laughs, “So, tell me, what happened?”

“I don’t like talking about it,” you say, scrubbing your face.

“Keeping everything all bottled up ain’t good for you, little mama,” he pokes your arm, letting you know he’s not going to drop this, “I’m your boy. If you can’t tell me, who can you tell?”

“Circle of trust,” he says, stirring the air between you with two fingers when you don’t respond.

You lean against the rail, considering. “Alright, but this stays between us,” you threaten him with a pointed finger. His head nods as his fingers slide across his mouth like a zipper.

“There’s not much to tell,” you say, looking down at the sticky floor. “I had a crush, and he didn’t feel the same way.”

“I get it. The fury of a woman scorned. What did you do, go full bunny boiler?”

“No,” you chuckle, “Nothing like that. That part didn’t even really bother me. He was my best friend, my only friend for a long time. I thought there was something between us, that he cared about me. Maybe not the same way I cared about him, but you know, I thought we were close. I must have built it all up in my head because one day, he just takes off.” You swallow the sharp pain pressing into your chest, “He never even said goodbye.”

“Nooo,” Argyle’s eyes widen.

“It broke me,” you admit.

“Harsh,” he agrees, “And he never called you? Or gave you an explanation?”

“Not until yesterday. He asked me to lunch. You know, he actually had the nerve to say that Steve has me on a tight leash.”

“Typical.” He shakes his head, swallowing the last of his drink.

“What do you mean?” You ask, swirling the last of your ice into your watered-down drink.

His face turns serious as he explains, “It’s like surfing. We all want that wave that’s just out of reach. Especially if someone else is riding it.”

“How did you get so wise?” You ask.

“I don’t know. Must be all the weed,” he says with a hand on your shoulder, turning you toward the bar. “Let’s go get another drink.”

“You never told Steve any of this?” He asks as you join the crowd of people that constitutes the line.

“No,” you sigh.

“No?” He repeats in surprise, “This is bad news, man. Why wouldn’t you tell him? What are you going to do, just going to keep it a secret forever?”

“I guess. It doesn’t really have anything to do with him.”

“This is going to get messy.” He shakes his head as you move up in line.

“Well, I’m not real happy with him either right now. He went behind my back to Hopper, deciding that I’m going to cover Eddie’s recording studio's opening. He completely humiliated me in front of my boss. I look totally unprofessional.”

“Well, that's not cool,” Argyle sympathizes as he takes the plastic cup from your hand and tosses it into a trashcan tucked beside the bar.

“No, it was very not cool,” you agree, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Wait," he looks at you with sudden revelation, “Technically, isn't Steve your boss?"

“That’s not the point–”

“And isn’t your job to write about major happenings in the city, like when fancy L.A. sound guys open up studios?”

“You're not helping, Argyle.”

His hand lands on your head, offering a comforting pat like you're a child before the line begins moving again. "Cheer up, Bernstein," he quips with a grin, "I'll buy the next round."

Your anger hasn’t abated when you walk through the front door of the brownstone. Steve is already in bed, shirtless with the taupe velvet coverlet pulled up to his waist, glasses perched on his nose, not looking up from his laptop as you enter the room.

“Hey, Ace, how was your day? Did you write me–”

“Anything you want to tell me about, Steve?” You ask, your voice already coming out more heated than you intended.

He looks up at you, brows pulling together. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you say, dropping your bag onto the blue slipper chair in the corner of the room, “Maybe about how you went behind my back?”

"What?” He questions, slamming his laptop shut.

“The story, Steve,” you huff, leaving the room through your closet. You’ve just put your shoes away when he appears in the doorway, padding across the carpet in his bare feet, wearing just his boxers.

“Munson’s opening, that’s what you’re mad about?” He demands.

“You totally blindsided me,” you complain, pulling a hanger off the rod and hanging up your blazer with enough force to have the other clothes swinging. “Why didn’t you say anything this morning?”

“Because I hadn’t thought of it this morning.” His hands run through his hair, tugging in frustration.

“So what, it just came to you in a flash of brilliance?” Popping the button on your jeans, you tug them down your hips, kicking them into the corner instead of putting them in the basket.

“No, it didn’t, and I hate it when you’re sarcastic. Robin wanted to stop by and see his studio. We had lunch nearby,” he informs you, crossing his arms over his broad chest, the gold chain he wears glinting in the low light.

“So the two of you just decided what I was going to be writing? Maybe that’s something you should be discussing with me.” You lay a hand on your chest before pulling your shirt over your head and giving it the same treatment as your jeans. “You know, your fiancée, not some old buddy that sold you weed a few times back in Hawkins.”

“The content Stax puts out is directly under my approval, just like Metro and the Newsdesk and every other division.” His voice, which has been steady and even until now, begins to rise, “I’m not going to call you and ask for permission every time I make a decision. Eddie and I have kept in touch. How do you think we landed that interview with Radiohead last year when they wouldn’t even sit down with Rolling Stone?”

“That’s another thing you kept from me. I had no idea Eddie was your best friend.” Your eyes narrow as your fingers yank at the delicate clasps of your jewelry and watch.

Steve's eyes roll in frustration as he shakes his head. "He's not my best friend. He’s a business contact. I know him through Robin. They were is band together, you know this."

"That feels like a lifetime ago, Steve," you remark, the clinking of your jewelry against the marble island adding a discordant scrape.

"Well, some people aren't embarrassed about where they came from," he accuses.

"I'm not embarrassed," you scoff and begin to pace as if you can outrun his words.

"Oh, please," he says, taking a seat on the bench, his knuckles turning white as he grips the edge, his gaze tracking your restless movements. "You cut off anybody we still know living there. You won't even go to visit your parents. They always come here."

“You never listen to what I’m saying. This has nothing to do with Hawkins or my parents.” You halt your steps, your hand slices through the air, punctuating your statements. “It's about you making me look like a fool in front of Hopper. Like I’m trying to go around him to corporate to get assigned the big stories. Like I’m sleeping with the boss. I’m not ruining my reputation so you can give free advertising to your friends.”

“You're being crazy right now,” he yells, wincing with regret as soon as the words leave his mouth. He stands, moving closer, making an effort to control the tone of his voice, “I gave you this assignment because you know Eddie, and it will make for a better story, not because I’m fucking you. We’ve been together since the day you started at Stax. We’ve been engaged for two years. If anyone was going to think that, they already would’ve.”

Your head shakes, rejecting his rationale. He throws up his hands in frustration. “I can't have a conversation with you when you’re like this.” He starts to walk back toward the bedroom but stops abruptly, spinning on his heel and pointing his finger in your direction. “But I'll tell you one more thing—you are going to write this story.” He waves a hand toward the bathroom. “Now, go wash your face.”

Your teeth cut into your bottom lip as you walk into the bathroom, slamming the door behind you.

A sliver of gold from the streetlights outside pierces the tiny gap in the curtains. You’ve been lying on your side staring so long that you can see its warm hue behind closed lids whenever you start to drift. You burrow your arm deeper beneath your pillows while your feet shuffle, searching for a cool spot on the sheets. Steve’s breathing hasn’t changed behind you. He’s having the same trouble falling asleep. He turns over, his weight rocking the mattress. He’s much closer now. You can feel the comforting warmth from his chest, filling the space between him and your back.

“Baby.” His breath caresses the spot just behind your ear before the wet press of his lips traces a path along your neck, latching on to the apex when it meets your shoulder. A gentle bite follows the swirl of his tongue as he moves even closer. The rough pads of his fingers glide over your shoulder and down your arm, coaxing the thin strap of your tank with them.

“Please,” he whispers between kisses, his fingers finding their way under the bottom edge of your tank top, the light scrape of his blunt nails against your ribs sending shivers across your skin. Your breathing is picking up, the fire from your argument morphing into a new kind of heat. His hips flex against your ass, his cock hard and ready. When you turn your head, his lips are there, a wet slide over your mouth until they pull back, floating just above you, lingering with a question. And when his hand cups your shoulder, urging your body to turn towards him-–you answer.

The sultry feminine voice drifts from the speakers in your bedroom, her smoky timber weaving through the air like dark tendrils intertwining with the high piano notes. Your hips rise with the flow, a slow, unchanging cadence, the stretch of his cock creating delicious friction against your velvet walls. You move higher until he almost leaves you before you start your descent, the angle finding all the hidden places that light you up beneath your skin.

"M' sorry," he murmurs.

Your eyes flutter open at his words as they carry you away from the depths.

"Hate telling you no." He gazes up at you with heavy-lidded eyes, his hair pushed back from his face, and a flush across his skin.

"I don't wanna talk about it." Your hands cover the ones wrapped around your thighs, guiding them up your body. His warm, rough fingers are eager to map out every contour. Your head falls back when they find their destination, cupping your breasts with a possessive grip.

The song shifts, the new baseline a drawn-out pulse lining up with your movements. The lyrics are raw and a little filthy, fueling the urgency of your rolling hips, your clit grazing the short hairs at his base.

"Don't like telling you what to do," he mumbles even as his hands drop to your hips, attempting to hold you still as he bucks up from underneath. "Just wanna take care of you."

"Steve," his name passes your lips in a low moan as you lean forward, taking his hand from your hips and pressing them into the pillow, "Stop talking."

Sitting up, you shift your position, leaning back, bracing your hands behind yourself on his hairy thighs. You set a new pace, bouncing harder, driving him deeper, taking what you want.

“Jesus, fuck, baby,” he groans, eyes hitting the back of his head while his hands slide across the sheets seeking any purchase as you ride him. The music surges, its tempo rising in perfect sync with the wet intimate sounds of your bodies coming together, the rhythm repeating over and over.

"So close…please," his fingers slip between you, adding pressure to the sensitive bundle of nerves that he finds there, "Need you to cum."

"No," you rasp out breathless, pushing his hand aside, your eyes locked on his as you bring your own fingers to your mouth. With a swirl of your tongue, you coat them with wetness before sliding them down to touch yourself, controlling your own pleasure.

The muscles in his neck strain with effort, his gaze darkening, fixated on you. “Goddam, so sexy like this,” he murmurs.

Your body tightens, taut like a bow-string, the tension building until the crescendo crashes over you. The music washes over your senses as you reach your peak, your legs trembling with the intensity. You push your body further over the edge, succumbing to the euphoria lost in the wave of sensations.

Floating back down, your eyes open to the sight of your ceiling, your body still arched, catching your breath. His fingers tighten on your ribs, reminding you he's there. Sticky wetness dripping between you is evidence that he reached his own climax. His hands gently urge your forward to collapse into his chest.

"Wow, that was…" He strokes the sweat-slicked skin of your back. "I’ve never seen you like that before. What got into you?"

"I think you did," you say, placing a kiss over his heart as your fingers smooth through the hair covering his chest. He chuckles, holding you closer.

The gentle croon of the music fills the quiet space between you as you lie entwined, drawing closer to sleep's embrace. With a fumbling hand, Steve reaches for the remote on his nightstand, silencing the stereo, returning the room to a restful hush. He places a final tender kiss on your temple, his eyes closing as his features turn peaceful. But for you, even in this stillness, another song lingers in your mind, its lyrics echoing like a secret.

AN: Thank you for reading and rebloging. Your comments are what keep me at my keyboard plugging away at this story. Please keep sending me your songs and asks! They have inspired so much of what's to come. xoxo- Jelly

Read Song 3 Here

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#stranger things #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson fanfic #steve harrington fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington smut #stranger things fanfic #torn #torn series #torn!eddie #Spotify

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shock · 3 months

Text

"Don't just play—do something!", Jack Abele, 01.21.24.

This is a companion piece to the collage I made about moving into the first place that felt like my home back in '21 (shown below). They have matching frames and are displayed together above our dining table! This second piece is a reflection on how my relationship to "home" has evolved since then, especially after proposing to my now fiancé last month. I'm really proud of it!

Text transcript:

FOR YOUR EYES ONLY

In the cold, thin clouds of interstellar space, written in the precise message of starlight:

What made you so interested in fireflies?

Imagine that they propel the environment into play: they STAND OUT, add color, chaos, curves moving behind and below, inside, outward along feedback loops, perplexing positive panic persuaded to make another form of animal art.

Love is a Many-Splendored Thing, a beautiful structure, flamboyantly scuzzy, sassy, a full bouquet of many wild ideas — a dazzling interplay between lightness and unclarity, trying things out, fancy, whimsical records looped with webs, half-truth surface textures composed of swirls within swirls, a performance of information, scene-setting details with many impressive, more tongue-in-cheek, unforeseeable aspects relatively stable and evolving at the same time.

Distinctly transitional.

The trouble with love is it's hard to describe in simple and consistent words. Beyond the jolting familiarity of self-similar, self-referential tessellating hues, the little comedy-drama fictions... you see openness, possibilities toward change; our very existence together antidote to the dull grind of the paradox that we live every moment in an indifferent universe yet having so much fun with friends, local communities, places, faces, even muddy bog holes.

Music! A Tribe Called Quest, The Beastie Boys, The Breeders, Nick Cave, Nine Inch Nails, Soundgarden, Santana and Crosby, Stills, and Nash, mud-caked at Woodstock, picking up Space Age scrap, cutting collaged paper, playing with magical little lights, heretically evolving in this meaningless, magnificent place fine-tuned just right to allow for life, love, and grunge to exist nevertheless.

Maybe what keeps me here, making art, is how beautiful it is for optimism to become the first expression of hope despite danger amid the disparate depth of our universe created by chaos.

Movement characterizes my "youthful, dynamic" journey, escapes to infinite other places somewhere else, afraid of considering complicated survival long-term, wherein risk is worth the reward. But something about your windy city reminded me what strange, cascading effects the fingers of two hands form together, intersect one another, interfere with fate, interlace like light radiating rays woven, at certain points, into dynamic singularities.

Mutualism is a happy hybrid of symmetry and chaos — a relationship, it's like the entire forest is blinking in sync.

Just as the fun is to make up a great story, the writer in me calls this piece, "Don't just play— do something!"

This time around, living offers a profound pivot from playing a game. Today we confront as animals, we're not far from dogs, domesticated punks at heart, manifold.

I am humbled, exhilarated, afraid yet strangely calm and clear "On Bended Knee"

(The term ground seems inapt.)

...Nor is it possible to describe...

The closest feeling to being the world itself? It is to have loved someone so much that you wanted to spend the rest of your lifetime with them, with each other.

We're writing a book. Adding a stroke of paint and words to illustrate what we became, a bright third dimension that can be seen from space to meet the generations to come, to simulate the uncountable whimsies they could achieve.

The mind already knows before the key touches the lock.

To watch firefly swarms with a mangy mutt.

That must be quite a sight to see.

BECAUSE THEY EXIST

NOWHERE ELSE ON EARTH.

#collage art #my collages #my art #collage poetry

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lavinialost · 19 days

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“Boop!”

One moment, Todd’s dozing, one earbud in his ear blasting Soundgarden at max volume. The next, without warning, a hand firmly plants itself smack dab in the middle of his forehead with a resounding thwack.

His eyes fly open, the nap he’d been trying to finagle at his desk in the middle of a workday thoroughly interrupted, to find Dirk standing over him, grinning like an idiot. Todd pulls the earbud out of his ear, the tinny hum of Black Hole Sun still barely audible.

“Wh– what the fuck was that?”

He presses a hand over where the skin of his forehead is smarting, still trying to process what had just happened.

“A boop, Todd, obviously. I booped you. You have been booped.”

“You just–? I was–? What were you–? I just–?” Todd stutters, trying to come up with the right sequence of words to express the potent cocktail of abrupt shock, burgeoning annoyance, and utter bewilderment flooding his brain in response to being hit on the head for no reason. “Why?”

“Well, you see, I spent the morning observing our beloved shat’s behavior–”

“Please stop calling her that.”

“But that’s what she is,” Dirk protests. “She’s a shark and a cat: ergo, shat.”

“She has a name that we all voted and agreed on that isn’t… shat.”

For the record, it’s Cecilia, not that Dirk ever uses it.

“Yes, well, semantics aside, I spent a significant portion of my morning conducting an observational study on her behavior, and came to the conclusion that, when in a playful mood and faced with a familiar individual whose undivided attention she desires, she performs what I have expertly dubbed a ‘boop’.”

Todd’s experienced– he’s not going to call it ‘booping’, he’s still got some pride remaining– whatever this is from the agency’s adopted shark-cat many times before. She’ll drape herself across the nearest occupied desk and bat at its occupant with her paws until she’s gotten what she’s wanted. But while (as long as she’s not using her claws) the shark-cat’s attempts at diversion are endearing at best and distracting at worst, Dirk’s attempt to emulate her had been downright painful.

“Don’t do it again,” Todd says shortly. With any luck, Dirk will actually listen.

“Of course you wouldn’t appreciate it,” he frowns. “I should have guessed, since you’re a self-professed dog person for some indiscernible reason.”

“I promise you, there’s not a single person on Earth who would appreciate being hit on the head, dog person or not.”

As if summoned by the universe itself, Cecilia picks this moment to join the argument, jumping up onto Todd’s desk and flopping down next to his arm, purring, totally unaware of the chaos she’s wrought on the agency today.

“Well, the shat agrees with me, doesn’t she?”

Cecilia flicks the tip of her tail and bumps her forehead against Dirk’s hand. Traitor. This is why Todd prefers dogs.

“Now, where’s Farah gone off to?”

“Bad idea,” Todd warns.

“I don’t know what you mean, it’s an excellent idea. I’m sure she’ll appreciate my foray into feline methods of affection much more than you did.”

“Dude, I’m warning you–”

“And I don’t want to hear it. She’s in the interrogation room, right?”

Whatever Todd says isn’t going to matter; Dirk’s obviously not listening to him. Mustering up all the judgment he has in him (spoiler: it’s a lot), he stares Dirk down with flat condemnation in one final attempt to dissuade him.

“Right?” Dirk tries again, totally unaffected.

Todd sighs and gives in. “Whatever, it’s your funeral, man.”

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

Dirk practically skips out of the room, hurtling headlong into what Todd’s sure is certain death.

Whatever happens, it’s out of Todd’s hands now. He sits back in his chair, arms crossed, and waits.

Sure enough, Dirk’s voice rings out from the next room moments later.

“Boop!”

Thwack.

And then, from the other room, there’s a startled cry, the all-too-familiar crashing sound of a table collapsing under the sudden weight of a fully grown adult, and a brief moment of stunned silence broken by muffled, distressed groaning.

Todd winces. That sounded painful.

“Dirk, what the hell was that?!” comes Farah’s exasperated cry, echoing sharply down the hall.

Well, Todd thinks, putting his single headphone back in and resting his head back down against his desk, he had tried to warn Dirk.

#in honor of april fool's day and the boop-o-meter my beloved #dghda #dghda fic

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grapeagata · 6 months

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@hasellia HASSELIAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

hi :3

“Rules: shuffle your ‘on repeat’ playlist and post the first ten tracks, then tag ten people.”

10 songs from my “on repeat” mix on shuffle:

Civil War - Guns N' Roses

The Last Stand - Sabaton

Blow Up The Outside World - Soundgarden

To Hell And Back - Sabaton

Who Made Who - AC/DC

Soldier Of Heaven - Sabaton

Thorn Within - Metallica

Mercenary Park - Valve Studio Orchestra

Someboy To Love - Queen

STONE OCEAN - Ichigo

(i guess today is a sabaton day for the algorithim)

@comfycat3 @indiepat @chemicallovver @another-toy-to-break @punkrockhound @arena-78 @skullpretzel @bardessofcerridwen @romcommunist @thegenderfluidgokenin

No obligation to join if you don't want to. Anyone is free to join in if they want, just make sure to tag me!

#tag game #music #guns n roses #sabaton #soundgarden #ac/dc #metallica #valve #queen band #ichigo

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romanarose · 1 month

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Hey, I love your HCs of the Triple Frontier boys <3 I was thinking about what are some of their hobbies/interests and what kind of music they like to listen to. What do you think?

excellant question nonnie!!! I have LOTS of hc's, thanks for asking!!!

Santiago Garcia

We know Santi loves Metallica

And the sountrack to TF has Fleetwood Mac and Bob Dylan

I think Santi just loves music! He flies a lot so he spends time listening to full albums.

He doesn't have a lot of free time

Despite everyones teasing, he's not here to fuck pretty women. He's here to work.

Still, despite onl a few personal items he does have his guitar. Plays it a lot.

It does help with women

When he was a kid he thought he'd become a singer, he loves Vicente Ferdanez and Juan Gabriel

Alas, for a poor immigrant family Santi couldn't abandon them to persu wishy-washy dreams, he needed to work. Hence the military.

Still, it makes him happy when he sit and play guitar, watching people smile.

He learns songs from all his friends and families favorite bands.

William Miller

Will hates modern country.

Growing up in the yee haw south I think he hates what it's become

Was not upset when Tobey Keith died at all, think he ruined the genre in the post-9/11 nationalism

He enjoys thegrassroots rock movement (springsteen, melloncamp, petty) and the blues.

Him and Santiago both love Fleetwood Mac. It combines Santi's love of rock and Will's love of the blues.

Enjoys jazz but also classical music. He has more interest in the instruments than the lyrics of music anyway.

Him and Frankie both love love love Johnny Cash (who doesn't?)

Will loves suduko

He loves things that calm his mind.

Will likes sports, it was how him and Ben spent a lot of time on the farm.

To this day he likes going out to play ball with Ben. It helps Benny with his ADHD.

Benjamin Miller

Benny does not find tossing a ball around or playing basketball helps his ADHD at all

What he does find is that is helps Will's obbsessive obsessive worrying about him.

So, in that sense, Ben likes it because 1. it's fun and 2. it's a rare chance where he can help Will. Will doesn't let people help him much

Benny looooooves trash TV

The Bachelor, Love after Lockup, Love is Blind

He likes shows he doesn'thave to pay a whole lot of attentionto.

Not that Benny isn't smart bc I haaaaate when people act like he isn't.

But with his ADHD (which I hc he has) he tends to have a lot of things going at once. He's not going to be able to sit down and fully commit to something like The Handmaid's Tale.

Will go head to head on country music with Will and Frankie

he likes the bro country like Florida Goergia Line, Jason Aldean

No one ever accussed him of great taste, okay?

He's here for a good time, not a long time.

He doesn't like the racist or anti-lgbt artists and won't give them his money for concerts

But you can't fauly him for getting don to Red Solo Cup

Also loves classic hair metal (wore an AC/DC shirt most of the movie)

Francisco Morales

Frankie loves country music and grunge

His favorite Benny singing tho

Favorite is anything Chris Cornell and I'll stand by that!!!

Soundgarden, Audioslave, Temple of the Dog, his solo work

Frankie is a busy man, but I like to think he likes lego's

He's an enginier, so you know he's a smart man. I bet he loves making lego sets come together

Frankie has very strong opinions on children's television.

Bubble Guppies > Paw Patrol

Hates Paw Patrol but his daughter likes Skye becuase she's a hellicopter/pilot dog so he allows it.

Loves being out in nature. He's trying ot instill a love of the outdoors in his daughter, but also loves pending time with the guy, or even by himself

When he's overwhelmed, Frankie likes to go for a walks in the woods.

Will fuck up a farmers market all DAY

Oddly enjoys mowing the lawn

My man is Hank Hill

"Why would anyone do drugs hen they could just mow their lawn."

Now that he's sober, he finds lawncare is a great way to distract himself while still being a present father. He can do that while his daughter plays.

******************

thank you so much for the ask!!!! i love chatting about my boys <3

#frankie morales #francisco morales #santiago garcia #santiago pope garcia #triple frontier #will miller #william miller #ben miller #benjamin miller #francisco catfish morales #oscar isaac #garrett hedlund #charlie hunnam #pedro pascal

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gnrbitch · 8 months

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Grunge Days pt.21- Oh, Me

Warnings: !drug usage!

————

1992, Rock in Rio

Rock in Rio, even after Y/n got off stage she couldn’t believe that she had just performed at one of the most iconic rock events.

Alice had released their album a week ago, and the amount of love the album received was amazing.

The album itself, is not meant to be celebrated, everyone knew that. Y/n and Layne especially knew that. But you can’t deny the fact it’s a killer album.

Back to Rock in Rio, Alice, Soundgarden and Nirvana all made their way back to the hotel they were staying at after their performance. None of them really wanted to stay to watch the headliners.

The headliners in question being Guns.

Y/n had been avoiding Slash the whole time they arrived. She had been avoiding him since the last time they saw each other. He made his moves, calling her, randomly showing up to a show, and even showing up to her house.

But Y/n didn’t want to see him. Of course she didn’t, she really, really wanted to stop loving him. She always hoped that one day she would wake up and feel nothing towards him. Or nothing in general, she still woke up and carried a heavy heart. Waking up hoping that it would be the last time she woke up.

And obviously, she had been avoiding Duff. She couldn’t even think about him without getting a glance of how emotionless he looked when he almost killed her. She knew one day she would have to speak to him, but for now, she just wasn’t ready to.

Her and Chris went up to Kurts room (with his invitation of course), and all were talking about whatever was going on in their life. But obviously, they were only there to get high with each other.

She wanted to tell them about how her life had really been, Chris being the only one who knew partially about what had been happening in her life.

But she couldn’t, this wasn’t like back in Seattle where everyone loved and supported each other, especially Kurt. Of course she still loved him, but he had been the one to change the most out of all of them. Sure he was fine with the fact Duff was Y/ns brother. But what the hell would he think if he knew Y/n had been in a whole relationship with Slash.

“Haven’t seen you around much Y/n” Kurt said, pulling a cigarette out.

Y/n shrugged as she dug through her pocket “Haven’t been around, you know how it is”

“Yea” Kurt laughed “I do” He said, shaking his head, “But who’s the guy who fucked you up?”

“What?” Y/n said, her eyebrows furrowing

“I know you Y/n” Kurt said “And i know this isn’t you”

“So you assume it’s a guy?” Y/n asked

“I’ve seen you at your lowest” Kurt said “And this” He circled his finger at her “This is because of a guy”

Y/n cleared her throat, staying silent as she decided to then shoot herself up. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath in, then spoke “Wasn’t that serious with him”

“It’s never serious with you isnt it” He said

Y/n shook her head and looked down, then raised her head up and looked at him.

“Cause when you mess around with a sell out” Kurt said, rolling his cigarette between his fingers “They sell you out”

“What are you talking about” Y/n scoffed at him

“I’m talking about Slash” Kurt said “I thought you had higher morals”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about Kurt” Y/n said, running her fingers through her hair.

“Okay let’s just calm down” Chris said “We’re not here to judge each other alright? So who cares about who’s messed with who”

“Yea” Y/n said, looking at Kurt “Right”

An awkward silence filled the room, and Y/n couldn’t stand it “I’m gonna go now” She said, getting up.

“Going to bed?” Chris asked her, looking up to her.

“Yea- gotta be up early tomorrow” She sighed “I’ll see you guys another time” She waved, closing the door as she stood in the hallway.

She decided to go to Laynes room, she walked to his room, which was around the corner from Kurt’s.

(Gonna try to explain this the best i could, Laynes room is right when you turn the corner, Y/n hears the noises coming from the other side of the hallway from Laynes room, I HOPE YK WHAT I MEAN OKAY)

But right when she knocked, she heard a bunch of giggling coming from the other end of the hallway, turning her head to see Slash with a woman wrapped around his arm, Duff with a woman wrapped around his arm, and that new drummer guy with a woman wrapped around his arm. They were all walking towards a room (Two room down from Laynes to be exact).

She quickly knocked again, looking over to see both Slash and Duff looking at her. Thankfully Layne finally answered the door, Y/n pushed passed him, slamming his door shut.

“Are you alright?” Layne asked

“When am i alright” Y/n said, going over to sit on his couch “Wanna get high?” She asked

“When don’t i wanna get high” Layne said, walking over and sitting with her.

“You need help” Y/n chuckled

“You first” He smiled “Thought you were with Kurt and Chris?” He asked her

“Kurt knows about Slash” Y/n mumbled as she watched Layne shoot himself up

Laynes eyebrows raised, quickly glancing at her before looking back down at what he was doing “Shit” he said “What’d he say?”

“He said he thought i had higher morals” Y/n said “And he started preaching about sell outs” She laughed.

“Fucken Kurt and sell outs” Layne laughed as he helped Y/n tie her arm, “Don’t listen to him alright? He’s the one with Courtney”

“Layne!” Y/n gasped, a smile on her face “That’s- that’s mean” She laughed, looking down at her arm as she shot up.

“Whatever” Layne laughed “You were thinking it”

Y/n smiled as she undid the cloth on her arm, looking at Layne, a smile still on her face “I fucken love you Layne” She said, wrapping her arm around him.

Layne laughed as he hugged her “I love you too” He said, his eyes narrowing as he heard her sniffling “Are you crying?” He asked, trying to look at her face.

Y/n pulled him back to her, her head on his shoulder as she sniffled “Yea” She chuckled “I just love you so much, you’re my best friend”

Layne smiled, moving her hair out of his face “You’re too sweet” He said “Y’know sometimes i think you and I should just get married” He joked,

Silence

“Y/n?” Layne said letting go of her, she fell back, but Layne caught her “Y/n” Layne repeated, shaking her.

Her eyes were closed, her head hanging back, she was unconscious.

“Y/n wake up” Layne said, tapping her face “Shit” He panicked “Comon Y/n” He said to himself, picking her up and placing her in the bathtub, Turning the cold water on, he splashed her face.

“Sorry i’m sorry” Layne spoke to her, thinking he could hear her, he slapped her, and nothing.

“Okay okay fuck!” Layne said, letting go of the shower head as he tried to feel a pulse. “Fuck”.

No pulse, he freaked out, hitting her a few more times and yet nothing. She was fucken dead.

“Okay- Just- just wait- just don’t die more than you already fucken are!” Layne yelled, running to the phone in his room, putting in their managers number.

“Hello?” A tired Susan spoke

“Susan! Susan call a fucken ambulance” Layne said, hyperventilating.

“What?” Susan asked “Layne what’s going on?”

“Call a fucken ambulance Susan!” Layne yelled through the phone “Y/n-” Layne said, taking in a deep breath before sobbing, “Y/ns fucken dying”

“What? Okay just- just wait okay i’ll call them” Susan said “Unlock your door” She hung up.

Layne quickly walked to his door, unlocking it and then going back to Y/n.

He took her out the bathtub, laying her on the floor “Okay fuck” He whispered, trying to remember how to give CPR.

His health teacher would be so disappointed in him right now.

“Stayin alive, Stayin alive” He sang to himself as he gave Y/n compressions, then mouth to mouth.

“Okay- I called them” Susan said, barging into his room, “Layne?” She called out

“Bathroom” He yelled, looking up at Susan as she walked into the room.

“Oh my god” She whispered to herself, seeing a pale, almost blue lipped Y/n on the floor.

“Okay move” She told Layne, taking over on giving Y/n CPR.

Layne watched Y/n, crying to himself as he prayed that she would come back.

Duff, Slash and Matt were definitely having a party in their room, completely oblivious to what was going on two rooms down.

That was until they heard a bunch of commotion outside. At first they could ignore it, probably thinking that someone had gotten into a fight.

But then they heard a bunch of what happened, and crying. Then they decided to go check out what was happening themselves.

Duff peaked his head out the door, seeing Y/n being bought out of a room in a stretcher.

“Fuck is happening?” Slash asked as he stood behind him.

“Y/n” Duff said, the color in his face draining as he sped out of his room, walking over to see some paramedic talking to Susan and Layne.

“What’s going on” Duff said, panic in his voice.

They ignored him, continuing to speak with the paramedic “Look just let one of us go with you guys” Susan said

“I’m sorry, family only” The man said.

“I’m- Im her brother” Duff said, that’s when Susan and Layne turned back to look at him.

“No” Layne said

Duff looked at him “What?”

“You don’t get to fucken see her” Layne said, tears running down his face

“That’s my sister” Duff said, his eyes narrowing

“Look- i’m leaving now” The paramedic said, “We’re taking her to central hospital if you guys wanna see her” And with that, he turned around and left.

“Tell me what happened!” Duff yelled at Layne, Slash standing besides him.

“Layne, what happened?” Slash asked, his voice much calmer than Duff, but on the inside he was shitting himself.

“I’m not fucken telling you” Layne said “And neither of you are gonna go see her” He sucked in a breath “If she’s even fucken alive” he said, going back into his room and slamming the door shut.

“What?” Slash said, looking at Susan “What does he mean by that?”

“We shouldn’t worry un-” Susan shakily said.

“No!” Duff yelled “No! What the fuck does he mean by that!” He said, tears filling his eyes.

“Y/n- she” Susan said, wiping a tear from her eye “She died”

Duff felt like all the air from his lungs had been taken, “She what?”

“But- but they’re doing everything they can to bring her back” She said “I- I have to go” She said, going into Laynes room and bringing him out, both of them leaving the building. Leaving Duff and Slash standing there.

Dead, Slash thought, dead, It was all that kept ringing in his head.

“She- she can’t be dead Slash” Duff said, looking at him. “Slash” Duff repeated.

Slash turned his body to the side as he threw up. Wiping his mouth as he looked at Duff “We don’t know if she’s dead” He said, trying to comfort him.

“But what if she is?”

————

oh m god

Tagged: @hoodiesandicedcoffee @eddiiiieeee @killazilla777 @kirksfunkopop @deeznutsworld

#slash #axl rose #guns n' roses #duff mckagan #guns n roses fanfic #izzy stradlin #slash gnr #slashfanfic #guns n roses imagine #slash fanfiction #gnr imagine #gnr fanfiction #gnr x reader #gnr fic #slash fic

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sick-sad-little-world · 7 months

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hey I love ur blog and the love u put into ur Chris Cornell posts! But I wanted to ask u: have u seen that fluttergirl.com page where ppl who knew chris n VC talked abt the sketchiness of their relationship? Bc I did n I don’t know how to feel abt this whole thing… I’d like to hear ur opinion abt it!

I've seen it... and I wish to bleach it from my brain.🤮 That woman is an abuser (taking advantage of a mentally ill man fresh out of rehab, isolating him from his friends and family, etc), as is the rest of her awful mafia family. They are all horrible people and no Soundgarden fan should support them.

I like to keep my blog positive, so I don't talk about her or post-90s Chris, in general. I gave my thoughts about her in this post, if you're interested.

Anyways, glad you enjoy my blog!💗

#ask #we do not speak her name on this blog #i stand with soundgarden

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in-death-we-fall · 10 months

Text

Knot On Your Life

Record Collector #266 — October 2001

Slipknot’s recent Iowa album entered the UK album charts at No. 1 — unprecedented for a nu-metal band. Drummer Joey Jordison waxes highly lyrical

(google drive link)

Slipknot’s second proper album, Iowa, was the most eagerly-awaited rock record of 2001, and both critics and fans of the masked nine-man band from Des Moines weren’t surprised when it crashed straight into the charts at the top spot in early September. But to anyone not familiar with the crushing music of this most uncompromising of groups, the sudden glut of media appearances that followed this triumph might seem strange, to say the least. After all, these are people who urinate on stage, offer fans the chance to inhale from rectally-inserted tubes and regularly vomit onto their audiences.

Despite the band’s fearsome reputation, drummer Joey Jordison was on relaxed form as he chatted to RC from his Mid-Western home. In fact, he was willing to provide an opinion on most subjects — so RC fed him a topic, and off he went. If only all interviews were this easy, eh?

A Night In With The Knot

All round to Joey’s…

Imagine you’ve invited us to a party round at your house. What tunes would you play for us? If I’m having a party I don’t really play much metal — because the chicks get more naked if you play something light. Old Bee Gees, or Michael Jackson’s Off The Wall, they’re all good party albums

I read once that you’re into the Cars and Fleetwood Mac. Oh, yeah. The Cars — I really like their Candy-O record, man, it was one of those records that really broke New Wave in America. They were one of the first bands to use the fuckin’ New Wave keyboards in their music, man.

The one-finger thing? Yeah, yeah, yeah, totally! Like ‘Let’s Go’ with that cheesy line that they use, but it’s so infectious. We played it before a show one time — we cranked that entire song through the PA right before we hit the stage. The kids were so fuckin’ loud and pissed off! They thought we were gonna cut the cong but we played the whole damn thing (laughing), just to irritate them.

What about a bit of dance or hip-hop? I like the new Ludicrous record. And chicks often get naked when we play that new Nelly CD for some reason (laughs). I also like the Wu-Tang Clan and Ol’ Dirth Bastard’s solo stuff, and of course old Public Enemy, and the old NWA stuff. I’m much more into the old school — I don’t listen to any of that current shit.

Did you ever get into any grunge at all? For a little bit, although I was pretty strictly devoted to metal. I really can’t stand Pearl Jam though — I’ve never been a fan of them. Alice In Chains was always a metal band in hiding, with a grunge umbrella. Soundgarden’s Badmotorfinger was phenomenal, too.

What about Faith No More? A band I still devote a lot of respect to. Faith No More really turned things around for me — The Real Thing really shaped my awareness of musical styles and using them tastefully. Mike Patton is probably the most talented musician and visionary I’ve ever heard in my life.

Most people might also be surprised to hear that I’m really into glam shit too, in my other band, the Rejects (chuckles).

What — Bolan and Bowie? More like the New York Dolls and Hanoi Rocks, but it’s all good music.

Do you dress up in the appropriate manner on stage? Make-up, lipstick? Yeah, we do. It depends on the mood. But like the famous song said, though, just because I wear make-up doesn’t mean that I can’t kick your ass!

The morning after the party, what mellow tunes would you play for us? Let me check my current crop of albums. I’d probably actually wake you up with some Amen. ‘We came here to fuck you!’ That rules, dude. I love that band.

An unlikely pairing: (above) the Cars, whose ‘cheesy’ synth lines do it for Joey, and (below) the Bee Gees, for whom ‘the chicks get naked’, dude.

Gloom And Doom

The murky depths of extreme metal explored…

The introduction of Iowa’s first song, ‘People = Shit’, is pure Morbid Angel. Fuck yeah! If you’re gonna pay tribute to something, pay it to a band that kicks ass. My favourite Morbid work is Blessed Are The Sick — I think it’s untouchable.

Altars Of Madness was really cool, too. Fuck, that’s old school, man, that’s going back. I think they really came into their own around the time of Domination, when they started using the seven-string guitars.

What other metal bands are you into? I also really like Raging Speedhorn, and I gotta say Immortal’s Damned In Black is one of the finest black metal releases ever.

I thought In The Heart Of Winter was better. Yes, that fucker too — all Immortal is great. They’re one of the prime black metal bands of all time.

Have you got Slayer’s new album, God Hates Us All? Yes — it’s phenomenal.

‘Payback’ is a great song. (sings line from song) Payback, you bitch motherfucker! (sniggers)

Do you like Nile? I love Nile. Black Seeds Of Vengeance — I love fuckin’ Nile! They rule, man.

Poppin’ Out

Joey talks Britney

It’s a good time to be into metal, isn’t it? Look at it this way. Metal always stays here, it’ll never go away, because of the legions of devoted fans, man, they never go anywhere. They are always fucking gonna be there. The music will never go away. It’s been tested time and time again.

On the other hand, cheesy pop like Britney Spears and N’Sync has got a lot stronger at the same time, don’t you think? That’s very true, it’s a good point. Those bands are really big sellers for their labels. They’re all geared towards MTV; then MTV is geared to the kids; the kids bitch at their parents constantly, and then they go out and buy the record.

Sometimes these kids don’t know any better, they don’t know you can go out and get into the underground tape-trading scene, because they’re fed that shit over fuckin’ television. Which is a drug in its fuckin’ self.

We wanna turn these kids on. A lot of them have heard Korn and Limp Bizkit, but they’ve never heard a blastbeat. It’s great that we can turn them on to the underground — like a kid might never have heard of Morbid Angel, and might think that I’m the first guy to ever do a blastbeat and double bass. Which isn’t true.

Is it strange when Slipknot are included in the same nu-metal category as bands like Limp Bizkit and Korn? No. I can’t bitch about it because we are in that nu-metal group. We do have elements of the nu-metal sound, but the fact is, you can tell we come from a place that is more genuine and way more old-school than that.

Grrr!

Reasons to be angry

At the Ozzfest, Corey (Taylor, Slipknot singer) said ‘We’re going to kill everyone in the rock music industry’. Is the relationship between the band and the business really so bad? He’s always talking about that. A lot of the press — obviously not you, because you know what you’re talking about — when we were done with our first record, they said that there was no way we could top it, and were already slagging the second record. And then there’s the fuckin’ leeches that fuckin’ steal money, and the people that misquote you, and people that start fuckin’ bad rumours — and before you know it there’s a whole new list of problems that come with fame.

I’ll gladly take those problems because this is what I’ve wanted since I was five years old, but (getting annoyed) it doesn’t mean that it fucking doesn’t fucking totally fucking goad men, and totally fucking brings me to a fucking boiling point … (tails off in incoherent rage, then takes a deep breath and calms down). So a lot of those things came out, and we had a lot of personal issues when we were on the road. And we;re doing non-stop shows, so every day there’s something going on.

Havin’ It Large

Party on!

Didn’t you go drinking a lot with Casey Chaos when you were on tour together? Yeah, we do these drinking matches. I always lose. I got him one time, though. It took him a while, but he finally got fucked up and fell down the back of this bus — and Casey Chaos never pukes, ever, but he threw up this time.

I sobered up really quickly after I pissed myself in my bunk, and I came back out and I’m like, I’m ready to go again! But he had to go to bed. I may have fallen down first, but I came back for the second round. That’s been the only time.

Can you still get up and play the drums when you’ve got a sickening hangover? Oh, absolutely, dude. I’ve done it a million times. I’m not necessarily proud of it. But when the mask goes on and I fuckin’ slip into the fuckin’ boiler suit, something just happens to me, man. Everything goes away, and it’s all about us and those kids for that hour.

The Past

The bad old days…

Do you ever listen to Slipknot’s demo album, Mate. Feed. Kill. Repeat? I never ever listen to it. I’m very proud of where we come from, man, and I’ll never forget where we come from, but … that was a totally different band back then, you know, and it’s not the same.

Did you know that people are paying over £150 in this country for original copies of MFKR, if they can find them? (shocked) Christ almighty. God damn, man … they must really like the band.

It’s a lot of money to pay for someone’s demo. Or do you regard the album as more than just a demo? It’s kind of a glorified demo. It’s glorified in that it sounds really good for a demo — it’s produced really well. But there’s only six people on that record, Corey’s not the lead singer, the guitar players are different — you know, the only original members are me, Shawn and Paul on that.

The first Knot guitarist, Donnie Steele, famously left the band after a religious conversion. Yes. He was like, I found God and this band is not for me.

Even though he’d been in Anal Blast and Body Pit beforehand — two extreme grindcore bands? I guess not. He really wasn’t down with the mask thing either — when it came up he was like, I can’t do that. So I thought, hmm, OK, you’re probably not gonna work out.

Then there was Cuddles … (yawns) Yes … … but maybe I won’t go into that? Don’t. We never talk about that guy (drummer Cuddles, a member of the band from 1997-8, is alleged to be suing Slipknot at the time of writing).

The Future

What lies ahead

You once said that Slipknot is just too intense a band to survive more than a couple of albums. I get asked about that in every interview I do. But it’s cool, because it’s the truth. I think if the band broke up right now — you can call this ego, call it what you want — we might even have some kind of legendary status.

You mean, if you stopped at the peak of your form, before it got stale? Yes, like the Sex Pistols did. They did it right, man, they didn’t fuckin’ let themselves become parodies. And that’s what we plan to do with this band, once I know it’s not working. Because of all the hurt in the band, and the fact that there’s nine of us, I think if it went on too long, it would become a parody, man.

Will your records keep getting heavier and heavier, as they have so far? Well, lots of bands say their next record is gonna be the heaviest one ever, but they’re full of shit. They just say this so their fans will go out and buy it. But I can’t do that to my fans, man, because they’re the ones that got me here, y’know.

Interview by Peter Smith. Many thanks to Michelle Kerr at Roadrunner.

#as always let me know if you want any other articles scanned #joey jordison #slipknot #interview #record collector 266 oct 01

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