#LIKE IT WAS THE COVER OF ZIGGY STARDUST TOO I THINK ???

[all-too-unwell-13]

guys i saw a david bowie poster earlier and it made me think of wolfstar 😕😕

[mazojo]

I was just trying to read a book, not have the course of my life change in irreparable ways

[lizard-on-a-window-pane]

can i request Remus and reader being good friends and seeing each other during the summer at a party, confess their feelings. if you could make it a bit angsty would be great

hope you like it!! thanks for requesting

pairing: Remus x reader

word count: 1.7k

tags: friends to lovers, fluff, angst? (I wanted to try a new angle for “angst” other than the usual jealousy or insecurity, hence the premise)

“I can’t go. I just can’t. Are you mad?? I can’t go anywhere looking like this! What the hell was I thinking? Why did you let me go through with this?” you rave at Lily from your spot in front of your shared bathroom mirror. “Y/N, Y/N, calm down, okay?” Lily grabs you by the shoulders and breathes exaggeratedly, so you can breathe with her. She gives you a funny look and says, “It’s not that bad.” She winces a little. 

“Not that bad? Bloody hell, Lils, you might as well just come right out and say it! I look like I’m cosplaying Ziggy Stardust!” She laughs heartily; you glare at her. “You don’t; you don’t,” she says hurriedly, holding her hands up in surrender. “Sorry,” she adds, a cheeky grin still plastered on her face.

You’d felt bold that morning — too bold — and decided to get a haircut before James’s big summer party tonight. You’d gone way shorter than you ever had before, and the result was… well, not your look. 

You cover your face with your hands and groan into them. 

“You’re going to have to go without me,” you tell her. 

“No way! We’ve been talking about this for weeks! And I haven’t seen James for weeks. I need you there. For emotional support and all that.” You give her a compassionate look through the mirror. “You’ll be great. You always are. And besides, he’s so in love with you, it doesn’t matter what you do, he’ll be thrilled to see you.” She can’t help but smile a bit, but she catches herself and puts on her angry face again. You laugh at that. “I can’t go like this. What if…” You stop yourself, shaking your head, running your hands through your awful haircut. Lily gives you a knowing look. “It doesn’t matter what you look like, he’ll be thrilled to see you,” she adjusts. You just glare at her. “Not funny.” “I’m not being funny! It’s true. When are you and Remus just going to tell each other how you feel? It’s so bloody obvious to everyone else.” “We’re just friends. Good friends,” you retort for the millionth time. “Yeah, and you always will be unless you finally do something about it, babe.” This hits you harder than you’d expect. 

It takes some — a lot — more convincing from Lily, but you finally decide to go to the party. It’s the middle of the bloody summer, so you can’t put on any of your beanies, and you don’t have much of a hat collection beyond that. Your only baseball cap somehow brings out a boyishness in a less rather than more flattering way, so you opt to accept your fate and sport your terrible haircut to the party. You dress up more than you usually do in a weak effort to divert attention away from your head. 

The party is in full force by the time you show up. Music is playing, drinks are following, and people seem to be having a brilliant time. Your hand keeps nervously going to your hair, and when you do this for the tenth time since you’d arrived, Lily impatiently grabs your hand and holds it while you walk through the crowded rooms. 

Feeling her squeeze your hand, you follow her gaze to where James is enthusiastically telling a story, a whole crowd of entertained guests hanging on his every word. Until he spots her. His smile is blinding, and he seemingly stops mid-sentence, patting a few people on the back as he makes his way over to you two. 

“Hi,” she says. “Hi yourself, gorgeous,” he responds. “You look beautiful,” he adds, sounding a bit embarrassed. Then, finally spotting you next to Lily, he says, “Hey Y/N!” in a cheerful tone, which turns awkward as he continues, “You also look… uhh…” His eyes go to your head. “Nice,” he finishes lamely, cringing at his faux pas. “For fuck’s sake, Potter,” you say, covering your head with both hands. “I know, okay? You could be a little more discreet about it.” He can’t help but laugh a bit.

“Sorry, Y/L/N.” He’s grinning. “But what happened to your head?” He’s slightly mocking, but you’re good enough friends with him and familiar enough with his sense of humour not to take it too badly. “A travesty,” you respond. He laughs even louder. “It’s not that bad,” Lily says for the second time that night. You and James both look at her, you glaring, James grinning. 

“Thanks, babe,” you say eventually, giving her a quick peck on the cheek as you go to give them some privacy. “Have fun you two. I’ll be around,” you add, giving her a comforting look.  

You work your way around the party, smiling at a few people you know, heading toward a calmer spot. 

“Wow. That’s a look,” you hear from behind you. A familiar teasing voice approaching you. 

Wincing slightly, you turn and say, “Hii, Sirius.” “Hello,” he says in a funny voice. “You’re looking… dazzling.” “Thanks,” you shoot sarcastically.

“Did you at least get a fun story out of whatever happened… here?” he asks, gesturing at your head. 

“Hm, let’s see. Does feeling bold and accidentally picking the worst stylist in the city sound like a fun story?” “No, not really,” he laughs. 

“Too bad then I guess,” you shrug. 

“Nothing wrong with trying something new,” you hear from behind you. You heart skips multiple beats. You turn to find Remus looking you over, a kind smile on his gorgeous face. You give him an awkward smile. You’re equal parts thrilled to see him and mortified to be seen by him. 

“Hey.” You’d missed his warm voice. “Hi,” you respond, an uncharacteristic shyness seeping into your voice. “And that’s my cue,” Sirius snarks with a smile as he makes his way into the next room.  Remus rolls his eyes at him but then brings them right back to you. 

“How’s your summer been?” he asks you, walking to a slightly quieter corner with you and leaning against the wall with more allure than he probably ever realizes. 

“Pretty good,” you start. “Well, until today,” you chuckle nervously. He furrows his eyebrows at you in confusion. You point at your hair then run your hand through it. His eyes linger on your hair, and you take the opportunity to really look at his face for the first time in weeks. You sound dramatic even to yourself, but you think the distance of mere weeks has made how attractive he is all the more noticeable tonight. He grins, and you wish you could read his thoughts. 

“What inspired it?” he asks in a friendly tone. 

Hoping to get your attention tonight, you think. “Just wanted to try something new,” you tell him. 

He nods at you and gives a little shrug as he says, “I like it.” 

“You don’t have to say that,” you say, your eyes gluing themselves to the floor, your cheeks warming up. You owned a mirror; he had to be lying.

“I do,” he says a bit more emphatically. 

“Remus,” you whine. “I know it’s awful,” you cringe with a self-deprecating giggle. He doesn’t laugh but stares at you with a seriousness that makes you squirm slightly. 

“Well, I like it,” he repeats again. Then, with a cheeky smile, he adds, “A lot.”

You roll your eyes at him and joke, “I’m sure you’d say that even if I shaved my head.”

“I would,” he replies without missing a beat. “Remus —,” you start, but he cuts you off.

“No, I would. Really.” He’s smiling. “Wanna know why?” You squint at him; his smile broadens. “For the same reason I like this bad haircut so much.” You point at him accusatorially and open your mouth to say something along the lines of “so you admit it’s horrible,” but he doesn’t let you. Laughing loudly, he grabs hold of the hand you’ve brought up to point at him, and he’s holding on to it as he says, “I like it…” His voice is lower, and he takes a step toward you and brings your hand to his chest and holds it there, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. “…because it shows off so much of what I like about you.”

Your heart is beating loudly in your ears at his proximity, but you muster some sass as you respond, “And what’s that? My neck? My ears?” You bring your other hand to your now bare neck, your hair too short to cover it. His laugh is warm and full as he shakes his head and looks into your eyes. “No, smart-arse. Though you do have a nice neck,” he jokes, bringing his other hand to it and using his thumb to caress it. You worry he’ll feel the concerning pounding of your pulse point. “I like how fearless you are.” His smile is adoring. “You wanted to try something, and you just went for it… That’s so hot.” Your face is probably on fire. “You’re always so…” It’s like he’s looking for the word somewhere on your face; he’s scanning your features with an intimate intensity. “…yourself.”

“And who else should I be?” you chuckle nervously. “Nobody. Please,” he pleads. He brings his hand on your neck up to cup your face, stroking your cheek. “You’re pretty perfect like this.” For the first time, he looks nervous, and he looks away from you with a shy smile. When he looks back he whispers, “I’ve missed you.” He steps even closer to you. “The last few weeks… I… I realized how much I missed you, and how much… how much I was missing out on by not being honest with you when we are together.” You swallow thickly. 

“We’re together now…” you whisper back, and he smiles so widely it crinkles his cheeks.

“We are…” His forehead rests on yours. “If you can take a risk,” he teases, running his hand through your hair, “maybe I can too…” His voice is syrupy as he brings his face to yours. You can taste the sweetness of it when your lips meet his. 

[conceptalbummultiverse]

References in chapter 36 of Strange Fascination

I know, I haven’t even made a post promoting it yet, but ssshhhhh…(yes, there is a new chapter!) I thought that I’d make a quick post about a few song/real life references in this chapter, since @tabb1tha pointed out one that I didn’t even intend. (Ziggy having white blood is not a reference to the Aladdin Sane album cover- I think that the mysterious liquid on his chest is supposed to be a teardrop, and as for why I gave Ziggy white blood, I've just always liked that concept in general; I first used that concept for a non-human OC in a story I wrote when I was about 10/11 and I wanted to bring it back- but I like that interpretation, it very well could be that!)

The most obvious one is the line “I’m never ever gonna die, and I’m never ever gonna get old” from “Never Get Old” by David Bowie, off his Reality album! (I like Reality a lot, and as an aside- I like the album cover, you guys are just mean.) I wasn’t intending to reference this song as there’s supposed to be a theme to the songs I do reference (that aren’t from the concept albums that I based the universe on), but I think I had been listening to Reality and just felt like throwing it in there.

When Whatsername reads the katakana on the back of Ziggy’s cape (side note- I’m not sure if you’d call it a cape? you know, that thing that Bowie’s wearing at the beginning of the Ziggy Stardust filmed concert that gets ripped off him? but I wasn’t sure what to call it), she reports that it says “hamburgers.” This is a reference to the last line of my personal favorite David Bowie song, “Sweet Thing” from Diamond Dogs. (Well, the entire Sweet Thing Suite is my favorite song of his.) I needed to think of something kind of dumb and silly that could be written on the cape- in my head, Ziggy’s cape was custom-made and the designer who made it had included it as a joke because he knew that the clueless English people (or… English-presenting in Ziggy’s case) who had ordered it wouldn’t be able to read it and would just think it looked cool, so he could write anything he wanted on it and they’d never notice. He was right. Anyway, I chose “hamburgers” because I always thought that non-sequitor at the end of “Sweet Thing” was funny, as if the narrator is losing their train of thought: “If this trade is a curse, then I turn to the crossroads and… hamburgers…” I don’t actually know if there’s a way to write that word in katakana, but… *shrug* Apparently in real life, Bowie’s cape said something badass like “breath of the dragon" and it was rendered in such a way that the letters, when read out loud phonetically, said “Bo Ee.” (I can't find the link where I read this originally, so I might be wrong about that.) I figured I couldn’t use that in my fic because I would have wanted it to be “Zig Ee,” and that didn’t fit the mood of the scene that I was going for.

The outfit Ziggy is wearing below the cape is this outfit from the 1980 Floor Show:

I like this weird-ass outfit. Not much more to say here!

As for non-Bowie-related references, it’ll become more apparent in the next chapter, but Whatsername’s letter begins with “Where have all the riots gone?”- the first line of the song “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

If you’re keeping track of lyrical references- by all means, do so! There is a rhyme and reason to how I chose them- I’d say about 99% of the lyrics I reference in the narrative that aren’t from the albums that the fic is about are from the same two OTHER albums. Both are by the same artist, and both were released in the 2010’s. And yes, that artist made one of the albums that the fic is about. (I feel like this has narrowed things down maybe a little too well, but I don’t want to start the hunt for lyrical references until the story is over and they’ve all been used.)

[dylanlila]

hi. a guy i've been going out is a fan of david bowie and i like his music but that's it i am not a fan. could you mayhaps recommend something to impress him since you're The Bowie Tumblr in my orbit. thamk

OMG HIIII!!!! I'll cook you up a Bowie salad 🥗

You can never go wrong with The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust, so you should probably start there if you're an album person! It works best as a whole and it is a great introduction to Bowie because it captures his imagination without being too difficult to digest on first listen.

I ALWAYS recommend this track to people who wanna get into Bowie because I feel like it's such a BOWIETASTIC thing in so many ways without being too hard on the ear if you haven't been diving deep into stuff like his album Low which is SPECTACULAR, but not really something you should start with when it comes to ☀️thee spaceman💫. Anyways, I adore this one because it makes me feel like I am in my favourite theatre (I always act this one out in my room when it comes up on a playlist), all thanks to the way David pronounces each word with such dedication which is something I always endlessly appreciate. I'm also a sucker for the fact that critics either think it's a masterpiece or completely absurd because that IS Bowie at his finest. He's a mad scientist! Even when he tried to appeal to a wider audience, it felt like an experiment. I personally think this track is absurd, but in an absurdist theatre Samuel Beckett way and THAT is what makes it a masterpiece.

NOW THIS!!! This is from the movie Labyrinth starring our favourite alienguy, but no Bowie thing functions in a vacuum (Bowie outgrows Bowie like all artists do, but it's pretty damn cool how he seemed pretty chill with this... and found fans' input integral to his work) so you can always turn this up and place the sky and the moon within anybody's eyes and anybody's heart. I'm not telling you to sneak these (paraphrased) lyrics in a gift or anything, but also I'm doing exactly that.

Lou Reed thought this one was neat and in Lou Reed we trust. Seriously, it's a rare occasion for Louie to say such a thing about somebody else.

This is from Diamond Dogs which I truly have so much love for as a concept because it's this... mosaic of half-finished projects Bowie had envisioned over the years and they make... this glorious friendship of sound and ideas and I always think of it as proof that each little creative outburst every human experiences is worth something in the great puzzle of our lives, you know? This track in particular was originally written for the Ziggy Stardust musical which was never made and doesn't exist in a form it was originally imagined in, but it lives on... it changes things... So if you ever make something you think is worth nothing simply because you haven't executed the idea to the finish line, you're wrong.

Ending this response with a cover!!!! Originally a song by The Pretty Things and I'm using it for my epilogue on purpose because there's this criticism of Bowie's copycat ways that gets brought up occasionally when it's the exact feeling behind that accusation of his artistry that makes me like him so much and I hinted at it in the previous paragraphs. So! This is from an album that functions as an ode to songs Bowie loved so they're all covers basically (fun fact! there's a slavic band I love that copied this idea for their album, Les Chansones Populaires, and they have a Bowie track on it <3 music knows no limits, music as the ultimate form of love <3) What I'm trying to say here is that Bowie understood this fundamental truth about humanity which is that it knows no time and no space and both of these things are illusions. So... his covers and all his influences aren't thefts!!!! They're a testament to this shared human creative effort that indicates how the artwork is never ONLY about the one who made it. It's about how the entire world, those that inspire you and those that you inspire, are holding hands and adding a bit of themselves to this creation, therefore putting it into this washing machine of transformation that can never be turned off. And it's so refreshing to see an artist embrace that viewpoint.💖 (I always say this group effort thing is true for science too <3)

[super-duper-stupor]

5) ramble about a song, 6) a song for which you like a cover more than the original, 14) an unpopular music opinion

5. Ramble about a song

*takes a deep breath* Hoo boy so...

This song, this song is in my opinion is the most beautiful song in the world. It's sung with the upmost love and vulnerability in Klaus' beautiful German accented countertenor that i can't help but tear up everytime I listen to it. Part of what makes it perfect to me is that it's the perfect conclusion to this album (which was Klaus' debut album). It's been pointed out that Klaus' is not actually singing in any particular language and that it's all just gibberish, however it makes sense tho! Since Klaus is supposed to be an alien from outer space and assuming he didn't known any human languages before coming to earth and just admired the sound of the music here, then of course he'd only sing in gibberish. Sadly tho he didn't spend enough time here on earth to learn any languages anyhow as you could hear at the end of the song his space craft starts up and to the sound of beautiful chaos (if youve listened to it youll know what i mean) it gets ready for lift off before descending into the skies until the sound fades away into nothing. Not since 'Rock n roll suicide' from 'The rise and fall of Ziggy Stardust and the spiders from mars' has there been such a perfect way to end an album. Unfortunately life ended up imitating art in a way in that Klaus Nomi himself would end up leaving this world just over 2 years after the release of 'Klaus Nomi'. Knowing that fact it adds a real sadness to the song that makes you wonder what Klaus would've gone on to become and the music he would have created down the line and also what movies he would've done since Klaus had mentioned in an interview that he wanted to be in many movies, which he shouldve and couldve, the 80s were practically made for him. He was so ahead of his time and by all accounts he was a very sweet, shy and kind man that was taken back to his home planet far too soon💔

There's this quote from his best friend Joey Arias that said about Klaus' performance of this song on The New Wave vaudeville show

"I still get goose pimples when I think about it ... It was like he was from a different planet and his parents were calling him home. When the smoke cleared, he was gone."

6. A song for which you like a cover more than the original

Ewan McGregor's rendition of 'Your song' in Moulin rouge🥺❤️❤️❤️ legit makes my heart skip a beat

14. An unpopular music opinion

Opera is freakin beautiful and I feel sorry for those who think otherwise

[stranger-chichka]

The scenes with the stars in Stranger Things and their importance (p. 1)

I wanted to post everything in one take, but I didn't expect I need so many screenshots, oops. So, there will be 2 posts: this one includes scenes from 1x04 to 6x04 + a mention of the s3 rain fight, and the second one covers episodes 7, 8 and 9x04. Well, not the whole episodes, but just the scene where we can see stars. Also, sometimes I'm gonna write a little about the scenes which follow or precede the one with the star because almost always there's a connection between them. And I'm sorry in advance for my miserable vocabulary. It's really very hard to choose the right words for such an analysis when English is not your native language and I hope it wouldn't be too painful to read.

So, as @madwheelerz there's a possibility that the stars bookmark important moments/scenes we should pay close attention to. So far I've noticed these moments with stars in the show:

2 stars on Erica's earnings during the DnD game in 1x04 (it foreshadows Mike & Will defeating Vecna - the theory about it is here) and stars on the dress she wears in episodes 6, 7, 8 and 9;

2 stars on Lucas's sneakers during his basketball game where they win and he's the one to make the final shot (THIS parallels Erica who rolls 20 and defeats Vecna in the game);

stars on Will's costume he's wearing during the DnD game before the rain fight in s3;

6 stars on Angela's earnings in the Rink-o-Mania scene (and during THIS scene Mike & Will argue again which parallels their s3 rain fight);

Also, stars are associated with Dustin. In s3 he talks about star-crossed lovers and sings “Neverending Story” where the lyrics are : “reach the stars, fly a fantasy.” + “Ziggy Stardust” in Will’s playlist.

And @skvtebored mentions two more characters having stars in their clothes. Jason and Patrick have stars on their jackets, that's why we'll start with them.

3x04

We see the boys wearing them for the first time in 3x04 while they’re going to look for Eddie and have a small talk with Lucas near the abandoned Benny's Burger restaurant (and this place is associated with El because of s1). But I want to start with the previous scene. We see El in her room after dinner and the "She didn't look fine" moment, thinking about the roller rink accident and the massacre at the lab. "What did you do?" "What have you done?" These phrases are said by Mike and Brenner. We are shown flashbacks from that horrible day in the lab. (I made a collage with some shots, but haven't included the ones with the bodies of kids, it's already too gross to watch).

On the screenshots (1st & 2nd row): Brenner walking through the door, El in front of the broken mirror, a labyrinth with two silver balls, a ball with 8 on it, a chess desk, two dice with 2, 6, 4 and 5, some blocks with one green and one blue figures. To be honest, I don't know if these objects are there for a purpose, but I better leave the screenshots here and maybe someone with a bigger brain will connect the dots.

+ I'm adding the gifs from the moment with El in her room because of that spinning effect, like in the scene with her and Max in the final episode where she restarts her heart.

After El's flashbacks we see the Upside Down (3rd row): the library, some abandoned building that I thought could be Brimborn Steel Works but it's probably not, Creel's house with a spaceship slide next to it and Vecna.

The next shots we see (4rth row): the sun is rising, a yellow lamp in Benny's Burger restaurant, a "SPEED LIMIT 25 69" sign, a shot of the room with Lucas in a blue t-shirt (similar to El's shirt in the previous scene) and him near the doors of the restaurant with "WINNERS ONLY" written in green on it.

The dialogue between Lucas and Jason starts with: "What are you guys doing?" What did you do? What have you done? What are you doing? Past, present and...future is missing. Where will? Hmmm. And Jason's answer parallels Henry telling El the same thing the day he killed those kids in the lab. Like almost word by word. They're going to look for Eddie and Lucas is coming with them. Actually, during this scene they're putting some stuff in the truck.

The next scene when we see Jason and Patrick, they're on their way to one of Eddie’s friends. But right before seeing them in the car we are shown Eddie's trailer from the outside and the locked door with yellow ribbons, the room with the gate, hats, yellow light and electricity flickery, red lightning bolt and Vecna spying on the people with traumas.

At that time Vecna's looking for his next victim and he chooses who? Patrick. His nose starts bleeding. One of his friends calls it “gross.” They beat up the members of Eddie’s band and are going to Dustin's house. Before that fight Jason talks with them a little while Lucas pretends he isn't part of their club, although he's in Hellfire. That's when one of the boys says: "Lucas, what the hell?"

And then another boy tells Jason this: "Well, you have eyes, don't you? He's not here." That's when he starts beating him, stepping on his hand and saying: "It's gonna be hard to play drums with a broken hand." And who has no eyes and broken limbs? Vecna's victims. Interesting. In the following scene El’s in jail questioned about the roller rink accident and we see her having flashbacks of hitting Angela and the massacre at the lab again. The car is in the first shot of that scene.

As Jason and others come to Dustin, Patrick says: “No one’s home” and here I already wrote about this scene. Jason answers they should keep looking and then he sees the car door open and Lucas is not there. He says: "Where the hell is Sinclair?" while Lucas reaches Dustin and says: "Where the hell have you been?" After Jason notices Lucas in Dustin's house he says: "What the hell were you doing?"

Lucas answers: "I was looking for clues" and Patrick calls Lucas Sherlock Holmes. Hmmmm. Does it remind you of anything???? Not only do we have a Sherlock Holmes reference but also in both scenes they're talking about clues. Steve asks Dustin: "What sort of clues we're supposed to be looking for here?" By the way, keep in mind "by any chance."

After this Lucas says: "I found one" and leads them to Hopper's cabin. I wonder if it's foreshadowing of him finding Vecna in s5.

In the following scene again (for the third time) - El’s thinking about the roller rink accident and that day in the lab while riding in the car before being rescued by Owens and his people. What did you do? What have you done? And we see a rainbow.

The next scene with the basketball team is them in the woods on their way to Hopper's cabin.

Lucas said THAT is the place where Eddie's hiding. It reminded me of Will hiding in the shed in s1. Is it a parallel? The first shot we see is Jason opening the truck. Again, it reminded me of s1 and Jonathan checking Lonnie's truck. And Eddie was hiding in a boathouse which is a shed at the edge of a river or lake used for housing boats. He was hiding in the shed like Will. Interesting. And here we see after references. (Watergate my beloved) So, they’re in the cabin and the scene is shown together with the one where Owens tells El about Vecna and how he's killing right now in Hawkins. We are shown Lucas running out of the Hopper's cabin and Hopper with his cuffs off as Owens speaks of "good people and brave friends." In the following scene - Max's in trance for the first time.

4x04

The next day Jason comes to Sinclairs and talks with Erica (She refers to Lucas as Jason’s boyfriend in the most careless way possible, says he might be with Dustin and mentions Nintendo). I wrote about this scene in my Nintendo theory, so I'm leaving the link here (that's a must-read). I just want to add this screenshot from that scene where Erica's colouring the DnD character who looks like Eddie but we know that Mike is trying to look like him, even grows his hair, so I really believe it's Mike from s5, because 1) we see a dragon 2) we see a sward 3) we see a shield and 4) we see Mike with a sword and a shield facing the dragon and leading their party (Eddie is also the leader of Hellfire) in Will's painting.

Again, we hear: "Where the hell's Sinclair?" And in the following scene Steve, Lucas and Dustin talk about Victor Creel and Vecna, how he was killing then and how he's killing now.

6x04

In the previous episode Jason was wearing a black suit, so I didn't check these scenes, but in 6x04 he is in his bomber again. The police officers are talking with the citizens about Eddie and the curfew they should follow while they're looking for him. People are mad. "It's been days. Days!" The police officer answers: "I understand you all are upset, but I promise you, we will find him." And that's when Jason comes in. His first word is "No. You won't." (El's first word to Mike is "no") .

"Son, how about we talk about this in private?" That's what the chief asks Jason. (He is not ready to reveal the truth yet. The same with the Duffers.) Does it remind you of any other scene? Season 2. Mike is mad because Hopper (who’s also the chief of police) was hiding El in his cabin and Hopper asks him to talk about it in private. He calls him a liar and cries in his arms. But what if I told you he's not only mad at Hopper for hiding El but also at himself because now he has to hide from himself. From his true feelings. His feelings for Will. And Jason's speech just proves it.

"So you can keep me quiet? So you can keep the truth from coming out?"

Very and very interesting phrasing. That’s definitely the parallel to Will’s speech in the desert. "Sometimes, I think it's just scary to open up like that. To say how you really feel. Especially, to people you care about the most. Because what if they don't like the truth?" We saw Mike resonated with these words very much. He nodded and even wanted to answer something, but Argyle distracted him. What is Will's truth? He loves Mike. What is Mike's? Same. The only option for them is to come out in s5.

"I don't know about the rest of you, but I can't bear to listen to any more excuses and lies. In fact, I think we've all had enough. That's enough."

Well, well, well. We have plenty of liars during the show but it seems to me that Mike lies the most, right? He lies not only to others but to himself. And here Jason just speaks on behalf of the GA, especially those who are homophobic, because the truth is "awful" for them.

"Last night, I saw things, things I can't explain. Things the police don't wanna believe. And things that I don't wanna believe myself. And I've come to accept an awful truth."

Jason is talking about Patrick's death, but we should always look for a double meaning in that show. He is talking about an awful truth. And we associate the truth with Mike and Will's feelings towards each other. What things he can't explain and believe is he talking about? Mike having gay panic at the airport maybe? Or Mike being pissed off because Will was showing little attention to him at Rink-o-Mania? Or Mike flirting with Will in Jonathan's and then his room? Or maybe Mike's triple take in the desert? Here Jason represents the GA, who were oblivious to the boys' feelings but now start noticing them.

By "satanic cults" he refers to Hellfire. The DnD club. And DnD represents Mike and Will's relationships, IT'S THE FACT. Jason compares it to disease. @howtobecomeadragon cracked it right open: D&D - sodomy - Satanic Cults - disease - AIDS.

ritualistic sacrifices = the consequences of forced conformity;

cults = lgbt community/Bylers;

deaease = AIDS crisis;

DnD = Byler relationship;

"And Eddie Manson is the leader of one of these cults."

Who's also called a leader of the party? Mike. Who wants to look like Eddie? Mike. Jason's speech is not only about Eddie, but it's about Mike and his feelings that he's hiding deep inside for a long time. Feelings toward Will.

Jason believes their town is cursed because of Hellfire and some ritualistic shit. In 1x04 Eddie says:

"Society had to blame something. We're an easy target. We're freaks because we like to play a fantasy game. It's forced conforming. That's what's killing the kids!"

And in 9x04 we see this scene. 5 targets with shot heads (= Vecna attacking people's minds). As far as we know Vecna was targeting 4 people in s5: Crissy, Fred, Max and Patrick. Or was there one more person? Mike is Vecna's 5th target. And also the smoke in these scenes looks like the fog we see in Vecna’s visions.

Let's return to Jason's speech. On this note, Erica's lost her nerve. By the way, she also has stars and hearts on her dress during this scene, so the next moments with her are also important.

"A club. A harmless club. That's what they want you to think. But it's a lie. A lie designed to conceal the truth. And now this cult is protecting its leader, Eddie. Hiding him. (Here we see Mike's parents, so these lines definitely refer to Mike) Allowing him to...continue his rampage."

Here Jason represents the homophobes, some of the GA and Milkvans who hate Mike and don't understand his personality, whereas we are protecting him for all costs. And what is a lie designed to conceal the truth? Mike's romantic feelings toward El. Once again, I don't know about the rest of you, but I can't bear to listen to any more excuses and lies. In fact, I think we've all had enough. That's enough.

Again, here he's religious = homophobic. And the Duffers created the paradox in which good=evil and evil=good. Just look. "Evil" is "live" backwards and "Will" is "lliv." Liv means "life" in Scandinavian languages. Will is the one who Mike wants to live his life with. While "good" is "doog" backwards and Mike says to El he's not a dog in Surfer Boy Pizza. That's such a reach but this post is full of crazy shit, we're crazy, so what???????

Okay, okay, okay. I'm gonna be even more delusional. Hellfire. Hell + fire. He'll. Fire. He will. Fire. He. Will. Fire. it's all about Will and fire. And we know about fireballs. Ohhhh, stop me, stop me now.

"We will be implementing a curfew. If you are not in your house after sunset with the doors locked, you'll be written up."

That reminded me of Mike and El in s3 lying about a curfew to the party in order to be kissing in Hopper's cabin (El's house). I'm not sure if there's some connection, but the whole kissing thing was Mike trying to be a normal teenager. Having a girlfriend. Enjoying time with her. While being in the closet (= locked doors). And for some reason we see "will" in italic, why??? And "written up" with all the writing-letters-to-El-and not-to-Will thing. Maybe, Mike is "written up" by El (=from, El) after focusing all his attention on Rink-o-Mania at Will while he was supposed to spend romantic time with his girlfriend.

And this is the following scene. Mike himself confirms Jason's truth. His words just parallel what Jason already said.

Jason: "Last night, I saw things, things I can't explain. Things the police don't wanna believe. And things that I don't wanna believe myself. And I've come to accept an awful truth...Some people say our town is cursed. They just don't know why. Now we know. Now we do." Things = love. Remember that.

Mike: "I know, it's hard to believe. But it's true. All true."

In this scene, the boys are lying to Suzie about Nina Project calling it Nintendo. Wait, wait, wait…Americantendo. Nintendo goes together with DnD in Will's love confession, so it represents Byler's relationship. (I hope you've read it, but leaving the link once more!!!) And really, during their search for Nina Mike and Will open up about their feelings to each other. Mike says they need Americantendo for Dustin's birthday. Can we suppose that we'll see Mike and Will as a couple on Dustin's birthday?

The following scene (wow, three scenes in a row) is with Dustin's, Lucas's and Mike's parents + Holly and Erica coming to Wheeler's looking for the kids. They lied about going to the movie ("What time was the movie?" "Four hours ago.") and Erica exposes their lie while Holly sings "Liar, liar, pants on fire!" Hellfire.

When Dustin's mom questions their involvement with Eddie, Ted says: "I think at this point, anything is possible" and Mr Clarke in s3 says to Joyce: "Once you open that curiosity door anything's possible." Karen answers that their kids aren't murderers and Ted tells this: "Don't put words into my mouth. See, she does that, twists my words." Hmmmmm. Is it a reference to Mike's monologue where he uses the words of others and not his own??? That's smart, that's smart.

+ When Karen is calling the police we see 7 made from the magnets on the fridge.

The following scene is the Hawkins group near Skull Rock aka make-out spot and Dustin realises the compass doesn't work correctly because of the electromagnetic field. The electricity. (I wonder if somebody already spoke about the magnets and compasses because I feel like there's some double meaning there too!!!!)

So, we have scenes with El suffering from her traumatic memories (she blames herself for what she thought she'd done) and Tigers looking for Eddie (who is also blamed for something everyone thinks he's done) going together. And we know that El hasn't killed these kids, the same with Eddie. Both aren't guilty. Vecna is responsible for all those deaths.

And other scenes with Jason go together with the ones with Mike and Will/refer to Mike. The ones with lies and the truth. And there'll be even more in the second post.

On this note I leave you alone with your thoughts, but to see the full picture wait for p.2, which I hope I'll have finished by Monday.

[talesfromthenorsesmouth]

(annoying voice) actually, one of the best things about the Ziggy Stardust album is the lettering

well i like it anyway, I spent ages as a teenager drawing Bowie album covers and I still think the Ziggy font is neat. (Yes, the white dots should be stars, I know, but my brushes are too hairy to allow for that detail, i know, I'm sorry)

more gouache fucking about

[muirneach]

hello, its ur secret rocker santa again!!

for songs that cheer me up i'd definitely say she bangs the drums by the stone roses, its got such good vibes to me. also moonage daydream by david bowie (and like half the songs off that album tbh). as for the best year for music i think personally 1979, so many albums i love came out that year, but 1972 is such a good answer as well!!

today i wanna know: what are your favourite album covers of all time? are there any you think are underrated? and is there an album you really love that's album cover you hate?

yessss ziggy stardust best album everrrr!!

okay!! really really love this question cause i <3 album covers so so much n i think about them a lot. ive even half made an album cover uquiz. i should really make a playlist of my fave covers. so there’s wayy too many to list but off the top of my head: bop till you drop - ry cooder, the last time i did acid i went insane - jeffrey lewis, remember that i love you - kimya dawson, androgyne - gyasi, groovy grubworm - harlow wilcox, pretty much any wilco cover lol, townes van zandt self titled, new skin for the old ceremony - leonard cohen, sweetheart of the rodeo - the byrds, nive sings! - nive nielsen and the deer children, the night the light went on at long beach - electric light orchestra, fear fun - father john misty. and so on and so forth!

as for album covers i dont like. well… there are plenty… i hate to admit this but most of neil young’s album covers across his entire discography (bs and csny etc included) are not very good. i love pony by orville peck but i hate show pony (and honestly most of the songs on that album weren’t great either lol). also the bronco cover was only okay. me n my bestie have a vendetta against pronounced jah-see by gyasi for a myriad of reasons. i’ve never liked tim by the replacements even if it’s one if the greatest albums ever. can’t think of any others but rest assured i am a hater of many <3

[pinemountainobservations]

Observation: RYM Top 100 Album Cover Review #13

The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars by David Bowie

Ziggy ziggy ziggy.

Here we have the first album on this list that I own a vinyl copy of, and another one of my all-time favorite from the years before I was born. This is the birth of one of Glam Rock’s all time great characters, Ziggy Stardust, otherwise known as David Bowie.

David Bowie’s body of work is pretty unmatched in music in my opinion, he’s both one of the most prolific solo artists in any genre and one of the most consistent. This is his first of three perfect albums in my opinion, and while it's not his first studio release overall, it does feel like the moment he really entered his own and became one of the greats. His preceding record Hunky Dory is also pretty good, but nothing else from the Glam Rock era really comes close to Ziggy Stardust for me.

Before I listened to the vinyl that came with my record player, my experience with this album was pretty much limited to its hits. And while “Starman”, “Suffragette City”, and especially “Moonage Daydream” all have very special places in my heart, this album as a whole listen is really special. Bowie here just hits that perfect mark between almost being too corny and over the top, and the instrumentation is just so rocking and experimental and beautiful that he completely blows past goofiness and enters real greatness. I love this album a lot, it can often feel like a cheat code for making me happy, and owning a physical copy is always special.

But again, I’m trying not to talk about the music too much, especially for albums that I’ve listened to a lot and love a lot. So what about that cover?

Well, this is kind of a tough one. As I’ve said, I love this music a lot. But when I think of a visual, this cover doesn’t necessarily come to mind. The color palette definitely does, brown and gold with just a few splashes of vibrant blue and green feel like a perfect fit for the music. But the actual image? I don’t know, it just feels a bit plain for how crazy and conceptual some of these songs are. David himself is definitely the most interesting thing about this cover, his Ziggy Stardust persona makes for a wild and very glam contrast against the moody, grimy backdrop. And I definitely do like that contrast, it just again doesn’t fit amazingly well to the music for me. David Bowie has album covers that I like a bit more, but ultimately I think he as an artist and the music he makes has always been more interesting to me than the visuals that come along with his projects. He’s certainly more interesting than your average solo artist with pictures of themselves on their album covers, and he’s often tries new things with his covers, but they never really hit that peak for me. This one doesn’t feel like it would stand alone as a great piece of art, and it doesn’t fit the music well enough for me to love it. For me, this cover is a solid 6/10, good but never great.

[littlewalken]

Nov 18

Just when you think you have some time at home to do whatever and wait for PACKAGE you get the text that your glasses are ready.

I've been doing well with readers but as it turns out one eye has to be extra fancy and need the next step up from the other eye. I was going to say something about seeing how much a second pair would be but meh, readers will do in a pinch. The first is momentarily covered by my "health plan" until Republicans change that. ~don't write the rest of what you're thinking, just recuse yourself from that argument~

I did discover where the fabric shop keeps the 108" wide fabric so I bought some for the back and boarder of my squares quilt. Without boarders it's 60" x 90" (nice) so it'll be about full sized when finished. Still got to do a bit of sewing on the top to get the squares together then I have to math how wide I want the boarders. I want boarders so when I'm sleeping i'm less likely to touch the squares.

Did do some free writing on one of my story ideas so I could get it out of my head.

Must remind myself no more triangle paper for the Spider-Man thing, it's changing too much.

Trying to decide if I want to rewrite everything that's on the triangle paper altho there's no need because the triangle paper is sturdy and perhaps I'm just wanting to give myself busy work that could be directed elsewhere because I'm depressed and bored.

Will Ziggy Stardust era David Bowie please clear out of the earworm section? My Damned Night of 1000 Vampires is due today and I'd like to make room for Gigolo. That's the show where the Ghoul Dad pictures come from.

[jangofctts]

Really, Truly (Steven Grant (a hint of Marc Spector) x fem!reader)

Rated: Mature, Explicit 18+

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: !!spoilers!!, some fluff!!, smut, explicit language, unprotected sex, cum eating, vaginal fingering, finger sucking, slight praise kink, fucking in the workplace (lmk if I miss anything!)

a/n: im so sorry it’s not my best work um. anyway ENJOY ANYWAY

It’s been four months since you’ve first met Steven Grant.

Not that long in the grand scheme of things, but odd occurrences have a way of drawing people closer. You’d like to think so anyway. Your entire life is chockfull of oddities, far from normalcy—makes for interesting stories though. It’s only right that someone like Steven would wander into your peculiar state of life. 

No really, he did just…wander through your door one evening. Your fault for not locking it, but still. Spooked the fuck out of both of you, so much so that poor Steven thwacked his head into the door frame and nearly broke his nose. You baked him smiley face cupcakes that night, partially as an apology and as a shitty housewarming present. You’re a firm believer of neighbor solidarity, especially with places like this—tacky landlords and shitty amenities. It’s the least you could do for Steven. 

Sadly, you never were a stellar baker—half of them came out charred, and if they weren’t, the mess of melting frosting made the little cakes appear disgustingly malformed. It’s the thought that counts, right?  Steven didn’t seem too flabbergasted about the atrocities—sorta just teared up and mumbled his thanks. Poor guy.   

And that’s not the end of it. Turns out, you work at the same museum and at the same shitty gift shop. Made for an interesting bus ride—he accused you of stalking and tore out of the bus three stops early. Imagine his surprise upon finding you scanning crappy plastic Ennead dolls behind the counter an hour later. Dude nearly had a existential crisis right then and there.  

Things have settled since then. Sort of. Steven isn’t exactly the pinnacle of put together. Mismatched socks, wrinkled shirts and missing buttons, eye bags like two swatches of purple paint, odd nicks and bruises. Not that you’re any better—a scatterbrained insomniac, ex-grad student living paycheck to paycheck in an less than ideal apartment. Birds of a feather and all that, you suppose. He’s sweet though—never fails to give you a call each morning to ask if you’d like to walk together. Your only friend in these trying times.    

It’s why, when he goes missing every now and then, you don’t mind covering his shifts. Donna is none the wiser, or she doesn’t care, as long as someone’s manning the cash register.           

Which brings you to current time. Same as always, Steven calls you, you walk and take the bus to work. Very thrilling.  

As you both come to the top of the steps, you’re greeted by J.B.’s boots, propped up against the counter, engrossed in his phone as usual. Watching clips of otters dive for urchins and cracking them open with rocks, giggling each time they do so. Typical. Makes sense he’d like evil little creatures like that. “‘Ello, Ziggy,” he lifts his eyes, takes account of Steven and dips his head. “Scotty.” 

“Mate, it’s Steven,” he sighs, clearly distressed. You tug on his sleeve on pull him along. His head whips around, eyebrows furrowed as he throws up his hands. “I keep tellin’ everyone it’s Steven.”  

“J.B. still calls me Icky sometimes—or Sticky,” you pause and tap your chin. “That one makes sense though. I had jellybeans stuck in my hair that day.” 

A nickname’s nickname—all because you dressed like Ziggy Stardust once. You’d forgotten about your shift and had to rush to the museum from some upitty Oxford fuck’s halloween house party. You don’t know what’s worse—stuck behind the counter dressed as Ziggy Stardust or the giggling that followed from coworkers and guests alike. 

Whatever.             

“What on earth…why?” Steven exclaims, drawing you back into reality.  

“The jellybeans? Happens.” 

It’s just the way of things. Not the jellybeans thing…but J.B being J.B.. He’ll always be a dickwad and Donna will never bother to learn new hire’s names. It took her nearly a year to learn yours. As long as you get your paycheck, you’re all set. 

And so the shift goes on, dragging into the night and into inventory. You don’t mind this part so much—you don’t have to deal with screaming children and their exhausted parents forking over money for a plushie. Then again, Steven mostly does all the counting and scanning. You just sit on your stool, dig through the baskets and hand him the items—you’re not very good with numbers. It’s quicker this way. And it gives you an excuse to stare at with him without repercussion. 

God he’s fuckin’ gorgeous. Dark curls, tan skin, dreamy eyes and an adorable smile to boot.  

“Ziggy—”        

“Hm? Oh,” you straighten, gather a fistful of magnets and hand them to him. His lips quirk into a quick smile. “Sorry—did you brush your hair today?” 

Steven’s brows furrow slightly. He’s gotten used to your out of pocket observations and the odd questions that follow. You don’t really know why you do it—the words just sorta form and roll off your tongue faster than you can process. Whack shit is what it is. “I think so? Oh dear, does it look that bad, Zig?”

You shake your head and sort through more of the magnets, crinkling the plastic wrap around them. “No, just—I dunno. You had gel in it the last time I saw you. Didn’t know if you were trying something new.” 

Steven scratches his head and flattens the dark curls using an open palm. He chuckles. “Silly—I saw you yesterday! I think I’d know if I gelled me hair.”

“Not true,” you quip, dragging over the box of plush scarab beetles. They are quite cute. “I saw you last night—you asked if I had any change for the payphone outside.” 

Steven’s face morphs into a twisted mask of confusion. “I did? Bloody hell, I don’t remember that, Ziggy. I’m awfully sorry.” 

You shrug. “You sleepwalk, I think. We talk most nights—you always bring me donut holes when you come back.” 

Steven frowns, lovely brown eyes dropping to the scanner. The brief silence is filled with slow, methodical beeps and plastic wrapping, pinched between fingers. You don’t really care if he’s trying to hide something, you know plenty of people who do weird things in their sleep. Like you for example—you don’t sleep at all. “Odd. Thought you didn’t fancy donuts.” 

“I don’t,” you say. “But I do like throwing them at the pigeons—they’re making a nest! Ungrateful buggers, they don’t even pay rent.”            

“You are,” Steven says, bumping your shoulder, “exceedingly strange.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you scoff, throwing up your hands. You swat at his arm. “It’s war at this point—they keep pecking at my window with their weird little beaks. You ever see a baby pigeon? They look fucked up."   

“Maybe if you quit feeding them they’d leave, you nut.”

You purse your lips and hug a scarab to your chest. You’ve stolen about three of them, what’s another one? “Whatever. I hope your flat gets infested.” 

“I’d rather not have an infestation, thank you,” Steven sighs, rubbing at his tired eyes. He waves at another crate. “You mind fetching that one? One more and were done, yeah?” 

You groan and slide off your stool, wincing as your aching feet touch the ground. “Fine.” 

It’s far from fine, actually. 

Because, just as you plant your feet on the ground, you completely space on the mountain of boxes you haphazardly threw behind you earlier tonight. One step back and you’re fuckin’ done for. Your heel catches—you yelp as your stomach flips, succumbing to the mortifying feel of falling ass first. Steven—ever the sweetheart—startles and snatches your wrist. 

It’s too late though. The momentum takes him down with you.  

You wheeze as his weight smacks into you, crushing you against the linoleum tiles. Fuck, he’s heavier than he looks. Luckily, he’s slid his hand up to cradle the back of your head before it smacks against the floor, saving you a trip to the ER.

“Shit,” Steven breathes. He pushes himself up using his other hand, eyes quickly scanning your face for any injury. “You alright, yeah?”

You wouldn’t consider yourself a shy person, or easily embarrassed. However, you’re not immune to the very attractive man atop of you, pressed close enough that you could easily tilt your head and kiss him. You could pretend to shrug your feelings off—pretend that you don’t know that his smile is always a bit crooked, how he likes his tea, sugary and blonde. Or how he holds his hands to his chest and wrings his hands together when he’s nervous—the little scar on his cheek and the freckle above his eyebrow. You should choose ignorance. Heat floods your cheeks as you blink and grasp at words that refuse to form. You hurriedly nod, but make no move to wiggle away.     

He leans onto his elbow still trapped under your head and sweeps a stray hair off your forehead. Your breath catches. “You sure, love?”

Well, that’s new.

Yes, there’s always been some light flirting. Not enough to garner attention but like a breath to simmering embers. Steven has a shy heart, softened and bruised like an overripe peach, and you’re not one to jump blindly into something that could be. But here you are. Steven has tossed you this scrap of kindling, unexpected. Maybe as half a joke, half of something else, and the way he looks at you now whispers possibility. A question.    

“Steven?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I have a crush on you,” it’s an exhilarating moment. A grandiose high that could be kicked into a higher gear or plummet so sharply that your heart shatters as a casualty. Pure relief floods your veins as Steven smiles, one that reaches his eyes and crinkles the skin around them. 

“Really?”

“Really, truly,” you assure, leaning into his fingertips that scrape almost reverently across your cheeks. Impatient, you shoot your hands up, grab him by his cheeks and drag him close. Your lips meet, and yeah, your teeth bump into his but everything fades into hazy bliss, slots together like a missing puzzle piece. Two chaotic halves meshing to create the perfect storm, and you’re at the eye of it. Maybe it’ll leave devastation in it’s wake—you both have the tendency to walk on the wrong side of the street onto oncoming traffic. The ebb to the shore and the hurricane to the sky. A war that can be tipped tot the side by a single breath. You both moan as he parts his lips, tender as honey exploring the taste of your tongue. It’s sweet and addicting— 

His hand tangles into your hair, dragging you so impossibly close, hips slotting between your legs that fall open for him. God, he’s fucking perfect—belongs here with you like this. You get dizzy, pull away and fuck—he’s wrecked. Messy curls, teased by your clawing fingers stick up at odd angles, a rosy flush over his skin. You cup his cheek and he leans into your touch and plants a fleeting kiss over your palm.

His eyes snap wide open, fear crackling over his face. “Oh, fuck me—the surveillance cameras! Donna is gonna kill us for snogging over the merchandise!”

Steven stumbles into a kneeling position, gripping his hair at the roots and muttering curses and wild fears. You snicker and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. You touch your hand over his forearm and he stills. “I know a place we could go—if you wanna continue…”

Steven rolls his tongue over his lips, mulling over your words. His eyes flick to the cameras above the counter, then back to you. Nervousness still lingers in his stiff shoulders and worrying teeth tearing into his lip, but he still nods. Albeit slowly. “You positive we won’t get caught?”

You smile, nod and maneuver yourself to your feet. You take his hand in yours and help him up. You don’t mind that they’re a little clammy. “I promise—it’s where I hide my snacks.” 

It’s a small storage room, down the hall and off to the left. It’s where the extra uniforms and random event supplies is held—unused and always abandoned after the museum closes. No one will come looking. 

“Nice little place. Very cozy—” you don’t let Steven finish, the minute the door snicks shut, you jump his bones. Desperate kisses, clawing at his lose clothes—you feel as though he’s set aflame and he’s the only cure.

You both end up on the floor again with you straddling his lap, his back pressed against the wall. The space is filled by little groans and soft whimpers of your name as his hands traverse up your back, settle on your hips, then move back to your face. Your own hands have made a home over his chest, shirt billowing open by your greedy need to touch his bare skin. He’s a little hesitant to touch you—you know he’d prefer a bed than some crappy storage closet but fuck—you need him.            

And so does he. You can feel the firm bulge pressing between your legs and the way his hips subtly twitch into you. And as the kisses devolve into a wet, lazy pace, his stubble burning the sensate skin of your lips, the ache between your legs becomes unbearable. Your underwear is soaked through and no doubt ruined. Sparks of raw energy, crackles through your abdomen as Steven’s hands fall around your hips, coming you to grind harder onto him. His forehead, humid with perspiration, rests on yours breath fanning over your lips, as you take a breather. 

Steven’s hand drift over the swell of your ass, giving the rounded globes a solicitous squeeze. “You have a nice bum—never got around to telling you that.”

“So do you,” you laugh, dragging your clothed center over the rock solid bulge in his pants. That needs to be fixed immediately. And then a wicked, debased thought slithers into your head.

With a smirk you wiggle out of his grip, and shimmy out of your pants and undies. You’re back before Steven can pout. You resettle over his lap, lean back a little and slowly, enough that its catches his attention, down the line of your body. His eyes are glued to your movements as you dip your hand between your legs. Your fingers spread your lower lips, gliding down easily from your clit to your aching center. A quiet moan bubbles past your lips as your hips rock against the pressure, a gentle back and forth pace meant to coat the digits in your wet heat. You move to circle your clit, drinking in the rapid-fire endorphins singing through your blood. You jump to tease your entrance, clenching in frustration at the loss of contact on your clit. Steven’s hands twitch around your hips, pink tongue flashing out to wet his lips—his flushed cheeks deepen into a rosy brown as you sink two of your fingers, up to the last knuckle, into yourself. 

Steven’s hands clamp around your hips, digging into the little divots on your back, as your head rolls back onto your shoulder. “Shit—you’re stunning.”

Your lips tilt into a lopsided grin. “I know.” 

He huffs at that, still fixed on your fingers that curl in and out of your slick center. Your lower half seizes up as you pull your fingers free from your cunt, glistening and soaked. Steven mutters a curse under his breathe, as you lift your hand higher for him to see. You smile turns wicked. “Open your mouth.”

Steven’s eyes snap to yours. “W-what?” 

“I said,” you purr sweetly as your bring your two fingers to the seam of his plush lips. You touch the pads of them over his bottom lip, delighted in the way a string of your arousal connects to his pouting mouth. “Open your mouth, Steven.” 

His jaw drops without question. Your fingers slide into his willing mouth, slotting over his warm tongue and the soft palette on the roof of his mouth. His moan vibrates through your finger. You shift, grinding your center into the tented front of Steven’s pants. His hips stutter. “Suck.” 

Steven’s eyes flutter as his tongue jumps to action. Wild electricity thrums through your being, impressed how well Steven’s tongue laves and suckles your digits clean—starved for a taste of you. Your breath catches as his dexterous tongue weaves between your fingers, hollows his cheeks and tentatively sucks. Once satisfied, a quiet pop follows the departure of your fingers from his plush mouth. The back of his head bumps the wall, eyes shut tight. “God—I’m going to ruin my trousers if you keep that up, y-yeah?” 

“Hot,” you allow him no respite. You swoop down to kiss him, open-mouthed and syrupy-sweet.Your tongue slides over his, tasting yourself on him—you moan into his mouth. You draw back, lick over his bottom lip and replace it with the sting of your teeth—earning a sharp jolt of Steven’s hips. However, as much as you’d like to witness Steven Grant cumming into his pants, your mind is set upon other activities. 

Decisively, you reach around and pry one of Steven’s hands from your hip. You eyes meet his, irises blown wide with arousal, heavy lidded and bewitched by your very smile.You guide Steven’s hand by the wrist, palm up, to your soaked center. His eyes widen, chin snapping to his chest to catch a better look the moment the pads of his fingers touch the outsides of your folds. “Oh, bless—you’re dripping, Ziggy.”                

You lead his hand to slot against you, his palm a perfect fit cupping your pussy. You roughly grind into his catatonic fingers, eliminating the difficulty of where to start. Fuck, his hands are huge—warm and thick too—your cunt clenches tight, waves of need swelling in your abdomen. You drop your hand guiding his, and sling it around his neck, drawing your lips to his stubbled jaw. You nip at the skin here. “C’mon, Steven…touch me.”           

Steven startles. “Right, right—sorry.”

You feel his throat bob as he swallows. He mutters encouragement to himself and draws in a sharp breath. The first pass of his fingers through you slick folds is crippling. The tip of his thumb slots directly beneath the hood of your clit, and wether that had been dumb luck or an aimed attack, the effects remain the same. You keen and crumple—a feeling akin to a punch to your diaphragm. And it only gets worse—or better—depending on how you look at it. He’s a Grade A, tease. 

And he doesn’t even know it.  

Steven’s mouth parts in awe, breath humid and hot over your exposed chest. His forehead presses into your collarbone to watch his fingers disappear through your swollen folds and remerge drenched. The pad of his middle finger slides lower, pressing gently against the tight muscles of your entrance. He rubs just the slightest bit to test that resistance, and then the length of it eases inside you, tentatively. You thighs twitch on their own volition, your teeth clenching together.

“Fuck, that feels good,” you hiss as he slides it in deeper. Your eyes roll back at the delicious pressure, tugging at his hair when his finger curls up, inspiring the surge of searing pleasure. Steven’s moan filters past his lips, jagged and wrecked as he very carefully moves the digit in and out. The raw sparks of heat threaten to catch flame and burn you alive as your core clenches around his thick finger.

“Yeah?” Steven pants. “Am I doing it proper?” 

You nod and bury your face into the crux of his neck. Your lips attach to the skin here, praising him with soft kisses and lazy passes of your tongue. He stiffens as you smirk and latch your teeth onto him. “More—please, Steven.”  

Steven readily agrees and eases a second finger inside you, letting you feel that delicious stretch as your cunt accommodates him. It’s tighter like this, a perfect angle that allows Steven’s fingers to catch the most sensitive part of you—that and the heel of his palm rocking against your clit. Fuck, you don’t have a chance—you can hear how wet you are for him in the tiny space, drenching his hand in your arousal.

Steven lifts his head, nuzzles into your neck, lips pressed sweetly against your ear. He nips the shell of cartilage and whimpers your name. Your high flares up bright behind your eyes, a hair-trigger reaction that makes everything from your toes and up tighten like a vice. One more thrust of his fingers and rock of his palm, and you’re done for—  

You cum onto his fingers with a choked cry, the edges of your vision fading into spotty blotches of black and white as your back arches. A network of open ended fuses exposed to a current and a body of water implode—sizzling and devastating. You nails harpoon into Steven’s shoulders as he continues to finger you through your orgasm, keeping you from toppling over as you jerk and shiver in his hold. 

You hear his disbelieving laugh above the fuzzy pleasure clouding your brain, marveling at the fact he’s just made you cum Your stomach drops as he pull his fingers free from you spasming hole, accidentally catching your hypersensitive clit. You flinch. “That was bloody wicked,” Steven praises, smoothing a hand up your spine. “Still with me, Ziggy?”

“Ahuh,” you wheeze, recollecting your scattered thoughts and whereabouts. You stamp lazy kisses up the line of his throat, over his check and eventually to his parted lips. You snake a hand between you, smirking as Steven’s breath catches in his chest when you grab at his covered cock. “Do you still want more?” 

“Fuck,” Steven stutters out, squeezing his eyes shut and then open as if to make sure this wasn’t just another one of his waking dreams. “I can never look at this broom closet the same.” 

You snicker and rolls his bottom lip between your teeth. “Our little secret now.” 

He laughs lowly and nods. “You are a terrible influence.” 

You plant a kiss on the corner of his and the touch of your palm slipping into his loose fitting pants. “I know.” 

Need bites at your insides, swells up sharper this time. It’s easy to convince Steven to tug his pants just far enough that his cock can be freed. Fuck, it’s just as gorgeous as the rest of him—flushed a rosy brown, thick and leaking at the wide tip. Steven throws his head bank and clenches his jaw as your curious fingers wrap around his searing flesh. You make a mental note of taking him into your mouth later—fuck he’d look so pretty fucking your mouth—

“Ziggy,” Steven moans, lightly touching the hand that’s jerking him off—slow and methodical. No rush despite the borrowed time. “Please—”  

“Alright, alright,” you sigh, adjusting yourself higher up his lap. One of your hands moves to anchor on his shoulder while the other threads through the thick locks at the back of his head. There’s a few tangles here—nothing that can’t be fixed by a simple comb through. You lift your hips up and tilt them just a bit, just enough to position the tip of his cock at your entrance. You both choke out a groan as you rock your wetness against his rigid length. Steven’s hands clamp down hard over your hips. And then, without much fuss, you bite his neck, reach for his cock to position him at your weeping entrance and slowly start to sink down on him.

A dark current of lust surges up your spine, wicked heat spilling forth and billowing past any comprehensive thought and turning it into mush. You shove your cunt the rest of the way down his thick cock, pressing him up so far up inside that Steven chokes next to your ear.  Fuck, he feels so fucking good from this angle—stretching and filling you in the way your body has so desperately craved since meeting him. You suck in a harsh breath in through your nose and unlatch your teeth from his now bruised skin.  

Steven’s hand shoots up to tangle in your hair, holding your face into the crook of his neck while you right as roll your hips up and clamp down around his. His cock drags deliciously out of your pussy and fuck—your mind crackles as you drop back down onto his lap.

“Oh, Christ,” Steven whines, his other hand squeezes your thigh hard enough to leave a mark.  “You f-feel fantastic.”

You whimper, biting the inside of your cheek head as the head of his cock is pushed up tight against the most sensitive part of you. Wildfire bursts in your lower belly and seeps through your cunt, your hips, and into your upper thighs. Fuckin’ shit—you roughly grind your hips into him as he pushes up, digging your nails into his arm and twisting it into his hair. 

“I wanted this to happen since forever,” you whisper, spiraling into madness from the aching bliss.  “That’s all I think about—fucking you.”

Steven holds you closer and snarls out a curse, his hips jerking up into yours with near bruising force.  “Shit—I—”

You keep going. 

“‘Specially over the counter—I get so bored here,” you moan, moving into his sharp thrusts.  The positioning doesn’t allow for him to do much besides roll his hips in short, stunted movements, but it’s just enough to build your pleasure until it’s bubbling to the top.  “Do you think about me, Stevie?”

“May-maybe,” he hiccups, but it’s way too embarrassed and worked up to be anything close to convincing.  “I-I shouldn’t. Not as much as I do.”

“And you never said anything?”  You pout, breathing hot air onto his neck and riding his cock slow and steady.  You can hear how fucking wet you are.  Your pussy is slick and hot and drenched as you roll your hips up and down on top of him. “I’m not that scary.”

“Shit—you’re—” Steven stammers, tugging a fistful of your hair and fucking up into you as best as he can in this position.  “Donna said—said romantic involvements with coworkers are against policy.”

You nip his earlobe. “I’m your neighbor first—checkmate.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” he says fondly, leading you into a brief kiss. 

Fuck, you like being on top of him like this—reckless and bold and skirting the edge of just plain stupid. Someone might come looking soon, but shit, you’re getting close again. You bite your lip, hips canting into a harder pace, delighted by his sweet moans and carnal need for you. He murmurs your name and you gasp, eyes squeezed shut and just trying to breathe through the flood of arousal that threatens too uproot your entire being.

“Shit, you feel good, Steven,” you say, carding your fingers through his hair. “S’good—keep going—that’s it.”

Steven makes a near pained, ragged gasp of a sound—one that sears right into your memory with no hope of ever shaking it. Everything pulls up hot and tight, settling low and as you start to grind down hard on him. Fuck, you’re almost there—

And then something shifts—you don’t know how to explain it really— a subtle change in the way he holds himself and draws his shoulders back. An air of confidence normally absent from Steven’s relatively meek nature. A wicked gleam that sparks behind those warm, brown eyes that always remind you of the countryside—endless summers and the honey-golden light of sunsets through one of those kaleidoscope sticks.      

You’re flipped so quickly that the world spins, leaving you dizzy and scrambling for a foothold. Damn your low iron. Your back slams into the tiled floor, his thick arms shoving up under your legs and positioning your hips over his thighs. And then he starts fucking you—really fucking you.

It’s fucking crippling. The new angle and brutal speed is like a chain reaction of powder kegs to a lighter. All you can do is dig your nails into his arms and sob for him, arching and blankly staring at the patchy cement ceiling, letting his hips collide roughly with yours as he fucks you down hard into the linoleum tiles—you’re gonna have bruises on your ass.

His mouth is at your neck as he mutters darkly against your throat, his clipped accent devolving into a near unfamiliar scrape. It could be a trick of the mind, and frankly you don’t care. You squeak as his hands dig into the flesh of your ass.  “Fuck, Ziggy—you like this?”

“I’m—” you gasp, eyes screwing up as your wrestle with words.  “Ye-yes.”

“You’re making me a fuckin’ mess, love,” he growls. “Did I make you this wet?”

He’s hard and throbbing, imbedding his claws into your very soul and dragging you though cloud nine. You’re ears start to ring—so fucking close to the edge and begging for him to finish you off. 

“You’re heaven,” he snarls. He drops to his elbow, shifting his weight so he can reach between your legs. You cry and jolt into his fingers as the slip between your lips and easily finds your swollen clit. 

Your lungs tighten to the point of limiting your breaths to patchy gasps.  “Steven—close.”

He murmurs your name and rubs tight circles over your clit, pounding directly where you need him too. Your eyes roll back, spine suddenly goes rigid.

“Fuck—I’m cumming,” you whine, frantic and rushed, breathless as you claw at his shirt and exposed chest.  Everything pulls up sharp and burning, your cunt squeezing around his cock like a vice.  “Steven—”

“Fuck, yes—” he gasps, “—shit, let me f-feel you—”

Steven keeps babbling, but it’s all fluff by this point. Your pulse roars in your ears, body locking down so fucking tight around him hat you’re afraid something might snap. Steven keeps fucking you as your orgasm rips through you with such force that your voice warbles, the blaze of white hot bliss picking you apart stitch by stitch. Steven rubs your clit, pines your hips with his own and pistons inside of you—throwing you to a raw plane of explosive pleasure. His head drops to your shoulder, muttering filthy praise you’d never think someone like Steven would ever think to say—

You cry his name, repeating it over and over like a mantra, breathlessly in time with his ruthless thrusts. One more roll of his hips and pass oof his fingers and you’re gone. Your hand clenches around his hair as sparks of blurry white alight behind your eyelids, back arching off the floor and into his chest. Steven fucks you through your orgasm, even as you squirm and shake in his firm hold. Ecstasy implodes behind your eyelids as heat, hotter than wildfire spreads from your center all the way up your stomach and down to your toes. 

“Ziggy,” he breathes, “almost there—”

Three more rough, bruising thrusts, and he’s cumming inside you, painting your insides with his warm spend. His sweet, gravelly moan echoes in the small space and Jesus Christ—you’re dizzy. He pants against your neck as he leans his full weight over you, arms snaking under your back to hold you close. You can feel his heart like this, thrumming wildly in his chest. You thread your fingers through his hair, gently carding through the frazzled knots of your frantic pulling. The silence that follows swells with petrichor and flower petals that glow white in the pale light of moon—he smells like old books and Irish Spring—a new comfort.   

“Steven?” 

“Hm.”

“Can you hand me that bag of crisps—yeah, right by that shelf.”         

What’s better than this? Spicy crisps and orgasms. Though, hopefully next time you do this, it’s on a bed.  

[dinitride-art]

to be clear i am not at all serious about this, but i went into a deep dive into the playlists (inconclusive but i had fun so-) and this is what i have done. the numbers are the song number in their playlists. 

I also have no idea if this has been done or not. Like the playlists are from 2017 so I’m assuming so? but idk. anyways this was fun, thought i’d share. I bolded my favourite ones (also the most cohesive ones)

1. Small town boy, should I stay or should I go now?

2. Always there to remind me; walk on the wild side. 

3. I can’t hear you, she blinded me with science.

4. Stuck in the middle with you; I ran (so far away). 

5. I’m still standing in the face of evil. 

6. Hold on- a real hero. 

7. Mirror in the bathroom, still haunting me.

8. When love breaks down every breath you take.

9. Love is stranger under cover of darkness.

10. Radio, radio; beta girl lost in forever.

11. Don’t you want me? Upside-down and inside out. 

12. teenage kicks, staying alive. 

13. Ghostbusters, don’t you (forget about me).

14. Icky thump, running in the night.

15. Destination unknown? I won’t back down. 

16. Something about you (7 version) searching the blue. 

17. Are friends electric? You don’t mess around with Jim. 

18. Slug song, if you leave. 

19. You spin me round (like a record), run for cover.

20. Cars, under pressure. 

21. You really got me afraid of everyone. 

22. It’s my life, living on a prayer. 

23. Space age love song, out of breath.

24. My generation; vale of shadows. 

25. Dead of night; cold, cold, cold.

26. Start me up a victory of love. 

27. Dark days, mad world.

28. Another one bites the dust. What is love?

29. Howlin’ for you, spirit of the night.

30. Telephone operator, don’t stop believing.

31. Hand on a gun, another brick in the wall.

32. Blue Monday, creature comfort. 

33. Don’t you want me free falling? 

34. Danger zone, after hours run. 

35. Drawing board, too shy. 

36. Carry on wayward son, no other way. 

37. Machine age voodoo, beat the devil’s tattoo. 

38. Everyday is Halloween, breath in (the air). 

39. Echo home, make no mistake. 

40. Ziggy stardust, shake your molecules.

41. Come a little closer? Run away.

42. War; sympathy for the devil. 

43. It’s up to you now, if you leave.

44. How do you like me now, night crawler?

45. Blue veins, let’s cruise. 

46. (Don’t fear) the reaper, be afraid. 

this is some form of poetry. i can feel it. Mash song titles together and think- poetry. Some of these are pretty cool

[dylanlila]

top five cass blackwood and the cabin band live performances AND top five cass blackwood outfits <3

HELLOOOOOOO <3

live performances:

OPHELIA PERFORMANCE (YBAGG TOUR!!!!) she just... decides to lie there on the stage mid-performance and... the band is playing without her and then the audience starts singing the words and they are throwing flowers at her... (this becomes a theme with her shows... everyone brings flowers, it first started with remedy for the make-believers) and then the band members stop playing and they arrange the flowers around her all while she lies perfectly still... if i think about it too much, i'll CRY (inspired by this)

the cabin band never plays the same instruments when they perform, like nobody has their instrument... and it's freedom, but it's also the state of being nameless... all this to say that i will FOREVER cherish that night when they all stop playing to switch their instruments and Amy lets Pandora be the frontman for one track (After Hours VU inspired because this is me <3)

GET OUT OF MY HOUSE COVER!!!!! THEIR KARMA POLICE!!!!!

I HAVE TO BRING 12 AND HIS MUSIC SHOP INTO THIS BUT!!!!! You know how I always say that 12 is an ode to Amy... well I like to think that in the musician!Amy universe, it's reverse... she's Bowie, he's David Jones... whenever she performs Space Rockstar my soul leaves my body, but this particular performance is like the last Ziggy Stardust show... (it's in Leadworth... it's not a garden-cemetery... the stage is set up at the exact same place where the music shop used to be..... (...no one was ever able to build anything there...)

I'm always on board when it comes to their Unrelated Media Interludes... remember that time when they turned Mad Girl's Love Song into a 20 minute play of sorts...

outfits (it's literally Hayley + Ryan + 70s!David + Joan):

THIS THIS THIS THIS THIS THIS THIS

MILF sunglasses + sunflower vest

BLOOD SOAKED WEDDING DRESS + CONVERSE + TOP HAT + MISS WORLD PAGEANT SASH + BOW-TIE + LAB COAT... No Doctors, No Nurses.......... this is probably my favourite one actually...

most beloved <3

SHE'S A PARAMORE GIRLIE <3 (she makes a way better 11 than 11 does ;)

JOAN JETT JACKET + these pins

that's six but oh well who cares <3

put “top 5” anything in my ask and i will answer ok go

[theeangeleudaku]

Punch, Drunk, Love: The Story of Ayan & Noah

It was on the day of her 18th birthday that Somalia born Ayan Samira Abdul would be discovered by american photographer Alex Ritts while walking down the streets of Paris, France. It was only a day later, a mere two hours after phoning her parents back home in Egypt where her family moved when she was 8 years old, that she had become an orphan. Her parents, a diplomat and a retired teacher respectively, had been killed in a car accident. There’s nothing like getting both the best and worst news of your life within a 24 hour timespan to completely change a person forever. In a matter of two weeks, Ayan would bury her parents and move across the globe to New York City. She decided that if she were to survive & thrive, the best thing she could do is assimilate as much as possible while keeping her Somali accent. She even went to the extreme of dropping her muslim faith and name, going simply by Ayan. She knew her accent would make her appear more exotic than African American women to all of those white photographers, agents, & designers, which in turn would keep her booked, busy, & paid. If she was going to be fetishized, it would be on her terms.

Ayan ended up being correct in her assessment. Within her first month of living in NYC, she was featured in Vogue. Within a year’s time, she became the muse of many prominent designers including Gianni Versace, Donna Karen, Calvin Klein, Yves Saint Laurent, and Thierry Mugler. If there was a fashion magazine, Ayan would be on the cover. Commercial print work? Ayan was always the token, black hire. Love interest in a music video? If a white woman wasn’t getting the job, she was. She was on top of the world & soon she’d be head over heels in love too.

It started off as a tryst in one of the bathroom’s of Paisley Park while Prince was playing Gett Off with the New Power Generation in the summer of 1991. Ayan was high from snorting a line of cocaine with her model friends. Her lover, known to the world as one word: Bowie, was drunk and sweaty after having ten shots of vodka straight. One minute they were dancing together, the next, Ayan was pushed against a wall while Bowie had two long fingers stroking her deep in her pussy while her dress was hiked up to her slim waist. Eventually they stumbled into a bathroom where they had sex: hard, fast & passionate. What Ayan thought would be a one night stand with a rockstar would turn into much more.

Bowie was a white passing creole born & raised in the city of New Orleans. He was raised in Uptown where he would attend a catholic private school until he graduated from ED White High School with honors. At 18, he decided to backpack across Europe, and it was during this time that he would form the band known today as Ziggy Stardust after a spontaneous jam session with a random group of men at a pub in Germany.

The morning after Ayan & Noah’s first night together was filled with a hearty breakfast cooked by her lover, who’s real name she’d learned was Noah Heath Duplessis, and ended with a sweet kiss that left Noah begging & pleading for more. Within 6 weeks, Ayan and Noah would be engaged. Three months after that, on September 7, 1991, Ayan had married every white girl in America's dream man in the city that started it all for her, Paris, France.

The first two years of their marriage was a high….. literally. Ayan decided to travel with her rockstar beau as he toured the world with his band. While Noah worked with a sober mind during the day, once show time came, everything would become a drugged filled, sex pit of a wild party. She was living the life as a rockstar’s wife, and unapologetically so. It wasn’t until she was nearly sexually assaulted by Bill Cosby at a New Year’s Eve party in 1992 that Ayan & Noah would have a wakeup call & get sober. Their timing couldn’t be more perfect, because on March 30, 1993, they found out they were having a baby.

“I think we should retire, habibi.” Ayan spoke softly as she lay in her husband’s arms. They had only just finished having celebratory sex in their NYC highrise love nest. They couldn’t be more excited about the fact that their love for each other had been expressed in physical form through a child. The two of them were still panting and sweating from the physical exertion their love making always entailed as Ayan spoke.

“Retire? As in….” Noah asked.

“As in I quit modeling & you leave your band.”

“Where is this coming from, chérie?”

“Hollywood is too toxic of an environment to raise a family in. I want to give our child as normal of a life as possible.” Ayan said as she softly rubbed circles onto Noah’s naked chest. “Let’s leave it all behind and raise our family in New Orleans. Hell, I’ll even convert to catholicism.”

Noah let out a hearty laugh. “Converting to a new religion is a bit extreme don’t you think?” He said before kissing Ayan’s forehead. “Besides, I’m only a practicing catholic during Mardi Gras & Lent.”

“When have I ever not been extreme, Noah?” Ayan deadpanned.

“You’ve got a point there, baby.” Noah said with a chuckle.

A peaceful silence fell over the two as they continued to lay on their California king sized bed. The lights of the neighboring highrises twinkling through their bedroom window, casting a blue glow on their skin.

Finally Noah gave his answer. “If this is really what you want, then let’s do it. We can lay down some roots at my house in the Garden District. Let’s give our daughter a normal childhood.”

“Excuse me,” Ayan spoke with an attitude as she lifted her head off of Noah’s chest. “How do you know I’m not carrying a baby boy in my womb? I could be pregnant with a warrior prince for all you know.”

“I think you’re pregnant with a warrior alright, but our cher bébé is a little princess. I’m certain of it.” Noah said matter of factly.

“I tell you what, if it’s a girl, I’ll let you name her.”

“Great, Angèle Duplessis it’ll be then.”

“You already have a name ready to go?!” Ayan said in surprise.

“It was my great grandmother’s name, the first of our family tree to be born free from slavery.” Noah said softly.

“Shit, I can’t even make fun of the name now. You would have some deep reason for it. You always have to be all “power to the people” because you look like a white man.”

There was a pregnant pause before Ayan let out a shriek of surprise. Noah had given her three harsh slaps on her ass in retaliation against what Ayan said. “Hey, I’m pregnant now you rajul fazie! No more kinky shit for the next 8 months!”

“No kinky shit? You won’t be saying that in the next 5 minutes, my sweet.” Noah said huskily, his eyes glazed over in lust. He flipped the two of them over and quickly went to work on top of her.

On November 17, 1993, 6 months after moving to New Orleans, Angèle Lianne Duplessis was born. Ayan quickly adjusted to Louisiana living, & true to her word, converted to catholicism. Four years after giving birth to Angèle, the couple welcomed another baby girl they named Tyla Giselle Duplessis.

As far as their careers are concerned, Ayan and Noah were both able to rebrand rather successfully as a wholesome, family oriented couple who found success as entrepreneurs. Ayan got inspired during her pregnancy with Angèle to create her own makeup line after years of having to make her own mix of foundation with makeup artists to match her skin tone during her modeling career. Ayan Cosmetics would be a huge success and by 1996 the company was worth $300 million dollars, which was unprecedented for the time. As for Noah, he created his own brand of guitars he named after his stage name, Bowie. Eventually the company expanded to over 15 different instruments. The most expensive instrument he ever sold? A custom made Bowie piano made of solid rose gold and acrylic for $300,000. In the present, the couple are worth a staggering $1.8 billion together. Suffice to say, Ayan did exactly what she set out to do on the fateful day her parents died.

[rhiawriter]

The Writers Ch. 11 Snippet

She flies out to meet him in Cleveland for his Ohio portion of his book tour. It’s one of his rare trips that extends to the weekend, and she’s just submitted her latest article, so she flies to Ohio. He picks her up at the Cleveland airport on a Friday afternoon.

“First time in Ohio?” he asks.

“No way,” Rory shakes her head. “I spent lot of time here when I was covering the Obama campaign. But all we did was go to rallies and events and then write in our hotel rooms.”

“Ever been to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame?” Jess asks.

“Never,” Rory says. 

Jess drives them there. It’s a hulking building made of glass and metal that sits by the lake. They wander the halls, looking at Michael Jackson’s glove, and Prince’s guitar. The exhibits are shiny with lights flashing and huge posters everywhere. 

“It’s cornier than I thought it would be,” Jess says.

“What did you think it would be like?” Rory asks.

“I dunno,” Jess says. “Cool?”

“This thing is, what’s less rock & roll than a museum.”

“Truth.”

“Did you ever play?” Rory asks as Jess lingers over an exhibit of Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust costumes. “You love music.”

“I know,” Jess says. “But we never had any money for instruments. And when I was in my twenties and could buy my own, I was surrounded by real musicians, and it was too intimidating.”

“You should take up guitar!” Rory says.

“I think it’s a bit late for me to become a rockstar, don’t you think?” Jess asks.

“You can be anything you want to be in the safety of your own living room,” Rory says. “Oh my god.” She grabs his hand and drags him over to the Springsteen display. There’s a big poster of the album cover of Darkness on the Edge of Town. Springsteen looks straight at the camera, his hair gelled in a wild pompadour, his eyes full of angst. “I never realized just how much young Jess was trying to look like young Springsteen.”

“Hey, that album spoke to me ok. The boss understood my daddy issues.”

“So you decided to cosplay as him?’

“You didn’t seem to have any complaints about my look at the time.”

“No,” Rory kisses him. “You were hotter than him though.”

“What?” Jess steps back offended. “No way! Rory, that’s The Boss. He’s sacred.”

“And you’re more beautiful.” She corners him into another kiss, which he accepts. Then he slings his arm around her muttering, “Blasphemy,” under his breath.

Read The Writers on Ao3.