#david bowie (brief mention)

[taiso]

a Rarotongan Express article, detailing filming conditions between late August and early September in anticipation for the (then upcoming) release of Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence (1983).

Clipped from a 1982 issue of Soundall Magazine, scanned from my personal collection ^^

[karmilleryn]

So I’m visiting Australia right now(!!! - I live in the US), and in a tea shop, which already feels very Henry, I saw these greeting cards all together on a stand, and it felt like a cluster of Henry cards 😂

With the bottom one being David (extra funny since his namesake is on one too) and Mr. Wobbles… I went back and checked the book, and Mr. Wobbles was really a Siamese cat, not a ginger, but still! Lol

(In a sweets store in the same area, I also saw Jaffa Cakes, which are obv very Henry too, but I didn’t think to snap a pic lol)

[whosjunglejim4322]

Reconcile- E.M (S)

Smut!, fluff because uhm how could I not, angst! cause you guys are pent up from stress and this is basically a make up sex fic teehee, mentions of weed, brief arguing, Y’all just desperate and gross, Eddie fucks you till you cry and talks you through it like the slut he is, he cums inside of you, makes sure to fuck all that attitude away, PUSSY EATING, very graphic descriptions of passionate n nasty intercourse

You hadn’t foreseen this happening.

Sure, you and Ed’s have gotten into little disputes before. Petty, insignificant quarrels about whether or not the other person actually took out the garbage or who would pay next date night. Two years is still short to some, for you and Eddie it felt like forever and yesterday all in the same universe. Heavenly, and mundane.

But this is a different beast all together. This morning makes day two that you two have had this weird, suffocating energy between both of you. The antagonist of this situation, is undoubtedly the conversation that was had at Steve’s weekend hangout.

A few hits from a joint, a shot or two of tequila and goofy sentences being passed around between two best friends. You and Robin being the spectators, content in your own little bubble, puffing on a spliff of your own. Heavy, fluffy blankets kept you warm, gave you weight to lean on when your head began to feel like it might float away.

The Christmas lights and the hum of the deep freezer in the corner of Steve’s basement almost distracted you completely in your haze, until it didn’t. Until Chrissy Cunningham came up. Until it was an innocent giggling fit about whether or not Chrissy ever had a crush on Eddie, the oxymoron in and of itself.

“Imagine that ever happening,” Steve chuckled, lightheartedly, taking a sip of his Diet Pepsi. “can’t say I can’t see it. She wanted you for sure, dude.”

Your ears twitched. Eyes thinning into inquisitive slits. Nothing about Steve’s tone was meant to be rude, or disrespectful, but the nature of the comment itself felt awkward and uncomfortable underneath your skin.

You almost turned your attention back to the Walkman blasting David Bowie. Almost.

“I saw her the other day, she came in for an oil change. Honestly, I never would’ve even thought she wanted me,” Eddie takes another rip of his bong. “But then she asked me if I do at home visits. Said she wanted to catch up with me.”

Maybe your reptilian brain overreacted. Or, maybe it didn’t. Honestly, you don’t blame yourself completely for the way you reacted after that statement. Nothing else he said after that mattered. All you could hear was your heartbeat in your own ears. Loud, thunderous

“I told her I wouldn’t do that, obviously.”

White noise.

And not only were you intoxicated, but you were already burnt out from work and school, touch starved from not having any time with your boyfriend as of late. A period of your current reality that you know will pass as all things do in life; but it was too much. This hangout was supposed to be somewhat intimate, something for you to both do together. A simplicity that normally wouldn’t even have to be mentioned. You and Eddie exist on the same axis.

The blanket became too heavy and the smoke in the room threatened to choke you further. You all but threw the fluffy cover off of you and stormed out. You heard Robin call after you, and Eddie. A pair of voices that meshed together like the drum line in a song that is so in sync with the guitar chorus that you can barely decipher it. The steps spin, but you manage to stay upright.

Cold November air chilled your face, your neck. You too a deep breath in while marching to the van parked just a few feet away on the newly slabbed pavement of Steve’s home. His parents are at their lake house so often that Steve claims their Hawkins residence as his own.

Predictably, a heavy thump of boots followed closely behind you. The scrape of worn soles and the squeak of an old leather jacket. A billow of smoke follows him, clings onto him like jasmine and rosemary to the freshly bathed. Your back felt like the warning signs at a crossroad. He felt helpless.

“Baby, hey,” he sounded breathless, desperate and confused. He’s never seen you so upset that you’d just walk out unprompted. “stop walking god dammit, please.”

You stopped reluctantly, the tears of frustration in your waterline blurring your vision of the violet, cloudless skyline. A wide, warm palm touched your shoulder and the heat seared you even through your hoodie. You flinched away instinctively, sore in your limbs from your own concoction of emotions. When you met his eyes, they were wide. Like a deer staring down the barrel of a gun in its own home.

Your face must have been something to see. A scowl, a mirror of sadness reflected in his umber eyes. Angry. He’d never seen you look at him that way. It felt like having his intestines twisted between two cold hands.

“You didn’t tell me that happened.”

You stated it plainly, but spitefully in nature. Your voice cracked and it made a brewing tear spill over your waterline and down the plump of your cheek. He had the overwhelming urge to comfort you, but knew he couldn’t. Knew you would likely flinch away like you did five seconds ago and he didn’t think he would physically be able to bear you trying to get away from him again.

He didn’t exactly know what was making you so upset. The conversation wasn’t anything he wouldn’t have said in front of you, which is why all of it was said in front of you. Perhaps his own intoxication made it hard to fully understand the velocity of his words, what they meant and how they could’ve been interpreted from your point of view.

“I didn’t think it was important.” His thick brows scrunched and deepened the wrinkle between them. You looked like your eyes might bulge out of your head.

You nearly choked on your own spit, the words to your reply getting caught square in the middle of your throat; and so you said nothing. You stepped forward, and then past him. And he realized too late that you were walking away from him.

“I’m gonna ask Steve to take me home.”

He was too stunned to speak. To react. To stop you, to plead for you to tell him what he did wrong. Or at least how to fix it. He felt himself crumble on the inside, like his bones were made of ash.

When he got back to the trailer that night, you weren’t there. And that’s when it all really set in. That he fucked up. For the past two weeks you’ve been here with him, playing house while Wayne caught a gig further up north. He thought, he thought that when you said home, maybe you meant here. With him.

He called that night, almost ten times. You answered on the eighth.

“I’m at my apartment Ed’s, I’m fine. I don’t want to argue, or talk. I just need to be by myself right now.”

He felt paralyzed by the pang in his chest. More so, he felt angry. Genuinely angry, and not just at himself, but selfishly, at you.

“Fine, glad you’re safe.”

He nearly broke the fucking landline.

Your eyes have to adjust to the brightness of your living room. Well, your bedroom, slash living room, slash kitchen. A studio in Hawkins is relatively affordable, but they aren’t lying when they say it’s a studio. The events from yesterday scream in your head instantly, along with the pounding of your pulse. Your bed is almost unfamiliar at this point, the blankets not worn enough, the sheets the scent of fresh dryer sheets instead of you and Eddie’s shared scent.

The beeping of your answering machine pulls you back down to reality, though not one you want to participate in currently. Unfortunately, you have no other choice.

They’re all from Eddie of course, and now that you’re not high you feel those wounds from the night before coming back, sticking you in the chest, ribs, liver. Along with the pain, you feel guilty. For your less than mature reaction. Though you know you can’t blame yourself, not having ever been in that situation. You’re human and reacted as so. But he’s your Eddie.

You listen to the last message, sent twenty five minutes ago.

“I’m coming over in thirty minutes, I don’t care if you don’t want to see me. We are going to talk this out. I love you.”

You huff in frustration, though you can’t say you aren’t relieved. Relieved that he’s coming, that he’s not giving up over some quarrel about Chrissy Cunningham. You have a tendency to think the entire world is caving in around you upon one minor inconvenience. This disruption in your daily routine feels like Armageddon.

You have time to brush your teeth and rinse the remaining paste off of your mouth before your front door opens. If you didn’t recognize his footsteps so well, it might be off putting to have someone just waltz into your home.

The bathroom door is open, so he spots you immediately, slipping off his worn in boots and placing them beside the door. He takes his leather jacket off and puts it over the stool that sits at your kitchen island. It makes your face hot, still. The ease in which you two have melded into each others lives. Even if you’re angry at him.

“I don’t know what to say, Ed’s.” It’s a lie. You walk past him to the kitchen and open the fridge, hiding from his gaze as you pretend to search for something. He clears his throat and you reluctantly close the refrigerator door, staring at the floor and backing yourself against the sink.

“I just - you’ve never left. Without telling me. Or talking to me. And, fuck I-“ he’s stammering already, taking steady breaths and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t think I had to tell you about an insignificant interaction with Chrissy Cunningham.”

You scoff, although it’s more of a giggle. And he looks at you like you’ve just lost your mind. Rare, for Eddie Munson to think someone else has lost their mind.

“Well you and Steve sure seemed to enjoy talking about it. You both were pretty giddy discussing whether or not Chrissy wanted to, or, sorry -“ you’re being defensive. Rude. You can’t help it. “wants to fuck you. Why would I want to hear about that? Why would I want to hear you guys talk about whether or not you both can see you and Chrissy together? Does that not sound incredibly fucked up, Ed’s?”

So much for not talking. Now it’s spilling out like a cracked flower vase. Your chest is heaving rapidly, face and body hot with anger. Your arms are crossed across your chest, a protection against whatever it is he might say, despite the fact that you’re the one who’s being rhetorical.

He shoves his ringed fingers into his hair, scratching his scalp and pulling lightly at the roots as he closes his eyes, contemplating. Seeing things through your eyes, attempting to. He winces.

“That’s not what we were trying to say,” he bites his cheek. “I mean I know it doesn’t matter what we were trying to say, the conversation shouldn’t have happened, but I can’t take it back. For fucks sake.”

He’s murmuring to himself, rubbing his rough palms over his tired face. He’s wearing one of your favorite tee shirts of his to steal. Iron Maiden. The sleeves are short enough to reveal the splattering of ink that crawls up his biceps. When his muscles move underneath his skin, the ink moves with them. It’s captured your attention suddenly, and now you’re raking your eyes over his entire figure.

Familiar black sweats cling onto his lower half. They fit perfectly on his lithe waist, loose on the rest. Except for his ass. He has a really cute ass. And these sweats specifically accentuate the shape before billowing down his thighs.

“Baby? You with me?”

The low timbre of his voice shakes you from your reverie. You’ve simmered off, the anger replaced with a different heat. It’s been too long since the two of you have just been together, this fight might be the most communication you’ve had in the past week due to your jobs, and school. Or the worries of the world, the overwhelming need to sleep when you aren’t working, to work when you aren’t sleeping.

You’ve forgotten about each other. Briefly, but not inevitably. Never that. You feel like you may collapse.

“I’m- yeah I’m with you.”

You let out a sigh, uncrossing your arms. You look and sound as defeated as you feel. He can’t pretend to not have noticed your silky, thin sleeping gown, but he is just a man. And your nipples are hard underneath the garment and he has never not thought you’re one of the most beautiful creatures he’s ever seen. You haven’t worn it in a while, preferring his clothes to sleep in since you’ve been staying with him. He missed seeing you like this.

He steps closer. Tentatively, afraid you might run away from him. You sense his hesitancy and a piece of your heart breaks, the piece where he lives. You meet his eyes, silently inviting him, glancing from his mouth then back up to his softening gaze. You watch his Adam’s Apple bob in his throat.

“I’m sorry.” He says, earnestly. His hands threaten to tremble when you reach out and grab them, heavy in your own. He hovers above you the closer he gets, your limbs connecting in a symbiotic way. One you feel the others skin, you can’t get away from it. Not until you’re pressed together, belly to belly, your chin tilted upward.

“You - ugh.” You can’t get words out anymore. They dissolve in your larynx and your head falls, the need to cry or scream or kiss him an overwhelming choice.

“I know baby, I know. I’m sorry.” He pats down your hair, rough thumbs caressing the softness of your cheeks. He pulls your face upwards again, staring down at you with regret, adoration, hunger.

“I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have just left.”

He leans closer, till you smell the coffee on his breath and the hazelnut creamer alike. Your noses bump and rub against the other, his thick eyelashes fanning across his own cheekbones - casting a fluttery shadow.

“It’s okay now. We’re okay now.” He says it softly, just between the little space left between you two. “Let me take care of it. Please.” He closes the gap.

Some people assume it’s not supposed to feel as good as it does, kissing someone who’s lips you’ve mapped out like an atlas. That couldn’t be further from the truth, because kissing Eddie feels like being consumed.

And not just metaphorically, because it’s evident in the nips to your bottom lip, the sucking of your tongue whenever he feels it lick his teeth; that your small period of separation, and longer period of not having indulged each other, has weighed heavily on him as well. He’s starving.

You’re overtaken within seconds by the veracity of his mouth, your fingers taking purchase in the curls at his crown. Smacks and kisses and wet noises fill the small space, and the center of your stomach swells with a simmering heat. A reminder of how neglectful you both have been. Your nipples harden against him, as his dick twitches between his legs.

You feel nervous. Tentative. Excited.

His hands implore you like a new discovery, grasping at your back, and then down the sensitive slopes of your sides and over the plushness of your hips. Through the silky nightgown the sensation is riveting, enough to drive a person insane. You arch against him, and a whimper escapes your mouth into his throat.

“Mmm, mhm.” He groans.

“Eddie,” it’s a cry, wanton sound that makes him rut himself against you instinctively. Anything to relieve you. Anything to relieve himself. “baby.”

He smiles against your mouth, pecking it a few times before departing only for a second to see your kiss bitten lips, his and your spit coating your mouth. Your blown out pupils. He mirrors your appearance, like a wild creature.

“Never again,” his index fingers knuckle strokes the inside of your thigh, and you shudder, holding onto his broad shoulders for an anchor. You separate your legs without thinking. “we will never go through this again. I’m gonna make sure of it.”

Three knuckles stroke your pubic mound, then down your covered slit where dampness threatens to leak. Your fingernails grip his shirt, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted in anticipation. He’s so warm, so palpable. You want him to bury himself inside of you.

He’s in front of you, and then he’s not. You blink, and hair tickles your thighs like you’re frolicking through an overgrown field. Strong, rough hands lift the delicate silk of your nightie until it’s being bunched between ringed fingers above your navel. He’s on his knees, devout for you.

You gasp when his tongue broadens against your center. Your panties are just enough barrier to make you wanna cry out in desperation, while also offering enough sensation to not dare stop for even a moment to pull them off. You’re at his mercy. Or is he at yours? Neither of you know anymore, and it’s not important.

Not when he gets a taste of you. Not when he peers up at you between lust sodden lashes and sees you looking down at him like you’re about to crumble. Your knees shake and he bunches the nightie in one fist instead of two, placing his free hand on the back of your thighs to steady you while he soaks your underwear with the spit from his tongue.

The shape of your slit and the plump lips around it begins to show its phantom form through the material from the soaking. He sucks, prods with the tip of his wet muscle.

“Ed’s, fuck.” Your voice is so weak. His cock weeps in his sweats, dribbling with copious amounts of precum. It’s torturous to not touch himself but he’s too focused on watching you, pleasing you. You hums against your mound, mocking you.

He pulls the elastic to the side, not patient enough to take them off all the way. You get to see his face for a split second, cherry red cheeks and a messy halo of hair and stubble on his chin. And then, you feel it.

His nose keeps your lips separated, his tongue already splayed against the soft, sensitive flesh between them. You’re slick and sticky and coating the lower half of his face, though you have trouble grasping onto the helms of reality when he’s licking your pussy like this. He shakes his head from side to side, tongue still flat until he’s spreading your thighs farther, so that he can lick your honey from the source.

“Hold it.” He mumbles, struggling to hand the falling material of your night gown to your shaking hands, though you get the memo when it threatens to cover his head completely. You use one hand to hold it, and the other to tug at his hair.

You can barely hear anything another than the sloppy wetness of his mouth working on you, and the sound of your own heartbeat, but you’re sure you’re whining. You can feel the rawness of your throat as you let your head fall back and cry to the ceiling, feeling the need to tear up.

You grip the roots of his locks, rocking against his mouth like you’ve got no other choice. He hums, encouraged by every squeak and moan that comes out of you, by every drip of your cunt and tensing of your muscles.

He doesn’t care that your thighs are squeezing around his head, or that you can barely hold yourself together. You’re using his face like second nature and his cock weeps in his pants. He feels himself throbbing in tandem with the pulsing of your hole around his tongue.

Then he pulls your lips apart with his thumbs, revealing the pink bud that resides underneath your hood, suckling and coating it with enough spit to drip onto the floor.

“Oh god,” you pant “m’gonna cum. Please don’t stop please please please.” 

You’re throttled, and not just by the pleasure but by how fast you’re descending into your own madness. You can’t hear much of anything, see anything but the back of your own eyelids - and your boyfriend is using half of his strength to keep your body upwards as you threaten to wilt.

He doesn’t stop, per your request but to your ultimate demise. You feel yourself leaking as your clit throbs from the aftershocks of a powerful - much needed and thoroughly missed, orgasm.

You think you might pass out, but he feels the trembling in your body and despite his need to keep going until you’re completely done for, all but comatose- he stops.

Through your clouded and hazy senses, your hands tug at his face, his head, his neck. Lazily you attempt to pull him up from his knees, and it’s not your strength that does it, it’s his own. But he lets you believe you pulled him to your mouth, before he even has the chance to wipe your essence off. Not that he cares to.

Your tongues collide in a messy exploration, he’s rough and saccharine and sweet all at once. Your paw at him like you’ve never felt him before, like he didn’t just have his mouth on your most private of parts.

“I need you in me.” You slur the words between open mouthed kisses. He’s pressed so flush against you that you can feel his dick throbbing, and you’re not sure if the wetness is your own or his. Perhaps both.

You’re hungry for it. He’s still starving, and your fingers clumsily pull the waistband of his sweats down until they’re pooled at his ankles. You wrap your hand around the thick member, angrily red at the tip, veins bulging from either side. The thatch of curly hair at his base is covered by his shirt but you don’t have the energy to remove it- to do anything other than ogle at the blood rushing through him, the feel of his pulse through his manhood. He throws his head back for a split second, taking a deep breath.

You turn around, facing the sink and resting your cheek against the cool metal of the edge. You offer yourself to him like this, an invitation in the form of a leaking cunt and buckling knees. His hands, rough and wide pull this godforsaken nightgown up and over the swell of your ass, knuckles grazing the back of your thighs in the process.

You want to look at him but you’re far too flustered, ironically. It’s completely idiotic to still be embarrassed at your own need for your own boyfriend - but someone as beautiful as Eddie doesn’t come around very often. Getting to do this feels like retribution.

“You’re so pretty,” he groans, out of breath. He crudely spits on his cock, you can hear the slick sounds of his precum mixing with his saliva as he strokes himself a few times, one hand on your left hip while he guides his mauve tip to your slit.

“I’m gonna fuck all that attitude away baby.”

The stretch is jarring and unexpected, but the sounds you both make as he sticks himself passed your gummy entrance isn’t. You grip the counter, and he leans his weight over you so that he can mouth at your shoulders while he pushes himself in to the hilt- kissing your cervix before his cock moved around it.

“Yeah?” He taunts, hair tickling your back and lips smearing kisses against your nape. “You’re so goddamn wet, this is all you needed huh?”

He’s genuine within the ruggedness of his voice. Within seconds he’s pulling himself out and shoving himself back in with something fierce driving him. He’s unforgiving in his pace once he gets into a comfortable stance, kicking his sweats off of his ankles and planting his feet behind you.

It’s a symphony of sticky, wet sounds, and grunts with compositions of skin against skin in your small kitchen. It’s been so long since you’ve felt him, since he’s felt you. He’s not just fucking you from the back, he’s mounting you - panting lewdly in your ear while his hands snake themselves around your shoulders.

You cry out, nothing coherent leaving your mouth. Your poor cunt was still contracting from the orgasm he gave you with his mouth when shoved himself inside of you, and now that little spongey spot is being brutally massaged over and over again with each stroke.

“That’s - s-so - good.” Your words are staccato, followed by petulant whines. You’re thankful for his hit breath on your neck, the groans leaving him, the weight of his body behind you. He’s close while still delivering a delicious punishment - a fucking that’s meant to make you forget about anything that’s happened this past week.

“Awe baby, it feels good hmm? You - fucking hell-“

His balls tighten and he knows he’s gonna cum soon, he’s too caught up in how you’re squeezing around him, throbbing from the inside out with your admiration for him. You try to reach back and touch him, but he holds your arms in front of you, a sort of embrace and restraint all in one.

“need to cum baby, need to show you how much I love you. Need to fill you - oh baby - need to fill you all the way. That’s it - there you go there you go, I know.”

He kisses your cheek where a tear falls down, your knees beginning to tremble again in tandem with his own. He ruts and ruts and ruts, your cream coating his cock, your warmth swallowing him whole.

He pulls out, and you think you might start weeping, till he turns you around by your waist and licks the inside of your parted lips. He hiked your leg up around his lithe waist, bends his knees and maneuvers his hips forward so that he can slide back into you.

Now that he can see your face, and you can see his, you both feel cathartic.

You hang onto his shoulders, clawing at his curls and he holds your face, damp lips centimeters away from your own while your foreheads rest against each other. You look down to watch him disappear inside of you, and you marvel at it. Your juices and the sounds they make, how pretty his dick looks coated in your release and his own pre ejaculate.

“M’so fucking deep,” he’s shaking now, sweat beading down his neck. His bottom lip quivers and you begin to realize how this must feel for him as well. How badly you both needed the other. “it feels so fucking good, so good so good so good.”

He’s babbling and you pull his mouth to yours again, suckling on his tongue. With some foreign strength, you use your voice.

“Please cum, I love you Eddie. I want you to cum for me please please, I can’t take it. Cum for me cum for me cum for me I love you.”

He thinks he might cry, he’s so fucking deep when you wrap your arms around him, when your hips are connected so closely that you can’t tell where one of you begins and the other one ends - when the sweet lullaby that is your voice serenades him, begs him to let go.

“Oh god, oh fuck I’m - fuuuuck.”

He tightens, stuttering inside of you while small gasps of pleasure leave him like hiccups. You inhale the scent of his hair, feel the rise and fall of his breath from between his shoulder blades. You’re both twitching, barely standing. A mess, and certainly a sight to see.

He stays like that for a few moments, just enough for all of his cum to dribble out from the tip and into you. When he pulls out, the sound is audible and crude, and he swears to himself he will clean the mess on your kitchen floor.

You don’t know who kisses who first.

Both of you go for the others neck, cheeks, forehead. Gently, with enough love to fill an entire universe itself. It’s a juxtaposition to the way you just had each other. It’s love. Pure, unadulterated, sickeningly sweet to the melancholy.

“I’m staying here tonight,” he kisses your eyelids, then your nose, out of breath. “and I’m gonna make breakfast in the morning. We are never letting this happen again.”

You scratch his scalp.

“Which part? Cause-“ he rolls his eyes, smiling boyishly. Enough to show his dimples, flash his teeth.

“You know which part, I’ll give you whatever you want. But I’m never going this long without being around you. Not ever.”

He’s devout, sincere in a way that is irrevocable. You don’t argue, don’t wince, don’t make a face. You nod, suckling his bottom lip.

You listen.

[icumpinkglitterxo]

Take me to church

warnings: angst, brief mentions of sh, homophobia, internalised homophobia, f slur, overall heavy topics. 🥰

a/n: whY AM I WRITING SLAXL 🥲 ts may be the most chronically online thing ive ever done. am i the only one who thinks axl and slash are like mickey and ian and am i also the only one who hates bottom mickey...

i like girls and guys i can say fag go away

enjoy ★

This was the worst thing that could've possibly happened to them. Or at least, that's what Slash thought. Axl and Slash had been secretly dating, but some dickhead soccer player at their school found out and told the entire school. It was bad enough that Slash had long hair, dressed in glam and occasionally painted his nails - he had a 'girlfriend' who was really his best friend who was secretly a lesbian. But now he was out as gay, and out against his will.

It had taken a serious toll on Slash's mental health, so much to the point that he couldn't bring himself to go to school and even took a blade to his skin.

The only thing that seemed good to him was when his mom found out and she was more than accepting. She was having an affair with David Bowie, and while it didn't affect him majorly, it was comforting to know he was accepting too.

As much as it didn't bother Axl, as long as it didn't get back to his parents, seeing how badly it affected the man he loved made him unbelievably angry.

Slash spent as much time as he could ditching class, staying home, or staying with Axl or his 'girlfriend'. Making sure he was never alone in public worked surprisingly well. Nobody came near him when he was with Axl, gay or not, people still avoid a hormonal bipolar teenager.

Of course, he would freak himself out when he he had to walk home. Alone. Axl hadn't been waiting for him at the end of the day like usual, so here Slash was, walking through an alley because it was the quickest way home. It was still light out, and no one was around, so he would be fine. Right?

Wrong.

It was fast. And slow. All at the same time. All it took was one punch for the loud ringing in his ears to start. Someone had grabbed him and shoved him against the wall. Hit. Punch. Shove. Kick. They pulled him up off the ground and shoved him against the wall again.

'Did you really think you'd get away with being a fucking faggot' one of them spat. The word alone hurt, but the way it rolled off his tongue with venom stung. The guy punched him again, he could feel the blood dripping down his face. Slash was more terrified than he'd ever been in his entire life.

They weren't showing any signs of stopping any time soon. Was being gay this wrong? Was he truly a bad person?

He was in unbearable pain. He tried everything he could to push them off, but to no avail.

They were genuinely going to beat him to death. He was going to die. He was actually going to die all because of who he loved. That was all he could think about. His final thoughts. Until the guy was pulled off him.

Slash slowly opened his eyes. Before him was Axl beating the shit out of both guys and screaming at them. "Don't you EVER lay your fucking hands on him ever again, understand!?" He was screaming so loud it actually hurt Slash's ears. But what shocked him most was that both guys looked absolutely terrified, maybe even more than Slash.

They nodded and ran away.

Axl turned to Slash, who had since sunk to the ground sobbing and shaking.

Axl kneeled in front of him, cupping his face. "Let me see, let me see..." Slash tried to pull away. He was ashamed. He couldn't stand up for himself. Axl sighed, "it's okay, you're okay... okay? I'm gonna take you home. They're gone. Okay? You're safe. I promise."

Slash was in a state of shock. He was hyperventilating. He was clearly struggling to breathe. "I- they- I was just - and then - and I- walking - and they - attacked -" Axl shushed him, grabbing his face a little more rough than before.

"Breathe."

They sat in the alley for at least half an hour as Slash tried to come down from his panic attack. Axl stayed with him the entire time, doing and saying everything he could to help him relax. He knew Slash was prone to panic attacks. He also knew he was in a great deal of pain, which he could only imagine were making things worse.

As promised, Axl took Slash home. The pair were now sitting in the bathroom, Axl cleaning the blood from his boyfriend's face.

"Do you think this is wrong?" Slash asks carefully. "What, beating people up for being gay? Course it’s wrong, it's a hate crime - " Axl started, but Slash interrupted.

"Not that. This. Us."

Axl froze.

He slowly looked down at Slash. "Is that a serious question?" Slash nodded. "Everyone thinks so. Maybe they're right." Axl scoffs, "you're not serious, are you fucking serious!?"

He nodded again. "I don't think we should be together." Axl stares at him, "don't... don't say that... don't you fucking say that..." Slash gets up and walks out of the bathroom, stopping in the doorway. "I think you should go. Don't try to call me."

He walks out of the bathroom, leaving Axl standing there completely shocked, hurt, and confused. He leaves Slash's house.

Instead of going home, Axl went to the abandoned house he crashed in when things got particularly difficult at home. While he knew Slash and his mom would always welcome them into their home, he never wanted to worry Slash with the abuse he was enduring at home.

Though, now he felt like he couldn't. Slash had actually broken up with him. When he got 'home', he started breaking everything he could, until he passed out from exhaustion.

Slash walked into his room, crying. He sat down on his bed, reaching for a blade.

[tododekuweek]

The 8th TodoDeku Week will be July 9-15, 2023!

Year 8 and still going strong. For those of you who have participated before, welcome back, and for those of you who are new to the fandom, we hope you enjoy your stay.

The prompts are listed here as well as on the Prompts page. There were a lot of requests for AU prompts, so now there are three prompts per day — an AU, a theme, and a quote. Feel free to use any combination of the prompts as inspiration!

Please remember to tag any triggers and mention us (@tododeku-week) and/or use the #tododekuweek tag, so we can find your work.

Let’s have another amazing week!

Twitter | Ao3 collection

—

July 9 [day 1]

AU: Steampunk | Theme: Power | Quote: “Never love anyone who treats you like you’re ordinary.” - Oscar Wilde

July 10 [day 2]

AU: Sports | Theme: Vows | Quote: “No matter what happens, or how bad it seems today, life goes on, and it will be better tomorrow.” - Maya Angelou

July 11 [day 3]

AU: Pirates | Theme: Music | Quote: “You can never run away. Not ever. The only way out is in.” - Junot Diáz, The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao

July 12 [day 4]

AU: Family | Theme: Childhood | Quote: “Gentleness clears the soul / Love cleans the mind / And makes it free.” - David Bowie

July 13 [day 5]

AU: Swaps (genderswap, bodyswap, quirkswap, etc) | Theme: Flowers | “To love and be loved is to feel the sun from both sides.” - David Viscott

July 14 [day 6]

AU: Royalty | Theme: Protection | “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.” - Edmund Burke

July 15 [day 7]

AU: Fantasy | Theme: Soulmates | “You don’t win battles with hate. Anger and hate can make you brave [...] but they also make you stupid.” - Michael J. Sullivan, Theft of Swords

[joequiinn]

The Dos and Dont’s of Fake Dating - inspo guide!

When I'm working on a story, I draw on all kinds of media as inspiration. I make lists of characters' fav movies or playlists that remind me of them, etc.

These are just some things I took inspo from/relate to Dos and Don'ts! I'm taking a brief pause in writing, so hopefully these will hold us over!

@sheneedsrocknroll92 and @steeldaisies because yall showed some interest!!

Playlist

I have a lil playlist full of songs that fit this fic's vibes in some way or another. There are various genres and tones and themes, so if you aren't afraid of bouncing around between types of music, this may be a fun way to vibe with the fic!

Music

Mystery by Dio - this is 100% THEIR song, I've associated this with Eddie and ice princess since day one; it will also make an appearance in an upcoming chapter~

Just Tonight by the Pretty Reckless - this song is one I associate with a particular chapter that is drafted but not out yet, and the vibes in general really mesh with some of the themes of this fic.

Ghost, HIM/Ville Valo, & Twilight Creeps - I just listen to these artists a lot while brainstorming and writing this fic; some particular songs are on the playlist mentioned above!

David Bowie & Fleetwood Mac - sooo ice princess isn't really a music person, because I think it's a funny contrast to Eddie; however, I do think she has a few Bowie and Fleetwood vinyls/cassettes lying around that belonged to her mom, so that's the extent of her music knowledge lol

Movies

Can't Buy Me Love - originally, I wanted to write a story inspired by this movie; the setup is ridiculous and I love every minute of it, so if you want to see an early prototype Eddie x ice princess, I suggest watching this one!

10 Things I Hate About You - this was also a movie that I considered using as plot inspo; although they're not the same, I do think similarities can be found in the characters to some extent, especially Patrick = Eddie.

Heathers - the vibes and fashion speak to be, and in another world maybe Eddie and ice princess would serve up some JD and Veronica vibes~

Halloween - it hasn't come up yet in the fic, but ice princess is a closet horror movie fan whose favorite is Halloween (no it's not her fav bc it's my fav what do you mean).

Bride of Chucky - Chucky and Tiffany speak to me on a spiritual level, and I feel like Eddie x ice princess give some of these vibes??? Also RIP Eddie Munson, you would've LOVED Child's Play.

Labyrinth - I picture ice princess having a lot of similarities with Sarah, which I didn't initially notice when I was first writing. There have been many lines I've written that I can SO clearly hear in Jennifer Connelly's voice, so she's a big inspo for this fic. Also, I love Bowie

TV

That 70s Show - putting aside all the real-world controversies, I was obsessed with Jackie & Hyde when I was a kid, and I think you can clearly see a similar character dynamic with Eddie and ice princess.

Married... With Children - have yall SEEN Kelly Bundy??? enough said.

Other

Evil Ernie - maybe you've seen my other Eddie posts, but I've mentioned before that the vibes of this comic series and it's titular character remind me of Eddie, so that's all.

Flight of Icarus - yes, yes, I know that this is literally a book about Eddie, but I still think it's worth noting that I've used the book as some reference, but for the most part I haven't included it too much (I also haven't read it sorry not sorry)

[universallydestinytaco]

Smiling Friends Headcanons y’all

TW brief mention of queerp***bia and emotional ab*se.

Charlie is an abromantic achillean intersex transman

Pim is transmasc genderfluid and pan and he loves switching up his gender labels and yes he goes by he/they/fae

Alan is a triple battery. (Agender Autistic Aro/Ace spec)

Glep is a non-binary aroace spec lesbian who goes by he/it pronouns

Marge Simpson is a lesbian

Smormu is transfemme and bi also SMORMU NEVER DIED IN MY HEADCANONS HAHAHA

Charlie’s (ex?) girlfriend is named Susan and she’s bi and a cisn’t ally

Jennifer is a bi demigirl who goes by she/her and neopronouns

Shrimp is unlabeled and goes by all pronouns

Mr. Boss is a gay transman and yes he was at Stonewall kicking ass.

Pim is jealous of Charlie and Susan but keeps it to himself because he wants Charlie to be happy.

Alan invites his friends over to watch his family’s vacations slides.

Glep walks into the telephone booth nearby work to anonymously prank call random people during his free time.

Pim grew up with girl’s toys and holds on to his childhood dearly, he is a doll collector and he has a girly Y2K aesthetic blog as well.

Charlie grew up a social outcast with Pim and Susan being the first friends he ever had. Seriously my man Charlie has had it ROUGH.

Pim’s family except for his cousin are SUPER bigoted and heteronormative…yet they pressure poor Pim into keeping contact with them.

The gang love watching bad movies and shows together to riff on them.

Smormu and Pim watch Disney movies together and know most of the songs by heart.

Alan is a fan of David Bowie, Prince and The Beatles.

Charlie and Pim watch Toonami religiously every Saturday night.

One night Charlie got so shitfaced drunk after a possible breakup that he started howling loudly at the full moon until Dj Spitz shot him in the ass.

Glep is a Jhonen Vasquez stan.

Pim rewatches Steven Universe on the daily + is also a Swifty who makes friendship bracelets

Mr. Boss dated Rick Sanchez once, they broke up because of creative differences.

[thenightling]

How 80s Rock (and rock in general) influenced The Sandman

Okay, this is a list that has been mostly confirmed.  I won’t add speculation like “Robert Smith is the basis for Morpheus’s hair.” or “Peter Murphy is the basis for Morpheus.”  This will only contain things that have been confirmed in various sources.  Lucifer - Meant to look and sound like David Bowie circa 1969. (Confirmed multiple times by Neil Gaiman.  In fact Michael Sheen is doing a David Bowie impersonation while voicing Lucifer for The Sandman audio drama adaptation.  Neil Gaiman has even said that Gwendoline Christie looks more like David Bowie than Tom Ellis does.)  

Death of The Endless - Originally Neil wanted her to resemble Nico but she ended up looking like the Cinnamon Hadley instead.  In The Sandman Overture, according to J. H. Williams III, his depiction of Death is meant to resemble Siouxsie of Siouxsie and the Banshees.

John Constantine - Though not an original creation of Neil Gaiman (first created by Alan Moore), John Constantine was supposed to have resembled rock star, Sting.  (roughly 1985 look.)

Desire of The Endless - Desire was, at least partly, inspired by the Duran Duran album cover Rio. The cover was painted by Patrick Nagel and designed by Malcolm Garrett.  When Neil was starting out as a writer one of the first things he wrote was a book on Duran Duran. 

Another inspiration for Desire came from Annie Lennox’s look for the music video “Sweet Dreams (are made of this).”   Ironic considering the title.   

Delirium of The Endless - Though Neil Gaiman did not meet Tori Amos until after he had created Delirium, he insists that Delirium was somehow inspired by Tori Amos.

Men of Good Fortune - The issue / Chapter of The Sandman called Men of Good Fortune is named after a song by Lou Reed. Sunday Morning - The issue / Chapter called Sunday Morning is also named after a Lou Reed (Velvet Underground) song.  So that is two Hob Gadling chapters named for Lou Reed Songs. Beginning to see the Light - The Sandman: A game of You issue / chapter named Beginning to see the Light is also named for a Velvet Underground song. Dream songs - Roy Orbison’s In dreams plays in The Sandman issue Dream a little Dream of me. The issue / chapter is named after a song. And Mr. Sandman (Bring me a Dream) by the Chordettes is also in that issue. The Skye Boat song - Not actually a rock song by any interpretation of the term but I thought I’d mention it.  Many of you may recognize the Skye Boat song as the “theme song to Outlander.”   This song is referenced in The Sandman: A Game of You. Labyrinth - Neil Gaiman is an admitted fan of the Jim Henson film Labyrinth.  A friend of mine insisted that Morpheus is “Goth Jareth” (David Bowie’s character in Labyrinth). And a Game of You has some plot similarities to Labyrinth.  Labyrinth has six original songs by David Bowie. 

Queen -  It’s no secret that Neil Gaiman is a Queen and David Bowie fan and tends to reference both whenever possible in his writing.  The Sandman Brief lives is no exception.  When Delirium wanders into a night club two men are discussing the death of Freddie Mercury, the lead singer of Queen, and one mentions someone making the crude joke of “Another One Bites the Dust” (a popular 1980 Queen song).

There are many more rock music references in The Sandman but these are the ones I could remember off-hand.    Think how strange it would be if all of these (80s) rock elements were removed from The Sandman somehow.  

And this is a more recent connection but John Cameron Mitchell (Hedwig and The Angry Inch) plays Hal AKA Dolly, the drag queen, in The Sandman Netflix series storyline called The Doll’s House.   

[drinkin-cherryschnapps]

nother snippet! its road trip time!

brief mention of implied morning wood and sexual attraction/arousal but its barely there

    They decide to use Jack’s old Jeep, which he’d left for Spot when he’d gone to college, because it has a bed built in the trunk, and also because Spot needs driving hours for her test and she’s already used to that one. On the first week of June, they load their bags into the  trunk - under the mattress - and head out for the long drive from New York to San Fransisco. 

   During the day, they listen to Tony’s upbeat, 12 hour playlist, full of Taylor Swift, Harry Styles, David Bowie, SZA, a frankly absurd amount of Megan Thee Stallion (“She’s a modern day Homer,” He argues when Katherine mentions it), and plenty of other pop artists. Katherine suspects it’s the playlist he uses for Modern.

    In the evening, they play Davey’s softer playlist, simply titled crush. He pointedly does not make eye contact with Katherine when Spot and Tony tease him about it. Nick Drake, The Staves, Joni Mitchell, Taylor Swift (“Red and Folklore are masterpieces and New Year’s Day is the most beautiful song she’s written.” He argues when Spot asks about it), and Lana Del Rey croon about love, and it’s frankly a bit terrifying. She does not think about it.

   Of course, she has her own music, for nights when she can’t sleep and sits in the bathtub of their motel rooms thinking and marking. Mostly because Spot and Tony take one bed, like the lovesick assholes they are, leaving her in a bed with Davey. She would rather share the trunk bed with all four of them in a Denny’s parking lot than risk waking up with his mouth in her hair and her back pressed against him. It had already happened once and. Well. Davey is a teenage boy. Sometimes things happen. She’d pulled Spot into the bathroom at the iHop where they ate breakfast and confided in her about this situation and Spot had laughed at her like the terrible friend she is. 

   On one notable occasion, Spot hyped her up enough to wear the leggings while she stretched in the morning and when she’d started her grande pliés en second, he’d excused himself to use the restroom. For an hour. She doesn’t think about it. 

[destinyc1020]

Confession Sunday: This is going to be very unpopular, but after SM4, I don't want Tom and Z to work with each other as love interests. Or again, if that means they can maintain privacy in their relationship. I hope Z has a smaller role in that film, and it's more on Tom's Peter and Black Cat, maybe. The backlash both of them got for TCR and Challengers because they became public is very deranged. They should be able to play characters with love interest without fear of public backlash because they are adults and professionals. Im kinda scared with Romeo and Juliet. I hope ppl are sensible and dont embarrass Tom cause it's not just him on stage. Francesca and the rest of the cast deserve their moment.

They are not the first couple to act but they the first famous couple of the younger generation that ppl are too invested in and honestly don't have the best energy towards their union depaite them being complete starbgers to us. I'm aware this is hypocritical as I am a fan of both and I'm on tumblr but I've been aware of both sides of the fandom on these blogs, solo fans of each other and I understand the frustration to want you fav to be independent of their relationship because it limits their artistry. They are actors first!!!!

Unpopular opinion, and I'm gonna get tomatoes, but looking back, SM NWH presstour was a blessing and a curse. It was a blessing for Tomdaya fans, but its a curse cause now when they do it again, the soundbites are gonna feel curated and tired. I started to see a problem when Tom kept mentioning it when he was promoting TCR because, let's be honest, he was ashamed of the results of the show. He used it as armour, and that's not fair case it was him that chose to do that show with poor execution. Using his family as pr is no better than Dom no shade. Even when Challengers was promoted and Tom was mentioned, it was cute as Tomdaya fans, but objectively, it's unheard of unless it's a podcast.

David Bowie and Iman are the best counterparts because they both were successful in their lane but were together. Iman was asked about David, but I was brief because she already had a business and foundation stand from. Both Tom and Z are in the middle of building that foundation.

I read on a blog how Riley from that Daisy amazon show filmed an intimate scene with her actor husband, and she said it was awkward because they were acting, and when they are together, it's real. I want them to have a life that we, as fans, don't know because overexposure is always bad in hindsight. Look at Jelenas. They can't get over the accessibility they had to that couple, and that's just sad.

I enjoyed the intimate scenes in Challengers and TCR because I was invested in the characters they were playing because they had respectful costars who i had little information about them other than acting, and it was great acting. I think it's even why I couldn't buy Paul and Chani in Dune 2 because I know Timothee and Zendaya are very good friends. Almost like siblings, like Timothee called her a sis!!!😭😭😭

I never have this issue when he's Taylor, Florence, or Saoirse because i know them through acting only, and I'm not invested in their lives cause its private as fck.

What are your thoughts???

Wow Anon.... you said a LOT with this ask/confession lol.

Thank you for your input and confession Anon.

Personally? I don't think there's anything wrong with Tom and Z working together even though they're in a relationship together. 🤷🏾‍♀️

Do you know how many actors have worked together in Hollywood and were in relationships with each other? Paul Newman and his wife Joanne Woodward, Elizabeth Taylor and her husband Richard Burton, JLo and Ben Affleck, Emily Blunt & John Krasinski, etc. Shoot, even Baz Luhrmann and his wife work together on films lol 😅 It's not exactly unheard of in Hollywood. 🤷🏾‍♀️

Re: The NWH press tour....

Hmm... I'm not sure why this is a concern exactly. 🤔 But I also don't feel like how TZ were during the press tour together was a bad thing either? 🤷🏾‍♀️ Even if they were to break up tomorrow, their press tour videos are endearing, sweet, and just a testament to a good friendship and casting for their Spiderman film imo.

While us shippers and Tomdaya fans may love the press tour for other reasons lol, I don't think that the general public has an issue with the press tours with TZ being together and in love etc. I think most think it's cute? 😅

Granted, I will say that if you do feel like you're having a very hard time separating an actor's character from their real-life persona, and it's hard for you to see them disappear in certain roles, then maybe it might a sign that you're following a celebrity a little too closely, and it may be a good idea to perhaps lessen the amount of time you spend tracking and following that celebrity/actor. 🤷🏾‍♀️

Re: Fans...

I def think that SOME fans get a little too invested with the lives of their faves, to the point where it can become a bit parasocial, but like I mentioned earlier, you can always take a bit of a break, and try not to be so obsessive.

Re: Public Backlash

While I def understand the concern regarding the gp and any backlash on TZ and their projects, the truth of the matter is, a lot of actors get bad reviews on their projects also, but it's not an automatic death. Many Actors have recovered from bad projects and have gone on to do wonderful films that had critical acclaim. ☺️

[bumblecrisp]

Today i listened to Fear of Music - Talking Heads (properly this time), Σ - REOL, and Trouble in Shangri-La - Stevie Nicks on @sachermorte’s recommendation! :D

“I Zimbra” is groovy. There’s no other word for it; this song grooves. The lyrics are nonsensical, the percussion is catchy, the quirks of the guitar draw you in. A little bit “Thela Hun Ginjeet” - King Crimson. My mother says she doesn’t hear it, but I swear “Cities” reminds me of “Our House” - Madness. There’s a similar sort of upbeat energy disguising a sense of urgency, not to mention the obvious overlap in subject matter. Regardless, I’m very fond of this song. Something about the lyrics is almost childish; it sounds like what turning 18 feels like. It’s very endearing. “Life During Wartime” has a similar effect, except, of course, it’s rather darker. That said it’s always the peanut butter lyric that jumps out at me. People should sing about peanut butter more often.

As was foreshadowed in “Memories Can’t Wait”, the record’s B-side is… strange. “Air” is strange. “Animals” is very strange. “Electric Guitar” is downright bizarre. It reminds me a little of “Elephant Talk” - King Crimson or “Joe the Lion” - David Bowie. (Sorry about the constant comparisons, but I find they’re useful.) The jagged rhythm and experimental guitar are off-putting, but deliberately so. If “I Zimbra” is the thesis for the A-side, “Drugs” is the perfect conclusion to the B-side. The atmosphere is dark and disturbing, calling to mind the dripping coldness of a damp cave deep underground, where every movement sends uncomfortably echoing reverberations over the stones and the sound of your own breathing fills your ears. It’s very unpleasant. I like it.

Fear of Music is a self-contradictory album. It’s certainly not so approachable as Remain in Light, but I rather like that about it. 3.5/5

Σ is one of a few products of れをる [reol]’s brief union with ギガ [giga] and お菊 [okiku]. (I’m extremely tempted to say more here but this is not actually a vocaloid album so it doesn’t matter and I will restrain myself.) For the purposes of this review ‘れをる’ refers to the vocalist and ‘REOL’ refers to the group as a collective. Previously, I only knew れをる from her writing credits in ギガP songs; this is my first time hearing her voice. It’s sharp, very diagonal, and dramatic with a little bit of rasp, sort of like nightcore HyunA, and I imagine it would be a similarly acquired taste for someone not acquainted with the style.

“VIP KID” is a strong opener: a bold, in-your-face banger with thrumming bass and stabby synthesizer. “宵々古今” [yoiyoi okon / Every Night, Every Age] reminds me of takamatt and かごめP [kagomeP]’s “トキヲ・ファンカ” [TOKIO FUNKA], which was released earlier the same year. Both songs are heavily influenced by the enka genre, incorporating the layered and heavily textured percussion, twanging string trills, and warbling kobushi vocals of traditional Japanese music into hypermodern electronica.

“コノヨ Loading…” [konoyo Loading / This Time Loading] is some golden bitpop work; ギガ would never be my first thought for the genre, which I always associate primarily with sasakure.UK, but he executes it well and れをる’s vocals lend the track a sort of bratty robotgirl charm. “404 Not Found” is a bit of a tonal departure from the rest of the record, but one I really like. It’s a melancholic ballad with a heavy brostep drop in the chorus. I’ve never been big into dubstep, but it really works here!

This album is extremely solid. Honestly, my only gripe with Σ is that it is extremely high-energy. To be fair, I am extremely low-energy, so this probably isn’t as much of a problem for other people, but by the time I finished listening to it, I was exhausted. Σ is fast-paced and presents something fresh with every song, maintaining thematic consistency despite considerable genre-hopping. 4/5

“Trouble in Shangri-La” is a masterpiece. I’m in love with this song. Earbuds don’t do it justice. In order to properly experience this - because believe me, it is an experience - you have to play it over a car speaker or something similar so the sound surrounds you, envelops you, thrums through you. It is really really good.

Three cheers for enunciation - I can actually evaluate lyrics this time around! “Sorcerer” was particularly lovely in that regard. Actually, Roland, it’s funny that you recommended Trouble in Shangri-La, given much of the album appears to be written about you. “Timeless in your finery”, no?

Aside from those, “Bombay Sapphires” was my other favourite. I’m not usually a bongo gal, but those were some good bongos. The instrumental itself conveys the imagery alluded to in the lyrics - the quiet song of the water, the ever-shifting waves, prismatic and pure. Actually, as I listen to it again, I quite like “Candlebright” too. It’s just the right balance of rock belladonna and desert rose, coy and coiling and extremely Stevie Nicks.

Unfortunately, I have spent the past six and a half months listening to country music of the lowest calibre (and I truly mean that, I have no problem with country but this is just Bad) against my will because I was too chicken to say no when my coworker asked if I liked it and now it's far too late to say anything. Consequently I’m afraid I’m having what I will freely admit is a kneejerk negative reaction to the clear country influences in this album. That being said, I can recognize that objectively they are good songs, and even if they weren’t the sheer magnificence of “Trouble in Shangri-La” alone would boost this album significantly. Trouble in Shangri-La is not quite a perfect record, but when it shines it dazzles. 4/5

[wtfisheonline02]

This is just like a little excerpt of the first chapter of a fem oc x Draco I’m writing please let me know what u guys think and if you guys wud be interested. It’s like a brief introduction to the mc Amora Loving.

———————————————————————

The wind is unrelenting and it carries the vague smell of rain. Summers over and I'm relieved it finally is, I was not at all made for the Massachusetts heat. Say what you will about british weather but its the most comforting thing in the world to me. The biting cold and misty blue grey mornings blending into the comfortably warm evenings sat listening to David Bowie.

Looking around at rows and rows of windows filled with little trinkets, books and other bits and bobs, I notice a group of boys my age are surrounding one particular window in awe. Basically salivating. It's surprising that the window hasn't fogged up from their hot breath. I walk slightly away trying to avoid the big crowds and momentarily through the group I catch a glimpse of what they're staring at. oh. It's the nimbus 2002.

Im gonna push my wand through my eyes if anyone mentions quiditch around me. Ilvermony is by far the worst school at quiditch and attendance too their matches was mandatory, ontop of that the athletes still had the biggest egos of anyone in the school. It sounds so cliche but still jocks will be the death of me I hope Hogwarts isn't crazy about the sport.

Its been years since iv walked down Diagon Alley, my best but fuzziest memories with my mother are down here. I think I had a birthday here once, we spent the whole day stuffing our faces with my favourite sweets and then heading down too the leaky cauldron and getting butter beers. The general memory is murky but I distinctly remember the smell of treacle fudge, butter beer, vomit and her smile. Its the one thing I can so clearly remember about her along with her laugh.

okay time to stop feeling nostalgic before I cry, but I feel like its only duty too head down too the Leaky Cauldron right now. Walking down the cobbles my mind focuses on the sound of my boots hitting the hard stone. The wet rubber sole repeatedly slapping the stones beneath me creates a sort of soothing sound that plays in the background of my mind as I idly make my way too the pub. Various smells invading my senses, but the particularly sweet woody smell of cigarette smoke stood out to me, ugh what I would kill for a smoke.

I know its a bad habit especially because of my age but its a habit I picked up over this summer. Me and Theo Lavine my one and only friend were invited out by his older brother as a final celebration before I left. Its by far the best time iv had in my life. My stomachs bubbling just thinking about how much I miss them.

"UGH," I'm snapped out of my thoughts by a harsh, cold thump to my forehead. I look up and a see a plump rosy cheeked man with a rather impressive beard looking down at me. He has to be like seven feet or something because when he turned round to see what bumped into him he didn't even realise I was there until he looked down at me. "Oh sorry I didn't see you there," he apologised

"Oh uhm... don't worry about it I sort of bumped into you anyways," I laughed it off trying to end the conversation with as little small talk as possible. I hate to seem like those people who say they "hate small talk" cause those people are insufferable but I hate talking in general especially in unnecessary scenarios, its not an anxiety thing either I just would rather go through life undetected.

[circusgoth-dotcom]

Room for One More

Ship: Artie x Edgar Comet (qpp), Edgar Comet x Cruella de Vil

Word Count: 766

Summary: The scene where Estella and Artie first meet but with Edgar. :] CWs for food mentions, brief smoking mention.

Tag List: @canongf @futurewife

Edgar rolled over in Artie’s bed and began kissing the man sleepily.

“Time to get up already?” Artie half-yawned between the affection.

“Mmh, do we have to? I think we ought to just stay here, where it’s warm, and comfortable, and people don’t judge our relationship,” Edgar hummed. Artie smiled at his friend in the grey light.

“Oh, come, poppet. I know you don’t care about that.”

“You’re right. But I’ll take any excuse…” He hugged Artie tightly under the covers. He laughed softly and kissed Edgar again before pulling away, stretching as he rose from the mattress.

“Alright, come on. Have to open the shop.”

Edgar grumbled quietly, rubbing his eyes. “You do that. I’m going to take a shower.”

“Excellent. The kettle will be waiting for you.”

Slowly, Edgar untangled himself from the grasp of sleep and freshened themself up for the day. Today was their once-in-a-blue-moon vacation day and they intended on doing as little as possible in celebration. They loved their job but the Baroness could shove it. He was glad Artie’s store, Second Time Around, didn’t open until ten. Sparkling, Edgar poured himself tea and made toast with grape jam before joining Artie downstairs, finding him struggling with the radio.

“I’ve been telling you we need to get it replaced,” Edgar commented as he watched him smack the side of it, willing the station to change from static to the middle of Rebel Rebel by David Bowie.

“Well, tell me when you can find something we can afford,” Artie quipped, smoothing down his pants as he descended from a stool. Edgar crunched on his toast and went to pick up their mail. The first three hours were slow, giving Edgar ample time to peruse fashion magazines while Artie made sure his shop was more organised than the Dewey Decimal system. He groaned when the radio started acting up again.

“I swear…” Artie complained, climbing back up onto the stool with a platform heel in hand. As he began banging on it with the shoe, the front door opened. “Oh!” Surprised, he hopped back down. “Welcome to Second Time Around, I’m Artie, or Art, as in ‘work of.’” He gestured to himself gracefully.

“Wow. You look incredible.” A familiar voice was clearly awestruck even from where Edgar was sitting. He quickly emerged from the back of the store.

“Then it must be true,” Artie smiled.

“How’s that look go on the street?”

“Oh, some abuse and insults, of course, but I like to say ‘normal’ is the cruellest insult of them all, and at least I never get that.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the ape operaia stellare, Miss de Vil. Your presence so humbles me,” Edgar greeted with an opulent bow.

“Edgar! What are you doing here?” Estella asked with a grin.

“You know each other?” Artie asked, looking between the two.

“Oui. This is the girl from work I was telling you about.”

“Italian and French? Really pulling out all the stops today, Eddie,” Artie teased.

“What can I say, she brings out the linguaphile in me.” A look passed between Edgar and Estella that Artie did not miss.

“So, what can we do for you? I’ve everything a girl or boy could want.” Artie eagerly showed off a Dior gown while Estella met his knowledge with one from Chanel. It was the window display that had caught her eye, being one of the Baroness’ own designs.

“That ought to cause a stir, if she were to catch you wearing it,” Edgar commented as Artie prepared Estella’s purchase.

“I plan for it,” Estella grinned devilishly and Edgar’s eyebrows raised. “But I can say no more than that.”

“Colour me intrigued. Though truly, Estella, I think with your talent you shouldn’t even waste your time with this thing.”

“Thing??” Artie interjected.

“Compared to Estella’s designs, yes, this is no more than a fancy, red, cloth thing.”

“I appreciate your concern, Comet.” Estella gingerly took the bag from Artie. “Thank you, Artie.”

“It has been my pleasure and we hope to see you again soon.” As soon as Estella left, Artie looked to Edgar with a knowing expression.

“What?”

“You’ve got a crush on her.”

Edgar laughed shortly, moving to grab a cigarette from a hidden stash. “Sure, Artie.”

“And she likes you back! I saw it with my own two eyes!” He gestured to them for emphasis.

“I simply admire her. Now, I’m going to go smoke—”

“While daydreaming about your little work crush?”

“Oh, bugger off.”

Artie snickered as Edgar slipped out the back door.

[hvnyz]

| if you’re hearing YOU SIGNED UP FOR THIS by MAISIE PETERS playing, you have to know ZELDA “ZIGGY” ABRAMS (SHE/HER; CIS WOMAN) is near by! the 30year old BARISTA AT GREEN THUMB CAFE has been in denver for, like, FIVE YEARS. they’re known to be quite RECKLESS,but being RESILIANT seems to balance that out. or maybe it’s the fact that they resemble SOFIA BLACK D'ELIA. personally, i’d love to know more about them seeing as how they’ve got those DOG-EARED ROMANCE NOVELS, OAT MILK LATTES AND PATCHWORK TATTOOS vibes. and maybe i’ll get my chance if i hang out around the RIVER NORTH ART DISTRICT long enough!

pinterest || connections and wanted connections

BASICS

FULL NAME:  Zelda "Ziggy" Adira Abrams NICKNAME(S): Ziggy, Zigfield AGE: 30 DATE OF BIRTH:  October 13th, 1993 PLACE OF BIRTH:  Chicago, Illinois CURRENT LOCATION:.  RINo district, artists alley apartments ETHNICITY: Ashkenazi Jewish, Italian GENDER: Cis Woman PRONOUNS: she/her SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual RELIGION:  practicing Judaism OCCUPATION:  barista at green thumb cafe, spring romance writer FACECLAIM: Sofia Black D'elia

PHYSICAL TRAITS

HEIGHT: 5'3 WEIGHT: 121 pounds HAIR COLOR: Brown  EYE COLOR: brown PIERCINGS: her ears are pierced three times each TATTOOS:  roses on her left forearm, a panther on her right shoulder, and “mother” in a heart on her right arm, the pride and prejudice (2005) hand holding scene as a tattoo, random tattoos throughout creating "patchwork" sleeves SCARS|MARKS: n/a SIGNATURE SCENT: Le Labo Santal 33 

PHOBIAS AND DISEASES

MENTAL ILLNESSES: Generalized Anxiety PHYSICAL ILLNESSES: N/a PHOBIAS: acrophobia

RELATIONSHIPS

MOTHER:  Miriam Abrams FATHER:  N/A SIBLINGS: wanted connection coming soon RELATIONSHIPS: tba PETS: Maine Coon named Papaya

PERSONALITY

ZODIAC SIGN:  Libra MORAL ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Good FAVORITE FOODS: potato pancakes, dairy free butter chicken with garlic naan, eggplant parm. FAVORITE COLOR: lavender LIKES: getting tattoos, romance novels, learning new makeup techniques, dancing on bars, karaoke, DISLIKES: the smell of gasoline, the sound of babies crying, raspberries.  HOBBIES: spending too much time in the bookstore, clubbing, drinking, and buying makeup she doesn't know how to use.

HEADCANONS

Ziggy's favorite movie next to the original Scream is Pride and Prejudice (2005) Ziggy writes fluff-based fan fiction under a pseudonym Ziggy has been writing her novel since she was 25 Ziggy is loosely based off of Fiona Gallagher and Lorelai Gilmore. Ziggy drives a beat up, on it's last leg, jeep wrangler.

BIOGRAPHY

PAST,

Homelessness tw, teen pregnancy tw adoption mention tw brief death mention

Zelda "Ziggy" Adira Abrams didn’t have a real home until she was 12 years old. Her mother Miriam had her at just 16 years old, and the two lived in and out of homeless shelters, run-down apartments, and friends’ places throughout her childhood. Up until they moved into an actual home, she had never known anything other than moving around, being a nomad, herself, and her young mother.  

Ziggy, named after Zelda Fitzgerald but nicknamed after the infamous David Bowie persona, was resigned to raising herself as well as her mother. She had to grow up and be an adult from a young age, from circling job ads in newspapers and making sure they made it to the shelter on time to get a room, or at least to eat. There was never any real room to be a child.

It was Ziggy and her mother alone for a good while, until when she was five years old. A five-year-old Ziggy had no idea why her mother’s body was changing, she just knew that sometime later they were inside a hospital, there was a baby in her arms,  and then suddenly, there wasn’t.  They walked out of the hospital, just her and her mother, alone again. Ziggy would learn many, many, many years later, that her mother gave her little sister up for adoption.

Ziggy learning to read and loving to read is credited to her mother in many ways, the first being that her mother would take her to the library during the day to keep warm and have something to do, and Ziggy needed an escape from everything. It started with princesses in high towers being rescued by their prince and turned into sometimes cheesy, but often thrilling, romance novels. Ziggy fell in love with love.

When they finally got a real home, it was only because her grandmother passed away, leaving the three-bedroom home to her only daughter, Ziggy, and her mother Miriam moved right in.

It was all rather the same Ziggy needed to raise both herself and her mother, except this time her mother had landed herself a job, a waitress at a diner at night. During the day, Ziggy would go to school, and a night her mother would head off to work, leaving the young girl alone to her own devices.

But ultimately, Miriam Abrams wasn’t the mother a young girl needed. She didn’t get the puberty talk, she wasn’t taught how to do her hair or makeup, these were all things she had to pick up from magazines. She learned to cook enough to feed herself, but she was barely allotted a childhood, having to be the adult her mother wasn’t. No pretty dresses or elaborate bat mitzvahs paid for by her mother's boyfriend could make up for it.

Ziggy left the first moment she could. With a high school diploma, 1,000$ to her name, and a bus ticket, she was off to California, as far away from her mother as she could possibly get.

Ziggy slept on couches again and worked odd jobs until she found something more permanent as a waitress,  paying 30 dollars a night to sleep in a bedroom that had a curfew of 10:00 pm. She didn’t go to college. She had no direction whatsoever. She just wanted to experience life.

So experience she did, she lived in California, Seattle, and New York, and finally, she landed herself in Colorado, just her, her beat-up little jeep wrangler, her books, and a few garbage bags filled with clothes.

PRESENT

That was five years ago now, and Ziggy has been the happiest, and the most stable she's ever been. She's got a dream job as a barista at the Green Thumb, reading, and writing romance novels in her free time. It's her dream to be published, to walk into a library and see her name amongst her favorites, but for now, just writing them is enough. She lives in Artist's Alley Apartments in RINo and has an orange Maine Coon cat named Papaya. She still has no idea what she's doing, but she's happy and having fun trying to figure it out. She sends her mother money once a month.

[rawiswhore]

Various WWF Wrestlers, Sunny x Fem Reader- "Vicinity of Obscenity"

This is an actual confession about myself...I have polycystic ovarian syndrome, which means that I have more testosterone in my body than what a woman should have.

Polycystic ovarian syndrome causes me to have irregular periods that don't come for months (and I'm not pregnant) and it eventually turns into heavy menstrual cycles that last for weeks.

One of the symptoms of polycystic ovarian syndrome is having a low sex drive, and to be honest, I think I have a low sex drive.

I've had a shot to treat my PCOS, and I wonder in the future if I will have a high sex drive after I get treated for polycystic ovarian syndrome?

______________________________________________________________

During the golden age of burlesque performances in the 1930's and 1940's, men would masturbate while sitting in front of the stage as female burlesque dancers undressed for these men.

In the 1970's, an all female teenage rock band known as the Runaways were created because their sleazy manager knew how girls would lust over sexy male rock stars like Elvis, the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin and David Bowie, so why not have the same effect for horny guys?

Janis Joplin wasn't exactly a sex symbol.

The Runaway's manager paid men to act like sex crazed lunatics at their concerts just to hype the band up as sex symbols (despite that the girls in the Runaways were underage)---which included men masturbating against the stage during their performances, but those men jacking off were paid by the Runaways' manager after their performance.

There's no doubt there were male wrestling fans masturbating in the audiences and crowds during the Attitude era, ECW and maybe even the Ruthless Aggression era, maybe even the PG era too, where men and boys would masturbate to beautiful, oversexualized divas and the Godfather's hoes.

In fact, when you were at the height of your popularity during the Attitude era in the late 90's (as well as your brief stint in ECW at the end of the year 2000), there were male wrestling fans in the audience jacking off to you, there were even some male fans in the audience masturbating to you in the early 2000's, though you were still a bombshell at the beginning of the early millennium.

You somewhat don't mind it over male wrestling fans masturbating to you in the crowds and audience, but some of those male wrestling fans masturbating to you in wrestling shows are really ugly and unattractive.

Not to mention, those men masturbating in public would be charged for sexual crimes.

Professional wrestling has planted fans---people that are put in the audience to pretend and act like fans, and during the late 1990's you suggested to the creative staff to have sexy planted male fans masturbate to you in the front row.

Vince Russo and Vince McMahon ate that up, but the censors at the USA Networks didn't agree with it, not to mention the rest of the WWF's creative staff weren't too keen on it.

One day in June of 1997, before Rob Van Dam left the WWF and joined ECW again, you invited Rob as well as Hunter Hearst Helmsley, Shawn Michaels, Brian Pillman and Tommy Rogers from the Fantastics to the empty seats in the audience.

There were no fans in the audience and no cameras filming these wrestlers as well as you.

When you invited these wrestlers, this day was not on a "Monday Night Raw" episode, a pay-per-view or any other WWF show episode ("Shotgun Saturday Night") broadcast on television for people to see.

You and these wrestlers were having freetime.

You told these wrestlers what you wanted them to do to you when you and Sunny (the WWF's current it girl and biggest sex symbol at the time) come out.

Shawn, Hunter, Tommy, Rob and Brian all stood in the front row in the seats, and all of those men except for Rob had their long hair hanging down.

Once these men all stood in the front row, you and Sunny began to strut down to the ring.

Sunny entered the arena dressed in that blue crop top with matching blue shorts with a black feathered boa draped across her shoulderblades with these matching black boots, whereas you wore a sleeveless black halter top that showed off your midriff and ended below your breasts with these matching black short shorts and black boots.

Sunny wore that outfit on a "Monday Night Raw" episode where she arm wrestled Marlena as well as during a photoshoot; she looks good in that outfit!

Your outfit was arguably not as sexy as Sunny's.  

As you and Sunny strutted together to the ring, Sunny's head was turned sideways looking at the wrestlers standing front row, where she smiled and flirtatiously waved at them and blew them kisses as she walked closer to them.

Sunny actually quickly flashed some bare skin on the side of her body as she strutted to these men, only for her feathered boa to cover it up.

You, too, turned your head sideways and blew kisses at those male wrestlers lined up front row, smiling at them and waving at them.

Shawn, Hunter, Rob, Tommy and Brian, on the other hand, happily cheered for you and Sunny as you and her walked down to the ring.

"They're makin' my dick hard!" Rob stated about you and Sunny with his head turned next to who he was standing by.

"Me too!" Brian, Hunter and Shawn chimed in, although not saying that in unison.

Tommy was getting an erection looking at Sunny and you, he just wouldn't say.

One of Shawn's, Rob's and Brian's fists were pumping up in the air as you and Sunny strolled down to the ring, and Shawn and Brian both whistled at you like how men whistle at attractive women.

Shawn, Hunter, Rob, Tommy and Brian all pulled their penises out of their shorts as you and Sunny paraded to the ring, where one of their hands were masturbating their erections forming.

Those aforementioned men's heads turned when you and Sunny strutted to the ring, their eyes and heads following you and Sunny as you and she pranced down to the ring together.

When you and Sunny were next to the ring, you and Sunny walked up the little stairs leading up the ring and ducked under the ropes.

Those men's eyes were still all on you and Sunny when you were inside the ring as well as walking up those stairs, and those men were still all masturbating to you and her.

You wish other male professional wrestlers like Jeff Hardy, Nova from ECW, Scott Hall, Chris Jericho, Jim Powers from WCW and others could've been the many men masturbating to you as well as Sunny, but those men were in other companies that they're not allowed to come to (except Jeff Hardy).

(Also, I could've set this fanfic in May of 1997 when Jeff Hardy was in the WWF, but I've written and set so many fanfics in that month that there probably wouldn't be a lot of time for Jeff to masturbate to the fem reader in the ring!).

Even though Sunny is beautiful, you wish these men's attention could be more on you instead of her.

You even wish you could've worn her outfit she's wearing.

"So what do you want us to do?" you asked these men while you leaned over to the ropes, your voice loud so they can hear you. "Y'want us to strip? Dance? Both?"

Maybe even pretend to catfight each other, although the WWF making women catfight didn't happen until a year later.

"Show your tits!" Rob suggested as one of his hands was beating off.

Rob's heard that many times in ECW considering the fans in the crowds would chant "show your tits!" at the women.

Your hands grabbed the bottom of your top and raised it up, flashing and exposing your bare breasts in front of these men.

These wrestlers cheered and whistled when you showed off your bare chest, smiling as you showed them your tits.

"Let Sunny do it too!" Shawn Michaels suggested, which these men standing near him agreed.

Rob and Brian could easily chant "Show your tits" at her.

"If you say so!" Sunny said with a smirk on her face, where her hands grabbed the bottom of your top and raised and pulled it up, showing off her barenaked breasts to these men.

Sunny's flash got even louder cheers from these men than you.

While you and Sunny have been standing in the ring (as well as showing off your breasts), these male wrestlers in the audience you've invited have still continued masturbating to you and her.

Precum was staring to form out of their slits and nearly drip on the floor.

You and Sunny both then pulled your tops back down until they were covering your breasts.

What exactly is there for you and her to do in this ring for these men to masturbate to you?

Maybe dance or kiss each other.

Sunny has often danced a few times.

"Y'want us to dance?" you asked these men. "Touch myself?"

"Do a little bit of both!" Hunter suggested.

These men probably want you and Sunny to lesbian out with each other.

Either way, you and Sunny started bouncing around, not jumping up in the air but dancing a bit, Sunny had her arms up in the air as she smiled and danced and so did you.

As you danced, one of your hands reached at your crotch area and started rubbing it, your hand stroking your vulva covered by your shorts.

These men were cheering for you and Sunny as you danced, many of them whistling at you.

One idea you had was where you leaned your chest forward over the ropes, blowing kisses at these male wrestlers lined up while your feet were in the air, doing what Terri Runnels does.

"If I wore a miniskirt, I'd show off my panties to them!" Sunny said.

"Me too!" you agreed.

These men wanted to see that for sure, even though they've seen you in your panties already.

"Can I get a blowjob after this?" Brian asked.

"Sure!" you answered. "I'll give you all head and swallow it!"

Those men cheered hearing that.

"I want Sunny to give me head too!" Brian added.

"Me too!" Shawn, Rob and Hunter chimed in.

There were a few other people in the WWF who saw those male wrestlers masturbating in public to you and Sunny, those male wrestlers could easily go to jail for breaking the law, but you explained to these other people it was your idea to have these male wrestlers masturbating to you and Sunny while you and her strutted to the ring.

When Jeff Hardy and Christian Cage were in the WWF again, you and Sunny invited Triple H, Shawn Michaels, Jeff and Christian front row while the seats behind them were all completely empty (and this wasn't on a WWF episode or pay per view), where you and Sunny strutted down to the ring in skimpy outfits while these men cheered and masturbated to you and her.

[doomed-sorceress]

So as cool as it would be for this to be true, I've think it's false. The original source of the rumor seems to be from this tweet, but the user had limited who can view their posts so I only have this thumbnail summary. It seems they may even be confessing to making the whole thing up in this tweet, though I can't be for sure.

I found the original interview this copying to look legit, there's a brief mention of LSD: "..Even psychedelic drugs that open you up are forbidden. LSD was invented by Albert Hoffman, who is Swiss. He had his first psychedelic experience on a bicycle, after accidentally getting some LSD on his fingers. He didn’t know what he had discovered. He was looking for something that would help women in labor. He changed the world."

But nothing about he himself doing LSD or a sexual experience with transwomen.

There is a mention of lying about a woman's gender identity to artist Dali: ".....Amanda Lear wrote a book about him. For some time she was like his lover. At the time, they didn’t know if Amanda was a guy or girl. David Bowie brought her in and told Dali she was a man in order to make her more mysterious."

Full interview for those interested:

You may be good, but are you "fucked a man so hard he created genre re-defining art so incredible that it has reached across multiple mediums and impacted them for generations to come" good?