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         I HAVE A PROBLEM THEY SAID THEY CAN SOLVE

                                                             (oh, medazzaland.)

                          indie fandomless oc based on duran duran’s 1997 “medazzaland”.

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Reblog if both you and your muse are Not Straight™

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Nine Inch Nails - Hurt (1994, Nothing/Interscope Records)

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I was alone, falling free, trying my best not to forget

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Coming Down - Halsey

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I’m a Mess- Ed Sheeran (requested)

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Michael gave a heady, tipsy giggle, like a schoolgirl after her first shot of vodka. He wasn't used to anybody reciprocating his somewhat aimless affection. Especially not anybody famous; not that fame mattered too much to him. In his mind, he was famous.

“Why, it's really rather nice to meet you — Mister Stardust.” More high-pitched laughter, at his own supposedly witty pointless jibe. Without much more in the way of ado, Michael's head hit the neighbouring seat. He looked like a cartoon character, flat out there so soon after speaking.

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The Script Six Degrees of Separation

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Michael had been queuing for the gig for hours. Elias had given him the tickets. Fallen off the back of a lorry, knowing Elias. He did nothing but nick things; anything and everything that wasn't bolted down, doubly bolted down. Still, Michael didn't have scruples about it. Looking at the tickets, he noticed for the first time that they were under a girl's name. He couldn't help but giggle, hiding it behind a long coat sleeve. Mustn't attract attention.

The queue slowly drained off into the amphitheatre entrance. Michael waved “his” tickets hastily, in a rush to get a good seat. It was on his mind to jump the barrier. After all, it was David Bowie. It'd garner him a lot of fanzine attention, but it'd be worth it.

A quick slap about the back of the head got the girl in front of him in the line down to the front out of the way. Michael had a terrible vice for causing damage to people and property, and having a laugh to himself about it afterwards behind closed doors. He never used to be this way, but he'd been around the people whom he was stuck with as friends for so long he barely held on to any morals at all.

Michael half-fell into a front-row seat. Dimly someone called out. “Are you alright there, son?” Perhaps not. Perhaps nobody had said a word. For a moment he was dreaming. He sighed, straightening his leather jacket under his overcoat, shrugging the overcoat off to fall over the back of the seat. It was a pity he was here alone.

                                                                                                                   ― ( @whambamthxnkyoumaam )

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         I HAVE A PROBLEM THEY SAID THEY CAN SOLVE

                                                             (oh, medazzaland.)

                          indie fandomless oc based on duran duran’s 1997 “medazzaland”.

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all we do // oh wonder

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Send me "§" if you'd ever consider shipping our muses

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VERSE TAG DUMP.

(including one I haven't written up yet. whoops.)

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TAG DUMP.