#guide to Led Zeppelin

[tdesignersblog]

[treedesignfashionsblog]

[joy-of-jamming]

Lesson 26 - Play 8 - Open Chords - D Major - Learn How to Play Guitar

[biblicallyaccuratemeat]

Omg hi I've been looking for someone who's been accepting requests for Doctor Strange! I definitely think we need more fics set during his neurosurgeon days. Being said that, I do have a request: No smut at all, just fluff. Something where Stephen is attracted to someone younger than him, someone in their 20s. He doesn't know how to go about asking her out and where to take her since they have an age difference. Just wanted something super cute. Thanks!

Tangerine

A/N: Shaking you anon!!!! Ugh, I am always, always down to write surgeon Strange. I had a fun time writing this, I got a little carried away whoops. Anyway, I hope this is everything you envisioned and more <3 feel free to blow up my inbox with Stephen requests, I’m here for it! Stephen Strange x female reader, neurosurgeon Stephen Strange, coworkers, mutual pining, age gap, awkward flirting, two dumbasses crushing on each other, Stephen being an old man, fluff and humor and good vibes for everyone!

(P.S. the title of this fic is based off the song Tangerine by Led Zeppelin, if anyone wanted some mood music for reading this)

Word count: 3.1k

“You’re blushing.”

Stephen freezes, hand caught in a proverbial cookie jar. He can’t help but reach up to feel the burning beneath his own fingers. Damn her.

“Aren’t you due for your fourth energy drink of the night?” He deflects skillfully, casting a sidelong glance at Christine who’s all smug and chummy next to him. He can’t give her the satisfaction of being right, nor can he give her the slightest clue at what he's blushing at. Or rather, who he’s blushing at. 

Young. Perky. A smile for every patient, intern, and charge nurse in between. You’re not yet jaded by twelve hour shifts and cases gone wrong and pissed off relatives of patients. Fresh out of medical school, all bright eyed and bushy tailed. Pushing one Stephen Strange to the brink of sanity and testing his usually stellar limits. This is a problem with no solution in sight. 

He’s well liked and his reputation is prestigious enough that if he really, really wanted to, he could persuade the hospital director to transfer you. To a new unit, a new floor, a new hospital. Ideally, he’d have someone just run you out of town and wipe your memory from his existence. But he’s not that much of a dick, despite what the other residents whisper and simper about over water cooler chitchat. 

This…crush, which Stephen doesn’t want to label it like that. Crush sounds so juvenile, another glaring reminder that he’s at least twenty years your senior. These feelings snuck up on him, he was going about his business, guiding this year’s new batch of residents with a well placed glare and plenty of sarcasm. Then boom! Knocked on his ass by a twenty-six year old resident fresh out of medical school. A young woman that Stephen not only is technically in charge of, but has no business pining after. 

Fate is a fickle mistress indeed.

He swears he’s not going to do a thing about it. He’s always been the suffer in silence type anyway. And oh, how he’s suffering now. Every accidental brush of contact, every chirped “Good morning, Doctor Strange!”, it’s unraveling him like a shitty knitting project. It’s damn near impossible to avoid you, especially considering how often you seek him out. It’s almost like you know you’re torturing him and relish his misery.

“Hey, Doctor Strange!” Stephen nearly jumps three feet in the air, spinning around with grace of a newborn giraffe. 

And there you are, a vision in teal scrubs and white sneakers. You’re so pretty it’s stupid. And Stephen feels the flames of hell licking at his heels as he basks in your presence like a starving man at a feast. “I heard you performed another successful Palmer-Strange technique yesterday. You must be psyched.” You chirp, oblivious to Stephen’s agony, smiling up at him like sunshine incarnate.

Christine elbows him in the side, hard. He blinks, realizing he’s been silently gaping at you for far long than what’s appropriate or sane. “Oh, yes. Yes, I did. I mean— we did,” He casts a sidelong glance at Christine who he can tell is biting back a laughing fit at his sudden ineloquence. He’ll scowl at her once you leave. 

“Congratulations, that’s awesome!” You praise so, so earnestly, reaching out to squeeze his bicep. You say your goodbyes and leave a flabbergasted Stephen in your wake of saccharine destruction.

“That was a little disgusting to witness,” Christine snorts, simpering up at Stephen. “You’re not usually this gawky, why don’t you just ask her on a date?” 

Stephen pales at the idea, scoffing in outrage, “Ask her out? Are you kidding me? That’s a horrible idea.” 

Christine balks, “How is it horrible? You like her and she obviously likes you. Two plus two equals four, doesn’t it?”

“She doesn’t like me. She tolerates me, mainly because I’m senior to her in every way that counts. Which is exactly why I can’t afford to get involved. What would she even get out of a date with me? I’m old enough to be her father. I bet if I asked her where she was on 9/11, she’d tell me she was three months old.” Stephen rants, gesturing wildly to emphasize the sheer absurdity of Christine’s suggestion. 

“I don’t think she minds the fact that you’re almost half a century old,” Christine pats his arm condescendingly, returning her attention to the case notes in her hands. 

“I am not that old,” Stephen hisses, running his hands over his face tiredly. This day just keeps getting longer and longer. 

“Remind me again, what year were you born?” Christine asks airily, not even sparing a glance up from the papers.

“Shut it,” Stephen snaps, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. 

—

Jamming these feelings down into a dark, chasmic corner is not working. In fact, if anything, it’s making this far, far worse. Stephen is starting to make mistakes in his work. Mistakes. The very thought of something as trivial as a passing fancy having this much impact in his career is absurd. And yet, it’s happening whether he likes it or not. Thankfully, the mistakes are minor and harmless. But still, the fact that it's happening at all is utterly ridiculous.

He’s going to have to nip this in the bud immediately. The universe, however, has other ideas. Which is how he finds himself alone, in his office with you one Thursday night. Night being a generous stretch, really it’s two in the morning and his eyes are stinging with exhaustion. There’s a rather complicated case that’s come through the ER and he saw it as the perfect opportunity to see how you fare and provide a little guidance. 

Yes, he’d rather drag his bare ass down a mountain than be within ten miles of your insufferably sweet scent. But, he also wants to see you succeed. So, Stephen stuffs down every dopey, lovesick thought and grits his teeth, pointing to certain parts of the imaging with his pen and asks you what your opinion is, what your prognosis would be. Of course, you exceed all of his expectations. You even come up with a treatment plan that he’d never considered, it’s fresh and far less invasive than what was originally proposed. He’s impressed and incredibly proud of you. You’re going to be a fine surgeon.

“Excellent, well thank you very much for your insight,” Stephen remarks cordially, standing up, extending his hand. And when you slip yours into his waiting one, a little shiver rolls through his body. Your hand is impossibly tiny in his, and it’s doing things to him. Dangerous things, things that should not be entertained or acknowledged.

Stephen feels like a perv, getting all worked up over a simple fucking handshake. Maybe he should consider transferring you to a different unit, or maybe he should transfer to a new hospital. Or maybe, he should just burn this one down. Whichever is easiest, whichever gets him out of this limbo of pining over a twenty-something year old like a rabid dog. The guilt is eating him alive, especially when you bat those big innocent eyes at him and call him Doctor Strange and ask for his advice and fucking look up to him. He’s supposed to be a role model, a guide, a mentor. 

And when you bring him a cookie and a coffee from the cafeteria an hour before your shift is over? His heart does a stupid little flip, because you thought of him. And his brain chastises him, makes him feel absolutely awful at how he’s reading far too much into a simple, kind gesture. You’d do it for anyone, he’s not special. 

__

It all comes to an unfortunate but inevitable head a week later. Stephen, nose deep in a patient file, is striding like a bat out of hell through the hallways. In order to desperately ignore the ever-evolving feelings he’s harboring for you, he’s thrown himself into his work blindly. He barely sleeps, rarely goes home, always trying to find a new distraction. Anything to get his mind off you. Of course, most people would part like the Red Sea for him, knowing how he is when he gets his bouts of tunnel vision. 

His attempt at distracting himself has gotten away from him, and that’s how he ends up running head on into you. You tumble down to the linoleum floors. Papers comically flying up in the air like released doves, Stephen only stumbles slightly back. He rights himself immediately, horror spreading in his veins like ice. In his recklessness, not only did he knock you over like a bowling pin but the iced latte you were sipping on has exploded across the front of your scrubs like a caramel flavored Rorschach test. He sees two pigeons in the splat, or maybe it’s a tree. 

“Shit! I’m sorry, kiddo,” he immediately cringes at the use of that nickname, it’s like rubbing salt in an already festering wound, “I didn’t even see you. Here,” he offers a hand, pulling you upright. Fuck the papers, he doesn’t care that they’re now saturated with coffee. 

“It’s okay, Doctor Strange. I’m fine, really.” You deflect, frowning down at your ruined scrubs. You’re upset and it’s his doing, his fault. 

“Let me, uh,” Stephen awkwardly digs through his pockets for his wallet. He yanks out a twenty dollar bill, shoving it at you like a caveman, “Buy new scrubs. My treat.”

“Oh, wow! I can’t accept that, that’s really kind of you though. I’m not upset. I promise. Accidents happen.” You gently decline, pushing the extended bill back to Stephen. 

Old habits die hard, Stephen, the Mr. Fix-it-all of the universe, can’t just accept that you’re okay with him barreling into you like a buffoon. “At least let me take you out for a new coffee,” he blurts out and wants to kick himself immediately, “To make it up for you. If you want, that is. No pressure, of course!” 

There’s a pregnant pause, Stephen braces himself for a swift and soul crushing rejection. But then, “Okay, sure. I get off in two hours, does that work for you?” 

Stephen jerkily glances down at his watch, “Two hours? Yes. Yeah. That’s perfect. We’ll get coffee. You and me. Sounds good.” 

“Alright, it’s a date,” You beam up at him, bending down to collect the papers that scattered in the collision. You hand them back to Stephen and go on your merry way, leaving behind a tongue tied Doctor Strange.

You said yes. You said it’s a date. Words fail him, Stephen’s scathing wit is nowhere to be found, his usual sarcasm abandoning him. He has two hours to prepare. He can’t just take you down to the hospital cafeteria. The coffee is passable but that has to be the world’s shittiest first date, no effort put in at all. Stephen excels at dates, in his not-so-humble opinion. He was suave, he was thoughtful, he had impeccable taste. 

Coffee dates were not his forte, maybe when he was a grad student, but now? Absolutely not. Stephen would book a reservation at some obscenely overpriced restaurant or take a woman out dancing. Coffee felt juvenile. Which only put a glaring, neon sign on the fact that you’re TWENTY years or so younger than him. Can he get arrested for this?

He’ll have to ask Christine what a good coffee place is. He knows fuck all about cafes, opting to just brew his own at home. His order has always been the same, uncomplicated, black with a splash of cream. He didn’t need any mocha, matcha, macchiato bullshit. But if what he spilled across you was any indicator, you took your coffee (if you could call it that) with an obscene amount of sweeteners and syrups and sugars. 

He shoots a text to Christine, which is met with a few dozen smug, gloating messages. The standard ‘I told you so’s’ and ‘I knew she was into you!’.  And of course, one very irritating ‘cradle robber ;)’. He makes a note to block Christine after receiving her advice. 

She provides him with a detailed list of a few cafes within walking distance of the hospital. He pulls up the websites, wanting to get a feel for the menu before picking a place. Stephen feels like he’s reading an entirely different language. Tall, grande, venti. Oat milk, cold foam, nitrobrew. All he wants to know is if he can get coffee. Just coffee. He’s out of his depth, that much is abundantly clear. So, he’ll just pick a place at random and pray you enjoy it. 

After the cafe debacle, Stephen still has a good hour and a half till you’re off. He throws himself into his work, far too wired to just relax and sit there for 5,400 seconds. Stephen was never a patient man and he wasn’t going to begin pretending he was.

So he paces and he paces, and he paces some more. He checks his watch once, twice, thrice. It’s only been fifteen minutes. He groans, throwing himself back into his desk chair, pulling up a patient chart on his computer, updating the information. He supposes he can be productive with his time instead of wearing tracks into his rug. 

In some act of divine mercy, blissfully, the time passes much quicker once Stephen puts his mind to work. Before he knows it, he’s borderline jogging to the nurse’s station to find you. In his haste, Stephen nearly reenacts the collision that landed him this date in the first place, stumbling to a stop before he slams into you head first. 

“Do you have zero spatial awareness or am I just special?” You tease, grinning up at Stephen, placing your hands on your hips.

Stephen can feel his face transform through every human emotion— mortification, sheepishness, to finally land on smitten, utterly besotted. He chuckles bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck, “Sorry, I guess I was anxious to get you a new cup of coffee.”

“Oh, well, let’s go then,” you chirp, slipping your hand into his like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Your hand is agonizingly soft and small in Stephen’s, another impossible to ignore reminder of the fact that you’re young, young, young, and he’s old. 

As the two of you make your way out of the fluorescent lights of the ER and into the sunshine, into the real world, Stephen receives a few puzzled looks from coworkers. His self awareness spikes, his hackles raising, and he starts to second guess himself. He halts in the middle of the sidewalk, glaring down at the concrete like it’s personally offended him. 

“Uh, Doctor Strange?” Your hand drops, Stephen silently mourns the loss of contact, “Are you okay?”

Your voice is so tentative, so sweet, it makes his chest ache. Every little interaction, every little mannerism seems to just further highlight your youth, your age, and Stephen feels like he’s committing a crime. So, he purses his lips, steeling his nerves, prepping for some rare vulnerability on his part. 

“Doesn’t it bother you that I’m probably— no, I’m definitely old enough to be your father?” He asks in a flat, hollow voice, already dreading your answer, regretting even asking such a ridiculous question. 

“Mmm, no, not really,” you shrug, still so damn chipper and carefree. How is this not bothering you, Stephen wonders, utterly mystified by your lax attitude. 

“Why? Does it bother you?” You tilt your head to the side, watching him carefully. 

Stephen huffs, running his hands through his hair agitatedly, mussing up his usually tidy style, “Yes!” He cries, throwing his hands up in the air, “Yes, it bothers me! I don’t know how you’re so easy-breezy about this whole thing, but I personally feel like I’m coming unglued! Or at the very least, I’m going to get in some kind of trouble taking a girl your age out.”

He’s making a scene, he knows this, but he doesn’t give a damn at this point, he just needs to get this shit off his chest before he goes into cardiac arrest. But then, you snort at him, rolling your eyes in an exasperated but fond way, like he’s the ridiculous one. 

“I’m twenty-six, not twelve. You’re only twenty-two years older than me, this could be a lot worse. You could be eighty,” you crack a small grin, nudging his side gently with your elbow. 

Stephen huffs, his shoulders lowering, the crinkle between his brow smoothing out. He nods slowly, “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I could be eighty.” He repeats, unable to hold back the small smile that’s spreading across his lips. 

“Exactly. Besides, this is just coffee, you’re not proposing to me,” you chirp, holding your hand out to him, an offering, “Now, let’s go. You owe me a new coffee regardless of the fact that you’re overthinking every single move.”

Stephen nods dumbly, in a rare display of allowing someone else to take the lead. Stephen’s anxieties melt away like a popsicle in the summer sun as the date progresses. You’re unbelievably easy to talk to, Stephen finds himself sharing things about himself that Christine doesn’t even know. And yes, the age difference is glaringly clear in some instances, but you gladly listen to Stephen ramble about the eighties and Duran Duran. Before you know it, two hours have passed and it’s time to head back to the hospital. 

“You can take me out this weekend, if you want,” you murmur, hand in hand with Stephen as you weave through the cafeteria. Stephen shoots you an incredulous look, because how the hell did you know?

“I can see the smoke coming out of your ears as you try to figure out how to ask me.” You smirk, coming to a stop outside his office. “You’re going to hurt your brain if you keep freaking out like this for our entire relationship.”

Stephen blinks and before he can whip up a witty retort, you press up onto your tiptoes and kiss him. The kiss is soft, coaxing him back to reality. He melts, cupping your face in his hands, moving his mouth in tandem against yours. You pull back, eyes alight with mischief, and Stephen has to bite back a groan. Not appropriate, definitely not appropriate for work.

“See you around, Doctor Strange!” And with that, you’re gone, leaving behind a speechless Stephen Strange. 

If Christine notices the way his eyes are crinkling, the way there’s absolutely a grin underneath his surgical mask in the OR later that day… Well, she doesn’t say anything. She’ll save the goading for after your second date.

[hoarderheart]

“Bert and Ernie are gay” is such an insane line to be said specifically by Dean to Cas in a show where the queer reading of their relationship with each other is often shut down by other fans and the goddamn network itself, in a scene where Dean is weirdly obsessing over Cas’ sex life and virginity, in a conversation led by Dean, sparked by him using his previously established pick-up line on Cas.

It’s in the way that Dean says it, the way it implies that Dean had been ruminating on and possibly even debated with someone over this in the past, and came to the confident conclusion that, indeed, Bert and Ernie are gay. He knew it for certain.

It’s in the way that this was a dialogue from a time when Bert and Ernie being gay for each other was only a speculation, but never close to confirmation. At least not until much later, in 2018, when one of the former writers, Mark Saltzman, confirms the queer subtext to be deliberate at least on his part, having modeled his writing of their relationship after his own queer relationship, only to be shut down by the network the very next day.

And it’s the way that—god—it’s the way that if Dean had said this then (and even now) within the fandom, or just in any setting with more pop-culturally adept people than a conversation with Cas in a dark abandoned house, and especially about a children’s show…he would’ve been called “fucking delusional”, he would’ve been told to “stop projecting your perverted fantasies onto these characters”, he would’ve been told “you’re just reading too much into it”. He would’ve been told all the things that destiel fans have been (and still are) told by the people who view any queer reading of Dean himself and Cas, of their relationship, and of the show as a whole as mere fan fiction, instead of something done by the show and its creatives with intent. Because that’s simply what it’s like to read into queer subtext in shows, queer subtext that is forced to be mere subtext by the same people who insists that they’re not there are all.

And who knows, maybe Dean have said this while in some sort of community for geeks. Maybe he was also in the trenches insisting that so and so characters are queer, though probably just not as much we are (he can’t worry about that too often since he’s got work to do and apocalypses to avert). Still, he very clearly has some strong opinions on many of the media he engages with, and is happy to express some of them. What he likes most, what he deems best, what he deems true. Swayze always gets a pass, Zeppelin rules, cowboy boots makes Dr. Sexy sexy. Bert and Ernie are gay. He clearly cares about this stuff because he’s passionate about it, just like how many of us are passionate about this show (among many others). It’s not far fetched to think that he’d argued about this before (and have been told he’s wrong).

This seemingly small comedic part of Dean’s dialogue says so much about him. It shows that Dean himself reads into and welcomes the possible queer subtext within the media he engages with, on top of engaging with other more explicitly queer media, like Thelma & Louise, which he giddily references in the same episode (specifically to compare his relationship with Cas to that of Thelma and Louise’s).

To me, that piece of dialogue is like a little hidden note written by the writers, put in a place where they know the queer fans would go to (where many others wouldn’t), saying: “We know you’re here, and we know why. We’re the ones who carved this little path and lit the guiding lights to this place, to what you see”. We know you’re reading into this very dialogue, and we want you to know that the conclusion you’ve arrived to are within our intentions for this story and these characters. 

In 2009.

[zin-fan-del]

Holdin' Out for a Hero

~5.000 word story featuring gay lizards and blueberry inflation. Also available for reading here on my main website!

"I've been holding out on this until I found someone like you." Windsor's words filled the quiet, dimly-rit room so suddenly it made the scales on Mehji's back momentarily crawl. Beneath the idyll autumn sceneries at the ranch house, he had been led to a room packed with machinery and chemical equipment. The crisp air and warm-hued leaves gave way to a well-camouflaged den of metallic greens and blues.

"Don't say cryptic things," the perturbed lizard just over half his height rebuked, keeping up pace behind his tour guide. His hands dug deep into the pockets of his sweatpants, despite the warmth radiating from the machines all over. As they walked, Mehji snuck several glances away from the curiosities all around to try and read Windsor's face. All he could make out was a confident, smug grin.

"So," the pale dragon's march stopped as the two approached an unusual display glowing with minty green light, "this is my magnum opus." He turned on a heel to face his guest, wearing the same baffling smirk… Next to this stellar contraption, though, a sparkle danced in his eyes.

Mehji's gaze broke with Windsor as he sized up the machine. Inside, like a sample floating in an enormous test tube, a full-body jumpsuit, boots, gloves and a mask were suspended. Looking at it, even up close, it was difficult to tell whether they were actually submerged in liquid or resin. The glass container appeared ethereal, draped in fluorescent viridian shining from lamps below. The tube was embedded in a steel base platform decorated by flickering control panel buttons.

The torso of the bodysuit was decorated with interweaving stripes that diverge and trace the outer arms and legs. A slim black belt featuring an elliptical metal buckle outlined in studs divided it in half vertically. The gloves and boots had cuffs shaped into wide spikes splayed outward. The lurid crimson fabric patterned with bold gray details appeared well-made, albeit strangely large and baggy.

"Is… is this your Halloween costume?" Mehji surmised, scratching the back of his head and forcing a smile. "It's, uh, cool. Which superhero was this again?"

Reacting to the lukewarm response, Windsor's face dropped into a disappointed frown. Unsure what he could have said wrong, Mehji chuckled nervously.

"This is not some measly costume. This… is Wrath." As the white dragon spoke of his creation, he turned to cast a prideful gaze thereupon, a smile creeping back onto his face.

"Isn't that one of those cardinal sins, mister…?" Mehji prodded jokingly. But Windsor simply sighed and faced him, speaking up with a serious tone.

"Mehji, do you remember the day we met?" Windsor's serious, seemingly off-the-cuff question was startling, though easily answered.

"Of course, though I barely believe it. We rolled people the size of zeppelins out of a restaurant…" Giving a brief nod, Windsor carried on.

"Aster City has been ravaged by that same incident happening again and again. People all over the place, in small groups, uncontrollably blowing up. It's a rapid growth that turns your body blue and fills you with juice." As he recounted the events of the past weeks, Windsor's eyes closed tight and he tapped between his brows with an index finger.

"The… the blueberries…" Mehji pulled a hand out of his pocket to insinctively carress his stomach, casting his mind back to the situation in question. His face must have contorted slightly as he spoke, because the taller reptilian's smug grin returned. A nervous feeling raging through Mehji spawned beads of sweat on his forehead.

"You were of great help that day. In fact, I don't think I've seen anyone else quite so excited to do heavy lifting." A gentle blush rose to Mehji's cheeks and his eyes forced themselves away.

"I- I just like being a helpful lil' guy, is all," the embarrassed green lizard attempted to clarify. "Was just following your instructions, really…"

"Then you won't mind putting this suit on for me." With a fluid motion, Windsor reached out and pressed a large eject button on the container's control panel. Immediately, the tube's glass walls slid down to the base, flooding the room in glowing seafoam hues. The garments gently fluttered down to the platformbeneath them, landing at Windsor's waist height.

"Right now? You want a superhero strip show?" Mehji jabbed into Windsor's side playfully with an elbow. "Ya gooner."

"W-what?!" Now, it was the alabaster reptile's turn to blush, which he poorly hid by turning his chin up and away. "To make fast-changing possible, it's designed to fit around any kind of dresswear. You don't even need to take your shoes… off…"

His spiel was abruptly interrupted upon reopening his eyes. Mehji's lower half was already stripped down to just boxers, and his arms were raised over his head to remove the white wifebeater formerly obscured by a large jersey. As he casually tossed the shirt into a pile of his other discarded clothes, their eyes locked. This time, it was Mehji's turn to meet a stunned, flushed face with a cocky smirk.

"What? Are you gay?" He teased, flexing his right bicep playfully. Windsor's jaw dropped but his brain had yet to catch upto speed.

"Well, but… It's not like… Y-you just don't have to, um, undress if you don't want to," the words raced each other out of his gaping maw, but Windsor's composure wasn't regained whatsoever.

"Enough yapping, you dork. You wanna see these guns in a tight suit?" Windsor's diamond eyes shot back and forth from the nearly-nude hunk actively teasing him, unable to conjure up words. "I wanna see more of that look on your face."

As he spoke, Mehji took hold of the suit and unfolded it before him. It unfurled all the way out onto the floor, despite being suspended in his hands over his head. Expeditiously, he unzipped the flashy suit from the top down to the tail-hole, and stepped inside with one leg.

"It's huge," he noted aloud while dressing himself. "You couldn't have secretly taken my measurements better?"

"… You'll see how it works," Windsor retorted, cheeks still rosy. Mehji raised a brow, uncertain what that could mean, but continued, trusting the dragon's guidance to be benign. As he slid his arms down the sleeves of the costume, he turned around.

"Help me out," Mehji instructed, gesturing with one hand at the zipper running down his back. Windsor stepped forward and, with a single decisive tug, closed it all the way up to his neck.

"Excellent. A perfect fit!" Windsor exclaimed with glee as Mehji slowly turned around. The suit was, contrarily, extremely loose and tall, despite being sealed quite firmly around his wrists, ankles, the base of his tail and the top of his neck. As he slid on the boots and gloves, Mehji felt the accessories snap into place like magnets. Despite the unflattering fit, there was a remarkable degree of care put into every piece.

"So, this is what you're into…?" Mehji probed, his tone landing between serious and jokingly pejorative. Most of the fabric was exaggeratedly draped around him like a blanket. He waved his arms slightly up and down, expectedly uncomfortable. "I think some, uh, adjustments might be necessary." From behind, Windsor raised the bandana-like mask up to the smaller reptile's eyes, fastening it into a secure knot below the spikes on his head. Despite their stark-white eyecaps, the mask conferred surprisingly unimpeded visibility.

"Quiet, now… Just follow my lead. You know which arm is your right one?"

"I'm not completely helpless, mister." Mehji smirked, and gestured with the according arm.

"Good. Snap your fingers with that hand."

"Like this?"

Upon triggering the click between his index finger and thumb, a small but distinct beep from the suit's chest area rang out. Before he could react, with the light sound of a vaccuum sealer, the entire garment restricted against his body.

"Guh--" Mehji gasped, puffing out his chest as he felt the soft fabric grow quickly tense. A sense of surprise stunned his jaw open as he held out both arms, contorting around to survey his body with wide eyes. "Holy… That scared me shitless." But as he continued to twist around, the initial shock gradually settling, an emphatic grin spread onto his face. "Hah… haha! Wow. How the fuck did you pull this off?"

The garment was fitted, in the blink of an eye, to perfection. Every curve of his body appeared sculpted beneath the unbelievably smooth fabric. With awe illuminating his visage, the green lizard was stunned into staring at himself in the reflection of a tall machine. This comfort level in such a tight garment was unthinkable to him. It would take hours of meticulous stitching to achieve anything similar.

"You look incredible." Windsor spoke up after letting his newly-dressed partner look himself over. He walked up behind the distracted man and planted both hands on his shoulders. Mehji, who had been on-edge just moments before, didn't react at all. "What you're looking at… What you're wearing… is how I'll fix the blueberries. This is Wrath."

"Your answer is to become a superhero?" Mehji curied, still transfixed on his own reflection. "I thought they caught the guy behind the breakouts already."

"Not quite." Windsor's hands began to explore his guest's figure. "I'm no hero. All I have is this flashy suit…" His palms follow the lines down Mehji's arms before gripping the sides of his chest and sliding down to his waist. "The blueberries just keep popping up, no matter how many culprits get arrested." His words kept Mehji from melting into the gentle massage. "You might now know, but some even remain afflicted long-term, expanding repeatedly…"

Mehji's body, mostly cool beneath the breathable bodysuit, couldn't resist warming up with big hands prodding at it. With an audible gulp, he stared into Windsor's calm eyes and spoke, "I thought permaberries were mythical."

"On the contrary, there are many. And twenty-ton life isn't easy in the city. You just don't fit in anywhere." Winsdor lifted his hands away from Mehji's hips and turned on a heel to take a few steps away. Windsor grew unxpectedly quiet as his brow shaded his downturned eyes. An indiscernable but painful emotion rose with him, expressed clearly through his self-assured facade.

"What're you going to do then? Find out whodunnit? Or run around, juicing everyone in your path?" Mehji brainstormed lightheartedly but his lanky suitor's demeanor refused to lighten.

"Nah." Click. Turning to face Windsor, Mehji heard the distinctive click priming the raygun pointed in his face, which began glowing with electric vigor. "I'm gonna make the problem so bad someone else solves it." Shivers rocketed up Mehji's spine and a sweat drop fell from his chin. "How about it? Just one beam and you'll get your dream body. It's like magic." Windsor responded, staring down his quaking partner deviously.

"W… wait…" the man sizing up a gun pointed his way sputtered. "What…? Dream body? It'll make me ripped if I want?" Mehji couldn't contain his questions, startled by the sudden attack. In his racing mind, the short lizard pictured himself bulging with muscles in the stunning red suit.

"Only if you truly dream of that." Windsor assured as the gun's charging light grew ever vibrant. Mehji groaned quietly, uncertain. Never in his dreams had he imagined himself so rich in brawn. But if this was a chance to quickly grow, he'd kick himself for declining.

So, with a face stiff as steel, he consented concisely.

"Hit me."

A bright ray blinded him as it collided with his midsection, disspating into him as a warm light. Windsor blew on the red-hot tip of the raygun forcefully, breaking up a steam cloud pouring off of it. As his eyes reopened, Mehji looked down to survey his body again, but nothing had visibly changed about it. He patted himself down with gloved hands, unable to sense any dramatic alterations to his figure as Windsor placed the raygun on a nearby counter.

"It didn't work…?" Mehji pumped an arm in the air, flexing it as dramatically as possible. "I haven't gained a pound."

Windsor laughed snidely. "It takes a while so you can really savor the change," He watched the suited-up lizard hastily squeeze at his own muscles, testing for any identifiable growth. "But it looks like it's working just fine to me."

Several questions rose to mind but were beaten to Mehji's lips by a loud belch. He raised a fist to cover it as best as possible, embarrassed. With his other hand, he rubbed at his belly just above his belt. Paying close attention, he could sense bubbles rising in his stomach before they rose sharply in volume. But still, his midsection was no flatter than normal. His brows furrowed in confusion.

"Surely this isn't a gun that just makes you gassy, mister?" Mehji joked. But as he pulled away the hand covering his mouth, he noticed a strange effect creeping its way down his arm. "Wait, huh…?" A deep cornflower color had sneakily appeared around his upper torso. On closer inspection, however, the splotchy effect was spreading like airbrushed paint toward his wrists. He leaned over, watching it race down his front, traveling past his groin and knees down his legs.

As the realization sank in, his breath paused momentarily, then picked back up into a rapid rhythm. As he turned his head back up, the sight of Windsor's euphoric grin made butterflies go wild in his stomach. Blood rushed to his face with such speed enough to nearly knock Mehji out. Embarassed to beet-red, he span around to the mirrored surface from just moments ago…

But the face that greeted him was a deep, rich indigo. In fact, in just seconds, blue hues swallowed his entire body, as though he was dipped in a vat of dye.

"I think I know where this is going," Windsor ominously murmured through a giddy sneer. Mehji's panicked eyes shot back up as his arms dropped to his side. "And that means I chose correctly with you," the taller lizard's tail grew erect as he watched on, struggling to contain elated laughter.

"No way," Inside his mind, Mehji was torn between fear and excitement. But his stomach was churning like an ice-cream machine, kicking up a racket even as he doubled over, pressing into it with both hands. "In my dreams, it doesn't… start this fast…" He was overcome with the sensation of having ravenously eaten past his limit. Through the thin fabric of his suit, he could feel his belly protruding scantly. Between the clamoring of his strained stomach and the soft gut where defined abs just were, the grumbling lizard began bloating up like he went overboard on soda.

The tall dragon released a deep belly-laugh he had kept bottled in for a while. Across the cool tiles he strode, placing a pair of fingers beneath Mehji's chin and lifting it to meet his gaze directly. He spoke warmly as he stroked it gently, ogling his helpless victim's face cloaked in the vivid hues of spirulina. "I'll keep you safe. I promise." Mehji swallowed dramatically as the gurgling from his gut continued, embarrassed to have his upset stomach heard by Windsor. But the white dragon stood close in front of him, their bodies separated by less than an inch. "Just enjoy the ride."

"Urk-!" Mehji, captured in the moment, momentarily forgot what situation he was in. He looked down in disbelief, his jaw slightly unhinged. "It's… really happening!" The juice filling him up spilled over. His belly, once meticulously slim, puffed up into a growing mass approaching the size of a basketball. In and out, the short lizard panted, trying to rationalize his situation. With a single curious hand, he pressed into the dramatically swelling paunch, leaving behind a dark handprint-shaped stain. He moaned as his gut kept duly stretching outward, pursing out over the tight belt cradling it from below.

Windsor pressed his waist into the ballooning lizard's girth, wrapping an explorative arm around his waist. "How's it feel…?" His voice dipped into deep tones as he uttered the question, eyes meticulously soaking in every inch of his subject.

"I can't stop filling up…" Mehji spat out between breaths, his body overtaken by a flurry of senses. "You're going to fucking pop me!" He ballooned so quickly and with such force that a natural sense of alarm rang out. But as Windsor's weight leaned into the sensitive, swollen pillow forming on his front, a rapturous pleasure overtook him. Its forceful growth continued unabated, blocking his view below his own midriff, before juice began to trickle out into the rest of his body.

"You'll be alright," Windsor spoke with a genuine tone that betrayed his devious expression. "Just relax, berry boy. Your fantasies are coming true."

At once, both of his breasts swelled up, spurning another gutteral noise from Mehji. His chest pressed against his chin as it grew, deepening the ecstasy gradually welling up in him. As he stared into Windsor's calm eyes his anxious trembling from before dissolved into a ravishing calm. With a smooth motion, Windsor's fingers cupped around his partner's asscheek, giving it a firm squeeze.

As if choreographed, Mehji's cheeks surged with juice. First, his ass ballooned outward, the pressure of Windsor's squeeze growing as it pressed into it. A rush of delight soared in Mehji, to whom the sensation of a hand on his taut skin felt electric, only intensifying as billows of juice pumping into him.

Moments later, desperate for room, the juice worked its way up past his chest. His lips pursed, pressed together by his face swelling as though with millions of calories at once. Mehji's eyes rolled back uncontrollably, unable to be kept in control as the tide of sweet liquid sqeezed itself inside of him. The emotions ripping through him, spurred on by the pressure of Windsor's sensual grip, overloaded his thoughts.

"Now this is what I'm into…" Windsor grumbled, his face twisted in a nefarious, turned-on smirk. As Mehji ballooned up in his arms, staggering at the sheer heft of his burgeoning frame, he was forced to step back. Gripping the sides of the swollen lizard's waist, he admired his handiwork with delight. With each deep breath, his nostrils were filled with the scent of fresh blueberry. He bit his lower lip to hold in an unhinged moan.

"You gotta help me, man…!" Mehji shouted as his limbs fattened up with ease, forcing him to extend them into a pose like a starfish. The gurgling, creaking bedlam from inside of him overwhelmed his ears as he gushed with fluid. His skintight suit squeezed against his inflating body, stubbornly refusing to break at even a single seam. The dark juice handprints staining his apparel had spread to encompass him entirely. Traces of the saccharine violet fluid were pressed out of Mehji's every pore, stickying the floor with a puddle beneath his feet.

"How am I… supposed to live… as a blueberry?" Words eked out of the stout reptile's mouth between heavy breaths. He waddled about, desperately redistributing his ballooning weight. At first, most of his girth localized around his waist. But the unrelenting pressure mounting within him forced its way outward, rounding his frame out smoothly. Rapidly transforming in such a revealing costume was embarassing, no matter how well it contained his bulging form.

"Well, for starters, I hope you like the flavor." Windsor joked, stepping back again. "But besides that, you don't have to do much of anything. Kick back and go with the flow." Then, with a swift but gentle tackle, he shoved into the massive lizard. With a yelp, Mehji stumbled back before his balance gave out and his gargantuan rear collided with the ground. "Not that you have much of a choice at this point."

Mehji flapped his limbs with all the force he could muster, but they resisted, steadily growing bulkier with each passing second. All he could do was wiggle his hands and feet, reveling in the sensation of being blown up into the spitting image of a blueberry.

His legs had grown so wide that they seemed to melt into the girth of his waist. His feet wriggled, vainly struggling against the force of his round groin gradually swallowing them up. The bubbling juice roared as it surged up his body to fill out his torso similarly, trapping his hands. As he swelled into a near-perfect sphere, losing complete control of his distended body, his suit miraculously stretched to encompass it seamlessly. The growing lizard moaned and groaned, eyes darting around to observe his impossibly huge body progressively expanding. Forced apart by his torso, he helplessly watched his hands disappear over the sides of his own burgeoning figure.

Windsor, with ever-curious hands, felt at the seams of the suit running flush down Mehji's spherical body. Despite showing obvious signs of tension, it remained unbroken, even around the areas that had fattened up the most. The thin belt wrapped snugly around the blueberry's midsection caused his flesh to purse gently around it. Like an artist surveying their own masterpiece, he radiated with joy, staring on at Mehji with a serene smile.

But Mehji continued to inflate. As he fattened beyond his own range of reach, his feet were ungrounded by the swelling fat between them. His body balloned outward, rising up like a nearly-full beach ball being topped off with air. Back and forth his globular body rocked, skin and suit creaking as though reaching their limits. Mehji's limbs stretched as far as they could, but his body swallowed them up as it swelled even wider.

"Mmph! Mmmm…" While being sucked into his swelling body, Mehji's plump cheeks sealed his mouth shut. All he could manage to vocalize were quiet grunts. He could hardly turn his head, let alone see over the rising girth encompassing it. Even his most mobile parts were similarly trapped, leaving his hands and feet incapable of more than gentle wiggling. "Helpff…" Raised up by his round backside, staring at the metallic ceiling, a single weak word rose to his lips.

"You're so ripe, I could just take a big, fat bite…" Windsor walked back up to the blueberry and embraced it again, pressing his face into the smooth, taut surface. "Or bake the world's biggest pie."

Rounding out, Mehji felt his inflation start to ease for the first time. As his creaking frame finally blew past Windsor's height, it rocked around its center point. The blueberry lizard's weight rocketed exponentially as the final traces of juice surged into him in a quick, steady burst. With that, Mehji moaned loudly, his face too swollen to vocalize anything more complex. As the final wave poured into him, slowing his expansion to a trickle, all that could be heard in the dark room was the raucous sloshing of fluid settling inside him.

Mehji was desparate to shout if it would relieve even a tiny fraction of the pressure to which he had been filled. Despite being painless, his turgid body was in an extreme excess of pressure beyond that which any person could reasonably reach. His face was still hot with feverish embarrassment, stressed largely by the immobility that so immediately overtook him.

"In fact, I have many plans for you," Windsor continued. While talking, he shifted his weight down, rolling the taut round balloon toward himself. It took a few tugs to position him correctly, but eventually, Mehji's puffy face appeared over the top of the round mass. The two watched each other intently as Mehji continued rolling, only coming to a halt as his face pointed down to meet Windsor's head-on. "You're the biggest berry I've ever seen, and that's saying something." Just like before, Windsor stuck a single hand beneath Mehji's bloated chin, caressing it with passion-filled eyes.

But this time, he leaned in to plant a kiss on Mehji's lips. The two closed their eyes and the moment froze for just a second before the lanky dragon pulled back.

"Thank you," he murmured, staring the blueberry straight in the eyes. "Now, go ahead and snap again. Right hand."

It took a moment before Mehji processed what he had been told. The sensation of being trapped in his own engorged body was frankly stunning. Moments later, though, he weakly forced his fingers together, accomplishing a single quiet snap. Instinctively, Windsor raised a single arm to cover his eyes and held his breath.

Incomprehensibly speedily, Mehji felt high tension envelop his entire body, pressing inward in all directions. "Holy--!" Before he could make sense of it, the fat distorting his face disappeared, allowing him to emit half of a startled interjection. Like a water balloon being popped, he deflated, a surge of juice spraying out and covering the room in all directions. As though his transformation played out in reverse, he was pressed completely free of juice in just seconds. In fact, it occurred so quickly that his belly was lifted away from the ground, leaving the short lizard momentarily suspended in mid-air.

But such conditions did not last, as he came tumbling down to the ground, landing on what remained of his cushy paunch before it quickly reverted to its original flat shape. As the wave of juice freed from him landed, raining from the ceiling, he clambered to his feet with a hand on his pounding head.

"I… I popped. I thought you said…" Mehji grumbled, patting at his midsection grumpily. At first, his perceived betrayal by Windsor sparked in him a flash of anger. But as he patted himself down top to bottom with both hands, looking over his decidedly normal-looking body, it fizzled out. "What kind of wizardry is this?"

"Hahahaha," Windsor laughed heartily before scooping Mehji up into a bear hug. Oddly, the former was drenched in deep blue juice, while the latter had reverted to his typical coloration. It ere as though it never changed. "It worked! What a success!"

"Whoa, whoa, what do ya mean?!" Mehji, held up by a pair of arms around his midsection, continued to survey his own hands. "How did you get all that out of me so fast?"

"Alright, I'll explain," the tall dragon set Mehji back down on his feet gently. "This was all a test for that suit. It didn't break and the compression mechanism worked flawlessly." Mehji gave a baffled look, so he continued. "It can basically squeeze you back to shape. See, look! That was all in you!"

Windsor spun around with his hands extended wide, smiling more than anyone witnessing so much property damage ever should. There was a thin pool of juice beneath their feet and not a single centimeter of wall space wasn't coated in the substance. Mehji patted his belly, cogs turning in his head, as he examined the damage.

Did any of that even really happen? He thought pensively. Is this… a dream right now?

"Do you… wanna give these suits out to people?" Mehji inquired, trying to imagine what could have motivated such a mystical invention. "That's your plan to solve the blueberry epidemic?"

"No," Windsor replied directly, still surprisingly cheerful. "Like I said, this world isn't built to accomodate for berries to exist." While speaking, he strolled over to the table upon which the raygun from earlier was set. Mehji recoiled instinctively as he picked it up but relaxed upon seeing it resting on its side in his open palms.

"I must admit I lied about this," Windsor gingerly raised the weapon in the air. "This gun just makes blueberries out of everyone it hits. The only thing here that can read your dreams… is me."

Struck at the understanding that he had been deceived, Mehji's mouth fell agape. What he had just experienced was a snowstorm of emotions hardly able to be captured by words.

"My plan? Simply fill the world with blueberries until it changes." Windsor laid out his intentions plainly.

"Are you the one who started all this, then?" Mehji probed with a gravely serious tone, still unmoving from where he originally stood up.

"No," answered Windsor, his eyes fixed upon his partner to convey his words with identical gravity. "I have my suspicions as to who did but am uncertain." For a moment, in the sickly-sweet subterranean study, the two tensely stared each other down. "So, with all that said…" Windsor stepped forward, still suspending the gun in outstretched arms. "I would like to ask you to be my partner in crime."

Mehji could not have predicted what transpired in the past few minutes. As he looked down at the firearm being given to him, he reached up with a single gloved hand to accept it but froze just inches away. With unsteady eyes, he sought for comfort in Windsor's warm, intent smile. Then, returning his focus, he picked it up by the handle, resting a careful finger on the trigger guard.

The weapon entered his grip comfortably, weighing subtantially less than he anticipated. Windsor relaxed his arms at his sides, glowing with pride at the sight of Mehji in his suit.

"I suppose that does sound a little fun," Mehji smirked as he posed with the gun pointed toward the porcelain-white dragon. He held it for a moment before angling his aim to just narrowly miss to the right. "Who know what else you have stashed down here, too?"

For the first time since he began swelling, Mehji soaked in the room in close detail as he lowered his weapon. All around him were workstations, machinery, tools and clothing. The scene was almost fantastical, decorated with active monitors and branding painted across the walls. A rather simplistic emblem in the shape of a W appeared in more places around the laboratory than he originally noticed.

"Well, in that case, welcome to Wrath HQ… rookie." Windsor's frigidly serious demeanor defroze as he offered a playful handshake. With his empty hand, Mehji reached out and accepted it. "So, how's about we get to cleaning u--?!"

Rambling made Windsor visibly inattentive, so Mehji gave him a swift tug on the arm, pulling the two men into a firm embrace. Before his eyes could flutter open, the short lizard delivered a passionate kiss unto the lips of the other. With one of Mehji's arms around his waist, Windsor let himself slide into the liplock.

Suddenly, the room flashed white. A warm sensation disspiated into Windsor from his back. As though unbothered, he pulled away from kissing the man that just shot him with a toothy, satisfied grin.

"Before that…" Mehji looked directly into Windsor's eyes as he tossed away the still-warm raygun. "I wanna see if your dream body is the same as mine…" He gripped behind Windsor's ass firmly on both sides as the two reptiles pressed into each other, exchanging loving, menacing grins. "…And I wonder if juice tastes sweeter when harvested with revenge." Windsor took in a deep breath as he rested his arms on Mehji's broad shoulders. "Don't hold out on me, now…"

But across the happy face he gazed into longingly, a vivid blue had already begun to spread.

[deadlynightshade-and-hyacinth]

I’m Gonna Crawl

Chapter 2 

Chapter 2 

July 21, 1973 

I was told to meet at the airport where I would be ushered to the plane to meet with Jimmy. I had two hours to completely panic and verbally accost myself for spending the last week crying over someone not worth the energy instead of preparing for this.      

Okay, girl, let's see…. Hmm two hours to: 

Get home – FROM the airport

Pack for multiple…MULTIPLE weeks

Call Daniel Because I’m sick and I’m weak and I suck, I know

Cry AGAIN

Fix my make-up 

Go BACK to the airport.

OH, did I mention packing for MULTIPLE weeks? Oh, okay, yeah.. multiple.   

 I had to admit, I was growing anxious. If this didn’t work out – if Jimmy didn’t like me – we could lose the account and then god knows what would happen to me. Already on thin ice, bitch. I reminded myself.  

I packed enough in my suitcase to clothe me for a good two weeks. As I zipped my luggage closed, I held the phone to my ear — Why?? — as I dialed Daniel’s number — Whhhhyyy???. It rang twice before he answered. 

“What?” He breathed into the receiver. 

“It’s me.”  

“Finally have time for me?” The snipe is made so casually a stranger could pass it off as friendly banter. 

“Don’t be like that.” Why did I call him? 

“I’ve been waiting for your call since last night.” 

“I’ve been busy. Work you know.” I played absentmindedly with the phone cord. 

“Of course.” He sounded skeptical. “I’ve got shit to do right now.” He rustled something around, the phone thudded lightly. “I’ll swing by your place tonight.” He coughed.

“Can’t.” I braced myself for the oncoming freak out. “I’ve got work. I’ll be travelling for the next few weeks.” 

He was silent for a moment. “Really.” 

“I leave in…” I looked at my watch. “Thirty minutes.” Another pregnant pause. The silence, deafening. “I can call you later.” I offered too quickly. The desperation in my voice, cringe worthy. 

Still, silence. Then a small huff. “Listen, I just want to see you, baby… to explain.”  

“There’s nothing to explain.” I stopped him quickly snapping out of hopelessness. “You did what you did. And I’m doing what I’m doing.” 

“…I’m not letting you go.” His voice was smaller. “You can’t just leave without talking to me about it first. You’re my girl, you belong to-” 

“No, Daniel I don’t.” I snapped, my heart pounding in my ears. “You don’t own me.” Jesus, he’s either dumber than usual or he’s just straight delusional. “Look, I’ve gotta go. I’ll call you later.” 

Before I could hang up, he cleared his throat. “Where are you going?” 

I sighed. What I was trying to avoid. “The firm got a gig with a band. We’re covering their tour.” So to speak. 

“A band...” His pause was dangerous. “And this band…” He was fishing. 

“Stop. I have to go.” As quickly as I pulled the phone away I pulled it right back.  “And Danny, You lost me the moment I stepped foot into your office last week.” Before he could protest, I added. “I will call you tonight.” Then hung up. Am I delusional? Definitely a little bit. Bette Davis would win an Oscar playing me in a movie. 

And, for the record, the hypocrisy is not lost on me, babe.

* 

I reached the airport just in time. Peter was there waiting at the gate. He greeted me with a warm smile and took me through the airport to the platform where the plane sat waiting. ‘Led Zeppelin’ written in big bold letters across it. “Wow.” I breathed. 

“Pretty impressive, eh?” Peter gloated. “Come.” He gestured toward the stairs that led to the open door. “Jimmy’s inside.”

He guided me through the door and gestured to the right. “Impressive.” The main room of the plane was long and wide. A giant couch lined the wall spanning the length of the room and on the opposite side sat plush chairs, a table, a television, a small bar, and a Steinway.

I caught a glimpse of someone leaning against the doorway to the back of the jet. He stood there watching me, the glass in his hand holding enough liquid for a small gulp. He swirled it around and drank the last remnants. “So, this is why you told me to be on my best behavior.” He looked at Peter slightly amused then back at me. He pushed himself off the door frame. The movement, elegant, graceful. Kinda hot. “James.” He offered a hand. 

“Cali.” His hand was warm, sturdy. After a moment his long fingers slowly slipped away. So far not an asshole… so far… he has great hands…  

“Jimmy!” A young blonde head of carefully sculpted curls came bounding from the corridor, latching herself to his arm, powder blue shadowed eyes narrowed at me in a futile attempt at territorial marking. “Let’s go back to bed.” She tugged on his arm.

I raised an eyebrow and smiled without teeth. “Should I come back when you’re not busy?” 

“No, no, no!” Peter said, grabbing the arm of the blonde and pulling her with him out the door. “Come, darling. Jimmy has business to tend to.” 

“Fuck you, you can’t make me leave…” She tried to protest but she was weak and feeble against him. She stood no chance fighting off Peter who dragged her out without trouble.

“Sorry to interrupt. She seems…nice.” I tried to offer. “I don’t believe I caught her name.” 

He shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m afraid I didn’t either.” His head tilted to the side, the look on his face hoping for a snarky response. His green eyes held mine and for a moment I was at a loss for words. 

What a jackass. 

“Can I fix you a drink?” He pushed himself off the threshold. 

“It’s twelve-thirty.” I raised my eyebrows. 

He gave me a crooked grin. “Good a time as any.” 

Heading through the doorway he glanced over his shoulder at me, a simple nod to follow. Peter still hadn’t returned and I wondered if it were appropriate but my feet gravitated in his direction on their own accord. I followed behind into a small room with a smaller bar. He was behind it grabbing a glass from a cupboard, placing it on the counter. “Jack okay?” 

My look of disapproval elicited a small chuckle with the shake of his head. Two glasses were poured. 

“So,” He started, sliding the drink toward me. I sat on a bar stool and thumbed the glass. “You think you can handle this?” He raised his eyebrows. 

Eh-hm, Come again? “Why wouldn’t I be able to?” I questioned, my tone cautious.  

He smirked. “Well,” He looked up at me through his thick lashes. “Most girls who join me on tour don’t make it very long before they start… well… It’s hard not to get attached.” 

Jackass. “Mr. Page, I’m hardly on tour with you, I’m here to work. I can assure you, I will not be getting attached to you in any capacity.” Absolute prick. Cute but that's beside the point, Cali. 

He laughed melodically. “Oh, you will.” 

“Excuse me–” 

He held up a hand. I took a deep breath, feeling frazzled and lifted the glass to my lips, wishing the burning in my throat would erupt into flames so I could finally succumb to the inevitable. 

He raised his eyebrows. “We might get along after all.” He finished his drink and poured two more. “Cali, right?” 

I nodded, refusing to meet his eyes. 

He lifted a finger to my chin. I quickly pulled away, my eyes narrowed. “You’re feisty, aren’t you?” His crooked smile was wicked. 

I looked away again and drank the second glass. “Filming. I would like to talk about what your vision is artistically and technically.” I sighed. 

“Mhm, we’ll get to that, when the time comes. As for now you are here to get to know us.” Eyeing me, his teeth sunk into his puffy bottom lip. "And I would like to get to know you.” He emptied his glass and reached for the liquor. 

 The bottle clinked against my rings as I clutched it and poured another glass before I slid it back toward him. Great, now you're buzzed, genius. Patience, still thin. Somehow growing thinner. 

He smirked again and emptied the remnants of the bottle into his glass. “To getting to know one another.” He held his in the air, an attempt to ‘cheers’ me. When I didn’t reciprocate, he frowned. “Oh, come now, I’m intrigued. I fear I may have met my match.”  

I couldn’t tell if he was seriously hitting on me or if this was some kind of fucked up game he played to boost his wildly inflated ego.  Probably the latter. 

I emptied my glass, refusing to dignify him with a response. 

Peter bounded back into the room, exasperated. “What the hell kind of animal did you leave me with?” 

“Animal?” Jimmy’s eyebrows knitted together until his face lit with a knowing glint. “Right, careful, she’s got claws.” He gave Peter a cheeky grin. 

“Oh, does she?” Peter was deeply aggravated. “I hadn’t noticed!” He shoved his arm in Jimmy’s face, the red marks formed prominently among the freckles. 

“Relax, Ol’ boy!” Jimmy beamed. “If you think that’s bad you should see me.” 

“Ugh.” The sound was involuntary and did not go unnoticed. His satisfied smile was now bordering sinister.  

          “Are you bloody drunk?” Peter waved his hand in front of Jimmy’s face. 

          “I’ve had a few.” He shrugged in response. “T’was her fault.” He jerked his head in my direction. “Bet me I couldn’t polish off the bottle.” 

           It was apparent Peter was a glorified babysitter. “Sober up, Page!” He wagged a finger in his face. “Time to go.” He motioned to me. “Page. Rehearsal.” 

Jimmy winked, turned and started for the exit. I followed behind heading for the two black Fleetwoods parked on the tarmac.

 I couldn’t help but watch how his shirt clung to his back. Watching him felt like a perverse act. What is it about these assholes? 

To my utter dismay as I watched his dark curls bounce against his silk shirt he peered over his shoulder. “Tsk tsk.”   

“We’ll be taking the furthest car.” Peter called behind me. I turned to him, walking right into Jimmy not realizing he had stopped. 

 I stumbled into him, his hands quick to steady me by the waist. He looked down at me, his eyes mocking at first but quickly softened before closing. Lifting his hands, his smile faded. “Careful.” He murmured before getting into the closest car.    

           “Come, you’ll take the other car with me. Jimmy can ride alone.”

           Once we were in the car Peter folded his hands on his lap. “Look…” he gazed at me. “He’s not always like that. Usually quite a quiet chap. Gets cocky when he’s had a few.”

           I put my hand up for him to stop. “It’s fine.” I feigned a smile. I can do this.    

           “Take Pagey with a grain of salt.” He paused then chuckled. “Ay, you’ll be fine. Any problems though and I’ll sort the lot of ‘em out.” 

@dreamcastgirl99 If you want me to tag you, let me know wherever, whenever. I am here for you! Till next time..

[butternutt613]

Here is a little snippet (actually the first chapter) of my WIP

When the Sun Found Me

It's focuses on a Modern!Ominis Gaunt with a really cute guide dog and is just over all really sweet and fluffy!! ~ 1,300 words

Here you go @bookie-bookdust and @ravenwind-75 I hope you enjoy!

~~~~~~

Science has always been Ominis’s least favorite subject. Not only were the practical labs difficult for a plethora of reasons, he also found the concepts hard to grasp.

Usually, Sebastian would be right there beside him, but the boy decided to move on to the more advanced courses their private school offered. Ominis couldn’t blame him. He wanted to get into biochemistry after high school, so he was in advanced physics this year.

Which is how Ominis found himself tucked into the far left table of Mr. Sharp's chemistry class at eight in the morning. Mari was curled up under his stool, her warm, pointed ear caught between his right forefinger and thumb. The soft fur felt familiar and comforting, grounding him in the room. The German shepherd had been with him for the past five years, diligently guiding him through life. She was his best friend aside from Sebastian and Anne.

Ominis had arrived in class far earlier than necessary. He wanted to get situated before class started. His laptop was set up in front of him, ready to dictate the lecture onto a document for him to review later.

He had his headphones in, listening to Fleetwood Mac, his chin resting on the heel of his left hand. His eyes were closed (not that it made any difference with his vision) but the music helped him relax before the long class. He was about to doze off when the hairs on the back of his neck prickled.

Someone was watching him.

He sat up straighter, the familiar flutter of unease settling in his chest. He fiddled with the cord of his headphones, pausing the song, and listened. Footsteps shuffled into the classroom, chatter filling the space. He could make out about five distinct footfalls. Four of them eventually settled into tables ahead of him, but the fifth kept approaching. Mari lifted her head toward the newcomer, sniffing curiously.

“Hi,” a voice rang out, light and unexpectedly cheerful. Ominis didn’t recognize the boy’s voice. “Can I sit here?”

Ominis tipped his head in the boy's direction, instinctively moving his hand to the top of Mari’s head. Her ears perked forward, attentive but relaxed, as if she didn’t sense any threat. He hesitated, then shrugged. “I suppose. It is a free country.”

The response was intentionally neutral, open for interpretation. He would never flat-out refuse someone, but he wasn’t about to openly agree to sit next to a stranger.

The boy took it as an invitation, and seconds later, Ominis heard the dull thud of a heavy book bag on the ground, followed by the scraping of the stool to his right as the boy settled down.

Mari huffed and shifted closer to Ominis, her muzzle resting on the toe of his shoe propped on the stool’s bar. He went back to resting his head on his hand, intending to ignore the boy as he turned his music back on. Fleetwood Mac had switched to “Black Dog” by Led Zeppelin.

“What are you listening to?” The boy asked, leaning in closer than Ominis expected. The sudden proximity startled him, and he instinctively shifted back, tightening his hold on Mari’s ear.

Instead of responding, he flipped his phone screen toward the boy, displaying the song title.

“Oh, I love them! I'm more of an AC/DC and Nirvana guy myself, but Led Zeppelin is a classic. You can't go wrong with them. I love the riffs; you can literally feel it in your bones,” the boy rambled, unbothered by Ominis’s silence.

Ominis’s brow furrowed slightly at the boy’s enthusiasm. People rarely spoke to him this openly, let alone with such eagerness. The boy’s energy reminded him of Sebastian’s, the same kind of restless liveliness he’d grown used to.

“I'm Ben, by the way.” The boy, Ben, introduced himself, his movement indicating he’d extended his hand.

“I’m Ominis, and this is Mari,” he replied politely, letting his guard drop a fraction. He reached out, but his hand missed slightly, brushing Ben’s wrist instead.

Ben didn’t falter, smoothly taking Ominis’s hand in his own in a firm handshake. “It’s nice to meet you both. She’s lovely. I have a goldendoodle at home, but I’ve always wanted a shepherd. Mom says they’re too hairy, plus Baba’s allergic to most animals. But he can never say no to Mom, which is why we have a cat he can't stand…”

Ben rambled on, bouncing from topic to topic, somehow managing to cover his family, his pets and even started on how his two younger sisters had started to be absolute terrors, now that they were three, in the few minutes before the bell.

Only when Mr. Sharp cleared his throat, did Ben fall silent. Ominis let out a quiet breath of relief, starting the dictation app on his laptop as Sharp launched into the syllabus and expectations for the year.

“The seat you have chosen is the one you will stay in for the semester,” Sharp announced, his voice sharp and no-nonsense. “I won't stand for any complaining or griping. You should have chosen better.”

Ominis felt his stomach drop slightly. The thought of sitting next to this talkative boy for an entire semester was daunting. He’d hoped to get through the year in silence. Still, he couldn’t deny a faint curiosity about Ben. His seemingly endless chatter was oddly comforting, a bit like background noise.

Mr. Sharp was probably the strictest of the teachers at their school. He did not tolerate any talking outside of the curriculum or misbehavior of any kind. It was safe to say that Sebastian got himself in quite a bit of trouble with him, landing a detention at least twice a month. Not as much as the idiotic Garreth Weasley but still. However, both had moved on to the advanced classes so this year should be relatively quiet.

“Psst.”

Ominis spoke too soon.

“Hey, Ominis,” Ben whispered, rather loudly, nudging his arm. “Can I borrow a pen?”

Ominis frowned, confused. Why was he asking the blind guy for a pen? Ominis didn’t use them, hence the laptop. But, of course, he did carry pens in his bag, Sebastian always forgot his. Not that Ben needed to know that.

“Don’t you have one?” Ominis whispered back, keeping his voice quieter than Ben’s.

“Yeah, but I can’t find it. I think it's-” Ben started.

“Excuse me, boys. Is there something you would like to share with the class?” Mr. Sharp’s stern voice cut him off, and Ominis felt his cheeks heat up as soft laughter rippled through the classroom. He was about to stammer an apology when Ben jumped in.

“No, sir. I’m very sorry; I was just asking Ominis here for a pen. I seemed to have misplaced mine.” Ben’s tone was polite, but Ominis caught a hint of playfulness in his voice.

“You are the new student, yes?” Sharp asked, and Ominis heard Ben nod beside him. “Hmm. See that you bring your own supplies tomorrow… and no more talking.”

“Of course, sir! It won’t happen again,” Ben replied cheerfully.

As Mr. Sharp continued discussing the year’s projects, Ominis felt Ben leaning toward him again, the slight shift in the air beside him signaling his approach.

Ominis turned his head in Ben’s direction, sighing.

“So, about that pen?”

Ominis rolled his eyes, letting out a huff in annoyance.

Ben was just like Sebastian.

He reached into his bag and handed the boy a pencil.

~~~~~~

Let me know your thoughts!! <3

[heavendollie]

𝐏𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐑𝐘 ♡

♡ิ ݂ ✦ ݁ ﾶ ۪ 💌 ່ ִ

i'm PAMELA 𖦹 she ﾉ her | girlblogger 𝐕𝐈𝐑𝐆𝐎 sun 𝐋𝐈𝐁𝐑𝐀 moon 𝐓𝐀𝐔𝐑𝐔𝐒 rising ఌ︎

❛ FILMS & SHOWS. black swan. supernatural. buffalo '66. dazed and confused almost famous. peaky blinders. the outsiders. the lost boys. girl interrupted. the love witch. stranger things. the craft. sleepy hollow. star wars. mid90s. drop dead gorgeous. house of the dragon. the witcher. vikings. teen wolf. chilling adventures of sabrina. the sadman. smallville. sex and the city. percy jackson and the olympians. dead poets society. harry potter saga. scream. dark harvest. karated kid

❛ MUSIC lana del rey. michael jackson. elvis presley. jeff buckley. motley crue. guns n' roses. led zeppelin. nirvana. bon jovi. metallica. black sabbath. sex pistols. the who. megadeth. the beatles. fleetwood mac. the doors. fiona apple. ac/dc. mazzy star. hole. deftones

❛ BOOKS frankenstein. hamlet. jane eyre. the outsiders. great expectations. the song of achilles. wuthering heights. the little women. the poppy war. the final empire. macbeth. one hundred years of solitude. the shadow of the wind. 1984. a good girl's guide to murder. blackwater. the hobbit

❛ MORE PAMELA DETAILS f1 lover. light pink. my birthday is on september 13. youngest child

[luvrboydave]

ur turning into one of my fav blogs omg omg… we need more dave content on here. rn i’m thinking abt slow and sensual sex w 1990s dave after the two of you have been crushing on each other for a while… maybe you grew up together n you’ve always had his back. kinda like the “it’s always been you” trope you feel me?

omg no way, your blog is literally the reason i made mine LMAO and i totally agree…there’s just not enough dave content on here!! no but listen…there’s something so sweet about 90s dave…he’s just got this happy, comforting aura to him, y’know what i mean? i love him sm

doing this in bullet point format because my brain is very messy and can’t structure a story rn...so this is just word vomit about the prompt

- dave has been infatuated with you since the two of you met in high school. you always supported him, no matter what he was going through. when he was kicked out of metallica, you were his shoulder to cry on, and when he formed megadeth, you were there to congratulate him

- bro fell for you SO HARD!!! he constantly buys you little gifts and tries to play it off as a friendly gesture…sayin things along the lines of “i saw this at the store earlier and i thought you’d like it” as he hands it to you. unfortunately, he’s oblivious to the fact that you also fell for him.

- one night in ‘92, dave drives you out to your guys’ fav hangout spot, and it’s definitely *not* a date. you both sit in his car, silently listening to some random led zeppelin song playing on the radio. out of the corner of your eye, you watch as dave takes a deep breath and turns towards you. “can i tell you something?” he asks, nervously running his fingers through his hair. You smile at him, “of course, what’s up?” “i’m in love with you,” he breathes out. your eyes go wide; you’re completely shocked by his confession. a short laugh escapes your lips, and you grab his hand, “well, i’m glad im not the only one that’s utterly in love with their best friend…”

- soon enough, dave has your back pressed into the cool leather of his backseat. he’s kissing you slowly and softly, ensuring you know how much he loves you. you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him as close to you as possible. your shirt rides up slightly as you push your hips upwards, and dave’s hands are immediately on the newly exposed skin, hands coming to rub your waist. dave kisses down your neck, pausing to whisper, “love you so much…it’s always been you, sweetheart.”

- once he’s got you fully undressed, dave makes his way down to your cunt. he presses his cheek up against your thigh and looks up at you, “wanna eat you out so bad, baby…” you weave your fingers into his hair and push his face towards your pussy, and he gladly complies.

- you moan as he slides his tongue over your drenched slit, tightening your grip on his hair when he takes your clit into his mouth. dave uses his thumbs to spread your fold apart, licking a flat stripe over your cunt before he turns his attention to your clit again.

- he sinks his middle and ring fingers into your cunt, fucking you with them nice n slow as his mouth is still attached to your clit. His other hand is wrapped around your thigh, keeping one leg in place over his shoulder. “dave- gonna cum,” you gasp breathlessly, rolling your hips up into his mouth. dave coaxes the orgasm out of you slowly, fingers curling up into you and hitting just the right spot. your eyes flutter shut as you cum, hands scrambling for purchase on anything you can find. after dave cleans up your messy cunt, he kisses back up your body, planting a sweet kiss on your lips again.

- you watch as dave unbuttons his jeans, pulling them down just enough for him to slip his cock out. he wraps a hand around the back of your knee, pushing one of your legs up to your chest. his other hand guides his tip to your entrance, teasing it against your cunt before slowly pushing in. once he bottoms out, he begins to fuck into you slowly. his pace is steady, but his thrusts are deep; the head of his cock brushes against your cervix with every thrust. dave leans down to whisper in your ear, pressing his weight into you. “so fuckin’ perfect, sweetheart. wanted you for so long, y’know…thought about this every day.” he grunts, pace faltering ever so slightly.

- dave snakes a hand down to your cunt, thumb beginning to rub at your clit, adding to your already overwhelming pleasure. you can feel your orgasm swelling up again, one hand moving up to grip dave’s shoulder and the other pressing onto the foggy window. your pussy flutters around him, and you cry out, signalling to him that you’re cumming. he continues to fuck into you, helping you ride out your intense orgasm again. pulling out of you with a loud groan, dave wraps his hand around his cock and jerks himself off until he cums onto your cunt.

- dave smiles down at you, leaning in to steal another kiss from your lips before looking for something to clean you up with. after he wipes you down, you sit up and watch him tuck himself back into his jeans. He looks over to you, a bright smile on his face, “i meant all that shit i said, y’know…” you nod and return his smile, laughing slightly, “this was kind of a weird way to ask me to be your girlfriend, but the answer is yes.”

[shamanfox]

A Moment That Changed Everything

In the summer of 2011, I was doing something as ordinary as steam cleaning my bedroom. Led Zeppelin’s Stairway to Heaven played through my earphones as I worked, but my mind was consumed with questions: Who am I? What’s the truth? Who is God? What’s the truth? I asked these questions repeatedly, almost as if I were pleading with the universe for an answer.

Then, I heard it—a voice, clear and calm: Would you give up everything to know the truth?

Without hesitation, I thought, Yes, of course. But the voice persisted: Would you give up everything?

This time, I paused. What did “everything” mean? The voice clarified, Including your own children.

That question hit me like a wave. My children? The thought was almost unbearable. But I considered it deeply. I reasoned: How could I lose all my children? That’s impossible. Unless… if I were to lose them, it must mean I deserve it. After what felt like an eternity of soul-searching, I answered from my heart: Yes.

In that moment, everything changed. I was surrounded by pure darkness, yet when I “opened my eyes” in my mind, I saw something extraordinary. From the void emerged spiraling universes upon universes, forming a massive cosmic structure, like a moving, breathing spiral. It felt infinite, and I was far, far away, just observing. When I focused, it appeared; when I let go, it vanished.

Curiosity overtook me: Where’s Earth? I found myself flying toward the spiral, passing billions of universes, each shifting and rearranging like a cosmic dance. Eventually, I reached our universe and zoomed in on Earth. But it didn’t stop there. I wanted to know: Where’s Nicole?

That’s when I saw it—a vast canyon stretching endlessly in both directions. It was filled with thin, rice-paper-like sheets, each one playing a different scene of life, as though every possibility and every dimension of my existence was being laid bare. The voice returned: This is Nicole. All of these—every direction, every possibility—this is you.

I asked, Which one am I in now? The voice guided me to a single sheet, and suddenly, I was back in my bedroom, steam cleaner in hand, the music still playing.

But nothing was the same. I realized, deeply and painfully at first, that none of this was real. Nothing existed in the way I had always believed. It was all an illusion. The sadness was overwhelming—until the voice said: How closer can you be to that which you love than to be it?

That shifted everything. My sadness dissolved into a love so profound it felt endless. When my children ran past me later that day, dripping water from their play outside, they seemed to move in slow motion, leaving trails of light behind them, like echoes of their joy. I saw them as part of the illusion, yet my love for them deepened. It didn’t diminish anything—it enhanced everything.

For days, I walked in a state of peace and euphoria. The mundane felt sacred. I was different, yet I was the same. My search for understanding led me to study multiverses, consciousness, and eventually, teachers like Carlos Castaneda.

That moment, however, remains the heart of it all: the realization that the universe is infinite, interconnected, and alive—and that truth is not something to be known but something to become.

[danicalithegirl]

In Through the Out Door...

(Eddie sits at a booth in the dimly lit Hideout, arms crossed, jaw tight. A band is playing on stage, their music rough and off-key. Corroded Coffin sat down, at a nearby table, laughing and muttering. Eddie’s sharp ears pick up on the conversation about you.)

Grant: (snorting) "So, this is the girl Munson’s been hyping up? She better be something special if she’s keeping him from gigs."

Gareth: (laughing) "Yeah, what’s the deal? She’s got him whipped or what?"

Jeff: (grinning) "Bet she’s just another poser. Probably doesn’t even know the difference between Led Zeppelin and Foghat."

(Eddie’s hand tightens into a fist on the table. He grits his teeth, trying to keep his cool, but the remarks keep coming.)

Grant: "What’re the odds she even knows an Iron Maiden song that’s not Run to the Hills?"

Gareth: (grinning) "Bet she calls them 'Iron Man' to sound cool."

(Eddie slams his hands on the table, the sound reverberating through the bar. The band stops laughing, startled. He stands, towering over them, his face red with fury.)

Eddie: (yelling) "You don’t know shit about her! She’s smarter, cooler, and way more into music than you’ll ever be! She’s got more taste in her pinky finger than all of you combined!"

(The band stares at him, stunned into silence. That’s when you appear, walking over with a calm confidence. You place a hand on Eddie’s arm to steady him.)

You: (coolly) "What’s going on, Ed?"

Eddie: (still fuming, gesturing to the band) "These idiots think they can talk trash about you like they know a damn thing!"

(You glance at the band, tilting your head with a small smirk.)

You: "Oh, really? That what you guys were doing?"

Jeff: (mumbling) "We were just joking around..."

You: (crossing your arms) "Uh-huh. Well, let’s see. Do you have a favorite Zeppelin song, Jeff?"

Jeff: (shrugging) "Uh... I dunno, Stairway to Heaven?"

(Eddie snorts derisively, and you give Jeff a pointed look.)

You: "Figures. Mine’s Carouselambra. But I’m guessing you’ve never even listened to In Through the Out Door because it’s not one of the ‘cool’ albums."

(Jeff looks taken aback, scrambling for a response. You don’t give him the chance.)

You: "And since someone mentioned Maiden... I’m partial to Stranger in a Strange Land. Y’know, off Somewhere in Time. Not exactly the radio hit, but that’s probably why it’s so good. But maybe I should stick to 'Run to the Hills,' right?"

(The band sits in awkward silence, completely floored. Eddie beams, folding his arms and leaning back against the booth.)

Eddie: (grinning) "Told you."

(You glance at Eddie, then back at the band.)

You: "Anything else? Or are we good now?"

Grant: (clearing his throat) "We’re good."

Gareth: "Yeah... totally good."

(You pat Eddie’s arm, guiding him back to the booth.)

You: (smirking) "C���mon, Ed. Let’s not waste any more time on them."

Eddie: (following you, still grinning) "That was even better than I imagined. You didn’t just prove yourself—you made ‘em look like amateurs."

(You laugh, leaning against him as the band awkwardly goes back to their table, properly humbled.)

[einsteinsugly]

That 70s Show: A Fic Game!

Explanation:

Write a oneshot (or oneshots), in the month of November, using these prompts (aka, titles from popular 70s songs). You can pick whatever on whatever day you want; this is just a general guide. Tag it "t7sficgame," if you'd like.

*****

Rules (aka, there are no rules):

1. It doesn't have to take place in the 70s.

2. The prompt doesn't have to be in dialogue (although it's preferred, since I picked these song titles for their potential to be used in dialogue); prose is fine.

3. Post it here, or post it on AO3 or FF. Or everywhere. Take your pick.

****

Prompts:

Nov 1. Do It Again (Steely Dan)

Nov 2. Don't Look Back (Boston)

Nov 3. Don't Stop (Fleetwood Mac)

Nov 4. For All We Know (Carpenters)

Nov 5. I Can't Tell You Why (The Eagles)

Nov 6. I Will Survive (Gloria Gaynor)

Nov 7. I'll Be There (Jackson 5)

Nov 8. Isn't She Lovely (Stevie Wonder)

Nov 9. It's Too Late (Carole King)

Nov 10. Just What I Needed (The Cars)

Nov 11. Just You 'N Me (you can use "and me") (Chicago)

Nov 12. Let It Be (The Beatles)

Nov 13. Let's Go (The Cars)

Nov 14. Let's Stay Together (Al Green)

Nov 15. Love Of My Life (Queen)

Nov 16. Maybe I'm Amazed (Paul McCartney)

Nov 17. Miss You (The Rolling Stones)

Nov 18. More Than a Feeling (Boston)

Nov 19. One Way Or Another (Blondie)

Nov 20. She's Gone (Hall & Oates)

Nov 21. So Into You (Atlantic Rhythm Section)

Nov 22. Stayin' Alive (you can use "staying alive") (Bee Gees)

Nov 23. Take It Easy (The Eagles)

Nov 24. Thank You (Sly and the Family Stone/Led Zeppelin)

Nov 25. This Is It (Kenny Loggins)

Nov 26. Walk This Way (Aerosmith)

Nov 27. What's Going On (Marvin Gaye)

Nov 28. Won't Get Fooled Again (The Who)

Nov 29. You're My Best Friend (Queen)

Nov 30. You're So Vain (Carly Simon)

[essential-music]

In the vast tapestry of modern music, Enigma’s "Return to Innocence" emerges as a luminous thread, weaving together the primal and the ethereal with masterful precision.

This song is not merely a composition but a sonic pilgrimage, blending the soulful chants of Taiwan’s Amis tribe with the pulsing currents of electronic soundscapes. Its melody, both soothing and transcendent, unfurls like a gentle tide, carrying listeners to realms that feel at once surreal and sacred. The indigenous vocals, rich with emotional depth, soar with an angelic smoothness, their wide range evoking a universal language that speaks directly to the heart. Anchored by a rhythmic foundation reminiscent of Led Zeppelin’s iconic drums, the song marries tradition with innovation, creating a sound that is as grounding as it is otherworldly.

The emotional potency of "Return to Innocence" is its beating core. It stirs a spectrum of feelings—peace, love, introspection—inviting listeners to shed their defenses and embrace vulnerability. Its lyrics, with lines like “Don’t be afraid to be weak / Don’t be too proud to be strong,” serve as a quiet manifesto for authenticity, urging a return to one’s truest self. For many, the song is a balm, a therapeutic force that calms the mind and heals the spirit. It is a musical sanctuary, used for meditation, reflection, or simply to find stillness in a chaotic world. Its ability to evoke “chills” and foster a sense of unity underscores its profound spiritual resonance, as if it were a prayer set to melody.

The incorporation of Difang’s “Elders Drinking Song” is a bold stroke, blending indigenous Taiwanese heritage with Western sensibilities to create something wholly unique. Its global reach is undeniable, having served as the theme for the 1996 Atlanta Olympics and resonating with listeners across continents, from Brazil to Japan. The song’s versatility further elevates its stature. It is as fitting for quiet introspection as it is for cultural celebrations, its calming cadence adaptable to moments of solace or communal joy.

Described as a “timeless classic,” its polished production and universal themes ensure it remains a touchstone, undimmed by the passage of years. Rare detractors find its tone grating or question its cultural implications, but these voices are drowned by the swell of admiration for its hypnotic allure and emotional depth.

Ultimately, "Return to Innocence" is a masterpiece of sound and sentiment, a work that transcends borders and genres to touch the soul. It is a call to rediscover the purity within, a reminder that music can be both a mirror and a map, guiding us back to who we are. In its delicate balance of innovation and reverence, Enigma has crafted not just a song, but an enduring testament to the power of art to heal, unite, and inspire.

Year: 1993

Composer/Lyricist: Michael Cretu, Kuo Ying-nan, Kuo Hsiu-chu

Producer: Michael Cretu

[whiskeymann]

⚡️Intro!⚡️

Basic stuff 🎸

Name- Keith

Age- 14

Gender- Transgender (He/him)

Fandoms 🎸

-The Beatles, The Who, Simon and Garfunkel, Billy Joel, The Beach Boys, Quantum leap, Hitchhikers Guide to the galaxy, Cookie run kingdom, Omori, all things 60s/70s and all things classic rock

Other social media 🎸

Tiktok

Instagram

Random 🎸

My favorite song by my favorite artists are; Martha my dear by (The Beatles) Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde (The Who) All for Leyna (Billy Joel) So long Frank Lloyd wright (Simon & Garfunkel) Hushabye (The Beach Boys)🎯

Other artists I enjoy include Pink Floyd, The Burkharts, Foo fighters, David Bowie, Fleetwood Mac, Joni Mitchell, Mitski, Led Zeppelin, and, Leonard Cohen, Crosby Stills and Nash/Nash and Young 🎯

My favorite movies are Almost famous, Scott Pilgrim Vs. the world, Tommy (1975), Perks of being a wallflower, and A hard days night 🎯

[dollarbin]

The Dollar Bin At 200

I'm a high school teacher by day, the old fashioned kind who makes my students read actual books. And so they have all kinds of excuses when it comes to why they did not do their homework.

They assure me, earnestly, that they "did most of it." They explain that they "totally did it but that they didn't really get it." They "literally didn't even know we had any. Serious!"

I love 'em. And they are full of crap.

My favorite homework excuse is the one I hear most often: "I, like, totally didn't have time." These are kids who have memorized the lyrics to every song Chappell Roan has ever written; they swap elaborate doodles of me getting eaten by Humbaba (Humbaba is a real dude: read The Epic of Gilgamesh); they invent new hairstyles daily; they concoct competing slang words for Mr Darcy's wet chest.

In other words, they have plenty of time in which to do their homework. They just don't do it.

The same is true for all of you people out there who have yet to read all 200 of the Dollar Bin's posts. I'm talking about you: yeah, you. I see you. And I like you. But I don't want to see you fail my class. So don't give me any more excuses.

I know: you've got a job, kids, pets, and grandmas. But all that stuff can wait because it's high time you adjusted your priorities, accepted responsibility and read my last fifty posts.

Here's a handy guide to the assignment:

I gave in and loved The Indigo Girls.

Joni Mitchell, foretold my airborne doom, cast a sinister spell, wrote a hit in any language, made fairly repulsive 80's dance music and sang Dylan better than Dylan.

I freaked out over Lal and Mike Waterson and at Steve Cropper.

Nils Lofgrin's dated a teenybopper and Flipped our tiny minds.

I started an in-depth look at Neil Young's Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere with an explanation of my driving habits, then moved on to the record's riskiest song. I still need to settle in and write about the rest of the record. I also roundly condemned Neil's latest music (and Ringo's!), found previously unnoticed riffs in his old stuff, and promoted a new artist, CMAT.

I set my manhood alongside that of The Boss and found that the results were favorable. Then I recommended that the Staple Singers sue Madonna.

Steeleye Span got another dose of my coveted praise, as did Richard Thompson and Linda Ronstadt. Even the lowly and forever permed Don Henley got a little love.

I insulted The Beatles by unfavorably comparing them to the sexual predator in Peter, Paul and Mary and insulted The Stones for good measure. Then I sang their praises.

Rita Coolidge got my nod of appreciation, as did Carole King's Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow. Even Sandy Denny's rambling demos changed my life and Elvis Costello helped me lambaste our dumb president. We mourned the passing of The Band's Garth Hudson, and David Crosby felt the sting of my wrath, as did Shakey's ozempic line dancing record.

Leonard Cohen's Songs of Love and Hate got the royal treatment through one, two, three, four and, would you believe it, five different posts. I tried, but failed, to swing the election via Woody Guthery and when that didn't work out I took solace in Paul Simon's version of progressive patriotism.

I lamented Jay Farrar's lack of follow through and explained why Led Zeppelin 4 is forever filed under Sandy Denny in my collection. Pink Floyd got an honorable mention for taking their shirts off and Otis Redding had a well deserved moment of Dollar Bin glory.

Fairport Convention's reunion record overcame my initial doubts and Karen Dalton's B-Sides were recognized. The same went for Paul McCartney's disco ode to the year I turned 8 and Vasti Bunyon's train song.

So, get out your homework planners, everyone: it's time to meet your academic responsibilities in The Dollar Bin.