#dja

[searchsystem]

David James (DJA) / Prada / Spring/Summer 2014 – Menswear Show / Invitation / 2013

#david james #dja #prada #spring/summer 2014 #menswear show #invitation #2013 #printed matter #spread #typography

[emanuelarchive]

Scenotaph sessions disk (via DJA.)

#emanuel #black earth tiger #emanuel nice #soundtrack to a headrush #vagrant records #post hardcore #emo #screamo #louisville #DJA #Terry date

[foreverandonlyj]

#ich heule #dja #die junge ärtzte

[celestechaton]

.

#really trying to heal this inner teenager. #I had a dream that ETB fell in love with her too #then I looked at her pictures #is she prettier than me in mind body and soul? #did he just never love me #jc #I’m tired #personal #dja #sam

[riality-check]

tw for mentions of substance abuse (part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7)

ao3

Steve Harrington has been awake for fifty four hours. With luck, he'll be able to eke out another eighteen. Three days seems to be the sweet spot, even if he only makes it there half the time and, of that half, it only works half the time.

It's better than nothing.

Maybe four days is the sweet spot. Ninety six is close to one hundred, and that seems like a good omen.

Omens don't really matter though. What matters is staying awake.

So, Steve chugs his coffee and walks into the conference room. Coffee isn't enough, not nearly, but it'll do until he gets desperate enough to take something.

He really does try to only take them when he's desperate. It's easier that way, to just do it when he feels like he needs to rather than measuring dosages and remembering times. Hours start to blur around hour forty of being awake.

He walks in, sits down in the chair closest to the door, and is met with a withering glare from Eddie Munson.

Listen. Steve isn't happy about this either, but at least he doesn't look like he stepped in dog shit on the way here. Then again, Steve doesn't have the luxury of ever looking truly unhappy.

Eddie is a rock star. Mean is part of his brand, while mean is the antithesis to Steve's.

Whatever.

"Are you kidding me?" Eddie says, still staring at him, but Steve knows he's not who he's asking.

"He's the best person for the job," Chrissy, Eddie's manager, says.

"We don't need him."

Someone taps Steve's left shoulder. He turns to see Jeff, the lead singer of Corroded Coffin, give him a warm smile.

"Nice to meet you, Steve," he says, and Steve shakes his proffered hand.

"Happy to help," he says, and it's only half a lie.

The drummer and the bassist - Steve would probably be able to remember their names if he wasn't so exhausted - wave their hellos from a few seats away.

"Hi, Steve," Chrissy says.

He takes another swig of his coffee and gives her a little wave in response.

"We don't need a pop singer to write lyrics for us," Eddie says, still not letting this go.

"Yes, you do," Steve says. He sets his coffee cup down on the table and opens the folder he brought with him. "I read through the lyrics of every one of your songs."

"You didn't even listen to them?"

"Would have taken too much time."

That's a lie. Listening, even with the lengthy guitar solos, probably would have taken less time. But Steve needs something to fill the hours when he's supposed to be asleep, and reading, that slow process with its ample, awakening frustration, is the perfect thing.

"You became so much less interesting after your first album," he says. "Every one of your songs talks about the same thing. Conquering evil, killing demons, blah blah blah."

"That's what's in right now," Eddie snaps.

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve catches the drummer and Chrissy make the same motion. They pinch the bridges of their noses, clearly frustrated.

Steve sees why Chrissy wanted to talk to him.

"It is," he concedes. "But I also read the lyrics of every song by the bands with top ten hits. They don't talk about it nearly as much. They sing about other stuff. And they don't use an F major chord in every one of their songs."

"We don't-"

"We kinda do, Eddie," the bassist pipes up. "I'm a little sick of playing F."

Eddie takes a breath. Steve takes the opportunity to take a pill.

He found a way to make it less obvious for people who have something to say about it. Steve will take one from his pocket, yawn, cover his mouth, and swallow it dry. Easy peasy. They don't notice, he doesn't have to deal with people who don't get it making comments.

Except when he does, this time, Eddie narrows his eyes. Like he knows what he's doing.

Steve doesn't like that look.

"Have you read my stuff?" He won't ask if Eddie has listened to any of it. He knows the answer is no, if he keeps bringing up genre like that really means anything.

Eddie doesn't respond. He keeps those narrowed eyes trained on Steve and stays silent.

"Didn't think so," he says, and he slides over the thick stack of papers Robin stapled together for him last night. "Here's everything. Read it. Tell me if you like it. I'm only helping you if you give a shit. This goes two ways, and I don't want to waste my time if you think I'm wasting yours."

Eddie doesn't take the stack, but the drummer, sitting next to him, tugs them closer. "Thanks."

"Let me know tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Jeff says, eyebrows raised.

Steve forgets that most people don't actually take advantage of their twenty four hours.

"End of the week," he says instead, and he relaxes when Jeff does.

The drummer starts flipping through the pages while the bassist looks over his shoulder.

"Need anything else from me?" Steve asks Chrissy.

"I don't think so," she says. "I'll call you back to set up a time for Saturday."

He's amazed by the fact that someone as sweet as her works with someone as pretentious as Eddie.

"Sounds good," he says, and he walks out, trying to ignore the feeling of Eddie's eyes on him as he goes through the door.

It only halfway works.

The pill should kick in soon, within a half hour, maybe shorter because of the coffee. Maybe he'll write something. Maybe he'll work on the piano melody he's been tinkering with for the past week. Maybe he'll read the latest book Robin picked up from the library, something interesting enough to be worth the frustration of the moving letters, something that will still fill the time.

He'll make it to seventy two hours. Then he'll crash because his body is a worthless piece of shit, and he hopes this is the half of the time when he doesn't have any goddamn nightmares.

Maybe he should pop another pill, just in case.

#ria writes #tw drugs #tw substance abuse #steve harrington #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #corroded coffin #st #st ficlet #stranger things #stranger things ficlet #steddie #steddie ficlet #can you tell i just finished daisy jones and the six? #anyway it gave me worms #so enjoy #pop star steve harrington #rock star eddie munson #dja au

[bou-vie]

Dja Dja Wurrung Country

Castlemaine, VIC, July 2022

#contax g2 #35mm #Kodak Portra 400 #Dja Dja Wurrung Country #Castlemaine #art gallery #succulents #botanical garden

[dialaforawesome]

arble

Source: Puyo Puyo Quest

#arle nadja #arle nadj a #arle nad ja #arle na dja #arle n adja #arle nadja #arl e nadja #ar le nadja #a rle nadja #puyo puyo #puyo puyo quest

[katebeckets]

for the love of god somebody please watch timeless i need to yell about this

#i agree with him #BUT I TRUST YOU #I TRUST YOU FDKAJF;DJA;FA #EPISODE FOUR YOU IDIOTS !!!!!

[dimensionjumpingartist]

Yo a Sona Ref out of Nowhere because I realized I never shared, but Meet Mr. Admiral John Doe!

(Click for better quality btw because Tumblr crunched it)

He’s my funky Analog Horror inspired man, and he isn’t the only one of his kind, I’ve got LORE

That’s if anyone wants to hear too :]

And if people wanna draw him interacting with folk or just in general, go right ahead! I will cherish it forever /gen

#persona #sona art #artist sona #sona #sona oc #analog horror #analong horror oc #dimensions ocs #dimensions art #DJA Oc: Admiral John Doe #Admiral John Doe #eldrich horror #eldritch being #weirdcore #oc #original character #original art

[searchsystem]

David James (DJA) / Prada / Spring/Summer 2014 – Menswear Show / Invitation / 2013

#david james #dja #prada #spring/summer 2014 #menswear show #invitation #2013 #printed matter #typography

[braskide]

i have a lot of sparse headcanons but i think one i cling to a lot is that yuna was taught how to play the piano as a child when she lived in bevelle with her father, and they had a piano in his mansion and her father & her would have these moments after he'd come back home of like. just sitting at the piano and playing together, even though perhaps braska was a bit more rusty because he'd not play as efficiently as her, but they'd just like. do it for the joy of it. of composing together. and then when she lived in besaid it kinda would become something she fondly remembered / a skill she left in the back of her head to dedicate herself to the temple and whatnot.

it is not until later in life, when she crosses paths with lenne's memories that she remembers what it was like and what it felt like. when she decides to live in bevelle again, the piano is still there and at first she avoids it intentionally. it's like — what is the point of touching it if her father is not accompanying her? she must have forgotten how to play, anyway, she thinks. and then when grief strikes harder and harder and she passes by it once or twice, she presses a few keys, and she's rusty and it's all off tune and she barely remembers what it was like anymore.

she decides to hire a teacher again ( wondering if the same teacher is still around, perhaps? but it has been so many years now.. ) and it becomes something so melancholic and nostalgic that at times she has to excuse herself from the teaching, she convinces herself she cannot do it. but it comes back, eventually. all the lullabies they played together, even the ones he had played while fondly talking about her mother — they're hazy memories, but they're there and it almost breaks her into a million pieces over the unhealed grief, but she must insist on that and she lets herself be vulnerable. and some time passes by, and that skill is back again, but she realizes how perfect it is now, how every note is played in the right way, nothing like the way she used to do when she was a child. it was messy and raw and real and honest and now she's missing being home.

#hc tbt. #ummmm it was supposed to be only 2 lines but it made me feral for some reason ? #it's all because i rewatched lalal/and and it made me feel sooooooo normal about the seb and mia's theme and it's like oh wow ! #there's so much one can express through music !!!! #at first i was like . does this make sense even or am i indulging..... #but then i remember canonically instruments like this exist in spira djsk;dja fsk — #x-2 opening scene you will always be famous !

[convexicalcrow]

It wasn't a great day for a hunt, but since the tribe's numbers had swelled with the arrival of the priests from Tawy, well, it had become necessary. The sky was overcast, and the wind was working against them. Still, the women needed to hunt, and hunt they would until they found enough food to bring back. In the distance, something moved. Kharatje raised her spear and gestured for her women to stop.

"Is that a horse? Camel? Something like that? Are we getting more visitors?" Kharatje said.

"Neh, it is wandering. That camel is not being driven," Jaran said.

"Camels out here do not wander. Perhaps someone is in grave danger," Kharatje said. "Come, we will see what is going on."

-

The camel was indeed wandering. More concerningly, its two young riders were either asleep or unconscious; they were slumped against each other, with cat perhced on the neck of the camel, yowling softly.

Kharatje took the reins. "They are children. Who leaves children out here on their own?"

"Eja, I do not know, but they look Tameri. Perhaps the priests will know them. Maybe they got lost along the way," Jarah said.

Kharatje considered them. "Perhaps, perhaps. Come, let's take them back to the cave. Let's pray they are still alive."

-

Cub was lying in cool water. At least, that's what it felt like. His head was throbbing as consciousness slowly returned. There were voices whispering to him but he couldn't make out the words. He felt- someone was holding his hand. And then, words he could definitely understand. It was a soft voice, but one that was full of compassion, of understanding.

"Where in Tawy did you flee from?"

"I-I don't remember." Cub breathed. "Scar took me one night. We fled into the desert. I think it's been a year but, well. Time is different out here."

"Are you brothers then?"

"Best friends. He's kept me safe this whole time," Cub said.

"Well, it seems the gods are interested in keeping you alive if They have brought you to us. We also fled Tawy. We will take care of you now."

Cub opened his eyes. A priest was sitting beside him. They seemed to be in some kind of cave. "Well, Bast said She would protect us. Scar still lives too, right? He's okay? And Jellie? I can't bear to lose any more people," Cub said.

'They live, they are resting like you. We will continue to watch over you all until you recover."

Cub didn't quite know what more to say. He closed his eyes again as a cold cloth was pressed onto his head. Gods, that felt so nice. He was safe, he was alive, and so was Scar. After what they'd been through, well. That was enough for now.

#hermitcraft #fanfic #the lost prince au #convex #cubfan135 #gtwscar #original characters #ancient egyptian au #have another snippet of backstory #about when they meet the priests from dja #this is about a year or so after they left egypt #this will turn into something longer #i just needed to get this out of my head #hermitfic

[slidesworthseeing]

Found slide: Connewarre black swan, with Mount Warrenheip in the distance, Lake Wendouree, Ballarat, Wadawurrung and Dja Dja Wurrung, 1959 (photographer unknown) 

#found slide #ballarat #wadawurrung country #dja dja wurrung country #victoria #australia #kodachrome #1959

[riality-check]

a continuation of this post. tw substance abuse. next part here. part 4 here. part 5 here. part 6 here. part 7 here.

ao3

The only person to whom Eddie breaks his promises is himself.

If he says he'll help someone, he'll help them. If he says he'll call someone, he'll call them. If he says he'll be there, he'll be there.

If he tells himself he won't be stupid on tour, he’ll try cocaine for the first time right after the second show.

He's always been like that. Always found it easy to lie and cheat and bend when it comes to himself. It's easier still when it's his self control, ever-fragile. And it's not like this is his first time with anything. He's been drinking beer to help him fall asleep since he was sixteen.

But the tour and the coke and the people and all the other stuff they have make it so easy to get so much worse.

He tells himself he keeps it together for work. He always gets back on the bus (Archie carries him) and gets up on time (Jeff wakes him up) and keeps it together onstage (Gareth yells at him because he comes in late for one song, every show).

He tells himself that so long as he's fine onstage, he can do whatever offstage. He tells himself that so long as he keeps only taking the dexies and the coke and other uppers, that it's not a problem. He tells himself that so long as he avoids the downers - except for alcohol because refusing drinks is a dick move - that he's not his parents.

Coke isn't a problem. Heroin is.

Eddie thinks back to track marks and sores and unseeing eyes every time someone offers him heroin. It's enough to keep him from taking it.

It's not a problem that he usually stays up for two days before he crashes. It's not a problem that most times, someone has to wake him up a half hour before soundcheck. It's not a problem that he needs a bump before he goes out onstage, and even then, he'll still crash right after the show.

It feels good. Being up all the time, talking and playing and moving, always moving, feels good. It’s what he’s supposed to do, isn’t it? This is what rock stars do. He’s doing it right. He’s doing everything right.

It's not a problem. He's fine.

Until he gets backstage when they finish up in Indianapolis and Wayne is there in the green room, sitting on the couch that Eddie wants nothing more than to flop onto and pass out.

He doesn't, though. He walks over, grips the armrest with both of his shaking hands, and leans forward to take some of the weight off his feet.

God, he's tired.

"Wayne!" he grins. "How are you? Did you like the show? I wish I knew you were coming, I would've got you a good seat. Did you-"

As he talks, he watches as Wayne's face falls from a smile to something neutral to something angry.

And when he finally shuts up, Wayne says, "You're a mess."

"Excuse me?"

"Eddie, you're a mess," Wayne says. "I don't think you can stand right now without holding onto the couch."

Eddie wants to prove him wrong, but he doesn't think he'll be able to.

"So what?" he says instead.

"So what?" Wayne repeats. "What are you taking?"

"Nothing that'll kill me."

"Everything can kill you, boy, even sugar. What are you on?"

Eddie sniffs, wiping his nose on the back of his hand.

"Coke, then," Wayne says, like it’s obvious, like it’s something nasty.

"What do you care?" Eddie says. He starts pacing, hands flying wildly. If he keeps moving, he doesn't seem unsteady, right? "I'm happy. I'm living my dream. I'm doing what I love. Who cares if I'm having a little fun while I'm doing it?"

"This ain’t fun."

"Yes, it is."

Wayne sighs. "You're gonna hurt yourself or someone else if you don't stop. What if you were driving, and-"

"I have people who do that for me," Eddie says, finally feeling like he's starting to win.

"Do you let them?"

Eddie stops moving, almost toppling over when he does so. "What?"

"Do you let them drive you?" Wayne asks. "Because I don't think you do. You've never let anyone do anything for you when you could do it yourself, and I don't think that's changed."

Eddie bites the inside of his cheek to stay quiet.

"I think you're scared. I think this all happened too fast, and you're scared because you don't think you deserve it. So you're trying to make that true."

"That's bullshit."

"If you keep it up," Wayne says slowly, like he's talking to a child, "this is gonna kill you, and it is gonna be ugly."

"I'll have a closed casket funeral," Eddie snaps.

"You won't be around to have any say!" Wayne barks.

Eddie jumps back. Wayne has never raised his voice at him, not even when Eddie was a total brat of a teenager.

"It's rehab," he continues softly. "When this tour ends."

"Or what?"

"There is no or," Wayne says. "I buried my mama, your mama, two of my cousins, and my uncle because of this. I'm not losing you to the same stupidity."

Eddie takes a breath.

"I know you're grown, but I'm not losing you," Wayne says, standing up and wrapping him in a hug.

Eddie clings to him. He has about fifty different protests on the tip of his tongue about how he's a grown adult, how he's fine, how Wayne has no right to tell him what to do.

They all lose credibility as he stands, holding on to his uncle and sobbing like he's nine years old again.

He goes to rehab the morning after the last show. He gets clean, quits everything except the cigarettes because Eddie needs to break every promise to himself, just a little, if he wants them to stick a lot.

#ria writes #dja au #eddie munson #wayne munson #st #st ficlet #stranger things #stranger things ficlet #tw drugs #tw substance abuse

[bou-vie]

Dja Dja Wurrung Country

Castlemaine, VIC, July 2022

#contax g2 #35mm #Kodak Portra 400 #Castlemaine #Dja Dja Wurrung Country #street #architecture

[katebeckets]

tumblr you're a hellsite but you're MY hellsite <3

#i adore the fact that this is happening here kafj;dja #beep boop