Apr 3, 2024
Prom 1988
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Prom 1988
could you write something bout going to prom with 80s James? I don't know headcanons or something, pleease. that would be so sweet of you <3
hey, lovely!! sorry for the long wait! i hope you enjoy! also, i have no idea what prom is like, since I'm not American, so i hope it's a little accurate! <3
the two of you have been friends for the longest of time, had classes together and hung out with the same people.
you two would jokingly flirt with each other and some small kisses would be given here and there.
you didn't think much of it until it was almost time for senior prom.
“Who are you thinking of taking to prom, Jamie?” you asked him with a playful smile on your face.
“Quit callin’ me that.” He tries to sound intimidating, but he can’t help but smile back at you.
“Well? "Who is it?” You want it to seem like you’re genuinely interested, but the only reason you’re asking is because you want to know if the thing between the two of you could be something real.
“I don’t… I haven’t asked anyone yet.”
Hopefully he finally grows some balls and asks you.
It was a few days before prom and you were actually thinking you and James weren’t going to work. And you were really upset about it. You and James weren’t hanging out as much, and it was really fucking with you.
until… you heard tapping against your window.
James was throwing rocks against your window! He's here! at your house! again, finally!!!
he climbed up the drainpipe clumsily, (how cute). He handed you his Iron Maiden ‘Killers’ vinyl first and then crawled in.
“what’s this?” you grinned.
“What do you mean, ‘what is that?’. It’s Iron Maiden!” He was breathing heavily and his cheeks were bright red.
“Yeah, I know that, dumbass!” You giggled. “ Why did you bring it?”
“Open it!”
You took the lp out of the art cover and on the protection cover there was a text, written in James’ messy yet perfect handwriting. “Will you go to prom with me? x Jaymz”
“You dork! of course I will!” You wrapped your arms around him and you must’ve kissed him a thousand times.
Both of your lips were sore from kissing that night.
When the time came, both of you were all dressed up. (80s prom was something else). matching corsages and he wore a tie that matched with your dress.
He picked you up in his brother's car and he was a blushing and stuttering mess. (so were you).
His hair was a little messy, so it was obvious he tried to do something different with it. you told him you liked his hair this way and he thanked you shyly with a kiss on the cheek.
The school’s gym was transformed into a dance floor and there were beautiful decorations on the walls and ceiling. there were your typical snacks and drinks, (which were obviously spiked). but the two of you had already brought your own drinks.
you had a lot of fun with each other and your friends! dancing and singing your heart out to your favorite songs.
you were looking forward to the somewhat slower songs, because that meant slow dancing with James.
he’s not a great dancer, you didn’t care though. you just wanted to be close to him.
after all that the two of you make out underneath the bleachers, just like in the movies.
he asks you to be his girlfriend after the make out sesh.
“I was wondering….” James starts.
"Yeah?" you try to catch your breath after the intensive kissing.
He traces his fingers over your dress, drawing a pattern. He doesn’t look at you until he speaks again.
“do you…. want to be my girlfriend?” he blushes.
“Thought you’d never ask~”
seal the deal with a kiss. (again)
I wouldn’t be able to stop kissing him either.
An old prom photo of Mae and Thalia from 1986.
I've drawn a crossover fanart for Bowie's Parlor for the first time, and considering the fact that Thalia's appearance really screams 1980s starlet, who better to be accompanied with than Mae Flowers, from the popular 80s Saturday morning cartoon, Dream Along with Me?
And honestly, drawing them this way makes them look like ABSOLUTE BESTIES!!! So cute!! 🥹🥹🥹
Mae Flowers (left) is a character owned by @dreammeiser for the project titled "Dream Along with Me". Thalia (right) is a character created by @kaylarcreates for the project titled Bowie's Parlor.
Special thanks to @drawyourblankas for the pose!
Erik Menendez looking snazzy before prom
March 1989. 'On the road somewhere in leather and sequins. Rev it up!'
HAPPY HALLOWEEN!
I loved my costume so much that I wanted to shoot it earlier in the week. I hope you love my little werewolf girl as much as I do
dream journal | one.
topic:
holographic chase
notes:
originally documented november 9th, 2017
925 words | 03 parts | s. f. w.
you give holographic chase in a wicked colosseum inlaid with crucified traps.
index:
one. | two. | three.
*✧🌙✧*
She stands in the midst of a gymnasium littered with balloons, streamers and confetti. The decor is haphazard, chaotic in an explosive fashion that is suffocating. Her eyes chase after holographic fragments from the chrome disco ball crawling along the wall, distorted and smothered music echoes from backstage, and with a glance down, she looks to be drowning in a carnation pink gown dappled with sequins and layered in gossamer. It's a gaudy atrocity she desperately wants to tear off, but it's the least of her concerns at the moment. She swears she has dropped into an 80’s prom gone psychedelic, and she can’t pinpoint a beginning or end or if there happens to be any of either at all.
Beyond that, there’s a burning question hounding her thoughts: where has everyone gone? To find an answer, she breaks away from the empty makeshift dance room and into the adjoining corridor. The difference between the gym tinted with pastel volumes and the sepulchral hallway is jarring to the mind, as if she has fallen off the face of one dimension and into another. Immediately, she wants back in the gym for the sake of color; however, the need to find another living person wins over her discomfort, and she ventures without looking back, teeth gnashed and nails clawed into the folds of her dress.
Immediately, she is overcome with a severe sense of vulnerability, as if she’s lost her way back to a home she can’t even recall—no, not quite like that, no, as if she has run straight into a dead end with no way through or around, as if the imaginary chase has come to an end and she has lost. It’s with crippling dread and with little grit does she carry on.
The dim corridor is bare of any windows and doors, giving way to one path she continues trekking on in hopes of finding someone. Abruptly, she comes to a staggering arrest, a decision not because there’s an obstacle in her path but because she's not alone anymore. Instead of swiveling to face the newcomer as she would have done so in her futile search for another, her instincts howl: don't turn around, don't turn around, don't—
Unable to suffer the suspense, she peers over her puff sleeved shoulder. Regret wrecks through her as soon as she makes out the figure standing a good distance away. A man. He dons a static white shirt, which stretches over the bulk of his muscles, and denim jeans frayed at the hems. His face is a horrific smear of colors, like a salmagundi of acrylics tarnishing a canvas, rendering his identity anonymous. In spite of his muddy features, she knows he's grinning, as well as she knows the color of her dress. She can imagine his blurred smile, and it's nefarious and manic, and she needs to get away from him now.
He shifts toward her and she bolts without any further prompting. She flees as if the Devil is breathing on her neck, but she feels to be sprinting through waist-deep water. Her limbs burn, yet no matter how much she urges them to move, she can't seem to run any faster. The corridor warps into a vortex before her eyes, making her escape that much more arduous. She must be going delirious. Regardless of her slowed movements, she persists.
Finally, she makes out an opening on the left and careens around the sharp corner, nearly tumbling over from the force. The arch leads to a set of stairs, and at the top is a lone door. Running through the hall is nothing compared to trudging up the steps, each one slowing her down more than the last. Afraid she truly will topple, she rams her shoulder into the wall to keep upright as she struggles to ascend. She refuses to look back, not needing to, because she can feel the weight of his gaze, feel the unmistakable presence of the man chasing after her.
Just as her fingers are a whisper away from caressing the handle, he’s upon her. His hands are vice-like as he snatches her up. At this point, she is bone weary and can't even put up a proper struggle against his intense strength. Rather than pulling her away from the door, however, he makes for it. She tenses with a mixture of anxiety and confusion. As soon as he hauls her in, she recoils in horror. The room is decked in pink shades, a perfect complement of her dress. A vanity stands in one corner, a variety of dolls are piled and scattered about, and there is an armoire brimmed with dresses. This is not what petrifies her, it's the overstuffed canopy bed framed with gilded bars and the idea of what this man intends for her.
“A pretty cage for a pretty girl,” he rasps into her ear, a deep rumble that sends shudders ripping down to her marrow.
He drags her fatigued form to the bed, then, tucking her underneath the ruffled-lined duvet with such condescendence it makes her sick.
“Sweet dreams, my doll,” he croons, pressing a kiss across her creased brow.
He shuts the cage and leaves with only his heinous smile to remember by. With the little strength she has left, she fights out of the sheets and yanks at the bars. She wails in vain for help but grows weaker each passing second. Finally, after crying until she no longer could, she collapses into a heap of fabric.
She has become his doll.
*✧🌙✧*
to be continued.
*✧🌙✧*
thoughts:
yes, i’m aware this work does not feature a monster; however, i felt the need to share. the dreams are true and based on mine. i did add a few details for the story’s sake, but every word is accurate to what i dreamed. over three consecutive nights, my mind was plagued with these disturbingly vivid images that still haunt me to this day. strange thing is, i knew i was dreaming and wasn’t afraid. it was only after waking and remembering did i realize how ominous they truly were. i’m no superstitious individual, but i often wonder where these dreams rooted from. it was a trip i won’t be forgetting any time soon.
from my 18th birthday party. we called it “anti-prom” and played loud punk. almost broke the floor dancing.