#be punk use your library

[pagesofkenna]

my nephew was playing some Roblox music on his phone as background during game night, and I know we've talked a bit about Homestuck's influence on comics and storytelling but I don't think we talk enough about how the Homesuck music team had a real tangible effect on indie game music. maybe even music in general. it's not uncommon for me to be listening to some musical thing and think 'is that homestuck??'

[wyvern-babbles]

Day 7 of Fighting Dystopia (Bonus Round!)

I finished up some much needed repairs on my renaissance festival costume. I've been wearing my bodice around the house as lounge wear because its so comfortable and it needed a new closure and some repairs where the fabric was fraying. It lives to see another day and I don't need to buy any new lounge clothes.

[roseredsnow]

Good news!

Found a bobbin lace making book in my library catalogue, it's currently on loan but I've places a hold.

And in doing so I've found out I can actually get books from one library on hold to another.

I knew that my card was usable for all allerdale libraries but I didn't know that so that's really cool, instead of going into a town I don't go to on a regular basis and I can just walk to my towns one.

[luulapants]

25 ways to be a little more punk in 2025

Cut fast fashion - buy used, learn to mend and/or make your own clothes, buy fewer clothes less often so you can save up for ethically made quality

Cancel subscriptions - relearn how to pirate media, spend $10/month buying a digital album from a small artist instead of on Spotify, stream on free services since the paid ones make you watch ads anyway

Green your community - there's lots of ways to do this, like seedbombing or joining a community garden or organizing neighborhood trash pickups

Be kind - stop to give directions, check on stopped cars, smile at kids, let people cut you in line, offer to get stuff off the high shelf, hold the door, ask people if they're okay

Intervene - learn bystander intervention techniques and be prepared to use them, even if it feels awkward

Get closer to your food - grow it yourself, can and preserve it, buy from a farmstand, learn where it's from, go fishing, make it from scratch, learn a new ingredient

Use opensource software - try LibreOffice, try Reaper, learn Linux, use a free Photoshop clone. The next time an app tries to force you to pay, look to see if there's an opensource alternative

Make less trash - start a compost, be mindful of packaging, find another use for that plastic, make it a challenge for yourself!

Get involved in local politics - show up at meetings for city council, the zoning commission, the park district, school boards; fight the NIMBYs that always show up and force them to focus on the things impacting the most vulnerable folks in your community

DIY > fashion - shake off the obsession with pristine presentation that you've been taught! Cut your own hair, use homemade cosmetics, exchange mani/pedis with friends, make your own jewelry, duct tape those broken headphones!

Ditch Google - Chromium browsers (which is almost all of them) are now bloated spyware, and Google search sucks now, so why not finally make the jump to Firefox and another search like DuckDuckGo? Or put the Wikipedia app on your phone and look things up there?

Forage - learn about local edible plants and how to safely and sustainably harvest them or go find fruit trees and such accessible to the public.

Volunteer - every week tutoring at the library or once a month at the humane society or twice a year serving food at the soup kitchen, you can find something that matches your availability

Help your neighbors - which means you have to meet them first and find out how you can help (including your unhoused neighbors), like elderly or disabled folks that might need help with yardwork or who that escape artist dog belongs to or whether the police have been hassling people sleeping rough

Fix stuff - the next time something breaks (a small appliance, an electronic, a piece of furniture, etc.), see if you can figure out what's wrong with it, if there are tutorials on fixing it, or if you can order a replacement part from the manufacturer instead of trashing the whole thing

Mix up your transit - find out what's walkable, try biking instead of driving, try public transit and complain to the city if it sucks, take a train instead of a plane, start a carpool at work

Engage in the arts - go see a local play, check out an art gallery or a small museum, buy art from the farmer's market

Go to the library - to check out a book or a movie or a CD, to use the computers or the printer, to find out if they have other weird rentals like a seed library or luggage, to use meeting space, to file your taxes, to take a class, to ask question

Listen local - see what's happening at local music venues or other events where local musicians will be performing, stop for buskers, find a favorite artist, and support them

Buy local - it's less convenient than online shopping or going to a big box store that sells everything, but try buying what you can from small local shops in your area

Become unmarketable - there are a lot of ways you can disrupt your online marketing surveillance, including buying less, using decoy emails, deleting or removing permissions from apps that spy on you, checking your privacy settings, not clicking advertising links, and...

Use cash - go to the bank and take out cash instead of using your credit card or e-payment for everything! It's better on small businesses and it's untraceable

Give what you can - as capitalism churns on, normal shmucks have less and less, so think about what you can give (time, money, skills, space, stuff) and how it will make the most impact

Talk about wages - with your coworkers, with your friends, while unionizing! Stop thinking about wages as a measure of your worth and talk about whether or not the bosses are paying fairly for the labor they receive

Think about wealthflow - there are a thousand little mechanisms that corporations and billionaires use to capture wealth from the lower class: fees for transactions, interest, vendor platforms, subscriptions, and more. Start thinking about where your money goes, how and where it's getting captured and removed from our class, and where you have the ability to cut off the flow and pass cash directly to your fellow working class people

[cathnospam]

Bakugo makes you laugh, A LOT and it drives him insane.

“It was not that damn funny.”

You try to conceal the snickers from your mouth, but fail horribly. All he did was mutter something about Mineta being a punk ass and it had you giggly.

At first he used to take offense by it, maybe you were laughing AT him and not what he says, almost like mocking him, that wasn’t until Deku quickly explained in passing that you laugh very easily.

But you don’t laugh this damn much with anybody else but him. At this point he thought you had a similar quirk to Ms. Joke, and he nicknamed you Giggles.

You both were studying in the library like you both usually do during exam week, and Bakugo noticed you haven’t been Miss. Cackle the past few days. Not even a smile actually and you’d think it would have been some relief for him from hearing your laugh obxonious laugh, but he’s actually more annoyed.

He looks up from his book and glances at you across the table, you’re typing away, with a less that neutral look on your face. Lips somehow forming a pout and eyes looking droopy. He scoffs going back to his work, but it was an itch he needed to scratch with you..?

“Who pissed in your breakfast.”

“What?”

“You been looking like a sad lost puppy all week what the hell is your problem.”

The corner of your lips cracked upwards a bit, almost as if you were fighting to smile, but instead you shrug, “‘Nothing you needa worry about. Why.”

It was almost concerning how calm you sounded. Your voice was more tame that you didn’t even sound recognizable which make Bakugo crease his brows, “You suck at lying. Is it, because of that shitty boyfriend you have pissed you off.”

He was referring to Shindo, he wasn’t your boyfriend, but he was a guy you got close with after meeting him a few years ago, but Bakugo was half right he was part of the problem.

You had a small crush on Shindo , but overheard him tell his classmates how he isn’t into you like that mainly because you’re not his type and how much he can’t stand how loud you talk/laugh sometimes.

It hurt hearing it, when he found out you heard he tried apologizing but you didn’t wanna hear it, so since then you’ve turn self conscious about speaking and laughing too loudly for the past week to avoid anymore issues that you have caused with people.

After slowly explaining to the Blonde he rolled his eyes, “You’re ganna let the walking vibrator dictate your life too? So stupid.”

“You hate my laugh too. What does it matter.”

Bakugo stayed silent for a moment while you went back to work. Thinking how could he word what he wants to say without sounding like an idiot, “I never said that, besides you never stopped even when I did tell you your laugh was annoying. If you want to cackle like a hyena who gives a fuck—“

You break into a snicker but end up covering it with your hand. He cracks a proud smirk, he almost forgot what you looked like with a smile, “I don’t wanna be loud. Just can’t help it.”

“We know.”

You giggle at his deadpanned voice, it really wasn’t your fault, you’re just so easy to please and Bakugo knows that, “Giggly ass, and I seen you almost laugh when Denki tripped at the lecture today.”

“Becauuseee he is always so dramatic when he falls.” You whined into a chuckle, sharing a small one with him.

It was a start of many more shared laughs after studying, Katsuki even tried to be just a LITTLE bit more funnier than usual when walking back to the dorms. When you finally cracked a real loud one out he felt himself grinning at you.

“Katsuki Alexander Bakugo are you smiling?”

“Don’t you EVER say my full name like that again got dammit I will blow you the hell UP!”

You almost fall to your knees of how funny his reaction was to you, it felt so good to smile again. You missed it, and so did everybody else the next day apparently.

Mina and some others thought you were depressed, Deku assumed you were sick, Denki outwardly blamed Bakugo which got him smacked, and IIda actually missed your loud noises as well.

Your classmates enjoyed your presence more than you thought they did.

But Bakugo missed it the most.

Your laughs drives him insane, because he loves to hear them.

[solarpunkfool]

It's punk to compost, in a world filled with trash.

It's punk to be fat, in a world that wants you to keep getting smaller.

It's punk to ride an old bike, drive an old car, patch your old clothes with different colored thread, cut up old sheets for rags instead of using paper towels, and make stuffed animals out of scrap fabric, in a world that wants you to just "order it off amazon".

It's punk to tend a messy, overgrown, weed-filled garden. Tomatoes grow right next to dandelions.

It's punk to can the veggies from your messy garden and give your neighbors delicious tomato soup in the depths of winter.

It's punk to make a bird feeder and look out the window to take a break from your screen.

It's punk to wear your "Let Trans Kids Play" shirt to a college basketball game where there are no trans players, because a trans kid in the crowd will see it and maybe (this year) decide to join the team.

It's punk to have wrinkles, when the world wants you to stop aging at 23.

It's punk to go to your local library.

It's punk to take your kids to your local library.

It's punk to take your kids to a pride parade, a sit-in, a land-back ceremony, an accessible trunk-or-treat, a soup kitchen.

It's punk to plant trees. It's punk to PROTECT trees.

It's punk save for solar panels, someday.

It's punk to hope, whenever you can.

[mesetacadre]

🏴illiteracypunk follow

everything feels hopeless these days because of the rise of global Corporatist Techno-Feudal Fascism, we can't forget about caring for each other and ourselves

You have to put on your own oxygen mask before changing the world, to continue living in a hostile society is an act of rebellion

traditional activism feels too hollow and ableist so instead, build up your own community: spend money in your local businesses, buy more drugs, maybe even throw up a graffiti or shoplift necessities (only from big corporations!) to then distribute. use public libraries, help out in a community garden or join a queer group

the point is to do things! indulge yourself and reinterpret your pre-existing behaviors as revolutionary and real. nevermind an actually defined structure, that's Authority and we can't liberate ourselves with the tools of our oppressors. only through voluntarist activism, in which the same few people show up for a few years before burning out or being involved in some sort of abuse, can we do Good. in fact, just go ahead and throw all that activism in the backgrounds, it sometimes doesn't feel good, after all. Collective freedom is only the sum of all individual freedoms, so by looking only after your own comfortableness and without ever doing anything that feels Bad, we can all build a revolution and freedom

#196 #leftist #anarchy #left #anarchism #leftism #anarchist #anarchopunk #solarpunk #hopepunk #green punk #anarchocommunism #social issues #social justice #socialist #socialism #fuck capitalism #revolutionary #freedom #revolution #anti capitalist #anti capitalism #anti tankie #tankie #anti authority #authority #mutual aid #effective activism

(6.9k notes)

[genderqueerdykes]

genuine piece of advice for punks, activists, and everyone else honestly: any form of leftist infighting is a waste of your time.

focus on the task at hand: improving living and quality of life conditions for your community. unionize. donate to food banks. cooperate with organizations like food not bombs to distribute free hot meals. volunteer at libraries. participate in homeless outreach. give people access to resources in your community. organize and participate in protests. create organizations, groups, and gathering spots for queer folk in your area who need safe places to go and find community.

help people find access to HRT, surgery and other gender affirming care. carry, hand out, and administer narcan (naloxone). help recovering people get to rehabilitation, methadone clinics and so on. help addicted people practice harm reduction and use safely. help give out menstrual kits to homeless and low income people who have periods. help people get into housing programs. help disabled people apply for disability (SSI and SSDI) and disability lawyers. help disabled people find work or income resources that are accessible to them. donate blood and/or plasma if you can. care for people with HIV and AIDS.

help people apply for food stamps, medicaid, bill and rent assistance. help disabled people find case managers and caregivers. call local lawmakers to voice your opinions on current events. advocate for disadvantaged queers in your area. establish and participate in mutual aid funds. spread awareness and advocate online. write about and share your experiences with disadvantages, abuse and other problems you've faced in life for who you are. gather and organize with people with shared experiences. start or volunteer at a community garden. deliver meals to the elderly. volunteer at a homeless shelter.

organize fundraisers for, spread awareness of, and donate to:

Palestine

Sudan

Congo

i don't care if someone's activism looks different from yours: there are a TON of ways to improve and make change in your and the global community. doing ONE of these is enough, finding a singular way to improve your community is a better use of your time than arguing. everyone can find ways to be good to each other.

rehashing the same talking points, reading between the lines, accusing someone of identifying with politics they've never advocated for, and making baseless accusations isn't helping. it's not fixing anything. mobilize. advocate. stand up for your community and its rights. take action. now. i mean it. we must.

help each other.

[intrusivethoughtsblog]

How to be a Solar Punk (And a Leftist) ☀️🌱:

1) Stop buying fast fashion and boycott.

I use Depop, Etsy to support small businesses, and you can purchase from small businesses or organizations via other channels. You can also transform your clothing. If a t-shirt is too small, make it a crop top or wear a long shirt underneath! Also look up boycott lists (e.g. BDS movement list) so you know which companies you can or cannot support.

2) Censor and Spread.

Carry around a sharpie or a tube of paint to cover ignorant (e.g. racist) graffiti and scribbles. (I’m not going to refer to it as art). You can also spread information via graffiti.

3) Reuse and Recycle.

I use grocery bags as garbage bags, tin cans to hold things, boxes from online orders, you can even get more creative and make pins out of bottle tops!

4) Get involved physically (if possible).

Volunteer to help people who are lower income, get involved in “beautifying” the community (e.g. displaying the cultural backgrounds of the community, gardening, and protesting).

5) Get involved online.

I sign and repost GoFundMe campaigns, donate what I can, and post information regarding current events. Don’t be apolitical. This is a leftist ideology.

6) Educate yourself.

Go to trusted sources to educate yourself on facts regarding certain matters so you can dispute false claims. There are many PDFs online, podcasts, and overall resources you should take advantage of to increase your awareness and to also help develop a better understanding of those who need your help. Education is what will set us free.

7) Support your local library.

There are so many resources and programs they offer that people are not aware of. And because people are not aware of them they are shut down and underfunded. People who can’t afford computers need to have them available free at cost. Not only to enjoy them leisurely but to do things like job search. Children also have reading assignments which brings them to the library, seeing activities and programs they offer children will help to cultivate a love for learning. The next generations are our future.

8) Learn languages and about cultures.

Certain issues are not limited to certain communities or areas. We need to unite in order to make an impact that will enact change. You will also understand how to positively influence certain people that would otherwise not be receptive due to a different communication style.

9) Take care of your mental health.

“A sick person cannot help a sick person.” -AA saying

You also need to take care of yourself because, simply, you are valuable. Being healthily selfish exists.

10) Be confident.

We unfortunately have to enter spaces that will make us uncomfortable and it will be difficult to be vocal, but it is necessary. In this area, focus on practicing efficient communication methods and building your self-confidence.

11) Confront your own bias.

Everyone is biased in some way shape or form. It is our job to rid ourselves of these biases. Take moral inventory (as they say in 12-step programs) and analyze areas you need to work on.

12) Credit artists and writers.

Being an artist and/or writer should not be a struggling profession. They are an integral part of our society. It’s easy to forget, especially when we take so many screenshots a day, so keep this in mind! I sometimes forget so I can attest it’s not the end of the world but it is a good habit to form.

13) Be anti-A.I.

It is not possible to incorporate A.I. into a leftist environment. It inherently promotes late-stage capitalism.

13) Be a good human. :)

Please comment what I missed! Thank you for reading.

Flag credit: @Starwall@radical.town

[nullicaput]

firsts, seconds, and thirds. II

Pairings: Geum Seong-je x Reader, Wolf Keum x Reader

Tags: Minor College AU, Soulmates, Canon-Typical Violence, Language and Profanities, Seong-je being mentally unstable

Summary: In a world where soulmates exist, you found yourself rejecting yours when you learned who it was.

Word count: 2801

previous chapter.

The next time you saw Wolf was at the cybercafe near your university.

You had no plans to enter it and rent a computer there because it was a notorious hangout place for lowlifes and such, but you needed to access the internet and the library computer was down again. The fee was expensive, but hey, it was the only one that was walking-distance away from your spot.

"Punks nowadays are pretty scary, eh?"

Upon hearing the two men beside you, seated on cubicle twenty-seventh and twenty-eighth, talk, you increased the volume of the music that was playing on your phone via wireless earphones. It did slightly hurt you to listen to music so loudly, but this pair of players really had no sense of simple cybercafe etiquette, and you need to concentrate with the output you were doing for a course. 

How insufferable. 

"Kindergarten pretending to be gangsters." 

And here they were, already old yet still playing games in a spot were only youngsters were supposed to be. You were not shaming them for their hobbies and interests; you were shaming them for criticizing someone while being no good themselves.

Another press in your volume keys, and you wished for them to shut up already. You were tapping the keys of the keyboard when suddenly, the monitor shook. They all rattled. 

"What the fuck?" you mouthed.

You snapped your head to the two men, given that only the three of you were using the computers in the cubicle lane.

Shit.

Wolf was there, wearing his own university uniform over a printed black shirt and his face ever-so paintingesque, smashing the man's face onto the keyboard. He looked over to the other one wearing a green vest. 

And then at you.

At that moment, you could physically perceive the weight of his eyes boring into your soul. That weight only increased when he grinned that usual innocent, gummy smile of his with eyes so sharp it could cut your throat.

He scoffed and went back to his seat—which you did not know he occupied in the first place—like nothing had happened.

Quickly, you finished typing and transfer the file to your phone. Without glancing back, you left.

While walking, you saw from afar your unwanted admirer sitting by the gates with his patched up face and bandaged head. It appeared that he did not notice you, so you do the smartest thing you could have done at that time—you went straight to the nearest convenience store. 

You waited for him to go away, and you glanced at his location from time to time as you did. The sun was already setting, but you would need to attend your only class for the day so you could not go home just yet.

You bought some food and a drink to pass time, reading their nutrition chart as if you were indeed interested about what a patch of unhealthy, salty chips, sweet bread, and a bottle of artificially flavored soda can offer you. 

"Will this be all?" the cashier asked you. 

You picked three pieces of lollipop from the point-of-sale display and have him ring it with the first three items.

You and your oral fixation.

You paid for your items and went outside. You sat on one of the benches there and opened your food, your eyes never leaving the creep. You also checked your phone for messages from your class representative announcing the room where the class will be held at, but there were none.

"Too sweet." You stuck your tongue out a bit. "Sugar bread."

You downed your drink and let the fizz burn your throat. With a newly opened lollipop in your hand, you anxiously watched the invasive species pace around the entrance of your university. Even when you were not near to him, you could clearly see the change in his movements the longer you refused to make your presence known.

"It's already six-thirty." You cursed. "When is he gonna go inside?" 

It was like he knew your schedule. Maybe he did; you were block mates, after all.

A person sat beside you too closely for your liking, and when you tilted your head to see who it was, it was Mister Head-Basher scrutinizing you like you were a specimen. He was holding a stick of cigarette in between his middle and index fingers, flicking the ashes whenever the tip becomes gray.

"You." 

One.

Two.

You casted your vision down. 

"You really don't talk," he derided. 

He moved toward you, and the bastard—

The bastard puffed smoke in your face.

"You gonna puke, senior?"

You coughed. Of course, you did. 

Still, you kept quiet and uttered no word.

"Lollipops, at your grown age?"

He leaned down more, and opened his mouth. He plucked the sweet treat from your hand with his teeth. He rotated his head mockingly, provoking you to do something—anything—about it. 

You did not.

"Mhm," he hummed as he trudged the path he came from. "That's it. Keep quiet like the coward, little cunt you are."

Maniacal asshat.

Just when you thought that he would not be anywhere anymore, you were proven wrong immediately.

After that, you would find him standing close to the gates like a guard dog, jacket slung on his left shoulder and shirt still colored and inappropriate for school wear. You minded his existence not, because it was the sole reason that you were being left alone for days now, able to go home without the threat of someone tailing you while you come home to the pathetic excuse of a rental residential space.

"Senior," he said, like it was an endearment.

His purple hair had splatters of blood on some of the strands, while his face was painted with large streaks of the crimson liquid. The corner of his lower lip was split, and there was even trace of trickle—it was messily wiped to be considered cleaned off. His usually expressionless face—aside from the times he looked so euphoric while beating the life out of someone—was replaced with a pleasant smile. Too small to be obvious but stretched out enough to be picked up by your eyes, especially when he was a meter close to you. 

"Hwangmo told me that you always bring a small first aid kit with you." He held out his hand. "Patch me up."

One.

Two.

Instead of complying to his word, you gave him the entire kit and walked ahead. 

"Why don't you talk to me?" He blocked the way. "You talk with others. Is this your method to get my attention?"

You merely looked at him from his head to his feet, eyes filled with contempt mixed bewilderment.

The slight upturn of your lips was just like his—sardonic and suggestive—and he desired to do nothing with it except from wipe it off. In your silence, he wanted to pry the words out of your pretty mouth. He wanted to grab you by the jaw and shove his slender fingers into your soft, flush throat to claw the truth out of you.

"Are you hiding something from me?"

Just when he was about to touch you, he stopped halfway and clicked his tongue. He hissed, mumbling about his skin burning again. He pulled his collar, seething in pain and discomfort. His attention diverted from you to his strange predicament. 

Once more, you were safe.

Today was rather peaceful.

Your little stalker was sick and had no other option but to take an absence in order not to transmit his influenza to other students and staff, so you were enjoying your day alone inside the safe haven called your school. Since Wolf was not a part of the university, you were saved from his unwelcome company.

Table filled with spiral notebooks, you reviewed your past lectures without rush.

"Why is Filmography even part of core courses?" you softly complained, the sound of your pencil scratching the paper answering you. "It's not like it has to do anything with my program."

"Then, drop the fuck out." 

You stiffened.

"You drank three cans of coffee?" He touched the empty cans one by one, feeling the lingering chill the metals had. "Tough cookie."

Like usual, you just stared at him for two seconds before going back to your task. 

"Hello, senior." He picked on of the printed notes and read it. "Never took you for someone smart." 

Wolf, who was enrolled in another university, was sitting on the seat across from you at the student lounge with such disposition one would think he actually belonged with the students like you. 

However, you need not ask him how he managed to enter your university without guards asking him. 

Your school was not the best—and in all honesty, it was even borderline the worst one to study in—because anyone could get in as long as they were wearing a lace. The four guards at their stall could not care less even if someone was not wearing uniforms, or if they were unfamiliar. Seeing that he was wearing Hwangmo's identification card with the real owner's face replaced with Wolf's picture, you already pieced together how he ended up in the same area with you without raising a pair of eyebrows or two.

"[Name]," a stranger called softly, snatching your attention from your notes.

"Hey," you said, offering a seat. "Got no classes for today?"

"I just finished the last one."

You beamed, as though the sun itself went down to shine behind you. Your grin silenced Wolf, keeping him from interrupting your chat.

In Wolf's eyes—or in anyone's eyes, for that matter—your appearance was average at best. 

You were a person who is not ugly, but you were also not the type to turn heads when you walked. Your height was the average, and by how you studied, he could assume that your grades were just at the middle ground. You were the type of person that would not be remembered even if you were to talk to them, because you were painfully unremarkable.

So, for Wolf, it was a shock that he found himself stunned seeing you practically glow as you smiled and exchange pleasantries with your friend. 

Damn.

He could now understand why that little punk chose to stalk you.

"You should come with us," your friend whined while standing up to go. "We never got to see you after graduation."

You also rose to hug them, even kissing their cheek as you bid goodbye. You sat back down, that lovely smile vanishing. 

"You should smile like that when you're with me," Wolf finally said. "Makes me jealous."

One. 

Two. 

You snorted, concluding that if he were not as wild as he was, you would possibly liked being his friend, just like how you enjoy his underling's company.

"Do you like clean guys like him?" 

Guys with soft fingertips and knuckles devoid of any wounds because they never settle fights with their fists—or maybe, they never even had to fight someone because conflicts were resolved through peaceful, verbal means. Guys whose lungs and livers are not black due to substances. Guys who have never sullied their uniforms with their opponents' and their own blood. Guys who do not use profanities in their sentences, and instead fills them with deep-meaning terms that could never be understood unless one were to use a thick-assed dictionary while talking to them.

"Do you?" he asked again. 

Much to his dismay, you nodded.

"Senior, you're evil."

The night was uncomfortably hot, and you could even feel the residual heat from the sun permeating through your thick shirt.

It was exactly five days after that surprisingly peaceful one-sided dialogue, and you have finally saved a bit of money to hang out with your friend at the the mall. Deciding that the time was not enough to fully catch up, they suggested staying over at your flat for a few hours. 

"Motherfucker!" a man shouted from the end of the alleyway.

"Look at those guys." Your friend squinted their eyes. "A brawl?"

"That's not a brawl." You pulled them, wanting nothing but to go home safely and intact. "Come on."

"We should call for help." 

"Yeah, right."

"[Name]."

"What now?"

"One of them was staring at you," your friend gasped, causing you to petrify. "Isn't that the one who was sitting with you last time?" 

Mechanically turning your head to where your friend wanted you, you gazed at Wolf; this time, it was three seconds long.

"Shit."

"[Name]."

"Let's go."

"I think he needs something from you."

 

Wolf was not a friendly soul.

During your stay as a tenant of the apartment complex whose actual owner you did not know, you have known more when you were not close to him—when Hwangmo was merely narrating what has transpired during their errands using vague wordingsm in order not to sound suspicious to a normal citizen like you.

You were extremely aware of what he was capable of, and once, you have even witnessed it first hand. He does not fight the way a simple thug would. If anything, he was a simple thug to begin with.

Life intertwined with the underground, spending money that that was not originally theirs, knuckles more than bruised, their own blood mixing with their foe turned victims—Wolf was not a thug. He was a young criminal let loose to go rampage along the streets of his self-proclaimed territory.

It was idiotic of you to think that that surprisingly peaceful one-sided dialogue could be an indication of him capable of being non-violent, of being quiet—capable of being not himself.

Wolf would not change just for the likes of you. He would not be kind just to please you. He would not stop being the way he is just to see you safe.

Because Wolf was the danger himself.

You knew that there was no way in hell that he could mingle with your life without you being forced to accept him, and without him being forced to accept you.

"I said, let's go."

You pulled them again, yanking them by the hand just to ensure they were following you as you look for another path to take to reach home. 

You did not hear from him after that brief eye contact. He did not come over Hwangmo's flat, and he did not guard the gates like you secretly hoped for. For those three days that he was gone, you could feel the looming presence of your stalker inching closer and closer the longer you were left unprotected by the greater evil himself, Wolf.

Tonight was no different, and you were left conflicted whether you should feel thankful that he was gone or not.

You were currently at the second floor of the complex, thanking your legs that you have survived this trek without falling on your head. College was tough, especially when there are minor courses, like Physical Education, acting as though they were the only thing students were taking. 

Seriously, they take more time and require more effort than the major courses that your program requires you to pass.

You grunted with each step you took, your muscles reaching the point of spasms.

"What's up?"

You jolted upon hearing that voice, your soul almost leaving your body.

Wolf had his body against the balustrade of the staircase, his hair being gently blown by the wind above. He was not wearing his lenses and, right now, was staring so where faraway. He was wearing his orange jacket, and he looked a little too pissed off for your liking.

He raised a hand—you flinched.

Instead of laughing like you thought he would do, he just said, "Acting all scared and shit."

He inserted his hand inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a box of cigarettes and a lighter. Expertly, he lit the stick up without letting the wind extinguish it. He inhaled the chemical-laden smoke and hummed to himself a tune in which you were unfamiliar with.

"I feel hot," he stated, his eyes still not meeting yours. "Happens whenever you're here."

You knew that symptom, and you were the reason. 

It appears that, unlike you, he was not used to the specific heat that the soulmate shit causes those pairs that have not been officially connected yet.

You wished to keep it that way.

"Yeah, keep being quiet." He flicked the whole stick before puffing the smoke out. "You better make sure I don't find out what you're hiding from me, hm?"

Your eyes slowly fell from his hand to his shoes—soiled with blood. 

"Because the moment I find that shit out and I didn't like it—" He chuckled, now gazing at you. "—Hide."

next chapter.

tag section.

@pookynknowntranger @hoshzz @wagawana @iquietone @yuuuumii @ruruyiin @kunikei

[banbookclub]

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[the-kr8tor]

LOSER HOBIE LOSER HOBIE LOSER HOBIE…

The requests are open?

Then I shall make a request 🤭

Do you know about secret Santa??? Basically it’s where people have to randomly pick their person to whom they will give smt (a gift). And now imagine Hobie has a big and deep crush on you in HS and then he has to get you a gift. He’s just so sweet and thinks his gift out and through for you and when you find out it’s him that got you the most amazing gift, he’s super shy and stuff. 🥰 (maybe he gets a lil kiss at the end, and then he just doesn’t know what to do and can’t sleep at night, debating if he should ask you out. Maybe a shared Christmas night 🙈)

Take your time and enjoy writing, no rush!! 🫶🏻

LOSER! HOBIE!!!!!!! 😍😍 Thank you for requesting! I hope you like it ❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x gn! Reader/ Spider-Punk x gn! Reader

Word count: 1.7k

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (reader is mentioned wearing hair pins before) CW food mentions, High school AU, Hobie has a crush, loser! Nerd! Hobie, fluff.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Your whole class is sat around in a circle, giggles floating above whenever it's someone's turn to give their secret santa a present. You've written on your wishlist that you wanted anything that has anything to do with music, whether it's a poster of your favourite artist, a record, or a pair of headphones, you'd be happy for anything really. The atmosphere is filled with glee, the food that everyone bought for the party sits on a long table. Holiday cookies, cakes, and soda were primarily the common food brought for the potluck, save for a few spaghetti, and barbecue brought by someone who had the foresight to bring something that isn't sweet.

Chuckling at your seatmate who got the ugliest puppy plushie you've ever seen, you don't notice Hobie, aka your maths tutor and the one you've befriended the whole year, shuffling in his seat. He sits adjacent to you, eyes glancing towards your smiling face from time to time. You're well aware of his crush on you, everyone with a pair of eyes could see it. All the side glances, soft touches and the way he occasionally stutters whenever you scooch closer to him at the library are direct evidence of his attraction. And you can't deny that you feel the same, even playfully hinting at your own affection for the said man blatantly in front of his face. The whole class watches the obvious crush and ongoing train wreck that is you and Hobie tip-toeing around the feelings.

So when Hobie got your name from the bucket of names, he was beyond ecstatic, albeit terrified of what he's going to get you for secret santa. Add the fact that you might've picked his name amongst the list has him fidgeting in his seat. It has his nerves on high alert.

He tries to act cool when it's his turn to hand the gift that he painstakingly made for you. The gift consists of countless hours of him sitting with his cassette player, back aching and eyes heavy from staring at the familiar titles of songs that you like most and categorising it to best fit the theme or mood he's trying to convey. With his breath stuck in his throat, he stands up, lanky legs untangling from the crossed position, almost tripping himself over from his untied shoelace.

“Teach!” The nickname you've given him has his heart jumping in place. Your smile widens at who picked your name, the rest of the class watch on with bated breath. “What'd you get your favourite student?”

He softly smiles, handing you the magazine wrapped gift that's topped off with a sparkly red ribbon. “A scientific calculator.” Joking, you feign an offended gasp whilst the class snickers at your known enemy that is maths.

“If it's a calculator then that means I won't need you tutoring me anymore, Hobie.”

Your classmates look at you and then to Hobie, waiting for a clever or even a flirty retort from him. They're used to the back and forth between you two, but you always seem to win and with Hobie walking away with a flustered look and clammy hands.

“Nah, it just means that you've graduated from usin’ a regular calculator.”

The way the whole class rolled their eyes simultaneously in disappointment would have the earth rotate in reverse. You and Hobie are incredibly oblivious to it all. How could he take his attention away from you when you look at him with such fondness? And how could you look away from him when he looks so adorable with his bottom lip all bitten from trying to tamp down his own smile? He looks handsome when he's flustered, more so when he's staring at you all smitten.

Smiling, you wrap the end of the ribbon around your finger. “Can I open it now, or will we just stare into each other’s eyes well into new years?”

Clearing his throat, he finally notices all the eyes on him and you. “Sure, love.” The moment the term of endearment escapes his lips, he swears he heard someone from the circle squeal quietly.

“Okay!” your smile doesn't fade the entire time you were carefully unwrapping the present. Your heart skips a beat at the bundle of mixtapes in your hand. “Oh,” eyes swelling up with happy tears, you can't believe that he remembered every single song you mentioned in passing during the hours of his tutoring. You flip through the pile, each having different titles that fits the songs he mixed together written in his own hand. There's countless doodles dotted along the tapes, each having their own Hobie flare.

Your sudden quietness has Hobie queasy, he suddenly feels like he made the wrong move. “I—” starts, and you immediately spring from your seat to hug him. Before he could get over the shock of it all, you're already unlatching yourself from him. The look on his face is worth a thousand words. His eyes are wide, mouth agape as sweat dribbles from his forehead. It's the middle of London winter, and yet he feels like he's about to melt into a puddle.

“This is amazing, Hobie. Thank you.” You embrace the tapes, placing it right above your heart as you stare at him with so much affection that he would think that you reciprocate his feelings. (You do.)

“You're welcome, love.” His trembling hand reaches for yours. With trepidation, he instead moves further to cup your elbow, thinking that he's not quite ready to hold your hand just yet. Or that you're not comfortable with him holding you when in fact you want it just as hard as him.

With your teacher calling your name and the sound of the entire class’ squealing and teasing has died down, it's your turn to give your gift to your secret santa. Which unfortunately for Hobie, he's not so lucky to be the recipient of it.

Throughout the whole party, you can't stop yourself from glancing at him across the room. And he can't help but look at you amongst the crowd. But you two always manage to miss each other's loving stare.

After the gift giving, it's time to eat. You barely heard the call because you were too busy with reading each of the cassette tapes and the song lists that are written on each one. And Hobie was too busy trying to fend off his friends’ teasing to have a chance to grab a plate or even talk to you.

Once your friend taps you and wakes you up from your longing, you stand up to grab a plate. Coincidentally, Hobie's already there right next to the table, getting a slice of red velvet cake.

You inhale deeply, despite your more blatant flirting and unabashed teasing, you're nervous to talk to him now that you truly know that he really does like you. That he likes you enough to listen and remember the things you talk about when you're so used to people doing the opposite to you.

“Hey, teach.” You duck to look at him whilst he fights with the cake. “Or should I call you Santa now?”

He almost jumps in place from the sudden appearance and the close proximity. “Fuckin' hell.”

The knife almost falls from his grip, but you're there to catch it without managing to nick yourself or him. Grinning, you help him cut a piece of cake.

“Sorry.” You chuckle as you place the slice on his paper plate. “What'd you get for secret Santa?” Placing the knife down, you lick some extra frosting off of your finger.

He feels like he's being tested by the universe. “A l–lock pickin’ kit.”

You raise a brow, laughing. “You asked for that?”

Shrugging, he smirks. “Might come in handy. Yuri was the one who got me. Y’know how she is.”

“It's because of that one time you lock picked the gym with my hair pin so that we can grab the volleyballs from the storage room isn't it?”

Hobie nods with a smile, “yeah, that and for stealin’ back all the confiscated things from Mr. Burns’ office.”

Your laughter is contagious, making him laugh as he stares at you with endearment. “So it's for the benefit of everyone then?”

“Yeah, don't have to borrow your hair pin anymore, lovie.” His eyes wander all over the place except for your eyes. Knuckles shaking from how hard he grips the paper plate, heart beating louder than the speakers that are playing all the greatest hits. “Have you given it a listen yet?” He points at the mixtapes tucked in every available pocket you have.

“Not yet.” You shake your head, staring at him through your lashes as he flicks his eyes over to yours only to move away once he meets with your own. “I left my player at home.” He nods once, and you can feel his mind giving him second thoughts about his gift. So you immediately remedy it by holding onto his bicep, fingers gently wrapping around as he freezes in place. “I really did love the present, Hobie. It's well thought out, and—” he blinks at you, Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallows thickly from the anticipation. You gently tug him closer, twisting to fully face him even with your own bashfulness trying to stop your next words.

“— And, do you want to listen to it together?”

“Together?” He asks, and You nod sheepishly. “Together, together?”

“Yeah, if you're free.” It's your turn to second guess as you shuffle your weight on your feet from nerves. “I want to listen to you talk about how you chose the music. And why you think they all pair well together?” You wait for his rejection.

He feels like he's dreaming. “I've got notes,” he said, matching your gentle smile. “I'll listen to the whole bloody thing with you, love.”

You sigh, relieved. Leaning forward, you cup his cheek, hand still unsure, hovering above his skin as you press a feather light kiss on his other cheek. He stands there, chest rising and falling, cake forgotten, and shock evident on his face. Now he knows that he's not dreaming.

“It's a date then.”

[kittenan]

Igniting Spark

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x Reader

AU: Street Racer!Jin x Good Girl!Reader

Words: ~8k words

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Explicit smut, rough dom!Jin, brat tamer kink, choking, degradation kink, possessive!Jin, semi-public sex, dirty talk, voice kink, unprotected sex (use protection, folks), emotional undercurrents, mentions of violence (minor fight-related injuries), light pain kink (tattooing), detailed angst from past betrayal.

Tropes: Punk x Good Girl, enemies-to-lovers, forbidden attraction, slow-burn sexual tension, possessive romance.

A/N: This one’s for my Tumblr babes craving for Bad boy Jin Smut.😈 Reblogs & comments are my lifeblood—let me know what you think!

You’ve known Kim Seokjin since you were fifteen, a freshman at Lincoln High, navigating the crowded halls with your head down and your heart quiet. He was a junior then, the golden boy who seemed to glide through life without a single misstep. Student council president, track star, the kind of guy who could charm teachers with a smile and make girls giggle just by walking past. His hair was always neatly tousled, his letterman jacket slung over one shoulder, and his laugh—God, his laugh—was a bright, infectious thing that echoed in the cafeteria, drawing every eye. You weren’t immune. No one was.

You fell for him quietly, the way you did most things. It started with stolen glances in the library, where you’d pretend to study while watching him joke with his friends, his grin lazy and confident. By junior year, you were tutoring him in calculus, a gig your math teacher pushed you into because Jin was skating by with a C-minus and needed to keep his GPA up for college apps. Those late-night sessions in the school’s empty study room were torture and bliss. He’d show up ten minutes late, cologne sharp and dizzying, leaning over your notebook so close his arm brushed yours. His voice was low, teasing, as he asked you to explain derivatives again, and you’d stammer through it, hyper-aware of every shift in his posture, every time his knee bumped yours under the table.

“You’re too smart for me,” he’d say, flashing that grin, and you’d blush, thinking maybe, just maybe, he saw you. He’d linger after, walking you to your mom’s beat-up sedan in the parking lot, his hands in his pockets, asking about your day like he cared. You let yourself believe it, let yourself hope, because his eyes were soft when they met yours, and his laugh felt like a secret shared just between you.

Prom night was supposed to be the culmination. He asked you in the hallway, casual but deliberate, catching you off guard as you fumbled with your locker. “Be my date,” he’d said, leaning against the metal, all easy confidence. “It’ll be fun.” You’d spent weeks saving up for a thrift-store dress—emerald green, simple but elegant, the only thing you’d ever felt pretty in. You stood outside the gym that night, heart pounding, checking your phone every five minutes as the music thumped inside. He never showed.

You waited until the parking lot was nearly empty, your heels pinching, your mascara smudged from tears you didn’t want to admit to. Later, you heard the truth from a friend of a friend: it was a bet. Jin’s buddies had dared him to ask out the “nerdy tutor,” a cruel laugh at your expense. He’d ditched you for the afterparty, where he hooked up with the cheer captain, a blonde bombshell who’d bragged about it on Monday. You saw him in the hall, laughing with his friends, his head thrown back in laughter like nothing had happened. Like you were nothing.

That betrayal carved itself into your bones. You’d trusted him, let him see the parts of you no one else did—the shy girl who laughed at his dumb jokes, who stayed up late rewriting notes so he’d understand. He’d thrown it away for a laugh, a fling, a moment of glory with his shallow friends. You swore you’d never let him close again, never let that lazy grin or those soft eyes fool you. After graduation, you thought you’d escaped him, but college brought you back to your hometown for masters, working part-time at your uncle’s garage to cover textbooks. Jin, meanwhile, had traded his letterman for leather and ink, a street racer with a rap sheet and a reputation. Your uncle, who’d known him since he was a kid sneaking into the shop to tinker with bikes, let him come by after hours to fix his busted-up motorcycles, saying “the kid’s got no one else.” You hated it. Hated his cocky smirks, the way he chewed gum like he was mocking you, the way he lingered when you were closing up, daring you to snap. Most of all, you hated the heat that flared every time his eyes raked over you, like he knew exactly how you’d sound falling apart for him.

Tonight, the rain’s hammering the garage roof, a relentless drumbeat matching your pulse. You’re wiping down the counter, motor oil and degreaser thick in the air, when the bell jangles.

Jin strolls in, soaked, his sleeveless Metallica tee clinging to every muscle. Ripped black jeans hang low, chains clinking, and his combat boots track mud. A bruise blooms along his jaw, lip split from a fight. He slings his leather jacket over one shoulder, raking a hand through wet hair, silver rings glinting.

“Evening, princess,” he drawls, voice low, popping gum in his mouth. He chews slow, smirking. “Miss me?”

You roll your eyes, tossing the rag down. “Shop’s closed, Seokjin. And you look like you got run over.”

He chuckles, sauntering closer, boots thudding. “Just a fist. Guy thought he could swing after a race.” He leans on the counter, tattooed forearms flexing—skulls, roses, a dagger curling under his shirt. “Gonna play nurse, or keep pretending you hate me?”

“I do hate you,” you snap, grabbing the first-aid kit. “Sit. Don’t bleed on anything expensive.”

He brushes past you, arm grazing yours, the cold metal of his rings sending a shiver down your spine. He smells like rain, leather, and something darker, making your thighs clench before you can stop it. He sits on the stool by the workbench, legs spread, gaze burning as you tear open an alcohol wipe.

You step between his knees, focusing on the cut above his brow, but his proximity’s suffocating. His hands rest on his thighs, fingers twitching like he’s fighting not to touch you. You dab at the blood, and he hisses, but his eyes stay locked on yours, dark and heavy.

“Hold still,” you mutter, voice shaky.

“Hard when you’re this close,” he murmurs, voice low, sinful. “Still mad about prom, huh?”

Your hand freezes. He’s never brought it up before. “You humiliated me,” you say, voice sharp, trembling with years-old hurt. “Asked me out for a bet. Left me standing there while you fucked the cheer captain. You think I’d forget that?”

His smirk fades, eyes flickering with something—guilt, regret. “I was just eighteen,” he says quietly. “Stupid. Trying to fit in with assholes who didn’t deserve my time. I didn’t know how much I’d hurt you. And for God sake, I didn't fuck anyone afterparty. Who the hell spread those rumours, I don't know.”

You scoff, taping the bandage. “Save it.”

He catches your wrist, grip firm, thumb brushing your pulse. “You think I don’t see you watching me? You’re fighting it, but you want this.”

Your heart stutters, but you yank your hand back. “You’re delusional.”

“Am I?” He stands, towering over you, backing you against the wall. The concrete’s cold, his body heat radiating through his damp shirt. His hands cage you in, and you feel the hard lines of him, inches away. “You hate me, but you’re soaked right now, aren’t you?”

“Seokjin,” you warn, breathless.

He leans in, lips near your ear, breath hot. “Get on your knees, princess. Show me how much you hate me.”

Your knees buckle, and you sink to the floor, grease-stained linoleum cold, hands trembling as you reach for his belt. You hated how your body obeyed his every command, even though you were elder than him. His eyes darken, a groan rumbling as you fumble with the buckle, metal clinking. His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing your lips, parting them.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and the praise sends heat to your core.

You free him from his jeans, his cock heavy and thick, already hard. Your fingers stroke slowly, and he hisses, head tipping back. You lean forward, lips brushing the tip, tasting salt and rain. His hand slides into your hair, gripping just enough to sting, guiding you as you take him deeper, tongue swirling.

“Fuck,” he groans, hips rocking slightly. “That’s it. Just like that.”

You hollow your cheeks, taking him deep, hands braced on his thighs. His rings are cold against your scalp, grip tightening as you work him, savoring every curse. He’s unraveling, and the power of it makes you dizzy, makes you wetter than you’ll admit.

“Eyes on me,” he orders, tugging your hair. His gaze is molten, possessive, and you moan around him, the vibration drawing a sharp curse. “Don’t look away. I want you to watch yourself until you come undone for me.”

Your thighs press together, desperate for friction, but you obey, holding his gaze as you bob your head, lips stretched. His thumb traces your cheek, tender despite the filth spilling from his mouth, and the contrast makes your head spin.

“Gonna make you mine,” he mutters, voice raw. “No one else touches you like this. Say it.”

You pull back just enough to gasp, “Only you.”

His jaw clenches, and he hauls you up, spinning you and bending you over the workbench. Tools clatter, but you’re too far gone, focused on his hands yanking your jeans down to your thighs. His fingers slide between your legs, finding you soaked, and he groans, low and filthy.

“Look at you,” he growls, teasing with slow strokes, “so fucking wet for someone you hate. You act all innocent, but your thighs tell the truth.”

You whimper, pushing back against his hand, but he pins you, his other hand wrapping around your throat. His rings are cold, the pressure just enough to make your pulse race, to make you lightheaded.

“Say please,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “Slower.”

“Please,” you whisper, dragging it out, voice trembling.

He chuckles, dark and possessive, and then he’s inside you, filling you in one rough thrust that makes you cry out. The workbench creaks, fingers scrabbling for purchase as he sets a brutal pace, each thrust driving you higher, deeper, until you’re nothing but sensation.

“Quiet,” he hisses, clamping a hand over your mouth as you moan. “Don’t want the street hearing you.”

You try to obey, but he makes it impossible, fingers slipping down to circle your clit, his cock hitting just the right spot. The pressure builds, white-hot, until you’re trembling, nails digging into the wood.

“Come for me,” he growls, tightening his grip on your throat. “Now.”

You shatter, vision sparking white, body clenching around him as you come, hard and fast. He follows, thrusts erratic, a low groan tearing from his throat as he spills inside you, forehead pressed against your shoulder.

He pulls away, and you straighten, yanking your jeans up, avoiding his eyes. The high school hurt, the fresh betrayal of your own body, burns too hot. “This changes nothing. Think of it as my revenge.” you mutter, voice cold, grabbing your bag and heading for the door.

He watches you go, smirk faint but knowing, like he’s already plotting his next move.

For weeks, you play a dangerous game with him. Some nights, you ignore him completely, brushing past his lingering presence in the garage, pretending his low voice and heated stares don’t set your skin on fire. You lock up early, leave before he can corner you, and delete his texts—short, taunting things like “You can’t run forever, princess” or “I know you’re thinking about me.” Other nights, you lean into the tension, testing how far you can push him, how much you can make him squirm before pulling away.

One evening, the garage is quiet, the rain a soft patter outside. Jin’s there, as usual, tinkering with his bike, his sleeves rolled up, tattoos stark against his skin. You’re restocking supplies, deliberately wearing a tight tank top that rides up when you stretch, knowing his eyes are on you. He’s watching, chewing that damn gum, his jaw flexing as you bend over to grab a wrench, letting your shorts ride up just enough to tease.

“Need help with that?” he calls, voice low, edged with hunger.

You glance over your shoulder, smirking. “Not from you.”

He chuckles, standing, wiping his hands on a rag as he stalks closer. “Keep playing, princess. You’re gonna regret it.”

You don’t back down, stepping into his space, close enough to feel his breath on your cheek. “Maybe you’re the one who’ll regret it,” you murmur, letting your fingers brush his chest, trailing down to the waistband of his jeans. His eyes darken, a low growl in his throat as you palm him through the fabric, feeling him harden under your touch.

“Careful,” he warns, voice rough, hands hovering at your hips but not quite touching, like he’s waiting for you to make the next move.

You don’t hesitate, unzipping his jeans, slipping your hand inside to stroke him slowly, deliberately, watching his jaw clench, his breath hitch. You keep your eyes locked on his, reveling in the way he’s coming undone, his hips bucking slightly into your hand. You bring him to the edge, his groans growing desperate, his grip on the counter behind you tightening until his knuckles are white.

“Fuck, don’t stop,” he rasps, voice raw, his head tipping back as he’s right there, teetering on the brink.

And then you do. You pull your hand away, stepping back with a wicked smirk, leaving him hard and aching, his chest heaving. “Good luck with that,” you say, voice sweet but dripping with venom, grabbing your jacket and sauntering out the door.

He curses under his breath, the sound following you into the night, and you feel a thrill of victory, knowing you’ve left him restless, wanting, just as he’s done to you for years.

Another night, you push him even further. It’s late, the garage nearly empty, just you and Jin, the air thick with unspoken tension. He’s leaning against a workbench, shirt off, sweat and grease smudging his tattoos, his eyes tracking your every move as you clean tools nearby. You’re in a cropped hoodie and low-rise jeans, moving deliberately, letting him see the sliver of skin above your waistband, the way your hips sway as you walk.

You catch his gaze, holding it as you saunter over, stopping just close enough for your perfume to mix with the scent of motor oil. “You’re staring,” you say, voice low, teasing.

“You’re making it hard not to,” he shoots back, voice rough, stepping closer until he’s crowding you against the workbench.

You don’t flinch, leaning back slightly, letting your chest brush his as you look up through your lashes. “Poor Jin,” you murmur, fingers trailing down his bare chest, over the ink, feeling his muscles tense under your touch. “All worked up and nowhere to go.”

His hand grips your wrist, but you twist free, dropping to your knees before he can react. His breath catches as you tug his jeans down just enough, taking him in your hand, stroking slow and deliberate. You lean in, lips brushing the tip, then take him deep, tongue swirling, savoring the way he groans, low and guttural, his hand fisting in your hair.

“Fuck, princess,” he gasps, hips rocking into your mouth, his control slipping. You work him expertly, bringing him right to the edge, his breaths ragged, his cock twitching as he’s about to come.

And then you stop. You pull back, standing with a smirk, wiping your lips with the back of your hand. “Not tonight,” you say, voice dripping with mock sweetness, turning on your heel and leaving him panting, jeans around his thighs, cursing your name into the empty garage.

He’s relentless after that, his teasing more pointed, his presence inescapable. He shows up with that smirk, leaning against the wall, dropping filthy promises just loud enough for you to hear. “You’re gonna beg for me one day, princess,” he murmurs one night, brushing past you, fingers grazing your hip. “And I’m gonna make you pay for those little games.”

You keep up the game, sometimes ignoring him, sometimes pushing him to the edge only to leave him hanging, each encounter fueling the fire between you. The tension’s a live wire, crackling with every glance, every touch, until it feels like the air itself might ignite.

And again, you began treating him like he was invisible, a ghost in the room. You wanted him to taste the sting of being left wanting, to feel the ache of being abandoned mid-breath. One night, he catches you locking up, pulling up in his truck just as you’re about to leave. The rain’s a light mist, dampening your hair, your clothes. He’s in the driver’s seat, window down, arm resting on the frame, tattoos glistening under the streetlight.

“Get in,” he says, voice low, not a question.

“No,” you snap, turning away.

He’s out of the truck in a flash, grabbing your wrist, spinning you to face him. “Stop running,” he says, eyes dark, searching yours. “You can’t keep pretending this doesn’t mean something.”

You yank your hand free, but he’s close, too close, and your resolve wavers. “It was a mistake,” you lie, voice unsteady.

His smirk is gone, replaced by something raw. “Then let me make it right.”

Against your better judgment, you let him lead you to the truck, climbing into the passenger seat. He drives in silence, the city blurring past, until you pull up to a dimly lit tattoo parlor, the neon sign buzzing in the mist.

“Trust me,” he says, opening your door, his hand lingering on your lower back as he guides you inside.

The parlor’s gritty, the air sharp with ink and antiseptic. Jin’s friend, a burly guy with a neck tattoo, nods and leaves you in a private room. Jin’s in his element, leather jacket slung over a chair as he preps the machine, his movements precise, reverent.

“Relax,” he says, voice soothing, but his eyes are wicked. “I’m marking you. Something small. Something mine.”

You swallow, pulse racing as he guides you to lie back on the table. He pushes your shirt up, exposing the skin just below your breast, fingers brushing with a tenderness that makes your breath hitch. The needle buzzes, and you tense, but his hand on your thigh grounds you, thumb stroking slow circles.

“Stay still,” he murmurs, breath warm against your skin. “You’re doing so good for me.”

The pain’s sharp but fleeting, blending with the heat pooling in your core as he works, his focus intense. When he finishes, he wipes the spot clean—a tiny star with moon, delicate but stark, its edges glinting with silver ink.

“Perfect,” he says, voice rough with satisfaction. He kisses the sensitive skin, tongue flicking to soothe the sting. You gasp, hands fisting the table, and he chuckles, lips curving.

“Hold on,” he says, sliding your jeans down to expose the skin above your bikini line. “One more.”

The pain’s sharper here, more sensitive, but his fingers wander, teasing just close enough to make you squirm, to make you drip. By the time he finishes—a smaller star, his initials hidden in the points—you’re a mess, thighs slick, breath desperate.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, wiping the ink, fingers lingering. “So fucking wet, and I haven’t even touched you yet.”

He doesn’t wait, sliding two fingers inside you, curling them just right, thumb circling your clit. You arch off the table, a moan tearing from your throat, and he kisses you to muffle it, mouth hot and demanding.

“Come for me,” he whispers, and you do, hard and fast, body shaking as he works you through it, eyes never leaving yours.

You don’t talk about it after, but something shifts. You still snap at him, still roll your eyes, but the heat’s undeniable, a current neither of you can ignore. One night, you push him too far, teasing him at a bar, brushing against him, smirking when he tries to pull you close. His grip on your wrist is tight, jaw set, and when he gets you to his truck, he hauls you into the backseat, windows fogging.

“Think you’re cute?” he growls, pulling you onto his lap, leather jacket half-on. “Rolling your eyes like I won’t make you pay.”

You grind against him, smirking, and he slaps your thigh, hard. “Don’t test me, princess.”

He yanks your shirt up, jeans down, spanks you and then he’s inside you, hands gripping your hips as you ride him, slow then faster, the truck rocking. His hand wraps around your throat, rings cold.

“Say you’re mine,” he orders, voice dangerous.

“I’m yours,” you gasp, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Louder.”

“I’m yours!”

He groans, pulling you down for a bruising kiss, hips snapping up. “Good girl,” he murmurs, and the praise sends you spiraling, your orgasm crashing over you. He follows, grip tightening, breath hot against your neck as he comes, muttering your name.

The garage becomes your battleground, your confession booth. Every night, he pushes you, claims you, and you let him, because you’re his, and he’s yours, in a way that’s messy and raw.

One night, as the rain falls, he pulls you close, lips soft against your forehead, arms wrapped around you. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispers, barely audible, the boy from high school bleeding through the man he’s become.

You tilt his chin up, meeting his eyes, seeing the guilt, the want, the love he’s too scared to name. “You’re grown up now and you are enough,” you say, and you mean it.

He kisses you, slow and deep, and it’s not about possession or power. It’s about something more, something neither of you can name but both of you feel, heavy and true.

And as the rain keeps falling, you know you’ll never be the same.

Taglist: @the-djarin-clan  . @bebabido , @btsstraykidsateez

Imp. Update: Please check out this post and support.

Follow my backup account : @kittenan2

[yanderedrabbles]

My list of ideas, requests and fics that you can expect soon.

Yandere Roommates [dubcon] With your boss mysteriously firing you and your job applications getting lost in the mail, it's no surprise that you can't afford rent this month. Lucky for you, your roommates have a very generous offer.

Yandere Wild West Sheriff: Ain't you just the sweetest lil thing?

Yandere Dictator:  He's a high ranking member of the ruling party, with all the wealth and power denied to the working class. And when he says he wants you, that's exactly what he gets.

Dairy of a Vampire:  You've found a strange book in your husband's library, and on closer inspection, realise every entry is all about you. [Sequel to Letters from a Yandere Vampire]

Yandere Aztec Warrior x Āhuiyani Reader:  His body is sworn to war and yours to pleasure. How strange, that you find comfort in each other.

Yandere Sugar Baby:  It's not uncommon for a wealthy, older woman to take a younger lover. But the way he looks at you isn't normal at all.

Yandere Witch Hunter x Witch Reader: In a last ditch effort to save yourself from execution, you cast a love spell on the town's witch hunter.

Yandere Aliens [noncon] Human women are the most prized slaves in the galaxy, and when your ship crashes on an unknown planet, it's inhabitants are keen to find out why.

Yandere Southern Gothic Cowboy: He doesn't come to church and you never see him out in the sun. Who exactly is this stranger?

Yandere Rockstar: He's a rockstar punk who wants to fight the whole damn world. But all his songs seem to be about one special person.

Yandere Dragon x Princess Reader: This fairytale isn't what you expect.

Yandere Slasher [noncon] With all your friends dead and no way to escape, you offer the killer something else in exchange for your life.

Yandere Ex-boyfriend [noncon] You wake up to a ship over five hundred million kilometres away from your home planet and an ex desperate to prove his love.

Yandere Pirate x Mermaid Reader: You've seen her time and time again, leaning against the stern and staring out at the horizon. She always seems so melancholic. Maybe a song will help?

Yandere Soulmate: So what if you don't always get along? So what if he leaves bruises on bad days? You're meant to be his and he's not letting you go.

Yandere Firefighter: You owe him your life. Aren't you going to repay that debt?

Yandere Stripper: Beautiful, confident, deadly. When she says she wants you, she won't take no for an answer.

Devil Dogs always bite: A green card marriage to a US Marine ends badly. [omegaverse]

Yandere Harpy: Didn't your mother warn you that birds like shiny things?

Yandere Carnie: The only redeemable part of spending holidays with your distant and erratic father is the amusement park. You've loved it since you were a kid, but sinister disappearances and mysterious letters lead you to believe the carnival isn't quite as fun as it seems.

[Requested by @/saltyearthquakedeer and based on Stephen King's Joyland]

[are-we-really-doing-this]

Thanks to @kneepadthighhighs whose setup I'm totally jacking here, and thanks especially for all the Punk specific compilation DVDs.

I've finally ripped my current wrestling DVD/VHS/digital collection for your viewing pleasure, catalogue below cut. Collection will most likely continue to update, but there's never a guarantee it'll be up forever.

Link to Full Library

Last Update: 03/11/2025, 8:15:00 PM

I’ve linked the match cards (where applicable) so you can see if the file is worth the download. Links will take you to a folder and you may select files to download.

(If you open a folder and it includes a .MDS file, don’t worry about that as long as you’re not burning a dual layered physical disc. You don’t need it to view the .ISO file on a computer. Just download the .ISO and open with your media player of choice, it works like a DVD in a player. If it's an .MP4 or .MPG it'll play like a video.)

Come harass me if anything was mislabeled by accident or if a download link is broken or denies you access. I hope this goes to good use.

BYW

Best of Backyard Wrestling (Vol. 1, 2, and 3)

EPIC Pro Wrestling

Best of EPIC (Vol. 1)

FIP

FIP Emergence

Match Card - Day 1

Match Card - Day 2

FIP Fallout 2004

Match Card - Day 1

Match Card - Day 2

FIP Unfinished Business 2005

Match Card

FIP Dangerous Intentions 2005

Match Card

FIP With Malice

Match Card

FIP Violence is the Answer

Match Card

FIP In Full Force 2005

Match Card

FIP Unstoppable 2005

Match Card

FIP Sold Out

Match Card

FIP Payback

Match Card

FIP Heatstroke 2005

Match Card - Day 1

Match Card - Day 2

FIP The Best of CM Punk (Vol. 1 and 2)

IWA MS

IWA Mid-South From Hardcore Hell and Back (Punk's IWA debut)

Match Card

IWA Mid-South Sweet Science 16 2001

Match Card - Day 1

Match Card - Day 2

CM Punk vs. Colt Cabana (the camel toe pussy tights one)

ROH

ROH The Best of Samoa Joe

Samoa Joe Straight Shootin'

ROH The Best of the Second City Saints

ROH The Best of CM Punk (Vol. 1, 2, and 3)

ROH The Summer of Punk

Match Card

TNA

TNA The Best of Samoa Joe: Unstoppable

TNA Best of the X Division (Vol. 2)

Match Card

UPW

UPW Entertaintment Overload (Fresh Blood)

Match Card

UPW Road to Glory

UPW Future Shock

WWE

John Cena: Word Life

Match Card

John Cena: My Life

Match Card

CM Punk: Best in the World

Match Card

Zero-One (no subtitles)

Zero-One Shingeki

Match Card

Zero-One Fire Festival 2001

Match Card - Day 1

Match Card - Day 2

Match Card - Day 3

Zero-One Vast Energy 2002

Match Card

Zero-One Genesis 2002

Match Card - Day 1

Match Card - Day 2

Zero-One Truth Century Creation 2002

Match Card

[on-the-clear-blue]

An idea I had about the Bat fam and what kind of music they would listen to

Alfred: prefers silence but on nights where he needs something in the background, surprisingly, Alfred is a fan of country music, preferint older artists but he is favorable to some newer stuff as long as it isn't stadium country.

Bruce: Old punk and metal, like the kind he heard at a punk bar he got in with shitty ids, in the late 80s high on acid with Harvey, this man thinks Nirvana was great but thought they didn't go hard enough.

Dick: as a child? Show tunes, if Disney put it out this man was humming it while kicking goons asses, later on in life? Dick has blossomed into musicals, but like, the kind your not thinking of, Dick belts out songs from Cats all the way to "Veronica open the please! Veronica open the door!" While banging on Tim bedroom door.

Barbara: Is a major fan of Lo-Fi, loves it since it is music but the lyrics don't distract her from doing her work, will play it in the library when it's slow

Jason: he grew up on the streets and that doesn't get a lot of options to listen to music...except in stores where they play the days top 100, he gets Vietnam flash back during Christmas time and he hears Mariah Carey, after his death and resurrection, he found rap and fell in love, loves all the lyricism and word play, has played Not Like Us on repeat for the last week even after the beef was done.

Cass: hard core death metal...and classical music. She does ballet dances to both. Nuf said.

Tim: as a child he was the kid who ripped fanaf songs off YouTube and played them as his ring tone, he still has those songs in rotation but has added folk punk and really obscure bands he finds with like 3 listeners...also is a fan of yacht core music...

Steph: Taylor Swift Girly, shares Dicks love of showtunes, huge BTS stan (while dating Tim she repeatedly "left" Tim for Jimin when ever they argued...Tim still has beef with him to this day)

Duke: Oldies, I can see him going through his parents old vinyls and tapes after they got jokerized to feel close to them and now he learnt all of Elvis's discography.

Damian; Anime songs. Cried the first time his listend to Blue Bird, listens to J-rock when he is painting, and even though he will try and hide it, he has a secret love for Bollywood music as well, probably was introduced to it while doing an early assassination with the League and kept with it as he left.

(Plus a few that I could think of)

Kate: she strictly listens to Alpha male work out music Playlists, heavy on the dubstep, can and will bench press your body weight to show you that no Chad SHE is the alpha here. (As well as Girl and red and Rio Romeo)

Bernard: listens to fan made game songs, meme songs (has all of the polish cow dance song memorized) chronically online taste, also has worked in kitchens so has a deep knowledge of rap and rock.

Roy: Dad music, loves a good jam sesh rocking out to KISS but because of Lian he now is immune to Baby shark being used as torture.

Jon: is a literal child. He is 12 and thinks that skibidi toliet is the best thing that has graced this world, he will tell Lex Luthor that he has Ohio Rizz, then do the griddy in the air and fly away.