#joy division black shirt

[dyinginafield]

[muntitled]

Would you ever make a Rodrick Heffley (Devon Bostick) x black!fem goth reader?

She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named

Rodrick Heffley x afab!reader

Summary: Sleeping with him hadn't been a mistake. Your only mistake was leaving the morning after.

Warnings: Language, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Perv!Rodrick, Fluff, Insecurities, Goth!Reader, Rodrick is Whipped, Smut +18 (mdni), Make Up Sex, Praise Kink, Bondage, Dirty Talk, Rough Sex, Needy Sex, Fingering

You were not a weak person, nor are you ever so overly emotional. 

In fact, most of everyone who knew you ( admittedly a very small amount) would describe you as anything but weak

So what the hell is this?

"What do you think I should say when I get there?” Your voice is as rocky as a glacier and the sun is burning heavily through your fishnets. You could feel every heat ray seep through your long sleeved Black Sabbath shirt and your make up was feeling particularly cakey. Were it not for your best friend forcing you to face Rodrick, you would've been happy to spend the rest of your day huddled up in your listening, listening to the grave sounds of Bauhaus as you unplaited your hair.

The sun wouldn't normally be a problem for you. You'd wear these clothes if the sun was at your doorstep.

But right now, your senses are heightened. The stares you get wouldn't normally bother you, but this friday afternoon, they're piercing all over you. 

"You look constipated," your best friend says as she clutches her glitter covered notebook to her chest. "Stop that-" her lips stained in hot pink pull into a downwards smile.

In contrast, your black stained lips are pulled in a very obvious frown while the dread consumes your face. You walk side by side towards the boys dorm and usually the juxtapositioning doesn't bother you, but a great many things bother you today. You feel like a dark cloud beside her quirky pink perfumed self. Her hair is long and reigned in with a pink bow while your black braids were constantly tied back with a black knitted scrunchie. The juxtaposition didnt bother you.

This afternoon, you’re just hyper-aware of all the boys peppered outside the dormitories. And all their eyes are looking through you. As if you were nothing but a spectre.

Everyone except Rodrick seemed to look through you. When you had met him, it was as if a veil was lifted and suddenly you were thrust into the light.

You had been wall-flowering at a party in your first year of university. Your best friend, lost among the crown while you dug your earbuds in.

If it weren't for the shadow that had fallen over your frame, you might have fallen asleep right then and there, to the sound of Ghost’s instrumentals blasting in your eardrums.

You noticed him waving frantically at you, having yet to remove your earbuds. You didn't know what to make of his thickly applied eyeliner or his messy-on-purpose head of hair. But back then, you didn't really trust this university setting. 

For all you knew, his Joy Division shirt was a means to trap unsuspecting weird girls into sleeping with him.

And so with a very unimpressed frown you had shaked your head and said, “Sorry, I dont have any change,”

He threw his head back in laughter at that. 

He liked you even more now. 

Sure you were the only girl at this party he could ever imagine exchanging saliva with but now he realised you had a personality too? He was a goner.

“I’m not homeless,” His voice reached your ears and you soon realised that he had forcefully removed one bud, “Just wanted to ask you what you were drinking,”

“Why?” Your eyes scanned from his face, to his worn out boots, “Are you planning on messing with it?”

“Jesus,” He cackled, “I should've mentioned that I’m very clearly not a member of any sort of frat.” He raised his hands and said, “I come in peace,”

“I’m not planning on sleeping with you,” 

“I dont need to drug you to get you to sleep woth me,” He leaned awkwardly against the wall and said, “I’m in a band,”

“That doesnt work on me,”

Except it had, and that very evening you and Rodrick had exchanged saliva in a very long make out session that carried you to his on-campus dorm room. 

The very building you are currently navigating, in search of his room.

“I can feel my heart beating out my ribcage,” Your best friend stops in front of a door, one of many down a very long hall.

“It's  fault for ditching the guy the morning after,”

“I didn't ditch him,” You murmured, staring at the floor in shame,

“I'm sorry,” she says, “but the walk of shame story I keep hearing from the football boys about the girl dressed in black fleeing the halls can only be one person-”

“Just go talk to your boyfirned,” You had grumbled.” The door swung open. Your best friend pushed you in the direction of room 7112 as she said, “And you go talk to yours,”

Before you left, you quickly asked, “So, I like… look okay?”

She shook her head, causing another nauseating wave of anxiety to flood your system. “You look like you crawled out of a cemetery.” She says, assessing your very plain and incredibly boring black long-sleeve shirt and your ripped black skirt worn overy ripped stockings.

“Which is how you usually look,” She says, causing your heart to lessen its alarm, “All that black lipstick will send the Freakshow into an absolute spiral,” She winked before sending you on your merry way.

When Rodreick Heffley hears a knock on his door, he almost immediately assumes it's for his roomate. Then he remembers he’s a third year, with no roommate in sight. “Uh-What is it!?” Is all he screamed at the door, hoping that whoever it is would leave him alone. He hadn't been too close, the actress on his laptop screen was far too loud, and far too… perky. He knew that if he closed his eyes and just focused hard enough, he'd be rid of this horrible boner that had been plaguing him for weeks.

Since you left him.

“Don’t do that,” Rodrick squeezed his eyes shut, “Do not think about she-who-shall-not-be-named.” The knock sounded again and he angrily paused his video as he stuffed his cock back into his jeans. Rodrick cursed as he wied his hand with some clothing item littering across his floor and his voice is less-than-friendly when he rips the door open.

“Uh-”

He has to take a moment to close his eyes. When he opens them, you are standing there, sheepishly raising your hand to wave.

“She-who-shall-not-be-named,” He says in an airy whisper.

“What?” You tilt your head questioningly.

Before you can get another word out Rodrick slams the door in your face. Unbeknownst to you, he’s trying to get rid of a week's worth of masturbation material. Evidence of how badly you had affected him, how lonely he had been since you left. He even opened the curtains and when he opened the door again, you noticed he smelled vaguely like aftershave.

“W-What brings you back here?” He tries to be cold. He really does. But this is you. His heart is soaring at the very sight of you. 

Beautiful you. 

In your dark eyeliner and equally dark lips.

He looks away because he has to. You hadnt even said more than 5 words to him but his body was already having a very niticebale response to your presence.

He opens the door wider as he lets you in, “Did you forget something?” He all but sneers and you squeeze your eyes shut as you slide his door closed behind you. You were in this room again and the flashbacks were almost unstoppable. You remembered the way he kissed you. The way he prioritised your pleasure-

“I’m sorry,” You say, completely knocking the wind out of him, “When I left like how I did, I thought I was protecting myself… I didn't know if you wanted anything serious,”

“I would’ve told you I did,” He says, staring at the ground as he stands in the middle of the room, like a tall tree lost in the middle of nowhere, “but we were a little too preoccupied sucking face,”

You snort at that, and he smiles too.

He didn't wanna admit how terribly he had taken your departure. You were the first girl that liked him back. The first girl to actually like his presence. The first girl he could talk to about the things that made him smile. The sleepless nights bled into restless days. Days spent coaxing a jumpy knee under every table…

“So you missed me then?” A smirk flitted on his face as he folded his arms. You rolled your eyes as the cockiness reared its head, moving to sit down on his bed as you hid your smile.

“I didn't say all that,” You declared,

"Don't be like that," he says stalking towards you, his voice suddenly serious but a smile still present, "I know you missed me,"

The arrogance dripping from his voice escalates your blood pressure and sends all your inner systems into overdrive. As his shadow falls over you, you unconsciously lean further against the bed until you're lying supine. "You look like a whore," You can't help but say, eyeing his tight short sleeve shirt showing off a sliver of his waist.

He gasps, "Whatever do you mean?" Rodrick playfully lifts a leg up as he crawls on top of you. "Is the seduction working? Because yours is working on me. I’m trying incredibly hard not to eye-fuck you right now," He's made himself comfortable on his side but his eyes are the very juxtapositioning of 'relaxed'. They unapologetically scan your thighs, clad in your netted stockings

"Get over here," he rasps, "My patience is running incredibly thin," and so you do. You lift your torso and he hovers over you as you both meet in the middle. Rodrick murmurs against your lips, the kiss is furious and hurried and you don't know where to put your hands, "Everything about you is so fucking electric," if only he knew, the only electricity, in your mundane life was brought on by him. 

With him, your life was a hazy sea of black eyeliner and a never sweet, loud music. He made you feel alive.

Rodrick’s lips push furiously against yours, scolding you for your absence, punishing you for your distance. "Crazy," he says as his lips drift to the side of your mouth, "I've been going fucking crazy without you,"

Your mind races with the sudden electrifying feeling of having him back. Rodrick’s hands slithered to the nape of your neck, as he eases your head onto the mattress.

Rodrick’s hand soon finds your breast, soft under the fabric as he groans against your skin. “Fuck, I might not last long,” He admits, already rolling his hips into yours.

“Me too,” You admit, causing another loud moan to leave his lips.

He silences you with another fervid kiss. You're completely lost in him. In the intense smell of weed and leather. The unmistakable sting of metal on your skin. His full and awfully skilled lips are far too eager to get to your breasts. 

"This-" he rasps. You’re not even cognitively aware that he's lowered you onto the blanket, his teeth feel far too fucking good as they scrape along the material covering your breasts, "This shit," he hovers lightly above you, "This shit needs to come off."

"Are you asking for my permission?" You prop yourself up by your forearms, mouth swollen from his kisses as you smirk. "Since when did Rodrick Heffley ever ask permission for anything in his life?" 

Your words send a warm string of pleasure straight through his cock and he audibly groans as he sits back on his haunches. 

He sings in an awfully cherry voice: "Hands up now! Be a good girl," 

"You're fucking crazy," You whisper as you raise your hands, letting him undress you.

He watches you like a hawk, gauging your every reaction, to make sure you even wanted this- even wanted him at all. The moment your nipples, dark and erect, come into his field of vision, he knows he’s done. "This isn't gonna hurt," he whispers, feeling the need to reassure you. "I promise-"

"Rodrick?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm begging you to fuck me," 

Every single part of your being was screaming for him since the moment you arrived.  You had barely been able to keep a straight face throughout the entirety of your mindless conversation.

"You look so fucking hot right now," he says, lowering his lips to your ear, sending a plethora tiny, reassuring kisses, as if trying to distract you from your wrists meeting above your head, and the jangle of the metal joinging them together. 

You look up and your heart rattles when you notice him binding your wrists above your head.

"You have no fucking idea how much I've thought about this moment," the usual rasp in his voice is somehow raspier, darker.

"You've thought about this?" You queried as he stripped your bottom bare, “Kinky, Kinky boy,” You say as your legs spread unprecedentedly. He sends an awed look at your legs before staring back at you.

"Fuck yes," he replies, "I've had nothing but my hand to-" he chuckles dryly, "fill the void,"

He tugs on the cuffs and you gasp, completely unprepared for the wave of arousal that washes over you. "These good?" He asks and you nod.

“Perfect," Rodrick lowers his head to your supine body once more, "I think you're fucking perfect," 

He drags a hand over your body, over the curve of your breast and over the softness of your belly until his fingers meet your exposed cunt. Your head is a wild cloud of braids against the blanket but you could hardly care. You couldn't care less about how completely needy you were for him.

"Jesus- Rodrick" his fingers slip through your folds, eager to spread the embarrassing amount of slick already accumulated there. 

"I need you to promise me," Rodrick watches his hand disappear in your pants as he begins to set a steady, mind numbing pace.

"What're are you- Holy fuck, just there," your back arches off the blanket, eager for your clit to meet his fingers. But he relents.

"I need you to promise me you'll never disappear again."

There's an agonisingly slow build-up as Rodrick’s callused fingers tease your sensitive clit. 

"You gotta say it, Babe, or the declaration is null and void-"

"Yes!" You reply with a quickness, "Okay? I-yes..."

There's a shit-eating grin that splayed over his face. "Now the fun begins," 

You're far too focused on bringing yourself to orgasm, but your entire plan crumbles when he slips his hand out of your pants. You glare up at him, dissatisfaction radiating off of you in waves.

"Don't be like that,” He teases. “I've got little Ole needs too." His quick in discarding his shirt, and as he does so, your anger dissipates for a few heavenly seconds. His tattoo is a glorious patch of ink splashed on an ivory wall. A mark any normal person would undoubtedly regret in their later life and see as the product of a dumb adolescent mistake. But Rodrick never regretted anything he did. He was as firm as the ground beneath you.

"I fucking-" His lips meet the inside of your thigh, "-can't believe this is a thing that's happening,"

"It's happening," You say, unable to curb your enthusiasm. Your own voice is thick with desire. 

"I need you so fucking bad." He says, "I need to be inside you so fucking bad," 

Rodrick is quick to lower his jeans. He uncovers his hard cock, moving his hand along its length, as he stares at you in complete awe. "Hey, Babe?" You begrudgingly drag your gaze away from his hand to his face. "Try not to have the time of your life, m'kay," 

You're about to chide him but he slams his cock all the way into you. His movements are sloppy as they are hurried, and your eyes roll back from the intensity at having every single need met.

"Fuck yes, Rodrick!" Your wanton moans bounce into his ears, filling him with brazing satisfaction. Your hands cuffed above your head elicit another wave of pleasure. Youre utterly bared to him.

"You're never leaving me again, alright?" His forearm is beside your head, allowing him to watch you intensely as he pounds his cock further in. "You're never gonna pull that shit again," His angry thrusts punctuate his sentence, pushing every unsavoury sound out of your throat.

"I fucking promise- OH FUCK-" He sends a hand in between your intwined bodies, flicking your clit and having your cunt tighten deliciously around him.

"Are you gonna cum already?" 

"Shut the fuck-"

"Don't worry," he buries his head in the nape of your neck. "I'm right behind you,"

Rodrick’s thrust deepens and his pace around your clit accelerates until you're finally pushed over the edge. Your vision sprinkles with flecks of light as blind as the stars above you as you cum. "OH JESUS-SHIT," Rodrick pulls out of your wet cunt. Hurriedly stradling your hips before shooting ropes of cum all over your stomach.

You don't mind.

You feared Rodrick could get away with anything.

"Holy fuck- I-Im so sorry," 

He quickly somersaults up from his overzealous fit of pleasure and peers down at you wide-eyed. "Jesus Christ I- I should get you cleaned up," 

You chuckle, as you watch the boy scramble to find the keys to the cuffs. "Don't worry- I could just rinse off in the later-"

His ears perk up at that. Rodrick looks down at his nail painted in onyx, “L-Later?” He asks shyly. That means youre staying.

“Yes. Later.”

[timidtiddy32]

Vice-Captain Hoshina

You were a Kaiju.

Well, more of a hybrid; half human and half Kaiju. A weird mix you assumed came from the parents you didn’t know. Or, at least, that’s what your father figure had told you. You’d met him as a child, somehow managing to wander the streets unharmed and alive for years before finally meeting your end.

Or you’d thought you had, staring up at the Kaiju with nothing in you left to fight. Your eyes closed, waiting for it to kill you - something, anything except place a large hand atop your head.

You didn’t remember much from your childhood, but you didn’t think you’d ever forget that moment. The sharp look of the thing you would call Dad. The dark gaze of its black eyes, the hard skin of its body, or the icy coolness of its pale blue skin.

You could pass for his daughter - as a Kaiju - something that always brought you a little bit of joy. You knew Kaiju didn’t exactly have children, so you had always wondered why he took you in. Kept you around. And it felt almost like fate to you the way your Kaiju body flashed pale blue pulses of light between the cracks of your obsidian, armoured skin.

He taught you control, strength. How to fight and hide. He taught you language. And then he had you enlist under the Third Division, famous for its Captain - Mina Ashido. You didn’t ask your dad questions, at least not ‘why’ ones. There were things you needed to know and things you didn’t. And if you needed to know the why’s, he would tell you.

So you took the exam. And you passed.

You hadn’t interacted much with humans. Other than the old lady who always complimented your looks, or the people at the counter when you went grocery shopping. So you didn’t bring attention to yourself.

Or you tried not to. Most people let you keep to yourself. Some were obviously intent on getting you ‘out of your shell’, which actually wasn’t all that unhelpful. You needed to learn. The more you could communicate with people, the more you could learn, and the more you could help dad.

So you let them. Let them help you during training, let them tease you during meal times, let them drag you shopping on your days off. And then it happened.

Soshiro Hoshina. Your vice-captain.

You hadn’t paid him much attention when you joined, your focus had solely been on Captain Ashiro. But you quickly learned to shift your focus. That, possibly, Hoshina would be more of a threat than the captain herself. So when he began turning his cheerful attention your way, you allowed it.

It wasn’t as though he was constantly talking to you, or giving you more attention than the other officers. But you allowed yourself to indulge it in, more than you did others. Because you needed to be as knowledgeable on him as possible.

One night, after updating your incredibly detailed sketch of the building, you heard the familiar sound of swords slicing the air. You doubted you’d even need Kaiju hearing to know who it was. And you didn’t hesitate before making your way into the training room.

It was late, almost late enough to get you into trouble. But if it was the vice-captain himself who kept you longer than you should, then you were sure you could weasel your way out of a punishment.

He stood in the centre of the room, a thin shirt clinging to every dip of muscle on his body. The matching sweatpants hung low on his body, likely from his aggressive movements. Two wooden swords were clutched between his hands, the shape incredibly similar to the real ones, though you noticed the weight was clearly heavier. You wondered, faintly, whether that was intentional as you watched him, his movements fast and precise.

So caught up in the perfect moment to watch him, assess him unsupervised, you almost missed the moment his eyes finally landed on you. The way they widened in surprised. His silence reminded you of your manners. Standing straight, you greeted him as your superior, only to be met with his signature smile. Not that it surprised you.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” You had grown accustomed to his playful tone, something that had once flown straight over your head. You responded with a simple raise of your eyebrows. He laughed, “come in.”

You closed the door behind you as you entered, standing wordlessly in front of him. That smile still plastered on his face, his body relaxed, you wondered if now was your chance. “Would you like to fight me, Vice-Captain?” You asked before he could speak.

It was his turn to raise his brows, clearly not expecting that response. Though he was used to you surprising him at this point, it’s why he enjoyed your chats - however brief - so much.

“You… want to spar? Me?” You nodded simply, wondering whether this was something new to him. If he was so unused to the offer. He smiled impossibly wider, reaching to place his swords down before your voice stopped him.

“Keep them.”

~~~

You were panting, cutting your eyes at your Vice-Captain who had only broken a sweat. Though you wondered whether that was simply from his earlier workout.

He looked unsure when you had insisted he keep the swords - you needed this practice to be as useful as possible, after all. But once he was sure, he was coming at you faster than any human could react.

Lucky you weren’t all human.

You had dodged in time, though the force of the wooden blades was strong against your throat, even through the air. You looked up at your vice-captain, shocked he had used such force, and noted the serious look in his eyes.

The same look he reserved for Kaiju.

You wondered why he was taking this so seriously. Unlike you, he had no reason to. Though you were grateful as you ducked below another slice of his sword, sidestepping to get your own hit in.

Sending your foot into his knee, he buckled, dropping to the floor. Though, he was quick to use the angle to his advantage, swinging his sword round and into your side. The pain had you stumbling back instinctively, clutching the wounded area with your hand - a wince on your tongue at the pressure.

In a way that screamed ‘cocky and confident’, he stood slowly, facing you with his arms hanging loosely beside him. His focused gaze contrasting his relaxed gait.

Sucking in a sharp breath, you lowered yourself again. He was fast. Too fast. In your human form you couldn’t beat his quick reflexes, and it was still within question whether your Kaiju form could. Even still, you weren’t backing down.

‘A fight is only lost when one has decided to give up.’ Your father’s advice rung soundly in your mind.

He had the advantage with distance, so you had to get close. Not that that was going to be easy. You approached him, throwing a few jabs his way. Your best bet was to overwhelm him, though it was hard when he was dodging half of your hits and firming the others.

You just needed an opening, one good hit that had all of your strength behind it.

There.

It was so small that if you didn’t have a little kaiju-advantage, it probably wouldn’t even be one. But you weren’t going to let it go to waste. Pushing off of your leg, and placing more weight onto the other, you threw yourself at the opportunity. (Literally)

You could see the surprise light up his face, and it sent an odd sense of pride down you. He obviously hadn’t expected you to notice the opening, or at least not actually go for it, but he recovered quickly.

You had placed yourself perfectly to throw him to the floor - you’d even gotten him halfway there, really. Except, now you found yourself squashed painfully between the training mat and your training partner.

You let out a soft wheeze, finding it a little hard to breathe with the over-the-top aggressive way he threw you to the ground. You had suddenly found the difference in strength apparent.

Not that you hadn’t known that. But actually experiencing it hit your ego a lot more than you had expected.

The arm twisted painfully behind you was a tempting reason to give up. And it seemed your captain had a similar idea as it took him no time to release you. Unlucky for him, he was wrong.

Before you could even think, you had thrown yourself round and into him. Your body followed his into the ground, pinning him in a position that mirrored your earlier one.

But you weren’t pleased.

Cutting your eyes at the man beneath you, “you let me do that,” your tone accusatory. He, of course, smiled up at you. Irritated, you leant closer to him, repeating your words more firmly this time. “You let me do that.”

You shouldn’t be mad. You knew you should be nice and friendly so that you could get close to him. So that he would share every little secret - purposefully or not. But you were mad. Mad that he had beat you, mad that all you could do was turn the tables while his guard was down, mad that he had let you.

So mad, that you had been staring down at him in silence, your brows scrunched together slightly. Soft pants lingered from both the physical exertion and emotional turmoil.

So you almost missed it when his eyes dropped to your lips. But they lingered, so you didn’t. Nor did he miss the way you drew back, or the way your face contorted in what he interpreted as disgust.

Though the emotion had actually much more closely resembled confusion.

You knew what that look meant. You’d seen it before, right as couples kissed in the streets, in alleyways they thought concealed their actions. You’d witnessed it, never understood it, and simply associated it with things couples did. But now Hoshina - your vice-captain - was wanting to do it with you.

Confusion didn’t even touch what you were feeling.

But… you couldn’t say you weren’t intrigued. It wasn’t that you’d never been interested in humans - you’d just never had any way to connect to them before. You’d always felt more Kaiju than human, like you were simply wearing a costume - a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

But now? Maybe you could connect. Understand. Maybe, just maybe, Vice-Captain Hoshina could teach you what it meant to be human.

You were never one for hesitating, so you were leaning back into him instantly once your mind was made. Though the slow pace at which you did so allowed you to watch as the man’s face morphed from hurt at your rejection, to something more akin to shock.

Ignoring the way he stilled at your movements, you let your eyes drop to his lips this time, his breath catching as you did so. Your movements slow and cautious, attempting to map out the action in your head.

Your lips met his softly, lacking the weight that was usually behind kisses. But it had him melting into it all the same - wanting more. You felt his hands twitch under your hold on them, taking that as your cue to pull back.

Your face was contemplative before you were leaning back in again, head tilted to the side. You were placing multiple soft, fleeting kisses to his lips - exploring, testing.

He groaned, low and… strained? You stilled at the sound, pulling back enough to look inquisitively at him. “You’re killing me here.” That stupid smile was still on his face, but something unfamiliar lingered bellow the surface. “Your- could you, uh…” motioning to your hands that still held him down. You lifted them, allowing him to once again move his hands.

With his newfound freedom, he instantly placed one at the nape of your neck. Firm and secure, he pulled you down slowly. Then he spoke, quiet and deep, “close your eyes.”

You did as told, finding yourself lost in the feel of his lips. The way they pressed into your own, moving in a way you tried to emulate.

His hand snaked up your thigh, sending a shiver down your spine. The feeling was foreign but welcomed. Soft but firm.

And, god you were really into this.

[eddiethebanished]

It’s Only Fair

leadsinger!reader

Summary- Eddie’s working as a bouncer at The Hideout on ladies night, watches your band play.

Warnings- I’m not really sure if there are any? Please let me know if there are so I can learn.

Eddie had never seen so many women, especially at The Hideout of all places. By the time he got to work there was a line wrapped around the building.

He had been working at The Hideout as a bouncer for a few weeks, in exchange his band would be able to play more gigs at a reduced fee. But he had yet to work a Wednesday night,

which as it turns out was ladies night. Reduced price on drinks and girl bands gracing the stage.

With a groan Eddie pushed open the door to let the ladies in at 7pm sharp. A few had already been getting rowdy, banging on the door begging for early entry. From then on it was the same monotonous movements. Check ID, take the cover charge, nod his head toward the door signaling admission. Ignoring the giggles and flirtatious batting of eyelashes from some of the patrons, Eddie could tell by the sea of bright neon color dresses he most likely wouldn’t be hearing his preferred type of music tonight.

“Harrington?” Eddie asked, surprised to see the shaggy brown haired boy standing in front of him. “What are you doing here?”

Steve scoffed. “It’s ladies night, Munson. Plus, Robins band is playing tonight and their singer is like a total babe.”

Eddie chuckled and patted steve on the shoulder as he walked through the door. After what felt like eternity of checking IDs, taking the cover charge, and nodding his head towards the entrance, the line ended, save for a few stragglers here and there.

The first band took the stage with big teased hair full of aqua net, they wore matching jazzercise outfits and played the most headache inducing pop music that would even have Cyndi Lauper nauseous. Eddie made his way to the bar in hopes David the bartender could make him something to ease the pain of the night.

“Want your regular, Ed?” David asked while wiping down the bar.

“Sure, better make it a double” he said over the sound of the bands pitchy singer.

“Never worked a ladies night before huh?” Eddie shook his head, David continued “It’s not that bad, sure the music isn’t great but there’s rarely any fights to break up, and I make a killing in tips!” Eddie nodded and slid a five over to David before he was called into a sea of girls ordering shots and half priced cocktails. Eddie took up residence at a table near the door where a bold Steve Harrington was striking out with every girl he flirted with.

The second band who took the stage was just fine, the third band came on late, drunk, and ended with the bassist barfing on the drummers cymbals. After a brief intermission to clean the stage, the lights dimmed. People scrambled from their barstools and dark corners to the middle of the room. Shouts and whoops erupted as the band took the stage.

“This is Robin’s band.” Steve said sitting up in his seat and nudging Eddie. One by one the band members stepped up on stage, Robin with her drumsticks gave a silly wave towards Eddie and Steve, the latter of which shouted out a “Woo!” The bassist arrived next blowing a kiss towards the audience, followed by the guitarist. They each had their own unique style that worked together, it showed cohesiveness without needing matching jazzercise outfits.

When the lead singer got on stage the crowd went wild, eddies eyes widened. Black oversized t-shirt with black shorts you could barely see, fishnets and doc martens. Eddie shifted in his seat to get a better look.

“That’s y/n.” Steve said looking at Eddie with a knowing smirk.

“Alright Hawkins how are we doing tonight?!” You said into the microphone. The crowd responded with cheers and applause as you started your first song. It was a cover of “Love Will Tear Us Apart” by Joy Division. By the end of the first chorus Eddie was enamored.

When the song ended, you grabbed your placid blue fender strat and slipped the strap over your head. Eddie wasn’t enamored- he was in love.

“Watch it, Munson. You’re drooling.” Steve said.

“Shut up, Harrington.” He said flatly.

“This one-” you started while plucking a few strings, “is dedicated to all the shitty guys in Hawkins that broke our hearts!” Jumping into an original song about dancing with the devil and having your girlhood stolen, Eddie realized why all these people were at this shitty bar. They were here to see you.

When your set ended, Steve nodded his head to go over to the stage with him. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to your future wife.” He added a wink and chuckled to himself. Eddie downed the rest of his drink and followed after Steve.

“Hey look, Steve, you really don’t need to-“ He was cut off.

“Oh come on, have some fun.” Steve said walking through the crowd.

“Hey guys!” Robin beamed “What did you think of our set? We’ve been rehearsing like crazy and I really think it paid off!” Robin rambled clutching her drumsticks.

“It was great, Robin-“ Steve began, he put his arm on her shoulder and said in a lower tone “where’s y/n? I think our boy Eddie here might want to meet her.” He grinned.

“Oh! She’s putting her stuff in the van, I’ll go get her!” Before Eddie could object, Robin bounced out of the propped open side door where he could see the band members putting equipment in the trunk. Robin returned shortly arm in arm with the lead singer, the girl of Eddie’s dreams.

“Steve, you know y/n.” Robin said, a grin plastered to her face. Steve nodded his head toward you. “This is our friend Eddie.” Robin said with a gentle push on your back towards where Eddie was standing.

“Hi.” Eddie said, with his signature smile, a little dimple forming on his cheek.

“Hey, I know you, you work here right?” You responded after taking a sip from your water. Eddie opened his mouth to respond when-

“Yeah Eddie is the bouncer, he’s also in this band that plays here Tuesday nights.” Robin answered for Eddie.

“Here, Robin I’ll help you with your drums okay?” Steve said raising his eyebrows and nodding his head towards Eddie. As they walked away Steve turned back and gave Eddie a thumbs up.

“What kind of music do you play?” You asked stepping closer to the curly haired boy.

“Uhh Metal, mostly. I’m also frontman and play guitar.” He responded nervously, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets. You rocked back and forth on your heels and looked up into his dark brown eyes.

“I’ll have to come check you guys out, it’s only fair after you seeing us play.”

“Fair- right I have to warn you though, it’s nothing like tonight,” Eddie started looking around at the crowd still lingering after your set. “We get about five drunk guys at the bar and that’s it.” He chuckled.

“Well I can guarantee there will be one more person at your next show.” You smiled sweetly, Eddie’s eyes couldn’t help dart to your lips, they looked so soft with a lingering shine from the gloss that must have worn off while you were singing. Realizing he was staring for a beat too long he cleared his throat and looked toward the open door. “So do you need help carrying anything out?”

“No, I’m all packed up but thank you.” You responded politely.

“In that case,” Eddie’s voice deepened as he inched closer to you. “can I buy you a drink?”

A blush crept across your cheeks as you nodded silently. He grabbed your hand and led you over to the bar where two stools had just become available.

David walked over to you two slinging a rag over his shoulder. “Hey rockstars, what can I get for you?” You both gave him your drink orders and faced each other on the stools.

“Okay, musician to musician, what did you think of the set?” You asked biting your lip nervously.

“Honestly, I was surprised.” He said, sipping from his beer bottle.

“Surprised we didn’t play covers of Madonna or Bananarama?” You asked while smiling into your drink.

“You could have sang anything and it would have sounded amazing.” He started. “When I came in today I couldn’t believe how many people were lined up to get into The Hideout of all places. But when I saw you up there, it all clicked”

You brushed a piece of hair behind your ear. “Oh stop, they’re here for the half priced drinks, that’s all.” You said self-deprecatingly.

“Hey, all those people stayed after that bassist puked all over the drums.” you both laughed together. “You were a natural up there.” Eddie’s eyes met yours, still with a smile on his face.

“Thank you.” You said while holding his gaze.

“Hey y/n, sorry” Robin bounced up to you both, “My curfew on school nights is 11 and it is now-“ she looked at her watch. “12:30, and you drove so do you think we could…” she trailed off.

“Yes! Shit, Robin, I’m sorry.” You reached for your pocket pulling out a few stray dollar bills, about to place them on the bar. Eddie quickly shook his head.

“Nope, it’s on me. Employee discount.” He said with a wink.

“Aw, thank you, I’ll make sure I buy your drink when I come see your show.” You said putting the money back in the pocket of your shorts while standing up from the barstool.

“Don’t worry about it.” Eddie said with a shrug.

“Come on, fair is fair!” You giggled and leaned close to his ear. “I’ll see you Tuesday.” You whispered softly before Robin pulled you away.

Eddie could get used to working ladies night.

[freezingmcxn]

hey.. how you doing.. can you maybe make a lil thingy about toby like you did with the eyeless jack thing I'm just really focused on Toby right know idk why but like write it however you want I just want to see your writing on how you rhing he looks and acts take your time you dont even have to do it I love you I love you i love you I love you I love you I love you I lovw you

TOBY ROGERS APPEARANCE (AU)

AHH YES I CAN my motivation is so bad but these always make me really happy and are easy to write so OFC ILY!!

Toby’s hair is a pale, sun-bleached brown, almost blonde, falling to his neck and curling around his ears.

Naturally curly, his hair has become dry and unkempt from bathing in river water and using cheap soap. His curls puff out, lacking any defined shape.

Occasionally, in a fit of frustration, he shaves it all off or trims it, often in a dingy ass gas station bathroom, depending on how much he despises it at the time.

Standing around 5’7” (5���8” in boots), Toby’s constant slouching makes him look as if he might topple over at any moment.

His most noticeable feature is the gash on his mouth, though it’s not as large as one might think.

The wound is just big enough to expose his upper teeth, which are rotted and decayed. Despite its size, the injury reeks of infection, with pus occasionally oozing from the diseased tissue.

Toby often picks at it, making the wound larger over time.

Originally, it was a small bite he inflicted on himself, but his constant fiddling turned it into the gaping wound it is now.

He no longer bites at it, disgusted by the taste of his own decaying flesh. He usually covers it with a large plaster—often supplied by Jack or just lets the air hit it, depending on his mood really.

Toby has a small gold hoop earring in his left ear, a relic from a day when he and Lyra decided to pierce it with a needle. He didn’t feel the pain but kept the earring all these years, occasionally fiddling with it as a reminder of her.

His trusty hatchets dangle from a hardware belt around his waist, always clattering when he moves, a sound he makes sure to emphasise because he knows it irritates people.

The hatchets are mismatched, one is large with a dark oak handle, carved with doodles, while the other is smaller, with a plastic handle, but much sharper—often the one he uses for the first hit.

Both handles are wrapped in duct tape, one of his go-to solutions for everything.

Toby’s skin is sallow, marked by long exposure to the sun. Freckles and moles speckle his body.

His hands are scarred and battered, with half of his left pinky finger missing, and his right hand covered in self-inflicted bite marks. His palms are calloused, his nails ragged—some bruised black, others completely gone.

His teeth are a mess—sharp, chipped, and broken, with gaps where some have been knocked out from fights or lost to decay.

Toby doesn’t bother brushing his teeth, as he often forgets or simply doesn’t care. Eating people doesn’t help either, wrecking his teeth further.

He typically wears the same tattered hoodie for as long as he can stand it, only washing it at a laundromat when absolutely necessary (when it’s bloody and stinky).

He also has an old Joy Division t-shirt layered over a white long-sleeve, both full of holes, though Toby doesn’t mind, he wears it on warmer days.

He’s been wearing the same pair of jeans for five years, patching them up whenever needed—he’s surprisingly good at sewing thanks to Lyra.

On his feet are either old Timberland boots, once his father’s, now worn with a hole in the sole, or a beat-up pair of red Converse, duct-taped at the top.

He alternates between them.

Toby owns a fleece jacket, fingerless gloves, and two beanies—one grey and one black.

The black one is torn and faded, but he likes the way it adds to his look.

He carries everything in a worn blue Jansport backpack he once stole from a kid at a bus stop, where he rams all his clothes and supplies.

I think that’s enough 😭😭 I rambled I’m sorry, I didn’t want to say too much because I fear he won’t be as interesting but yeah! Hope you like him :)

[the-hottest-band-tournament]

Round 7 of The Hottest 80s Bands Tournament

Queen

Defeated opponents: Green Day, Earth, Wind & Fire, The Psychedelic Furs, R.E.M., Duran Duran, INXS

Formed in: 1970

Genres: rock, glam-rock, hard rock, pop-rock, pop, disco

Lineup: Freddie Mercury- vocals 

Brian May- guitar 

John Deacon- bass 

Roger Taylor- drums 

Albums from the 80s: 

The Game (1980)

Hot Space (1982)

Flash Gordon (1982)

The Works (1984)

A Kind Of Magic (1986)

The Miracle (1989)

Propaganda: “HAVE YOU SEEEEN THEMMMM???? these men never lost their looks as they aged. smoking hot 20 somethings to smoking hot 40 somethings. in their own words, "we was glam" and "we were all stunning". all four had impeccable style choices 99% of the time, from leather jackets and wraps to monochrome to undone blazers and ties to brightly coloured /everything/. Deacon changed his hair style every few years and even in just tshirts and booty shorts, never missed. Roger had a sleazy mullet and sunglasses for what felt like forever, hot Persian dad, did not miss. Brian forgot how to fully button shirts. bell bottoms. same hair for 50 years. no misses. even after Freddie got sick and started wearing makeup and had to grow a beard to cover up, MAN NEVER FUCKIN MISSED. he was beautiful to the day he died. and thats not even touching on the leather daddy look from the early 80s.king shit. we love wrinkles and laugh lines in this gd house. if they don't sweep I’m blowing this whole website up we was glam”

“a few years back i was obsessed with these guys and i would find it hard to not have a crush on all of them. in the 80s especially Brian was GORGEOUS.. BEAUTIFUL”

Depeche Mode 

Defeated opponents: Anthrax, Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band, The Kinks, Wham!, Joy Division, Warrant

Formed in: 1980

Genres: Synth-pop, electronic rock, new wave, dark wave, alternative rock

Lineup: Dave Gahan - vocals

Martin Gore - guitar and keyboard

Alan Wilder - drums and keyboard

Andy Fletcher - bass

Albums from the 80s: 

Speak & Spell (1981)

 A Broken Frame (1982)

Construction Time Again (1983)

Some Great Reward (1984)

Black Celebration (1986)

Music for the Masses (1987)

Propaganda: The music. The LOOKS. The voice. (The sexual tension?) And they’re still going strong. My colleague saw them in the UK when they were only starting out and said they were so nervous. I find the juxtaposition of the confidence of their sound (not to mention the black leather) and that anecdote really endearing.

idk how much this counts as propaganda but I feel like it's very important to acknowledge that Depeche Mode specifically makes kinky synth for bisexual sluts. Like that's it, that's the band. They even managed to make their cover of "(Get Your Kicks On) Route 66" sound like it's about selling ass on the interstate. Slutty legends.

Visual propaganda for Queen:

Visual propaganda for Depeche Mode:

[shifting---patterns]

How Post-Punk Influenced Nowadays Fashion

It's been a long time since Malcolm McLaren opened his boutique "Sex" in the 1970s, and Vivienne Westwood equipped the Sex Pistols with their iconic outfits and sent them out onto King's Road. The approach back then was: "Being anti at all costs, against the establishment." Eventually, it turned into "Do It Yourself." It was fashionable because it tried not to be fashionable.

A few years later, members of Joy Division met at a Sex Pistols show in 1976 and started as a punk band. However, it soon evolved into something entirely different. When you listen to old Joy Division songs like "Warsaw" you can clearly hear the punk rock influences, but the band quickly started to deviate from the common motifs of the genre.

The music slowed down. The noisy guitar sound of punk was subdued to appear more intriguing, and Ian Curtis's existentialist lyrics, influenced by authors like Fyodor Dostoevsky, Jean-Paul Sartre, and Franz Kafka, focused not on chaos, rebellion, and hedonism but reflected his fears, physical sufferings, and the absurdity in the face of the zeitgeist and social influences of the 1970s and 1980s, marked by changes and political uncertainty, forced Joy Division to experiment.

They created not only something musically unique but also something aesthetic. For example, with their monochromatic designs on their album covers for "Unknown Pleasures," which is probably the third best-selling T-shirt in fast fashion stores, alongside Nirvana and the Ramones T-shirts. Joy Division ended in 1980 after Ian Curtis hung himself in his kitchen. They not only helped shape the sub-genre "Post-Punk" but were also the unofficial soundtrack of existentialism. The soundtrack that made Joy Division's music feel so genuine. Because it was genuine.

Of course, in the 1960s, there were artists who processed existential themes in their lyrics. A good example would be Lou Reed of The Velvet Underground, who, heavily influenced by literature, dealt with many serious topics in his lyrics. However, it wasn't just their music; it was also their appearance that defined Joy Division. On stage, in promo pictures, and in interviews.

Ill-fitting shirts from army surplus stores, old man's pants, a few pair of derbies, big raincoats. Everything that was atypical for the punk movement, and many other artists, including The Cure, The Smiths, Siouxsie Sioux and the Banshees, Bauhaus, Alien Sex Friend or Sisters Of Mercy, went in the same direction: Through a dark, introspective, sometimes minimalist, but avant-garde aesthetic, they set themselves apart from punk and society, and looking at bands from the Post-Punk Revival from the 2000s like Interpol, Iceage, Molchat Doma, Boy Harsher, or Cold Cave, it quickly becomes apparent that this aesthetic has proven itself for almost 50 years.

This trend was, of course, not only an inspiration for musicians but also for artists, fashion designers, architects, and many more.

One designer that immediately comes to mind is Antwerp-Six member Ann Demeulemeester from Belgium, whose influences clearly evoke artists like Siouxsie Sioux or Patti Smith but also the playful goth look of the 1980s era by Rei Kawakubo (Comme Des Garcons) or Japan's goth father himself: Yohji Yamamoto.

Her story begins in Antwerp, where she initially studied at the Royal Academy of Fine Arts and quickly got to know the other Antwerp-Six members. She and the Antwerp Six presented their collections at Fashion Week and quickly became highly esteemed designers, now considered among the greatest designers of all time. Many of Ann's collections featured songs by Patti Smith, Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, or The Velvet Underground.

This alone shows the influence of Post-Punk on Ann Demeulemeester's designs. Her asymmetrical cuts and draperies, her monochromatic, Kawakubo and Yamamoto-inspired, mainly black designs were groundbreaking, bringing avant-garde ideas in a consumable form to the people.

Another noteworthy designer from Antwerp is Raf Simons and his collections. Raf Simons grew up in the 1980s and was deeply rooted in the punk and goth subculture, whose influence can be traced in many of his collections or directly referenced by Raf himself. Notable are his A/W96 collection, which includes all-black looks with jet-black dyed hair and long black overcoats, his A/W99 collection with direct Joy Division references, black cloaks, and Gothic looks on the runway.

Raf's most famous collection A/W02-03 Riot Riot Riot! A coveted collection featuring cutoff and distressed hoodies, repurposed military garments, and loaded with punk references through patches. Among them, a bomber jacket with a patch depicting the self-harming Richey James Edwards of the Manic Street Preachers.

Obviously, his A/W03-04 Closer collection with a direct collaboration with Peter Saville, the graphic designer of Factory Records, featuring iconic graphics from Joy Division, New Order, and more.

These two examples of designers actively influenced by this culture are just a fraction. These designers were punks or goths themselves. People influenced by the postmodern identity of the time and post-Soviet tradition. Post-Punk fashion embodies the music of the time it emerged and aligns with deeper considerations. So, it didn't take long for the entire fashion world to embrace this style, partly because "Gothic" and "Punk" became more mainstream, and partly because its aesthetic components were easy to design due to their often penetrating monochromatic minimalism.

Not only goths or avant-garde designers like Ann Demeulemeester, Martin Margiela or Rick Owens, deeply connected to the style and subculture of that time, but also luxury designers like Prada, Balenciaga or Bottega Veneta are incorporating it.

The look is romantic, dark, longing for death, partly edgy, partly overloaded. All aspects that exude a constant attraction from the clothing, as people are often drawn to "the other," sometimes even "the forbidden." The look can also be easily detached from the actual Post-Punk/Goth culture - something postmodernity excels at. The style of the Gothic culture can be perfectly broken down into its individual parts and used as a kind of aesthetic sandbox. Here a thick heavy chain, there's a choker, here big long earrings, add a pair of black high combat boots, a slim-fitted mesh shirt, and preferably paint the nails, and you're done. All things that houses like Prada, Marni, Bottega Veneta, for example, have done right.

What we see today in the Post-Punk-influenced style and what we interpret as avant-garde should actually be considered a modern tradition. Post-Punk fashion embodies the music and the spirit of the time it emerged and aligns with deeper existential discourses. The design language and atmosphere of that time are now used by traditional fashion houses to incorporate young designers into their ranks and increase their relevance, merely fulfilling their quota to be considered part of the traditional fashion pipeline of LV, Dior, Gucci, and Balenciaga. The avant-garde cannot be seen as so established. The rapid growth these companies have undergone to make billions and the inheritance method of finding a designer to take over the house are enough to profile themselves as industry magnates.

In a world where fashion constantly reinvents itself, the enduring legacy of post-punk culture persists as a modern tradition. From the raw, rebellious sounds of bands like Joy Division to the avant-garde designs of Ann Demeulemeester and Raf Simons, the essence of post-punk continues to captivate hearts and minds. As luxury fashion houses seamlessly incorporate this style, it's vital to recognize the roots and the countercultural spirit that birthed it.

The romantic, dark allure, the edgy overtones – they all beckon, inviting us to explore "the other," even the forbidden. Yet, amidst the mainstream adoption, a call echoes for authenticity. True avant-gardists, whether musicians or designers, carve their paths, declaring, "This is our thing." The new avant-garde emerges not just from runways but from the pulsating hearts of those deeply rooted in their subcultures.

In a world dominated by industry magnates, the journey of post-punk fashion from the underground to luxury houses is a testament to its enduring power. As we witness the evolution, let us celebrate the genuine, the authentic, and the countercultural voices shaping the new avant-garde.

So, whether draped in asymmetrical cuts or sporting a rebellious attitude, the message is clear: The post-punk spirit lives on, and the next wave of avant-garde creators is ready to make their mark, confidently declaring, "This is our thing."

Davis Jahn

[thegatesofsilverandbone]

Senator Edward "Ed" Stone stood tall at the podium, his aging hands gripping the wooden edges with the strength of conviction, his sharp voice slicing through the evening air as he rallied his supporters. Decades of political power and influence fueled his words, a career built on fanning the flames of division and fear. The crowd roared in agreement as Ed spat venom, his tone filled with disgust.

“These people,” Ed sneered into the microphone, his words practically dripping with disdain, “immigrants, queers—they’re tearing apart the very fabric of this nation!”

The crowd, a sea of red hats and clenched fists, cheered loudly, their faces twisted in anger and hatred. This was Ed’s arena—where he thrived, where he built his empire. But tonight, something felt off. A strange sense of unease prickled at the back of his mind, though he dismissed it as exhaustion. He’d been delivering speeches like this for decades.

Then it happened.

The first wave of change was subtle. A sudden dizziness swept over him, causing him to blink rapidly as his vision blurred. His voice faltered, cracking in the middle of a sentence. He cleared his throat, shaking his head to steady himself. But his body felt foreign, different.

He glanced down at his hands—the once veiny, weathered hands of an aging politician—and gasped. His fingers had slimmed and smoothed, their skin tightening, becoming youthful and adorned with rings that glimmered under the stadium lights. His heart raced in confusion. His chest, broad and heavy with age, was now shifting, the fabric of his shirt pulling tight as his torso narrowed, muscles firming beneath his skin.

His voice, once a sharp bark, softened, becoming more melodic, more unfamiliar. The crowd, sensing the strange shift, began to quiet. Ed stumbled backward, watching in horror as his body continued to change. His waist shrank, his arms grew leaner and more agile, his legs lengthened beneath him. His face—his old, familiar face—wasn’t his anymore. The wrinkles vanished, replaced by taut, smooth skin. His once thin, graying hair thickened, darkening into lush, dark waves that curled slightly at the ends. A thick, full beard sprouted across his jaw, which was now chiseled and sharp.

He was younger, stronger. His suit, stiff and formal, felt out of place on this new body. He tore off his jacket, ripping his tie loose from his neck, revealing a chest dusted with dark hair that peeked through his now unbuttoned shirt.

His mind was spinning. Who was this? Who was he? And then the memories came—memories that weren’t his own. He wasn’t Ed Stone anymore. He was Marco, a dancer and emcee, who had come to the U.S. to follow his dreams. He had left behind a life of repression, embracing his freedom and joy, performing in clubs, dancing under the neon lights of New York City. Marco loved, lived, and celebrated everything Ed had once despised.

The hatred that had consumed Ed for so long melted away, replaced by the warmth of Marco’s memories—of love, of community, of acceptance. He stepped back from the podium, gasping as his transformation completed.

But the changes didn’t stop with him.

Across the rally, the crowd that had once chanted in anger and fear began to feel the same strange pull. It started with Pastor Bill Jenkins, a loud, stern man whose deep voice had often commanded the attention of his congregation. Bill stood at the front of the crowd, his fist raised in solidarity with Ed’s speech, when a sharp pain gripped his chest. He doubled over, clutching at his shirt as his body began to change.

Bill’s broad, bulky frame began to slim, his belly shrinking into a lean, muscular core. His arms, once thick and heavy from years of lifting hymnals and pointing accusing fingers, became graceful and toned, adorned with intricate rings and bracelets. His clean-shaven face sprouted a thick beard, and his hair, dull and thinning, became a shiny black mass that curled neatly above his ears. His stiff suit shifted into an open shirt, revealing a chest covered in dark hair.

Bill blinked as new memories filled his mind—he was no longer Bill, the judgmental pastor. Now, he was Mateo, a proud gay man from Brazil, a wedding dancer who moved with grace and joy, a man who celebrated love, not condemned it. The anger and rigidity that had once defined Bill’s life dissolved, leaving only love and joy in its wake.

The crowd looked on in stunned silence as one by one, they too began to change.

At the edge of the rally, Tom Callahan, a grizzled factory worker, felt the same warmth spread through his body. Years of hard labor had made his body stiff and slow, but now he felt his spine straighten, his joints loosen, his belly tighten. His limbs became long and graceful, his rough hands smoothing into elegant, tattooed arms. His hair, once grey and thinning, thickened into dark, shiny waves. His boots morphed into polished shoes, and his work clothes became a fitted, stylish outfit.

Tom was gone. In his place stood Julio, a dancer from Argentina, full of life, full of hope, who had come to the U.S. to pursue his dreams of performing on Broadway. Julio smiled as the bitterness of Tom’s old life faded, replaced with a sense of freedom and joy.

And still, the changes spread.

Near the stage, Jenny Park—a fierce advocate for "family values"—felt her body shift as well. Her small frame stretched taller, her limbs filling out with lean muscle. Her long, straight hair shortened into tight curls, and her smooth face sprouted a sharp beard. Her soft features hardened into those of a handsome, strong man. Jenny was no more; now, she was Tae-jun, a proud Korean immigrant, a spoken-word artist who had found love and joy in his art, in his community.

As the transformation overtook the rally, the stadium buzzed with new energy. The sea of faces, once angry and twisted, was now a diverse, vibrant crowd of men from all walks of life. Each man, once filled with fear and hatred, now stood tall in their new bodies, new identities, united by a sense of shared love and acceptance.

In the back, Jerry Thompson—Big Jerry, the trucker who had always cracked jokes at other people’s expense—wasn’t immune to the change. His thick belly shrank into a tight six-pack, his muscular arms transforming into the lean, defined limbs of a fitness instructor. His face, rough and stubbly, became smooth, his brown hair curling into thick, luscious locks. Big Jerry was gone, replaced by Alejandro, a Cuban-American fitness instructor whose life revolved around spreading health, happiness, and self-love.

As Marco stood on the stage, looking out at the transformed crowd, he felt a swell of pride. No longer was this rally a place of hatred or division. Instead, it had become a celebration—a celebration of love, unity, and the shared humanity that had always been there, buried beneath the fear.

The stadium erupted in cheers, not for the hateful rhetoric that had once filled the space, but for the newfound joy that had taken its place. Men of all shapes, sizes, and ethnicities embraced one another, danced, and laughed. There was no longer fear, no longer division—only love, in all its forms.

And so, under the lights of the stadium, the men danced, arm in arm, celebrating the power of love and unity. What had begun as a rally for hate had transformed into something beautiful—a testament to the power of transformation, not just of body, but of heart and soul.

[wormworker]

stop saying your organization is "dedicated to equity" if that excludes disabled people (i also want to add that it wasn't my place to speak on her behalf)

(Video description: TikTok video from my account "evebanshee." I'm talking into the camera while in a bathroom and wearing an N95 mask. I'm a fem-presenting white person with long ginger hair, wearing a black Joy Division t-shirt with purple fishnet sleeves and a crescent moon necklace.)

[aomori-division]

"TV gives everyone an image, but radio gives birth to a million images in a million brains"-

Introduction

Ruka Shiina also know by his moniker Naafiri is a radio personality and the 3th member of Aomori's rap team Howling Moon

This youngwoman despite appeared just 2-3 years in radio until now becames quite popular due her nice personality, her ability to tell stories whatever normal or in a form of dialogue and her great musical talent but even her as some dark secrets

Like the dark spirit that she summoned in a darker moment of her life and now with who she shares a voice...or how she entered to DRB with the goal of get revenge againts the responsible of her older brother's suicide

Ruka is a youngwoman of average stature,a slim figure and pale skin. she has nature pale brown hair with magenta highlights in the bang and the back of her hair. But she daily dyed her hair of a navy blue with purple highlights. Her eyes are of a glowing pink and she has a cut scar on the cheek

Her daily outfit is a black sleeveles t-shirt with the image of a red moon and a sky blue jacket and her lower half are a purple skirt with blue socks and black boots. around of the arms she has a tattoo of blue clouds and her accesories are a flower chocker and a bracelet with a wolf charm

When she is in her character "Regulus". Ruka wear a black dress with brown cowboy boots and changes her blue jacket for a red one

Aliases

Regulus (radio personality name)

Seraphine (cover singer nickname)

"the devil of music"

"anonymous"

Biographical info

Gender-female

Age-19

Birthday-november 17

Ethnicity-japanese

Hair colour-brown with dark pink highlights/dark blue with purple highlights

Eye colour-bubblegum pink

Height-168 cm

Star Sign-scorpio

Piercings-lobes,double helix

Markings-tattoo of blue clouds in the arms,cut scar in a cheek

Family

Biológical father (???)

Biológical mother (???)

Adoptive father (alive)

Biológical older brother (desceased)

Adoptive older brother (alive)

Voiced by-Harusaruhi (rapping and singing)

Fun facts

MC name: Naafiri

Occupation:radio personality/student

Division: Aomori

Team: Howling Moon

Position: 3th member

Favorite food: omurice

Least favorite food: carrots

Likes: rockabilly music and culture,radio,pancakes,apples,vinylees, vintage items, porcelain dolls,her new family,fruits,taking naps, her scooter, help Aoi to make toys, graffiti,pirates history,story-telling,eating, cooking,videogames, hacking

Dislikes:Reiji Enjouji, think about her passed away brother, Hisui's health problems

Hypnosis microphone

Ruka's hypnosis microphone is a red hand mic with the screen in the form of a flame that lit up when Ruka starts to rap or sing

Ruka's speakers take the form of a huge stage where Ruka stand up when she starts to rap. The speakers are circular speakers ubicated in the pink and white reflectors

Ruka's rap ability is called "devil of music" that let her change his normal voice for a more deep and demoniac voice,she can rap some verses that terrorize the opponent until them faints up in fear. Ruka can use her ability one time in a oponent

Ruka's rap themes are around her love for music and radio, how she love singing for her listeners and write new songs,she also rap about her hates for a "angel/tenshi",she raps about her older brother and how she laments his dead and about her revenge againts the "angel" who killed him. Ruka also rap with references to demonology. And how she is more than just human with references to demons

Personality

Ruka is a nice, friendly and joy person,the type of girl you can see surrounded by friends almost always smiling with a great smile on the face, but being calm instead of hiperactive. Ruka enjoys of little things and is happy of stop and see them more detailed

She is appasionate of radio and music being dedicate to her radio program and music,she show the same passion and dedication when she is mixing melodies,covering songs or creating her own songs to her radio program.

that noticeable love for music is noticeable to anyone who meet her and something that Ruka always had,that passion despite being natural is in part in honor of her passed away older brother who wanted to be a musician before his dreams were destroyed

Something hide to everyone except her family Ruka has a very vengative and sadic side. She loved her brother and wanted to follow his footsteps as idol but after her brother's suicide and find out why he made that...and who provoke it she fall in wrath and a hiding wish of revenge that made her give on up her own humanity and become the vessel of a music devil. Ruka wants revenge on her brother's behalf and she will to do it no matter how away she will fall from be "human"

Trivia

Ruka has a YouTube channel where she post her covers of different songs and even songs of other DRB contestants under the nickname Seraphine

Her radio program is named "Reverse" In her radio program she plays different songs requested by her listeners and other days she do story-telling and improvise different stories with a dialogue invented by herself or requested by her listeners

The reason why Ruka is know as the "devil of music" in the supernatural underground it's because she is the vessel of a devil of music, she made a deal with "her". When the music devil named "nembra" felt her grief for her brother's dead and her passion for music and made a deal with Ruka

She is very protective with Hisui knowing about the experiments on him and how his health ended up affected

The terms of Ruka's deal with nembra was those: Ruka will be Nembra's human vessel to live beetwen humans and difund the music and Nembra will help Ruka in her revenge againts Reiji Enjouji

Ruka feel a great admiration for the radio DJ Kai Quinlan and admite her interest in collaborate with him

Her elfic ears something that she has since her born and not as the result of her deal with Nembra

Ruka is a great entusiast of food and have a great appetite and like for eat. She also is who cook the meals for her family often or help Aoi to do it

Her listeners are know as "rockstars"

Ruka is a famous gamer who love videogames and board games. She is a experiment and infamous hacker under the nickname "Anonymous". Expert in the creation of malwhare and virus

Despite Ruka never say explicit which is her relationship with Nembra besides be devil/vessel both of them certainly can be consider as lovers with a romantic relationship

[alexjcrowley]

Whatever you're doing, drop it right now and go watch BlackBerry. I can give a million reasons to watch it and I will.

This movie has everything.

You loved The Social Network and you never really found something quite like it? Go watch Blackberry, then. You got the love triangle, you got the genius who displays neurodivergent traits overtly, the Best Friend, the other woman a.k.a. the real businessman.

BUT, big wonderful but, it's ugly. It's painfully uncool, staged and at the same time terribly realistic. They all look like shit and you can't help but love it. None of that Justin Timberlake, Andrew Garfield, Jesse Eisenberg that make you want to jump into a foursome, here the business cool guy (Glenn Howerton from IASIP) is balding and wearing a suit he clearly stole from Micheal Douglas from Wall Street and he looks unfuckable. The Best Friend has a ninja turtles wallet. They're all ugly, but let me be clear with what I mean: I am fucking sick of seeing fashion models on screen, I am talking about ugliness not as insult but as a punch of reality straight in the face. None of that tiktok black cat gamer boyfriends, these 40 year old men should all burn their entire wardrobe and sue their barbers, I love it.

And yes, at the very beginning (just there) the movie is set in the 80s, and thank God it's not Stranger Things/It chapter one aesthetic, it's disputable shirts and the most pathetic athletic hair band you'll ever see.

You said found family? These tech guys are all Best Friends and party together and dance and have movie nights in the middle of the day in which they watch Indiana Jones and They Live.

The first third of the movie is basically The House Bunny for business companies, with Glenn Howerton sweeping in, giving a makeover to the company, toss those glasses away and make it the belle of the ball, so much that quaterback is asking her to dance.

And it's directed with the camera movement of a mockumentary, hand-held camera baby. And I am telling you this as someone who is getting pretty sick of the overabudance of mockumentaries, I hear you if you're complaining, but this is so good you get over it.

How is the story of the Blackberry phone handled, you ask? Well I am no expert, but I think they did a brilliant job. The Social Network is about Facebook but also about connections and human relationships changing, here you see how the phone industry was changed by Blackberry. In TSN you never actually saw how The Facebook was impacting the world, just the main characters' lives. Here you got the other face of the medal.

The soundtrack? It fucking slaps. I don't know the titles of all the songs in the soundtrack, but sure as hell I am going to look for them. And every movie that has Joy Division in it has my respect.

Oh, if you're a cinephile, I must advise you to be real careful watching this movie, because the amount of movie quotes contained in it could make YOUR BRAIN EXPLODE. Same goes for nerd culture quotes, there are just tooo many and you could risk loving them too much.

Afraid this movie it starting to sound too wholesome and happy? Oh, don't worry, there's enough corruption and angst to fill a Scrooge McDuck money deposit. You got corruption arcs, you got a big deal of actual corruption, calls from the SEC, you got fucking espionage, you got straight up lying, committing crimes, betraying your best friend, one of the few man who looks worse as a villain than as a hero, you got bastardization arc, you got Onceler-ization arc, you got Mark Zuckerberg equivalent of "We're not putting ads", you got "Stop, this isn't you".

But I understand, it's not enough for you. How about the FUCKING Apple-Blackbarry War, uh? How about that? Might interest you? With a flavour of tragedy because you already know who prevailed, but you're living the story from the side of the losers. Doomed by the narrative, ladies and gentlemen.

You got resentment building up, you got workers' discontent growing, you got sales dropping, in TSN you stopped very little after the explosion, now you get to see the whole thing collapse. It's the Western Roman Empire and it's 476 AD. It's "we could have it all". It's epic and terrible and destructive and it's the story of fundamental changes in the phone market and what phones came to be. It has an ending that it's bitter and happy and delightfully ironic and leaves you wondering what if.

I had one, one complain about this movie: it all starts in Waterloo and you don't put Waterloo by Abba? But I take back my complain, and if you, like me, are into 60s music you're going to love it. They're one of my favourite bands, if you know who I am talking about, so I was elated.

Go watch BlackBerry. Go. Right now. This is how I spent my one night off, this is how I ended a very shitty day and I was not disappointed. Watching this movie has been the best thing to happen to me today.

[rivetgoth]

Over on Twitter there was a meme that was like “Post 10 bands you've obsessed about at some point in your life,” so I decided to list the first 10 that came to mind 🤔🤔 Note that this isn’t my current or all-time top 10 bands ever, but 10 that I can remember being obsessed with at some significant point in my life.

1. Skinny Puppy — Duh.

2. Culture Club — A landmark band for me, Culture Club was my entry into 80s pop which would evolve into developing my adoration for the New Romantics, 80s alternative, and eventually industrial and goth music. Also the second band I ever actively went to see live!

3. IAMX — One of my favorite bands of all time since around 9th grade, over a decade now!! One of the only bands I have a tattoo for. I could fill an entire post (or two, or three, or…) on just my adoration for IAMX alone, but I’ll leave it at that for now.

4. Ministry — Inescapable, isn’t it? Regardless of the eternal love-hate relationship I have with this band there’s no denying the incredibly significant effect they’ve had on my life unfortunately. The first industrial band I got into post-Skinny Puppy.

5. The Velvet Underground — TVU (along with TBP, below) was arguably the band that got me into music. Period. I’ll never forget hearing “Venus In Furs” and “The Black Angel’s Death Song” for the first time and just thinking it was like nothing else I’d ever heard before. It was everything to me as a teen.

6. Severed Heads — Another one of my favorites to this day, though I’ve had obsessive periods in phases. They kinda baffle and excite me like literally no other band. Like a puzzle I’m always trying to solve. Love love love them.

7. The Birthday Party — Ditto with TVU. “Mutiny In Heaven” shaped me into the music lover I am today, it gave me a taste for something that was like nothing I’d ever heard before and “like nothing else” has been a significant staple of the most evocative songs/bands for me ever since.

8. Joy Division — Community college circa 2017 I had Joy Division on constant rotation, they really got me through it lol. One of the first GOTH bands that I dove really deep into. I was already listening to goth music at that point but at that point in time Joy Division really resonated. I wore my Unknown Pleasures shirt everywhere seconds before it was cool. I still voted for The Cure on the recent “best goth band” poll tho LMAO.

9. Magazine — A more recent addition, Magazine fucking saved my life when I got COVID in 2021 and subsequent relatively severe psychotic symptoms shortly after. Literally just spent every quiet moment listening to ‘em to fight off some of the worst thought patterns I’ve ever had in my life, for months.

10. Steam Powered Giraffe — My middle school heartthrobs 🖤🖤🖤 A bit dated now but man, SPG was everythinggggg to me for a short moment and I think this secret part of my past explains some of my music taste to this day tbh lol 😭 They were thee FIRST band I ever actively saw live, and the most significant connection is that Bunny Bennett’s coming out was genuinely the thing that spurred me to soul search and realize I was trans within the same year :’)

What are yours??

[slayfics]

Hi Slay! For the character ask game, 14 & 24 for Shinso or Bakugo. 💜

Thank you Rei! These were good questions I had to think about them for awhile 😅.

14. Assign a fashion aesthetic to this character.

Bakugo

I imagine Katsuki’s style being heavily rock inspired. His go to bands would be Black Sabbath, Metallica, and AC/DC. We agree a lot on his music tastes I love the playlist you made for him 🤭. I imagine lots of flannels for him.

Shinso

Hitoshi just screams post punk boy to me. I imagine some of his go to bands are Joy Division, The Pixies, and Depeche Mode. I could absolutely see him in ripped up band shirts and converse. Bonus points if they are purple to match his hair.

24. What other character from another fandom of yours that reminds you of them?

Bakugo

Katsuki is a splitting image of Aza Chobe from Hell’s Paradise. I love Aza, and he’s the sole reason I got into Hell’s Paradise. They both look similar and have the same fiery attitude.

Shinso

This was kind of hard but I came up with two answers. Purely because of the eye bags I’m going to say L from Deathnote 💀. Ability wise Hitoshi reminds me of Inumaki from jjk.

For anyone else that wants to play.

[cassieuncaged]

Nyx Mortal Kombat Mechanics & Bio

Based on the MK character wiki pages. More beneath the cut.

About Nyx:

Born Rachel Rogers, she grew up in Colorado to a mother and father though her father died of cancer shortly after her younger brother was born.

Her mother struggled to make ends meet and worked multiple jobs to support her family. Rachel started selling drugs to help make more money. She was often arrested by local authorities and spent a lot of time in juvie.

Instead of going to college after high school, she enlisted in the military before assigned to special ops. She sent money home to her family.

After being discharged, Rachel found a hard time making ends meet and relocated to Los Angeles as began working for different underground crime syndicates to make ends meet.

Not much is known about her at this time other than she began working with Kano as a hired gun. She wasn't a member of the Black Dragon but spent most her time at the club and with other members.

She also had a short term casual relationship with Kabal.

Kano keeps her at his beck and call by black mailing her with her past, being the person who gave her tabula rasa. Because of this, Nyx feels like she has to submit to her boss.

Paths cross and she eventually meets General Sonya Blade of the Special Forces. Officially betraying the Black Dragon for immunity, Nyx hands over intel she's acquired over the years in an attempt to clear her name.

This puts Kano on the warpath who eventually enlists help from Outworld to begin a war with the Special Forces. Nyx's betrayal isn't the inciting factor but is more of the straw that finally broke the camel's back.

Appearance:

Has pale skin and has been compared to an uncooked shrimp by both Johnny and Cassie Cage. However, Nyx takes this in stride as she likes her ivory complection.

She has aquamarine eyes though she wears black, purple, and red contacts to add to a the mystique around her entire character. She also wears smoky eye shadow, black lipstick, and sports two piercings (one in her left eyebrow and a septum) as well as several on either ear (3 on each lobe, daith, helix, and industrial).

Skins:

Original - black leather pants, black combat boots, fingerless gloves, a plain black, white or red t-shirt under a black leather jacket decorated with goth band buttons (Sisters of Mercy, The Cure, Joy Division, etc.), a plain choker, a studded mask covering the bottom of her her face, half black/half white hair that falls halfway down her back.

Moshing - ripped black jeans over fishnet tights, checkered creepers, hair down accept for two small space buns on either side, all make-up and piercings on, long sleeved fishnet top covered by an oversized band tee (most likely Bauhaus or Joy Division) and a choker with an o ring.

Red Carpet -hair down, makeup but no piercings, hair down, wears long black velvet evening gown with one slit up the side with matching spike heels that are used as a special finishing weapon.

Powers & Abilities:

Nyx may not possess any supernatural abilities, but she does both military and underground street fighting training. She prefers using weapons from a distance as compared to hand to hand combat since she doesn't like blood (which makes any battles between her and Skarlet very interesting).

But she's practiced both Judo and Karate since high school before integrating Krav Maga into her regimen. Nyx is very elusive and can move in credibly fast which makes her practically untouchable. Kano used her as a hired gun for these reasons as her agility mixed with the cover of night (i.e. her code name) made her chances of escaping undetected that much higher.

Fighting Styles:

Krav Maga

Karate

Judo

Thrown Weapons

Tactical

Weapons:

Sig MPX K with a silencer

Ducati Panigale Matte Purple

flat kunai style throwing knives

herself

Fatalities:

Road Kill - Uses her Ducati to eviscerate her opponent's face with the front tire. Can be any distance from opponent to trigger.

Straight to the Heart - Throwing knife to the chest, far distance.

In My Sights - Uses her Sig with silencer and scope attachments from a far distance to effectively

Single White Female (special) - Similar to Straight to the Heart. Removes her black Stiletto before jabbing into her opponent's eye. Mid to close distance. Must be in Red Carpet skin.

Friendship:

'You're probably wondering how I got here' followed by a record scratch. Cut to Nyx playing The Cure on a record player before collapsing into a bean bag chair before inviting her competitor to join her.

Trivia:

has a white ferret named Ghost

practices yoga

secretly loves the color pink which Cassie mercilessly teases her about

despises going to Johnny's movie premieres but attempts to be supportive for her wife

enjoys vintage video games (specifically Dos Box games from when she was a kid) Her favorite was Gabriel Knight: Sins of the Fathers

Was never able reunite with her mother after going underground. Eventually finds her younger brother Noah with whom she has a close relationship

Secretly misses her friends at the Black Dragon. She really only hangs out with Cassie and Jacqui on base which gets kind of lonely.

Never rides her Ducati without a helmet

favorite bands are Joy Division, Bauhaus and The Cure.

Has a collection of vinyl records. Her favorite is Bela Lugosi's Dead

Doesn't care for horror movies. Her genre of choice is neo noirs, likely for the vaporwave aesthetic.

Recovering alcoholic

Johnny Cage Announcer Names:

Daughter in Law from Hell

Elvira

[frnkieroismydaddy]

Fit description:

Black headscarf with skull pattern, plain black hoodie, Joy Division t shirt, fishnet gloves, black maxi skirt with knife pattern and a purple maxi skirt underneath because of the leg slits, dark navy knee high socks and black quilted combat boots

Signature scent: OFF! Deep Woods tick and bug protection

[because-she-goes]

louder than bombs

warnings: some swearing, banter, matty brain rot, an obscene amount of music references, matty being hot, enemies to lovers. Enjoy!

Rooney stared at the document on her computer, the cursor blinking back at her. Books in piles around her and the quiet hum on the air conditioning being the only thing she is able to focus on… not the rough draft of the profile she’s supposed to have submitted to the first round of edits by the end of the week. Her home is normally a quiet, calm, serene environment for writing - the diffuser of jasmine oil typically comforting her mind whenever it got a bit too busy, yet now it only nauseated her. Now it only reminded her of him, and the way his jugular vein shot up out of the collar of his shirt past his perfectly angular jawline and into his side burn and also the way the gold cartier band wrapped around the bones in his wrist and pulse point and shined against his pale skin. Fuck matty healy she thinks, rubbing her temples. A deep sigh leaving her throat, the whole day had been like this.

Unable to concentrate properly on anything and mind adrift, the only real thing she could think of was how the few hours or so she spent with Matty talking about music over their respective caffeinated beverages felt like it was only a split second. Another wave of nausea as something dawned on her, like a sunbeam coming through the trees and into her home - she could have spent a lifetime talking to him about the music they both loved and grew up with in the north of england. She talked about The Hollies and the guitar sections in “Long Cool Woman (In A Black Dress)”, he talked about how The Stone Roses had more grit and rock than her precious Hollies could ever dream of. Rooney recalled looking him dead in those fucking eyes and saying “Graham Nash and Allan Clarke. Case closed.” and how that had silenced the whole discussion of who was better, they then moved onto discussions about Joy Division vs. New Order and The Smiths vs. The Cure. They then drifted off music for a bit to a topic of utmost importance to Matty, who she preferred, Manchester City or Man United. They butted heads the whole time, but Rooney had never met another human on the planet who knew as much about Manchester music than herself. It was as if a human had gotten split into two and then the twins were sent in opposite directions of the music world, one the performer and one the critic.

She had to get out of her house, and quickly. If she festered in this mental rot any longer she was sure it would begin to decompose. Rooney grabbed her keys and shoved her writing gear into a bag and said a quick goodbye to her Bernese Mountain puppy Arlo. With that she was now in the open world and on her way to the local coffee shop near her house - where she had first met the man plaguing her every thought. She waved a hello to the baristas and plopped down in one of the comfier corners and got set up. Opening the document again, she felt more refreshed and as focussed as a laser. Funny what some fresh air and a change of scenery can do to the brain. That is until she felt a particularly strong tap on the shoulder, fucking brilliant right when she just got back into her groove. Annoyed, she turned around at whatever this disturbance was.

“Why hello there, clover! Funny seeing you here, thought you’d be cooped up in your house editing away our little interview. Which may I add, was one of the most delightful press things I have ever done so thanks for the chat, darling. I brought you your regular… iced peppermint tea right?” His perfectly coarse voice rang out over the Bob Dylan playing on the speakers.

Fuck him. Fuck Matty for being so attentive, so kind, so handsome… so Matty.

“You know, you still don't have to suck up to me right? I’m not gonna be putting anything in to help you impress some girl you're shagging so you can forget all about that… Darling.” She spat at him, snatching the iced tea sharply. Fuck him for getting her so riled up and out of her mind with… whatever this new emotion was.

“Jealous it isn’t you, clover? And for the record, she’s just a friend, nothing more - and you’d know if I was trying to impress someone. Enjoy the iced tea and good luck with the edit, Rooney. Maybe I’ll be seeing you around, I quite like it here.” He then walked out the door, lighting a cig and strolling down the road. The gray smoke perfectly matched the grays in his hairline.

Rooney huffed. Well, today was gonna be a wash. She closed her laptop and sipped her deliciousy sweet peppermint tea - fuck he remembered the honey she put in it. Another huff and sip.

Another huff and sip, Matty read his paper. He was sitting at the cafe from the NME interview, growing to quite like the calming energy and the cappuccinos were some of the best he had tasted. In the paper today, like every other day, the resounding message was that the world was going to shit. Another huff and sip of the now room temperature coffee, flipping the pages of the paper to the Art and Culture section. He liked reading these sections for obvious reasons, but especially since they typically focussed on new and emerging artists. People and musicians who may be getting the exposure for the first time, people who reminded him of his younger self and of simpler times. Back when the 1975 weren’t headlining festivals like Glastonbury or Reading and Leeds, back before they weren’t selling out arenas in New York or working on the set design of their global tours. He liked reminiscing on those simpler times, before the money or the fame or the girls that would sit outside of venues waiting for him. Don’t mistake him, he loved his life currently and everything, he just wished he could have some of that normal, mundane, quietness back. He longed for domesticity and peace. With that, and a few articles and mugs of coffee later, he felt the energy shift.

A soft breeze of the doors opening went through the cafe, a golden leaf landing at his foot. Looking up, he saw the flash of red hair go by him followed by a waft of cherry and almond - holy fuck, she even smelled divine. His heart began to pound against his ribs, he felt like it was in his throat all of a sudden. His mind dizzy with her, how her eyes were so fixed on him as he spoke to her that day and how easy it was to carry the conversation - like he had known her a lifetime already. He went up to the barista and quickly ordered her regular with honey as he recalled being perplexed by - a cold drink mixed in with something so sticky sweet. He swallowed his nerves as he could now hear his heart beating away in his chest - louder than bombs. He remembered talking about The Smiths vs. The Cure with her and how she had preferred Morrissey and how he was a Manchester lead singer. As if she couldn’t be any better, he thought in the moment.

With her drink in hand and his regular Truman Black persona in tow, he waltzed over to her table. Delicate hand tapping her rounded shoulder. A huff…no. A gentle gasp leaving her lips.