#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.

[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

[stellar-waves]

when your heart beats in stereo *

. . .

[ boondock saints : connor + fem!reader ] ⚠ warnings: 18+ only! explicit language, poorly written flirting, sorta slow-burn, poorly written smut, unprotected p in v, pre-canon, poorly written '90s vibes, first time writing x reader A/N: This is straight up a fever dream combining two SPF characters in a way, drawing some inspo from fucking Todd Sparrow from the movie Girl, though it's still very much my boy Connor...he's just more into music. Also, I totally fabricated a non-existent record track listing in my head so I could use specific songs to drive the mood. That's why this is fiction, right? I'm just kinda in a "fuck it, just post it" mood, so apologies if this is pretty rough around the edges. ♫ music inspiration: "Ceremony" by New Order / "Elegia" by New Order / Unknown Pleasures by Joy Division

. . .

The brick wall is cold against your back, while your lungs fill with the heat from your cigarette. As you blow out the smoke slowly, you kick your combat boots against the loose gravel along the sidewalk, wondering if you’ll see him today. But let’s be real, you hope you’ll see him today. 

That cute Irish boy with the tattoos and piercing sky-blue eyes. You didn’t catch his name, and that’s if he even told you. You had gotten so caught up in talking music with him that any pertinent personal details about each other skipped right along with the needle on that old, overplayed Joy Division record. You really should find another copy of that album that hopefully just sat on the shelf in someone’s basement, forgotten about when the teenager grew out of their post-punk phase and moved on to something more mainstream. 

Stamping out the end of your cigarette under your boot, you comb your fingers through your hair and adjust the flannel over your black t-shirt, wiping your hands on your jeans as you walk back inside the store. You have less than an hour left in your shift, since Davy offered to close tonight. And the way he looks at you when you join him at the counter makes you think he knows all about your crush, even though you never explicitly said anything. 

“He still has time,” Davy assures, and you shoot your eyes up at him, embarrassment flushing your cheeks instantly. “Relax. It’s pretty obvious,” he teases lightly. “And this way, if he does show up, you can…you know...leave.”

You roll your eyes, trying to suppress the smile as your cheeks burn a bright red. And as you open your mouth for a useless rebuttal, the bell on the door jingles and you quickly look up to see who’s walking in. But you just as quickly divert your attention to the stack of records on the counter in front of you, hopelessly pretending to be immersed in the phony task at hand, because all you need is to look hopeful when he walks in. 

Davy whispers out the side of his mouth, “Told you,” and you elbow him just enough to warn him, telling him to just be cool. “Hey man!” he actually has the nerve to call out, and the Irish guy gives a nod to your stupid wingman as his eyes flick in your direction. You haphazardly drop your gaze back to the record stack, your nerves threatening to crawl out of your fingers as you sift through the sleeves. You feel Davy move away from you, so you glance over your shoulder to see what the fuck he’s doing, making sure that he’s not doing anything to embarrass you more than he already has. He had moved over to the turntable to switch the record out, but not without looking at you with raised eyebrows, mouthing “GO” and nodding towards your not-so-secret crush. You make a face at your friend, irritated yet mildly appreciative, and you comb your fingers through your hair again.

With a slow, deep breath, you take off the flannel and tie it around your waist, fully aware of the heat in your face now dispersing into your armpits. It shouldn’t be this nerve-wracking because you’ve flirted with plenty of guys before and found yourself in bed with an aspiring musician here and there, even found yourself making out with the drummer of some rock band from California that had played a show at your favorite dive club.

But something about this guy makes your entire body flutter anxiously. 

You move around the counter and carefully walk across the creaky wooden floor into the record section as you hear that famous first track of Unknown Pleasures resonate from the stereo. Despite the insane number of times you’ve heard this song and this album in its entirety, it still makes your sonic heart beat a little deeper. And whenever you tell someone that music saved your life, this is one of the albums you’re talking about.

The Irish boy combs through the records, studying the titles that you’ve meticulously sorted in alphabetical order by artist and then by album. With his eyes still cast down, he reaches up with his left hand to tuck his long-ish hair behind his ear, only for the golden brown strands to prove to be still too short to stay in place as they fall back into his face. You notice the tattoo on his hand again, the serif lettering reading VERITAS. You don’t remember his name, but you do remember him telling you that it means truth in Latin, his surprisingly shy smile having burned the memory into your brain. 

You hesitate as you walk toward the rock and alternative LPs, trying to summon the courage to engage in conversation with him. You’ve done it before, surely you can do it again. Why this time feels more real though, you don’t know. 

He glances up, noticing you move to the opposite side of the racks, and looks back at the record he’s stopped on. He pulls it out, looking over the cover art before flipping it over. His lips purse a little as he reads the track listing, and you can’t help looking at the way his dark-grey unbuttoned shirt lays over his shoulders and flows loosely over his torso. The deep blue t-shirt underneath clings tight to his chest, the jeweled hue contrasting the brightly colored collection of record labels lining the wall behind him. 

And then you remember, he’s still a customer, so that’s how you start the conversation. “Finding everything okay?”

His eyes draw up with a polite smile and he nods, returning the record back into place. “Aye. Just browsing a bit.” Good God, you forgot how much you love his accent as it sends a heat up your spine. “Anything spark yer ears, lately?” he asks with his eyes still focused on the records he’s flipping through.

Your mind goes blank, wanting to find just the right answer to his question so he can think you’re this cool audiophile chick with obscure music recommendations that no one else can give him. Why else would you work in a record store? That’s who you are! But your mind still draws a blank, forgetting all of the bands and songs you love. 

He lifts his chin and raises his eyebrows at you. “Nothing?”

You shake your head, attempting to bury the self-doubt with the confidence of someone else. Be that cool chick for him. “No, it’s just…I don’t know where to even begin. There’s so much that I’m digging lately.” There. That answer seems to satisfy him. 

He looks around, listening, and turns back to you with playfully narrowed eyes. “Ye sure seem to love Joy Division…”

You blush. What if he actually hates their music? What if you’ve been reading him wrong this whole time? What if…

“I mean, ye lot play this record quite often,” he clarifies, gesturing that he was referring to everyone who works in the store, that he wasn’t singling you out. 

Your cheeks are still pink, but you exhale with relief. “Yeah, I mean, it’s a classic. And it is one of my favorites, actually.”

He nods with his lips pressed together, his smile reserved and understanding. “Myself as well,” he states so simply before lowering his attention back to thumbing through the records. 

You sigh unconsciously, and he looks up at you, his hair falling into his eyes as he blinks slowly. A soft chuckle escapes off his tongue and his mouth hangs open ever so slightly. The corners of his lips twitch up, fighting a smile, and you can’t help but feel annoyed. You want to see his bright, lopsided smile. But he holds back, almost afraid of coming across as laughing at you. Funny enough, you’d be okay with that, that you made him smile. 

Biting your lip, you start sorting through the records in front of you, feeling yourself wanting to tell him everything. You tuck a lock of your hair behind your ear, feeling how hot your cartilage is from the intense attraction you feel toward this known stranger. “New piercing?” You look up and see him eyeing your ear and the silver jewelry decorating it. You give him a questioning look, and he adds, “Looks fresh with how red it is, that’s all.” It’s not. You’ve had that piercing for a couple of years. So he’s not that observant, oh well. Maybe he has a tattoo that you haven’t really noticed before…probably hiding under his clothes…

You wave him off, trying to mask the real reason for your ear’s bright color. “Oh, it’s nothing. It’s fine.” You go back to your fake task and find an album out of place, fixing the error nonchalantly as you feel his eyes still on you. You look at him, almost giddy. “What?”

“Well, it’s just that…I like yer nose ring,” he confesses, that smile finally crawling up the side of his slightly scruffy face. God fucking damn it. 

And the words leave your lips before you have the sense to stop them. “I like your smile.” SHIT. 

You try to ignore the sounds of Ian Curtis’ voice repeating “I’m not afraid anymore” on the old speakers, especially as those Irish-blue eyes glow in the late afternoon light coming through the wall of windows. You’re fucking terrified. 

He grins, and holds up another record, showing you the cover. “Ye like this one?”

Your voice now fails you, forcing you to nod like an idiot. And somehow his smile grows into a joy you haven’t seen before. “Brilliant. I’ll take it. Don’t have a turntable at home, but that’s—”

“Wait,” you stupidly interrupt him. “You don’t have a turntable? Then why…” you stop yourself, realizing it’s a stupid question to even consider. Like, who are you to judge people buying records without a way of playing them?

But there’s that smile again, and he walks around to your side of the racks, handing the record to you. “Ye do have cassettes, CDs…” he teases, leaning his hand against the back of the display, his fit body fully facing you on your left. “And just because I don’t have a turntable now, doesn’t mean…”

You clinch your eyes shut, wholeheartedly ashamed for being so dense. “No, I’m sorry, I just…I wasn’t thinking, that’s all.” 

“S’alright, lass.” He takes a step closer, reaching around your arm with his tattooed hand to take the record from you. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, feel his chest brush against your shoulder as he studies the track listing again. “And there are other reasons I come in here, ye know,” he concedes gently, his eyes still directed at the record sleeve, and you swear you see his cheeks blushing against his tanned skin. 

“Well, if you want…I have a turntable at my place…”

He slowly brings his focus back to you, locking his blue eyes with yours. “Is that so?” his accent drags out seductively. 

Go. “And I get off at 5 so…”

He looks over your shoulder at the clock by the counter at the back of the store. “It’s 5:15.”

Your mouth falls open slightly. And any residual self-doubt dissolves into desire. “Let me just get my bag from the back,” you explain. 

He gestures toward Davy with the record. “Right, gives me a chance to pay for this.”

He follows you to the back of the store, stopping at the register as you move behind it to grab your stuff. You ignore Davy’s “told you so” smile as he rings up the LP, mentioning your name as he acknowledges your help. 

The Irish guy shifts his eyes to you, grinning, and repeats your name a little slower. “Aye, she did.” He blinks and quickly diverts his attention back to your co-worker, offering a handshake as he introduces himself, “Name’s Connor.” He adds with a laugh, “My mother would have my head if I didn’t properly introduce myself.” Maybe he realized you both had forgotten each other’s names…or that you two never really shared that bit of information in the first place. Maybe Davy was helping to remedy that. 

Whatever it was, you’re grateful for it. Connor. Mystery Irishman finally has a name. 

You look back to Davy as you slip your flannel shirt back on and adjust your messenger bag on your shoulder. “See you tomorrow?” 

Davy winks at you and grins. “Yeah, see ya. Nice meeting you, man!” 

You walk around the counter and Connor follows close as he says goodbye. His hand brushes against the small of your back, sending a hot shiver back up your spine. You were never really a “girly-girl,” but that’s one guy move that makes you weak in the knees and ready to be the damsel in distress. Connor keeps his hand there as you walk out of the store and the cool spring air breezes against you. He slides his fingers lightly along your waist, running them down your sleeve before linking his fingers between yours. Another rom-com move that makes you feel so tingly and giddy. This guy can’t be real. 

He lifts your hand to his lips, and he kisses your knuckles softly. His mouth is warm against your skin, and you forget to breathe. “I’m just uh…my place is just a couple more blocks,” you trip over your words, reminding both of you that it won’t be much longer. Connor smiles against your intertwined hands, lowering your arm and letting go. A brief touch of disappointment registers on your face, but he almost instantly wraps his arm around your shoulders instead, pulling you closer to him as you try not to trip over your feet. 

You reach the intersection where you have to turn right, and as the light turns green for your direction, Connor slides around behind you, draping his other arm over your shoulders so he’s properly walking on the outside. Another gentleman move that breaks you. Part of you can’t help wondering if the two of you look like a ’90s version of Bob Dylan and Suze Rotolo from that Freewheelin’ album as you walk down the street…pierced and tattooed, but smitten just the same. 

Connor’s hand lightly finds its way to the small of your back again as the two of you reach your apartment. Your hands shake a little as you unlock the door, suddenly remembering that your place might be an absolute mess. But much to your surprise and relief, your apartment looks more put together than usual. You thank your past self for anticipating this moment subconsciously, surely knowing that you’d be bringing your Irish crush home eventually. 

Your place isn’t much, but it’s cozy. A quaint studio apartment with a few band posters decorating the walls, mixed with your brightly colored abstract paintings from art school. You flip on a couple of lamps, their vibrant patterned shades helping to cast a saturated glow around your space. Connor hands you his new record and you prep it on the vintage turntable. So many records played on this over the years, both through the large cabinet speakers and through your headphones with the obnoxiously long cable. 

As you set the needle in place along the grooves in the vinyl, you drop your shoulders as the music fades in. 

Connor watches you for a moment, but then loses his attention to one of your paintings—specifically the one hanging between the Joy Division and New Order posters. You bite your lip, holding your breath as you’re afraid he’ll find out why you painted that particular composition. He looks back at you over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow. “Ye painted this, yeah?” 

Fuck. He knows. Your ears burn red as your nerves start to get the best of you. “I did.”

“It’s beautiful.” His comment is sweet and well-intentioned, but definitely vague enough to tell you he doesn’t know much about contemporary art. “Reminds me of a heartbeat.” Now your eyebrow arches up curiously, confused by his interpretation as the brushstrokes don’t exactly resemble an EKG reading. “Just how the red repeats itself here.” 

A smile grows on your lips, and you admit, “That’s actually where I tapped the brush on the canvas to the beat of the song I was listening to.”

“What song?”

Your mouth twists with hesitation, but you tell him the truth. “This song, actually.”

Connor looks at his feet, listening to the sounds of New Order vibrate through the speakers. He brings his eyes back to yours as the chorus climaxes again, the lyrics singing, “Heaven knows it’s got to be this time,” as you and Connor crash into a passionate kiss. 

His tongue dances around yours, his lips soft as he tastes you. You grab the back of his neck, your fingers threading into his hair while you twist his shirt in your other hand. His body is hot against yours as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into him until you’re melting together. 

You breathe against his mouth as he shrugs off his button-down shirt. Your hands instinctively run along his arms, feeling the toned muscles that were criminally hidden until now. Connor pulls back, and those God damn blue eyes break you. He holds your face, rubbing his thumbs across your cheeks tenderly before capturing your lips again. 

He just had to get this album. He just had to be him. 

You tug his t-shirt over his head, exposing his chiseled chest to your delight. Your hands graze across his pecs and down his abs, letting your fingers run along his adonis belt as you feel him shiver with anticipation. You work your way to his belt, undoing it clumsily while his tongue traces your lips and down your jawline. His hands slide into your hair, holding the back of your head as you manage to unbutton his jeans. But he interrupts your progress by running his hands down the sides of your torso, lifting both your flannel and t-shirt off in one swift movement. 

His eyes drop to stare at your breasts heaving under the black bra, and you pull him by the loosened waistband of his jeans, pressing your body hard into his. Connor dips his head, burying his face into your chest until he successfully unhooks your bra without you realizing it. He instantly takes one of your nipples into his mouth, his fingers playing with the other one as you comb your hands through his hair. You let your fingertips graze behind his ear, then down his neck as he moves his mouth to your other breast. The sensation coaxes a moan from your throat, and you exhale his name. 

The music keeps playing, beats made for dancing instead of…this. Connor lowers himself more, bending a knee against the floor as he undoes your jeans, wiggling them off your hips and pulling your wet underwear down. You watch him as he flicks his eyes back up to yours, that damn blue gaze holding you under his lashes. He presses his lips to your mound, still staring at you while he holds your hips. His tattooed hand slides over your skin and follows the curve of your body until it finds its way between your legs, feeling the effect he has on you glide over his hand. Your cunt pulsates hard as his tongue teases your clit, knowing his touch is absolutely electric. 

This cocky Irish fucker.

He feels your legs are about to give out, but you can’t help the pout of disappointment coating your face as he stands up. That is, until his jeans fall to the floor as a result. You reach for the elastic of his boxers, his large, hard cock straining against the fabric. As you free him, he wraps an arm under your ass and lifts you up with his other arm holding you steady. You tangle your legs around his naked body as he carries you to your bed. You anticipate he’s going to lay you down first, so when he turns and sits down on the edge of the mattress, your skin tingles at the thought of him under you. He’s still holding onto you, his hand squeezing your ass as you grab his face. 

You kiss him slow, savoring this moment that feels like it was made just for the two of you. His hardness twitches again, leaking with precum as it lifts toward your dripping pussy and tickling your clit with the hottest tease you’ve ever felt. His hands caress the small of your back, and you’re fucking sent. 

A loud gasp escapes you. You claw at his shoulders, pressing your body hard into him as he buries his face against your chest again, his palms splayed against the side of your torso as his thumbs rub the stretch of skin from your underarms to your breasts. You hold the back of Connor’s head as he runs his tongue along your sternum. The heat of your cunt in his lap sends a shiver up your back, forcing you to arch into him as he drags his lips into your cleavage. Your fingers tighten in his hair, and you finally open your eyes to see his staring back at you wildly. He straightens his back, bringing his face to meet yours quickly and swallowing your lips between his. 

He breathes into you as you grind your hips against him, rubbing your clit against his cock until you raise up and lower yourself onto him with a tight thrust. God, he feels so fucking good inside you. Your walls squeeze around him as you shift against his thighs. Connor exhales deeply, slowly, erotically. You smile as you ride him, holding his face with both hands and staring into each other’s eyes as you fuck him. He reluctantly throws a hand behind him to steady himself and maintain his seated position, his other hand still holding your back as every glorious inch of him fills you. You close your eyes momentarily, seeing and somehow feeling stars when his cock swells deep inside. 

Your name falls out of his mouth with whatever air remains in his lungs, until he inhales sharply through his teeth and grabs at your shoulder blades. You feel your pulses sync up, both of your hearts beating in stereo. 

Connor falls back, pulling you down with him, your bodies still connected as one. You drag one knee up beside his hip, while your other leg straightens down the length of his body. You twist yourself around his cock just enough to make him shiver and tremble under you. He rubs his palms around your ribcage, massaging your breasts as his cock grows even harder. 

For all of the times you’ve dreamt about this moment, all of the times you’ve pleasured yourself thinking about him, nothing can compare to what’s happening, what you’re feeling now. 

You lift off of him slightly, dragging your fingertips over his collarbone, down his chest, and across the lines in his abs before digging your nails into his waist. You sit up more, gasping at the way his cock traces inside you, every nerve catching on fire as you then feel his hand reach up and hold your face. He cups your jaw, sliding his hand down your neck slightly while you milk him for everything he’s worth. 

His hands find yours, intertwining your fingers and holding you steady as you lean back down. You press your breasts against his sweat-slicked chest as he pulls your joined hands behind his head, stretching your arms as his throbbing cock stretches more inside you. Your hips dance together, and you wonder how you can stay like this forever, connected in a rhythm only the two of you can understand. 

Connor’s hips meet yours again, and he hits that spot, sending a sonic wave throughout your body. You feel yourself shake from the overstimulation while his cock keeps pounding into you. You fight to keep your eyes open, because you need to keep staring into Connor’s as your orgasm completely overtakes you. You explode around him, swearing his name as you drip all over his length. 

His hands release yours as you collapse against his chest, unable to hold yourself up any longer as the edges of everything blur. One hand grabs your hip and the other slides into your hair, holding your head against his shoulder as he rolls you onto your back. His cock refuses to slip from inside you as he braces himself over you. Connor brushes your hair from your face with that longing blue gaze determined to stop time and space with you…for you.  

He kisses you, swirling his tongue around yours as your walls beat against his pulsating cock in time with the song “Elegia” crescendoing from the speakers. He moans into your mouth, and you feel him hit that spot again. You know you can’t stop it, the sheer euphoria that Connor resolves to make you feel. You shudder with sinful delight, and he tightens his hand around your hip, slamming back into you, the minor chords wrapping around your connected bodies. He holds himself there, his cock deep inside your core, your hips clenched against his, and his mouth hovering over yours as you lose yourself in ecstasy from the slightest movements. You almost growl as you come all over him, your juices seeping between your skin pressed against his. Connor’s entire body locks up as he releases himself, filling you with that toe-curling warmth of pleasure. 

His now-flacid cock slowly slides from your cunt, dragging an aftershock orgasm out of you, leaving you to believe that nothing else matters…all that matters is this feeling. His breath begins to steady against your neck, and you feel his heartbeat against yours. Nothing else matters.

You feel his weight sink into the space next to you, his limbs draping over you unconsciously yet protectively. He shifts onto his side, his tattooed hand resting against your chest as you slow your breathing more. The room falls quiet, the subtle sound of the needle reaching the end of the record somehow matching the rhythm of your breaths. You close your eyes, the feeling of Connor touching you leaving you feeling content. 

“Fuck,” you exhale. His moan of agreement channels through his hand and into your skin. Your hand finds his, your fingers playing with his half-heartedly. You run the tip of your middle finger along his knuckles, stroking each finger up and down until you reach his index finger. Though you can’t feel the tattooed word, you keep grazing your finger over the letters—veritas. 

Suddenly, your eyes are thrown back open as he pulls his hand away, and you watch his glistening naked body stand up and move across the room. Panic seeps into your brain as you fumble for the blanket to pull over you, thinking he’s already working on leaving now that he fucked you. But he strides over to the turntable, his cock swaying between his legs as he gently lifts the needle off the record. He looks back at you, that sly smile curling his lips up his face as he walks back to the bed. 

Your shoulders drop with relief as he climbs back onto the mattress, reaching to the table next to you for your pack of cigarettes. He pulls one out, along with your bright yellow BIC light, lighting it once it’s placed between his lips. A couple of drags, and he offers it to you. You inhale a bit too quickly though, realizing you’re still distracted by the naked Irishman sitting with you. You blink, watching his well-endowed cock stiffen slightly as he traces his fingertips along your leg. 

“Ye know…” he starts, his accent low and smooth as you hand the cigarette back to him, “maybe I’ll just leave that record here.” Your heart skips a beat at the suggestion, knowing full-well what he’s alluding to. “And I have some other records I could bring over…”

You bite your lip, grinning as he smiles widely back to you. “You’re never getting a turntable of your own, are you?” 

Connor shrugs, his eyes creasing playfully as he starts to giggle. He leans in, curling his veritas finger under your chin and guiding your mouth to touch his. “Heaven knows, lass,” he hums against your lips. And your heart beats in stereo all over again as you kiss him.

. . .

[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.

[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.

[capuletoo]

Blue Valentine — Thomas Raggi

—note: it’s been so since i wrote something for måneskin…please please request something because i wanna write for them but have no ideas

—TW: stealing hehe, fluff | thomas raggi x fem!reader

—summary: After a party the reader meets a boy with a motorcycle

—words: 1.3k

THE WORDS IN ITALICS ARE LYRICS OF THE SONG ‘BETWEEN THE BARS’ BY ELLIOTT SMITH

You end up leaving with regret. You don't want to go back to the party. In addition, the effects of alcohol are beginning to dissipate: You tremble with cold and your head throws you atrociously. Arms crossed in a vain attempt to comfort and venture randomly into the street. There are not even cats, it seems that you are alone. Footsteps resonate in silence.

“Drink up baby,

stay up all night with the things you could do,

you won't but you might…”

You take the opportunity to sing, just to warm up.

“The potential you be that you never see,

the promises you'll only make. Drink up one more time,

and forget all about the pressure of days.

Do what I say and I'll make you okay,

I'll drive away the images stuck in your head…”

The coolness of the street and the dull noise of cars in the distance take a weight off your shoulders. You feel strangely lighter. Maybe because you are far away from the party, or perhaps because you're disappointed.

“People you've been before that you don't want around anymore…” A second voice is added to yours. “They push each other and won't bend to your will, I'll keep them still.”

The voice is clear and suave. You immediately turn around to see a slender silhouette wedged against a black motorcycle a few metres away. Same black shirt that reads joy division same face. He's the boy with the red chipped guitar

“You have a pretty voice” he compliments. “Why didn't you go on stage earlier?”

“I don't sing in public.” You bite your lower lip, unsure of his intentions. After all, you don't know him.

“It's a shame.” He detaches himself from the machine and advances nonchalantly a few steps, hands in his pockets.

“I didn't hear you with the noise there was,” you said.

“I know, it was hell, we couldn't play.” You remembered how his bandmates were angry at everyone, voices louder than the strings of the guitar, the bass.

“Are there many of you?” You say, trying to convince him that you didn't really pay attention to the small improvised stage, but you remembered every face that was up there with him.

“Yeah, I have bandmates”

“Oh, so you're a real artist?” He smiles and seems to understand a joke that escapes.

“Not you?” It's your turn to smile.

“ It´s not my field.”

“I would say that…” He tilts his head and pretends to think. “Are you writing?”

You nod your head and then sniff. The freshness is starting to feel serious, if you don't go home soon, you'll get cold. “What betrayed me?”

“I don't know, I guessed it as soon as I saw you.” He says and glances back at his motorcycle. “How do you get home?” He asks without giving up his half-smile, a child's smile.

A sigh leaves your lips. “I'm supposed to spend the night with a friend, my father is coming to pick me up in the morning” a tone so bleak that he raises his eyebrows.

“Did you leave the party early?”

“I was fed up.” You rub the floor with the tip of your boot. “It's only one o'clock in the morning.”

Your gazes meet, and you can already tell the next question he's about to ask, and you already know the answer you would give him.

“Do you want to go for a ride?

[...]

The wind caressed your cheek and dragged the scent of his jacket. A fragrance, both intriguing and luxurious, you could recognize the notes of wood.

As you held him by the waist, the engine roared to life, and the motorcycle surged forward , carrying you both into the night. The cool breeze whipped against your face, ruffling your hair and awakening your senses. The city lights straked past, creating a blur of colors.

On his back you could feel the vibrations of the mototcycle beneath you, the ehythmic rumble resonating through your body. It was a thrilling sensation. Yet, being with him, it felt oddly liberating.

Your breath feels upside down, it makes you forget that you have no idea where he is taking you, forget that you don't know the time he will bring you back. Everything is fine, for the moment. You want to laugh, dance and sing. The feeling of speed reminds you of cycling without hands when you were younger.

When we descend, the stars are reflected on the river that runs along Verona. Thomas - that's his name - takes a bottle of white wine out of the trunk of his motorcycle. So you walk in the cool night, bottle in hand. He doesn't think about the small size for a wine or the fact that you don't drink. He doesn't tease you, he's not heavy like all the others are. He drinks quietly, from time to time, observes and listens and you imitate him.

Most of the noise comes from the nearby cafes and bars.

He proposes that we rent a boat to cross the river. I accept but warn him that you don't know how to swim. He makes no remarks, he is not surprised. And even if you knew how to, you doubt that there will be people renting at this hour.

“I will save you if you fall, " he just answers by catching the oars on each side of the gondola. There’s no one there. You can’t help the feeling of stealing.

So you sail on the shore. The noise of the city fades and the crickets are singing. Fireflies appear. They form dozens of small lights that are all reflected in Thomas' eyes. His eyes whose intensity is close to the abyss. You don't see the end. It's beautiful, it's undeniable.

He is calm too, and his half smile is similar to that of a child. You have never seen anyone like this boy before. His smell embalmed the air again and you want to fill your lungs with it. He is still stoned, which dilates his pupils in an exaggerated way. He begins to hum a melody and the sound of his voice transports you elsewhere.

“Are you writing song right now?” He asks suddenly.

“It happens sometimes” You said, keeping your eyes closed.

“Give me a title you wrote.” His voice is getting closer.

“Blue Valentine.”

“I love it” His breath is mentholated and your eyelids remain closed. “What is it about?”

Now you feel him distinctly, his smell. It surrounds you like a halo, you bathe right in it: you are in Paradise. And the sound of his voice, it is almost made up of material, you can almost feel it.

“From a slightly chaotic girl. Of a love that is not enough.” You refuse to open your eyes, you don't know why, you have the impression that they are welded. His face on yours. A warm breath hugs your cheeks. You feel it very close, very close.

“And what is the last verse?” He moves his lips while talking, and touches yours.

“The bread will be my redemption.” His lips gently and voluptuously crush on yours. You can feel a smile and wonder if it's about the kiss or if he's making fun of the last verse.

An electric current runs through and gently ignites. His lips are delicately sweet. The contact does not last more than a second but it is enough to turn your head. Colors dance under your eyelids, his mouth is like two petals. He marries mine perfectly. So perfect that it's almost unreal.

Your eyes are open: he is only a few centimeters from you and his look is so intense that you feel something melting. His face is too perfect, he's too close, you are going to erupt. His blonde locks, his smell is too stunning, even his Adam's apple seems to make you look.

Without a word, Thomas leans in once again, capturing your lips in a deep, passionate kiss. The world around you fades away as you lose yourself in the electric embrace. It feels like a spark igniting a fire within you, a rush of emotions surging through your veins.

As the kiss lingers, you feel a warmth spreading throughout your body. It's not just the physical contact but also the emotional connection that seems to be growing stronger with each passing second. In this moment, you forget about the regrets and disappointments of the party.

When you finally break apart, a sense of exhilaration and wonder lingers in the air. You both catch your breath, your eyes locked in a gaze that speaks volumes. The electric energy continues to crackle between you, fueling an unspoken desire for more.

Who is this boy and what is he doing? You look at each other like this for several seconds that seem endless. And finally you put a word about the sensation that passes through you: electric.

[kofu-division]

"life is a affair of mystery:shared with companions of music, dance and poetry"

Introduction

Ayame Kurokawa also know by his moniker Beast is an artist and the third member of Kõfu's division team Diabolik Night

At first glance shy and anxious,this youngman is not so joy and energetic as his teammates,but he's know by his talent on different fine arts or the jewels designed by him but when someone get closer to him can see how loving and nice he is

And when someone is walking when the night fall and hear the sound of instruments and applauses can see Ayame dancing belly/arabic dance,with a glow smile and a seductive shine at his eyes as he moves his hips to the rythme of music

...but a thing anyone can see is, although Ayame not deny be in the DRB with the same goal as Reiji and Kei, looking for someone special for him, in that sense he's the most sane beetwen them. Without the same tendencies as those two and actually, Ayame is who try to evoid Reiji and Kei do something very extreme but sadly he fail almost always

Ayame is a short fair skinned youngman,he have a slim figure with curves who is more noticeable on his dancer clothes,he have purple hair long to his knees that he wear tied down but with a bun and tousled bangs degraded to dark pink,and as hair accesorie a red rose on a side of his hair ,his eyes are turquoise with a sad look on them and pink eyeshadow,when he's smile have a melancholy appearance

His casual outfit it's a short kimono style tunic,purple with black edges and a V neckline,his lower body is covered by black leather pants decorated with black lace and black sandals, but in warmth weather he wears a silk nightgown dress with black lace stockings and black kitten heels and wear his hair in a braid

When he's dancing Ayame wear arabic dancer clothes consisting of a fluid satin long skirt and a long sleeve shirt with transparent sleeves,all the outfit is black with purple and blue details and gold fine chains, Ayame wear the same rose at his hair when he's dancing

In every outfit he wear the same accesories of silver hoops and broken heart necklace with the rose in the hair

Aliases

Aya

"beast tamer" (by Reiji and Kei)

Pretty dancer (by curious kids)

"my darling"

Mally

Biographical info

Gender-male

Age-21

Birthday-february 12

Ethnicity-japanese

Hair color-dark purple

Eye color-turquoise

Height-165 (5'5)

Star Sign-pisces

Piercings-small silver hoops at both ears

Markings-lacerations and burns and arms,discolored bruises across his body (especially his thighs) ,self scars at wrists,cuts on his belly

Family

Biológical father (???)

Biológical mother (???)

Biológical son (desceased)

Voiced by-luz (rapping)

Fun Facs

MC name: Beast

Occupation: belly dancer/jewel designer/sexual worker

Division: Kõfu

Team: Diabolik Night

Position: third member

Favorite food: honeyed chicken, creamy soups,jam bread,melon sherbet

Least favorite food: staled bread

Likes:wild animals,plushies,sweets,belly dance,children happy, jewels design, fine arts, dance at night, books,wine,roses,fine clothes,,children,music,sex

Dislikes: remember his time at streets, underground brothels, Katsuragi,think on his stillbirth child,be called a "whore", himself

Hypnosis microphone

Ayame's hypnosis microphone takes the form of black and purple headphones with a crown,the crown is also black with purple and blue gemstones

Ayame's speakers takes the form of two animal statues and a teddy bear,the black tiger statue is black with two amethyst eyes and reveal a circular speaker when Ayame starts to rap and the plushie looks like a normal teddy bear with an circular speaker om the chest. Another circular speaker is reveaed under the eyepatch when Ayame starts to rap

Ayame's rap ability is called Beast Tamer with his ability Ayame make his speakers animals attack his opponents,the tiger moves quickly around the opponent swinging it's paws and the teddy bear grew and turnin into a mounstrous form and starts to scratching and biting,as Ayame use more his ability the animals attack in a most fierely manner until Ayame get tired

Ayame's rap themes are about múltiple themes

he make references to dance, how he love do it and how he can have several eyes in him as he dance in the night,he rap about his past on the streets, how he hates remember the times where he suffered and make references to how he sol his body until his broken point,like Kei he raps about how happy is he with his current life. Sometimes his rap is about how Ayame like wild animals, especially tigers calling himself a Beast Tamer

Personality

Outside,Ayame seems to be shy and anxious with dislike for place with lots of people,he preffers to be away from crowrds but he's noy distante, he's actually polite and cordial but looks uncomfortable if he needs to interact with very much people at the same time

With the people he trust or get enoughly close to him Ayame is more different,smile more and make jokes and acts in a more gentle and outgoing way, if someone see him dancing and how he acts when he do it can describe him as "flirty and seductive but gentle and smiling",that behavior is more seeing by kids, Ayame have a "motherly' feeling on him that project with people younger than him and children are always around him, looking for feel the affectiom that Ayame give them

Something that it's neccesary say is, although Ayame don't deny have the same goal as his teammates, looking for and meet someone special for him, Ayame is not extreme and twisted like Kei and Reiji,his feelings for his special one are most pure and loving than those two and in fact Ayame try to evoid they manipulate in a cruel way or do something twisted and dark but he sadly fails almost always... although he don't will to say why,the reason of it it's because Ayame himself was a victim of a person like that and he don't want te same for anyone

But Ayame is not a saint,after years of living with a abusive family,be abandoned at streets,sell himself for survive,be victim of someone with a dark "love for him" and give birth to a stillborn kid by the same person fault left him traumatized,he have moments of self despise,low self esteem and even depression, considering his body as "dirty and corrupt",Ayame have moments where he think don't deserve nothing good and he feels guilty when that moments end, besides sometimes he act according to selfish feelings and is prone to emotional outbrusts but that moments are something weird

But that's only his opinión, actually Ayame is quite love for people who met him,the kids who often see him dance as a "loving and pretty lady" and their parents as a "nice and polite youngman" even the men who feels attraction for him or with Ayame had sex say that "he's someone nice and empathyc,and his body felt like heaven" but strangely,Ayame seems to be oblivious to it

Trivia

Ayame was a prostitute during his time at streets and surprisingly he feel no shame of talk about that being quite open about that theme

Wild animals seems to feel like for Ayame,but his favorite are wild cat like tigers

Ayame enjoys of artistic hobbies like photography,paint and drawing beetwen others

Besides his work as artist and dancer,Ayame have as hobby design jewels,the jewellry made by him are popular beetwen other divisions and Reiji sell them under Enjouji's name

"Ayame Kurokawa" is not his birth name, Ayame choosed it after being adopted by Enjouji family,his birth name is "Mally" but he only say that to people who he really trust

Like Aoba Yamamura of Kumamoto Ayame is intersex and actually he got pregnant once but the father punched him on the belly and his baby borned death

He's good friend of Mireya Quinlan of Roppongi since she saw him dance,and she's of the bit people who knows about his stillborn baby and how Ayame losed him

Despite have a complex with his own body Ayame don't deny he enjoys sex...and actually he have some sexual encounters with men who intereseted on him after see his dance or former customers from the brothel where he worked

He wear a rose at hair because his "special one" said he woul be look beautiful with a flower

Although he don't said nothing openly,is something sure that the person who Ayame want looking for in the DRB is certain magician from Sapporo

[mikeywayarchive]

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