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daisynik7 · 9 months

Note

This is for your y2k!

“Photograph” by Ed Sheeran for Toji Fushiguro - angst

We keep this love in a photograph, we made these memories for ourselves.

Read Part Two - Make You Feel My Love

Pairing: Toji x f!reader

Word Count: ~3.1k

cw: implied family abuse, angst, some fluff, modern day-au, no curses au, a kiss, time skip

Summary: Toji Zenin is scary; he’s the most intimidating boy in your class. When you’re paired with him for a group project, you’re nervous that he’s as bad as he seems. However, you learn that behind that hard exterior is a person yearning just to be normal.

Author’s Note: The first story for the y2k karaoke party! Inspired by “Photograph” by Ed Sheeran. Thank you @gojoshooter for submitting this song/request! I hope you like this one! Divider created by @/cafekitsune.

You meet Toji in high school, when you’re paired up randomly for a project during your last semester of senior year. He’s a transfer student, having just joined a month ago, introducing himself briefly with a scowl on his face, uninterested in anything. Aside from his obvious stature, the evident scar running across his mouth stands out. Most of your peers avoid him, intimidated by his overwhelming presence. He’s bigger than everyone else, both in height and muscle; he looks like someone you don’t want to mess with. Even teachers do their best to evade him, leaving him to his own devices in the back corner of the classroom. At least he isn’t disruptive; most of the time, he keeps to himself.

Of course, in a school as small as yours, gossip spreads like wildfire. They say he comes from a prominent family, the “Zenin’s”. You’ve never heard of them; apparently, they are notoriously elitist and filthy rich. So, it surprises you that a son of the Zenin clan would attend a public school like yours rather than a private institution. Maybe he’s different.

Everyone dreads group projects, let alone randomly assigned group projects. Everyone is on pins and needles, waiting to hear who their partner is. When your name follows his, your heart sinks into your belly. Sighs of relief wash over the rest of your classmates, thankful that they aren’t you. Taking a deep breath, you get up from your seat, slowly walking towards him. When you’re by his desk, he doesn’t look up. You clear your throat to say, “Hello. I guess we’re partners for this project.”

He scoffs, twirling a pen between his fingers, brows furrowed, irritated already. “Great,” he mutters, sarcastically.

Okay, maybe he’s not different.

~~~

Your teacher calls this project “A Week in the Life”. Basically, you’re tasked to capture your partner’s daily routines throughout the week in the form of photographs. Each student is given a disposable camera, loaded and ready to use. Once developed, you’re supposed to put them together into a collage, decorating it however you desire. A short essay is also required, describing what you will learn about the other person after spending this time with them. You have an entire month to complete everything. Weekdays are repetitive, considering most of the day you’re in school; it’s the afternoons, nights, and weekends that set each person apart from the other.

“I’m not inviting you into my house,” Toji says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“But that’s part of the project. I’m supposed to see what you do on a daily basis.” You resist the urge to sound equally as annoyed, not wanting to start off on the wrong foot.

He glares at you, hunched over his desk. “I avoid going home as much as possible. That’s what I usually do.”

You swallow hard, unsure how to respond. Eventually, you murmur, “Well then, you can do me first. We’ll just figure yours out later.”

He shrugs, unenthused. “Whatever.”

You pull your phone out of your pocket, sliding it towards him. “Let’s exchange numbers so we can coordinate our schedules. We can start next week.” He doesn’t argue, pushing his cell to you to do the same.

As planned, the following Monday, Toji begins taking random photos of you during the school day. It starts off in class when he captures you working at your desk. Other students are doing the same, so it isn’t as awkward as you expect it to be. Still, it feels odd being watched by Toji through the lens of the camera.

At lunchtime, he sits with you and your friends in the cafeteria, his big body smushed next to yours as you munch on your meal. You notice that he hasn’t brought anything to eat except for a protein bar and sports drink. Not thinking anything of it, you split your egg salad sandwich into two triangles, handing him one. He glances at it, then at you, confused. “What?”

“Eat it.”

He makes a face, taking it reluctantly, having the audacity to sniff it before taking a bite. When he doesn’t say anything, expression relaxing, you smile to yourself, satisfied. It’s gone two bites later, and from your peripheral, you see him lick the excess off his thumb. Mouth still full, he mumbles a brisk, “Thanks,” snapping his drink open to take a swig.

After school, you attend a book club meeting that’s hosted every Monday by your friend. Toji snaps a photo of you and your group posing with your book for this month. Before you leave for dinner, a few of the girls whisper to you about how hot he is, how lucky you are to be paired up with such a hunk. How scary he comes off with his scowls and glares. They’re so loud, you’re certain he can hear, but he doesn’t mention anything about it. That is, until you’re alone with him, walking home together.

“So, do you think I’m scary?” He has his hands in his pockets, looking down at the ground where he walks besides you.

The question catches you off guard. “Huh?”

“Do you think I’m scary?” he repeats, looking at you now, smirking.

You grin. “Maybe a little bit at first. Not so much anymore.”

“What changed?”

“I saw you inhale that sandwich. The tough guy act disappeared in that moment.”

“Hey, that thing was tiny. I could have swallowed it in one bite,” he chuckles, kicking a pebble on the ground. “And I’m not putting on a tough guy act. This is just who I am.”

You giggle softly, smiling at him. “Well, I’m looking forward to getting to know you better, Zenin.”

“Toji. Call me Toji.”

~~~

Dinner with your parents goes by smoothly. You’ve prepared them for this special visitor, urging them to be on their best behavior and not judge a book by his cover. Naturally, your mother is startled when his big frame enters through the doorway, but when he bows to her, introducing himself respectfully, she eases up. After a quick tour of your house, Toji snaps shots of you helping your parents in the kitchen. With the whole spread laid out on the table, he takes another photo before you all gather around to eat.

Much like earlier in the day, Toji scarfs his meal, mumbling out compliments to the chef. Your parents are thrilled, dropping more servings onto his plate, watching with pride as their cooking is devoured. You can’t help wanting to capture this memory, so you retrieve your own disposable camera from your backpack, taking his picture. He doesn’t seem to mind.

The two of you eat ice cream sandwiches in your backyard while your parents wash the dishes. The sun is setting, beautiful golden streaks shining from the horizon. Your classmate takes a candid of you sitting on the patio chair, staring at the last moments of daylight. “Do your parents cook like that every day?” he asks, finishing off the last of his dessert.

“Nah, they just wanted to impress you.”

“Well, I am thoroughly impressed. That was the best meal I’ve had in a long time.”

After just one day with him, you feel comfortable enough to ask, hoping that it isn’t crossing the line. “Do you dislike eating at home?”

He doesn’t respond right away, thinking of his answer carefully. “Yeah, I do.”

“Why?”

He smirks, running his thumb along the scar on his lips. “Dinners at my house don’t always end in dessert, if you know what I mean.”

Your jaw drops, unable to contain your reaction. “You’re saying…”

He leans back into his seat. “Yup. Got a knife thrown at me.”

“What?!”

Laughing, he nods. “After that, I didn’t like having dinners there.”

You’re tempted to ask for the whole story, but you know it’s pushing it. Instead, you offer, “Well, you’re always welcome here.”

It’s a simple comment. To you, it’s nothing. Maybe it’s because you’re used to offering kindness to others; it’s what you were raised to do. It’s what the people around you do. It’s common. Second-nature, really.

But as Toji stares at you, wearing an expression you’ve never seen before, one of genuine gratefulness, you realize that to him, it’s not nothing. It’s special.

Throughout the remainder of the week, Toji spends practically his whole day with you, morning, noon, and night. During this time, you learn that his family is wealthy, though he chose to attend this school on his own will, just to spite them. He considers himself an outcast, the black sheep of the Zenin clan, so much so that he even refuses to associate himself with the family name. And while he’s sure he’s better off away from the snooty rich kids of the school he would have attended, his intimidating appearance and less-than-friendly attitude has made him an outcast amongst your peers. You feel guilty being part of the problem, judging him before getting to know him. He’s actually easy to talk to. It helps that he’s an open book about his personal life.

Saturday, you plan to go to the aquarium with your family, inviting him to tag along for the project (and for fun). Toji is at your doorstep right on time, dressed in a tight black tee shirt and grey sweatpants, accentuating his chiseled figure. There’s no denying it; he’s very attractive. You’d be lying to yourself if you said it hasn’t crossed your mind. But Toji doesn’t need people to be attracted to him; he needs a friend. And that’s what you’ll be to him.

It’s a fun day, observing all the fish and aquatic creatures swimming in their tanks. He takes pictures whenever it’s appropriate, covering the flash with his finger as to not disturb any of the animals inside. You eat lunch together in the cafeteria, Toji offering to pay for it as thanks for all the kindness he was shown this week. Near closing time, you take one last stroll through the jellyfish section, marveling at the wonderfully bizarre invertebrates floating in the water.

“I’ve never been to an aquarium before,” he admits, quietly admiring them beside you. His eyes twinkle with the glow of the iridescent jellyfish swimming in front of him.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

You nudge him playfully. “So, what do you think?”

He smiles, rubbing the spot on his arm that you touched. “Better than I expected.”

~~~

The following week is his turn. The closest you get to his mansion of a home is on the outside, not even through the gates.

“This is for your own good,” he warns, throwing a twig aggressively between the spaces of the iron bars.

You snap a quick photo with your disposable, not questioning it. When you’re finished, he smirks. “So, ready for some real fun?”

Toji spends his days after school at various locations. Basically everywhere except his own home. The public library, the gym, arcades, shopping malls, cafés, you name it. He’ll eat dinner at whatever restaurant his stomach fancies at the moment: Ramen, Takoyaki, steak, even instant ramen, depending on his mood. And while his life seems fun from the outside, like a kid in a candy store, it’s lonely. Except for when he’s with you.

Saturday is different from the other days. On the weekends, he goes to the beach, bag packed with his favorite books and snacks, ready to relax on the sand with the waves crashing against the shore. He sets up a large umbrella to cover both of you as you settle into the big blanket laid flat. He passes you one of his books, a volume of his favorite manga. The two of you read in a comfortable silence, sharing a bag of chips, fingers brushing against each other’s whenever you reach at the same time.

Out of the blue, he comments, “This is nice. It’s normal.”

Laughing, you reply, “What do you mean?”

He sets his book down, looking at you. “Nothing about my family is normal. It’s just nice to feel like a human instead of a failure.”

Your eyes widen, uncertain how to respond. Before you can say anything, he murmurs, “Sorry. I didn’t meant to kill the mood.”

You close the manga, smiling gently at him. “Don’t be. I can’t imagine what it’s like. My life is very normal.”

“That’s what I like about you, though.”

Heat rushes into your cheeks at his statement, and maybe it’s your imagination, but you see him blush. You’ve taken enough pictures to complete your project, but there’s still a bit of film left. “Let’s take a picture together,” you suggest, holding the camera in your hand, trying to lighten the mood.

“Seriously? Why?”

“To celebrate being normal, even if it just for a day.”

He grins, scooting closer to you. “Okay.”

You lean against him, both of you smiling, capturing the moment with the click of your finger.

~~~

Toji doesn’t stop eating lunch with you. Even with your photos at the lab, being developed, he remains by your side, eating the extra sandwich you always pack for him now. Occasionally, he’ll stop by for dinner, always welcomed by your parents. On the other days, you accompany him to whatever restaurant he’s craving.

When the photos are complete, you pick them up together, not wanting to share them yet, hoping to be surprised on the day they’re displayed in the classroom. At home, you compile the pictures into a stylish collage, decorating the borders with fun stickers, smiling as you gaze at each photo of him. One at the arcade, holding a toy guy in his hands with the high score flashing in the background. Another at the gym, where’s he’s kicking a punching bag, making it look far too easy. Finally, there’s the last photo you took at the beach, the two of you posing for the camera. It’s a cute picture, one that shows two people who live very different lives happily enjoying their time together. You tape it right in the middle.

When everyone’s posters are hung around the classroom, many people flock to Toji’s, desperate for a glimpse in his mysterious life. Many gawk at the mansion behind the gates, unaware of the dark secrets it holds. The girls ogle the gym picture, while the boys admire it, asking for workout tips. Toji looks pleased with how his collage turns out, especially intrigued by the photo in the center. “You included the one of us, huh?”

“It’s too cute, isn’t it? I had to include it.”

He smiles at you. “I totally agree.”

He walks you home that afternoon, a usual part of his routine now. Curious, you ask, “So, what did you write about me for your essay?”

“I wrote about how nerdy you are, going to class and willingly going to clubs after school. For fun,” he emphasizes, rolling his eyes, teasing you.

You poke his arm playfully. “And…?”

“I said that you and your family are really nice. And that your parents should be chefs,” he adds, grinning.

You laugh, hooking your arm around his. “That’s more like it.”

Before you know it, you’re at one of the parks he frequents, sitting side-by-side at his favorite bench. “What did you say? About me?” he asks, staring at his hands in his lap.

Without thinking, you rest your head on his shoulder. “That you’re not actually scary. You’re just you. And who you are is pretty great. Really great, actually.”

There’s a pause while he processes what you said. Afraid that it’s too far, you attempt to back away from him, but he catches you first, pulling you in for a kiss. It’s hesitant, like he’s unsure if this is okay. And when you place your hand on his chest, feeling his quickening heartbeat race against your fingertips, the kiss deepens, his lips parting open to slide his tongue inside your mouth. Before it gets any further, he pulls off quickly. Electricity hangs in the air, buzzing on your lips, tingling on every inch of your skin.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, throat heavy. “I shouldn’t have done that. I just thought – ”

“You’re right. You shouldn’t have,” he spits out, jaw clenched, avoiding your gaze. It’s a harsh voice you haven’t heard the entire time since the start of your friendship.

“But I thought you liked – ”

“You’re wrong. I don’t. I – ,” he swallows, struggling to get the words out. “And I never will.” He stands up, turning his back towards you, leaving you alone with tears streaming down your face, embarrassed, confused, and heartbroken.

It’s the last time you’ll see of him. He doesn’t come back to class after that incident. Rumor has it that he came in early the next morning to gather all his belongings, which wasn’t much to begin with. There’s more gossip about it, of course, ridiculous chatter. Eventually, they fade, and his name is no longer uttered by anyone, including you. Months pass, and gradually, new memories overtake the old ones. Life goes on without him. You don’t notice the center photo of your collage is gone until you collect it at the end of the schoolyear.

He’ll never tell you that it’s for your own good. That turning his back on you is the best option to keep you safe. No matter how much he opens up to you, his reality is much worse than you can ever know. Hurting you is his way of protecting you. Because loving you is too dangerous, especially for someone like him.

~~~

Ten years later, you’re an elementary school teacher in your hometown. You planted yourself right where your roots grew. There is nothing but grand memories in this place you’re lucky to call your home. The only exception is the abandoned plot of land where the Zenin mansion was demolished a few years ago without any explanation. You preserve its memory in the form of a tattered photograph, forgotten somewhere in your closet.

Today, there’s a new student transferring into your kindergarten class; an adorable little boy with jet black hair and long eyelashes named Megumi. He reminds you of someone from your past, someone you kept buried in the back of your mind a while ago, for your own sanity.

Little do you know that on the other side of the door, Toji Fushiguro leans against the wall, listening carefully to your familiar voice introducing yourself to his son. He smiles to himself, the month you shared together all those years ago fondly replaying in fast forward in his mind. He’s no longer a Zenin, unleashed from the cruelty of his ancestry, liberated from the life he was cursed with from birth. Free to love who he wants without fearing that their life is in danger by the hands of his wretched family.

He sticks his hands in his pocket, fingers brushing along the corners of the withered photo of the two of you smiling at the beach. With a deep breath, he grips the handle of the door, finally ready to face you at long last.

#toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji x you #toji x y/n #toji zenin #fushiguro toji x reader #fushiguro toji #jjk toji #toji angst #jjk angst #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #toji fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #y2k karaoke party #milestone event

668 notes · View notes

the-kr8tor · 9 months

Text

Thread The Needle

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

Total word count: 48.6k (complete)

Synopsis: You've been pining for your best friend of ten years, unbeknownst to you he's also hopelessly in love with you. Will your final college project bring you closer and finally admit your feelings? Or will it drive a wedge between you?

Tags: Best friend! Hobie, fashion student! reader, fem! Reader. Best friends to lovers, idiots in love, lots of pining, is it still slow burn if they're already in love? Hurt/comfort, FLUFF. Specific warnings are listed per chapter.

Disclaimer: I have no experience in fashion design or went to school for it. I've based my knowledge on my own research and what I've seen in various media.

*I don't consent to having my work translated/ published on other platforms*

All images used are from pinterest

Main Masterlist

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1 - Pin my heart

CHAPTER 2- Loose thread

CHAPTER 3- Knee Socks

CHAPTER 4- Threadbare

CHAPTER 5- Woven Wheel

CHAPTER 6- Lace

CHAPTER 7- Crossed Stitch

CHAPTER 8- Out of Style

CHAPTER 9- Threaded Through

CHAPTER 10- Parallel Cut

EPILOGUE

TTN one shots (Spoiler Warning ⚠️)

Classroom inspo

Chapter 8 outfit inspos

TTN secrets (Spoiler Warning ⚠️)

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5)

Submitted by the readers ❤️

Chapter 8 fanart by @thesevenofstaves

TTN Memes by @hunx147 (Spoiler Warning ⚠️)

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7)

Songs recommended by readers to listen to while reading ❤️

Spotify playlist

From the start by Laufey, Chemtrails over the country club by Lana Del Rey, good old fashioned lover boy by Queen, Just a friend to you by Meghan Trainor, I bet on losing dogs by Mitski, Everything in you by adventure time, What a wonderful world cover by the Brooklyn duo, me and your mama by Childish Gambino, A thousand years by Cristina Perry, Tis the damn season by Taylor Swift, thousand years cover by new found glory, Outset island by Hot freaks, Lacy by Olivia Rodrigo.

#thread the needle #thread the needle masterlist #hobie brown x reader #spider punk x reader #spider punk #hobie brown #the kr8tor's creations #spider man across the spider verse #x reader #atsv fanfiction #atsv x reader #atsv hobie #fanfic #first series letss goooo #series masterlist #hobie brown x fem!reader #spider punk x fem!reader

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spineless-lobster · 5 months

Text

Things people always did through out history

- Choked on their drink

- Took one extra step up the stairs

- Didn’t want to wake up in the morning

- Got eyelashes in their eyes

- Didn’t want to host a party

- Slept in an awkward position and woke up sore

- Had pins and needles

- Stuttered and fumbled words

- Misspelled words

- Stubbed their toe

- Got food stuck in their teeth

- Tripped over nothing

- Had one nostril stuffed up and the other nostril clear

- Looked for something only to realize it was in their hand

- Thought they didn’t look good in a portrait

- Were uncomfortable in fancy clothes

- Had a favourite song

- Became restless

- Had amazing insults and comebacks

- Said swear words

- Forgot their keys

- Forgot what they were going to say

- Forgot their dreams after they woke up

- Had nightmares

- Fell in love in a dream and woke up disappointed

- Hated specific fashion trends

- Laughed at something funny

- Bit the inside of their mouth

- Bit their tongue

- Blew on the hot food after they put in their mouth

- Had the sun in their eyes

- Sneezed/coughed during a plague even though they were healthy

- Had favourite hobbies

- Remembered something embarrassing they did

- Had a favourite pet

- Had hangnails

- Had fake arguments with themselves

- Walked into a room and forgot what they were going to do

- Had specific phobias

- Loved their families

- Thought their mother’s cooking was the best

- Did stupid shit with their friends

- Ugly cried

- Had a contagious laugh

- Couldn’t fall asleep

- Had a goodnight’s sleep

- Bullied their siblings

- Had an inner voice

- Got a song stuck in their head

- Got too hot

- Got too cold

- Felt the warmth wash over them as they sit by the fire on a cold day

- Had fun parties

- Had their own unique family traditions

- Had a favourite piece of clothing

- Enjoyed time with their family

- Bounced their leg

- Bit their nails

- Had to deal with minor inconveniences

- Enjoyed the sound of rain

- Had a favourite food

- Had allergies

- Relaxed

- Had a favourite colour

- Found a cool rock

#wrote this in my notes app forever ago and I’m thinking about it again #history #sigh… average people in history I love you

392 notes · View notes

artists-ally · 4 months

Note

Hi! I love your writing and I just wanted to ask if you could make a fic about Azriel and a chronically ill reader? I have Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, and it can be really difficult sometimes. I’m currently in a flare-up and I would love to see what Azriel would be like if he had a partner with a chronic illness 🩵 please and thank you!

{The Fixer} Azriel x Reader

Hi my love!!! While I myself do not know what it's like to live with a chronic illness, my mom has chronic migraines and I was always the one taking care of her. I hope you enjoy and are taking as best care of yourself as you can through this flare-up my love <3 Title and story inspired by this song.

Word Count: 2,193

Warnings: struggles of chronic illness, headaches, vomiting, fluff

Tagging: @cyrygher @thelov3lybookworm @librafairy @blessthepizzaman @needylilgal022 @bubybubsters @harrystylesfan2686 @justdreamstars

Summary: Azriel notices. Even when you try to hide it from him. There is nothing he hates more than seeing you in pain, and it's his mission to make you feel as comfortable as possible.

~~~~~~~~~~

Whether it was the dots spreading across my vision or the ache set deep in every bone in my body, I knew I was off. Short of the normal dizziness and weakness I had, I felt like shit.

I rolled over in bed to find Az gone, and I sighed. Getting to the bathroom was going to be tough. Half an hour went by before I could fully open my eyes and not see the world spinning before.

The snow was blinding across Velaris, burning my eyes and making me jerk my neck too hard in the opposite direction. Much like my hips and ankles, the joints in my neck screamed for relief. Just a few steps away was the bathroom. If I could get there, to the cabinet above the sink I could get my-

My sweater pocket caught the post on the bed and I got yanked to the floor. Landing shoulders first, pins and needles raced up and down my left arm. Fingers numb. With more than a groan, I rolled off of it and found a new ache in… well, everywhere.

It took a long time to roll on my hands and knees, but I did it, and now I was on the cold tile. It did wonders for the radiating heat in my freshly injured palms, but it chilled it to the marrow of my bones.

As much as I wanted to, I knew I wouldn’t be able to stand. The pounding of my head and the rolling of my stomach was enough to force me to sit against the wall opposite the toilet.

I pulled my head back and tried to breathe.

Those life changing blue pills that Madja gave me would be useless now. They could only prevent a flare-up if caught at the earliest signs. I’ve been able to catch the past few, but I wasn’t expecting this one.

Azriel was right when he told me to take it easy during training yesterday. All I wanted to do was prove to him that I could keep up. I knew I couldn't, and so did he, but that wasn’t the point. He shouldn’t just assume I can’t because I’m sick.

Yet here I am, paying for it on the bathroom floor.

I could feel the circulatory pattern of my pulse. A never ending cycle of pain. Starting in my head, down my neck and in my teeth. To my shoulder, numbness down my arm and tingling in my finger. The surge of agony in my hip, through my leg and in my knee. Gods my ankle, what did I do to my ankle?

A quick check under my sock and I could see the culprit. A huge bruise accompanied by an abundance of swelling. I must’ve kicked the post in the night again. Or it could’ve been from sparring, or our sprint up the stairs.

I gave up trying to keep tabs on all my possible reasons and focused on the fact that I was all alone in the House of Wind. Azriel, Cassian, and Nesta were all away in Illyria for the day to train a group of new recruits. Nuala and Cerridwen were here, but I always feel weird asking them for help.

I can make it to the evening. I’ll get up and I’ll take that pill, even if it will only decrease the length not the strength of this flare-up. Anything. I’ll do anything to get it over quicker so I’ll be back to normal.

On the count of three, I’ll get up. I’ll push with the strength I’ve built up from training with Az. I’ll push myself up and grab the pill and go back to bed.

One.

Two.

Three.

My arms do nothing but scream in pain, and my legs lose feeling. I go nowhere but back on my ass. I try again, after another count of three. Nothing. Holding my breath while doing it only makes the dizziness worse. And the nausea.

I drag myself over to the toilet and empty whatever is left in my stomach. It’s not much, and it burns on the way up. Tears fill my eyes and mucus fills my nose and throat. I know when pain and headaches get so bad you vomit, the episode is going to be particularly brutal.

My skin is damp and I start to shake. Water. I need water.

I flush and manage to make it on the toilet. I turn on the sink with some blind movement and I’m greeted with the lovely sound of water. I can’t lift my left arm any more and I think it might be out of socket. I can’t tell. Doesn’t matter. I scoop some water into my mouth, but most of it makes it down my shirt instead.

I let it run and run and run, letting the cool liquid calm my swimming head.

At some point I laid my head down and didn’t pick it back up. I stayed in this awful state of micro sleep, sometimes drifting off, sometimes thinking I’m dreaming but I’m just letting my mind wander. The bright morning sun turned into the dull brightness of the afternoon. I think.

My heart beat loudly in my ears. Then it would stop, and then it would start again. My pulse was taunting me. It must be. It sounded like Azriel’s wings which only made me miss him more. The memory of his scent blasted through me and the tears started.

I want him so bad. I need him.

“Shhh, it’s okay, just breathe, Yn.”

My eyes snapped open, and through a blurry mess of tears, Azriel kneeled in front of me. “W-What are you doing here?”

“The second you woke up I could feel your pain,” his thumb slid across my cheek. “I turned around when I realized why. You need help.”

I shook my head, or tried to. It just sorta rolled back and forth.

“Squeeze my fingers, Yn.” Azriel placed two of his digits in my palms and I squeezed as hard as I could. Not even the tips of his fingers turned red from the pressure. “Are you going to let me help you or are you going to be difficult?”

“I don't want to be difficult. I’m in so much pain.”

“I know, my shadow. I know.”

As gently as he could, he sat me up and carried me to the bed. He took off his armor somewhere along the way, the bony ridges of the scales not digging into me like they normally do. I was eternally grateful for the small detail he remembered.

Even our mattress hurt just as much as the floor.

“I need to take a look at you. Where are you hurting the most? Did you fall?”

I nodded deliriously, “My ankle’s a mess. And so is my shoulder. M’arms numb.”

As carefully as he could, he propped me against him and peaked around. I didn’t hear him make any gasps, but I could feel that pull on the bond that meant he didn’t like what he saw.

“How bad?”

“Bad enough for me to call Madja. She’s on her way. I told you to take it easy-”

“Don’t.”

Azriel completely disregarded whatever he was going to say next. “I’m sorry.”

“Just get me the pill, please,” I faulty gestured to the bathroom. He didn’t even move, but then a pill and a cup of water was pressed into my lips. Those shadows of his are so helpful.

“I didn’t mean anything by what I said. I just don’t like seeing you in pain. It makes me… it makes me wild.”

“I appreciate it, I do Az, but you can’t protect me from everything. And I don’t want you to. There's a reason why I wanted to train with you in the first place.”

“I know, but there's no need to exert yourself to this just to prove a point. I know how tough you are, Yn. You are the strongest, most resilient soul I’ve ever met. But making yourself like this in spite of me is something I never want you doing.”

I smiled, cheeks heating up as I leaned against his chest. His body radiated heat like a roaring fire, and I soaked up every morsel of it.

With enough pillows and heat packs, I was propped up against the headboard. Soon after, Madja and Nuala came in. I could smell the fresh bread and juice from across the room and my stomach growled.

“It’s cheese bread with a nice tomato and herb soup. Azriel requested the sweet tea just for you.”

I smiled up at him, my eyes suddenly heavy with love and adoration for my Shadowsinger.

I ate as Madja poked and prodded. Az held my hand and kissed the tears away when she had to reset my shoulder. By this point, my body was in so much pain that I couldn’t think of anything else. The healer was kind enough to give a sedative and an injection that did something.

“She’ll be asleep soon,” Madja said across the room to Azriel. “When she wakes, send for me again and I will bring one that doesn’t make her drowsy. Do not let her out of that bed unless she is in your arms, Shadowsinger.”

“Thank you, Madja.” And the door shut. Once again, the bed dipped and he trailed a gentle hand up my legs. “Just go to sleep, my shadow.”

“I hope you know that shot will do nothing, Az.”

“I thought they were working?” He asked, puzzled.

I shook my head, “I thought so too, but they’re not. There isn't anything you can do to ease the pain, Az. No amount of pills or injections or stimulation therapy will do the trick. I just have to wait it out.”

“So you rest until it passes,” Az climbed in beside me. “I will be here when you wake up.”

“I don’t want to sleep,” I hissed, frustrated tears spilling down my face. “I want to train and go to dinner and drink red wine and dance like the rest of you.”

I couldn't bear to look at him. Couldn’t bear to see the sadness in his eyes. After a long silent moment, he took a deep breath.

“It’s okay if you need rest. You’re not expected to work or thrive in the condition you’re in. I could tell last night you weren’t feeling good.”

That made me perk up. “How?”

“You get this hazy, far away look. That's how I know you’re in pain.” Azriel muttered, snuggling in close so I could latch on for warmth. “Let me take care of you. Don’t focus on anything other than healing and my warmth. I will be here when you wake up.”

I didn’t care to read into how much he read into me. My heart blazed with thoughts, all of him and those offhanded looks and questions he always asks. He is such an observer.

“I’m the spy for the Night Court, my shadow. Of course I’m observant. I notice everything about you. What makes you smile, what doesn’t. The foods and drinks that give you headaches and swelling. When your flare-ups are coming and when they’re finally withdrawing. I make it my mission to make sure you are as safe and comfortable as possible. I am sorry I wasn't there to help you this morning, love.”

“I felt fine last night, no need to say sorry.” I kissed his cheek, then he kissed my lips. “Thank you for turning around.”

“Cassian thought I had been shot with an arrow with how hard I dove down to the ground to turn around. I felt this rush of pain from you and I thought for a second it was my own. But don’t feel bad. I want to be here anyway. You’re much better than any of those awful camps.”

“I’m a lot better,” I smiled, nuzzling into his chest.

The glint in his voice was enough to make me swoon, “Yes, my shadow. Everything about you is better than those camps.”

-------

Through the rest of the day, Az laid with me, running hands through my hair, massaging my legs when they cramped up. He got me water, food and snacks. Kept the entertainment up when I was in too much pain to nap. All through the night, Azriel held me steady so I wouldn’t accidentally roll around.

Madja came in the morning with more useless injections, Nuala with a stack of chocolate chip pancakes and fresh bacon.

I made Az eat some because I didn’t see him steal a crumb earlier.

Later, he took me into the bath where he scrubbed my scalp, massaging my temples. I tried to do the same for his back and wings, but he refused to let me move. Just sat me in his lap, chest pressed against my back and let us soak for hours.

As we got out, he sat me on the bed while he gathered clothes for us. Per my request, he kept his shirt off and just through on a set of lounging sweats.

One foot at a time, he put me in the comfiest pair of pants I had. The fleece lined inside keeping out the cold. He put thick socks on my feet and found something to wrap around my top half so I didn't have to move my arm.

We laid back down, me tucked in his arms. I absently stroked the back of his scarred hand.

I was calm. The ache is still present, but ignorable with a few of his stories. I drifted to sleep, in the safest place in Prythian.

"Thank you, Az," I murmured, sleep evident now

He kissed me softly, "Anything for you, my shadow."

~~~~~~

#acotar #azriel #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel imagine #azriel fanfic #azriel x reader

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thelovelylolly · 4 months

Text

It Will Come Back

Summary: It can't be unlearned, I've known the warmth of your doorways... Warnings: mentions of injuries, blood, and violence, kinda hurt/comfort, reader is described as smaller/shorter than frank, let me know if i missed anything :) Word Count: ~1.9k Notes: first fic of 2024! first off, frank castle with a hozier song makes me go bonkers. second, my requests are open and my guidelines are in the pinned post so please send them in :)

You met Frank in a very unconventional way. You weren't able to sleep one night, your gut telling you something was going to happen, when he slumped against your window on the fire escape. You heard a thud and raced to your room, seeing a dark figure being lit only by the dim streetlights.

You considered the risk of letting him for a second, then crossed your room and opened the window. His body was limp, but he was awake as he fell back into your room. You tried your best to break his fall, but he was heavier than you anticipated. You both grunted as you pulled him all the way into your room and helped him into your nearby desk chair.

You gave him a once over as you closed your window, unsure if you were his saving grace or next victim. He was covered in blood, sweat, and bruises, so you guessed you were safe. He didn't seem as dangerous as he could be. You noticed his dark gaze and tensed body, even if he was injured. His nose stood out to you most, the one thing that made him seem familiar.

"Are you gonna just stand there and stare at me, or are you gonna help me?" He grumbled, groaning as he sat up more in his seat.

"Sorry," you replied softly. "What can I do?"

His gaze darted around your room, like he was trying to figure you out just from what you had in it. "You got a first-aid kit?"

You nodded and went to your bathroom, quickly returning with a first-aid kit in your hands. You turned the tall lamp next to your desk on before setting it down. Your turned back to him, getting a better look at him under the light. His dark hair matched his dark eyes and some of the dried blood on his face. He had some bruises already blooming on his face and a few cuts, nothing life threatening there.

You cleared your throat, stopping yourself from staring at him too long. You popped open the first-aid kit, hoping you had the things he needed. "Where are you hurt?"

"Got slashed pretty good on my left side," he answered, lifting his arm a bit to show you the cut in his clothes and skin.

You nodded and reached for the zipper on his black hoodie. "Can I take this off?"

"Mhm," he hummed.

You quickly unzipped it and pulled it off, careful not to irritate his cut or any other injuries he may have had. You dropped it onto the floor and grabbed the hem of his shirt, lifting it up just enough to see the gash.

"Can you hold your shirt up for me?" You asked quietly. His hand replaced yours, holding his shirt up while you grabbed some of the gauze from the kit to press onto the bleeding cut. You used one of your hands to press the gauze and the other to grab the stitch kit you had inside the kit.

"Can I ask why you have a the stuff for stitches at the ready?" He asked as you got the needle and thread ready.

You laughed dryly. "Can I ask why you showed up at my window with a giant gash in your side and probably other injuries you're not gonna mention?"

"Fair," he replied, a tired smirk on his face.

"You want anything to numb the pain, or are you good? You seem like you've done this before," you said, surprised how easily you fell into this banter with him.

"I'm good, just do it," he grumbled.

You moved your gauze away, taking a deep breath to calm your shaky hands before starting his stitches. You heard every sharp inhale and long exhale as he took deep breaths to get through each stitch. His hand holding up his shirt gripped the fabric tightly, his knuckles turning white. You went as fast as you could without hurting him any further.

It felt like an hour, but in a few minutes, you were done. You tied the thread up and cut it, quickly placing the needle on your desk and grabbing more gauze to hold against it. You pressed the gauze with one hand again and grabbed gauze wrap with your other.

"Can you sit up please?" You asked, glancing up at him. He glanced down at you and held your gaze for a second before looking away and wordlessly sitting up.

You quickly wrapped the gauze wrap around his midsection and finished up, ignoring the way your face heated up when his gaze met yours. You grabbed the bloody gauze from earlier off the floor and put it with the needle you used before standing up.

"Anything else?"

He shook his head as he dropped his shirt back down. You quickly cleaned up the kit and tossed the used needle and gauze into your trashcan. You picked up his hoodie and handed it to him.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

"You're welcome," you replied with a soft smile. "You wanna crash on my couch? I don't think you should go anywhere far in your, uh, condition."

He nodded quietly. You helped him up and led him into your living room, letting him put some weight onto you as he walked. You lowered him onto the couch and he sat down with a sigh. You went into your small kitchen and got him a glass of water and some painkillers, setting it on the coffee table after walking back.

"Can I get your name?" You asked, sitting in the chair across from him.

He popped the pills into his mouth and downed them with the water. "Frank," he answered, setting his now half-empty glass down.

"Like...Frank Castle?"

Frank's gaze jumped to you, eyes a bit wide with surprise.

"That's why you look so familiar. I've seen you on the news and in the papers," you quickly add.

"Ah, thought you'd freak out on me and call the police," he replied, leaning back on your plush couch.

"I think...I don't agree with your, um, methods, but you're cleaning up the streets. Making it a bit safer for people like me to walk home at night, y'know?"

"Glad you see it that way..." He trailed off, waiting for you to give him your name. You did, and he echoed you, almost like testing it out.

"Well, I'm going to try to get some rest," you said as you stood up with a smile. "I think you deserve some. Goodnight, Frank."

"G'night."

------

Since then, you let Frank into your apartment late a night to stitch him up and let him sleep. It wasn't anything more than that. Sure, you two bantered or talked about random subjects, but it was mainly to distract each other from the blood or wound. You were just there to help him, and you two never crossed the unspoken boundary you both had. You silently agreed to be acquaintances, maybe friends.

Then Frank started to cross that.

He started to drop by earlier in the evening, no bruises or blood on him. He'd just show up at the window he always came in, and of course, you'd let him in. You were confused why he would show up this early and not hurt like usual, but you found it nice that he was there without the need to be sewn back up.

He'd come in for a bit, you'd give him a drink or offer him dinner, and you two would talk. You'd spend a long time talking, or sometimes just enjoying each other's company, until it got dark enough and he left to do his job. Sometimes, he'd come back in the early morning hours to get patched up. Other times, he wouldn't show up until the next day when he'd stop by to spend time with you.

Soon enough, you saw a slightly deeper version of him rather than the surface level one you met. He still had some things covered up, but he had revealed enough to cause you to start falling for him. You wanted to stop yourself so you wouldn't make things complicated, but you knew if he wanted to, he'd leave and never look back.

That's what scared you. Your feelings would be one sided and once he figured it out, he'd stop coming by just to hang out with you and eventually, stop coming by for you to patch him up. You didn't want him to leave any time soon, but you knew it could easily happen.

"Hey, you okay? You zoned out there," Frank asked, gently putting his hand on your shoulder to bring you out of your thoughts.

You looked over at him, who was sitting on the other side of the couch as you. "Yeah, I'm good. Just a bit tired."

"I can go if-"

"No, no, stay," you quickly say, cutting him off. "I, uh, I like your company."

You watched his cheeks and the tips of his ears turn a little pinker as he looked away from you. He ran a hand over his face, like he was trying to rub the blush from it. You looked away from him, playing with the hem of your shirt. You thought you had crossed a line and made him uncomfortable.

"I'm gonna get some water," you said quietly before getting up from the couch and going to the kitchen.

You quickly grabbed a glass and filled it up with water. As you drank it, you thought you'd hear Frank's heavy footsteps head to your bedroom and the window open. You thought you'd hear the sounds of Hell's Kitchen flood in through the open window as he left. Instead, you heard his footsteps approach you slowly.

You finished your drink and put your glass in the sink before turning around to face him. He wasn't very close, but in your small kitchen, it felt closer than it was.

"Why do you come here even when your not hurt and you don't need anything?" You asked, breaking the silence between you two.

Frank sighed. "'Cause you're...you. I don't know, I'm not good with words. But ever since you started to help me out, I...I wanna keep coming back to you. I think I fell in love with you or something because you keep pulling me back here."

You smiled softly at his confession. "I think I fell in love with you, too. I was just scared you were gonna leave if I said anything."

He smiled back, stepping closer and closer to you. A comfortable silence fell between you two. One of Frank's hands fell to your waist and the other tilted your face up to look at him. Your hands naturally wrapped around his neck, holding him close. Your eyes darted to his lips before meeting his eyes.

You caught his gaze dipping down before meeting yours again. You started to lean in and Frank met you halfway. When his lips met yours, the months of banter and drinks and dinners together made sense. He had quietly been telling you he cared about you, maybe even loved you, for so long.

You melted into the kiss and his touch, pulling him as close as you could. It was sweet and slow. You could tell from the way he held you and kissed you just how much he wanted this kiss, how much he wanted you.

When you pulled away, you both stayed close to each other, leaning your foreheads against each other. He brushed his nose against yours as you both smiled.

"I'm not gonna leave you, sweetheart. I will come back."

#frank castle x reader #frank castle x you #frank castle fanfic #frank castle fanfiction #the punisher x reader #the punisher x you #the punisher fanfiction #the punisher fanfic

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mrsshabana · 6 months

Text

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐲

꒦꒷‧₊ Summary You're sent on your first assignment as an entomologist, but things quickly go awry on your first night and you meet a creature that should just be an urban legend. ꒦꒷‧₊ Content Mantis!Gyutaro x female!reader, insects, blood, gore, violence ꒦꒷‧₊ Note 2.8k words

✧:･ﾟ→ Mantis Gyutaro art ✧:･ﾟ→ Chapter 2

Tonight is your first night in the field. After years of studying entomology, you were lucky enough to snag a spot on a prestigious team of entomologists. You moved your entire life here so you could have this golden opportunity. Little did you know, they only accepted you because this forest is known for its disappearances. They can’t risk losing their most valued scientists, so they prefer to send the newbies to places like these.

Unfortunately for you, your studies require you to gather samples of nocturnal species. Which is why you currently find yourself trekking through the lush forest. With only a small flashlight and a paper map to guide you.

Every minute sound sets off your anxiety. You even get startled by the occasional cool breeze rustling the leaves of the trees that tower above you. The only thing keeping you grounded is the soothing song of crickets.

That is, until it all stops. The entire forest goes quiet as you step into a small clearing.

“What the hell?” you say to yourself to fill the void. The undeniable feeling of being watched begins to weigh down on you. Flashing your light behind your shoulder, it reveals nothing at all. Only the empty path from where you came. “Weird…” you push yourself forward.

One step… two steps… three…

In the blink of an eye, your entire body is pinned to the ground. Your face digging into the dirt, you’re unable to see what is restricting you.

All you know is that something big is holding you down.

Rows of sharp objects dig into the skin of your back, preventing you from struggling. You try to kick your way out of its grasp but the needle-like protrusions dig deeper into your flesh with every movement.

Your screams echo through the trees, but you know that no matter how hard you scream no one will be close enough to hear you. And whatever is holding you down right now doesn’t seem bothered either.

The beast is quick with its movements. You are so used to working with carnivorous insects that you can already tell that this thing doesn’t plan on keeping you alive for long.

Everything goes in slow motion when you feel the skin on the back of your neck tearing. You’ve got to act fast or else this is it.

The creature can barely sink its teeth into you before you are swinging your head backwards. The back of your head smacking the creature straight on its forehead. It unlatches from you, falling backwards with a hiss.

Scrambling to your knees, you turn around to face whatever thought you’d make an easy meal.

It’s a man. No… It’s an insect.

The creature has the body and the face of a man, albeit very thin and bony. He has black hair that fades into green halfway down, partially tied up in a messy topknot. Large folded up wings lay on his back. His forearms are decorated with long, sharp spikes. His entire body is covered in ink-like black splotches. Two long antennae hang in front of his face.

The thing is sitting down, groaning with its head in its palms.

Your thoughts are spiraling. There’s no way that this is actually happening right? The sane person in you wants to run away screaming before this thing gets back up. But the entomologist in you wants to investigate further. You know you’re playing with fire, but your curiosity gets the best of you.

You take a moment to admire his appearance again. Antennae, tibial spines, large wings. This creature resembles a mantis. Ok, what do you know about mantids? They’re aggressive predators, territorial, and they’ll eat almost anything. Shit, none of that information helps you right now. It only diminishes your chances of getting out of this alive.

You took too long, and the creature has recovered from your headbutt. Staring at you with wide eyes, it slowly moves towards you. Inching ever so slowly.

Reaching into your pocket, you grab the small jar of honey you were going to use as bait later in the night. You know that mantids only eat live prey, but this is all that you have.

You fumble with the lid, scooting yourself backwards as the creature continues its crawl towards you. With a huff, your back hits a tree, stopping your path. You are met with glowing yellow eyes and deadly mandibles inches from your face.

Somehow, you managed to open the jar. The sweet aroma of artisan honey fills the air around you. In a desperate attempt to distract the creature, you hold the honey out to him.

“H-here. F-for you…” you stutter, voice barely above a whisper.

Guttural clicks rumble from his chest. He exhales in your face, the rich scent of blood fills your nose. Almost making you gag. You must’ve not been the first item on the menu tonight.

With curiosity, the creature sniffs the jar in your hand. He places a hand on your hip to keep you in place, as a long tongue slips out of its mouth. Its tongue is pitch black and forked at the tip.

You feel like you can’t breathe as this thing starts to lick the honey from the jar. Seemingly satisfied by its sweetness he continues. This creature is quite literally, eating from the palm of your hand.

It’s great that you managed to distract it, but what do you do now? It’s holding you down so you won’t be able to get away. All you can do is watch as the jar slowly empties, your fate approaching. You thought you were being smart by offering the honey, but all you managed to do is give him an appetizer.

It only takes a few minutes for the jar to be licked clean. His hungry gaze shifted back to you. He licks his mandibles as he inches his face closer to yours, tickling the top of your head with his antennae.

“P-please… I-I don’t wanna die,” you whimper. Lowering your head and squeezing your eyes shut as tears roll down your cheeks.

All you can do is wait for the pain of being ripped apart.

But it never comes. And when you open your eyes, the beast is gone.

︶︶꒷ ₊˚ ︶︶꒷ ₊˚

It took all your willpower not to brag to your colleagues about the amazing discovery you made. Yeah you almost died, but that was a small detail.

You made it safely back to camp. Everyone else was asleep when you arrived so you had all of the privacy you needed to recompose yourself.

The next afternoon you set out into the forest again. It took you longer to make it there this time because of the wounds that you were left with the previous night. Multiple punctures on your back, and a bite on your neck. You can’t complain though because you know you were lucky to come out alive.

Making it back to the familiar clearing, you unpack your bag. This time you came prepared with plenty of food to distract the mantis. Some grasshoppers you stole from your colleague, as well as some honey. There are so many questions that you want answered. You know that you are insane for wanting to get close to this thing again, but you can’t help yourself. It’s in your nature to be curious about new discoveries!

Leaning against a log, you wait for nightfall. Passing the time by taking notes in your journal.

Day 1

I met the mantis at night. Unusual behavior for a mantis. But not completely uncommon for males. Most mantis hunt during the day time, but sometimes male mantis will hunt at night. As it is easier for them to avoid birds. However, mantis have to worry about avoiding bats at night. But the mantis man is so large that I doubt he has to worry about any predators at all. Does he choose to hunt at night to avoid humans?

Once surrounded by the darkness of the night, you begin to regret your decision to come out here. The panic that you felt the previous night begins to overcome you again. You flash your light up into the trees. No mantis to be seen.

The senses of a mantis are very strong. His eyesight is beyond anything a mere human would ever fathom. So if he is close, he must’ve already seen you. As an ambush predator, you know that he’ll be stalking you from afar. The halt of the cricket song alerts you that he’s close. It’s said that crickets stop chirping when a predator is nearby.

“I-I know you’re there! I brought food for you,” your voice shaky, trying to sound confident but instead you just sound pathetic and weak.

No response. Just silence.

Turning on your flashlight, you check your surroundings. And when you turn around you are met with the sight of the mantis. He was sneaking up behind you, never making a sound to alert you. He got alarmingly close, so good thing you turned around when you did. Who knows what would have happened if you were a second later.

This is the first time that you are seeing the mantis at his full height. He towers over you, more than any normal human would. He must be around seven feet tall.

Yellow eyes stare widely at you, as he slowly continues to creep towards you. Continuing to stalk you even after you’ve spotted him. It’s unnerving and creepy.

“H-hello,” you try to break the tension. But your words only set him off. He opens his mouth and starts hissing at you. Unblinking eyes never diverting away from you. Every step you take back, he takes forward. You know what he’s trying to do, he’s trying to intimidate you. You are in his territory after all, so maybe he is interpreting your presence as a challenge. It’s just a speculation, but it’s all you have to go off of. So, you slowly kneel down and grab the container of grasshoppers from your bag. Making sure to never break eye contact.

When he sees the snacks you brought for him, he stops hissing. Cocking his head to the side in curiosity.

“I brought these for you,” you shake the container, making the insects jump around, “I promise they’re tasty.”

The mantis chirps as he kneels in front of you. Snatching the container from your hands, he starts chewing on the plastic. Cracking it with his strong mandibles until it breaks, releasing the grasshoppers. They scatter quickly, jumping and leaping around the clearing. The mantis is quick to snatch them up and shove them into his mouth, leaping around like a cat until he’s caught them all. You feel bad about stealing your colleagues' grasshoppers, but this research is far more important. You took the largest specimens you could find. This is no regular mantis, it will take an incredible amount of food to satiate him enough to not consider you as a meal option for the night. But unfortunately, you don’t have access to such copious amounts of food. So you’ll just have to pray that this will be enough for now.

You study his movements. He’s fast and silent. A deadly combination.

It doesn’t take long for him to finish hunting down the snacks you provided. The loud sound of exoskeletons being crunched fills your ears as he approaches you again. The sound sends shivers down your spine.

He seems much calmer than he was earlier, looking at you expectantly. Maybe he knows that you brought more food for him? You wouldn’t be surprised if he could already smell it.

This time you came prepared with a large jar of honey and a spoon. The mantis starts chirping when you open the jar, eagerly fluttering his wings in anticipation of the sweet nectar.

Holding the jar in your lap, you use the spoon to collect the honey and bring it up to the mantis’ face. His long black tongue unfurls from his mouth, licking the spoon clean. It makes you giggle, spoon feeding a big scary creature.

He tries to lunge forward to take the jar from you but you push him back. “No! Bad boy,” you scold.

With a growl he pushes you to the side, taking the jar for himself. “Hey!” you yelp. He holds the jar close to his body, dipping his tongue in the thick liquid only to bring it back into his mouth. He repeats this with no intention of stopping until the jar is empty.

Well, at least he’s distracted.

“Do you have a name?”

He quirks a brow at you, licking the honey off his mandibles.

Can he not speak? He seems intelligent but if he hasn’t spent much time around humans then it makes sense that he wouldn’t know how to speak. But does he understand what you are saying?

“My name is Y/N,” your words seemingly go in one ear and out the other. “If you promise not to kill me, I’ll bring you even more honey,” that seems to have gotten his attention. He stops and stares at you with hooded eyes. Looking much more relaxed than earlier, he chirps two times before diverting his attention back to his snack.

You can only assume that he’s agreeing to your terms. Or at least, you hope he is.

While he’s busy eating, you use this valuable time to observe his appearance and mannerisms. He allows you to get close enough to inspect the beautiful arrangements of spots that decorate his body. Getting a closer look at him, you can appreciate how beautiful he is. Maybe someday he’ll expand his wings for you to see.

Just in case things went awry, you brought a tranquilizer with you. If you are able to tranquilize him and take him back to base camp, you’d be praised by everyone. You can only imagine all of the awards and recognition you’d receive for bringing his existence to light. But watching as he eagerly slurps the honey, it’s hard not to feel sympathy for him. If you were to take him back to camp, he’d be contained and experimented on for the rest of his life. And that's not fair to anyone. Even a mantis human hybrid.

After half an hour he hands you the empty jar. His eyes look heavy and he blinks slowly. Poor thing must be tired after eating so much sugar. Without a thought, your body moves on its own. You cautiously bring your palm up to his head, and begin stroking his hair with your hand. He seems unbothered by your touch, closing his eyes and purring in response.

Aw, he’s actually kind of cute. Extremely deadly, but cute nonetheless. His antennae twitch, tickling your arm as you pet him.

He’s so vulnerable right now. This would be the perfect opportunity to tranquilize him. But instead, you vow to yourself that you will protect him. As long as you’re here you will study him in secrecy.

His head dips for a moment before he picks it back up. He’s so sleepy that he almost fell asleep. So he decides that it is time for him to go. You watch as the mantis climbs up a large tree, making himself comfortable on a branch and laying down to rest.

︶︶꒷ ₊˚ ︶︶꒷ ₊˚

It’s shocking how well your second encounter with the mantis man went. He was aggressive at first, but when you introduced food into the equation, he became docile. It’s obvious that he is food motivated, so everytime you go out, you make sure to have some snacks on hand just in case there is a surprise encounter.

But it has been a couple days since you’ve been able to see your new friend. You aren’t worried about him, knowing full well that he’s more than capable of hunting on his own. But you do feel bad, so you bring an extra large batch of grasshoppers and beetles.

As you approach the familiar meeting spot, you hear rustling in the brush beside you. You know it isn’t the mantis because he stalks silently.

“H-hello?” you whisper.

“Hey! You shouldn’t be here!” A female voice whispers back. The sound of twigs snapping under her feet as she approaches you.

She steps into the moonlight, her exquisite beauty revealed to you. She has blue eyes and long white hair. And she’s far too overdressed for a walk in the forest.

“This forest is dangerous. You need to leave now!” panic evident in her voice as she takes your hand in an attempt to show you the way out.

“Wait! I’m a scientist, I know what I’m doing. You on the other hand, really shouldn’t be here,” you warn, “There are dangerous animals that live here.”

She stops, raising a brow in confusion, “Could it be?... Have you met him too?”

You gulp, “The mantis…”

She nods and her eyes widen, “You’ve met my brother…”

#gyutaro #gyutaro shabana #gyutaro x reader #gyutaro x y/n #gyuutarou #gyuutarou x reader #ume shabana #mantis au #demon slayer x reader #kny x reader #cryptid x reader

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kpopnstarwars · 8 months

Text

Cuddling Headcanons: Bang Chan x Reader

A/N: Idk if any real writing will make its way here but have this for now

• Cuddling with Chan is always the best experience

• Chan is the type to refuse to say he's too hot if you're cuddling him, because you look so comfy

• Chan is the best cuddler too, he always knows when you want them and how long you want for them (he always gets this weird Mama Chan sense when you get pins and needles so need to switch positions too)

• Cuddling with Chan normally tends to be while he's working late at night

• Usually, he'll be sitting at his laptop, headphones in, so he won't hear you approaching, swaddled in a blanket burrito with your tired little face peeking out

• You don't announce your presence; instead you hitch up your blankets and plop yourself onto his lap, throwing your blankets over his shoulders too and nuzzling your face into that space where his shoulder and neck meet

• He'll chuckle as you press a few kisses to his skin, one large hand resting on your back and rubbing up and down to soothe you

• You'll stay like that for a long time, happy to remain there forever - you, dozing with your hands linked behind his head, him with one arm around your waist and the other playing with your hair

• Sometimes he'll hum, trying to find a specific tune for the song he's writing, and it's a sure fire way to get you to sleep

• If you actually fall asleep there, he'll kiss your forehead and, depending on the time, will carry you back to bed

• That's often how you wake up the next morning: Chan beside you in bed, his laptop shut on the desk, your last memory being your eyes drifting closed, ears blessed with the gentle tones of his voice

• Normally you cuddle like this when he's been really busy; it calms him down a lot (and also you) or when it's late at night and you think he needs to sleep, or you miss him cuddling you in bed

• Occasionally you do this because of nightmares - he's always able to tell when you've had one, and he'll pause his work to talk through it with you if you want, or just hold you if not

• Sometimes, if he has a day off the next day, you'll both wake up naturally to the golden light streaming through your shitty curtains

• Still tired, both of you will roll over until you meet the other, and he'll cradle you in your arms as you talk together about everything and nothing, his voice still raspy and blurred with sleep

• Those are always your favourite mornings

• Especially if he decides to shower with you after, which often leads on to making breakfast together too

• He's just so soft in the mornings: he'll always shower your face in little kisses and tell you he loves you, and he'll always make sure you're well rested - if you're not, he'll tuck you right back in bed if you have nothing on that morning, to the point where you have to fight him to get back out

• Another time you'll cuddle is on date night, under a heap of blankets with the soft lights of the TV washing over your faces

• You'll just burrow into his embrace as you munch through all the snacks you bought, and he'll chuckle, the deep sound right next to your ear as you mold yourself to his chest and cling on to him

• Sometimes, if he stands up to go and get more snacks, because yes, you get through a lot of those on date night, you'll wrap your legs around his waist and he'll carry you to the kitchen with him like his own little koala

• Both of you will just lie there, basking in each other's presence, in the soft, blanket filled world of your own making, confiding in each other in whispers: it may be as profound as the meaning of life or as idiotic as him asking you if you'd leave him for Flynn Rider (you had to think very hard about that one)

• The two of you will also cuddle quite a lot in front of the boys

• It's partly a possessive move from Chan, because as much as he trusts you, he also likes the way you blush when the boys all groan and pretend to throw up, and he loves the little bit of sass that comes out when Changbin gets a little bit too dramatic about your cuddling ('AAAAH! MY EYES!')

• You secretly enjoy it, because of the closeness it brings you; you won't do anything too weird or too disgusting, but the way Chan will casually enclose you in his arms when he brings you to the monthly movie night with the boys makes your heart glow

• If he's drunk, Chan will also get very, very cuddly

• He'll just snuggle up to you, closing his eyes and wrapping his arms around you tightly, rocking you and generally acting like a cat who found the perfect patch of sun

• Drunk Chan also tends to pull out the puppy eyes and he'll occasionally unironically do aegyo when he's especially inebriated, which often ends with you squishing his cheeks then telling him to stop when he lays it on too thick - that leads to more cuddles because he goes 'you don't like my aegyo??' *massive puppy eyes*

• Your favourite Chan cuddles, however, are when he actually finishes work kind of early and comes to bed when you're still awake

• You'll shuffle over so he can spoon you (or you him) in the dark, holding you close to his chest and pressing kisses on your shoulder

• You're always lulled to sleep by his soft breathing and his comforting scent - it's why you wear his shirts to sleep, especially when he's on tour

• All in all, cuddling with Chan is always perfect

#bang chan #skz #stray kids #bang chan x reader #bang chan cuddles #cuddling #headcanons #stray kids bang chan #channie #chan #fluff #bang chan fluff

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callsignvenomcod · 5 months

Text

baby boy

Prompt: Reader's Simon childhood love from Manchester. Or Simon's past catches up with him on a random patrol day.

One shot based on the song "Baby boy" by Childish Gambino.

warnings: parent abandonment, age gap couple.

______________________________________________________________

It was an agreement.

It was a civil agreement made between two responsible adults in the best benefit of a third party. It was supposed to be easy, the best way to come to terms with it, but as he was going to learn later in life, nothing came easy for Simon Riley. Or anyone unlucky or dumb enough to stick around with him.

He secretly always imagined how it would be like to see her again. It was a pleasure he reserved for lonely nights, for really long desert crawls, for the frail moments, suspended in air, between standing at the edge of a helicopter door and the decisive jump. He always imagined alternative universes in which he actually had a lucky star, in which he actually had a chance at life, at happiness, at being domestic, nothing but a fat house cat.

Simon met the girl in the butcher shop. He took the first job he could get his hands on. It wasn't bad. Not bad, bad.

Where else? Girls like her didn't walk around his side of town, but they all had to eat; and cutting up carnage and splashing around blood, that he could do. She walked into the Butcher's, making the little bell on top of the door ding, and Simon knew, with as much certain that he knew that one day he would die, that his life had changed forever.

He was scarred but the light inside him still worked. Simon had skeletons in his closet, but he was doing such a good job at keeping them at bay. When she walked into the butcher's, fivers in her hand, Simon could stand up straight, could spare a few small smiles, could keep the voices in his mind at peace, for the brief interactions, the shared smiles and pleasantries, the "What's your name?", "You from around?" and "What time you get off?", the way the girl tried so very hard to divert her gaze from the blood stained apron.

It led to so much more. She worked half time at a chippy, and they did good. They did really good for a couple conformed by a Manchester alley kid and the fucking angel that she was. He was in love, and therefore he was in trouble, because no one was around to teach him how to deal with a swollen heart about to burst; and with an outside world that was made of needles and pins.

He liked the way her smile tilted up whenever she was directing it to him, the way she would sit down at a stool in the butcher's, waiting for him to get off shift, just so he could walk her home. Liked the way her skin felt under his rugged hands, how soaked she would get through grey panties, how he drank her saliva right off her lips and how she whispered how much she loved him, actually, truly, loved him, while he was trying his best not to cum in his pants, short breath, in the living room of her house, while her mother was upstairs watching Channel 4, willing to overlook the fact that Simon was a bit (or a lot) older than her daughter because she had never seen her so happy.

And they loved each other. He can say it; it doesn't hurt, doesn't embarrass him either; if anything, he feels unusually lucky his nostalgia makes him wonder at nights, patrolling the barracks or in this case, a small English city, with so many men and women who looked like the people he grew up with.

Then 9/11 happened, and it was too big to ignore, too big to drink away, and she cried when saying goodbye to him on the train station on his way to join, and she knew deep down inside her that Simon Riley was not the kind of man that would turn around to give her one last glance before disappearing into the military for a few months. It was a higher calling, something bigger than him, a reason to get away, from his childhood home that was wrecking, from his father, from something hungry that lived inside of him and was getting out of control.

She called him the minute she way Tommy starting to get bad. She was younger, younger than Tommy even and had reached out to a cabin to dial the number he gave her "for emergencies only", and she told him how Tommy had been stealing from their mum, stumbling around alleys with the wrong crowd, leaving Beth a crying mess in her room, looking too much like Daddy.

That's when he came back. Took a train in the January rain and fixed his whole house up. Picked up his mum from the hoarder state she was in, kicked common sense into his baby brother and simultaneously kicked his old man out. Never to be seen again.

Y/N's watched from the courtside every moment; watched as Simon cleaned up vomit from Tommy's chin, while Beth's belly swollen with a baby, and she cooked porridge while Simon allowed his mum to cry on his chest for hours and hours, victim of the detox, of the night horrors, and herself. All of them became the new Riley's in a way, and she stopped going home to her mother, just crashing at Simon's twin size mattress, in his childhood bedroom that still had the Man U posters on the walls and a beaten-up Walkman CD player.

-I couldn't do this without you...- Simon had whispered after a particularly difficult night that involved Tommy screaming and Beth threatening to throw herself off the stairs. They were lying in bed in their underwear, cozied up together, warm limbs and tangled sheets, staring at the fading glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. She turned on her side, staring at his nose drawn by the shadows. His warm, yet tired eyes, looked back at her and they shared a sorry excuse of a smile before they could share a kiss.

They were in the shit, and the girl on his too small bed was in it for the laughs of it, for a chance to sleep by his side. For that thing they called love.

Winter arrived. The house was freezing still, but they could afford heating now. Now Tommy was paid up for, and he was a butcher at the groceries, and Beth stayed home with Mum and Jacob, the baby. He was skinny for a newborn, the doctors said, but he will catch up with breastfeeding. Simon was a best man at the wedding, but he didn't give a speech. Y/N's was maid of honor, but only because Beth had no other friends. The photos never lie, and you can see Simon with the longest hair he's ever had, in a fitted suit, stern look, a girl clinging from his arm, a baby brother hugging him, a mother with crinkles, a sister-in-law elegantly 9 months pregnant in a wedding dress.

For a moment it was nice, and the future was looking bright. He got a taste of what life could have been like if the stars would have been kind to them. He would wake up early to jog and would see the back of Tommy's head while he left for work, and almost every day his mum would be up, carrying around Jacob in a bathrobe. Beth would cook breakkie and Y/N's would always ask him if he wanted red or brown sauce even if she knew that he wanted brown.

It could have been...good. Great, even. But instead of that it was real life.

He left for Ukraine a few days after he learned she was pregnant with his child; and he thanked every damn God or Goddess he knew of when he learned that everyone was dead except her; her mum falling ill and asking her to take care of her in her childhood house. The blood didn't reach her; she still didn't pay for loving Simon. He became radioactive after that and closed his ears to any plea, to any love confession and promise of safety. He wanted her to hate him, to want him away, he wanted her to have an abortion, she wanted a baby. A baby with him. His baby.

"A part of me and you", she said, "something ours. Untouchable."

But they weren't untouchable, were they? He had scars for days to prove it, coffins, even a child size one, night horrors, a medal, had proof every time he closed his eyes, had nightmares about how many people had touched him and everyone near him. It was a no brainer.

When Price told 141 about this patrolling mission, he would be lying if he said that a shiver ran down his spine and he heard bells for a couple of minutes before forcing himself to come back to the briefing reunion. There was always a chance.

While everyone thought that Ghost would be at least thrilled at the prospect of going back to the UK, Price kept a close eye on him. He knew he was only a few years older than Simon, and his boss as well, but they had seen hell together and survived it. The captain cared for his team, cared, weather he wanted to admit it or not.

Truth was that he wanted to say he knew all about the men he worked with, but that would be a lie, a lie every captain said once in a while. He knew, for example, that Johnny "Soap" MacTavish had two older sisters in Fort Augustus, Scotland, Mary and Ava. He knew Roach had a horrible fear of clowns for some accident in a party all those years ago, Nikolai, Yuri, he had facts about them too.

He knew, for example, that somewhere in England, Ghost had a kid. A baby boy.

Every month, a generous amount of his paycheck went to a throwaway account in the Bank of England, more than half. And he had listed a minor for healthcare and schooling, housing military benefits, The name was Alfie Riley, listed as Alfie Smith; and he was 6 years old.

Simon knew he knew. He trusted that upon him, not out of pure friendship or companionship, but maybe with a hint of letting him know that if it leaked, he had no problem into taking the business into his own hands. There was only so much you could stretch a person without breaking it, and if anything happened to the boy, Price knew it would be Simon's point of no return. A monster would be born or rather, let out of the cage.

Sometimes he thought about it while staring at him on a briefing. Sometimes he tried not to.

-Right. The intel we have on this cell comes from the right source. Our man says this human trafficking cell operates within the church compounds. He believes it has something to do with the orphanage...

Captain Price's voice boomed through the briefing room designated in the security house. They had arrived a few days ago, and it looked as if the whole city of Salisbury took a deep breath at the presence of military men and women. For sure it was an odd view, big bulky men walking around the country fields, around town, asking questions, smiling, blank faces, new voices and sights; but they knew, at least, the problems the community had been facing, will now come to an end finally. The 141 was going to help with that. They were the good lads.

-So split up, ask around. They know were here. - Price said, staring at Gaz from behind his desk; giving the order and finishing the meeting. Soap and Simon bantered around something as they usually did. He sighed, watching as Simon stared dead in front of him while the younger soldier tried to get inside his head. -Kyle, you're with me. Let Bert and Ernie fetch for themselves. - he sentenced, and that was that.

They were sent to walk around Salisbury. They could see the warmth of people's lives, a few kids crossing the street, a teenager in love, dogs being walked, girls staring at windows with headphones on, daydreaming. It was a life so far from the one they had, from the one they choose when they were too young, that is seemed foreign, alien. Johnny MacTavish smiled at walkers who stared at the vest, or his stupid haircut, whatever that catches their sight first.

Salisbury was a small city, one of the smallest in England, actually, and Simon had never been there before this mission. There was a church in every corner, much like Cornwall, but it lacked the shore and the salt in the water. It was Johnny who did all the talking anyway; what, with being younger, less imponent, with the thick Scottish accent that made everyone pay attention, either to help or to even try to understand what he was saying. Specially since Johnny actually had a face to show, and a friendly one.

Right now, Simon was backup, right now he was deuteragonist.

Simon limits himself to lean against one of the local pastries shop fronts, while Johnny walked inside. He thinks that right now would be a great time to have picked up the habit of smoking, to pass the time, to measure it in cigarettes, but a troubled childhood and several fading little dot scars on his arms remind him how repulsed he was by cigarettes. So, he stares at the road in front of him, at the other shops, at the people that stare back at him because of-fucking-course, he's wearing a skull balaclava, and he's 6'2, and he's a crucial part of the army party that erupted in Salisbury a few days ago, asking questions, taking names.

It takes him a minute or two to realize what's going on. It was an agreement. Part ways, stay in the country to get the benefit, but never let each other know where they were. When Simon died, a letter would arrive, a letter with his dog tags and she will see it fit to know what to do next.

-Fucking hell...- he muttered and sprung up like a slinky. He panicked for a few moments before realizing even if she stared right at him, she couldn't recognize him; she would only see a dirty, dusty skull balaclava and black grease over his eyes.

She would not see Simon, the boy that left her a few years ago, he wouldn't see Simon the man who simply stood there while she was trying to level with him on raising the kid together, to be a family, and she wouldn't see Simon, the man who did what he had to do. Who erased his own face from the world, who spared them both, Y/N's and Alfie, of a life of wondering when they were going to be kidnapped, hurt or killed.

Men like Simon were not meant to have a family, to have people to depend on them, not like this, not this close, because in the blink of an eye, shit would hit the fan and things like Manchester massacre would happen again and again and again. He would be left firing his gun to an empty field with nothing ticking inside his chest. It was better this way.

But nothing could prepare him for this moment. It was a sick joke of destiny, really, to be stationed in one of the smallest cities in England, and for her to be standing right across the street, holding their son in her arms, looking both sides, like a good mum, before letting her white keds touch the pavement.

Alfie was a brunette. It made sense; and if this was lighter, he would roll his eyes and the bowl cut the kid had, which combined with their missing could be a picture-perfect description of a rascal. Except he didn't know a thing about Alfie other that he had been to the doctors twice past month, one to the dentist, one to the medic. Stomachache. 10 pounds for tablets. Simon didn't know if he was a rascal or not, if he had friends or didn't, if he was in trouble at school or not, didn't know his favorite show or his favorite color, what he wanted to be when he grew up. All he knew was that he loved him, it didn't matter that the kid will never hear from him or meet him. Simon loved them enough to remove himself from their lives. To give them a chance that he was denied from the beginning.

His P.O. box said that he got letters once in a while, from different cities in England, and you didn't have to be a genius to figure out who wrote to him. He only ever picked up one, and it was simply a polaroid. It was her, and it was his son, and she was smiling at the camera with very tired eyes, an oversized shirt, and messy hair, and Alfie was on her lap, missing teeth, bowl cut, space shirt, freckled face full of birthday cake. A candle in the shape of the number 6.

Little hands, little feet, tiny heart, tiny beat

It was better this way. He would repeat himself that every morning as soon as he woke up in a barrack, instead of a military housing, alone and cold, instead of next to her and warm with the heat of her body. Sneaking a quick fuck with the love of his life before the kid two doors down woke up.

It was better this way. She would walk right past him, not knowing that the soldier in front of the pastries shop learned every curve in her body, every freckle, the birthmark in her right rib; He would thank his mask once again, and let his eyes wonder at the way she struggled with her bag, with still holding Alfie in her arms, while trying to stay alert.

It was better this way. A grenade will reach him, or the enemy, Ali Baba, a Russian, a Mexican, another Brit, the son or daughter or brother or best friend of someone he fucked up in the past. Cancer, a snake.

A heart failure at 70, a bullet at 41. He would die eventually, and they will give him his dog tags, and he will have a slight discomfort knowing his father died, but that's it. Like learning an actor from your childhood died of age; sad, but irrelevant. The day will go on.

It was better this way. She will fall in love again, with a bank clerk, or a veterinarian or Alfie's football coach. Someone else will teach Alfie how to be a father, will tie his shoelaces, will talk to him about girls, about fist fights, will buy him his first pint. It was better this way; Y/N's will tell him about him someday and he will look for him, or not, he will understand or not, he will hate him, forgive him, love him, in that order, or not.

It was better this way. It was.

There was a time before you, and there will be a time after you. With these vibes or not, walk tall, little man, walk tall.

It was better this way. His breath would get caught up in his throat as he saw Y/N's try to control the child, placing him on the ground, holding his hand while she looked inside her bag for something. And Alfie's blue eyes would wonder his surroundings, piercing his father's heart without knowing so. Simon wouldn't move, Alfie neither, but they would stare at each other for a few seconds before the kid broke out in a smile, tugging at his mother's hand, saying something in a squeaky voice, with a south accent, tiny index finger pointing at Ghost's skull mask. He had his mother's smile, but those eyes were all Simon.

Y/N looked up, finally finding some keys on her bag before returning her attention to the boy latched to her hand and she will also look at Simon without knowing so. The woman would frown for a moment, before giving up a quivering smile, murmuring something to the kid, pulling him to the opposite direction. And for Alfie, that was going to be it. The day went on. The man stood there thinking he couldn't do this with her, he shouldn't, and every attempt to reach out was an attempt against his kin. That there were some people that shouldn't be a father, like his own father, like his father's father.

She turned around a few times, locking eyes with the man in the balaclava before disappearing into the street, mixing up with the people walking by; the coats and the jackets. And Simon gulped down nervous saliva, suddenly needing to lean on the wall a bit more than he wanted to admit.

It was better this way.

______________________________________________________________

Hello! Venom here.

This is the first time I write for the COD fandom and for Ghost Riley. An absolute menace, I think he is. Please let me know what you think about it and give me a follow if you liked it.

Thank you :)

#simon riley #cod headcanons #cod mw2 x reader #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #call of duty modern warfare #cod #x reader #reader insert #dad simon

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3terna15unshin3 · 4 months

Note

desperately need a blurb about matty showing este one of the (many) songs he wrote about her, maybe it’s the first one he writes for her! But he’s all nervous and she’s in shock all like “it’s about me??” And bc of her love for literature she’s like delving into the lyrics and falling in love with him and his mind all over again!!!!! could be cute!

Who Else?

a/n: cj!! suuuuch a cute concept thank u for the request💌 it’s kinda implied in the fic that Then Because She Goes is the first song he writes about Este but because it’s so lofty and the lyrics are so buried and vague, i thought it might be more fun to focus on a different (underrated imo) one :))) i hope u like it !!!!!

this another instalment of este and matty as always, read the full fic here <3

—

The first test pressing of Being Funny finally sits in Este’s excited hands. She always looks forward to spinning Matty’s work and being able to hold it physically before anyone else. Luckily, it came in a sample sleeve of what the final product would look like—unlike most test pressings that come in boring and generic packaging—so Este is able to admire and study its charming design. Matty watches, thrilled to see her reaction.

Her eyes scan over the sleeves with the lyrics printed over them, picking out her favourites and smiling when she reads them. Knowing how truly earnest Matty had decided to be with his lyrics on this project, she can’t help but blush at the overtly romantic phrases and the fact that they could have been written with her in mind.

“So who’s this one about?” Este poses sarcastically, pointing at All I Need To Hear and giggling in the process. She watches Matty lightly roll his eyes and the corners of his mouth pin up into a grin.

“George, actually,” He jokes.

He’s only just lowered the needle onto the black vinyl, so a couple of seconds afterwards, the two of them hear the telltale piano chords of the opening track. Matty steps back to let it play, taking a seat in the chair that sat next to their sofa. Este follows suit and lightly settles onto his lap, lyric sleeve still in hand.

“Shut up,” she replies, continuing to read away. “I actually can’t think about that song too hard or else I’ll, like, fully weep.”

Matty chuckles, pulling her legs to the left so they dangle off the side and so he can see her face. He sets his arm across her thighs to hold her tight and clasps his hands together around her waist.

“I mean every word, you know.” He says quietly.

Este feels her nose get fizzy with emotion as she reads more of the lyrics.

'Cause I don't need music in my ears

I don't need the crowds and the cheers

Oh, just tell me you love me

'Cause that's all that I need to hear

She thought about how punctuated by music Matty’s life had been; how it was the only way he can make sense of the world. How deeply it made him feel and know himself. And how it brought him the most important connection he’s built—his audience and the mark he’s left on them.

Then, her mind wandered to the way he somehow unabashedly declares that her love is set above all of that; through the song. It’s the ultimate exclamation of love and devotion.

He wrote that about you, Este thinks to herself. Her nose goes fizzy again. She blinks away the tears that rise.

Her fingers find their way around the nape of Matty’s neck, and she caresses the skin there gently. “I’m serious, love. I’ll snot on you.” Este warns.

They laugh together for a second, then hear the record switch over to Happiness. Matty studies the way her foot begins tapping to the beat and how her lips move ever so slightly, to mouth the words to herself.

“God, this is the best song ever,” Este gushes as the needle scraping along the vinyl helps remind her of how much she loves it. He shrugs, raising his heel along to the song making her bounce up and down. She laughed at how nonchalant he was attempting to be. “Don’t be humble. It is.”

He looks at the floor and then up at her. “Another one written about you.” He says, kissing her shoulder.

She looks down at him, setting down the record sleeve. “Would you really go blind just to see me?”

Matty nods slightly. The brown in his eyes glows with admiration. “I’d go too far just to have you near, too,” he teases.

There’s a shyness in his voice that Este can hear buried beneath the light sarcasm. It makes her heart flutter while Waughy’s saxophone blares through the speakers with charisma.

“Do you always think about me when writing love songs?”

It’s a question she ponders quite often. She’s not sure why she does; but she struggles to conceptualise being the subject of art she loves so dearly. Though Este can tell it’s second nature to him.

“Course. Who else?” Matty answers, like it’s obvious, because it is.

Este shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe the ones before me.”

“Can’t even remember their names, now that you’ve come along.” He says casually.

As they continue to listen, Este eventually gets up to flip it to the next side. But as she does, the conversation they share reminds her of one of the first times Matty admitted to writing about her, and how precious it was.

Este has a clear memory of Matty being on tour in 2019 and sending her messages about Then Because She Goes, when it was a work in progress. She thinks it was easier for him to hint and imply the lyrics were about her—how their times together felt so indulgent even though the pain of parting ways came along with that—because he didn’t have to do it to her face. He had sent her voice memos of it while he was halfway across the world and Este witnessed the song grow from an idea to a fully fleshed moment of splendour on the record. It was such a special experience.

But, when she managed to learn that there was more (quite a few more, Matty would later reveal) on Notes that had an undertone of Este-ness, his admittance was much more timid.

It was after the release of the album was pushed back a few times, a period of time she would frequently find Matty hunched over his laptop screen with stress. The final touches of mixing and mastering were occurring. Track by track, things were being perfected, and Este grew more and more eager to hear the project as a whole.

Finally, Matty asked her to join him for a front-to-back listen-through of the album. They sat down together and shared his pair of Airpods, the left for him and the right for her, and pressed play on his files.

Because of its sporadic final weeks of creation, there were some songs that sounded different to when Este had first heard them, and even a few she hadn’t heard at all. One that was new to her had been a last minute addition that George composed of a rogue idea sitting in Matty’s notes app. It ended up being a favourite of hers.

“You hadn’t shown me Bagsy Not In Net,” Este pointed out when the album was over and she had spilled enough praise.

“We made it so spontaneously. Towards the end. I guess it just never came up,” he explained, picking at the skin on his fingers. “Do you like it? I really like it.”

She furiously nodded. “That’s why I brought it up. It really stood out to me.”

Matty clicked randomly around on his laptop and refused to meet her eyes as he said, “I’m glad Bagsy stands out. I was nervous you wouldn’t like it.”

Este’s brows furrowed.

“Since when do you care about whether anyone likes your work besides you?” She said playfully.

“Are you kidding?! I always care about you liking my—”

Este giggled, putting her finger over his lips to muffle his sentence and end it abruptly. “Okay, okay. You do care. But I feel like you’re never nervous. Like, with every other song—”

“I was nervous because Bagsy Not In Net is about wanting to die with you.”

Her mouth remained agape as Matty interrupted. It came out of his mouth with impulse and haste as if it had been sitting behind his teeth begging to be heard.

All the while, his eyes stayed glued to his laptop screen. He was afraid of it being too bold of a concept, or that she wouldn’t feel the same way—given the fact that it had barely been three months since they’d gotten back together. It was easy as ever to write about her and send her little messages through a screen that hinted at him doing so; but having Este’s real and living gaze burn into his face while admitting something so raw was not the walk in the park he hoped it would be. His heart began racing, and he didn’t know when it would stop.

“It’s about me? Are you sure?” Este spluttered.

Matty eventually peeled his eyes away and met hers.

“Who else?”

Later, after a long night, the two of them whispered quiet words to one another in bed before turning over and shutting their eyes. Este had another idea, though, and turned her phone back on. She slipped on her headphones, and opened the audio file sitting in her notes.

Este begged Matty to Airdrop a copy of Bagsy Not In Net over to her so that she could listen to it again. Sure, she was addicted to the charming orchestral introduction and how it pulsated alongside the beat as the song progressed. But really she was just desperate to hear the lyrics again.

She closed her eyes as she listened, taking in each word.

This feeling, it's something when you call me

I'm dealing in death and being lonely

Try it, don't like it

And leaving you here is the thing that I fear, so I fight it

Her heart panged at the idea of Matty being afraid of the end. Then Because She Goes was almost an anthem of hope, or of reassurance, that their time apart would at least be temporary. But this—these lyrics—hit Este in such a different way. It was desperate and stark and honest. Matty was begging for her to agree that they were all or nothing. That even death is something they ought to do as a pair. Este couldn’t possibly make sense of how huge the sentiment was, and how beautifully it came together with the instrumental.

The song looped a couple of times before she finally pressed pause. Este shrugged the headphones off of her head and set them back onto her bedside table. The noise of her headphones made Matty open his eyes, realising that she was still awake.

Her back was turned to him, so he peered over her shoulder to see the glowing screen of her phone. He watched Este open the notes app on her phone, and slowly type, “Do you want to leave at the same time?” into a new file. He sleepily smiled.

She didn’t label it, or type anything further. Copying the line heard over and over in her new favourite song was the only objective. She was hoping that making note of it would help her remember it forever, even though she probably would anyway.

#fluff!!! shocked emoji!!!#lmk what u think pls #tbsg #meste blurb #matty healy #the 1975 #matty healy fanfiction #the 1975 fanfiction #matty healy x oc #matty healy fic #matty healy fluff #matty healy fanfic #fluff #fanfiction

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crookedkryptonitebeliever · 2 months

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Yves ask<3

At like 2am I was listening to a playlist that had the song It's Over Isn't It from Steven Universe and I couldn't help but think a little bit about Yves. Idk if you see it but some of the lines in the song were giving me a bit of angsty Yves vibes. Like Yves not understanding why he "lost" to some random love interest like in that one Montgomery post.

Idk could be just me but I got a bit of Yves brain going on rn..

Well i mean, Yves was partially inspired by Pearl from Steven universe too, and it definitely comes with the angst fr theres some parallels between Greg and Monty; Yves FUCKING hates Montgomery's guts for stealing you away but he has no choice but to act like he actually "loves" him deep down, past Yves's monster-in-law exterior. Because Montgomery makes you happy and he knows if Yves were to express how he really feels, you would be devastated.

In his mind, the ultimate goal isn't to please himself, but to please you in life. He can't kill Montgomery or else you will feel hollow and unhappy. He cant give you an ultimatum, because even if you chose him, you would still yearn for Montgomery. Yves can't just bend reality this time, because somehow your attraction and love towards Montgomery is so strong, to break that bond is to break you too.

So he just smiles and digs his fingernails into his palm until it breaks the skin, only letting out the most blood-curling, ear-obliterating Yves-rage scream in the privacy of his home. Maybe even sticking some pins and needles into his heavily abused Montgomery voodoo doll, casting spells with obscure ingredients and ancient scripts since he would turn spiritual when facing things that he couldn't accept.

Under all that calm and collected mask is a hurricane of emotions; especially unimaginable anguish and anger. Desperately wishing that you would have preferred what Yves had. Desperately wishing you had chosen him instead.

But you nor Montgomery would know the depth of his hatred for the man who robbed Yves of his rightful position as your husband. You wouldn't know the excruciating pain he felt when you rejected him and went for someone he perceived as a lesser being. He hates him.

Yves hates, hates, hates Montgomery so much and he would torture him so gorily and cruelly, that even the devil would retch in disgust. Alas, you love that... Pathetic excuse of a man. He cannot do anything further than a couple of petty exchanges and stare at you longingly.

You wouldn't know just how much your best friend despised and loathed him, especially when he's so kind to Montgomery and claims to care about him too.

Perhaps you should listen to your husband when he says he's not at all comfortable being alone in a room with Yves. Maybe you should believe Montgomery when he says there is something very, very off about your beloved best friend.

Then again, Yves doesn't take his mask slipping off his true, ugly form lightly. Best to just pretend that nothing is happening and ignore the fact that his house increasingly smells like incense.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere male #oc yves #yandere concept #tw yandere #yandere x you #yandere oc x reader #male yandere oc x reader

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dead-dove-yandere · 3 months

Note

seeing that Laura drabble post made me imagine stuff, like- darling wakes up tied up only to find laura getting all flustered and blushy as soon as they do, she probably will just ramble about how she loves them and how they were meant to be together but it was almost inaudible for darling to hear what she's saying.

and to be honest, that one dude does have a lot of friends in his workplace, they're all really close too, but he's a lot closer to this brunette girl who's his childhood best friend xd (welp, looks like their time hanging out together will be gone, and it'll just go to him hanging out with chase instead if he has free-time)

— 👾

Somehow I have a feeling that Chase would ensure that one dude doesn’t spend much time with his childhood friend much more - if at all 😬 Chase would definitely get a little jealous that she gets his attention, although he’d never willingly admit he was jealous.

As for Laura, that’s exactly what she’d do - she’d have the guts to kidnap her darling with expertise but then still somehow be too shy to talk directly to them lol.

TW: Stalking, obsession, kidnapping, drugging, restraint, unhealthy parasocial relationship

You wake up slowly, groggily. Every single one of your senses returns one by one as you struggle out of your stupor. First, it’s your hearing - you hear some shuffling, as if someone is moving stuff around, accompanied by a quiet whimper or squeal of excitement. Then your feeling and smell return, and you become aware you’re on a cold, hard laminate floor, but it seems that blankets and cushions have been placed around you in an attempt to make you more comfortable. Your wrists ache and chafe against some kind of restraint that’s slightly too tight around them. A slightly musty scent hangs in the air, but it’s overpowered by some sort of cheap, chemically air freshener that gave you a headache - or perhaps it was the drugs you were recovering from that caused that? You weren’t sure. Finally, you managed to peel your eyes open, blinking away stale tears that blurred your vision. You hear another excited giggle and you try to hold your head up.

As your vision comes into focus, the room becomes clearer. It seems as though you’re in the bedroom of some small apartment. There’s barely enough room, and what room is there is cluttered by furniture and merch. Plastered on every wall you see posters of your idol band, your bandmates and yourself smiling back at you in glossy photos. There are shelves filled with your albums, and photocards dotted everywhere, stuck to any surface where there was room. You can faintly hear some music playing, and you glance over to see a PC on a desk, youtube open on the music video for a song you wrote. It seems like insult to injury - you weren’t particularly proud of that song and knew you could have written it better, yet here it was, another piece of this strange shrine to you, and in the middle of it all, sat on the floor in front of you, was Laura.

She was grinning, her face flushed bright red and she used the sleeve of her jumper to hide her face. She couldn’t take her eyes off of you. As she notices your gaze finally falling upon her, she mumbles something, but you can’t hear it.

“What?” You croak, your throat sore and dry.

“I s-said I… I can’t believe that you are- that you really are…” She stuttered on for a while, trying to get the sentence out but still making little sense, and while perhaps you could have figured it out, your mind was still too sluggish. She continues on regardless of your confused expression.

“I really, really liked - no, loved - no I do love you. Love. I love you. Like, a l-lot. I did, I always did.” You stare at her, your confusion overpowering the instinct for fear. You try to raise your hands, feeling pins and needles from the restraints.

“Oh, erm, yes, I know, it’s uh… they’re uh…” She went back to mumbling incoherently.

“What?” You repeat. The grogginess is quickly turning to nausea.

“I…” Laura takes a shaky breath, fidgeting and clearly getting agitated by her own inability to get over her anxiety, although how someone that anxious could go through with something as risky as kidnap, you weren’t sure.

“We are meant to be together!” She blurts out suddenly, and you only look at her with more bewilderment, feeling uneasy about her clear obsession as well as unsure about what that statement had to do with anything she was trying to say before. You flex your hands, focusing on getting feeling back into them. Laura’s face drops in disappointment when she didn’t get the reaction she wanted from you. Her face grows redder as her brow furrows in frustration and she babbles some more, all of it sounding like gibberish or a string of words fragments. Eventually she gives up mid sentence and roars in frustration, picking up a pillow and throwing it at the wall with a heavy thud. Then, she stands up and runs to the door where she pauses for a second.

“Ineedaminutetocalmdown,” she mutters, before slamming the door, leaving you trapped alone inside her bedroom.

Divider’s Credit: See Pinned Post

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lethalchiralium · 10 months

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That's... not really (?) a request the lyrics just reminded me of simon riley:

And I've been meaning to tell you

I think your house is haunted

Your dad is always mad and that must be why

And I think you should come live with

Me and we can be pirates

Then you won't have to cry

Or hide in the closet

And just like a folk song

Our love will be passed on

Please picture me

In the weeds

Before I learned civility

I used to scream ferociously

Any time I wanted

Sweet tea in the summer

Cross my heart, won't tell no other

And though I can't recall your face

I still got love for you

Pack your dolls and a sweater

We'll move to India forever

Passed down like folk songs

Our love lasts so long

(But in case you see potential and feel like it ofc: imagine him and a girl in middle school. They were very close, told each other a lot... so much so that everyone around them thought they were dating but they were just best friends (not really but too young to understand just how deeply they loved each other) and got separated over time and lost contact.) Anyway... hope you have a good day 😊

in honor of speak now (taylor’s version) and of folklore by taylor swift, i give you this

When he saw you again, it was like his lungs were ripped out of his ribcage by an ungodly force.

Your mesmerizing smile made his heart flutter and at that moment, he wished he could change things. Change every time he hid in his closet, change the moment he had to leave you, and change the moment of when he knew he loved you from a desolate night in the arid desert of Mexico to a night where your head was cuddled on his chest, both of you underneath your pink and fluffy blankets when you were both fifteen. He would change the way he left you to believe he had died.

His heartbeat was in his throat, lips dry as he hoped you were alright. He wanted to tell you that he had kept the Manchester United pin you gave to him when you were both fourteen, that it had the needle snipped off so it could settle in his chest pocket of his tactical vest. He hoped you still had that photo booth photo of him and you that was forever saved in your wallet since thirteen.

He wanted to tell you that he still remembered those nights under the stars on the swings, he remembered you fighting off his bullies when you two had first met with a brick in hand, pink lip gloss smile, and scraped up knees. He remembered you pulling him out of that closet at fourteen as his father screamed downstairs, out of his window, in the dark and out of harm. You tucked him into your perfume-drenched pink blankets and wrapped your arms around his bruised chest, hand holding the back of his head to your collarbone as your lips whispered promises into his once bloodied hair.

Don’t walk away. Don’t walk away. Don’t walk away.

You were as beautiful as the day he had left, his breath was shallow and his legs were paralyzed as he watched you determinedly walk past him and towards your destination. He had memorized that walk long ago, one you always made towards him with the world’s brightest smile on your face.

He’d wait all night for you, or until his heart explodes, he had remembered thinking one night as you held his hand, tugging him towards your home. “You can run away with me any time you want, Simon Riley.”

The silence of the people around him made his body be set ablaze, his chest felt as if it was being electrocuted as your smile grew wider.

Do it. Do it now, do it!

Please, don’t walk away, Y/N. Please, not when I finally have you back.

He stood and moved into the middle of the aisle of the church, the priest already speaking the words he needed to hear as he gazed upon your beautiful wedding dress and your boring groom.

Speak now, Simon.

Run away with me any time you want, Simon Riley.

“I object.”

let me know if i should have a part two 🫶

#lethalchiralium #lethal chiralium #AND OF COURSE IM WRITING THIS IN TUMBLR AND THEN IT FUCKING GLITCHES AND I HAVE REWRITE IT #simon ghost riley #simon riley #call of duty #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley call of duty #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley call of duty #simon riley x fem!reader #simon riley x f!reader

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gumballavocadoharry · 10 months

Text

Stage down:

"Ten minutes until the show starts Ms. Ln." Your assistant ringed in through your dressing room door. You sent her a small smile with a nod and continued putting on your lipstick. Harry, your boyfriend was neighbored next door to you and didn't fail to make a pit stop into your dressing room before and after every show. The both of you had collaborated on a song together and the duet couldn't have been more perfect.

Although, the only problem was these past few shows, you had been feeling a bit lethargic and extremely tired. In fact, if it weren't for Mitch's guitar stand and your microphone stand, you would've easily fell over. But you were determined to put on this show. After all, it was the last one on the set list; that alone gave you the required ambition to continue.

Your sparkly magenta skirt swished in the breeze as you ran on stage by your duet partner and started performing your song. In the middle, your legs felt tingly; like pins and needles had been inserted into them. You tried sitting down, but how much sense would it make to sit during an act like this where you need to be up and dancing.

Your lungs felt heavy and clouded, you had trouble catching your breath and hitting those high notes. Harry turned, noticing how off key you sounded. The attention from everyone made your cheeks burn a bright illuminating red; fearing the harsh critical reactions from the people who payed hard earned money just to come and see you fail and drag Harry down too. Those thoughts had only worsened your panic attack, and pretty soon, you felt yourself knocking over your microphone stand and feeling the shiny but cold ground of the stage.

Feeling yourself laugh in a state of incredulity mixed in mortification made you want the stage to swallow you up whole. The music stopped, and all the band members and Harry were standing over you; Harry hysterical and begging for water. He lifted you head to take a sip but eventually found it best to carry you backstage. You didn't look him in the eyes once, despite you feeling his gaze on you the whole time. Tears dripped onto the floor as you stared out; seeing the fast paced walls and doors before finally being slowed and carried into your dressing room.

"Hey Yn, can you hear me?" Harry's soft songbird voice echoed into you, "Yeah..." A soft raspy whisper like response mirrored. "I ruined the show didn't I? The last show of the tour and clumsy me just had to pass out." Harry furrowed his eyebrows even more deeply. "Absolutely not! Baby, you couldn't help it. Everyone gets burned out sometimes, but you did not ruin the show and you are still a wonderful singer."

You turned away in shame; still not wanting to face Harry. "I feel like a fool. Everyone staring....my skirt flew up....and it-" You choked, "It was just a big mess." Harry put his hand gently on your cheek, wiping away the straying tears. "Don't worry about it Yn. You did amazing this whole time and I think.....I think that you just need rest." He pressed a soft kiss to your cheek before disappearing back onto stage.

You saw where Harry left his jacket there on purpose. To give something for you to sniff and smell; his scent being there to soothe you enough to fall asleep until they could get you to a doctor.

Your heart fluttered. You were the happiest girl in the world even in your worst moments.

To @barbiegirlharleyquinn ❤

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles and yn #harry ❤️ yn #harry x yn #harry and yn #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry one shot #harry styles oneshot #harry styles fanfictions #boyfriend!harry

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ltsmoving · 9 months

Text

(i got mad distracted writing this one lmao)

Imagine, if you'll humour me, a newbie pred. They're only just starting to explore this new diet, and it's great! but they've never exactly been a fast runner and actually catching prey can be difficult.

To compromise, they instead plan to stalk and kidnap a prey, and it goes a lot smoother than roughing it! but now they have a different problem on their hands. They have the prey back in the privacy of their home, but they just can't bring themselves to do it- they're a living person too!

The prey is strapped to a dining room chair in the cold basement of the pred's house. They glare at the pred as they pace back and forth, weighing up the guilt they'd feel against the gnawing, prickling pins-and-needles of the hunger that would bite back and kill them if they didn't sate it soon.

When the pred checks back on the prey, they're hunched over in their seat, only stuck upright by their binds as faint, delicate snoring comes from them. It is rather late, the pred considers, deciding that they'd sleep on the decision and leave the prey to their own sleep for now.

In the morning, they bring the prey a glass of water, not wanting them to croak before they're in their stomach. As the pred helps the prey by holding the glass for them, the prey takes notice of the pred's shirt, and finally speaks up after drinking half of the glass.

"You like that band?" they squeak out, voice hoarse with strain. The pred is confused for a moment before following their gaze down to the shirt they were wearing- a band graphic tee they had bought a few years prior that was always too big for them.

The pred hesitates for a moment before responding. "I used to. I know some songs, but I usually just sleep in this."

A breathy laugh rests hollow and cold on the pred's skin as the prey looks back up at them. "I never expected a predator to like prey music." There's bite behind the comment, but a curious and genuine smile plastered on their face that the pred can't help but return.

"Hey, good music's good music." Both of them laugh lightly, and a conversation starts up naturally. Just a back-and-forth of small talk as the two get to know each other a little better.

Before long, the pred is so lost in the conversation that they'd forgotten all about why the prey is there in the first place. They feel even more guilty than before and sit in silence for a moment while they reconsider their options.

Surprising the prey, the pred walks behind them and loosens the binds on their wrists, the prey tentatively shifting their arms from behind their back to brace themselves on the chair as they go to stand.

They turn to smile and thank to predator, but are quickly pinned to the ground and met with the gaping darkness of the maw before them. The prey wrestles and fights against the predator, pushing desperately against their shoulders to wrench their head free- but, like a vice, the predator's jaws only grip tighter, refusing to let as they take a strained, painful swallow.

It's an arduous process, but little by little they work the prey down their distressed oesophagus, the dryness of their skin and clothes scratching at their throat as they cuss themself out for waiting so long- they just taste that good!

One final gulp sounds and reverberates around the empty basement, sending the last of the prey down into them as their gut expands and sags, pushing the chair that just held them out of the way of its girth. The predator gently and curiously feels over their bloated stomach, prodding where the skin stretches, caressing the sore underside.

They have trouble moving, but hoist up their gut and sluggishly carry themself, and their prey, up the stairs out of the basement and into their living room. The rest of their day is spent trapped under the weight on the couch as they try their best to stay awake through the food-coma that suddenly overcame them.

That feeling of guilt they were dreading quickly dissipated as they revelled in the afterglow of the meal . It was understandable why so many predators are so hasty with their prey- if not out of morality, out of pure hedonistic rapacity.

#eddie wrote this #oh boy oh boy tags #v ore #v.ore #soft vore #open ended vore #could go either way :)#idk they might change their mind or smth #unwilling prey #cruel pred #nervous pred #they kinda both ig

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aspecriddler · 1 year

Text

THEE Guide to Not Being a Punk Poser

Hey, so if you're reading this, you may or may not be looking to get into the punk scene, and you also may or may not be at a total loss on where to start

Well fear not! I am here with this little introduction post on how to Not Be A Poser (title pending)

FIRST UP: The Ideals

When it comes to the ideals of alternative subcultures, this graphic by @theygender (hope the tag is ok, lmk if it isn't) is the best summary I've ever seen

And if you're like me, you're solidly on the line between punk and grunge, but leaning just a bit more punk. This is fine /gen

Punk is about community. Punk is about fighting for a better future. Punk is about doing no harm and taking no shit. Punk is about looking out for the underdog. If you don't embody these values then you're not punk. The ideology of Punk is, in my opinion, the most important part of the subculture

But if you've been doing your research you already knew that. Now let's get into what a lot of people call the fun stuff: the music and the fashion

SECOND: The Music

There are a Lot of different subgenres of punk music, the most famous being punk rock and folk punk. I subscribe more to punk rock because I really enjoy fast music

Bands to look for include: Sex Pistols, Dead Kennedys, Pansy Division, Dog Park Dissidents, Cheap Perfume, Mommy Long Legs, Gang Green, The Germs, Rage Against the Machine, G.L.O.S.S., X-Ray Spex, The Cramps, Circle Jerks, Crass, Limp Wrist, and Pure Hell

Of course there's a lot more but those are some staples plus some of my personal favorites. You can find my personal punk playlist here

Overall the sound is Loud and it is Angry. There are many songs about killing cops and hating capitalism and it fucks. If you like funky basslines, sick ass drums, angry yelling, and shredding guitars this music is for you

PART THREE: The Fashion

Okay, okay, I had to save the quote unquote best for last. Imo the fashion of punk is the most diy out of almost any other subculture

Literally anything you can get your hands on can become fashion. Steal what you can, pick up shit off the side of the road, and if you can't/don't know how to do something get a friend in the scene to either teach you or commission them or something

Brands? The fuck is that, the only brands you need to know are Rit fabric dye, goodwill, etsy (sometimes), your local craft store, and a good spike maker (I don't deal with spikes currently so I have no good resources for them, so other punks feel free to chime in!)

Want cool metal shit? Take apart cans and turn them into spikes. Take a lighter apart and use those metal bits. Steal safety pins from walmart.

Want/need to sew something? Yarn and a tapestry needle if you can't get/don't want to use dental floss. When sewing patches do a straight stitch around followed by a hobo stitch around again and that shit will stay forever. Alternatively pin patches on with safety pins, this works pretty well in a pinch

Fabric paint is your best friend!!! Start with a white base layer and the colors will be much more vibrant. Don't think you have painting skills? Doesn't matter, you're punk and you have the audacity to wear whatever you make with pride

Invest in a leather jacket. I don't mean in terms of money, I got mine at goodwill for ten bucks. But it will change your life. I recommend getting two: one to keep plain and one to diy. Also flannels are good for diy and can also be made into vests for warm weather very easily.

Both of these flannels I decorated myself in a matter of hours. If I can do it, so can you

Also! When you cut the sleeves off of a flannel you can use the extra fabric to make diy pockets :3

PART FOUR: Community and Conclusion

So this is kind of my close out section lol

I'm not sure what kind of discord communities exist for true punk culture, so if anyone has one they wanna promote feel free

Do some research on local punk bands in your area, get your friends together and diy outfits for a concert, or just to wear. The world is your punk oyster, and as long as you or other people aren't getting hurt you can do whatever you want forever

Plz use this post to find other punks so we can start gaining more community (I'm totally not desperate lol)

#punk

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