backwardshatnick

[backwardshatnick]

random question bjskdjsja but!! to all writers, is there anything that you write that makes you cringe? like do you feel like crawling into a hole so bad when you write fluff? or does it happen when you write smut, angst? i’d love to hear your experiences 😇

[backwardshatnick]

[backwardshatnick]

⌞ 2 ᭪ emails we can't send

in which・・・one invitation fucks their lives in one selfish night.

wc: 1.9k gif by me, divider thanks to @kodaswrld | au masterlist here | miniseries masterlist will be posted soon!

It was a Tuesday when Bloom finally reached Boston, the laundry tumbling quietly in the background where the cottony and clean odour of the scent beads exchanged the murky and bleak outdoors with its smell of cozy sunshine. She had a book splayed open on her lap, 129 pages in but remembering none when she recalled the E-mail notification she had received just a few moments before stepping out of the train into the fresh, cool air.

Once she finally reached home, gave her mother a tight embrace and slipped into her fuzzy pyjamas after a long, deserving shower, her ribcage worked overtime to keep her heart from exploding out of her chest when Bloom finally tapped onto the virtual invite.

She blinked. Scoffed. And finally threw her phone onto the bed.

"Catch up my ass."

Bloom recognised the Chloe who she shared a Chemistry class with, knew the shade of nail polish she would always get for their Youth Cheerleading Showcase and remembered the hair conditioner she wore like the back of her hand. The combination of its sugary vanilla and cocoa always clung to Matt’s duffle bag and jersey when he finally finished a big match and ran to meet Bloom behind the bleachers like she was a dirty little secret.

A private affair.

The ear-piercing echo of the final whistle was still lingering in the air when Matt ran across the school field– adorned with leftover confetti, victory and school pride, wiping off the sweat on his forehead with the edge of his white jersey as he tried to cool down the post-adrenaline which had been bubbling under his skin when his eyes met her silhouette– half in the shadows, half under the sunlight with her arms crossed as if to pretend that she had not been waiting.

“You got Chloed again, Matt,” Bloom laughed, lightly shoving her palm on Matt’s shoulder, “Was she that excited when The Mattinator guarded the goal?”

His eyes turned into crescents when he let out a chuckle, the deep blue now hidden beneath the delicate feathers of his eyelashes, “Shut up! That girl needs to stop comin’ at me like that. Holy shit.”

“You need to start rubbing garlic on yourself. Or something. Whatever it is to get rid of this sickly sweet scent.”

“She sniffed me,” he said, scandalised, “Like literally, physically inhaled. I got traumatised pretty quick, Bloom.”

“You’re gross,” her sentence appalling, but voice was still fond.

Matt took a step closer and fanned his moist shirt towards her direction, “You like that I’m gross. Said that I always smelled like grass and success after our games.”

“Did not,” she lied, nose wrinkling.

“Did too!”

She rolled her eyes, too lazy to argue, and fished the huge pocket on the front of her denim overalls to toss a small, aquamarine box at the direction of his chest, successfully landing on his wide palms.

“What’s this?”

“A new cologne. You ran out, remember? Said it– no, mumbled it on the phone when you were half-asleep,” she glanced down at the packaging in his hands, “I couldn’t make out what was it that you were looking for exactly but this is the one I liked back in Macy’s. You’re welcome, stinky.”

His thumb ran over the gold embossed text on the box, finally opening it to uncap the perfume immediately to take a whiff.

“I can’t believe you remembered! This smells almost like the one Justin's friend wears!”

“Well, I can’t believe you forgot that you told me,” Bloom answered softly.

A short silence tucked between them like a quilt as they continued to stand beneath the stands, the shadows now shifting when the clouds moved across the sun courtesy of the wind which caused the tangy fragrance of lemon zest, cedarwood and mint to become more prominent.

Somewhere– possibly 20 meters away from where they were– someone was still cheering Matt’s name where it soon got cut off by the boy himself.

“Thanks,” Matt uttered, voice low but sincere.

Bloom nodded and tried her hardest to not meet his gaze, scared that the moment would get ruined with her genuine sentiments concealed underneath her eyes, “Don’t get Chloed again. The cologne’s complimentary but I’m charging you next time.”

He snickered and inched closer towards her just enough to see the hopeful glint in her eyes as he spread his arms wide for a hug, “Can I?”

“Absolutely. But spray yourself with the cologne first, my God!”

Her daydream was interrupted when her phone vibrated against the bedside table, prompting her to straighten her legs and stretch to reach over and see a message from her best friend, Stella.

Bloom placed her phone face-down when she was done staring at the screen, choosing to look out the window again and admire the concrete that has been blanketed with snow, Boston slowly dimming into the wintery blueish-grey that reminded her of the colour of his tie.

Would he even show up?

New York–Los Angeles–Boston.

The eternal drops of flurries brought a slight shock to Matt’s body, his coat screaming too LA for Boston and the crisp Massachusetts air hitting him harder than the clammy Californian breeze. He hugged his arms around himself as he tried to keep up a steady pace, eyes squinting against the wind and snow where his suitcase dragged in between his legs– leaving behind a sad tyre track towards a row of identical-looking sedans.

Clutched in between his right fingers and palm was a car key, silver but slightly rusty due to the poor management of the rental company as Matt scanned throughout the whole car park to look for a white Toyota Corolla.

“If this car doesn’t exist, I’m gonna fucking go back to my car in LA.”

He finally found the car, to which he immediately shoved his luggage into the boot with a click of a button and jogged back to the driver’s side where the door creaked when he opened it. The leather material of the seat was cold but it did not matter when Matt sunk into the upholstery when the heat finally kicks in.

A long– but loud– exhale left his mouth, the small cloud of warmth condensing onto the cold glass window next to him as he continued to rub his hands together and blow on it to provide more warmth. But that was until his stomach growled loudly amidst the purring of the janky old car engine.

Matt groaned, immaculate plan of driving straight home and spend just forty minutes on the road thrown out of the window where it was replaced by the rumbling ache in his gut, “Of course. Of course! You just had to be hungry now.”

He cruised down the quiet two-lane road, a familiar shortcut where the streets were lined up with bare twigs of honey locust trees that looked way too nostalgic when he used to send his parents off at the airport for a business trip, passing by all of the foliage while a classic radio jingle continued crackling softly in the background before it transitioned into an ad for a kitchen mixer that he knew the lines to since his childhood days.

His fingers drummed against the leather material of the steering wheel before Matt catches something flickering from afar. Noticing that it was a diner sign, blinking its red and white lights with some letters kept dim, he turned the wheel with no hesitation when he knew it was still open.

The chime of a doorbell greeted the whole diner when Matt stepped into the half-empty diner, the faint smell of cooking oil, lime dishwashing liquid, wood polish and hot Americano all combining to tickle his nose and heighten his hunger. He fixed his hair, leaving it tucked under his fitted white cap and balanced the backpack that was slung over his shoulder to finally settle into a secluded, corner booth at the end of the restaurant.

His empty stomached continued to growl as he decided to pour himself a glass of water from the jug, eyes skimming the menu when he was interrupted by a call of his name.

“No way! No fucking way!” the ginger who stood across from him screeched, “If this isn’t Matthew The Mattinator Bernard Sturniolo, king of seasonal goals and now Prada fit checks, I presume?”

Matt looked up mid-sip of water, gulping it all down in one swallow when he recognised the burly guy in front of him, “What the hell, Aaron?”

Their handshake turned into a brief one-armed hug, pats on the back not stopping as Matt motioned his ex-lacrosse teammate for a seat next to him as they opted to catchup– Matt spoke of his current influencer lifestyle, Aaron told him of his new part-time job as a lacrosse coach due to the tragic state of their town’s lacrosse field.

“Hey,” Aaron started, “So you’re finally back home to attend the reunion?”

He was casually stabbing a limp piece of chip when he delivered the question, causing Matt to give him a dumbfounded blink when he placed down his cold glass of apple juice, “What reunion?”

Aaron froze as he tried to finish his chewing, “That reunion, Matt. The one everyone’s been talking about for weeks? Bro, check your E-mail, it’s literally this Friday.”

The brunette pulled out his phone from his hoodie’s pocket almost hastily, unlocking it to open the app to which of course, he had an unopened virtual invite buried under sponsored deals and brand collabs. He browsed through the text, the event unfortunately– or fortunately– clashing with an online meeting with his manager.

But something small within his heart had urged him to check the guest list who had RSVP-ed, telling him to scroll and see who had agreed on going to know who exactly should he avoid at the event.

A few minutes ago, she had sent in herresponse now stamped for Matt to see and read not once, but twice. His pointer finger hovered over the green and orange boxes, continuously going back and forth on clicking ‘Yes’ and ‘Maybe’. He did not want to seem too eager, especially with Aaron staring back at him with an optimistic look.

“Well?”

Matt opened his Calendars app, deleting the planned virtual meeting with a swift flick of his thumb.

Fuck it.

He returned Aaron’s gaze with a playful smirk, “What can I say? I’m just booked and busy. You’ll just have to wait and see if I really am going.”

His friend groaned dramatically upon hearing Matt’s response, “You’re joking.”

Matt simply laughed, fork and knife proceeded to prod his now-cold steak and soggy lettuce as the shrill scraping on his ceramic plate continued to fill the silence between them. The ice in his apple juice had all melted into a flat pool, watering down the acidic taste and turning the hints of sweetness into bland. None of it had mattered to him though, because he knew Bloom was going to attend.

And he was now sat across one of old best mates who he never had trouble opening up to back in the days.

But nonetheless, Bloom was still an enigma to Aaron and he would not understand it if Matt spiralled in front of him, as he cut chunks after chunks of the medium-rare meat for him to chew on. When Matt was finally finished with Aaron wiping his mouth with the yellow napkin on the table, the former slid the empty plate further away from him as he looked at Aaron’s hazel eyes.

“Alright, alright. I’m going.”

ꫂ❁ @oopsiedaisydeer @bbgirlmatt @courta13 @mattspillowprincess @loverboysturn @calzerm @hearts4sturn @mattsdivaa @httpssturns

[backwardshatnick]

matt and bloom btw

[backwardshatnick]

why is university a thing give me a break please 🙏👩‍🦲🔨🔨🔨

[backwardshatnick]

cinnamon sugar and unspoken sparks 𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ hockey!chris x baker!reader

in which... a bakery owner gains a new regular with a sweet tooth, a secret, and a smile that might just ruin her whole routine.

wc: 2.2k

A/N: hope you guys enjoy! part 2 is in the making :)

it’s 2pm on a saturday, the weather’s beautiful, and your last instagram post went viral, which means you are currently experiencing the rush of the century in the little bakery you call home.

in line, stands chris sturniolo – professional hockey player for the boston bruins – with his brothers. after getting picked up from a morning practice and getting lunch together, nick had insisted on visiting this little pastry shop downtown. and although chris tended to stay away from sweets, given his job as a professional athlete, the smell of fresh cinnamon rolls had him drooling.

“hi there! what can i get for you?” you address the three of them. he looks up from his phone. looking at you, chris is unable to keep himself from smiling. you’re gorgeous and seem to be radiating joy.

“hey! i’m gonna get one of your almond croissants and an iced coffee. matt? chris? you guys want anything?”

“uhh.. maybe like a chocolate chip cookie for me?”

“i’ll get a cinnamon roll,” chris smiles at you. “they smell delicious.”

“perfect! i’ll get those for you in a moment,” you chirp. you get the first guy’s name – nick – typing into the screen and hit pay. the machine prompts their total, and nick taps his card. matt goes out to pull the car around front, and nick runs to the bathroom.

when their order’s called, chris goes up to the front, taking the bag from your hands. “thanks, beautiful.” he winks, before nick joins him and the two head out.

as you watch him leave, you feel excitement bubble in your stomach. you’ll probably never see that guy again, but god was he cute! and flirting with you? just remembering it kept a smile on your face until the end of the day.

the next morning, just after 10:30am, your bakery has settled into its mid-morning lull. the scent of espresso and pastry still cling to the air. you’re wiping down the counter, debating whether to just eat a day-old muffin or actually make something for breakfast, when the bell over the front door jingles – and there he is again. same hoodie, same charming smile, same soft blue eyes.

he walks up to the counter like he’s been doing it forever.

“you back for round two?” you ask, setting the rag aside and stepping up to the register.

“couldn't stop thinking about those cinnamon rolls,” he says, then adds, “or maybe just the person who made them.”

you roll your eyes and laugh, trying to ignore the butterflies from yesterday that have resurfaced. “wow, flirting already? you haven't even ordered.”

“fine, i’ll behave,” he jokes, holding his hands up. “one cinnamon roll, extra frosting if you can.”

you nod, reaching for the tongs. “anything to drink?”

“nah, i’m trying to stay away from unnecessary sugar n stuff.”

you raise an eyebrow. “cinnamon rolls didn't become sugar-free overnight.” you pull out a roll, and drizzle his extra frosting over it.

“i know,” he shoots back, grinning. “i said unnecessary sugar. cinnamon rolls are absolutely a necessity, thank you very much.”

you box his order and reach over for the register. then, on impulse, you ask, “can i get a name for the order?”

he quirks a brow, clearly amused. “you worried it’ll get mixed up with all the other customers in here?” he gestures around. the bakery is empty, besides the two of you.

you lift a shoulder in mock-nonchalance. “it’s for the receipt. gotta keep things official.”

he grins and leans it a bit. “chris. no last name – unless you need that too for, you know… official legal documentation.”

“not unless you’re planning to commit a crime while you’re here.”

“guess i’ll keep it clean today, then.” you punch in his name and slide the receipt and his cinnamon roll across the counter.

“chris,” you read aloud. “you’re officially on file.”

he takes the box from you, fingers brushing just briefly. “glad to be known.

the next day, like clockwork, he comes in around the same time. as soon as you see him you’re already grabbing and packing up his treat.

“you’ve officially ruined all other cinnamon rolls for me,” he tells you dramatically, “i had a sad gas station one this morning. it was like betrayal in a wrapper.”

you laugh, then say in mock offense, “i can't believe you’d cheat on me with a gas station. you deserved that sad roll.”

“yeah, well last time i checked you weren’t open at five in the morning.”

you quirk a brow, “why were you up at five in the morning? that sounds like torture.”

chris falters slightly. he doesn't want to ruin this little thing he has going on with you. and while he’s not really famous and the chances of you knowing him but not having recognised him are slim, he’s had relationships ruined because of this in the past. so all he says is, “work.”

“yikes,” you make a face. i can barely stand getting up at six to bake a fresh batch of something. can't imagine already being out and about at five.”

he shrugs. “it’s not an everyday thing. once or twice a week usually.”

“oh? what do you do for work?”

“just some boring stuff,” he tells you awkwardly, “nothing like all this.”

you hum in acknowledgment, not wanting to push, before passing off his food. “well, see you tomorrow then, chris?”

he grins and leans on the counter a bit. “mind if i get a name with the baked goods?”

you blink, caught off guard but smiling. “it’s y/n.”

“y/n, huh? i like that. makes the morning run feel a little more personal.”

you shake your head, laughing softly. “don't get too used to the charm. i’m just here to feed you sugar.”

it’s his fourth morning in a row, and by now, you’ve already got a cinnamon roll with extra frosting set aside for when he gets there.

he steps inside just as the sun cuts through the windows, shining on the worn tile. once again: hoodie, sneakers, and the same cap – today not backwards. it’s black, with a yellow and black “B” stitched into it.

you tilt your head slightly as he taps his card. “you ever take that hat off or is it like… surgically attached?"

chris grins, one hand reaching up to adjust its fit. “only when i’m trying to impress someone.”

“and today’s not that day?”

he leans on the counter, smirking. “i’m pacing myself. wouldn't want to peak too early.”

you glance at the logo as the receipt prints. “you a big fan of… whatever that hat is for?”

he laughs under his breath, something flickering behind his eyes. “you could say that.”

you hand him the receipt and slide over the box, still eyeing him a little. “mysterious.

chris takes them with an easy grin. “keeps things interesting.”

on wednesday, you find yourself surprisingly swamped. weekdays you don't get many customers; maybe a max of like forty. so not only are you not mentally prepared to be dealing with this many customers, you’re also not stocked for all of them.

being the only one in store, you have to juggle running back to bake and deal with customers up front. the line has started to die down a bit, but currently, you’ve got someone waiting on macarons. the cookies are baked and cooling, which he can see – part of why he’s so angry. but you don't pipe in filling when they’re fresh out of the oven, and you refuse to change that for this awfully rude stranger.

“you think i have time to wait around all day for some fuckin’ macarons?”

you open your mouth to apologise again, but before you can, a calm voice cuts in.

“hey, man. maybe chill out? she’s doing her best.”

you glance over. chris is leaning one elbow on the pastry case, unfazed. in all this chaos you hadn't even noticed him sneak in.

the customer scowls, “who are you, her boyfriend?”

chris shrugs. “not yet, but she does make a killer cinnamon roll and if my girl isn't in a good mood, the frosting won't be as sweet, so i’d watch your tone.”

the man just rolls his eyes and goes to take a seat at a nearby table.

“chris, hi!” you sigh in relief at the familiar face.

“busy in here today. did you decide to become a fast food restaurant and not tell me?” he jokes.

you scoff. “if that were the case then maybe i’d actually have enough stock for this huge crowd.”

“hope you saved me a cinnamon roll. would hate for someone to have taken the last one.”

“i may not have any on hand right now…” you tell him sheepishly. “but! i’ve got a fresh batch in the oven right now. you willing to wait five minutes?”

“for you? i’d wait forever.”

on day six, chris is late. not awfully so, but a few hours further into the day than usual. you stand behind the counter, attempting to organise sugar packets, but your eyes keep flicking to the window.

it’s not like you’re waiting for him. at least that’s what you tell yourself. but still, you catch yourself scanning faces through the glass, listening for the jingle of the bell that somehow sounds different when he walks in.

he’s just another customer... right? a very cute, very funny customer who apparently thinks cinnamon rolls are better than protein bars.

it’s only when a customer points out a spill on the floor that you normally would’ve noticed, do you address the issue. “god y/n, pull yourself together!” you mutter to yourself, walking over to the spill with your mop. “what is this, high school? jesus, get over yourself.”

you mop up the mess and bring your cleaning supplies to the back. of course it's at that moment that chris walks in. the bell rings and you have a feeling it’s him. you quickly chuck off your plastic gloves and head to the front.

chris is with a friend you haven't seen before. he’s older and dressed in a jersey with that same black and yellow “B.” they’re mid-conversation but chris cuts it off as soon as he sees you.

“you’re late. i almost thought you weren't gonna show up for a little there. i was worried you wouldn't be able to make it without your daily cinnamon roll,” you joke.

“oh please,” he flashes you a cheesy smile, “i could last without my cinnamon rolls. what i’d be worried about is what happens when i don't get my daily dose of y/n.”

his friend rolls his eyes. “you bring me here to flirt or feed me, sturniolo?” which you assume is chris’s last name.

chris grins. “can't it be both?” he turns to you. “do you happen to have something for my friend here that says ‘i’m sorry for forcing you to eat something that isn't unseasoned chicken breast and creatine’?”

you laugh, “i might have some scones that get the message across.”

once you pass off the sweets, they sit in the corner for a few minutes. you try not to eavesdrop, but you catch part of their conversation -- something about "off-season” and “line changes” and “power plays.” it sounds vaguely athletic, but you brush it off. probably some gym thing. still... his shoulders make more sense now.

that night, you lie in bed, just thinking about chris. you don't want to admit it, but i’s become undeniable at this point; you like chris. a lot.

as you recall your interactions with him, you start to wonder. since you’ve know him, one too many customers have asked for photos or given him a weird look. you’ve thought about it before but never wanted to be invasive. however that night, it seems, curiosity wins.

you grab your phone and search his name.

"chris sturniolo: centre, boston bruins." the search bar fills itself in before you finish typing. there’s a full wikipedia page. stats. highlights. interviews. suddenly , the hat, the hoodie, the friend in a jersey... it all clicks.

you sit back, scrolling through an article that casually mentions a salary you can't even conceptualise. your stomach tightens, not with jealousy, but with something that feels like doubt and disappointment, with a tinge of betrayal. he didn't lie, but he didn't exactly tell you either.

he didn't owe it to you, obviously. but you would’ve liked to think he would tell you. was he trying to keep it a secret? hide who he was? it all sounded like bad news.

you close the tab. whatever. he’s just a guy who likes your cinnamon rolls. and you. you hope. no you don't hope. he doesn't matter. right?

taglist: l @courta13

if you enjoyed this, please reblog!

[backwardshatnick]

check me?

awkward fluff, silly, cute, not proofread, soulmates she just doesn't know it yet:) wc - 600ish

It was a beautiful day today, despite the chill in the air that was always to be found in the city. Mouse had decided to take her lunch outside, an iced drink sweating in its cup and a neat little tray of sushi.

After searching for the perfect spot in the park near the hospital, with some light shade from the trees but still plenty of winter sun gazing upon her features, she reached down to pat the ground gently, ensuring it was not wet.

Fears quietened, she took off her bag and sat down facing the sun, unwrapping her food carefully and placing the drink beside her on the grass. The best thing about this particular park was the lack of seagulls, and people, Mouse thought. The hospital could just get so busy and it was nice to have a moment of peace and quiet, just soaking up some vitamin D.

As she quietly enjoyed her food, she began to worry though. There were some other people walking past her in the park, and she felt less alone than she would have liked. Foot traffic. A couple walking a dog. A man on a bench too close. Two friends hugging. Her bubble of solitude felt… punctured.

She also got the distinct urge that the so-called perfect spot she had decided to sit in, was not as perfect as she would’ve liked, cold texture of the grass confused with wetness. Mouse sat with her knees drawn up to her chest, and suddenly, the worry that some grass or mud was getting on her pants made her panic. She still had to walk back to the hospital, after all!

With a quiet sigh of frustration, she twisted, trying to crane her neck to check her own ass—utterly failing.

That’s when she heard his voice.

“Hey, Doc.”

Her head snapped up. Of course. Of course it was Matt. The universe was mocking her.

He was in uniform, bunker pants and a thermal shirt, coffee in hand like he wasn’t technically working. Sunglasses too. Just a little too casual to be a coincidence. His hair was still damp, probably from a shower, and he looked beautiful in the way all beautiful people seem to be when they’re standing in the sun.

“Matt,” she said, uncertain but not unkind. “Are you following me?”

He grinned, seeming unbothered. “If I say yes, will that still get me invited to sit?”

“Neither,” she replied quietly, standing and brushing off her hands. “But since you’re here…”

She hesitated, then sighed. Her pride could suffer for five seconds.

“Can you—uh—check something for me?” She turned halfway around, pointing vaguely at her own backside. “I sat on the grass, and I think I might’ve… y’know. Mud?”

Matt blinked. Then blinked again. “You want me to check your ass for mud.”

“Yes.”

“You hate me but you’re cool with ass inspections.”

“I don’t hate you,” she deadpanned. He smiled, albeit a little forcefully.

He crouched a little, tilting his head. Several, drawn-out seconds of awkward silence passed. “You’re clear,” he said eventually. “No mud. No grass stains.”

She turned back to face him, exhaling in relief. “Thanks.” His cheeks seemed a little pink, and he looked away, scratching the back of his head.

“Anytime, Mouse.” He paused, then offered with barely disguised hopefulness, “Are you heading back to the hospital?”

Mouse fought a smile, lost the battle. “Maybe.”

Matt grinned, clearly counting it as a win. “So. Can I walk you back? Or are you going to make me awkwardly not-follow you through the park just because I happen to be walking in the same direction?”

She looked down at her empty tray, then back up at him. For once, she didn’t immediately say no. She liked hearing him ramble too much.

“…You can walk with me. But don’t even think about trying to get a sip of my drink.”

“I don’t like matcha anyway,” he smiles.

“Oh and hey, cute jeans,” Matt adds, smirking, and Mouse feels her face grow hot.

And then off they go.

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws ꨄ gif by @chrismalfoy (im pretty sure?) ꨄ

a/n: i really really liked this idea so i hope u do too! im trying to come up with i guess more "filler" prompts with creative concepts,, but the next thing for matt and mouse will most likely be a sort of lore update:)

thank you sm for reading! likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated 💌

[backwardshatnick]

the air smells like salt and i think my door is rusting

[backwardshatnick]

how did your other aus spend their birthday? :) -🫧

based on my blurbs:

peony is hiding behind a bush outside of the comms building because she had a slice of lopsided birthday pie and a candle waiting for matt, who thinks that she had forgotten about it just because she hasn't sent him a birthday text 🤷‍♀️ but they both ended up hanging out at the café after because matt swore that he was entitled to free drinks there!

photographer!reader made a card using comedian!chris' goofy pictures that she took for their headshots (i've started writing this ages ago, just need to finish it hehe) and pasted them together so they spell out "happy birthday chris!". they (alongside the other members of the comedy club) all went to eat out to which chris just had to order a coleslaw for reader 😌

influencer!matt had recently posted a partnership video with spotify where he had to curate a 'birthday playlist' and had played it during his private birthday party at the bar. bloom is just upstairs at the same bar for drinks with her friends until she recognised the sequence of songs that was similar to their shared birthday playlist back in high school 🫩🍸

thank you for your question, 🫧:D appreciate it sm!!!

[backwardshatnick]

some organizations working on the ground in gaza right now

gaza soup kitchen

the sameer project

salam charity

watermelon relief

[backwardshatnick]

honestly i only have 1 bday fic (for my aus) that i was so sure of posting because the others that i have… they’re kinda meh imo 🫤 but feel free to send in asks for the others to have an insight on how they celebrated! hehe

[backwardshatnick]

in which chris favours the company of his small radio booth on his big day.

gif thanks to @hotelstares 🤍 both dividers by @uzmacchiato 🩵 au masterlist here. enjoy :)

It was Friday. Supposedly a non-working day for Chris and his radio due to a certain special occasion, but surprisingly the booth had its air-conditioning switched on alongside crinkled paper plates of microwaved leftovers being tossed mindlessly by him as he kept swivelling in his chair to adjust the mic and flick a few switches to check the tracks that he had on queue. It was a quiet night in the booth, the rain outside falling in soft, gentle patters whilst his inbox remained empty. Not that he minded, there were times that Chris sought the peace and quiet during his shifts.

Especially tonight.

His phone had buzzed all morning when it would not stop pinging with notifications from his friends tagging him in Instagram stories, pictures of him and his two brothers– Nick and Matt– all blurry from God knows when, family group chats being bombarded with boomer and millennial virtual birthday cards and a surge of emails coming from companies, urging him to use his birthday discounts and coupons before they expire.

He pondered on the multiple Instagram posts, liking and replying to the birthday greetings half-heartedly as Chris knew he would not receive an answer immediately, his circle of friends all out for drinks with the other two triplet brothers to which he declined, reason being “The security guy who loves listening to my segments needs me but thanks for inviting anyway.”

Though truthfully, Chris just wanted a celebration all by himself, without the attention and voices of others asking him invasively of his five year plan once they finish school. All he needed were his thoughts speaking for themselves, accompanied by the sound of music and bites of mini pizza in between.

When the shrill and metallic sound of the snare drum finally subdued from his final rock song in the sequence, Chris went to read through the last batch of messages that he had in his requests just after finishing the last few sips of his Pepsi that he had brought from home. He smiled reading some of them– someone requesting a track from Pitbull because they finally had the courage to overcome their phobia of bald people, another one asking for a song by Twenty One Pilots just to annoy their roommate who hates them, but one particular anonymous request had stood out like a sore thumb, managing to grab his attention by its song request.

Something about it felt too intimate and real, his pointer finger hesitant to tap on his trackpad until he clicked it open to fully read the request.

What the fuck…?

Chris stared at it, blinked a few times until he felt something within his chest rumble as if his lungs had simply folded and said goodbye. While it was impossible to miss out his birthday as he shared it with two other people who looked identical to him, he remembered not saying anything this year, nor did he mention wanting any gifts– be it big or small– to any of his best buddies for his birthday. All he wanted was some time to himself until this stranger’s tiny wish came to haunt and cling at the back of his neck.

The short message and Taylor Swift song was immediately queued up and played thanks to the automated system, not allowing him the time to remove it from the order as the previous song had just ended. But he did small damage control by unmuting his mic to read out what was written in the message, alongside his short commentary. A part of him wanted to believe that it was for someone else, maybe some random English major who had pin-straight green hair turning 22. Or maybe it was some inside joke that Chris was never a part of. But it was still too oddly specific to just be a coincidence as he cleared his throat to speak.

“Got a request here for someone turning 22 tonight. Whoever you are I wish this greeting isn’t that late. Someone out there thinks you’re worth remembering. You’re lucky.”

He clicked a button to stop his microphone and allowed the picking of the acoustic guitar to be played, the bouncy and jovial nature of the song filling the booth which somehow succeeded in lifting his mood slightly.

As scary as it sounded, this anonymous did nothing to harm him but they always knew too much that it tugged him sentimentally. Chris leaned back in his cushiony chair, eyes flicking to a blank monitor which reflected the somewhat troubled state that he was in tonight.

Maybe the song really was not dedicated for him. Not the message either.

But the truth had found a home within his chest anyway, the comfort from the message soothing the ebbing thrill he had for his own birthday– during a time where he stopped favouring big celebrations, people wishing him to smile more and the loss of joyful authenticity when pronouncing his name. At least someone cared enough to make another person happy at such a late night even if the latter did not want to be known.

A crooked smile joined the huff of laughter that Chris had let out before he swallowed another curious thought from escaping his mouth as he let his head absorb the lyrics of the song.

On top of a baby blue fitted sheet, laid a girl who had herself wrapped in a fluffy blanket with her laptop speakers blaring a certain rock song until the clattering noise from the drums came to a halt when the introduction chords of Taylor Swift’s 22 started playing almost immediately.

“Wait what,” she grumbled, “He’s not even gonna bother reading my message?”

But the moment that Chris unmuted his mic with his voice welcoming itself to her ears, her face had warmed up.

“Someone out there thinks you’re worth remembering. You’re lucky.”

You’re lucky.

You’re lucky.

“Well of course,” she uttered, grabbing tighter onto the stuffed plushie in her grasp, “It is meant for you, Chris!”

She could tell that he had somewhat knew that the request was for him when he paused before saying “22.” There was a small, unmistakeable crack in his usual demeanour and confidence when reading out and saying his own messages to follow them up. Not like his usual yapping self.

But of course, she did not regret her actions when she sent in the message vaguely, without a proper addressee and sender to it knowing that Chris would just brush it off and never say a quick thank you.

Because even if he did not understand her intentions, he still played the song that was meant for him, read the words that were meant for him and stayed throughout to give his two cents when reading them.

She just wanted to say something to him. Make him feel celebrated albeit secretly.

She curled under her duvet with a small smile when the chorus boomed beside her as she whispered to no one but herself and the droplets of dew on the wet grass outside of her windows which cast a blurry mist as the rain had come to a halt.

“Happy 22nd birthday, Christopher Sturniolo.”

a/n: it’s already 1st august where i live so..... happy birthday to our favourite deer boy, chris 🪄🦌 and to nick and matt too!! 💜💙🧡 i hope they're having a blast with their loved ones :,)

p.s.: i purposely made reader's request to be on the birthday itself because of "plot convenience" and just to make it seem like it's his last birthday gift on his actual big day. and YES i know january (the last update of this au being the new years party) to august is a reaaaaallly big time stretch, but again this is fiction bsbdjbdsj

📻 @oopsiedaisydeer @izzylovesmatt @mattspillowprincess @courta13 @loverboysturn @mattsdivaa @httpssturns

[backwardshatnick]

♡ CUSTOM DIVIDERS !! ♡

Please give credits !

All the dividers I've ever made for me & my sister @tarotofhope - PART 2

( Part 1, Part 3 )

♡ I'm sharing these here because from hereon you can request me for dividers on any theme of your preference or recolor any of the existing ones that I've posted. ♡ I'm taking requests through asks. ♡ Please be patient with me. ♡ I will provide you with a number of divider ideas that i can come up with. ♡Just trying to direct my creativity into something small on a daily basis through this.

IMPORTANT : If you use these dividers please tag @uzmacchiato for credit.

➡️ Masterlist ✨

「 TEXT 」

「 FLOWERS/LEAVES 」

「 RANDOM 」

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Please don't use without providing credit to the account mentioned above.

[backwardshatnick]

BASIC LINE DIVIDERS 2 (GIFs) ♡

Part 2 - Rainbow Colored Animated Dividers

IMPORTANT : If you use these dividers please tag @uzmacchiato for credit in the post you use it.

➡️ Masterlist ✨

Heart Beat Lines :

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Wavy Lines :

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[backwardshatnick]

snoopy of the day

[backwardshatnick]

introducing.. popstar! reader & youtuber! chris

┆ ⤿ 🎧 ⌗ NOW PLAYING... ⌞ fame is a gun — addison rae ⌝

She went viral for her voice. He stayed quiet behind the camera. Now the internet wants to know—what happens when a pop star and a YouTuber fall in love under a spotlight neither of them asked for?

fame is loud. love is louder. viral meets vulnerable. glitter and grayscale. pink nails on his hoodie strings. silence between camera cuts. she bites back. he lets her. loud girl, soft boy. matching rings, mismatched lives. fans call it PR. it’s not. they don’t post much—but when they do? it breaks the internet. she sings about him. he never misses a show.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ popstar! reader... twenty-two. viral at seventeen. former tiktok star. friends with it-girls and internet royalty. sharp tongue. soft heart. sparkles like danger. rumored. misunderstood. doesn’t trust easily. dresses like a warning. sings like a confession. says she’s fine. isn’t. kisses like she means it. keeps everyone guessing.

✮⋆˙ youtuber! chris... twenty-two. boston born. hoodie always on. speaks when it matters. slow blinks. sideways glances. edits videos at 2am. flirts like it’s accidental. loyal to a fault. private as hell. quiet until he’s not. soft touch. sharp mind. hates the spotlight—loves watching her in it. doesn’t know when it happened. just knows she’s the only one who makes the noise stop.

immaqulate's notes ✎ᝰ.ᐟ .. chat,, IM SO FUCKING EXCITED FOR THIS UGHHH LETS GOOOO NEW MINI SERIESS. 10 PARTS. LETS GOOO... also! right off the bat, if you have any comments or questions! send them to my inbox!!

click here to be added to my taglist and here for masterlist <3

@chrisissobabygirl @sturnzwrld @strnilolover @sweetshuga @mattslilies @sirensdollesque @slxtarchive @heartsonlyforchris @sturns-mermaid @sturnsgilmore @pasteldreams @endereies @solarsturniolo @drewswife @conspiracy-ash @courta13 @ivytthew @blushsturns @surprisecurlyfriess @mazzystarrysky @eclipsturns @riasturns @mattsgirl4ever @elisesturnz @ribbonlovergirl @chrisslut04 @pair-of-pantaloons @obxfansstuff @poppetbaby02 @bgfshai @kalel2005 @sturniszn @leahfaith @mattspuppyy @babciaala13 @whump-loverz @chrispycremedonut @mattsdivaa @spookysturnz @chrisissos3xy @le4hsblog @babiobiaou @nxrasturns @namelesssav @bft1996