#Goose Rider

[darkwingsnark]

DUCKVEMBER 01: Dead Duck Goose

Goose Rider comics that appeared in the original run of Spider-Ham are some of my favorites gags. Steve Mellor's chaotic style but attention to details has given me many laughs.

[acmeoop]

Marvel Tails One-Shot (1983)

[youtwitinmyface]

Marvel Tails starring PETER PORKER, THE SPECTACULAR SPIDER-HAM

Written by Tom DeFalco Drawn by Mark Armstrong Published by Marvel Comics While DC had Captain Carrot And His Amazing Zoo Crew, Marvel also entered the Funny Animal Superhero genre one year later, in 1983, with the debut of Spider-Ham, an anthropomorphic talking Pig with the powers of Spider-Man. Created by Tom DeFalco, Larry Hama, and Mark Armstrong, the character debuted in this special…

[melowkeyart]

Share your silly art!

(Also, Commissions are open!! eeee!!!)

Look at his little feet moveeee

[gh0stlightblog]

My parents keep loudly mentioning my "helmet fetish" and they're not wrong but why you gotta say it at a family dinner 💀

[asknarashikari]

Shouma befriends Goose the not cat. Who hisses at his siblings and eats Suga in one gulp.

Lakia: Well that's new... I'm not complaining though

Sachika: *gives Goose all the scratches*

Hanto: ...It's not gonna do that to us, right?

Shouma: Don't be silly Hanto. Goose owns us now, she won't hurt us

(Yes, the cat owns the human, even if the cat is actually an alien)

(Also Goose's favorite aside from Shouma is Hanto)

[howtodrawyourdragon]

Mother Goose

Summary: Set in a Modern AU. During a trip, Hiccup told the twins to behave and they decide to make him pay for it.

Warnings: /

Rating: General

Words: 462

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Characters: Hiccup, Astrid, Ruffnut, Tuffnut, Snotlout, Fishlegs

Pairing: Hiccstrid

Author's Notes: Idk, weird idea I had last night that I couldn't resist writing. So of course, write it I did and then I posted it.

Enjoy!

-XOXOX-

“Ooooooooh-wa! Ooooooooh-wa!”

“Eeeeeeeeeeoooooooh! Eeeeeeeeeeoooooooh!”

“Wee-woo! Wee-woo! Wee-woo!”

Hiccup should’ve known better than to take the twins anywhere that had the request to be quiet on a sign outside on the entrance. “You will startle the bat population” it says. They’re in a cave open to the public, their phones are out and they’re wailing like sirens. And worst of all, they’ve managed to rope Snotlout into their nonsense, too.

There’s a path of iron bars and wooden floorboards made just for the tourists. He stands on the stairs and leans on the railing as he looks back at the three of them while they take full advantage of the acoustics. Fishlegs covers his ears and quickly walks up ahead. Hiccup doesn’t blame him, they’re a nightmare on his hearing, too. It's a good thing Toothless didn't follow him inside.

Still standing at the bottom, Astrid meets his eye, hands on her hips.

“What did I do?” He asks her in defeat. “Give them too much sugar?”

She shrugs, they never know when Ruffnut and Tuffnut devolve into nonsense or when they successfully drag Snotlout into their shenanigans. They were behaving well until just now when they entered the cave and saw the sign.

The sign Hiccup made them aware of and told them explicitly to follow. He told them to behave, which may have been his undoing. As a matter of fact, it might be the very reason why they managed to drag Snotlout into their nonsense.

“Come on, maybe we’ll lose them in the cave and they can be raised by the bat population here,” Astrid gives him something to look forward to as she climbs the stairs and pulls on his shoulders to drag him along.

It takes only a moment for Tuffnut to notice that he’s moving on. He gasps out loud and dramatically.

“Mother Goose, he leaves us!” As soon as he exclaims that, pointing at the retreating figure of their friend, Hiccup briefly halts to sag before continuing after Astrid.

He’s had so many parent-animal-related nicknames over the years. Both “Mama” as well as “Papa Bear,” “Papa Parrot,” “Mother Hen” , even “Rooster Daddy.” Though they favorite was "Daddy Long Legs" for a very long time. It doesn’t matter to them whether it makes sense or not, so long as it sounds good to them and they can get under his skin.

Today their choice of nickname is…

“Mother Goose!” Ruffnut exclaims.

“Mother Goose please don’t leave your gooselings!”

Astrid puts a supportive hand on Hiccup’s shoulder when he catches up to her. Her smile is sympathetic. Oh, he’s paying for telling them to behave, isn’t he?

“Remind me to put them up for adoption later,” he tells her and she makes a mental note to do so.

[fateroulette]

(OC) Mother Goose

and also Charlemagne's mother, too

1x:

[masochisticallygrumpy]

Musical interpretations of literature, my beloved.

@ace-of-bass I was listening to this album, The Snow Goose, and I wanted to share it with you.

It's inspired by a novella of the same name.

[vis3rys]

since this came up last night let me put the record straight: no, seven year old viserys was nothing like aerys and ser barristan is a dick who can't get over a woman who 20 years ago decided to dance with another man at a tournament instead of him and is just overall, bad vibes. seven year old viserys was a child who spend more time with the kingsguard than his own parents and was sheltered. what little time he spend with his family was minimum. seven year old viserys had too much of an age difference with rhaegar to have anything in common but listen to his brother talk about prophecies and how the dragons are real and they had a place in the world. seven year old viserys did not ask to be crowned as her mother's last will before she gave birth and name him king as news of rhaegar and aerys death came to him. seven year old viserys did not ask to be shipped out to essos (and i still wonder why not send them to dorne, where they were clearly sympathetic to their cause). dany explicitally said her brother ""broke"" or change the moment he had to sell the last of rhaella's jewels and crown in order for them to get food and money. once that was gone, the name targaryen no longer mattered and they were paraded around. illyrio took as much advantage of viserys desperation as anyone else who took them in. viserys was much as a victim before he turned into a victimizer by selling dany to drogo, in hopes of getting an army. an army drogo never intended to give him according to george himself. drogo mocked him and intended to keep dany as a breeding woman and there was no love there. viserys was made to think that no blood could be spilled when he began arguing with drogo. drogo never intended to give viserys an army or cross the narrow sea because the dothraki do not cross it. adult viserys has his own crimes to respond to but he was also someone who suffered plenty during his childhood and resents dany who has no recollection of home. what she knows of house targaryen is of viserys own idealized idea of their home a mixture of his isolation as a child and idealation after the rebellion. this is why i choose to keep my viserys alive because like jaime, i think viserys could've been a character that if left to do his own thing, would've grown and reconcile with his sister after years apart.

[stingyslegslookweird]

y’know it’s a bit weird to me there’s no Star Trek TNG/Ben 10 crossover fics on AO3 but somehow there are two different TNG/Untitled Goose Game fics and a Steamed Hams parody with Picard and Q.

[scoups4lyfe]

we stan an extra king <3

.....this dude doesn't look creepy at all....

just like that????

[silentium-symphony]

Starved (Link x Reader) SMUT

(a/n) link smut link smut link smut li--shot this is very NSFW, so minors please do not interact.

click here for a completely accidental sequel... ;)

cw: afab!reader, wife!reader being a silly lil goose (an Anser gooficia if you will), a nice homecooked meal :), teasing heh, quickly followed by--oh fuck oh shit wait what the fu, link gets rough, also he’s got a DIRTY MOUTH—loosely had wild in mind but i think any of the chain can work here (except for wind ofc), cute nicknames, breeding kink towards the end shhh

wc: 3.7k

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

Link's eyes blurred in and out, battling the heavy droplets that hammered his lashes. The foreign meadows that wrapped him and Epona had begun rolling into familiar hills, which sent a flicker of warmth in his shivering chest.

He was almost there. Almost home.

Thoughts of his beloved wife wanting waiting for him spurred him forward. He clicked his tongue and Epona hastened her pace. Link stroked his loyal steed’s muscular neck with love and gratefulness, making a mental note that she was due for a buffet of freshly-picked apples when they get back. He cooed in her ear, laughing at the lighthearted (albeit very tired) whinny he got in response.

The dim glimmer of a house dotted the horizon. As far as his mind was concerned he was already home, wrapping you up in his rain-logged arms and deluging you with kisses and promises to make up for lost time. If he thought hard enough, he could smell that familiar meat and veggie stew you know he loves so much and feel your hands run up his back with heated gasps through his hair by the fireplace, drying him of the rain.

And he was starving. Gods, he needed real food. It had been pouring nonstop for the past few days, and he hadn't eaten a proper meal since the last town he visited (how many days has it been?). If he had to snack on one more apple he was gonna lose it (though Epona would disagree).

The steady steed clopped up the hill, hooves sinking into the mud and slick as she dutifully carried her rider up the steep slope. Her neck whipped back and forth, almost sallying herself to keep going. She saw a familiar roof come into view as well as her (sadly empty) trough. No matter. He would surely fix her a good meal before retiring her for the night.

Link could barely withold his excitement as the top of his door peaked past the hill. He steered Epona into her stable, dismounted, and carefully removed her tack, pressing appreciative nuzzles into her neck. She pawed the ground, motioning at her trough and Link supplied her with an extra hefty helping of dry hay.

Your ears perked up at the high-pitched whinny from outside and you immediately looked out your window. A thick curtain of droplets racing down the glass obscured your vision. You sighed, turning your attention to the ladle lazily mixing the stew. The strong, hearty aroma of the thick, bubbling concoction got you recounting the time you presented the meal to your then-lover Link. You've joked that this is the dish that convinced him to marry you (though he denies such a thing, stating that he would have married you regardless). You smiled desolately at the distant memory and focused your eyes on a log that had collapsed in the fire.

Four knocks broke the silence and your body stiffened. You slowly turned towards the door, hands sweating and heart catapulting to your throat. Could it be...?

Four knocks rang louder this time and you felt your body flinging to the oaken barrier. Your taut fingers knotted around the door handle and you cracked it open.

"Link!!!"

You crashed into each other, gripping each other like a sweet, fleeting dream. You buried your face in his chest, not caring that the soaked fabric was clinging to your skin.

“I’ve missed you…” You looked up to meet soft, adoring eyes and you reached up to sink a deep kiss onto his lips. He almost staggered backward, feeling his knees turn to jelly from the sensation. The ache from countless nights of merely remembering this feeling dissipated instantly and he wrapped you closer to him.

The clamor of violent bubbling ripped your attention from your beloved as you saw the contents of the pot begin to boil over.

"Agh! No!" You slipped from his arms and attended to your sobbing stew, wiping its tears away with your apron and stirring it quickly. Link stepped in, basking in the warmth and the smells of home. He missed this. He missed you.

As much as he wanted to just collapse into your arms or on the couch, he stayed in place, not wanting to tarnish the recently cleaned floors. He had been married to you long enough to know what the floors looked like when cleaned, and how much you hated the muddy footprints he would accidentally leave behind. So he waited, feasting his eyes on your swaying figure.

You took the pot off the fire and set it down on the dining table. You looked up.

"What're you doing over there? Come here!"

He hesitated, cautious eyes flitting to the floor and his little island of a doormat. You laughed, heart warming at the level of care he had for your domestic efforts. How did you get so lucky?

You ran to get the fluffiest towel you owned and threw it over his head, lightly scrunching and ruffling his locks into the fabric. You didn't comment on the blush spreading on his cheeks or the stiff shuffle he had to do to hide the growth in his pants, instead allowing a small, knowing smirk to grace your lips.

Despite your ardent adoration for your husband, you hated how long he had to be away from home. While not his fault by any means, you couldn't help the growing desire to... tease him as 'punishment' for all the cold, lonely nights you spent in your shared bed.

Your hands found the hem of his shirt and in one smooth motion threw it over his head and onto the floor (noting to clean it up later). He gasped, his mind barely processing what just happened as you wrapped the towel behind his back and pulled him closer to you. You rubbed his sides, patted his torso, and traced the V-shaped outline that led down his groin. He shivered, barely holding back a whine, and blue eyes met your doe ones hungrily. You knew what you were doing. You knew exactly what you were doing.

An innocent smile splayed your lips as your hands lowered, gripping the elastic of his pants and tugging slightly downwards. An audible noise left his mouth and a hand flew to cover your fingers--not to stop you, but just out of sheer shock. You stepped back, lips still pulled into an oblivious lil' grin.

"Be right back. I'm gonna grab you a new pair of pants."

You skipped away from your steaming husband, leaving him half naked and with thoughts of you writhing underneath him, begging for sweet release that brought him happiness.

:)

Still feigning faux naïveté, you handed him a pair of warm, dry pants and pulled out his favorite chair. You turned around, oh so conveniently remembering to grab the bowls and spoons and such from the cupboard (just long enough for your husband to change clothes). The "suck-pop" of wet feet leaving wetter boots and the shuffle of moving fabric ceased, signaling that it was safe for you to turn around. You placed a bowl, a spoon, a handkerchief, and a mug of water at your respective places on the table. You accessorized the pot of stew with a basket of freshly baked bread; you finally sat down and clasped your hands in thanks to Hylia for bringing your husband back safe and sound.

You immediately dug in, one of you much more voracious than the other. You amusedly slid the handkerchief closer to the occupied Link, whose cheeks were packed with meat and bread. He eyed you thankfully and lightly tapped his mouth of stains, swallowing and sighing contentedly.

"When was the last time you had eaten?" You asked, just now noticing his slightly hollowed cheeks.

His refusal to meet your gaze wrought your stomach with worry.

"Link..." You sighed, reaching for and rubbing his wrist. "My love, you can't skip meals like that..."

"It had been a few days since I last checked into an inn," he started, "and the rain has kept me from getting a fire going."

"What about the snacks I packed for you?"

He slipped an empty sack onto the table, a scatter of crumbs proof to be the last remnants of the previously plentiful cornucopia. A pitying look tinged your features and you squeezed his hand.

"That's okay, love. So long as you're here, I'll cook whatever you want!"

A wicked idea crossed his mind, contrasting the affectionate smile he flashed you.

"Thank you, (F/N). Actually, I have been craving something... sweet lately. Is there anything quick you can whip up?"

"Hm... Something sweet and qui-- Oh! That could work!"

You hurriedly finished the rest of your bowl's contents and immediately went to work on a recipe your friends recently told you about.

"A couple days ago, my friends were telling me about this thing called a 'mug cake.' It's exactly how it sounds--it's a cake in a mug!" You were so excited over the sugary innovation that you hadn't noticed the tall figure sauntering over to you. "Let me see if I can find the recipe... I know I wrote it down somewhere..."

A pair of arms snaked about you and rubbed shallow circles into your hips, eliciting a breathy gasp from your mouth. His nose buried itself into your hair, filling his lungs with your scent. He picked up traces of tonight’s dinner but it combined so pleasantly with your natural, sugary scent. He gently pressed your body against the countertop. Skillful hands prodded your inner thigh as his face fell to your neck, nibbling the soft flesh and drawing the cutest mewls out of you.

"I know what you were doing earlier." His voice reverberated against your neck, sorting your thoughts into a hazy mess. "And I am to return your teasing tenfold."

The hand on your thigh slipped in between your legs, dragging his fingertips along the edges of your undergarments. Your goosebumps tickled his chin and you threw your head back, a needy whine leaving your quivering form. He slotted his tented heat between you, slowly, lightly, teasingly thumbing the wet spot that had begun to stain your underwear.

You grinded your hips against his fingerpad, the rubbing of wet fabric and his fingers rocking your mind with unspeakable pleasures.

"I've hardly done anything to you and you're already so wet for me..." He purred, hands reaching for your chest. "Now, be a good girl and spread your legs."

You blindly followed his simple command, shuffling your legs to allow better access for his hand. His digits continued their sinful ministrations, your sloppy cunt filling the kitchen with lewd noises. His other hand cupped your breasts, his palm sinking, digging into the soft flesh. Your mouth opened to let out a gasp, quickly turning into a yelp when Link began sucking not so gently on your neck. He teethed and tongued the same spot until you felt your poor skin bruise under his treatment; content, he'd move on to repeat the same wicked treatment until he was absolutely satisfied with how beautifully red your skin had turned.

"L-Link..."

"Shhh... Let me pleasure you tonight."

Tears had begun spilling out of your eyes, which he hungrily kissed away. You turned your head, locking his lips into a messy, needy kiss. A hot wetness dragged across your bottom lip, demanding entrance into your wet cavern. The tip of your tongue went to meet his but he had already slipped into your mouth; he pressed his lips deeper into yours. More. He needs more. He pinched your cheeks to open your mouth and he pulled away to watch the saliva trail connecting your tongues snap.

Hooded, lust-fogged eyes met his and his heart quickened. Your vacant, dazed, sloppy expression told him that your brain had turned to mush long ago and you were now his for the taking.

An arm slipped behind your knees and hoisted you up bridal style. You lazily wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down and you up to imprint his lips with another kiss. This one was more tender, lips expertly moving together with the knowledge of what needed to be done to pull the longest, poutiest whine out of you. He turned around for his back to push the bedroom door open, snapping it shut with his hips and gingerly setting you on the freshly washed downy bedsheets.

He climbed atop you on all fours, taking a moment to get drunk on the sight before him. Eyes staring blankly, starvingly at him, silky (H/C) trusses splayed this way and that, a faint hint of cleavage with each haggard breath--Gods, the things he's gonna do to you tonight.

"Show me," he panted, "how you've been pleasuring yourself while I was away."

Your cheeks snapped into a deep crimson, playing his filthy request over and over in your head. A quick bite to a perked, clothed nipple pulled you out of your thoughts and a sweet mix of pleasure and pain got you screaming his name.

"I'm done waiting. Touch yourself."

Like the obedient lamb you were, your hand dragged along the surface of your clothes (which he made quick work of, tearing it off you) until your fingers felt the familiar heat between your legs. You dragged your middle finger up your slit, flicking the engorged bud at the top. You sucked in a sharp breath and rubbed your clit in circular motions. You kept your eyes trained on his, not leaving them for a second lest he disappear and leave you to act on all your sinful thoughts alone. Despite your attempts to keep them on him, your eyes rolled to the back of your head and a dirty moan left your shaking form.

"That noise... Keep making it." He whispered absently, his hands fumbling to get the rest of his clothes off him. He assisted in taking off whatever was left on you (which wasn't much, most of which was settled and ripped on the floor). In a few short moments you were both clad in nothing but the other's gaze and the bluish glow of the moon at its peak.

"Oh, (F/N)..." He lowered his face and pushed his forehead tenderly against yours. "(F/N)..."

A lustful growl ripped out of his throat and your lips were once again caught with his. Your non-busy hand tangled itself in feathery gold, pulling on his locks as your other hand quickened. A firm grasp on your wrist pulled you away from your cunt and towards his throbbing dick.

"Rub your slick all over me."

Your hand pumped the hot, twitching thing rhythmically while his other hand went to replace what he had taken. You both let out a high-pitched sigh, enraptured in the others' hand.

One, two, three fingers effortlessly slipped into your entrance and you gasped, your upper body shooting upwards. A conveniently placed thumb jammed against your sensitive bud, sending shockwaves throughout your whole body. A husky chuckle rasped out of him as he matched his pacing with your pumping hand. Your eyelids flew shut, waves of pleasure crashing and thrashing your mind about.

"Don't close your eyes, sweet girl," he cooed, "look at me."

"Mm... B-But Link..."

A tight pinch around your clit sent you screaming.

"Look at me."

You cracked your eyes open just enough to see your husband's wrecked, panting, smiling expression.

"Yes... Look at me..." His thrusts quickened. "Look at me while I make a mess of you."

You felt that familiar knot tighten in your gut and your back arched, unknowingly rubbing your nipples against his. How could you feel such a small thing when your husband was practically fisting you at this point? Your husband, on the other hand, hissed at the contact, a shot of electricity shooting through his body that left his fingers tingling. He knew you were close. He knew you were so painfully close.

So why in Hylia's name did he suddenly stop?

"N-No... No, please, Link..." You begged, tears freely flowing down your cheeks. "Please, please, please just let me--"

"Don't you remember what I told you?" He hummed into your ear. "That I would return your teasing tenfold?"

"Link..." You whined; if it were any other day he would have given into those needy, pleading eyes.

But not today.

He wasn't done with you yet.

He waited for you to come down from your high, all the while relishing in your broken sobs for him to keep going as he thought about what else he could do to break you.

"Wrap your legs around me... Good girl..."

He positioned himself in between your legs and rubbed the tip of his cock against your entrance, mixing beads of precum with your juices.

"Now, what would you like me to do?" His innocently batting lashes juxtaposed the very not innocent position he was in.

"Link, just..." You rasped, your throat aching from all the gasping and screaming you've done. "Please..."

"Please, what? I'm afraid I won't know unless you tell me."

"Please..." You thickly swallowed. "Please put your throbbing cock inside my tight, hot cunt."

You slur out, your dazy state anesthetizing the embarrassment you felt. Link's eyes widened, evidently in disbelief that such a filthy sentence could leave your lips. He licked his mouth dryly, knowing that if he teased you any further you might make him come undone.

"Since you asked so nicely," he prodded your entrance and slipped just the tip in, "I suppose I have no choice but to do as you say."

With a quick snap of his hips, his entire length was in you. You screamed his name and threw your arms around his neck; a rush of colors exploded behind your eyelids as you squeezed his waist tighter. Your tight, wet walls barely had time to adjust to his size before he was mercilessly pounding you into the mattress. Your weak sobs mixed with pleasure-stricken screams as you dug your nails into his back, scarring the flesh with your love scratches.

He hissed at the deliciously painful sensation and cradled your head, using it to move further, faster, deeper into you. Your eyes floated to the ceiling which was the only thing grounding you to this reality as your mind slipped in and out of conscious thought. Hands moved from your head to your waist, lifting them slightly at just the right angle--

"Ah! Link!”

There it was.

It was all over for you the moment you let his name slip out of your mouth. He rammed himself against your sweet spot harder harder harder harder and you were completely, utterly at the mercy of your sex-starved husband.

"Gods, it's so good... You feel so good, (F/N)..."

His eyes met yours and it was filled to the brim with tender, nurturing love. You had no fucking idea how he could look so gentle while currently rearranging your organs. His lips brushed your tears away and swept your temple as his pace quickened and breathing turned haggard.

"My (F/N)... My sweet, sweet girl... My star, my goddess, my love..."

His love-garnered nicknames had your heart exploding in your chest and you were crying for a completely different reason.

"My darling, you look so beautiful... you feel so beautiful..."

His adoring eyes and quivering whispers worshipped your body, his temple, and the way it squeezed him so tightly.

"You're so good to me... So, so good to me..." His face lowered to nip the spot where your shoulder met your neck. "I'm so lucky to call you mine..."

The familiar, tight feeling from earlier gnarled your lower abdomen, begging for release so badly it hurt. You cast your eyes to Link's face, glistening with sweat and wrecked with pleasure. His eyes weren't even open anymore, completely lost in the sensations of being inside you.

"Link, f-faster--ah, don't stop, please don't stop...!"

"You want to cum, my goddess? Huh? You want to cum for me?"

His pace was the quickest, most erratic it's been. He's close too.

"Yes! Let me cum! Let me cum, please!"

Neither of you can stand much more.

"Mm! Say it..." He growled. "Say that you love me.”

"Link! I love you! I l-love--"

Thick ropes of cum shot inside you, painting your wet walls a pretty white. Feeling him fill you up was all you needed for the knot to come undone and for a wave of light to crash into you. Your head throbbed and throbbed, the ache and rush of blood filling your head dully adding to your pleasure. Your body twitched under him, squirming as it wracked with a high you've never experienced before. Link heaved a sigh, riding wave after wave of pleasure. Moving even slightly would get him seizing again, so he hovered over your body unmoving for a long time. He felt his seed slip out of your cunt despite his dick still plugging your entrance; a pleasant chill ran down his spine, an image of you round with his child permeating his thoughts.

A wicked idea crossed his mind, contrasting the affectionate smile he flashed you.

"Don't fall asleep just yet, dove," With hands still wrapped around your waist, he flipped you over and put you on all fours. "I'm not done with you yet."

♤♢ ~ bonus scene ~ ♡♧

Link pressed a soft kiss to your temple, cooing praises into your ear that rang with his and your pleasured screams. Not that you could hear it--you were passed the fuck out. A light yellow curtain broke the soft blue sky of morning and he smiled, thinking of all the things you could do together to make up for lost time. Maybe you can show him that “mug cake” thing. It does sound interesting.

You shifted in your sleep and mumbled incoherencies to no one in particular. Link paused, careful to not interrupt your precious sleep and waited patiently for you to settle. Once you did, his hands went back to caressing your cheek and playing with your hair. Now that he was back, he was gonna spoil you absolutely rotten.

[yandereunsolved]

Addam running from Seasmoke

The tiktok sound that spawned in mu mind watching it. RUN FAST FROM YOU MOTHER RUN FAST FROM YOU FATHER🤣

Seasmoke: following after Addam. "Why are you runnin'? WHY ARE YOU RUNNING!?"

They are such silly gooses.

✗

Yandere Addam: "I don't know if my darling loves me."

Seasmoke: grumbles and whines in pain for his rider.

✗

Reader: "Oh my."

Yandere Addam: "Don't worry. Seasmoke is incredibly friendly."

Seasmoke: flops on his belly and wags his tail.

Reader: "Adorable. I think he likes me."

Yandere Addam: Oh my gods. I am going to marry them. I love them so much. Seasmoke is the best wingman.

✗

Yandere Addam: "Would you like to go on a ride?"

Seasmoke: nudges reader with his snout.

Reader: giggles. "I think I have to now."

[owlisbuffering]

The Name Game

Yuu has taken to using whatever nickname comes to mind when talking to the TWST boys, most of them puns or references to pop culture from their home world that no one understands. No one is safe and it's getting out of hand. Selections include:

Grim: Grimlin, Grimothy, Grimotheus, Fire and Grimstone, Grim Burton, Grim and Tonic, Grim and Bear It, Tiny Grim

(Dorms after the cut)

Heartslabyul

or The House of Cards

Ace: Aces, Ace of Base, Arsenic and Old Ace, DumbAce, SmartAce, Aceassin, Ace-mmetry, Acemmetrical, Crappola, It's a Trap!pola, All About That Ace

Deuce: Deuce Goose, Loosey Deucey (that one was a mistake; immediate regret), Deuces Wild, Deuce on the Loose, What the Deuce, Pas de Deuce, Mother Deuce

Trey: Trey Table, Tea Trey, Muffin Man, Treytor Tot, Great ExpecTreytions, Treytrix Reloaded, Cloverfield, Treytor, Treylor Swift

Cater: C8r Boi, Cater to My Whims, Caterer, Whip and Cay Cay, Diamonds are Forever, Cater-ina, Diamond Jubilee, Kiss Me Cate-r

Riddle: Riddle Me This, McRiddle, Hey Riddle Riddle, Kissed by a Rosehearts, Meet Me in the Riddle, Riddleculous

Savanaclaw

or The Watering Hole

Leona: Leona 500, Lion Sleeps Tonight, Aweem Away, Cat Nap, Comatose, Rip Van Winkle, Lambert

Ruggie: Ruginald, Teach Me How to Ruggie, Rug Doctor, Artful Dodger,

Jack: Jack Be Nimble, Jack Sprat, Jack and the Beanstalk, House that Jack Built, Jumping Jack, Hungry Like the Wolf, Big Bad Wolf, Team Jacob

Octavinelle

or 3 Fish Mafia

Jade: Thing 1, Jaderade, Made in the Jade, Nephrite

Floyd: Thing 2, Vicegrip, Personal Space Invader, Pink Floyd

Azul: Tako Time, Tako Tuesday, Octillery

Scarabia

or The Cave of Wonders

Jamil: Snek, Danger Noodle, Hissy-fit, Peanut Butter and Jam-il

Kalim: Mr Golden Sun, Kalim Me Maybe

Pomefiore

or Sephora

Epel: Epel Juice, Epel-sauce, Epel Pie, Fizzgig, Stufful, Pancham, Sour Epel, Incred-Epel Hulk

Rook: Rook Nook, Rookery, Lumiere, Corvus Christi, Murkrow, Rookadoodle

Vil: Queen V, Beyoncé, Potato Queen,  Madame Peacock

Ignihyde

or Best Buy

Ortho: Orthopedic, Orthodontic, Mr. Roboto, Robotnik, XJ9, Jenny, How to Build a Better Boy

Idia: Ghost Rider, My Good Hotman, Shroud of Darkness, Your Most Lugubriousness

Diasomnia

or Shadow Castle

Sebek: How Doth the Little Crocodile, Coccodrillo, Schnappi, Spinal Tap (because his vol goes up to 11), Totodile

Silver: Sleeping Beauty, Narcolepsy, Poker Face, Woodland Whisperer, Snorlax, Sleeper Cell

Lilia: Lils, Batty, Batman, Stellaluna, Littlest Vampire, Gramps, Lil' Guy, Woobat, Team Edward

Malleus: Toothless, Drag-on, Falcor, Mushu, Spike, Dragon Tales, Malleable, Malnutrition, Malfeasance, Malodrama

[dreamings-free]

The former One Direction star has faced tragedy in recent months, but battles on — Joe Bromley meets him, smoking a cigarette in a basement in Soho, as he throws a party for his fashion brand.

by Joe Bromley, Fashion Editor Evening Standard 12/3/25

Louis Tomlinson still cannot shake the One Direction mob.

It’s the first, big realisation I have as the growing horde of girls barely into their teens — many of whom have been waiting for 10 hours, others who have flown in from Italy, and some that are accompanied by their doting fathers — alert me to the location of the Soho party he will be throwing for his fashion label, 28, later this evening.

Inside, as a cocktail bar, make-shift band set-up and rails of clothes made in China are being frantically erected, the security is flustered and tweens outside squawk and slam on the windows. I find Tomlinson, 33, hiding in the basement alongside a crate of warm Peroni beers, two bottles of Grey Goose vodka and a basket filled with Skittles and crisps. Hardly the red carpet treatment.

“Do you mind if I smoke,” he says, as he sits forwards in a black leather chair, wearing a cream, button-up knit short sleeve shirt with a bouquet of roses embroidered on one chest — of his own design — with loose fitting, blue jeans. Next to his box-fresh, white Adidas Stan Smiths stands a water glass which he is using as a make-shift ashtray. I do not. He lights a cigarette, before cracking open a beer using his lighter with the speed and smoothness of a seasoned pro. He is wearing a fair bit of concealer — his make-up artist stands, at the ready, in the corner of the room — and his long, eyebrow-length fringe is tousled.

“I must have the easiest f***ing rider of all time,” he says. “As long as I’ve got my vodka Red Bulls and a pack of ciggies, I’m alright.”

While Tomlinson appears somewhat erratic, his hand constantly gripped to one of the green bottles, he is effusively energetic with a singing Northern twang, keen smile and friendly nature. At 5ft 7in he is not overbearing in stature, and kindly repeats his vodka is for sharing.

The atmosphere is hectic upstairs, however. After five years in the most famous band in the world, which finally split in 2015, I suggest he must be used to the fans. “No, no,” he corrects me. “It’s a funny relationship ’cause I feel like I get on really well with them. It’s really, really nice to see them,” he says, in the most genuine tone he can muster. “It’s not something I’ve ever really stared in the face of, though. The longer you think about shit like that, it just doesn’t make any sense anyway.”

It has been a horrific few months for Tomlinson, by any standard. His band-member Liam Payne died after falling from the third-floor balcony of a hotel in Buenos Aires in October, and media scrutiny around the four surviving One Direction members — himself, Harry Styles, Zayn Malik and Niall Horan — has massively intensified.

I am told sternly before we sit down to, please, forgo any questions on the topic. “The Sun has been running a story that the boys are going to reunite at the Brits for Liam,” a PR manager tells me. “Louis just despairs. He could never get up there and sing as part of the band after what has happened.” One Direction did not perform during the awards, which took place the night after our interview.

Instead, in the wake of Payne’s death, Tomlinson took to Instagram, where he now has 20 million followers, to share his own personal message to his “brother”. “I’m so grateful that we got even closer since the band, speaking on the phone for hours, reminiscing about all the thousands of amazing memories we had together is a luxury I thought I’d have with you for life,” he wrote. “I wish I got a chance to say goodbye and tell you one more time how much I loved you.”

Tomlinson is no stranger to grief. His mother, Johannah Poulston, a midwife and TV assistant, died in 2016 at 43 after battling leukaemia, and his sister, Félicité, died from an accidental overdose in 2019 aged 18.

Eager not to be sidetracked, he launches, with fervour, into discussion about his fourth 28 collection, named so after his favourite number, which is also tattooed on his left-hand fingers. “It’s been really fun for me to apply the creative side of my brain somewhere else. When you’re songwriting — and at the moment I’m writing a new record — it is all encompassing. It’s nice to have a break from those kinds of creative ideas,” he says.

He founded the brand in August 2023 when he realised the clothes he loved growing up in Doncaster had become trendy. “Forty per cent of my wardrobe is sports-inspired somehow. I was doing that for years as a chavvy, tucking my socks in when I was a young lad before it was cool, and now you see everyone in the sports garb,” he says. “There’s a very, very chavvy aesthetic in Doncaster, at least when I was growing up. That’s exactly who I am and the kind of stuff that I like.”

Doesn’t he mind the term chavvy? “I’ve always embraced it,” he says. “Look, I am a f***ing chav, so I have to embrace it. I have to try and make it cool in my own head.”

Really? “I don’t think it’s a bad word, not to me. To me it’s about culture. It might mean other things to other people. It’s also very much how you grow up in a place like Doncaster. You can’t escape the chav in Donny, so you’ve got to become it.”

Tomlinson was born in Doncaster in 1991 to Poulston and Troy Austin, an alcoholic who left when he was a child and whom Tomlinson remains estranged from. He subsequently took his then-stepfather Mark Tomlinson’s surname, who is now a micro-celebrity in his own right boasting 274k Instagram followers.

Everything changed for him in 2010, aged 18, when he stepped out, squirming with nerves, in front of Simon Cowell and the rest of The X Factor judges to sing Scouting for Girls’ Elvis Ain’t Dead followed by Plain White T’s Hey There Delilah.

The clothes he wore are burnt into memory. “Like many of us, I’ve had some real f***ing fashion disasters for sure. I kid you not, the outfit I went to my first audition in, I will have been out in Doncaster in Silver Street, where all the clubs are, 20 times. That was my outfit: not quite baby blue, but a blue shirt with a black skinny tie and a cardigan,” he says. “These days that seems so f***ing like smart, but skinny ties were the vibe then.”

He was later moulded into the boy band member executives required. “When I was in One Direction we all had to have our certain specific look. Even if I tucked my socks in, they would say: ‘Let me tell you, take them straight out,’” he recalls. “There was an element of kind of dumbing that down.”

It is part of why he is enjoying going back to his roots with his brand, first designing football shirts and tracksuits but for the latest range introducing a denim co-ord set and knitwear. “There is an element of going back to all those ideas and really embracing my youth and my culture.” As for who he wants to see in his latest looks: “I feel like Jack O’Connell, from Skins, sums it up pretty well.” A$AP Rocky is his style pin-up (“every time you see him, he’s looking on point”), and what about Beyoncé in the denim? “Yes! That would be pretty cool — and also be great for sales.”

Tomlinson doesn’t overthink the creative process. “It’s not something that I’m spending 12 hours a day thinking about, I’m led by feel,” he explains. “That’s the way I treat my songwriting, too. You know, I’m not some musical genius.” While not designing, you will usually find him playing packed-out arenas in far-flung destinations worldwide. During his Faith in the Future World Tour, which ran May 26, 2023 to June 6, 2024, he played a total of 98 shows starting in Uncasville, Connecticut, and concluding in Mexico’s Guadalajara.

Last Sunday, in neon tracksuit bottoms and white vest, he was in Mumbai headlining Lollapalooza. “I always want to be ultimately relaxed, but my stylist is trying to get a little bit of sophistication out of me, which is needed,” he says.

He professes to love being on tour, which sets him apart from some of his contemporaries who deem it a gruelling, yet lucrative, part of the job. Why? “It’s a far cry from the real world.” He doesn’t bother trying to pull off the harrowing line as a joke.

“It’s like you might have speculated as a 16-year-old lad of what it is to tour — exciting, different places every day,” he continues. “You’re surrounded by so many different cultures, conversations with different people. As a creative — if I can call myself that — it’s really good to see the world.”

Trips back home to Doncaster are scheduled as often as he can, “realistically two or three times a year, but always for about three weeks over Christmas.” He is otherwise based in a grand, four-storey, six-bed Victorian mansion in Barnet, north London, which he bought in 2012.

“London is so vast, it just feels like a melting pot. There’s so many different creative ideas flying around,” he says. When I push him on his favourite places to hang out here, however, he freezes. “To be honest, the irony of that is that I was thinking about moving recently. I’ve got no idea where to move to. I like London, but I wouldn’t say I’d be able to put my finger on what: I really love it here, I really love it there — I don’t really know.” No other boroughs in the capital have caught his eye. “The place that I live now I’ve lived in for ages, ever since I was in the band. I haven’t really got any true perspective of London. But there’s time for that.”

Ultimately, he claims to find comfort on the stage. “There is a lot of mystique in the job of a singer,” he says. “If you do this, it might mean that.” Playing a gig is simple. “I just love how literal the whole thing is. I have people that are willing to pay to come and see me and I feel their reaction every night,” he says.

“I feel really good about that.” This time, I think he means it.

28’s fourth collection is available now, from £45, 28clothing.com