#I always watch edits like that and I think

[jxstsxgx]

𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝚃𝙾 𝙵𝚁𝙸𝙴𝙽𝙳𝚂 | 𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚅𝙴 𝙷𝙰𝚁𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶𝚃𝙾𝙽

Pairings: Steve Harrington x bsf!Reader

Word Count: 2, 856 words

Summary: It was just one night. Just too many drinks, a party, and years of feelings bubbling over. You both weren’t supposed to let it happen. But you both did. And now? Well… now you’re pretending nothing happened at all.

Contains: Implied smut so MDNI! Best friends to “we don’t talk about it.” Mutual pining, suppressed feelings, party shenanigans, alcohol use, one night hookup, mild smut (not graphic), angsty morning after feelings, emotional confusion, denial, and lots of almosts.

A/N: Been gone for a bit but here it is now since it's weekend and I'm setting aside this damned thesis because it's fucking up my brain, lol. Will probably post some more once finish editing, and yes this is inspired from Sombr's song because the song's been on repeat in my playlist.

masterlist |

Steve’s parties were the stuff of legend.

Everyone knew that when the King of Hawkins High decided to open his doors and crank the stereo, the entire social structure of the town shifted. Jocks and drama kids, metalheads and cheerleadersall crammed into one house, into the warmth of Steve Harrington’s curated chaos.

And of course you were there.

You always were.

His best friend, his partner in crime. The girl who drank orange soda mixed with vodka and laughed at his dumb jokes even when they barely landed.

The girl who wasn’t supposed to mean more.

The one who did anyway.

You arrived late, wearing one of your usual half teasing, half girly outfits that made Steve feel like he might actually lose his mind. A tiny skirt. A shirt that had his name written across the front literally. His old basketball sweatshirt you claimed permanently.

“Steve! I want a drink!” you shouted over the music, pushing your way into the kitchen.

He grinned from where he was mixing something neon blue. “Make one yourself, lazy.”

“You invited me,” you said, batting your lashes, “and as your favorite person alive, I deserve to be served.”

“You're damn bossy.”

“And you’re stalling,” you smirked, reaching for the solo cup he handed you.

The drink was terrible. The burn made your nose crinkle.

“Jesus, Harrington, is this paint thinner?”

“You’re welcome,” he said proudly.

Hours passed in a blur of songs and sweaty dancing. Steve watched you all night. He always did, under the guise of protectiveness. Best friend rights, or whatever excuse he fed himself. But the truth was messier tangled between his chest and his throat, coiled with guilt and want and fear.

He wasn’t supposed to fall in love with you.

And he definitely wasn’t supposed to stare at the way you laughed against the fridge door, a second drink in hand, telling a group of guys a story he didn’t hear because he couldn’t stop looking at your mouth.

“You’re not even listening,” you said when you caught him staring.

“Yes I am.”

“What did I say?”

“Something about a raccoon and… pizza?”

You squinted. “Lucky guess.”

The house was a mess by midnight. People were either passed out on couches or making out in corners. You and Steve ended up sitting shoulder to shoulder on the kitchen floor, your fifth drink half finished, his arm slung lazily behind you.

You were both a little drunk. Buzzed and sleepy and content.

And then came the shift.

“D’you ever think about kissing me?” you asked out of nowhere, words soft but far too clear.

Steve blinked. “What?”

You smiled faintly. “You heard me.”

“I…” He ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Sometimes.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder. “Me too.”

Neither of you moved.

And then you did. Faces now inches apart.

Your lips brushed first. Tentative. Testing.

And then Steve was cupping your jaw, pulling you in. And you were crawling onto his lap, fingers in his hair, mouth on his like you’d been waiting years to find out if it would taste this good.

Spoiler alert: it did.

“Fuck,” he breathed into your neck, dragging you to your feet. “Upstairs. C’mon.”

You stumbled up together, laughing, kissing between every step. His bedroom door closed behind you like it was sealing in something electric.

Clothes hit the floor in a trail.

His bed creaked.

You straddled him, eyes wild, grinning like the shot of adrenaline that was his mouth on your throat. “I knew you had a thing for me,” you teased, hands trailing down his bare chest.

“Shut up.”

“You love it.”

“I love you.”

You froze. His breath caught.

“…Shit,” he whispered. “Forget that. I didn’t-”

You kissed him before he could spiral.

And maybe it was the alcohol or the months of tension finally snapping but that night, the kisses turned hungry. The way he moaned into your mouth when you rocked your hips down made you feel like you owned the entire world.

The whole thing was messy and breathless and tangled. And when it was over, he kissed your shoulder and held you so tight it almost hurt.

You fell asleep with his hand still in yours.

The next morning hit like a car crash.

You woke up with mascara smudged under your eyes and Steve’s arm around your waist. His face buried in your neck.

And suddenly, everything burned with clarity.

This was not supposed to happen.

Steve blinked awake beside you. “Hey…”

“Morning,” you whispered, scooting out of bed too fast.

“Wait..”

“I should go.” You said, not even looking at him.

Steve sat up, hair a mess, blanket falling from his chest. “We don’t have to make this a big thing..”

“Right,” you said quickly. “It’s fine. We were drunk. Just… a party thing.”

He looked like he might argue.

But then he nodded.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Back to friends.”

And that was that.

You grabbed your shoes. Your shirt.

Avoided his eyes.

The following weeks were a hell of pretending.

You still hangout. Still called. Still shared popcorn at movie night.

But you were both wearing masks now.

You didn't talk about the kiss. About the bed. The confession. About the way he’d whispered your name like a prayer.

And when he caught you looking too long at his mouth, you looked away.

When he stared at your hands like he missed touching them, you tucked them into your sleeves.

The silence between you was louder than it had ever been.

Because love is brave. But pretending it doesn’t exist?

That’s the real risk.

And both of you were still too scared to take it.

“Remember when I said I’d never date someone who owns Crocs?” you say one night on his couch, elbow nudging Steve’s side. “I think I’d make an exception.”

“Wow,” he deadpans, “I am honored to be the exception to your foot based morals.”

You grin, take a sip of his root beer, and don’t think too hard about how close you’re sitting. Or the way your knees are touching. Or the fact that when you laugh, Steve stares like he’s trying to memorize it.

It’s been two weeks since the party.

Since that night.

And you're both pretending so hard it’s almost convincing.

Almost.

There are hiccups, of course.

The way you both pause too long when your hands touch.

The way Steve nearly kisses you after a horror movie when you cling to him out of fake fear.

The way Robin keeps side-eying him when you come over in his hoodie and claim it’s “just comfy.”

He’s quieter these days. Like there’s something caught in his throat.

You’re louder. Filling the silence with stories and sarcasm. Hoping if you talk enough, you won’t hear your own heartbeat.

And still, neither of you talks about that night.

You bring a date to Family Video one afternoon. His name is Tyler or maybe Taylor, Steve doesn’t care. He watches from behind the counter as you laugh too loudly at something that definitely wasn’t funny.

“Is he a drummer or a dumbass?” Robin whispers.

“Both,” Steve mutters.

You wave at him on your way out. “See you later, Stevie!”

He gives you a thumbs up he doesn’t mean.

Then spends the next hour shelving tapes with too much force.

Then, you don’t mention Tyler again. Steve doesn’t ask.

But he starts showing up in your dreams.

Steve, not Tyler.

Steve with his stupid big eyes and his warm hands and the way he used to whisper things in the dark when he thought you were asleep.

You start avoiding sleep. Then comes the cabin weekend.

Dustin’s “surprise bonding trip” that’s anything but. You arrive to find that somehow and mysteriously, your name is paired with Steve’s on the sleeping chart.

“Robin,” you hiss, holding up the paper. “What the hell.”

She just sips her coffee. “Oops.”

Steve chuckles behind you. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”

You don’t say you’re the one I’d pick anyway.

Because you’re trying really, really hard not to be that girl.

That night, you lie on opposite ends of the shared bed, back-to-back, tension thick as fog.

You can hear his breathing.

He can hear yours.

You both pretend to be asleep.

In the morning, you wake up tangled together. His hand on your waist. Your face pressed to his collarbone. His mouth inches from your temple.

You don’t move.

You just listen to him breathe. Feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath your hand.

When he finally stirs, you pretend to be asleep until he pulls away.

He doesn’t mention it.

Neither do you.

You think you’re doing okay.

Then comes the week later.

You're at Steve’s house, helping him clean the garage. It’s hot, you’re sweaty, he’s shirtless, and it’s a problem.

“I hate you,” you say, chucking a sponge at him. "Can't you clean your own car on your own?"

He smirks. “Can’t handle the heat?”

“Can’t handle the ego.”

But you’re grinning. Because he’s glowing. Because his eyes crinkle when he smiles at you like that. Because you’re completely, utterly gone for him.

And then it happens.

You both reach for the same box. Your hands touch.

And something snaps.

He freezes. You do too.

Your breath stutters in your chest as he looks at you.

“Don’t,” you whisper. You’re not even sure what you mean.

But Steve’s already moving. Already leaning in. Already pulling you into him like he can’t not.

The kiss is sudden. Fierce. Tension crashing like a dam finally broken.

You don’t even know who grabs first, his jaw in your hands, your back against the wall, his hands on your waist, your shirt rucked up.

“God,” he pants against your mouth. “I tried to forget.”

You kiss him harder. “Don’t.”

It’s messy. Too much. Not enough.

He lifts you onto the workbench like it’s muscle memory, like your body’s the only thing he’s ever known how to hold.

You moan into his mouth and he pulls away just enough to whisper, “I’m sorry. For the morning after. I was scared.”

You blink. “Me too.”

His hand finds your cheek. “Can we just..can we not pretend anymore?”

You hesitate.

Then nod.

And it’s everything.

[circle--of--confusion]

Atlanta Skeletour notes:

👻🦇🎸🎶

*shakes fist* Atlanta traffic!!!!!

(The rest under the cut)

The ticket process was fairly smooth and efficient. They were very good at dealing with the Yondr pouches

Wear a watch! Its very useful!

I had a few people ask me for the time and my sister had a couple too

HOLY MERCH LINE, BATMAN

I had to get in a massive line but it moved very fast all things considered

Started right at 8

PEACEFIELD omg what a delight. The drop of the curtain was amazing live

Lacryma, Spirit, and Faith were excellent!!! I was so happy to hear Faith live (its my favorite)

They did Call Me Little Sunshine instead of Majesty!!!!! It was amazing seeing the trippy mirror effect on the screen

Phantom did a crowd conducting bit to stall for time. He would gesture to one side to cheer and then quiet them to then call for the other side to do it. Sorta like that one Papa 3 clip of him raising his fist for the fans to cheer?

It was rainy today and Perpetua came out going "we try to appease the gods" and then mentioned something about how the future is always uncertain even if you plan (queue The Future is a Foreign Land!)

My notes specifically say: red light grucifix = really cool

No wings for Cirice. (I wonder if they're broken)

He still had his arms around himself as if he was still wearing the bat wings

OMG HE SPARKLES hes so pretty and shiny in the sparkly mask for Cirice

My notes say: new guy 👍

My notes say: P looks pretty and shiny

Im not sure if everyone does it BUT I saw the new ghoul and a ghoulette on the left (dont know who it was) doing the snaps into the mic for Darkness at the Heart of my Love, which was cool

Perpetua pointed at Dew when he played a super long note and gestured for the audience to clap (he did that a lot during the show when there was a guitar solo

THE SHATTERING GLASS AFTER YEAR ZERO IS SO COOL omg. And then when it looks firey on stage? Hell yeah

He Is was cool. I loved the animated background

I think there was a flub at one point? It sounded like they were queuing up for Umbra (I heard the synth and saw some purple lighting) and then there was a hard cut and then Satanized started (but it was also the zoom out music at the end of the music video so IDK i was just thrown off)

Yelling "Blasphemy! Heresy! Saaaaaave meeeeee!!" Was so cathartic

He did the cowery thing at the mic during the chant parts

Rats. Need i say more? It was fucking awesome

KISS THE GO-GOAT! I love that it was a show song and not an encore song

Mumny Dust my beloved. I wasn't able to get any after the show and to be honest? I didn't see a lot shoot out of the canon anyway. There was a ton of confetti, though.

When he was talking before Mummy Dust, he was saying something like "its very hot outside and then a cold fucker like me comes along." [...] "my nipples are stiff right now."

And then he asked the audience about their nipples

What a scamp

Edit: oh! And when he did the joint roll thing and it landed near a security guy, Perpetua said "these guys aren't here to protect me from you. They're to protect you from me." And then he smiled and laughed

MONSTRANCE CLOCK omg that was great live

My sister about the song: you know, I do get culty vibes from it

The encore was great.

Mary on a Cross, Dance Macabre, Square Hammer

Before he started, he said "well, we've played all the good ones already. But do you want to hear an older song?" And said something about it being his daddy's song

Dance Macabre my beloved. That was my first Ghost song and it was such a phenomenal feeling seeing it live

Square Hammer. 'Nuff said

It was actually super cool seeing the audience on screen during the song? Idk it was super cute actually.

There were times someone would be vibing and then notice they were on screen and go "oh shit!"

I saw a sign that said "tickle my birthday taint." Never change, Ghost fans.

All in all, I loved it. I cant believe I was in the same room! Its a bit surreal!

And now, my 3 gripes:

The instruments were almost too overpowering at times. I could barely hear the singing at times

Being 5'5" on the floor sucks. At a certain points I just stopped trying to pay attention to the stage and just vibed to the music (but thats a personal gripe)

The bass was WAY too high at the start. Like, I could feel my chest rumbling. I think they fixed it after the first few songs, though. It didn't feel so intense afterwards

Goodies!

I wasn't able to get mummy bucks (so if anyone has spare bills............dm me👀)

I got a pick!!! I went to the pit to try and find some bills but it was pretty much wiped out but a super kind lady saw me and said "here, have this!" And it was a pic she believes Dew threw out

And I got a tour shirt

As far as first rituals go, id say it was a success. There are probably parts i'm missing. He said something during Faith but im not sure. Maybe it was "Faith! Is! Mine! Assholes [?]" Im not sure

Edit: oh! I also walked past a ghoulbangers interview so i'm definitely gonna be looking for me when that video comes out

[sturduststrails]

“Sue me” Ex!sukuna x reader

Exes to??

Masterlist

Pt.1 Pt2. Pt.3. Pt.4. Pt.5

It’s been three days.

He hasn’t said anything else.

No new messages. No apologies.

Just those two little lines—

“It wasn’t about feeling better.”

“It was about making sense of something I couldn’t fix.”

Like that was enough to close the book.

Like you were just a chapter.

You haven’t written anything since.

Not because you’re stuck.

But because something in you is watching. Waiting.

And then… it happens.

You’re at the bookstore.

The one you always went to together.

It wasn’t planned. Just convenience.

You’re there to pick up something you preordered.

In and out. That was the plan.

But you turn the corner of the fiction section—

And he’s there.

Back turned, hunched a little like he always was when he’s reading the back of a book.

Same jacket. Same stance.

You stop breathing.

Not out of shock.

Out of instinct.

He turns—

And sees you.

No dramatic reaction. No flinch.

Just… that quiet pause when two people recognize each other’s ghosts.

Your mouth is dry.

You don’t know whether to say something or walk away.

But then he speaks first.

Low. Careful. Like he’s not sure what version of you he’s facing.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

You swallow.

“It’s a bookstore, not a crime scene.”

He huffs. That half-laugh he always made when you hit a nerve.

You wish it didn’t sound familiar.

You wish it didn’t feel like anything.

“I read your message,” he says.

You nod.

“Yeah. I figured.”

Silence again.

He’s holding a book, but he’s not looking at it anymore.

You glance down and see the title. It’s yours.

Your draft. The one your agent convinced you to let a small publisher see early.

It hasn’t released yet. But there it is. ARC copy in his hand. Your heart stutters.

“I didn’t know it was yours until page ten,” he says, like it matters… “But I knew it was about us on page one.”

You cross your arms.

Not to be cold.

Just to keep yourself from shaking.

“I didn’t write it to get back at you,” you say quietly. “I.. wrote it so I wouldn’t feel crazy anymore.”

He’s quiet.

Then, soft:

“You weren’t, It was me. I just didn’t know how to love someone who saw me that clearly.”

You don’t know what to say to that.

Because it’s not an apology.

But it’s not nothing, either.

He holds your book like it weighs more than it should.

“There’s a line in here,” he says.

“About the girl wanting to be seen, not saved.”

You look at him.

Hard.

“Yeah?”

“That’s when I realized I never really knew how to write you.”

And there it is.

The truth, plain and graceless.

You take a breath.

You could say so many things.

You could fall apart right here.

Or scream.

Or reach for him.

But you don’t.

You just say:

“Maybe stop trying to.”

You walk away before he can say anything else…

Before you change your mind.

Before the ache gets loud again.

And as you step out into the sun, book in hand, heart unsteady—

You don’t feel victorious.

You don’t feel healed.

You just feel real.

And for now… that’s enough.

It’s almost midnight when the message comes.

“If you’ll let me, I want to say it in person.”

You stare at it.

You don’t answer right away.

You don’t even move.

Because there’s a part of you that wants to see him.

Wants to hear it.

Wants the version of him that never showed up when it mattered.

But there’s another part—quieter, sharper—that doesn’t trust that voice anymore.

You leave the message on read.

For an hour.

Maybe more.

But you don’t delete it.

Because you remember how his voice sounded when it was real.

When it wasn’t filtered through guilt or metaphor.

And some awful part of you still wonders what it might sound like now.

You don’t say yes.

You just send your location.

One word:

“Now.”

He shows up twenty minutes later.

He knocks like he’s not sure if you’ll open the door.

You do.

He looks tired.

Not bad. Not wrecked. Just… honest.

Like whatever’s on his face hasn’t been edited for days.

You don’t say hi.

You just let the door swing wider and turn back toward the kitchen.

He follows.

You pour yourself a glass of water.

He stands behind you like he’s afraid to touch anything.

“You look—”

“Don’t.”

You don’t mean to sound harsh.

But you don’t want the small talk.

You didn’t ask him here for that.

“Okay.”

He swallows.

“Okay.”

He doesn’t sit.

Doesn’t ask if he can.

He just stands there, holding onto the silence like it might protect him.

“I read what you wrote,” he says eventually.

“The whole thing.”

You nod.

“Yeah?”

“It gutted me.”

You shrug, drink your water.

“Good.”

His jaw twitches.

“I didn’t come here to defend myself.”

“Didn’t think you did.”

Silence again.

Then—

“You said I rewrote the ending,” he says quietly.

“You were right.”

You glance at him.

“You said I left out the part where I made you feel small.”

“Where I made you question if it was you or if I just didn’t care.”

“I did that.”

“And I think I knew it. Even then. I just didn’t want to look at it.”

You cross your arms.

“Why now?”

His eyes flick up to you.

There’s no armor in them anymore.

“Because I kept rereading what you said about the girl in your story.”

“The way she didn’t need to be rescued.”

“The way she stayed too long because she believed him.”

You feel your throat tighten.

He keeps going.

“You were never passive. You were never background. You weren’t quiet just because I didn’t listen—you screamed. I just tuned it out.”

He runs a hand through his hair.

Paces a little.

“I thought writing it out would make me the kind of person who could’ve loved you right. But I didn’t earn that. I just… rewrote the version where I wasn’t the one who ruined it.”

You grip the edge of the counter.

Because it’s hitting somewhere deep.

Because hearing him finally admit it shouldn’t make you feel this cracked open.

“So what do you want now?” you ask, voice low.

He meets your eyes.

And this time, there’s no performance in them.

“I don’t know,” he says.

“But I didn’t come here to fix anything. I came because I couldn’t live with letting your version be the only one that was true.”

“And I know it was.”

You breathe out, slow and shaky.

“You didn’t come here to ask me to forgive you?”

“No.”

He steps closer. Just enough.

“I came to say I understand if you never do.”

“But I wanted you to know I see you now. All of you. Not just the version I could live with.”

The room feels still.

Heavy in a different way now.

Not like before.

Not like grief.

Like a beginning that doesn’t owe anyone a promise.

You don’t answer.

You just nod.

And something in you—just a little, just enough—unclenches.

Not because it’s fixed.

But because it’s true.

And for the first time in a long time, that’s enough to stay in the room with him…

[headcanon-everything]

telly is so underrated 😭💔 I can't find any fics about him and it sucks. So can I request Married head cannons with him? With nsfw stuff too IF YOU'RE COMFORTABLE!! Thank you!!

yessss Telly is SUPER underrated!! also combining with this ask: so NSFW under the cut

also I've recently found out that Telly uses They/He and it was patched in a recent update because it only uses He, so my previous headcanons will be edited later to adjust for that

Telly Marriage Headcanons

okay let's start with the wedding itself:

he'll default to what you want, as long as there's some colour involved and some kind of fun performance

but if you let him choose

I'm thinking place is decorated in silver and glossy black, and the wedding party is each person in a solid bright colour

the silver and shiny black reflect the colours

the crowd wears white or black, so it looks like tv static

and the two of you are in something refined and silver or black with pops of colour all over

whether it be on the lapels/seams on a silver/black suit

or bright designs in the lace on a dress

Double preferable for both of your outfits to light up - he's seen it done for costume competitions, they know it exists

then it's a big grand affair

a stage, multiple people lined up to perform for the reception, a big crowd

maybe in a historic movie theater for the ceremony? he's not picky

he doesn't fully cry but he definitely sniffles when he sees you standing across the altar with them

the first look he doesn't even get because Connie and Keyes decided to prank him and get Bodhi to dress up

he was NOT impressed haha

but after the reception, a big party that goes well into the next day?

oh he's SOFT soft

looks at you with stars in their eyes

can't believe his luck and just lays on the bed. staring at you.

as a spouse he doesn't change much from dating tbh

is loud and proud and announces to everyone that you're together

flashes the ring like they're trying to send a smoke signal

constant references to make you laugh

is always with an arm around you

likes to tease and joke around

but sometimes... you'll catch him staring at you the same way they did on your wedding day

and if you ask why they'll just hold you close with a smile, he doesn't really elaborate besides saying some cheesy pickup line or compliment to make you laugh

when he gets older and starts getting grays, the salt and pepper looks like tv static the longer it goes on

always has a lot of hair though, never has a balding problem

NSFW Headcanons

voice glitches out the more wrecked they get

if he isn't realized yet, his hair goes to TV static too

voice will still glitch after realization though I DEMAND it

pubic hair is in a square shape who said that

anyways

has more length over girth

is LOUD and doesn't give a fuck who hears

like, you'll have to put a hand over their mouth unless you want the whole block knowing levels of loud

is big on dirty talk and praise

pretty much as long as they can keep talking

listen. listen. I know it's not for everyone BUT his dirty little secret is that he'd love to have a crowd watch what he does to you

may take that to their grave though - will try and test the waters by gauging your opinions on certain things

^kinda going off of that one, having a mirror there so you can see the faces you make

hates gags, please do not ever make it so he can't talk

I said it before BUT THE VOICE GLITCHING OKAY HEAR ME OUT ITS NECCESARY-

[mattlvr03]

Where’d You Go?

Genre: Fluff, Domestic, Comfort

The sun was starting to dip just past the tree line, painting the Boston sky in that soft, hazy orange glow that always made Chris feel like the day wasn’t quite over yet. He pushed open the front door with his shoulder, a paper grocery bag tucked under one arm, his phone still in hand from texting you fifteen minutes ago: “Be back in a bit. Want anything else?”

No reply. Not that it surprised him—you had been curled up on the couch when he left, blanket thrown over your legs, your head resting on a pillow like it weighed a hundred pounds. He figured you might've dozed off. It was your shared Sunday routine now—errands, chilling, naps.

“Babe?” Chris called out as he dropped the grocery bag on the counter, the crinkle of the paper echoing in the otherwise quiet house.

Silence.

He peeled off his hoodie, tossing it on a kitchen stool, and glanced toward the living room. Empty. The blanket was still there, slightly rumpled, but no sign of you.

Chris furrowed his brows, blinking a little like he was making sure he wasn’t just missing you in the shadows.

“Baby?” he said again, a little louder this time, walking toward the hallway.

No response. Not from the living room. Not from the kitchen. And the TV was off now, which was weird, because you always forgot to turn it off when you got up.

Chris’s heartbeat picked up—not in a panicked way, just that weird flutter of curiosity and low-level concern.

He peeked into the downstairs bathroom. Empty.

Then, as he padded upstairs, he called out again, dragging your nickname out a little, voice echoing through the halls.

“Baaaaby?”

Still nothing.

The door to Matt’s room was cracked open, a flicker of light from his laptop spilling out. “Yo, Matt—she in here?” Chris asked, knocking gently and pushing the door open a bit more.

Matt glanced up from editing a video, earphones half on. “Huh? Nah, haven’t seen her. Thought she was with you.”

Chris nodded once and mumbled, “She was…”

Next, he checked Nick’s room. “Baby, you in here?”

Nick looked up from his phone, headphones around his neck. “Nope. Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Chris said, trying not to smile too much at himself. “I think she’s just hiding.”

But there was something weirdly cute about it. Like a mini scavenger hunt in his own house, and the prize was you.

He wandered into the hallway again, rubbing the back of his neck. “Where the hell did you go, baby?”

That was when he saw it—his bedroom door, cracked just slightly. Quiet behind it, not even the sound of your usual Spotify playlist humming from your phone.

He pushed it open carefully, his voice a hushed murmur now. “...Baby?”

And then he saw you.

Tucked up on his bed—your head resting on his pillow, curled on your side, one arm loosely hugging the hoodie he'd left this morning before his run to the store. Your lips were slightly parted, and the slow rise and fall of your chest told him you were out cold. Not just napping—gone.

Chris stood in the doorway for a second, his heart actually doing a whole thing in his chest. It was stupid, maybe, but you looked so peaceful there. Like you belonged. Like you’d been sleeping in that bed forever and every other day had just been pretending.

He walked over slowly, careful not to startle you, even though you were deep in it. He crouched next to the bed and rested his elbows on the edge of the mattress, just watching you for a second. The way your lashes fluttered a little when you breathed. The little crease between your brows like you were dreaming.

“Baby,” he whispered, barely audible, like he didn’t really want to wake you but couldn’t help saying it anyway.

You stirred just slightly, shifting under the comforter. You must’ve dragged it up from the foot of the bed, because he didn’t remember it being there this morning. His hoodie shifted in your grip as you pulled it tighter.

Chris smiled, soft and warm.

He grabbed the throw blanket off his desk chair and laid it gently over your shoulders. Then he sat down on the edge of the bed, trying not to bounce the mattress too much.

Your eyes opened a sliver.

“Chris…?” you mumbled, voice rough with sleep and full of confusion.

“Hey,” he whispered, brushing a bit of hair from your forehead. “Didn’t mean to wake you. I just got back and thought you got kidnapped or something.”

You blinked a few more times, then yawned. “You were gone forever…”

He laughed softly. “Literally twenty minutes.”

“It felt longer.”

Chris leaned down and kissed your temple. “I missed you, too.”

You closed your eyes again, pulling at his hoodie as if to keep him close even though it wasn’t him.

“I came up here to smell your pillow,” you admitted sleepily, which made him chuckle again. “Then I just… knocked out.”

“That’s adorable. And mildly creepy.” He was grinning though, brushing another kiss onto your cheek. “But mostly adorable.”

“Stay?” you murmured.

He didn’t even answer. Just toed off his sneakers, crawled over the blankets, and laid down behind you, wrapping his arm gently around your waist. His fingers found yours under the covers and laced them together.

“Got snacks in the kitchen for when you wake up,” he whispered into the nape of your neck. “But I think I like this more.”

You mumbled something that sounded like “me too,” already drifting again, warm and safe in his arms.

Chris smiled into your hair.

Yeah. He definitely liked this more.

@mattspillowprincess 🤓

@leahfaith 😋

[fictionandfixation]

MORE Older Bachelor Headcanons (spicy edition)

The residents of tumbr dot com were biiiig fans of these last time. Decided I was going to slut it up just for you guys and serve you some more Stardew Dilf Content. Love these three so much tbh. I might also branch out in the future and write some for my chosen wlw marriage candidates Leah and Haley and the other bachelorettes (?) because the demographics I am a fan of include a) dilfs and b) every femme ever to exist, ever, in the world, in the universe, ever. Amen.

Anyway. Enjoy your SDV Older Bachelors. The following IS slutty. MDNI. Gender neutral reader. Lowkey some of my favourite writing of late.

Harvey ☕️🔬📚

Slow. Methodical. He's taking his time with you. Slow, however, does not mean boring. Harvey loves fine details. And everything about you is a fine detail.

World's switchiest switch. Looks up at you like you're God when you ask it of him. Like he's under a spell. And, at other times, holds you down and coaxes you directly into oblivion.

Genuinely almost loses his shit altogether when you wear his clothes. Wear his button-downs. Wear his boxers. Fuck. If he's got anything to say about it, you won't be wearing them for long.

Wants absolutely nothing more than to be close to you, skin on skin, for as long as is physically possible. Rubs your neck and shoulders. Buries his head in your hair. Pushes in deep, deep, deep, holds you encased in his arms. Fucks like he wants to touch your soul.

Occasionally, jealous. The only time he gets a little rough, a little messy, tearing at clothes, biting at neck, hands at throat. You like to poke the bear for fun sometimes. You don't regret it. You're always his. He knows.

Head game is absolutely immense. Legs over shoulders, kneeling in front of you holding your thighs, he doesn't care.

Low groans direct into your ear. You lucky thing.

Elliott 📜🖋️🐚

Sensual in the most literal sense of the word. Deprivation is the name of the game, and blindfolds, ties, wax, incense and a fairly sizeable number of appliances are the rules.

Gentle but ruthless. One foot in the door of pleasure dom. Won't stop until you're just about ready to collapse, and watches you like you're a prey animal all the while. Not dominating in the traditional sense of the word - but he puts you in your place all right. A choice word or two. A select amount of pain. And suddenly, you’ll do whatever he asks.

Talks you through it. Soft, authoritative. Read a few too many books not to have picked up a trick of the tongue or two. Or ten. He never runs out of things to say to turn your brain to mush.

Gorgeous, slender hands. Firm hands. Hands that get to places you weren't even sure existed. Hands that have you trembling at the legs and begging and sweating.

Loves it when you break out the dominance. Has an attitude about it, too. You could knock it out of him with a couple of ropes and a silk tie in the mouth if you so chose. What a treat.

Whimpers when he gives in. Whines. Squeezes his eyes shut and tips his head back and begs and pants and lets your name tumble out his mouth. He's good. He knows it. Sometimes, you're better. He knows it.

Shane 🍺🍕🐓

He’s rough. Punishing. He drinks sometimes, but not often any more. He has a new favourite place to put all that hate - a place that loves it, that snaps it up and keeps on coming back for more. You’re more enticing than any other high he’s ever chased.

Wants you hard and messy and often. He can’t get enough. There are days when it’s all he thinks about, how he needs it, needs it, needs it so bad. Those are some of your favourite days.

Strong as a bull. He knows it. Holds you down and lifts you and pins you against walls like it’s nobody’s business. He’s wide, has thick everything, and has muscle to boot. Big rough hands. Around your neck, gripping your hips with force. He wants to touch every inch, wants to sink his fingers so deep and bruising that you become one person.

Not loud, but fuck if he doesn’t grunt. Sounds like an animal. Fucks a lot like one too.

Mean. Rude. Insulting, sometimes. You love it. He’s authoritative, commanding. You do as he asks, and he rewards you well.

And sometimes, he’s gentle. Sometimes, he’s sleepy and sore and lays behind you in bed and makes love to you lazily, naturally. Still strong, holding your legs apart, gripping your hips, but so, so loving and close, whispering to you how much he adores you, how good you make him feel.

Lives in terror that he’s going to hurt you one day. He never does.

[ashthesalamipiece]

holidays with bakugo, ? like by the pool and swimming with him, doing his sunscreen yadadadaaaa. please and thank youuuuuu

“Sunburn & Dynamite”

Setting: You and Bakugo are away for a much-needed summer holiday. Think sunny skies, a luxury villa with a private pool, and no villain alerts for once.

---

The sun was relentless, but so was your boyfriend's refusal to admit he needed sunscreen.

You watched Bakugo stretch out on the poolside lounge chair, broad chest glistening, arms folded behind his head like he was the king of summer. His sunglasses slid down his nose slightly, but he didn’t bother fixing them.

“You’re going to burn,” you called, dangling your legs in the water.

“Tch,” he scoffed. “I don’t burn.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You literally combust, Katsuki.”

“I explode, not sizzle, babe. It’s different.”

You got up, walked over, and stood above him with the sunscreen in one hand. “Turn over.”

“No.”

“You’ll thank me later when you’re not shedding like a damn lizard.”

He grumbled, but relented—only because it was you.

You squirted the cool lotion into your hands and started rubbing it into his shoulders, the firm muscles shifting under your touch. He sighed—like he didn’t want to admit it felt really good.

“Don’t get smug,” he mumbled, “You’re enjoying this more than me.”

“I am,” you grinned. “You’ve got a nice back.”

“Damn right I do.”

You worked the sunscreen in slow, teasing him by tracing random shapes across his skin. When you swirled a tiny heart between his shoulder blades, he turned his head and gave you a sharp look.

“Did you just—”

“Heart you? Yep. What’re you gonna do about it?”

In one smooth motion, he flipped over, grabbed you by the waist, and pulled you down onto him.

You shrieked and laughed, sunscreen bottle flying out of your hand.

“You’re ridiculous,” you huffed.

He smirked, tucking his sunglasses up onto his head. “You’re the one who’s all up on me in the middle of July.”

“You dragged me down!”

“And you love it.”

His fingers traced your spine lazily. “Get in the pool with me.”

“You first.”

He stood, still holding you, and walked straight into the water with you squealing in his arms.

When he let you go, you splashed him in the face.

“Hey!” he snapped, slicking his hair back. “This hoodie’s limited edition!”

“You’re not even wearing it!”

“I’m wearing it in spirit, dammit!”

---

Later...

You ended the day curled up in a pool chair together, towels wrapped around your shoulders, the sunset turning the sky into a watercolor masterpiece.

His hand rested on your thigh. You were sun-drunk and sleepy, and he was—shockingly—soft.

“Thanks for forcing the sunscreen,” he muttered against your hair.

You smiled.

“Told you. I got your back.”

He kissed your shoulder.

“Always.”

[oacest]

El Periódico - June 2005

A Day With Oasis

ALBERT GUASCH MADRID (translated by a fan from the original Spanish; edited by us for readability)

Wednesday afternoon, Oasis was playing the souncheck before the Madrid show. Every member on his own, in silence, with his instrument. But someone was missing. And nobody knew where he was. It couldn't be another than Liam Gallagher, the noisy British tabloid star singer. When he finally showed up, his brother Noel bawled him out really strong. Liam, pissed off, pretended to be misunderstood. And he blasphemed. A lot. The Gallagher's world, just as we imagined. Oasis has a new album, Don't believe the truth, and they let EL PERIÓDICO to spend 24 hours with them. Rock and roll live. Oh, yeah.

LANDING 14.30h. Oasis members arrive to the airport separately. From London, the secondary actors: bassist Andy Bell, guitarist Gem Archer and the new employee, drummer Zak Starkey, Ringo Starr's son. Noel shows up at 14.30h from Ibiza, place where he has a house "in the middle of nowhere", as he told us recently. And Liam? Arrives from Amsterdam. Time? Who knows.

SOUND TEST 16.00h. 100 boys are already waiting outside. The Gallagher's Beatles hair rules. And the Manchester City shirts. Noel and Liam are supporters. Noel arrives in a dark Mercedes at 16.15h and goes in by a side door. Gem, Andy and Zak arrive 20 minutes later.

16.45h. Sound testing starts. At the Aqualung, there is approx. 20 people, all of them technicians, walking up and down without looking at the band once. And it must be difficult 'cos they play their instruments out loud. Mucky fingers, The Meaning Of Soul and Wonderwall are played, and a couple more.

17.35h. Liam arrives. At last. In shorts, sun glasses that we hope he leaves off at least for sleeping, but who knows, and a bottle of water. He sits in front of the stage and watch his band mates from the distance. No intention to join them. Two minutes later, Noel says the test is over. Puts on the jacket and it seems he is gonna go without a word. But he thinks twice. From the stage, he gestures to Liam, Liam walks near Noel and a strong discussion starts, rich in bad words. Fuck or fucking are, with a lot of difference, the most heard. Noel recriminates him his absence; Liam finally looks to the ceiling and shouts: "Nobody told me anything!" Noel turns back and does a gesture like "I just had enough"; Liam throws with rage the bottle of water. Pure Oasis.

THE PROMOTION 17.45H. There are some interviews. The first thing Liam does with a journalist is justify himself. "My throat aches a little bit. And most important, I'm too expensive to be wasted in sound checks."

Fifteen meters away, Noel does another interview, but before, he throws some poison darts to his little brother with a smile in his face.

"Did someone tell you to do this interview?"

And Liam, with another sarcastic smile: "Who the fuck is this guy?"

Noel charges again: "Did someone tell you that you are in a band called Oasis?"

Liam replies: "Oh, sit down, you bastard!"

Noel insists: "Did someone tell you we woke up at 8.30 in the morning today?"

"Oh, please, shut the fuck up!"

An interview with the singer is an explosive enigma. Throwing objects to a journalist is a standard sport for him. But everybody around him says he has calmed down a lot, saying that he is not that lout that started brawls just for fun. Now he is 33, he has 2 children and has abandoned some of his excesses. Well… at least, it seems so. But you always can count with some brilliant sentences between egolatry and cartoonism. An example from Wednesday: "I'm the best singer of this world full of shit." When he is asked about his new role as a song writer, he says: "Noel has lost it and I see that I've got to help a little bit." And if you comment his bad boy fame, he sighs: "Over there --pointing to the stage-- I'm a huge rock star; outside, a normal guy." There is no way to get a serious sentence from Liam Gallagher. But, let's face it, who is interested?

18.30h. Noel, 38, and the mature figure of Oasis, ends with his interviews. In all of them, he says that the only things interesting in life are music and football. And that Zak Starkey is not in the band for being Starr's son. "He is brilliant. Who cares who his fucking father is?" And he doesn't leave that easy. With a sarcastic girly voice, he says: "Nobody told me…!" Liam, far away, looks at Noel as he was some kind of an alien from outer space. Noel laughs and sits with the technicians, who have dinner from a UK catering.

19.00h. The singer ends his interviews. To a female journalist who insisted a lot with the recruitment of the new drummer, Liam says: "Take note, the next Oasis member will be Lennon's son." He disappears till the show starts. Sleep a little bit, eat some, look at a couple of magazines, listen to music… "Sometimes we use these moments for starting a fight," says Noel. It's no joke. In 2000, in Barcelona, Liam said something about Noel's missus. The discussion ended as a huge fight. How did it end? Noel quit. Show canceled and Oasis toured without their main songwriter.

THE SHOW 22.00h. The show starts with two heavy songs from the new album, Turn Up The Sun and Lyla. One hour and a half with more new songs. Also the amazing hymns of the past, Live Forever and Rock and Roll Star. At the end, Wonderwall, Don't Look Back In Anger and The Who's My Generation. Fan ecstasy.

23.30h. The show ends. They go back to the hotel. And they stay there. They have their own bar opened. Where is gonna be better?

NIGHT 09.00h. Noel arrives just on time to reception. Bad looking. "I just slept three hours," he moans. But there are two radio interviews on the agenda.

09.45h. In the first one, he confesses he is in a hangover. In the second one, he says he wanted to play a couple more songs of the new album Don't Believe The Truth, but Liam didn't wanted to. "He doesn't do any tests and he doesn't know them well. He is lazy."

FOOTBALL 10.30h. Back to the hotel. We talk about football. He says he doesn't know Beckham or Owen. He knows Woodgate. "Yesterday he was in the show". He loves Ronaldinho. Also Deco. And Zidane. And also finds Mourinho a funny guy, the arrogant Chelsea trainer. "He is sensational". He asks if Barça really wants Henry, Arsenal. "And is Rijkaard any good?" He has not been in the Camp Nou and he would love to. And what about Manchester City? "We never win a fucking thing." One concept remains clear: he hates, really really hates, Manchester United.

GOODBYE 11.00h. Alarms everywhere. Liam will not do today's interviews. Gem opens his eyes like oranges. "Really?" "He is in his room, not feeling very well," answers Melvin Taub, from the record company. Everybody thinks about a drinking night. Consequence? Noel does 11 interviews.

12.00h. Noel yawns. "I'd love to sleep a couple of hours now." He is tired of being asked about Wonderwall, UK's best song say 8,000 radio listeners. We avoid the issue. he is satisfied that the critics say that with this album, Oasis is back in form. But he says it's relative. "I don't read newspapers. Only the sports section. Anyway, I already know I'm a genius so..." He never doubts? "No. I have a lot of faith in me. My missus also says so. 'It can't be you never doubt'. And I answer her: 'I'm important, and while I think this way, who cares what people say."

12.30h. Everybody is having lunch and drinking beers, Liam included. "At 3.00 am, I felt a terrible pain in my back. I just crawled to the bathroom." He walks so weird that maybe it's true.

14.20h. To the airport. Amsterdam. Liam laughs with Gem and Andy. He shoots some photos with the passengers. He seems fresh and new. Noel, differently, sits on the floor, alone, with his head back and sun glasses on. He seems exhausted.

BONUS, a TV clip showing a bit of the press junket the journalist described above:

[dilfluvver4eva]

nicolandria

NOOO BECAUSE NIC AND OLANDRIA HAVE ME IN A CHOKEHOLD AND I DON’T EVEN WANNA BE SET FREE. Like this is a testament to how REAL they are—capital R, bold, underline, italics, period.

So boom. I hadn’t been on socials for WEEKS. My friends were casually mentioning Love Island here and there, and before I went ghost, I saw maybe two edits of the new season. But I wasn’t interested. I thought I was safe. HA. FOOLISH.

Then one random day I downloaded the app because there was a vote happening. I’m scrolling through the couples like “Okay… let’s see who’s giving.” Then I see Nic and Olandria… and something in my soul whispered, “Yeah… them. That’s the couple. PICK THEM.” And I did.

And just like that, I accidentally signed my entire life away.I started watching thinking I’d just casually ship them. LIES. Straight lies.

Suddenly I’m in the trenches, living off CRUMBS of Nicolandria content. The producers would give me 2 seconds of Nic looking at her with literal heart eyes and then cut away to something else, and I’d be screaming like “HELLOOOO?? BRING THE CAMERA BACK.”

And don’t even get me STARTED on Taylor. At first, I thought he was cute for her—I’ll admit it. But then he did her SO. DIRTY. Like you had this beautiful, kind, funny, genuine girl right in front of you and you fumbled her like she was nothing?? Meanwhile Nic was standing there like he wanted to strangle Taylor on sight.

And let’s talk about Nic for a second because this man??He is a TOP. TIER. YEARNER. Capital Y. He’s always watching her. Like always. Even people who left the villa have said they caught him just… staring at her. Like he can’t help himself. He looks at her like she’s the only person in the world. The way he protects her, the way he softens when she talks, the way he LAUGHS more with her than he ever did with anyone else?? Yeah. That’s not fake. That’s not forced. That’s soul-tied behavior.

AND IT’S NOT JUST ME. Their own friends ship them. People outside the villa ship them. FOOTBALL TEAMS, BRANDS, MAJOR CELEBRITIES… EVEN MEGAN THEE STALLION SAID YES TO NICOLANDRIA. Like… hello??? If Meg is rooting for them, it’s already over. They’re not just a ship—they’re a cultural reset. A phenomenon.

At this point, I love them so bad it’s embarrassing. Nic and Olandria forever.

[edawgz]

ᝰ.ᐟ THE WORST ONE

𖦹ׂ ₊˚⊹⋆ PART 3. You’ve been forced to document the team’s season for a campus sports feature. Geto hates being filmed, but you’re not exactly a fan of jocks either.

❚ ❙ ❘ innuendos. toxic ex passively mentioned. videographer media intern reader. begrudging reader x lowkey yearner geto. idk what to tag this. slow burn. fluff. comfort.

| masterlist. | benched main page. | jjk masterlist. | pt 2. | pt 4. |

lacrosse captain!geto who’s never sat near you on the team bus. not once. always keeps to the back with the guys, sprawled out across two seats like the world owes him comfort. but this trip? the last away game of the season? the bus is packed, seats are tight—and he doesn’t hesitate. just drops into the empty spot beside you like he’s been doing it all year.

lacrosse captain!geto who says “What, not gonna offer to share your headphones?” in a low voice, but smooth as ever

lacrosse captain!geto who's lips tug into a smirk when you try to play it off, try to roll your eyes and keep your focus on the small monitor you’ve been editing game footage on — but it’s kind of impossible to ignore the way his thigh is pressed solidly against yours, or how his cologne smells like clean linen and heat.

lacrosse captain!geto who rests his head against the window and glances at your screen without asking, eyes tracking your every edit like he’s reading your thoughts.

lacrosse captain!geto who murmurs “You really save clips of just me?” with half a smile curling on his lips. “Little self-indulgent, don’t you think?” you don’t rise to the bait. just nudge his knee with your own and mutter, “It’s for the article. Your teammates suck at interviews.”

lacrosse captain!geto who hums at that, amused.. and doesn’t deny it.

lacrosse captain!geto who doesn’t move his leg. not once. who lets the silence between you stretch until it’s too thick with unspoken things. and then, quiet, almost curious “So what do you actually think of us?” you blink, caught off guard. “The team?”

lacrosse captain!geto who nod at your question which he thought had all-too-obvious of an answer “The athletes in general. The ones you clearly hate filming.” your lips twitch. “I think most of you are insufferable.”

lacrosse captain!geto who raises an eyebrow at that, and fixes his posture against the seat to challenge your thoughts a bit more, “And me?”

lacrosse captain!geto who notices how you hesitate, long enough that his gaze flickers away from the window to watch you, eyes steady and unreadable. “You’re the worst one.”

lacrosse captain!geto who can't help grin.. slowly and sharp, like you've handed him exactly what he wanted. all while you can't help but think that maybe it’s the engine rumble beneath your feet or the low laughter from the rest of the team two rows back or the soft tap of rain hitting the windows

lacrosse captain!geto who's voice doesn't raise above a mutter when he says, “Good. Hate keeps things interesting.” and you really, really shouldn’t be this warm under your hoodie, but then his arm stretches casually behind you, resting across the back of the seat, and it’s not even touching you — but somehow it still feels like a claim.

lacrosse captain!geto who doesn’t say another word for the rest of the ride. doesn’t need to. just leans back with his eyes closed and a small, satisfied smile on his lips like he knows exactly what kind of edit you’ll make after this game — and exactly how many times you’ll replay it, just to get the cut right.

[broodymcshootyface]

I'm sorry. The fresh fuck do you mean I wasn't actually the second Robin?

So I just found out something tonight that’s made me question everything.

Not the Joker thing (I’ve already processed that one. Mostly.)

Not even the part where Bruce once adopted a cow and called it a strategic asset.

No. Tonight I found out...

I wasn’t the second Robin.

I was third.

There was a Lance Bruner.

Yeah. That’s a real name. Sounds like a guy who owns six boats and a secret closet full of ascots.

Apparently, Bruce adopted this actual golden retriever man sometime after Dick left but before I showed up. Which is already giving major "forgotten middle kid" vibes. But it gets worse.

He was Robin.

FOR SIX MONTHS.

Before me.

And nobody told me?!

Bruce?? Never mentioned him.

Alfred?? Radio silence.

Dick?? DICK?? You watched me spiral into a full-blown identity crisis and said NOTHING??

Like—WHAT WAS THE PLAN HERE?

Just let me think I was the Next Great Hope, the Second Coming of Boy Wonder™, while Blondie McTrustfund was out there doing flips and apparently NOT having to dye his hair black like I did??

Yeah. That’s right.

Bruce made me dye my hair black

To look like Dick.

I was born a whole ginger.

BUT LANCE GOT TO STAY BLONDE.

Let’s just sit with that for a second.

I was out here, dyeing my hair, wearing elf boots and bad BatJorts, taking batarangs to the ribs like a champ, trying to prove myself worthy of the mantle—and Lance Bruner was apparently out there in the 1980s, living his sun-kissed vigilante dream with no notes from Batdad?

And it gets weirder:

His name barely comes up. No file in the Cave. No training logs. No costume in the trophy case. It’s like Bruce just quietly archived him. Like a limited-edition Robin that got pulled off the shelves before launch.

I’m not even mad about the Robin thing anymore. I’m mad about the hair dye.

Was I a good enough fighter? Sure. Strategically minded? Getting there. Willing to punch the Joker in the throat? Always.

But apparently none of that mattered if I didn’t have the right melanin code on my skull.

Meanwhile Lance got to roll into the Batcave like some kind of blonde Hercules, probably said “golly gee” unironically, and Bruce just gave him the keys to the Robin-mobile.

WHAT EVEN IS THIS ENERGY???

Middle Kid Energy??

Missing File Energy??

“The writers forgot about me” Energy??

I need answers. I need receipts.

I need to find this man and ask him who the hell he thinks he is.

Then probably hug him. Then probably punch him. I dunno. I’m still processing.

This has been your regularly scheduled BatBreakdown.

Catch me on patrol tonight, screaming "WHO THE FUCK IS LANCE?!" at gargoyles across Gotham.

[coffins-flowers]

Fox lady redesign

Few words about her as well as little backstory (a lot of my venting so if you don’t want to listen to my sappy story just know her name is Chamomile [also thinking about Rumianek] and she hates her fur)

So it was actually my first ever fursona I did in highschool and also I believe first art I wasn’t afraid showing somebody else. I don’t have original first drawing of her because I lost it or threw away as well as most of her art (kids don’t clean your arts & crafts corner while on depressive episode. You’ll end up like me) so here’s drawing of her I made on math homework (somehow I thought this has more value than whole character sheet XDDDDD)

Since she’s very nostalgic for me (LITERALLY MY FIRST FURSONA) I decided to keep her markings, tail and face shape. She’s still a teenager, but she’s separated being from me now. It was supposed to be me as an animal and I choose marble fox because „it’s different because everyone has dogs and wolves I’m so different and cool��� XD. Teen me really wanted to be not like other girls stereotype, but furry edition. You can see I have a thing for gray animals and it’s because I’m emo and goth and and… I just like black and goth stuff okay?

To separate her from me while also healing my past self I gave her different hairstyle and funky clothes (teen me wasn’t good at dress up, I believe I started not being afraid to play with fashion at my senior year). Her style is mostly influenced by art hoe and popular teen fashion during my years in highschool.

Now she’s from upper/middle class marble fox family, and marble foxes cherish their black and white fur; the bigger contrast the better. They tend to show it in dressing in grays, black and white only, having monochrome interiors and white/green flowers in their gardens. Too bad Chamomile hates dull aesthetics of her culture and rebels by finding the most colorful clothes and accessories she can think of and dyes her hair with cousin when their parents weren’t watching.

About her name - since my name is Kamila which which in Hungarian (Kamilla) means chamomile flower I gave her name Chamomile. I stick to the rule that different animals have names after different things their culture finds important, that’s why my current fursona is named Selena, because in my worldbuilding badgers cherish celestial bodies, Goat sona of my Friend is Mei because bovidae family views beauty and shortness of life as most important knowledge. Canines have mostly flower related names to remind them they live for Earth and are delicate and beautiful just like flowers.

What else can I say about her? She’s a party animal, extremely social, popular and artsy person who’s always volunteering for anything which in turn ends up consuming almost all her time, tends to act before she thinks and drowns in promises made for other people.

Some of my hardcore fans (nobody) might’ve picked up upon her having colorful highlights on white hair while my main sona has gray highlights on white hair. Answer to that extremely complicated, symbolism filled mystery is…….. my current fursona is real me and I’m graying. That’s it XD. Subtle showing that Chamomile used to be me but is free now and her own character.

[ninjagecko72]

If it’s the Rise boys, it’s absolutely this.

I’m just thinking about my favorite 03 boys watching the movie/listening to the soundtrack.

Like 03 Raph is definitely the guy who’d say the movie wouldn’t be that great but then next thing you know his favorite is Zoey or Mira (you know the type he likes, girls who kick butt) and he listens to the music when he’s working out. He’ll say his favorite song is “Takedown” but it’s actually “Golden” or “What It Sounds Like”

Meanwhile I can see any Leo being a fan of KPOP and actually learning Korean to understand the lyrics better.

And Mikey always falls victim to Soda Pop.

Edit: MM Donnie would love this movie and hope there’s a goddamn sequel coming out

Alright which Turtle is obsessing over KPOP Demon Hunters?

And why are my immediate guesses Mikey and Donnie?

[artsymeeshee]

(Ｔ▽Ｔ)

(As always DON’T tag as ship :T)

[royalarchivist]

Fit: Yeah, I've been working on this 2b2t video now for... at least over a month. Like I said, it's 42 minutes long, but here's the kicker that this stream chat's gonna appreciate: It's a 42 minute video and I've hidden a Hideduo reference in it that none of the YouTube viewers are going to catch.

Fit: It is- it is like 4 seconds of a 42 minute video, so have fun~! [Sing-songy] Have fun! Have fun lookin' for it! You're gonna need it! You're gonna need all the luck you can get! No, it's actually, it's actually like– It's pretty damn obvious when it happens. It's pretty damn obvious when it happens, though.

Fit: [Reading chat] "Baiting your Twitch audience to watch your YouTube videos with yaoi is crazy." What? It's- it's a genuine marketing strategy, c'mon. We work smart, not hard.

[rosalie-starfall]

Saturday Night - 2024

October 11th 1975

Gilda: "You get to be the hot one." Laraine: "Jane's the hot one." Jane: "I'm the mom... The still fuckable mom."