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schizoidcel · 8 months ago

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## BOOTHILL x READER ★

🤍 ﹒ HEADCANONS ! ! . .

－ notes ̽ ۪⠀written before his release + gn reader huhu. yall i swear ill get to the lcb requests but im brainrotting too fucking much right now boothill is colonizing my mind so enjoy these thoughts i had and will throw into the tags

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚.

He's a little spoon and NOBODY can convince me otherwise period.

We know damn well hes touch starved. So ofcourse he'd wanna be nuzzled up inbetween your chest and chin

Will teach you how to ride a horse. He definitely has a favourite (his name is Sebastian 🌚🌚)

Very protective over him though. You will not ride on that horse until you are months into the relationship

He gave you another horse to practice riding on and an extra horse incase the other "knocks your socks off" ... Whatever that means

You named them Yee and Haw and he was so conflicted with his emotions that he considered getting a routine check up on his body

Will tease you if you completely fuck up immediately.

He grabs your hands to gesture on things you should be wary about while being on the back of a horse, knowing it'll mess your brain up and lead you to not pay attention to a single thing coming out of his mouth

On the other hand if you're able to handle it in a short amount of time, he'll start flirting with you

"I'm doing it, Boo!" "Nice work, honeybunch. Think ya can manage ridin' somethin' else?" "Dude"

It's one or the other. You will not escape the Boothill down bad programm

Boothill also acts like a himbo to mess around with you.

On another note, you called him Bootyhill once and he's still shook up. Whether /pos or /neg is up to interpretation

While we're on the topic of nick/pet names, he calls you things you've never heard of before .

Or even if you did, they're things you expected never to be called 😭

What the fuck is a doodlebug Boothill

Type of man to get flustered when you flirt back. He just starts bugging out

Will play it cool though, but the faint blue on his cheeks says otherwise

Also a fan of headpats. No, he's not ashamed. No, he will not tell you.

Expanding on the no shame, Boothill takes it to the extreme

No filter, no mask, no nothing. Touchy EVERYWHERE you go

Even if he can't really feel it, he just feels more at ease when you both are near eachother or touch one another. Man wants to protect his partner, after all

It dosen't matter if you're able to protect yourself, the gesture just makes him feel more comfortable and calm

Also has a hair pulling kink woah. Let's keep it sfw everybody

Forehead kisses ❤️ or just kisses anywhere on his head in general. Kiss behind his ears and he will overheat

He let's you play with his hair<3 It's one of his favourite passtimes with you

Braid it, tie it in a ponytail, give him buns, pigtails, curl them, decorate them with hairpins, clip bows in his strands it don't matter PLAY WITH HIS HAIR ⁉️

He relaxes SO MUCH it's insane. Genuinely just one finger goes into that hair of his and he melts

This plays into the little spoon factor

You'd tease him about it but he takes pride in it 😭

Has a weird obsession with biting. If you complain that it hurts he goes "What, want me to smooch the pain away?" and he does this fuckass face :3 while you're just staring at him dead in the eye (you say yes btw)

If you're ticklish, he's hell for you

Tickles you in the most random times possible.

And you know it's even WORSE with those cold ass metalic hands

You're cuddling? The sides of your torso are not safe. You're currently occupied with an activity involving your hands? Your armpits are not safe either. He's laying on your bare stomache face down? He starts blowing raspberries.

You know damn well he uses the feathers of his hat 😭

Sticks it up your nose to make you sneeze too. Usually to wake you up or some shit

You could have the most volcano eruption alert level 5 sneeze and he'd still say "Aww, ya sneeze like a kitten!"

One last note this man is a whiney loser bottom not sorry

the word ill is in boothill for a reason the way im laying in bed all sweaty ANYway 🌚😵😵😵😵

ૢ་༘࿐ thank you for reading ! Ⳋ᧙

#boothill x reader #bruh #i feel so insane #and normal #normaling #ok wer e done. im out. goodbye hsr community thisll be my only contribution #proof reading and looking at the eidolon i used for the header why nobody draw him with those glasses yet🧐🧐

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sgiandubh · 1 year ago

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A tale of two brands

Sophie Mancini's Departures paper on S in NY started a flurry of comments even before the whole content was made available on blogs. That people - mostly in Mordor - jumped in to add their two booing cents on the matter, based on two or three Instagram Story screencaps only, is a testimony to Tumblr's community deep interest in S's slightest PR/sales move and the easiness with which people like *urv managed to push their own agenda, in the process, to her unsuspecting, bicep-loving crowd.

Many of these comments asked just one question, more or less kindly and more or less openly: who are you, Sam Roland Heughan? Some of them, more along my alley, took a different angle: who are you talking to, Sam Roland Heughan?

Let me count the US crowds: the Wall Street yuppie crowd? the old money, WASP Knickerbocker / Colony Club crowd? Tribeca's sophisticated, culture-ish snob crowd? the UN international crowd? the laid-back (-ish) brownstone Brooklyn crowd? the DC politico types? the Boston Brahmin crowd? the Silicon Valley Bitcoin crowd? the Florida Latino crowd? the Bible Belt crowd? the Deep South charmingly old-fashioned crowd? the yee-haw, witty and ambitious Texans? the gourmet, nature-loving Seattle crowd? I am sure I am missing some (it's been a while I haven't traveled to the States and I have to say I miss all 50 of them, plus and perhaps above all my beloved DC :), but you get the idea. And the problem, or rather its first layer.

The second question this very poorly written article prompted is: what are you talking about, Sam Roland Heughan? I mean, what destination are you trying to promote? Scotland, through your Scottish gin, which I truly believe is exceptional? The Big Apple, like a counterpart to Sting, you know - a Scotsman in New York? That's not very clear, since that superficial girl just whirled you to a couple Chinatown speakeasies, rat pitter-patter included (bye-bye, Knickerbocker crowd right there) and that's pretty much it. New Zealand, that you mention at length, Maori tattoo story re-hashed, just because the book comes out next Tuesday? Ha-wa-wee, perhaps in a belated attempt to mitigate Tunagate? California, even, because it takes you back to humble beginnings? Granted, the Frisco one, not LA: that would be a horrible faux-pas, in a NY centered paper, much like me whimsically and idiotically mentioning Istanbul (instead of Constantinople), in a conversation with my Greek friends.

My head spins. And then let's add to that a ladle of recycled talking points, yours and C's altogether, like this gem:

Aspirational. Mmmhm. She said that. You said that. Multiple times, in multiple contexts that probably didn't even call for it. This is *** PR right there. I am not JAMMF. I am not Claire. But we aspire to that. Stop thinking we are these characters. No sane fan ever did: the insistence is unnecessary and has a real backfire potential. Stop thinking, period. But let it be my shipper sin, then, not to believe an iota of it and stubbornly think you people are, by now, way past the aspirational stage.

So, I took a long walk down memory lane today, while driving, trying to understand what the hell your personal brand is. Once upon a time, things were clear: you and C were a single brand. S&C - the fresh-faced, candid, witty and funny and oh, so in love new kids on the block. The spark was real and it was strong (it still is, only dampened and muted by PR-prompted shenanigans) and OL's audience was under its spell. People loved you, both of you, and some of us still do. You showed us as much as you could and for a while, it seemed to be convenient for just about everybody. That created expectations, but at the same time, you could have sold us land concessions on the Moon and we would have bought them, no questions asked.

And then, things happened. We know what: IFH, EFH, Remarkable Week-end. The spell was broken for many, who left in droves. Fans turned into bashing other fans. The S&C brand was progressively compromised and along with it, your Barbour Ambassadorship (for different reasons). Let's stop a bit at this point, in fond remembrance: that was the perfect pitch, for the perfect kind of corporate brand, for the perfect niche, for the perfect guy. A guy who had a credible, authentic story to tell, with a really strong potential to attract people outside of OL's crowd. Image and message perfectly aligned. Best case scenario.

So, with ***'s and your own PR benediction, what once was your solid gold starting point was ridiculed, trampled, shot to shambles, in a (failed) attempt to be sent to complete oblivion. You then had to think of something and try to branch out of both the blessing and curse of it.

MPC suddenly became more important than just any other charity project, of which there were a few (Cahonas Scotland comes to mind, the blood cancer one, as well). Cue in Sam the Athlete, Sam the Healthy Living Evangelist. The project was turned into a lucrative business, with a strong charity side. People bought subscriptions, people changed their eating and lifestyle habits, people lost weight - but really, I shouldn't write 'people', but 'women'. This was a women-oriented endeavor. A problem, again, on the long term.

Ha-wa-wee 1 happened, to more scandal and shrieks (that, I believe, was the reason you lost the Barbour project, another gold opportunity squandered because ten Internet bitches knew better). Then we were told another avatar was born: Sam the Entrepreneur. With a genuine, carefully curated, labor of love first alcohol product that clearly used the discarded S&C brand: The Sassenach and believe what you want, but just buy it. Mommies obliged. Antis obliged. Shippers obliged. All wallets are created equal, as I (often) use to say. And then COVID-19 came, putting a very real, very dangerous logistic strain on it.

Yet, you still had to somehow mitigate delays and losses. The Sassenach went exotic, with that limited edition tequila that probably won't be remembered by many outside OL's fandom, and that is a pity and a shame. The reason it won't be remembered is that you almost did not promote it, spare one or two Tick-Tock and Instagram clips. Does that justify the investment, the trips to Mexico, the very expensive retainers and commissions your tequila friends took for their trouble? I very much doubt it. That was, until being proved completely wrong, a flop. It brought absolutely nothing in terms of personal branding, spare perhaps a new faction in this paranoid cesspool of a fandom: the Gay Crowd, fueled by the image of a Lonely Bandana Cowboy, instead of the intended Sophisticated Traveler and Connoisseur. Yes, people are stupid, like that. Your PR and Sales team, too - and this comes from a place of deep understanding and appreciation.

We are now talking gin and boy, am I glad we do! This is perhaps an opportunity. Finally, a more democratically price-tagged, carefully tailored (again) drawing card product. But who is selling it to me? The California Boat Party Host? In that case, I won't buy it, but never mind me: maybe the fun-loving California Millennials would (we know the Smuggling Mommies would do it, anyways). The Sophisticated Traveler and Connoisseur you tried to show us again in Mancini's abysmal Departures paper and who is invited to important events, in recognition of his efforts?

You can't have the two of them, Sam, whatever those incompetents told you. You're either a 43-years old midlife crisis-stricken and shirtless clown or an Old World Industrious Thespian, with a stature and a status to match. A real Entrepreneur, not a cartoon scuba diver/beach boy Influencer. Eye Candy vs. Brain Power: after all, you are a '3x NYT best selling author', aren't you? Your pick, not mine. Stop the Sri Mataji-style Hugging and Booze tours: it's nonsense and that geriatric crowd is nowhere near what you need to make your dream come true. Do some real soul searching and stop listening to clueless 28-year old journalists, who tell you tacky rings are fun: they aren't. They make you look like an ageing Atlantic City Sinatra wannabe:

Sam Roland Heughan: currently at crossroads, trying to not choose between two opposite personal brands. Tricky position and an even trickier context, with the strike still lingering on and the pressing need to find an after OL strategy.

I promised you a tale of two brands and I think you wonder, by now, what happened to C, the other half of the primary SC brand?

The answer is, I honestly believe, not much. She has no personal brand, so to speak. Until now, she is just an Enthusiastic Dilettante. Book Club - started, unfinished and with that, farewell to any fan engagement. Cinema production rights - bought and then silence. Botanical Gin - first batch released (?) with no promo, no interviews (mentioning it in a podcast does not count), no reviews. Then teasing, then crickets again: a bit late, now, for the end of year celebrations. And I have to say I miss her or the part of her I never witnessed in real time (is such a thing possible?). I miss that starry-eyed, funny and witty girl. That girl was somehow completely swallowed by an Acrid Matron, who thought it was intelligent to yell at an Internet nobody, on Christmas Day, 'I am not married to Sam!' (ok, you aren't, but you're still lying). And I honestly don't know which one is best (or worst, for that matter): try to build something and make mistakes and try again until you hopefully find your way, or say nothing, do nothing and of course, never be controversial.

Now I am really interested to see how is she going to promote her gin. But you know what, I am not holding my breath, for some reason.

#BoozeWars

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classycookiexo · 2 months ago

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I completely agree ! I remember SpongeBob’s version of Christmas, Chowder’s version of Christmas (Kanishmas), The Marvelous Misadventures of Flapjack (Low Tides episode), Ed, Edd and Eddy’s Boo Haw Haw special and many more.

It’s like none of them are really festive anymore for some reason, especially the kid shows

#cartoons #anime #animation #tv shows

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mikyapixie · 1 month ago

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19 years ago today the Ed Edd n Eddy episode Boo Haw Haw premiered on Cartoon Network!!!

MAN THIS WAS SO FUNNY!!!🤣🤣🤣

#ed edd n eddy #Danny Antonucci #cartoonetwork #happy halloweeeeeeen #Halloween #🎃🎃🎃#Happy Halloween!!!🎃🎃🎃

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msmargaretmurry · 1 year ago

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thanks I will be thinking about this forever now too! we need the fic, becky

hello friend, i come belatedly answering this ask with a less belated but still slightly belated little birthday gift. hope you enjoy ❤

inspired by this fantastic fanart and, obviously, set in the haw universe. explicit/nsfw.

Lying on Matthew’s hotel bed, still buzzing off the adrenaline of winning a hockey game in front of 55,000 people, Leon grins up at the ceiling.

“I’m waiting,” he calls.

“You can wait,” Matthew says from behind the closed door of the bathroom. “I’m pissed at you, remember?”

“Be pissed at me out here,” Leon says, bouncing his heels on the mattress.

To be fair, Leon would also be pissed if he lost in front of 55,000 people, especially if all of those people loved booing him as much as the Oilers faithful love booing Matthew. He’d be pissed even if he had scored a pretty goal. Pretty sexy goal. Winning affords Leon the generosity to really appreciate a sexy goal.

“Come on, I’m getting lonely out here,” he says smugly.

The door finally opens. Leon sits up. Matthew steps out in his overalls and cowboy boots. Big white cowboy hat on his head. Big scowl on his face.

Leon smirks. “Hot.”

“Shut up,” Matthew says, like this isn’t his own fault. If he hadn’t sent Leon a picture of himself in the overalls getup before the game, Leon wouldn’t have had to text him, After I win youre wearing that for me later, and Matthew wouldn’t have texted back, Yeah ok IF you win. And Leon did win.

It’s early enough in the season that Matthew still has faint tan lines around his neck and upper arms. Leon wants to trace them with his tongue. He wants to sink his teeth into them and see if the marks turn different shades of red on the tan skin and the pale skin. At some point surely he’s going to stop feeling so crazy any time he looks at Matthew, but for now, especially now, with the win, the adrenaline, the animal part of his brain surges up every time. Mine.

“Okay, so,” Matthew says, awkwardly adjusting a denim strap over his shoulder. “You want a picture or what?”

“Not yet.” Leon slides to his feet to cross the room to him. Matthew makes a face, like he thinks Leon is going to make fun of him, but honestly it’s Matthew who should be making fun of Leon for being so into the stupid little outfit.

It’s not really the outfit, specifically. It’s Matthew’s shoulders on display, broad and strong. His sharp collarbones and the perfect, tempting dip of his throat. The hint of the hair on his chest peeking out of the top of the overalls bib and the knowledge of how it feels against Leon’s lips.

Leon tugs him in by the front of his overalls and kisses him, long and deep. Mine.

There's a bite to the way Matthew kisses Leon back. He’s not wound up way too tight like he would get after losses last season, but there’s still a tension there. A challenge. He’d been nervous, Leon knows — god knows Leon had been nervous, too — about how things would go when the new season started. The summer had been so good, even if their time together was far too short, an entire world away from their real lives. The preseason had been good, a meaningless win apiece and every possible stolen second of time together. But now the games matter again, and that C is still so heavy on Matthew’s chest. The points tonight were the same as the points in any other game, but the stage was so much bigger than usual.

But after the game, Matthew had texted first. And here they are.

“You played good,” Leon murmurs. He slides his hands up the edges of the overall bib, along the straps over Matthew’s chest, down again to where it scoops in at his sides, his fingertips barely tracing over the bare skin underneath. Matthew scoffs; playing well is cold comfort in a loss. It’s important for him to hear it anyway. Leon pulls him in by the fabric again, relishes the easy way Matthew’s mouth opens to his. He kisses Matthew until Matthew groans into it, the sound vibrating down Leon’s spine.

Leon maneuvers them until Matthew’s back is against a wall. It knocks the cowboy hat askew, and the stupid thing keeps bumping Leon’s head when they kiss, so he takes it off Matthew’s head and tosses it onto the bed.

“Hey, it’s not a look without the hat,” Matthew says. Leon cares more about his kissed-red mouth than the complaint. Matthew shaved before the game, theoretically for the look, but even money says it was also in anticipation of how sensitive his freshly clean-shaven skin is to the bristle of Leon’s beard.

“Trust me, it’s still a look,” Leon says, sliding a hand into Matthew’s hair. So easy to tangle his fingers in the curls, like they were made for him to hold onto. It’s warm in the hotel, but he swears he can taste the cold air of Commonwealth Stadium on Matthew’s cheek as he drags a bristly kiss across it. Matthew’s jaw, his ear, his temple. Matthew squirms, laughs hoarsely, hooks his fingers into the waistband of Leon’s joggers and pulls him in so their bodies are flush together. Matthew pressed to the wall, Leon pressed to Matthew. Leon only has maybe half an inch and a few pounds on him, and yet somehow it feels easy to box him in like this when they’re alone, when he’s so willing to let Leon take the lead. Not like when they’re on the ice, when he’s throwing elbows, poking stick-butts into ribs, finding and getting on every last nerve. But Leon loves him out there, too. The fight out there makes the easy in here that much more worth it.

“I missed you,” Matthew sighs. His eyes are closed, head tilted back from the tug of Leon’s hand in his hair. Leon lets his fingers fall free to cup Matthew’s face instead, tilting his chin into another kiss. Softer, slower. He finds one of the buckles on the front of the overalls and works it open one-handed. The strap falls away; the bib would fall half-open if it weren’t held up by the way they’re pressed together. “Should have made you wear your stupid jumpsuit.”

“Mmm, shouldn’t have lost, then.” The jumpsuits were fun, but, in Leon’s opinion, would put way too much work between his skin and Matthew’s. Not like the overalls, serving Matthew up like a buffet.

“God, you’re insufferable,” Matthew says, but turns his head to give Leon access as he moves his mouth to Matthew’s neck.

He thumbs open one, two buttons at Matthew’s hip and snakes his hand into the overalls, expecting to find underwear to deal with and instead finding nothing. Just his palm sliding over Matthew’s happy trail, finding Matthew’s erection pressed against the inside of the denim. It’s wet at the tip, hot and hard in Leon’s hand. Matthew makes a guttural noise when Leon touches him that sounds like how the primal urge in Leon feels. Mine.

“Yeah?” he breathes against the hinge of Matthew’s jaw, against the thrum of Matthew’s pulse. “You want this?”

“Obviously.” The word catches in Matthew’s throat as his hips hitch into Leon’s hand. “Please.”

Leon strokes him slow and steady. No need to rush. It would be better with some spit or lube, but he doesn’t want to pull away long enough to make that happen. And besides, he likes really being able to feel Matthew’s cock in his hand: the soft, soft skin, the warm pulse of blood, delicate contours of the head and the wetness in the slit as precome beads out. Matthew moans, quietly and then less quietly, but he doesn’t try to take more than Leon gives him. Leon loves when he’s like this, trusting, taking so beautifully. It’s greedy of him, maybe, but he loves the time it gives him with Matthew’s body. Like now, scraping teeth down his neck, tasting the sharp ridge of his clavicle. Following the constellation of moles across his throat, biting into the flexing muscle of his shoulder and getting a perfect sweet groan in response. His own dick twitches at the sound, but they can deal with that soon enough.

When Matthew’s breaths start coming hard through his nose, Leon speeds his hand up, just a little. Sometimes he might not, to drag it out as long as possible, but there’s so much more he wants to do tonight. Matthew pants, and Leon sucks kisses into his chest, drags his tongue along the edge of the denim strap that’s still attached over his left shoulder. There’s a buckle on it, a tang of metal. He gets his free hand under the back of the overalls, splayed between Matthew’s shoulder blades, holding him up when his knees start to buckle.

“Come on,” Leon urges with his mouth on Matthew’s neck. “Come on, let me feel you.”

“Oh, fuck,” Matthew says, “oh, fuck, fuck,” and comes in Leon’s hand, all over the inside of the overalls. Leon strokes him through it until he shudders, oversensitive, then pulls his hand out to wipe it on the front of the bib.

“Fuck,” Matthew breathes again. He nudges his chin against Leon’s head, seeking a kiss that of course Leon gives him. A brief, wanting, bite of a kiss that says that as soon as Matthew catches his breath, he’s got plenty more in him. Good, because Leon’s so turned on he feels a little unsteady. They can take a minute, though. Gives him a chance to admire his handiwork. Matthew’s throat and chest are a mottled patchwork of pink beard burn and deep red hickeys. Teeth marks in his shoulder that’ll be purpling by morning. He doesn’t own a single shirt that’ll hide all of it.

Usually Leon would be more careful. But it’s a special occasion.

“God,” Matthew says. He’s caught Leon looking, and is now walking careful fingers over the tender marks. “How bad did you fuck me up?”

“Pretty bad. Only a little sorry, though.”

Matthew huffs a laugh, his head lolling back against the wall. Between the hickeys, the half-undone overalls, the dark patch at his crotch and the come smeared down his front, he’s an image that’s going to be burned into Leon’s brain for a long time. He looks at Leon through lidded eyes, his smile warm and lazy. “Only a little forgiven, then.”

“I can make it up to you,” Leon says, tugging him in by the unbuttoned hip of the overalls. Matthew hums into the kiss.

“Take me to bed and I’ll forgive you right now,” he says.

“Tough but fair.” Leon grins. “I want my picture first though.”

#ask #ratnovel #matthew and leon #my fic #hockey for ts

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