#lace harding icons

[vgsedit]

nine (9) icons of bellara lutare, neve gallus, lucanis dellamorte, varric tethras and lace harding from dragon age: the veilguard.

reblog / ♡ if you like or use

do not claim or repost my work

follow vgsedit for more

more of dragon age

make your request

open commissions

[wyllesbian]

Pansexual pride icons for the DA: Veilguard companions ft. Varric and Manfred!

[wickedapostate]

Veilguard Pansexual Icons

[mikecrewsteacup]

The un-addressed hilarity of Gertrude not realizing Eric had quit the Archives before dying. Let's recap how that got mentioned: 

Right. So Gertrude was under the impression that Eric Delano was working on statements, presumably either transcription or researching old leads; maybe she even occasionally let them file things for fun before she'd go disorganize them herself later on. And we can assume she didn't actually keep very close tabs on them, so it's even possible if Eric had quit a week prior to his murder, she would have naturally missed it.

But...months?

I present to you the only possible explanation: that Jonah Magnus (who would have been hiding in Wright's body at the time, not Elias' yet) had to be the one frantically trying to keep Gertrude in the dark about it being possible to quit the Archives. After not interfering for the two years Eric Delano spent trying to quit — presumably he underestimated Eric the way he does Martin later on, and just didn't bother checking in on him until OH SHIT I CANT SEE ERIC WHERE DID HE GO — Jonah suddenly had a huge problem on his hands.

So please, imagine Jonah sneaking back into the Archives after dark (or just never leaving at all) and frantically rifling through Eric's desk to do his paperwork. Knowing just enough information about Eric's intended leads to pretend they'd been interviewed and take fake notes (but not TOO fake as to be suspicious! Eric was always a pretty serious and dedicated employee!). Just generally making it appear that an entire employee had not left for MULTIPLE. MONTHS. 

I know we discuss how to Jonah this show is a workplace comedy for the first like 4 seasons, but it's implied shenanigans like this that really showcase it for me. 

(Also now I can't help but wonder if Jonah is a natural at mimicking handwriting, or if Eric's notes from that period abruptly go from 'neat and tidy but modern cursive' to 'ye olde script, hastily attempting to look modern'.)

[howlpendraig]

Quick Harding, Varric and Charter icons from Dragon Age: The Missing #1

(feel free to change the colours, just like/reblog if using etc)

[puritates]

Temptation to remake my icons cause I love how my mutuals look

[agoodflyting]

Why Aziraphale is completely ridiculous in the Bastille scene (and I love him so much for it)

A while ago I posted a comparison of Aziraphale and Crowley's costumes in the 1793 flashback in Good Omens and I wanted to add these little tidbits. (Because they haunt me.)

I feel like most people know this but IF YOU DON'T, Paris in 1793 is right in the middle of something called La Terreur.

HISTORY LESSON If you didn't learn this in school the French Revolution was when, after years of escalating social tension, a coalition representing the working classes of France revolted against the monarchy, violently overthrew King Louis XVI, and declared France to be a republic.

The new National Convention governing France ruled that King Louis XVI and his wife Marie Antoinette were traitors to the people of France because of how they had spent ridiculous amounts of money on luxuries for themselves while vast numbers of the lower classes were literally starving to death. (keep the bold in mind - wealth and class disparities were one of the key causes of the whole-ass revolution)

In 1793 (year of the flashback) both the King and Queen were executed by guillotine for their crimes.

This kicks of something called The Reign of Terror (La Terreur if you want to be French about it). A multi-year-long period in which the National Convention goes on a bloody witch hunt for any and every member of the middle or upper classes who could even possibly be considered a traitor by those same standards.

If you A) had money or privilege, and B) had ever used your money or privilege to treat yourself, you were getting executed. Over 25,000 people died during the Reign of Terror, half of them by guillotine. In fact, the iconic guillotine was used because it was physically impossible to keep up with the sheer number of people they were executing in Paris every single day.

Some things that could get you killed (actually and completely seriously) during the Reign of Terror:

Implying in any way you were sympathetic to the monarchy

Having a noble title

Having expensive things

Wearing expensive, luxurious clothes (*cough* AZIRAPHALE)

helping or sympathizing with anyone who did any of the above

a working-class person saying you were mean to them once

And then there's this bitch...

I AM NOBILITY PLEASE KILL ME So we have established that Paris in 1793 is in the middle of a frenzied, state-sanctioned bloodbath in which the working classes are massacring everyone even remotely nobility-adjacent. And in the middle of this frenzy, Aziraphale proceeds to roll up in Paris in this outfit:

How will this outfit get him killed? Let me count the ways...

First off- at this point everyone with even the tiniest shred of self- preservation is hiding the fact that they are in any way associated with the monarchy. The wealthy are straight-up abandoning mansions. The middle-class are plastering over decorations to make their house look 'poor'. The only people dressed remotely decent are the guys leading the National Convention and that's just because nobody can stop them. Everyone else is in 24/7 peasant cosplay or else they are covering themselves in cockades and sashes on to show they're pro-Republic.

Aziraphale is basically a giant shiny white sign saying I AM NOBILITY PLEASE KILL ME.

First off the lace jabot and lace cuffs are both associated with the old-school wealthy in the 1790's.

His coat is also decorated in gold braid and silver buttons, which are both marks of wealth and luxury.

He basically looks like he works for Louis XIV - not just rich, but old school rich.

We know it's his natural hair color, but hair powdering (with clay and starch) had been a big trend with the rich all throughout the 18th century to get that clean white venerable look . To someone who doesn't know it's natural, it would very much look like he's wearing hair powder.

He's wearing shades of cream and white, which are very hard to keep clean and clearly states that the wearer is rich and can afford the upkeep necessary to keep an outfit like that stain-free.

He's wearing white knee-breeches and stockings, also called culottes. See above about laundry and how rich you had to be to wear white, but also working-class men wore long pants like this:

A large faction involved in the Revolution were the Sans-Culottes (no-culottes aka we wear long pants LIKE GOOD OLD WORKING MEN). Culottes are specifically associated with everything the revolution hated. That's right - Aziraphale is literally wearing The Fanciest of Fancy Pants in a city where a group called The Men Against Fancy Pants are running around murdering people.

And then there are his shoes.

Oh god his shoes

I could do a whole post about Aziraphale's blessed little white satin pumps and how ridiculous they are.

Actually I might just do that because this is getting so long and I still have to talk about the brioche.

So I can't remember if it's in the script book or if it's from Neil Gaiman's tumblr, but it's apparently canon (?) that Aziraphale was going around in that outfit asking people where he could get crepes and brioche when he was arrested.

The Affair of the Brioches

So... uh... we've all heard the line attributed to Marie Antoinette- how when she was told that her people were starving because there was no bread left in Paris, she famously said...

It's morphed into 'let them eat cake', but the line is first recorded as, "Then let them eat brioches."

While it's unlikely she ever actually said it, the important thing is that... people in 1793 would have thought she said it. It was used as political smear to show how arrogant and out of touch the monarchy was. Marie Antoinette in particular was reviled by the people of France, who thought she was the main cause of their economic problems. That's why she was executed too.

Bread and brioche and the lines between poverty and privilege were a big thing in Revolutionary France. There was a lot of political connotation to what you ate. The French Revolution came about because of decades of suffering among the lower classes of France. It wasn't something that some dudes just decided to do. The people of Paris have been through years of the absolute worst, most oppressive poverty and starvation you can imagine, all while watching the rich throw money around crazy.

So let us recap.

Aziraphale is dressed so ridiculously posh that he looks like a joke parody of a nobleman... and he is bumbling around Paris during the Reign of Terror. Asking people. For brioche. How I imagine everyone looked at him:

It is so astoundingly tone deaf and tactless. He is basically cosplaying as Marie Antoinette and then going around asking the poor for cake.

I just.... Aziraphale. babygirl. no. oh no. You're lucky they even bothered to take you to prison. I am amazed Crowley ever let him live that down.

I have no conclusion other than this. Aziraphale is ridiculous and I love him so much.

YES YOU REALLY SHOULD SIR.

[loguine-linguine]

Ok hear me out!!!

Steve is a musician who sings pop music and posts on TikTok. He’s kind of a C-ish list celebrity (definitely a bit of a nepo baby) and his music is poppy and catchy. It’s the kinda stuff that you can immediately tell is coming from someone who is actively holding things back/ isn’t writing from any truth. Mall music at its purest form. Then one day with no announcement Steve drops a double sided album that is like GOOD GOOD pop music. It’s also noted very quickly that the pronouns in all the songs have definitely switched to he/him. People freak out and he starts charting for the first time in his career. Kinda Chappell Roan-esque situation where he skyrockets to being a queer pop icon very very quickly.

He starts doing interviews. He shows up to these interviews in outfits aren’t dramatically changed from what he usually wore (polos, jeans, bomber jackets, 80s jock vibes) but it’s all just much more camp. The cropped shirts are shorter, the jeans are tighter, and the colors are all suddenly pastel. He has also started wearing makeup (not heavy makeup but it’s definitely a lipgloss, eyeliner, mascara, highlight/blush on the tip of his nose type situation). He shares that he dropped his old producer (who he had been set up with by his father) and that he’s now working with his best friend Robin. He comes out as gay, talks about his struggle with comp-het, and proudly shares that he is super excited to contribute to the growing movement of music that is being written by queer people, for queer people. His TikTok also blows up.

This is when Tommy Hagan first starts showing up. Tommy is an actor who is pretty well known for doing teen drama TV shows (like Riverdale type deals). He introduces himself to Steve at some sort of industry event right after Steve gets big and pretty quickly starts showing up in his TikTok videos. It comes out that the two are dating pretty quickly after that. They date off and on for about a year and a half. Tommy is a shitty enough boyfriend that even Steve’s fans don’t like him. He stands him up for dates, embarrasses him at events, says rude and dismissive things about his music, etc. Robin (who is also kinda famous by proxy/writes her own music now similar to Billie Eilish and Finneas) absolutely hates his guts. Publicly. They finally break up officially after Tommy cheats on Steve with an actress named Carol who is on a show with him. It gets exposed by the tabloids and Steve finds out by seeing a photo of them making out on one of those celebrity drama TikTok accounts.

Eddie is also getting famous around this same time. He’s the lead for Corroded Coffin and also starts acting occasionally in horror films. He doesn’t really pay much attention to other celebrities or the drama that goes on. He was never into that kind of thing before the band took off so he doesn’t see why he should now. Eddie and the rest of the band are at an awards show of some sort and the others make fun of him the whole time. He can’t stop staring at this absolutely beautiful man sitting at a table near them. “The guy is wearing a slutty little lace shirt, the tightest pants in existence, and has skin that looks like honey and caramel had a child Gareth you really can’t blame me honestly.” Steve and Eddie don’t officially meet until the after party where they immediately hit it off.

A few months later Steve announces a new album and releases a single. It’s just Please Please Please by Sabrina Carpenter but gay and clearly about Tommy.

The music video comes out and people loose their minds. It’s the same sort of video as what Sabrina Carpenter just released for Please Please Please with the stunning outfits and the whole bad boy thing. Steve spends the whole video in dresses and skirts. There’s even a corset at one point. The bigger freak out is the fact that the Barry Keoghan equivalent is Eddie and its a hard launch of their relationship that fans had absolutely zero clue was even a possibility because why would horror/metal man Eddie Munson even know Steve Harrington???? Robin and the Corroded Coffin guys think the whole thing is hilarious. Eddie and Steve are so so happy :)

[felassan]

Party icons for Bellara and Lace Harding in Dragon Age: The Veilguard [source]

[sturnioz]

shy! reader who had a confidence boost and sends fratboy! chris explicit pictures as he is busy with his fratbros.

you stand in front of the mirror, taking in the sight of the baby pink lingerie that delicately hugs your body. the fabric glimmers under the light, while the tiny satin bows and lice trim gently caresses your skin.

since chris had gifted you this piece, you had felt too shy to wear it, tucking it away in the back of your closet — much to his dismay. he complained way too much before finally giving up and fucking you without it.

but since having a little confidence boost, thanks to your friend who had given you a little makeover during your girls day; making your lips plump and inviting, your eyelids with shimmering glitter, and lashes full. you feel pretty — truly pretty, you've never felt like this before.

your eyes flit over to your phone resting on the dresser, and you bite your lip in contemplation. after a moment, your thoughts win, and you reach for the device quickly, swiping open the camera app as your heart races. seeing yourself through the lens feels a bit awkward, but you muster your best smile and snap a picture, standing tall in the lingerie.

as you review the photo, a flutter of excitement stirs in your chest. you look good — really good — but the image feels a bit bland, lacking the spark you desire... you need to spice it up.

taking a deep breath, you settle down on the floor in front of the mirror on your ass, parting your legs and placing your feet firmly on the ground. you fix your hair, adjusting it to the way you prefer, and ensuring the lighting casts a flattering glow. you take another breath, preparing to take the photo — a little more provocative than last.

as you pose, heat spreads up your neck to your cheeks. you feel both exhilarated and flustered as you gaze at the new image on the screen, making it hard to believe that the girl staring back at you is, in fact, you.

you grin to yourself shyly, the corners of your mouth lifting as you chew on your glossy bottom lip. you pull up chris' contact, your heart racing in anticipating as you tap the message icon, navigating to your recent chat.

as your thumbs move swiftly across the screen, you attach the photo, your pulse quickening with each tap as you type out a message.

you | 20:54 [image] what do you think?

sitting in silence, you bite down on your thumbnail, anxiety creeping in as you watch the delivered sign at the bottom of your text change to 'read'. the knit in your stomach tightens, embarrassment washing over you as the minutes tick by without a reply. you start to doubt yourself further, wondering if this was even a good idea, but your heart leaps at the sight of three bubbles popping up, indicating that he's typing.

chris | 21:01 u serious rn????? what the actual fuck kid yeah nah ur crazy lol

you frown softly, unsure on how to interpret his message. a wave of uncertainty washes over you as you tug at the delicate lace of your lingerie. leaving his texts on read, you glance back at your reflection, focussing on the pretty girl staring back at you. you suck in a deep breath, holding your head high, determined to keep the confidence as you type back.

you | 21:08 i feel pretty i like it do you??

not even a second later, your phone buzzes again.

chris | 21:08 yeah unlock ur front door btw lol im comin over

[midnightwrriting]

can you write about reader and patrick finding porn on arts laptop or phone and it js being a bunch of different guys calling girls mommy and stuff like that. reader and patrick then make it their mission to get him subby enough to say it and when he does he’s so embarrassed, reader is nice abt it and finds it cute and hot but patrick is mean abt it even tho he also finds it so hot 😮‍💨

I really like the idea of art being all submissive it makes me giggle.

Warnings : 18 + threesome, fingering (f receiving) mommy kink, handjob... I think that's all?

Patrick zweig x fem reader x Art Donaldson

Patrick and you were borrowing Art's laptop for some random reason. Art was at his last class of the day. You rested into Patrick's side as he snooped. "What are you doing" your voice laced with questioning. "Just seeing what our boy Art has been up to" he types some websites and quickly links are being pulled up. His iconic smirk laid on his face. "there we go" he clicked a video Art had visited often.

In the video it was a blonde guy submitting to some girls. Begging, whines and crying out. "Mommy please" could be heard on the speaker. "Holy shit" You laugh out of shock. "Now we see what our little man is into" Patrick clicks on other videos and the same thing happening.

You and Patrick sat there for twenty minutes finding everything Art had booked mark. "We need to get this little shit to call you mommy" Patrick looks at you with his smirk. Your stomach turned at the idea of him calling you mommy. You knew he was submissive but didn't know how far it went.

At that moment the door opens and Art walks in. You watch him as Patrick quickly turns everything off setting the laptop to the side. "Hey" you softly spoke. Art was tired so he had fallen onto the bed between you and Patrick. His arms hung over the both of you. "Someone have a hard day" Patrick teased. He started laughing see art smash his face into your lap. Your hand in his hair.

"We can make you feel better" Patrick leans down to the blonde ear. Earning a moan from him. "Want us to make you feel good?" You ask softly squeezing his back. "Please" Art mumbles out. Patrick looks at you and smirks "do it" he mouths.

Art moves so he's facing up. You lean forward and grab Patrick's face kissing him. He grabs your throat holding you, his tongue danced in your mouth. Spit mixing together. Art watched below whining, feeling his short get tighter as he felt his dick twitch. Patrick groaned into your mouth when his dick twitched as well.

Your hand laid on Art's chest slowly inching down. Now on his stomach, pushing his shirt up lightly. His hips buckled when he felt your fingertips on his skin. You broke from the kiss with Patrick. "You like that?" You asked he only nodded his head. His hips buckled into nothing. His pants rubbing on his creating friction. "Yes yes" Patrick smirks looking at art fall into your trap. He grabs his face turning him to him  leaning down he meets the blonde boys lips. Your hand run down Art's pants palming him through his underwear. He moans into the kiss with Patrick. "Feel good huh?" Patrick says in-between the kiss. Art breaks the kiss to look at you biting his lip as your hand grasps him.

Patrick leans back palming himself as he watches you tease art. "Go slow" he demands. You look up at him with a smirk, you match his pace as he places his hands in his pants. "Please I- I need more" Art voice is broken and whiney already.

"You want more?" You loom over him throwing a leg over him. Patrick follows you sitting right behind you over art. "Come on beg for it" his hands run over your body as he looks at Art.

You lift your legs up pulling Art's shorts down Patrick throwing them across the room. Your moth waters seeing Art's dick. All hard and wet for you. "Please y/n please" you took him your hand his hips buckled pushing you and Patrick up.

Your breath hitched as you felt Patrick take a hand and push your shorts aside. His fingers tracing your entrance. "Stay focused" he said sternly. Your head fall back for a minute as you squeeze art in your hand. "You like my fingers huh? Such a slut" you moan out grinding your hips.

Art grips your hips watching you and Patrick his dick twitching in your hand as you run it up and down him. Both you and Patrick look at art smirks on your face making art whimper. He feels his body trembling at the sight of you both. The pleasure in his stomach building up, he was close, everyone could tell.

Patrick speeds up his fingers the feeling of you squeezing him makes him groan out. "That's right ride them" you look at art moaning. "Beg me to cum" you lean forward your hips grinding into Patrick's hand.

Art looks at you with pleading eyes. "Please please y/n let me cum I'll do anything" His chest falls up and down his body craving the release. "That's no good enough" you hiccup your words feeling your own release. "Beg me" your voice sharp and airy.

Arts hip buckled up once more throwing his head back he snaps. "Please mommy please let me cum I'll be good mommy" he's so lost in his head, feeling your hand pump him he doesn't realize what he said. Patrick leans into your ear. "Let him cum"

You and him both pick up the pace art let's out a loud moan. His dick twitches in your hand as he comes. Patrick grabs Art's face making him look at you as he does. "That's right cum for mommy" he smirks as he makes you cum right after Art.

It's quiet for a moment as you and Art come down from your high. Patrick removes his hand from your shorts bringing his fingers to his mouth he groans at the taste then looks at Art. "Mommy" he says. Art looks at him his face flushed with embarrassment.

"I didn't I didn't-" art starts to stutter his words feeling like he shouldn't have said it. Your eyes meet his "shhh it's okay you're okay" you cup his face and lightly kiss him. Patrick watches you rolling his eyes. "Oh don't puppy him. He might like it too much" he laughs at himself. You snack him but turn back to Art. "You did so good for me" you coo him he leans into your touch feeling better knowing you aren't mad about it.

Patrick moves to lay next to art and smiles. "That's was hot though" everyone smiles and looks at each other the room feels hot. Everyone already ready for some more.

[vgsedit]

nine (9) icons of davrin, neve gallus, taash, bellara lutare, lucanis dellamorte, lace harding and emmrich volkarin from dragon age: the veilguard.

reblog / ♡ if you like or use

do not claim or repost my work

follow vgsedit for more

more of dragon age

make your request

open commissions

[senascoop]

☁︎ . , SURVIVAL INSTINCTS , N.RK !

PAIRING. survivor classmate ! niki × class president ! afab reader. . SYNOPSIS. niki had seen everything but this was still like a dream. getting caught up in a zombie apocalypse with the class president. what better way to spend time than to make out, no?. . GENRE. zombie apocalypse, slightly suggestive (?) . WORD COUNT. 1.8k. . SENA’S NOTE. I just randomly found the niki icon and then here I am, writing a oneshot about it -.-

“Niki, watch out!” you gasped, gripping the baseball bat tightly in your hands. With a swift swing, you connected with the zombie’s head, the force sending it staggering back before collapsing to the ground. Blood splattered across your once pristine school uniform, now stained and tattered, but there was no time to care about appearances. You panted, struggling to catch your breath as adrenaline coursed through your veins.

“Run,” Niki urged, his voice low and urgent. Without waiting for a response, he grabbed your hand, the warmth of his grip grounding you amidst the chaos. You followed him, sprinting down the deserted hallway, your footsteps echoing off the walls as the guttural moans of zombies trailed behind you.

He shoved open the door to an empty classroom, pulling you inside before slamming it shut with a loud bang. Niki leaned against the door, using his weight to secure it as the undead thudded against the other side. The room was dimly lit, sunlight streaming through the cracks in the boarded-up windows, casting eerie shadows that danced across the walls.

“God, why did I have to be stuck with you?” you groaned, dropping the bat beside the teacher’s desk with a clatter. Your voice was a mixture of frustration and exhaustion, tinged with the faintest hint of fear that you tried so desperately to hide. You leaned against the wall, sliding down to sit on the cold, dusty floor, trying to regulate your breathing.

Niki rolled his eyes at your remark, still pressing his shoulder against the door, his muscles taut as he listened to the frantic scraping on the other side. “You should rather think about a way out,” he shot back, his tone sharp but laced with the kind of concern he rarely voiced. His dark hair was disheveled, sticking to his forehead with sweat, and his uniform was as much of a mess as yours—ripped, bloodstained, a testament to the fight you had both been enduring.

You watched him for a moment, your annoyance flickering as you took in his tense posture, the way his jaw clenched as he tried to steady his breathing. It wasn’t just frustration that made you snap at him—it was fear, the crushing uncertainty of the situation and the nagging thought that maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t make it out alive.

“Do you think there’s anyone left?” you asked, your voice softer now, tinged with vulnerability. You hugged your knees to your chest, eyes darting to the window where the world outside seemed so distant, so foreign, like a dream turned nightmare.

Niki glanced at you, his expression softening for the briefest of moments. He walked over, carefully, as if the very floor might give way beneath him, and sat down beside you. The room felt stifling, the air thick with unspoken fears. “I don’t know,” he admitted, resting his head against the wall, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “But we’re still here. And that’s all that matters right now.”

You nodded, swallowing hard as you fought to keep your composure. The silence stretched between you, broken only by the occasional thud of a zombie bumping against the door. It was surreal, sitting here in the empty classroom where you had once worried about grades and exams, not survival and escape. You glanced at Niki, his profile framed by the fading light, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to forget the terror lurking just outside the door.

He turned to you, catching your gaze, and offered a small, crooked smile. “Besides,” he said, his voice tinged with an edge of mischief, “if I’m stuck with you, at least I know I won’t die bored.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes even as a reluctant smile tugged at your lips. “Idiot,” you muttered, nudging him with your shoulder, the smallest act of defiance against the weight pressing down on you both. In that shared silence, amid the relentless chaos of the world outside, you found a fragile sense of comfort in his presence, a flicker of hope in the darkest of places.

The dim classroom felt suffocating, the air heavy with a mix of dust and the pungent scent of dried blood. The faint, relentless thuds of zombies outside were a constant reminder of the danger lurking just beyond the thin barrier of the door. Yet, despite the chaos, Niki’s unexpected question cut through the tension like a knife.

“Have you kissed before?” he asked suddenly, his voice low, almost casual, as if he were asking about homework rather than something so personal. You stared at him, caught off guard, your eyes widening in disbelief. Your heart raced, not just from the adrenaline of escaping the zombies, but from the absurdity of his question in such a dire situation. Shaking your head, you tried to process his words, but there was no time to react as he closed the distance between you.

In an instant, you felt the cold, hard wall against your back as he pressed you against it, his movements both deliberate and cautious. Your uniforms, already smeared with dirt and streaked with dark, dried blood, clung to your bodies as his chest pressed firmly against your breasts. The world outside seemed to vanish, reduced to the steady thumping of your heart and the intensity of Niki’s gaze.

“Niki?” you breathed, your voice trembling slightly as you searched his eyes for answers. His expression was a mix of bold determination and something softer—an almost boyish uncertainty that made your heart skip a beat. “What are you doing?”

A sheepish smile tugged at the corners of his lips, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes but was genuine nonetheless. “You wouldn’t want to die without kissing someone your entire life, would you? Miss class prez.” His voice was soft, teasing, but there was an earnestness behind his words that sent a shiver down your spine.

Your breath hitched, a sharp intake that mirrored the flutter of nerves pooling in your stomach. His proximity was overwhelming, his body heat seeping through the fabric of your uniforms, mingling with the coldness of the wall at your back. You could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest, mirroring your own unsteady breathing. The soft, warm scent of him mixed with the metallic tang of blood filled your senses, making it hard to think straight.

“Niki…” you whispered, but your voice faltered, the protest dying on your lips as he leaned in closer. His face was inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin, and in that moment, you felt utterly hypnotized by his presence. It was as if everything else faded away—the zombies, the fear, the uncertainty—and all that remained was the space between your lips and his.

With a tentative, almost testing brush of his mouth against yours, he closed the gap, and your world tilted. His lips were soft but insistent, a contradiction of urgency and careful restraint. You hesitated, caught between the unfamiliarity of the sensation and the undeniable pull of curiosity. But then, you gave in, leaning into him, letting the taste of him wash over you—a mix of sweat, blood, and something inexplicably sweet.

Niki cupped the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair as he deepened the kiss. You felt the solid press of his body, the weight of him pinning you securely to the wall, grounding you in a reality that felt both surreal and intoxicating. Your hands instinctively found their way to his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his uniform, as if anchoring yourself to the moment

When he parted your lips with a gentle but insistent thrust of his tongue, a soft gasp escaped you, quickly muffled by the fervor of his kiss. The sensation was electric, sending a rush of heat to your cheeks as your tongues danced, exploring with a tentative passion that bordered on desperation. The muffled thuds of the zombies at the door grew fainter, drowned out by the blood pounding in your ears and the rhythm of your shared breaths.

You pulled back, just enough to catch your breath, your lips still brushing against his with every exhale. A thin strand of saliva connected your mouths, glistening in the dim light before breaking apart. Niki’s forehead rested against yours, his eyes half-lidded, his breaths ragged and shallow.

“If I die today because of those zombies,” he murmured, his voice raw with sincerity, “I’d rather it be while kissing you.”

His words sent a flutter through your chest, a mix of warmth and disbelief. You searched his eyes, looking for the joke, the teasing smirk, but all you found was an earnest intensity that took your breath away.

“You’re… you’re a simp,” you muttered, trying to deflect the whirlwind of emotions swelling inside you. The corners of your mouth twitched, torn between a smile and the urge to cry, overwhelmed by the sheer absurdity and unexpected tenderness of it all.

Niki chuckled softly, the sound a gentle vibration against your skin. “Just for you,” he admitted, his tone playful but with an undercurrent of genuine affection that made your heart stutter.

Before you could respond, he closed the distance again, his lips capturing yours in another searing kiss. This time, it was less hesitant, more assured, as if the initial barrier of uncertainty had been shattered. You responded with equal fervor, your arms winding around his neck as you pulled him closer, your fingers tangling in his hair.

His hands roamed, one sliding down to grip your waist, pulling your bodies flush together, the other still cradling the back of your head. The heat of his touch seeped through the thin fabric, sending a rush of warmth through your veins as you melted into him. You could feel the faint tremor in his fingers, a subtle reminder that beneath the boldness, he was just as shaken, just as vulnerable as you were.

The kiss was messy, fervent, the taste of him lingering on your tongue like a promise. You lost track of time, lost in the sensation of him—his lips, his hands, the solid, reassuring presence of him pressed against you. For a fleeting moment, the world outside ceased to matter. There were no zombies, no impending doom, just the intoxicating blend of adrenaline and attraction that thrummed between you.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless, foreheads pressed together as you stood there, tangled in each other’s arms. Niki’s eyes bore into yours, dark and intense, and you couldn’t help but smile, a soft, genuine expression that felt almost foreign on your lips after everything that had happened.

“Maybe being stuck with you isn’t so bad,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper, but it held a weight that spoke volumes.

Niki grinned, his thumb brushing against your cheek in a gesture so tender it made your chest ache. “Trust me,” he said, leaning in to place a soft, lingering kiss on your forehead, “it’s the best damn thing that could’ve happened.”

© senascoop | tumblr

[whateverloomis]

Ok this might seem weird so im sorry about this 😭

Can you do a reader who has a blog of sorts and she posts about her interests (like horror, books, movies etc) and she sometimes posts pictures of her in langerie or naked but in a artistic way for the female gaze (for the girliesss) but she stays Anonymous (doesnt show her face).

She decides to tell billy about it and they have a little photoshoot together

Bonus: him reading the comments like:

Person: that guy is so hot

Billy: hehe *kicks feet*

Don't worry about weirdness here anon, the weirder the better ;) I imagined this during the Myspace era (early 2k,) because it was iconic asf 😩 Also, I changed up the comment part based on the picture I chose. Enjoy! <33

Warnings: Making out, voyeurism, choking, dry humping, touchy feely Billy, p in v, creampie, reader has long hair, reader has nipple piercings, revised August'24

Reader: AFAB (she, her,) third person and use of YN.

She was wearing a black lace see through bralette that showed just enough of her pierced nipples, a matching thong with a garter and thigh high socks. Her hair cascaded a little over her shoulders, just enough to show on the picture while still remaining anonymous.

YN snapped a few pictures in different poses; arching her back with her ass on display, kneeling down with her hands on her tits, and many other deliciously teasy positions.

From outside her window stood Billy Loomis. He was walking towards her house to crawl through her window and get his way with her like he did almost every night now. However, once he saw YN taking pictures in her lingerie he needed to enjoy the view from outside a little bit before showing himself to her.

Gosh, she looked so good posing for the camera. He wondered if she was going to send them to someone. If he was lucky enough to be the receiver of sed pictures. His imagination ran wild imagining what the shots looked like.

Billy bit his lip and sighed, he decided he had tortured himself enough and walked towards her window, adjusting his hard cock in his jeans before climbing up and sitting on the ledge.

"Quite a show you're putting on," he said, startling YN.

"Billy, what the fuck?!" She whisper screamed, conscious about her roommate downstairs.

Sighing in attempt to calm herself, she grabbed her black robe and began to put it on.

Billy let himself in and walked towards YN, grabbing her hands to stop her from closing the robe; "Don't even think about it, let me look at you baby," he said teasingly and ran his large hands down her waist to her hips, squeezing the flesh.

YN bit her lip and ran her hands through Billy's hair before pulling him in for a lingering kiss.

"Mm, what's all this for?" He asked her, removing the robe and throwing it on the bed.

"I um... Well, I have this blog where I post pictures of myself an-" - "Looking like this?" He interrupted and YN blushed at the teasy yet low-key degrading question. She loved it.

"It's artistic, not porn if that's what you're wondering," YN answered and Billy smirked at her explanation. Looking around the room, he saw some Polaroid pictures of herself in her so-called "artsy" positions and lingerie.

"What about these?" Billy walked towards her dresser and grabbed a few of the images.

"Oh, I sell those," YN explained and Billy raised an eyebrow in amusement.

"Quite the business you have here." He replied while slipping one of the Polaroids in his pocket. He'll definitely use it later.

YN chuckled and walked towards Billy. He immediately spread his legs and pulled her between them, placing one single peck on her lips before things got heated.

Billy laid her down on the soft bed and hovered over her, biting her lip softly before dipping his tongue inside her mouth, playing with her own. YN moaned at his methodical movements, Billy is a great fucking kisser and she couldn't get enough.

Suddenly, he pulled back and whispered; "Fuck."

"What is it?," YN asked, confusion lacing her words.

"We look really good," Billy said and pointed at YNs computer screen. She had left it on along with her camera since he decided to give her an unexpected surprise.

The sight got YN wet and she bit her lip when she felt Billy's cock twitch between her legs.

His large hands on her body looked delicious and she couldn't help but grind up against his hard on.

Billy followed her movements and they ended up dry humping on her bed. She was soaked and most likely ruined her thong but she didn't care.

"What if we take some pictures together?" Billy asked, his voice low in her ear.

YN gasped in excitement and immediately said yes.

•

The photoshoot session was intense. The couple couldn't get their hands off each other.

Billy grabbed YN everywhere and they took over 100 pictures together. They were going insane looking at each other on the screen, so much that they ended up fucking their brains out.

YN rode Billy's cock in front of the camera and ended up recording some of it too.

She bounced on his length and pulled his hair, hard. Billy had his hand around YNs throat choking her deliciously.

"You look so fucking good for the camera baby... Fuck," he whispered before cumming inside her throbbing pussy.

Billy pulled out and YN arched her back in order to give the camera a good view of his seed leaking out of her cunt.

•

After cleaning up and viewing all the pictures they took, the couple settled on a picture to post on YNs blog.

Not long after, the notifications started to increase. Comments and likes nonstop. YN had a large following and they were loving the new content.

"Check this comment out," YN told Billy.

"His hands look so good, I want them around my throat... Ugh!"

Billy chuckled and pretended that he didn't care about the compliment, but YN knew best. Not to mention the light blush that appeared on his cheeks.

"You love the praise, huh?," YN said teasingly and bit her lip.

"Shut up. I bet you agree with that comment," he said, trying to shift the conversation.

"You know I do," YN answered and kissed him once again.

[endereies]

GIRLY GF - CHRIS STURNIOLO

Pairing: girly!gf x bf!chris

Contains: headcanons, sfw and nsfw but they will be labeled as such

Author's Notes: This is just how i interpret things, not trying to offend anyone. Thanks to ana for help <3 mwah

╰┈➤ SFW

༊*·˚ Chris knew that you loved to express yourself through fashion and accessories, so it was no surprise when your wardrobe was full of assortments of pink.

"Hey Chris, can you get me my pink lace top?" Your voiced hummed quietly as you sat at your vanity, curling your hair.

"Uhm, baby. which one?" Your body turns to see a puzzled expression on Chris's face as he stands between the doors of your wardrobe.

It's hard not to giggle as he scans through the section dedicated to the criteria you gave him.

"The one I wore when we went to the restaurant for my birthday?" A smug grin immediately falls upon him when he reaches out to grab the exact top you wanted.

༊*·˚ Chris was just as obsessed with your bows as you were, finding any excuse to subtly be near them

"Baby! I saw this cute thing online, can we try it?" Your voice sweetly fell against his ears as you spoke to him. Placing his phone on the kitchen counter, he looked up to you curiously.

"Sure. What is it?" The bright screen sunk between the two, shaking slightly with your excitement.

In front of him was a woman whose face was adorned with the same features as you. Her waist possessed the same denim skirt as you, except hers was lined with a pink ribbon which formed a bow in the center.

He wasn't about to say no to you, especially when your eyes glistened at him.

"Okay, you want me to help you?" You graciously nod in return.

"Alright, turn around for me" You instantly turn your body around so that your back is facing him and he reaches for the baby pink ribbon from your fingertips.

His face settles as his attention was on the material that he was threading through each belt loop. He tugs onto your hips which turns your body to its original direction. Your own hands try to grasp the fabric from him to form a bow but he swats them away with a giggle.

"Allow me.." This caused you to retreat your hands and allow his eager touch to create a messy bow in the center of your skirt.

"Absolutely perfect" Both of you knew he didn't mean the work he did but you look down to analyse it none the less.

"Your turn!"

༊*·˚ This man would spoil the absolute fuck out of you

One day before you go out on a date with Chris, you mumble to yourself how you ran out of your favourite vanilla scent. He notices quickly that he doesn't smell your iconic perfume as he leans in for a kiss and he questions you about it.

Once he finds out which perfume it is, he sneakily orders a new bundle of them for next day delivery. He completely disregards the price just to make his girl happy.

You open a package, the next day that's addressed to you and gasp when you come across two bottles of the perfume and a travel size container for trips. Chris would then enter the room with a proud smile on his face.

"Chris. This is like $175 per bottle.."

"Oh? Is it?" He grinned as he hugged you and was finally met with your smell from the bottles still in your hands.

༊*·˚ Chris would happily watch you do your makeup whenever he had a free moment.

"Hey are you nearly ready to go?" You rolled your eyes at his comment that had been repeated more then a few times.

"Almost!" Just as she finished with her mascara she turned to see Chris leaning against the door way. Giggles came from him as he noticed the blue tube poised between your teeth.

With a swift movement of her feet, her body spun in her chair back to her mirror and found her eyeliner.

Chris knew he was staring but it was hard to look away from the steady motions of your hand as you flicked the black tip across the edge of your eyes, perfectly lining the deep pink eyeshadow.

"Okay...and done!" A pop of your lips made you smile as you appreciated the shade of lipstick paired with the glossed which covered your lips.

You chuckle as you notice Chris's heart eyes gazing down at your face, scanning each step of makeup. His touch came to linger on your skin as his lips met yours.

"Chris! My lipstick.."

"Sorry beautiful, I can't help it, you're so pretty.." This was only followed by another dosage of blush underneath the powder.

༊*·˚ He would never let you run out of things

"Ugh.." Your attention had slipped from Chris's words as you tried your best to grasp the remaining lip gloss from the tube.

It had taken a few moments before he realised the quiet mumbles from your direction. "Baby..?"

"Uh yeah!" A silent apology spread over your face whilst the tube was pushed out the way and onto your lap. Not unnoticed by Chris.

"Anyway, i was saying th-"

He pretended to ignore your silent struggle with your lip gloss, which made you waking up to another tube all the more special.

"You have to stop doing this Chris.." As much as you wanted to argue his spending on you, it wasn't unappreciated.

"Stop treating you? Never. Besides its my favourite.."

༊*·˚ Flowers are a must

Chris was typically a little forgetful when it came to small details, so when he started to religiously buy you flowers, he kept one of his own. He'd keep this little flower on a shelf in his room by his window and checked on it when he woke up. If they ever showed signs of wiltering, a new order had been placed for the next day to arrive at your house.

You heard a knock at the door and you shrugged out of bed to open the door before the knocks repeated themselves.

In the doorway stood Chris with one of his hands behind his back.

"For you, mademoiselle.." He gave you the tulips alongside a sheepish grin on your face.

"Baby..my last ones just died." Fresh scents filled your nose when you brought the tulips to your face.

"Good thing I always come prepared."

༊*·˚ Chris will only give you princess treatment

After a party was held at Tara's place, your feet grew tired of the soles of your heels. The lack of support had worn your feet still and you sat on the edge of a chair trying anything to soothe them.

"Looks like I was right." He smugly look down at you while you consoled your feet.

"Yeah yeah..laugh it up.." You switched over your feet and started to massage your ankles before pressing the heels back to your feet.

"Stay here a second.." Before you can even respond, he has already taken off in the other directions leaving you sat in the chair.

You're left confused as he takes off and blends back in the crowd.

About 5 minutes later, before you grow impatient of waiting, Chris appears in front of you once more. However, this time he is holding a pair of your trainers. "I asked to leave them in Matt's car. I knew those heels would kill your feet."

"Oh my gosh, you do love me." He immediately pushes you back into your chair when you push your weight upwards.

"You better not doubt that." His own body leant to the tiled floor and swapped your shoes for you, gently pushing the shoe onto each foot before tying them in semi-perfect bows.

╰┈➤ NSFW

༊*·˚ The princess treatment will carry through

His lips caressed whatever inch of skin you allowed him to touch with small, peppered kisses. You giggled occasionally at the pure gentleness he gave to you.

"You're so pretty..." Chris's hand traced the sides of your hips as you playfully toyed with his hair.

His kisses grew lower and lower and his hands fell to your stomach. The muscles in your stomach flexed occasionally but with Chris massaging your skin you slowly melted to his touch.

The mattress dipped on the sides on your chest as he shifted, you own hand moving from his scalp. He scattered kisses onto your cheeks before landing on your own lips. His smile didn't go unnoticed by you and caused a sensation of butterflies to erupt in your stomach.

One of his hands continued to slide lower past your stomach and had begun to carefully trace small circles onto your inner thigh.

"How about I show you how beautiful you really are?" You sheepishly nod while holding steady eye contact.

༊*·˚ He loved to try and get you to become more open to him

It was a surprise to no one just how shy you were, in all aspects. Thankfully Chris never took this badly and did things at your own pace, yet that never stopped him from asking.

After a few minutes of kissing and light grinding from both parties, it was clear you both were getting a little worked up.

Chris's lips parted gently as he pulled away from yours, leaving a small distance between you.

"y/n..? Could we..try something today?" Compared to the previous breathes you shared, he noticed the sharpness of this one.

"Uhm..what is it..?" He noted your reluctance but he didn't shut anything down until you did.

"Remember you can always say no but..I wanted to try and eat you out today." You couldn't lie and say you weren't opposed to the idea but it was the raw vulnerability that intimidated your want. But your trust for Chris overshadowed that.

"Okay..sure." You smiled sincerely at him, your chest beating a little faster.

Let's just say that after that night it became you're favourite thing.

༊*·˚ Prioritize your needs over his

You had lost count of the minutes Chris had spent between your thighs, but you weren't complaining. His arm pushed heavily in the side of the mattress to support his weight as he focused his tongue gently. His free hand was used to keep your thighs open as you became more and more stimulated.

"Chris..so good.." Your breath was sparce. Your head was blurry, but everything was too good to pass up.

"Let me make you feel good, pretty girl..." The absence of his tongue wasn't missed for long before he dived back in.

Your jaw was constantly slacked as he refused to back away from you.

"Chris..fuck!" A cry escaped your lips as you finished on his face, a sly grin from him as he looked up towards you.

His eyes seemed doe-liked, contradicting what events just passed.

"You always do so well f'me.." When he leant in to kiss you, you were sure to taste yourself on the skin of his lips, smirking at the thought. He chose to embrace the kiss deeper rather than focus on his numbed arm from laying on it too long.

Taglist!:

@melliflws @axolotllover225 @yuhayeee @st7rnioioss @sturn-bugz @bueckerslover @worldlxvlys @raysmayhem-72 @patscorner @y0urm4m @bernardsbendystraws @junnniiieee07 @luverboychris @sleepysturnss @jnkvivi @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @shorthairchris

[rbbrbikerthorp]

Meeting Mick

In the centre of London, a 22-year-old junior office clerk named Gareth found himself trawling through his email inbox once again. For such a young lad, he was already fatigued with the tediousness of routine.

He had been conventional all his life, descending from a lineage of monotony. His father was an accountant who was coming up to retirement - a greyish man who wore greyish suits, his grandfather had been an accountant and he was pretty sure his great grandfather had also been in the profession. “It’s in our DNA, numbers run in our blood,” the words of his dad would echo around his head.

As a teenager, Gareth tried to rebel, well he put a bit of effort in to trying to rebel. First of all he let his hair grow, then he got a number 2 at the barbers. He bought a pair of DMs with some of his savings but never wore them for fear of what his mother and father might say. Once he came home ten minutes late for dinner, which was enough for his father to take him on one side and lecture him on the importance of timekeeping.

Anyway, let's get back to the present. Gareth got home early evening after another dull day in the office. He prepared a nice healthy meal of grilled salmon and steamed vegetables. After washing up, he decided to check his social media feeds, not that he was a prolific user of social networks, but at least they were a doorway to 'other worlds' that offered some escape.

As he was scrolling through Tumblr one profile in particular caught his attention. The profile belonged to someone calling himself 'Mick', an older man who proudly identified as a Skinhead Boss.

Gareth just stared at the profile picture; he studied it from top to bottom; his overarching thought was that this was an older guy who didn't give a f**k. He lost himself staring at the shiny black boots, which contrasted with the white laces and the arms covered in tattoos. Gareth then clicked on the profile and immediately pressed the 'follow' button.

He scrolled through Mick's blog and found himself getting more and more aroused at the pictures, which included from videos of lads getting their heads shaved, pictures of skinheads in full skinhead gear, groups of skinheads drinking and even photos of skins getting pierced and tattooed. The posts included many skinhead transformation stories as well as a few articles about skinhead culture, which Gareth read with interest.

Gareth really wanted to message Mick, and he pointed the cursor but kept hesitating because, to be honest, he felt a bit stupid. The voices in his head told him not to bother, Mick is a hard, tattooed skinhead and why would he want to chat with someone as boring and vanilla as you, Gareth?

After deliberating for many minutes whilst continuing to look over Mick's blog, he managed to silence the voices momentarily finding the resolve to send a message. He clicked on the icon and noticed the green dot, so Mick was probably online. After a lot of thought he decided to keep the first message short, "hey there, love the blog, love the gear," and pressed the send icon. No, he thought in a moment of regret and as the voices reasserted themselves, why did I type that? After a few minutes, and much to Gareth's surprise, the number 1 appeared on the messages side-menu. Expecting a "get lost" or "Eff off back to your boring, mundane life," he clicked to see what the reply was.

“Oi oi m8 thx. I didn’t think I’d be your type. Just seen your profile pic you look like just a conventional clean-cut lad." Reading this, Gareth was rock hard. He’d never spoken to a skinhead before and the thought of chatting with one was already driving him crazy. He thought very carefully about what to type next. “Ha ha, well yes, but skinheads - they're something else,” and he pressed send. Mick replied straight away “Thanks. I know you’d look good with your head shaved, wearing a nice tight pair of bleachers and all booted up lad.”

Gareth had often wondered what his life would be like if he had taken a different path maybe as a tradesman or a workie, even a punk or skinhead but it would never work, plus what would his parents and friends say. He quickly typed a reply, “Ah, I’d love to but I don’t think I could - I’d be a terrible skinhead,” and clicked on the send icon.

Gareth was starting to feel stupid again for initiating the conversation with Mick - but before he cold wallow in his foolishness he received another message, which had a much firmer tone to it “Listen lad, you WILL make a perfect skinhead. I CAN make it happen m8. I'll be in the White Hart pub on Grange Road at tonight 8 - be on time. If not, we won't chat again. It's a one time offer."

Having read the message, Gareth noticed the green light disappear - Mick must have signed out.

Gareth didn’t know what to do. This skinhead he’d spoken to for all of five minutes was willing to take him 'under his wing' and make all his dreams come true. Was this a set-up? Was it all one big joke? Was he being foolish turning up in a pub some stranger had mentioned

In that moment Gareth was 'paralysed' Should he carry on as Mr Conventional or take this opportunity to escape the monotony and drudgery of routine? Well there was only one way to find out.

After nearly an hour of procrastination he decided it was worth the risk and he would go and meet Mick. After all nothing was going to happen in pub full of customers? With a mix of excitement and apprehension, Gareth put on a pair of jeans, a plan blue t-shirt and a his coat. He opened Google Maps and searched for The White Hart and followed the directions.

After a twenty minute bus ride and ten minute walk he arrived at The White Hart. He paused for a moment. This looked like any other pub he'd seen in the city. Was he really going to enter a pub frequented by skinheads? Was he about to meet the man he'd been messaging on Tumblr? He was about to discover that this pub, adorned with memorabilia reflecting the skinhead subculture, would become the backdrop for his transformation.

He walked through the double doors and entered the tap room. He was immediately met by the sight of three skinheads standing at the bar. He checked them out; they all had shaved heads, some dressed in green or black bomber jackets, some just in t-shirts or Fred Perry polos and wearing skinhead boots; some black some red/brown.

Standing for a moment, just inside the doors (close enough to make a quick retreat should it be necessary), he took in the atmosphere. He looked around the room, trying not to catch anyone's attention. However, a few of the skins had noticed the new lad enter. Gareth was aware of several faces looking in his director, some seeming to sneer at him in contempt. He imagined they were thinking "what are you doing in our place?" After all he was a normal looking, average 22 year old in the middle of a pub occupied by tattooed, pierced, and booted skinheads.

Gareth got a sense that tension was building, but at the same time he was very aroused. He'd never been so close to one skinhead, let alone a pub full of pretty hot looking skins. He glanced at his watch - it was almost 8 o'clock - so finding Mick was his priority.

Gareth was feeling intimidated by the many eyes focussed on him. Believing Mick would be somewhere in the pub meant he was able to dig deep and find the courage not to run out through the door through which he entered. As he walked around, he noticed a skinhead standing at the bar smoking a cigarette. He always thought that smoking was banned indoors - and that included pubs - but this skinhead didn't seem to care. "You look out of place my lad - don't think you want to be in here!" he said taking the cig out of his mouth.

"Well, erm, I, I'm supposed to be meeting someone here." Gareth stuttered a reply taking in the sight in front of him.

"Oh, is that so?" The skinhead started to smile. "And who is this person you're supposed to be meeting or do you just like being in a room filled with skinheads?"

Gareth was getting even more aroused. "No, erm Mick," he initially replied meekly, then getting his confidence back, "he's called Mick".

Suddenly Gareth heard a booming voice to his right, which he knew was aimed at him. “Boy, I've been waiting."

Gareth headed over to where the voice originated, very aware that the skinhead he'd just been talking to was still staring at him as he walked away.

"Good job you turned up lad." Gareth was mesmerised at seeing Mick in person - as if in a trance, he walked towards the man that would permanently change his life. With each step forward, he took in Mick's weathered face, shaved head, tattooed arms and, holding a metal baseball bat in his left hand. "Boy, I thought you might chicken out." Finally standing next to Mick, he laughed nervously; he actually was scared-stiff but at the same time he was so turned on by this older skinhead. “You wanna be a proper skinhead - just like ALL the lads around you, don’t you?"

Gareth turned around and looked around the pub - no one was staring at him now. Everywhere he turned he saw skinheads laughing, chatting, getting the beers in and even playing pool - it was the camaraderie that caught his attention.

All his life he'd been a 'lost sheep'; he'd been desperate for the kind of kinship he was witnessing. Yes this is what he wanted, and he would do whatever it takes to be accepted. He turned back to Mick, and more certain than he'd been about anything in his life, "Yes, YES, I want to be a skinhead."

"Good lad," Mick cracked a smile for the first time since they'd met in person. "I can make it come true boy. First, I should warn you that once you say yes, there’s no going back. So, you're absolutely sure about this?”

Gareth had never been more certain in his life, oh and had never felt like this before (not to mention the forming bulge that was hard to miss). “Yes, I really want this”.

Mick was relieved, he made it a mission to bring new lads into the skinhead world “good choice, I’ll make a proper skinhead out of you boy. When I'm done with you, you'll be a proud skinhead, following the skinhead code.” Gareth nearly erupted in his trousers, he couldn’t believe this was happening. Right seat yourself down, I'll get the beers in an we'll talk about your skinhead transformation.

In a matter of minutes, Mick returned accompanied by two other skinheads who sat down alongside Gareth. "This is Charlie and this is his boi Chris. Chris once had a boring life - he was a going to be a lawyer but he hated his life. He met first Charlie on Grindr and now they're inseparable; Chris now works for the council in the cleansing department. Lads, this is Gareth," he said, nodding in Gareth's direction."

Gareth nervously picked up his glass that had been put in front of him and took a big gulp of the beer. One gulp turned into two, three, four and in no time, he'd almost finished his pint. In doing so he'd plucked up the courage to initiate a conversation about what life would be like as a skinhead.

Mick was about to start waxing lyrical about his life when Charlie jumped in, having just finished his pint, "tell the lad how long you've been a skinhead Mick," turning to Gareth, "Mick also knows what it means to be a skin and how we watch out for one another. C'mon Chris let's get the next round in."

As they chatted over three more pints Mick regaled his life experiences and the subculture he had embraced since he started secondary school. He shared stories of camaraderie, rebellion, and talked affectionately about the unique sense of identity that exists within the skinhead community. Despite the age gap, a connection had formed between the two. Mick decided it was time to begin Gareth's transformation. "Right lad, follow me."

Mick put on what Gareth would learn is his black Harrington, he picked up his baseball bat and headed through a set of double doors. Gareth followed a few paces behind Mick heading down a short dimly lit corridor.

They walked through the door and entered a room with black and white tiles on the floor, three sides of the room had walls covered in pictures of skinheads, the other wall was simply a floor to ceiling mirror. In the middle of the room was a barber's chair.

"Right lad, take your top off"

Without a second thought Gareth complied. "Get in the chair." It was an order, not a request, which had to be obeyed. Gareth was about to take the first step and most symbolic stage his transformation to a skinhead.

Sitting in the old barber's chair, Gaz could only watch as Mick walked over to the shelf and picked up a set of clippers. Mick removed the guard that was covering the cutting end and turned to Gareth, ""this is it lad; in a few minutes Gareth will be gone. I'm going to transform you into Gaz - my Skinhead boi."

With that Mick pressed the on button on the side of the clippers; immediately he heard the familiar 'clack' sound echo around the room. Mick pressed the clippers into the nape and worked his way up the lad's head. With a deliberate slowness, Gareth's hair was stripped away. With each stroke, inches of hair fell on his chest and on the floor around the chair until it was all gone.

Gareth was more turned on than he'd been; at any time in his life. Nothing he'd done in his 22 years to date had resulted in the mild sweating, butterflies and raised heart-rate that he was experiencing as he stared into the mirror watching this tattooed thug denuding his head.

Mick could tell Gaz was enjoying the experience as he heard a little pleasure moan escape from his mouth. He ran the clippers over Gaz's head at least three times, ensuring there was only stubble left. Mick noticed Gaz staring in the mirror - it wasn't all he noticed. "Like what you see boi?"

Gareth simply nodded - his brain simply couldn't process the combination of his feelings and the sight of his shaved head in the mirror. He was about to touch his head when Mick interrupted, "No you don't boi. I'll tell you when you can touch your head."

Mick then walked over to the sink and turned on the hot tap. When the water was steaming hot, he grabbed a towel and wet it thoroughly. He squeezed the towel removing the excess water and placed the very towel on Gaz's head; leaving it for a few minutes.

This gave him time to grab a can of shaving foam. He completely covered his boi's head in foam. He grabbed a new Mach III razor and started the next stage of the transformation. It took a few minutes to shave away the stubble from his boi's head and make him as smooth and shiny as a baby.

Gaz sat there frozen in disbelief as each stroke of the razor revealed another patch of scalp completely void of hair. As Mick finished up, he produced a handheld mirror to show the back and sides: “what do you think boi?”

Gaz didn’t recognise the person staring back at him - he was starting to look like a dumb thug who’d grown up on a council estate and spent years getting in trouble with the law. Not some twenty-something who had grown up the perfect, but very boring, nuclear family. “Yeah, this is perfect, just how I wanted to look”.

"It's only the beginning of your transformation lad. Now we need to get you dressed. Stay there." Mick ordered and walked over to a cupboard ar the back of the room.

Gaz didn't want to move. He was transfixed by the skinhead he saw in the mirror - so much so that he didn't hear Mick calling to him.

"Get over here boi!"

Gaz came back to reality and jumped out of the chair. He walked over to where Mick was standing. It was a cupboard full of boots, jeans with bleach splashes, t-shirts, polo shirts and bomber jackets.

For the second time in as many hours, Gaz was enthralled by the content in the cupboard - as he stared at the many pairs boots on the shelf he was almost drooling. "Right lad," Mick said jerking Gaz out of his boot gazing, "we can get you started with what's in here. You'll need to get more in time but that can wait till you start yer new job."

With that Mick began to outfit his boi in classic skinhead attire. He started by handing Gaz a t-shirt wich the boy slipped over his head, then came a pair of very tight fitting jeans with bleach splashes - bleachers as they are generally known. As he put them on he could sense blood rushing towards his groin area. Seeing this Mick smiled; Gaz smiled back sensing he was blushing. As he finished buttoning his bleachers, he saw the jeans had been cut off just below the knee - he would soon find out why. Next, Gaz was handed a pair of white(ish) football socks. "Get them on your feet."

As Gaz was putting his socks, he looked up when another skinhead entered the room. He was a bit younger than Mick but older than Gaz; his arms covered in tattoos and a huge ring in his nose and both ears pierced, "is he ready Mick?"

"Not quite Al, he's got his boots to put on an lace properly." He turned to Gaz, "for now you need to pull your socks over your knees." When Gaz had done as instructed, Mick put a pair of black 20 hole boots with white laces in front of him. He sat down and began talking him through tightly ladder-lacing his boots, first the right foot then the left.

In no time at all Gaz had ladder-laced his boots.

"Stand up lad - look in the mirror!" Mick instructed, "how does that feel?" He didn't need to ask - the lump in the boi's bleachers was there for all to see.

"i...," Gaz was stuck for words. After a few moments he spurted, "I can't believe what I'm looking at," as Gaz found himself feeling a sense of belonging he had never experienced before.

Mick was pleased with the transformation so far. He offered Gaz a cigarette. “Sorry, I don’t smoke”. Mick threw Gaz against the wall “lesson one, you don’t get the choose what you do and don’t do anymore. Skinheads smoke and now you're a skinhead so that means you're a smoker too. I want you to smoke a pack a day boi”.

For the first time since he walked into the pub Gaz was intimidated - especially knowing there was another skinhead in the room watching. Gaz gingerly took the smoke from Mick and lit up. It tasted awful and he was trying his best not to cough after every inhale.

“You’ll get use to it boi. Give it a few weeks you won’t be able to get out of bed without sparking up” Mick laughed. This is Al by the way. He's a tattooist - he's going to make your transformation more permanent.

"Right Al, he's ready for the next stage."

Al smiled, "come slong me boi."

Gaz followed Mick and Al out of the room, and out of a side door in the pub. Even though he'd worn his Doc Martens on a number of occasions, walking in 20-hole boots felt so different. To start with the leather was new and the soles of were solid and heavy. Mick and Al were heading off and Gaz had trouble keeping up. Eventually the two older skinheads arrived at a tattoo studio, with Gaz arriving a few seconds later.

"Right here we are. It's time to finish the job. Al's gonna give you your ink and we'll get some metal into you too,"

"Yes boi," interjected Al, "in the chair, take your shirt off and we can get started."

Gaz took off his shirt and sat in the chair.

"I think you should light up boi," Mick instructed, holding out a pack of cigs. Gaz took one and lit up. Even though it was only his second cigarette, he was doing better at not coughing every time he inhale.

"Right Mick, so just as we talked about earlier?" Al asked.

"Yes, just the ones he can't hide - the ones on his knuckles, hands, neck for today, then over the next few visits he can get his sleeves done and then you can work on his back.

Gaz's heartbeat was rising rapidly as he was listening to what was about to happen. The transformation so-far was reversible, but the moment the tattooing started there would be no turning back. Then all of a sudden he felt a wave of calm as he realised he wasn't forcibly being transformed. His lifetime wish was become a reality and Mick and Al were facilitating his deep desires.

Al set up his equipment and began. As the needle buzzed, skinhead symbols etched themselves onto Gaz's skin – a commitment to a lifestyle that was rapidly becoming his own. The letters S-K-I-N and H-E-A-D were tattooed onto his knuckles. Next, a swallow was tattooed on the back of his left hand, followed by his right hand. Then Al began the more painful and time consuming work of tattooing a spiderweb onto the left side of Gaz's neck and a pair of red DMs on the right hand side. Both would be positioned too high for Gaz to cover them up - even if that's what he wanted to do - and he didn't, ever!

Piercings followed suit, adding a further edge to Gaz's appearance. His ears were adorned with small gold hoops, then his nipples were pierced - wincing at the pain as the needle went through the sensitive skin.

"One more for today boi and then we are done. If you thought your nipple piercings hurt, then you'll really feel it when we get your septum done."

Mick wasn't wrong. However, compared to the continuous, vibrating pain of being tattooed, Gaz would describe the septum piercing as a quick, sharp pain. In no time at all he had a 14 gauge septum piercing with a gold ring though it.

"Your nose is going to be tender to touch and will probably take a couple of week to heal." Al told Gaz. We'll look at changing to a slightly bigger ring as Mick wants in a couple of months, that's provided it has healed well."

Mick walked over to Gaz and grabbed him roughly. Mick pressed his body up against Gaz and kissed him lightly on the lips. Then he thrust his tongue harshly into Gaz's mouth. Gaz had never kissed a man before, in fact he hadn't kissed many girls before. So he just let Mick take charge. Gaz found he loved the smokey taste of Mick's mouth too - imagining that his would taste the same as he become a 20-a-day smoker.

In that single moment Gaz felt a sense of liberation that transcended his previous life. There would be no return for once ordinary office worker. Instead, with Mick's guidance, Gaz secured his first manual job. Being a workie on a building site was a fitting occupation for his newfound identity.

In the end, Gareth's (now Gaz's) transformation went beyond skin-deep. He found a sense of purpose and community that resonated with him on a profound level. Mick, the seasoned skinhead mentor, had unwittingly become Gaz's Alpha guiding the 22 year old through a journey of self-discovery that led him to embrace a life that, just weeks before, had been unimaginable.