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blonde/silver haired calum appreciation ♡

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It doesn’t matter if you got that stupid accent or that your bits are different from my bits, because being a derry girl, well it’s a fucking state of mind. And you’re one of us. 

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We had posted a cover and we noticed this one started to become a lot more viral than usual. Two weeks later, we got an email from [Beyoncé’s] team and they were asking us if they could post the video and if we were signed. We were reading into that like, why do they need to know if we’re signed? So, we were like, of course you can post it and just in case, here’s our dad’s info, and I’m so glad we did that. Two days later, they reached out to us and told us that Beyoncé wanted to sign us and we were freaking out. It was on January 2nd, 2013, and we’re so into vision boarding and we’re like, this is gonna be a good year and it was the second day of the new year. We were like, okay!

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Joe Keery for Bustle Magazine: January 2018  

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i repeat, this is scoops troop. do you copy?

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Banks for catalogue magazine

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I LOVE RE-READING THIS!!!!!! THIS WHOLE SERIES TBH!!! its so cute and fun and perfect and makes me so happy!! the big sis max deserves!!!!!!!!!!! i just love how u capture the main character and her femininity and determination and how u fledge out such a real n honest person who is multidimensional and complicated and the slow build of her relationship with steve is done really well, u arent forcing anything u just let it come together in time and i love love love that! 

(if u ever felt any inspo to continue this w the new st season i would be cheering u on so hard!!!!!!! absolutely no pressure tho at all, like ever! u write whatever u want n i will be more than happy to just have content from u again! bc i have read all ur stuff n U ARE SO TALENTED AND GREAT AND YES HELLO THANK U FOR SHARING WITH US!!!) 

Dangerous (Steve Harrington x Mayfield!Reader)

Summary: Ever since you were little, people tended to underestimate just how badass you were. You never expected that moving to Hawkins, Indiana would be the thing to convince people that you were more than just a pretty face. Read the sequel. And the final installment.

Request:hello lovely!! first off just wanted to say i love all your stories, they’re so well written and just wonderful to read. i was wondering if u would pls be able to write a steve fic and the reader is max’s older sister but she’s super feminine and always wears really cool outfits that r a bit impractical and steve kind of undermines her because of that but she is actually such a badass and max tries to tell everyone but they dont rly buy it until she idk saves from a demogorgon or?? up to u xxx also ( i just sent u a request about a mayfield!reader) and the idea kind of came to me because i feel like often times badass and strong and independent female characters cant also be feminine and girly you know??? anyway feel free if u want to write it like obvs u dont have to (can u tell i have never requested a fic before lmao) to do whatever i trust u and ur capabilities haha xxxx

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Mayfield!Reader (Friends)

Word Count: 5,005

Author’s Note:  This one stumped me. I can usually sit down and write in one or two sittings. But I kept coming back and chipping away at this one. Many thanks to @hargroovin for looking over this and making sure it was ready for posting. Hopefully, Sweet Requester, you like it.

Warnings: Language. Some minor violence at the end.

Whenever she was asked about her two daughters, your mother liked to launch into a pair of stories to describe you. At this point, it was almost a performance piece, what with the way she had nailed down the timing and the intonations and the facial expressions she would use at certain points. She had given the monologue so many times that you could clearly visualize it in your head, and pretty soon, you’d be able to take over for her.

She would start with a story about Max.

“Maxine is my youngest. You’ve probably seen her on her skateboard, zooming around town.” (The skateboard was a relatively new addition to the story within the past four years. Before that it was roller skates, and before that she was simply running.)

“She’s always been like that–always on the move, can’t stay still for more than fifteen seconds. I swear,” here your mother would lay a hand over her heart, “she goes by Max because she doesn’t want to stick around long enough for the second half of her name.” This would be followed by polite laughter and maybe some nodding. “You know, that reminds me of this one story. When Max was about seven and a half months old, she went missing. One morning I came into her room to check in on her since she had usually woken me up by then, and she was gone. I ran back to Jerry and woke him up in a panic, and he said that he had woken up in the middle of the night to check on her but he had put her back in the crib and she was fine. Anyway, we ran out into the hallway calling for her, hoping she would make some sound, and then all of the sudden we heard these little footsteps and I looked up to see Max toddling out of Y/N’s room. Seven and a half month’s old and she was walking! Independently!” There would be gasps here and some form of “No.”

“I swear,” your mother would hold up a hand. “She walked straight towards me and threw her little hands up at me to be picked up since I could walk much faster.” She would drop her hand and lean back in her seat with a smile. “After that our house constantly looked as if it’d been hit by an earthquake.” Your mother and the other person would laugh politely.

“Seems like you’ve got a little trouble maker on your hands,” the person would inevitably say.

“Ohhhh, yes, but Maxine’s the least of my problems.” Your mother would look at you in your pink dress with white stockings and Mary Janes (or, as you got older, your floral leggings, frilly sweater,  and oversized blazer). “Y/N is the dangerous one.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” the other person would shoot you a smile, pinching a dimpled cheek or tugging on a braid or patting your knee. Then they would cast a dubious look at Max with her mop of wildly curly red hair and consider the fact that she had not been still for a single moment since they entered this conversation with your mother while you sat quietly by her side, legs neatly crossed.

“Don’t let her looks deceive you,” your mother would shake her head. “Let me tell you about this one time, Y/N was six years old at the time, so that would make Max about two. I had just gotten back from food shopping, and the neighbor who was watching them told me that the girls were playing in Y/N’s room and that they had been well behaved and she hadn’t heard a peep out of them. Well, of course, it’s never a good sign when my girls are quiet, so I beelined straight for Y/N’s room. And I found them,” at this point she was digging through her purse. Of course, this was for show. The picture was tucked safely away in an inside pocket, and she would produce it with a small, triumphant “Aha!” and hand it to the other person.

In the picture, you and Max were sitting on the floor next to your bed. Next to you, three nail polish containers were pouring out various shades of pink onto the carpet. Your mother’s make up bag sat in between you, but it had to have been completely empty as every form of make up, brush, and beauty tool was scattered around the two of you. For your part, you were grinning up at your mother, pink cheeked with bright red lips and what looked like almost a lipstick mustache because of how poorly you applied it. You had smudged heaps of purple eyeshadow onto your eyelids, reaching up to your eyebrows. Pinched between your dark pink and light pink little nails was your mother’s mascara wand. Across from you, Max was gaping open mouthed at your mother, her lips a similar bright red, but the entire left side of her face was pink and she had green eyeshadow which was delicately blended in with her fair eyebrows. Except, her right eye had dark black smudges across it from where you tried to apply mascara. In her hair, you had had clipped about a half dozen of your mom’s curlers.

Reactions ranged from a simple “Oh my!” and stifled giggle to laughing so hard tears fell from their eyes.

“For the life of me, I don’t know how she convinced Max to sit still for that long. Or how either of them the reached my make up bag on top of my dresser,” your mother would laugh, taking back the picture and zipping it up into its pockets. “But those are my girls for you.”

You may have aged twelve years and moved across the country, but you had to admit, the story was still classic you.

After all, you woke up every day an hour earlier than you had to just so you could do your make up and coax your hair into the perfect side pony. And you needed at least 30 minutes to play around with your wardrobe to make sure you had a unique outfit to wear that day. There were 365 days in a year, and you refused to wear the same exact outfit on any single one of them.

Ok, so at around day 300 you had to start getting creative with what counted as the same and what didn’t, but the fact remained that you did not repeat outfits. And it wasn’t like you had thirty different shirts or forty pairs of pants. Your wardrobe was reasonable. You just had a knack for pairing things that other people may not have considered and what your mother deemed “a natural talent at accessorizing.”

Today for instance, you had tied a neon blue bow into your hair (in addition to your black sequined scrunchy), stacked about thirty five jelly bracelets up your arm, and secured yourself into your clothes with two belts.

You were looking totally glam. You had to be. It was the first day at your new school.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” Billy asked looking over at you from his eggs. You rolled your eyes and flipped him off, lifting your spoon to your mouth.

“Why do you care?” Max glared at him over her cereal.

“It’s fine, Max,” you murmured.

“I have to be seen with you getting out of my car,” Billy’s lip curled as he looked over at you again. “You should change.”

Max opened up her mouth to say something, but was cut off.

Keep reading

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oh my godddddd!!!!!!!!!!!!! from the first sentence you had me!!!! i’m SCREAMING. 

(hi yes i read this when u first posted it forever ago but its still SO good. thank u so much. i love everything u write tbh!) 

Addicted.

Description: You’ve been dying to drown in Nancy Wheeler since your last taste of her lip balm. 

Pairing: Nancy Wheeler x Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Disclaimer: S M U T. Might want to read in another area of your house. 

Tag List: I may be dedicating this piece of trash to @thephantomofthe-internet but I do know that @hargroovin loves a good gay!Nance. 

I know not all of you are super into smut, so you don’t need to read but I’m going to tag my favs and you can leave your reviews below. Enjoy.  @savemefromanepicoftimewasted @mentalfictionleftmyassbehind @letmeletmetrashyourlove @hairringtonsteve

The whole ordeal wouldn’t have been so mind numbing if it weren’t for the fact that when you closed your eyes you could remember how her lips felt on yours, swollen from teeth slipping against them and soft from an unknown flavored lip balm. The skin on her thighs felt as if they were on fire, as your fingers tightly slid up and down her soft skin. Your name slipping past her lips as your lips trailed down her jaw and to her neck, sucking on the pulse point. You could remember the smell of her perfume mixed with the smell of spiked punch and it was more intoxicating than the alcohol flowing through both of you. The memories wouldn’t have hurt as bad as they did if the girl you were continually wishing to do all those thing with again, was none other than your friend, Nancy Wheeler.

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Natalia Dyer for Hunter  Magazine in July 2019.

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ZENDAYA for Glamour Paris || Summer 2019 photographed by Amar Daved.

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Sabrina Carpenter - In My Bed

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a baby and a puppy (part 2)

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Maya Hawke by Gia Coppola for Zac Posen

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I’m terrified of growing up. Once you become an adult, how to you step back from that? It’s something that wakes me up at night.

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make me choose ♡ anonymous asked amy santiago or rosa diaz

We’re an amazing team. We’re the sleuth sisters. Damn straight, we are.

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The first rule of shoplifting is to be invisible in plain sight. But… aren’t we kind of doing that all the time? It’s like we filter our lives to fit into other people’s ideas of who we’re supposed to be. Who we’re supposed to date. Or how we’re supposed to deal with heartbreak.

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spider-man: into the spider-verse (2018)

“when will i know i’m ready?”  “you won’t. it’s a leap of faith. that’s all it is, miles. a leap of faith.”