#King of pop header

[delipjm]

Oi :)

Você poderia fazer users com o nome do Jimin e Michael Jackson? Por favor

౨ৎ michael jackson + jimin users

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jacksmuse

miniemijs

likememjs

whoismjms

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prontinho, espero que goste! ♡

[historytheone]

Like or reblog if you save: Michael Jackson' unique header

[mj-loves-to-tour]

Michael Jackson icons + Taylor Swift headers

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[fairyysoup]

his hands

pairing(s): hairdresser!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: How do you make getting a haircut an erotic experience? You have Eddie Munson as your hairdresser, of course.

cw: explicit, smut, unprotected piv sex, mirror sex, workplace sex, hand kink, choking, dumbification, dom!eddie, touch-starved!reader, semi-sort-of subspace happenings, referring to genitals with gendered pronouns, slight body worship, getting weirdly horny over a head massage, sexual tension, negative self talk, hair cut/style mentioned but no description of hair color/type, the aftercare is the haircut lol, implied 90s au, eddie's like 30, reader's age unspecified, eddie is employee of the month in my heart, not proofread, no beta we die like men

a/n: this is weird. and came from an interesting experience i had at the hair salon. and yes that is corpse's hand in that pic i didn't want to spend all day looking for a header pic shut up shut up shut up

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

Your hands twitch on the copy of Elle magazine in your lap. The familiar waiting area of your local salon has new furniture, which still smells a bit like the cellophane it came wrapped in, and hasn’t been worn out by patrons just yet. You’d asked for your usual stylist, Melissa. Except, you haven’t been here in so long, and apparently Melissa doesn’t work here anymore. 

“We have a new stylist in her place,” the greeter at the front desk told you kindly. “I could fit you in if you’d like that same station?�� 

The station doesn’t matter to you; they all look the same and have the same tools. Obviously, when it comes to getting your hair cut, the stylist makes the difference. But, since you’re a couple months too late to catch up with Melissa, a new stylist is who you’ll be working with. 

The PA still plays some sort of weird pop-rock fusion that mixes Nat King Cole with Billy Idol, but you just try to focus on it to keep your leg from bouncing. You always get anxious like this when you come in for an appointment, even though you always tell yourself the same thing. It’s just hair. If you don’t like it, it’ll grow back. Or, if worst comes to worst, you could always shave it.

You hear your name being called, and you look up to the person who’d just approached the waiting area around the partition that blocks off the styling area. You blink, your mind going fuzzy as you try to make sense of what you see.

“Looks like I’ll be cutting your hair today,” the man standing at the end of the row of chairs says, with a grin that puts boyish dimples on his cheeks. “I’m Eddie.”

Eddie the Hairdresser is a bit more than you can handle right now. Between his long, curly hair, and the shirt he wears that gives you a view of the tattoos crawling up his arms, you think your knees might already be made out of jelly as you try to stand. But then he sticks out his hand for you to shake, and he’s wearing big, chunky rings that glint in the light, and you think you might swoon like a Victorian damsel.

“I’m, uh–” you begin intelligently, as you fit your hand into his big one. He squeezes just the tiniest bit and smirks at you. “I– I’m trying to, uh–”

“First time?” Eddie asks you with a tilt of his head. His brown eyes crease at the edges with mirth.

“Oh, um, no,” you mutter, looking everywhere but at his dimples. He has a tattoo on his neck of a dragon. You stare at it for a moment too long. “I used to come and see Melissa, forever ago.” 

“Oh! Yeah, Melissa was great. She trained me,” Eddie starts jabbering as he tilts his head and leads you around the partition. You’re met with the smell of hairspray and the sound of blow dryers getting louder. “She’s a hard act to follow, but I hope I can do well enough. Let’s get you started with a wash, hm?” 

You smile as he winks at you conspiratorially. You always feel a little bit awkward as you sit in the chair for the wash sinks, but Eddie ushers you into it with a little wave of his hand and gently– more gently than you can remember even Melissa being– lifts the ends of your hair and places a soft towel around your shoulders.

“What kept you away all this time?” Eddie asks pleasantly as he tests the water temperature. “Melissa’s been gone for a while.”

“Yeah, I, uh, I was working a lot,” you stumble into an explanation, your cheeks heating up a bit. It’s hard not to feel like you need to repent for not coming in to get a trim every month. “Last time I came in, I got my hair cut really short, so it wasn’t like I needed to come in for a trim for a long time, and by the time I really needed one it was long enough that I could do it myself… so, I just kept doing that.”

“So, what are we doing today?” Eddie inquires as his fingertips brush along your temples to tuck your hair back behind your ears and into the wash basin. With gentle prompting, he tilts your head back into the bin and begins to wet the ends of your hair.

“I figured it’s time I go short again,” you tell him, more confident than you really feel about it. It was a split second decision, one that you made because the reflection in the mirror was looking back at you with such a dead expression that you decided you needed a change in a bad way. For a lighter note, you supplement, “I’m tired of brushing tangles out of my hair every morning, and the other day I had a whole bird’s nest at the back of my neck, y’know.”

“Pssh, I know all about tangles. You saw my hair,” Eddie chuckles as the lukewarm water touches your scalp. Goosebumps rise on your arms while he rambles on, “I have to comb my hair wet or else I look like I got electrocuted. I never used to care about that sort of thing before I went to school for this, but once you start learning about proper treatment it’s kind of hard to ignore. I used to wash my hair with bar soap. Dry as hell, no conditioner. I’m surprised I got it long to begin with.” 

You find yourself smiling just thinking about it. “Bar soap? With those curls?”

“Don’t tell anyone, my reputation will be ruined,” Eddie leans down and whispers to you while he reaches for a bottle of shampoo. You hear a crack of a bottle cap, and then his hands are in your hair again, working the sweet smelling soap into your roots. “I’m trying to get employee of the month, but they’re never gonna give it to me if they know I used to sabotage my own hair with Irish Spring.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” you tell him sweetly, but you’re barely paying attention to his words anymore. His fingers are pressing into areas on your head that haven’t had a proper massage in forever, and months of tension headaches are being brought to the forefront of your mind. 

You never consider how oddly intimate having someone wash your hair is until you’re in the thick of it. Eddie’s thumbs massage circles into your occipitals with just a perfect amount of pressure, and the muscles down the back of your neck slowly melt and relax, moving with the swell of his fingertips. You suddenly feel very relaxed and very sleepy, and your eyelids drift closed as Eddie’s thumbs trace the line of your skull up to your hairline.

It even takes a moment for you to tune into the fact that he’s humming. Under his breath, he’s singing along to the notes of the song on the PA. He’s doing it in such a way that you’re sure he’s not even aware of it, himself, and you’d comment on it if you weren’t afraid that you’d embarrass him. His fingers are massaging circles around your temples now, and while you’re trying to focus on the sound of him harmonizing with the music, your mind is again trying to distract you with the feeling developing at the base of your spine. A ticklish, warm feeling spreads between your hips, disrupting the lull you find yourself in and forcing you to blink your eyes open. 

Oh, no. We’re not doing that right now.

You can’t say you’re surprised that this is your response. His hands are all over your head and you haven’t been touched by anyone in… well, a very long time, to say the least. You’re probably a little starved for it, all things considered. But this is really the wrong time and place to be getting turned on by a guy’s touch.

You shift in your seat, trying not to be too obvious about it when Eddie pulls his hands away and begins rinsing your hair again. Crossing your legs would be a dead giveaway, but the warm feeling is turning into a subtle throb between your legs, and Eddie’s hands are back on your head, now gently combing the conditioner through the length of your hair as though he’s petting you.

After a few torturous minutes of trying to ignore the blooming arousal deep in your gut, Eddie cuts the water and wraps your hair in the towel to secure it. 

“Now comes the hard part,” Eddie says, probably not meaning to make it sound so suggestive, but your mind seems to be taking its sweet time loitering in the gutter. 

You stare dazedly up at the ceiling. Now is the hard part?

Eddie leads you to what used to be Melissa’s station, and swings the swivel chair around for you with a flourish. “Step into my office, sweetheart. I’ll get you all dressed up in a sexy robe and everything.” 

You stifle a giggle as you slide into the seat. His “office” is one table in a row of other tables, and two feet away an older woman is getting her hair bleached by a girl with an undercut. As Eddie spins you around, the stylist shoots him a look. 

“He’s a shameless flirt,” she tells you, making eye contact with you in the mirror. Eddie lays a smock across your front and buttons it at the back of your neck.

“I’ll have you know, I’ve been minding my manners very well,” Eddie huffs with feigned indignation as he unwraps your hair and tosses the towel onto the table in front of you. He still winks at you in the mirror when he leans around you to pick up a comb. “So far.”

You can’t help the way that your jaw clenches. He’s really not going to make this easy on you. You wonder if he knows where your mind has been for the last ten minutes.

Eddie moves around to the back of your chair and presses on a lever to raise it up, but nothing happens. 

“Dammit,” Eddie curses under his breath, and turns to his coworker, who’s still loading tinfoil into the woman’s hair until she looks like something from Close Encounters. “I can’t believe you gave me the crap chair.”

“Early birds get the good chairs,” the stylist replies. 

Eddie sighs and turns back to you, and finds you looking at him curiously in the mirror. “This is the only broken chair in the whole salon, and everyone hates it, so it tends to move around. You never know if you’ll get the crap chair.”

“That’s sabotage,” you giggle.

“I know! So I have to bend down to style you, I’m sorry.”

“I think I can handle it.” You watch him give you a look in the mirror that makes you shift in your seat again. 

“So,” he begins, looking down at your head as he begins detangling your hair. “We’re going short?”

“That’s the plan,” you say with a puff of your chest. Please, god, don’t let it be horrible. 

“How short?” he prompts, eyeing you in the mirror. “Shoulder length? Close cropped?”

You reach up a slightly shaky hand and pinch the length that you want between two fingers. “Here’s good.”

Eddie nods, looking somewhat pleased. “Are we doing layers?”

“Yeah, I think layers would be good for the long term.” 

“Gives you more flexibility,” he agrees. He picks up a pair of scissors and begins measuring out the length that you want. “I’ll start with the length and then we’ll move to bangs, all right?” 

“That… sounds good.” You’re temporarily discombobulated by Eddie taking the sides of your head and tilting your head down just the slightest bit. 

“Stay just like that for me, okay?” he says quietly.

You blink down at the table in front of you, feeling your mouth go dry. “No problem.” Your hands nervously twitch beneath the cover of the smock across your body.

He goes back to humming along with the music on the PA, and you don’t have the heart to interrupt him. You’re trying to focus on anything but the nerves in your system and the way his touch keeps making you want to jump out of your seat.

After a moment, he stops humming and dusts a bit of hair off of your shoulder. “There we go. Good girl.” 

You blink up at Eddie in the mirror, and then see the transformation from long hair to short on your head. 

“How does it feel?” Eddie asks, leaning down to pinch the ends of the front and measure the evenness of the length. You stare at his fingers, and the tattoo of a bat just above his thumb on his left hand.

“Ten pounds lighter,” you joke. It feels like you’ve swallowed a lump of hot coal, but he doesn’t need to know that. Eddie grins, and his dimples make a glorious reappearance. 

“I’m not done with you yet,” he murmurs, and again positions your head where he wants it, staring directly forward. “Honestly, even if you wanted to stop here, it would suit you. I don’t think there’s a way to make you look bad, sweetheart.”

“You’ve never seen me with a hangover,” you scoff, trying to ignore how your heart skips a beat. 

Eddie smirks at you in the mirror while he starts working on giving your hair layers. “My guess is that you still look just as cute, but with a bit more of a grumpy look around here.” He gestures to your brow with one finger, and reaches over to set aside the texturizing scissors. 

“So, what I’m hearing is, you think I’m cute?” you say, still trying to play up the confidence that you don’t really have. Your hand squeezes your thigh under the smock you wear, your nails digging in for purchase.

“No, I think you’re gorgeous,” Eddie says swiftly, like it’s just a matter of fact. “But, I think you’d also be cute when you’re hungover. Plus, with this hair, you’d probably look all unkempt and I love the mental image that’s creating.”

His hands fluff the layers that he’s put into your hair, ruffling them gently and carding his fingers through them to measure their length. You’re sure that he’s not aware of the moon-eyed look you’re giving him in the mirror. 

Except, then he moves around you to start working on your bangs, and the smirk that comes across his face when he looks down at yours is enough to make you lose your composure. He knows everything that’s going on in your head, you’re sure of it. 

Cocky bastard.  

“I like your tattoos,” you murmur, just loud enough for him to hear over the music and the sounds of blow dryers all around you. He’s face to face with you, so close that you can count the freckles on his pale face.

Eddie’s eyes light up. “Yeah? What about ‘em?” 

“Well,” you lick your lips, your eyes flicking down to the one on his neck, and the one peeking out of his collar. “They’re colorful, and they look like you put a lot of thought into picking out each one. They’re pretty.”

“Hmm. You flatter me,” he remarks, trying to hide his grin and failing. If you look closely, there’s just the slightest pink tint to his cheeks that wasn’t there before. He finishes trimming your bangs, and just before he stands up, he chucks you lightly under the chin. “Keep it up and you might get a freebie.”

A free what? You’re imagining he means some sort of a free hair wash or something, but you can’t keep your mind from going to unprecedented places. 

“All right. Bear with me, I’m gonna blow dry you now.” He turns your chair away from the mirror to get you a bit closer to the blow dryer, and for a few minutes, there’s a lull in the conversation. 

Then, all at once, the blow dryer shuts off, and Eddie leans down towards you. “Ready, sweetheart?”

“Eddie, you’re gonna make me nervous.”

“Well, we don’t want that.” You just barely turn your head to look at him; just enough that your noses barely brush. You steal a breath that comes from his mouth, and then, Eddie turns you to the mirror. “Like I said,” he murmurs, “There’s not a way to make you look bad.”

“Holy shit,” you breathe. And holy shit is right– he’s done a complete number on you. Your hair is voluminous, framing your face in a way that you haven’t seen it before.  

“What do you think?” he asks, and for a moment, you think it’s a rhetorical question.

“I think you’re way better than Melissa,” you tell him, once you realize that it’s not rhetorical and he’s really asking you what you think. You’re sure that he’d make adjustments if you needed, but you don’t need him to. He’s read you like a book. He’s made you look better than you could ever have hoped for. 

“I’m gonna need that in writing,” he tells you, with the most serious expression you’ve ever seen. “For employee of the month, and all.”

“Tell me where to sign.”

He jerks his head, and all at once the fog lifts. You follow him to the front desk like a lost puppy, feeling like you don’t actually want to leave. You want to sit in his chair while he cuts your hair until you have none left. You want to keep his attention on you and stare at his smile, his hair, his eyes, his tattoos, for the rest of time. 

“I look forward to next time, princess,” he tells you, but you’re hyperfocused on the touch of his hand to your lower back. 

You watch him telling something to the girl at the front desk, his hand wrapped around the edge of the table and distracting you for the umpteenth time. You watch his silver rings glint in the light, and you think about them weaving through your hair; you think about his fingers and how they’d feel on places besides your head.

“So, when did you want to schedule an appointment?” 

You blink a few times, and in a dazed glow you come back to where you are. At the front desk. Paying for your haircut. “Sorry, what?” 

“The… next appointment? For your trim?” The secretary tilts her head, smiling at you kindly. “When did you want to come in?”

“Oh,” you murmur, looking down at the keyboard that she’s typing on. Eddie has disappeared back around the partition with a sweet smile and a wave cast in your direction. You just want him to come back again. “What would you suggest? Y’know, for this kind of a cut?”

“Hmm,” the girl hums, and sizes you up. Not in a way that makes you doubt yourself, but in a way that tells you she’s taking your question seriously. “Probably about four weeks. See if the length is something you’re happy with?” 

“Great. Four weeks from now. With Eddie.” You peer down at the rack of business cards on the deck, and pick up the one farthest to the right. 

Eddie Munson, Stylist. Set an appointment today!

By four weeks, your hair has already reached your shoulders, and the ease of maintenance is starting to wear off. When you get a call reminding you about your appointment with Eddie, your head reels with the knowledge that you’ll see him again.

You calmly assert to yourself that this time, there will be no mooning over him. He’s just your hairdresser. You figure he just has a job to do, tips to earn, and so on. You don’t know if he’s available, you don’t know if he’s single or if he even likes you the way that you like him. You don’t know anything about him, really.

False. You know that he used to wash his hair with bar soap.

You snicker to yourself as you sit in the waiting area yet again. The only available slot for him today was 6:30; pretty close to closing time, but for a Wednesday you figured it was best for you to come late, since you’d have time to get yourself together after work.

You’ve never been in the salon so late. It’s getting dark outside, and the overhead lights cast a semi-yellow glow around the waiting area. Business is dying down now. Not as many people love the idea of getting their hair cut so late, you suppose, but it was either this or wait another week to get an appointment with Eddie, and with the rate that your hair is growing, you’d probably be going insane by then.

“Hey, you,” Eddie says, popping his head around the partition with a grin that makes you nearly melt in your seat. His curly hair hangs in a curtain out in midair, and his long neck stretches out for you to take a gander at. “Just couldn’t stay away, huh?”

You smile at him. “Well, you’re the only person I trust with my head.”

What the fuck did you just say?

Eddie smirks, glowing pink around the ears. “I’ll keep that in mind, princess. Let me clean up my station real quick and I’ll getcha goin’, all right?”

You swallow back the lump in your throat. “Yeah, sure, no worries.”

When Eddie disappears again, you slide down in your seat and clap your hand across your eyes. You’re sort of glad that nobody was in the waiting room to see that ridiculous exchange, but you still have to sit with your embarrassment while Eddie cuts your hair. Again.

There will be no pining. There will be no getting weirdly turned on by him washing your hair. Nope, not happening this time.

This time, when Eddie ushers you back behind the partition, there’s only one two other stylists who are there cleaning their stations. The PA has been turned way down, so you can barely register what it’s playing at all.

“You actually came at a good time,” Eddie tells you as you trail after him toward the wash station. “You’re the last person for the night, so I can really take my time with you.”

“O-oh.. really?” You beat back your perverted thoughts with a stick. “To do what?”

“Oh, y’know,” Eddie shrugs as he lays a towel around your shoulders again, just as gentle as he was the last time. “We could do something totally crazy. Who knows what’ll happen?”

His voice is animated, pleasantly filling the empty space where your thoughts might become too much if you let them wander. 

Over the past month, after you’d recovered from your last meeting with Eddie, and as you were preparing for this one, you came up with a few things that you could ask him about– just to keep your mind from going to places you didn’t want them to. To save yourself the embarrassment and the ordeal of having to play whack-a-mole with your libido, and all. 

“Did you get employee of the month?” you begin with.

Eddie laughs, and then sighs. “No, our manicurist got it. I’ll get it this time, I just gotta stay on my A-game.” His blunt nails rake your hair away from your forehead and temples, and a lukewarm stream of water hits the crown of your skull.

You nearly want to jump out of your skin at the feeling. “Was it because they gave you the crap chair too many times?”

“Probably. But I got here early today, so the good news is you don’t have to sit in the crap chair this time.” 

“Aww, I kind of liked the crap chair. Kept me grounded.” You hear him huff a laugh as he starts lathering shampoo through your hair. Trying to keep your mind running so you don’t focus too hard on how good his rings feel scraping against your scalp, you ask, “How’d you get into this line of work?”

“Honestly, it’s kind of a weird story,” Eddie starts, beginning to massage his fingertips into your skull in a way that makes your toes curl in your shoes. You tighten your hands on the arms of your chair and take a deep breath. “So, it took me three tries to graduate high school, right? I was terrible at it. And, y’know, I figured I’d only end up working in a garage or something for the rest of my life. But I was cutting my mane all on my own, and eventually I started cutting my friends’ hair too, because they were all in college and it’s cheaper than going to a salon. I mean–” he chuckles, and begins rinsing your hair– “believe me. I know all about it. And it just came to me really easily, ‘cause I used to be great at drawing and crafting and stuff. And it’s kind of the same thing– once you learn the medium, it’s smooth sailing from there.”

The salon has gone eerily quiet, and by the time Eddie wraps your head and sits you up, you realize that the other stylists have gone, and you and Eddie are the last people in the building. You’d be a little nervous about it, but you got Eddie on a roll, and honestly, he makes it so easy to listen to him.

“Anyways, one day my friend Robin says to me, ‘You should totally get your credential for this,’ and I said, ‘You have to go to school for this shit?’” You blow a raspberry of a laugh, no longer feeling anxious as he sits you down on his not-crap styling chair. He drapes a smock over you, and cracks a grin at you in the mirror. “I know! So, I’ve never been great at school, and I can’t afford to pay for beauty school tuition on the pay I was making at the time, so my friends… they pooled together some money to at least pay for my first semester. And then– get this– I got on the fucking Dean’s list.”

“No way.”

“I did! Yours truly!” He does a little bow, and while you’re still giggling, he begins detangling your hair. “So, I got grants. And I finished top of my class, because as it turns out, when you don’t hate what you’re studying it’s really easy to do well. I got my certification framed and everything. Show that to my damn high school principal.” He shakes his head, but the smile is still on his face when he says, “But now I just have to get that fucking employee of the month.” 

“Anything I can do to help?” you offer, admiring his face in the mirror again without even realizing you’re doing it. You love seeing him grin, showing off his dimples and the smile lines around his eyes.

“Oh, you know,” he shrugs with a cute scrunch of his nose. “Just make sure you write my boss a letter saying how fantastic and amazing I am and how there’s no other hair stylist like me and how you’ll never find anyone as cool and sexy anywhere else. Something subtle like that oughta do it.” 

“Shouldn’t be difficult,” you tell him smoothly. “I already had that one drafted.”

He chuckles, his eyes sparkling when he reaches for his scissors, but you still notice the faint blush on his cheeks that he tries to hide behind his curtain of hair. “Flattery. You know what that gets you with me.”

A freebie. You hear his voice echoing in your head, and you swallow past the dryness in your throat. “Like… what? A mohawk?”

“Would you want a mohawk?” he asks you, pausing his movements to peer at you. “Because that’d be metal as hell, I’d be so down.” 

You laugh. “I appreciate it, but I think… probably not today.”

Eddie hums, and returns to smoothing your hair back away from your face. “So we’re just doing the same as last time?” 

“Yeah, not too flashy.” 

“Gotcha. It’s a shame, though. I’m always up for a challenge.” 

“Well, I think that short hair is just easier to maintain,” you tell him, at a loss for what else to say. He glances up at you in the mirror, and locks eyes with you. “And it doesn’t make my neck look as stumpy as it is.”

Eddie tilts his head with a confused pout, and then he reaches down and wraps his hands loosely around your throat. Your breath stalls in your chest, your eyes focused on the sight of his hands on you, his thumbs gently stroking the nape of your neck and his ring clad fingers pressed just below your chin. His fingers link and hold you, creating a necklace that you’ll never be able to find anywhere else.

Oh, shit. Oh, fucking hell. Everything below your waist draws up tight and hard, your thighs clamping together like that’s going to somehow will away the hold that Eddie has on you.

You lift your eyes and find his in the mirror, dark and focused in on you. You hold each others’ gaze for a prolonged moment, not saying anything, you barely even daring to breathe. You can’t imagine what the expression on your face looks like. You’re too busy staring at the one on his– like there are a million thoughts running through his head, and you’re desperate to know every single one of them.

“Nah, I think you’re perfect.” And just like that, Eddie moves on like nothing happened, picking up his scissors again. Like he didn’t just fry your brain. Like you’re not halfway to cardiac arrest.

You’re dumbstruck as he starts trimming the ends of your hair. You told yourself there would be no mooning over him. No pining. But here, you are, turned on beyond belief, and having to deal with the heartbeat pulsing between your legs, and not shift around, because you don’t want to fuck him up. 

When he pinches the ends of the front to see if they’re level, you’re staring directly at him in the mirror. Not even trying to hide it, either. If you did try, you’d most certainly fail. Eddie frowns in concentration, a bit of a crease to his brow as he peers at his hands.

Eddie tuts. “I’m trying to figure out– is it–?” He grabs the back of your chair, and suddenly you’re being swiveled around to face him. “Sometimes these mirrors don’t even help a guy out at the worst goddamn times…”

Your breathing is way heavier than it needs to be. Is it hot in here? Did they crank up the heat in this place specifically to spite you? Eddie’s face is so close to yours, and you’re not sure if the fact that you aren’t in the crap chair is helping. You’re higher up now, and he doesn’t have to bend down as far to get level with you, and his eyes are the color of dark chocolate, and you–

Eddie’s hand comes up and snips the tip off the right side. “There we go. One side was all fucked.”

“Well, we don’t want anything getting fucked, do we?” you mutter under your breath. What’s left of it.

Eddie pauses and his eyes flick up to yours. His eyelashes are long and flutter as he holds your gaze again, while you try hard not to look away. There’s that unreadable expression on his face from earlier, morphing slowly into something like amusement, but that could also just be your mind playing tricks on you. Don’t look at his lips. Don’t look at his lips. Don’t look at his li–

“Screw it.” Eddie tosses his scissors to the ground and his hands come up to grip your face, smoothing your hair back tenderly before he kisses you. 

You open your mouth and Eddie is in it, searching, feeling. His hands hold your head firm and you feel the metal of his rings digging into your cheeks, and you’re splitting apart at the seams from the way he’s completely invading your senses. He smells like warm, spicy cologne and hairspray. He tastes like cigarettes and cherry coke. He moans into you, and the sound is like heaven. 

You lift your legs and wrap them around his waist, and he grunts before he pulls away just the tiniest bit to give you breathing room. 

“This is highly unprofessional, Mr. Munson,” you whisper to him, as if you don’t have him caged in with your thighs.

“I don’t… actually fucking care,” Eddie admits, his nose just nudging against yours. “Got so fuckin’ hard the minute I saw you. What am I gonna do with you, huh?”

“Dunno,” you murmur against his mouth, “I’m waiting for you to tell me.” 

“C’mere.” He pulls you out of your seat, and you practically trip over the smock he clipped around your neck. 

“Get me out of this thing,” you giggle, letting your forehead fall onto his shoulder. You inhale a deep breath of his cologne, feeling his chest shake with his laugh. 

“Aww, but you look so cute,” Eddie coos, but his hands come up to undo the button at the back of your neck. The fabric slides to the ground, and Eddie kicks it aside as he crowds you back against the table. Your ass hits the edge of it and your hand falls onto a comb when you try to steady yourself. He pulls you flush to his body, his hands caging you in. Eddie’s tongue dances over your bottom lip and you moan, lifting your hands to tangle in the fabric of his shirt.

He ducks his head to help you pull his shirt off before he tosses it somewhere to the side. You’re distracted by his tattoos, each one of them beautiful and detailed, standing out against his pale skin.

Then, you remember something that he told you earlier, and you connect some dots that you hadn’t even realized were there. “Did you draw these?” 

Eddie’s grin could blind the sun. He blushes pink down his neck and shoulders. “Yeah, I did.” 

“They’re gorgeous. I meant what I said before– I really like them.” 

He sucks in a deep breath, and then his lips are on you, everywhere they can manage. On your face, your neck, trying to get at your collarbone but your shirt is in the way. He fists it in his hands, making a petulant noise in the back of his throat. “Help me out here, sweetheart.”

Your shirt lands somewhere near his. You don’t see exactly where, because he’s pulling the straps of your bra down your shoulders so that he can mouth kisses across your breasts, pulling down on the cups until he can graze his teeth over your nipple. It takes you so off guard that you bite back a squeal, tugging at his hair and rubbing your thighs together to stave off the incessant throbbing between them.

When you look down at him, his eyes are so dark that they’re almost black. Your heart thuds erratically in your chest, your breath not coming even though you gasp and pull at the air with everything you have. You can’t really fathom why he has you so worked up– just that it’s been so long since anyone touched you like this, and now that you have it it’s like every little point of contact is on fire.

Eddie grazes his teeth across your breast, and your knees nearly buckle out from under you. You grab his face, guiding him back up to you. 

“What were you thinking when you grabbed my throat?” you ask him, your voice hoarse in the back of your throat. 

His hands are on you now, grabbing at your waist and hips, squeezing like he’ll never let go. “I can show you, if you want,” Eddie answers, and he sounds just as wrecked as you. Maybe more. 

There’s absolutely no way you’re going to refuse that. Not with the way you’ve been lusting after him since meeting him. You nod. “Eddie, please–”

He kisses you hard again before mumbling against your lips, “Turn around and take off your pants.”

You do what he asks without a second’s hesitation. You watch him in the mirror as he follows your movements, undoing his own belt, and you kick your jeans and underwear off without thinking about why you’re here, without wondering about the repercussions. You figure you can probably do that later.

Right now, Eddie’s smoothing his hand up your spine, and the feeling of his fingers dancing along your skin sends shivers through your body. His fingers weave through the hair at the nape of your neck, and he pulls just slightly, until you bare your neck. 

Your breath hitches in your throat. Your heart hammers as you watch him, dark eyes and hair and rosy cheeks in the mirror, his carnation colored lips twisting into a wicked grin at you. He kisses your shoulder so gently it’s like the fluttering of a feather. 

“‘Stumpy neck,’” Eddie scoffs under his breath, and you tremble. “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

He bends you forward until you’re face to face with yourself in the mirror– but you’re looking at him, gazing into your eyes while he teases himself at your entrance.

“Oh my god,” you groan, dropping your head almost immediately at the feeling. Your head is spinning, your body rigid with anticipation and breaking out in a cool sweat already. 

“Mm-mm,” Eddie hums condescendingly, and a hand clamps around your throat, hoisting your head up again. A gasp tears from your lips. In the mirror, his eyes are blazing. “You look at me while I fuck you. That’s the only way this is gonna happen. Got it?”

You nod. You want to shrink away from the heat in his gaze, but you want him to fuck you way more than that. You shudder as he leans forward, pressing in until his chin nearly rests on your shoulder.

“I need to hear you say it, baby.” His thumb strokes lightly along your pulse point, and you make a soft noise in the back of your throat without thinking. “Tell me you understand.” 

“I understand,” you tell him, barely a whisper, but he hears it all the same. 

“Good girl.” 

Eddie grins, kisses the nape of your neck, and pulls back. When he does, you’re barely able to take a breath before he pushes his hard cock into you, and the noise you make is almost embarrassing in its volume. 

“Ohhh, you’re absolutely soaked, baby. She’s practically dripping– is this just for me?” Eddie murmurs in your ear, grinding his hips up against your ass for emphasis. The lewd noise that it makes has your toes curling and the tips of your ears burning.

“Fuck,” you moan, ginding back against him to push him deeper. He’s so thick and you’re so sensitive that your mind is completely blanking at the feeling. 

Eddie notices, and he chuckles as grabs your waist with one hand as he thrusts his hips forward. “I’ve barely gotten my cock in you, princess. Don’t go getting all dumb on me already.” His voice goes straight between your legs and your cunt pulses around him, making him hiss through his teeth. The hand on your throat tightens just slightly. “I asked you a question.”

You keen, your mind reeling as you search for words. You manage to nod, babbling out, “Yes, it’s– it’s all for you, Eddie, been wanting you so bad, s’all I can think about–”

Eddie coos, grabbing your chin to shut you up while a particularly hard thrust of his hips knocks the wind out of you. He turns his head and grazes his lips against your cheek, eyeing you in the mirror as he says, “I knew it.” 

Your eyes are on him, on his hand around your neck, on his rings pressed into your skin. All that your fucked-out mind can think is that it’s hot, and you like him and his strong hands and his pretty eyes and the way his cock is reaching places inside you that make thoughts really difficult to come by.

Eddie whispers something against your skin, and you miss it because you’re hooked on the way his eyelashes flutter for just a moment while his lips are pressed against your cheek. You lift your hand, until it rests over his against your throat, his fingers just barely laced with yours. 

“Again,” you say– it comes out like a command, but you mean it like a question. You don’t know what the fuck he just said. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he repeats, and his voice nearly cracks with the desperation in it. His sweat slick chest is pressed against your back, his thrusts rocking your hips into the table and jostling it into the wall, but his voice is so tender. “So perfect for me.” 

Your mouth falls open, your hand tightening on his. You pull, until he loosens his grip and his hand comes away with yours. You kiss his palm, then his fingertips, holding his gaze in the mirror as you slowly, gently swirl your tongue around his middle and forefinger. 

Eddie’s eyes narrow coyly at you, while his thrusts make you mewl and clutch at the table with your free hand. You suck his two fingers deep into your mouth, earning a pleased groan from him in your ear– a sound which you want to hear again and again, no matter what it takes. 

“Look at you, sweet little thing, gettin’ my fingers all wet like that,” he whispers to you, biting his lip as you grind back against him. “Wanna do something with ‘em?”

You moan, letting his fingers slide from your mouth with a wet pop. You guide his hand down your chest, down your stomach, until his fingers slide between your legs. 

“There you go,” Eddie coos, taking over from your guidance as his fingers start rubbing small circles against your clit. “Atta girl, showin’ me what you want. Just needed me to fuck you stupid first, hm?”

Your cunt pulses, and you cum with a loud moan that echoes off of the mirror in front of you and around the empty space. Eddie cries out, and you feel his warmth fill you as he cums. He slows until he stills inside you, and then he holds you, panting against your cheek, his arm wrapped around your middle and his hand on your throat.

You haven’t moved your hand away from his, you realize, after a few moments of bliss in the aftershocks. You drop your hand to the table with a thud, earning a soft, breathless chuckle from him. 

“Can I take you out to dinner?” Eddie asks you, nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

“I think you can do whatever you want with me,” you murmur dazedly, just barely shifting and making him hiss. He’s still inside you, trying to hold you steady while he calms himself down. 

“Good.” There’s a kiss to your cheek, and Eddie grunts as he slowly eases out of you. “I still need to finish your goddamn haircut.”

“Eddie, we’re naked.” 

“And?” His hands are moving quicker than your mind is, yanking a kleenex from the table so that he can bend down and wipe the insides of your thighs. You jump at the sudden touch, but he clamps a hand around your hip to hold you still. “The sooner I finish your hair, the sooner I close up, and the sooner we go get dinner. You like Italian?”

“I didn’t think your pillow talk would involve finishing my haircut,” you grumble, but there’s a smile worming it’s way onto your face even as you say it. 

“That’s the name of the game, sweetheart,” Eddie says, tossing the tissue into the trash. He picks up your underwear, and the smock from the floor. “Now, sit your cute ass down. I’m not gonna get employee of the month by dishing out orgasms and not bangs, y’know.”

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @steddiemicrofic October challenge.

All the Jokers Dressing up as Kings

October Prompt: Dress | Word Count: 350 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Underage Drinking, Recreational Drug Mention | Tags: Pre-Steddie, Missing Scene, Set During S2, Halloween Party, Post "Bullshit" Scene

The wig itches. Eddie scratches his scalp through it, hoping it doesn't get messed up. It's a shitty wig, but the drama club's costume trunk didn't exactly have a lot of options.

He borrowed a Members Only jacket from Jeff's dad, and a pair of Nikes, a half-size too big, from Jeff himself. It didn't look terrible while he was at home, but now that he's standing outside of tonight's party house, he's second-guessing himself. Maybe this was funnier in his head.

Too late now.

He saunters into the party, head held high, exuding confidence that he doesn't exactly feel. It's fucking packed. People everywhere, dancing, drinking.

But no Steve Harrington. 

Eddie gets the reactions he'd expected: some laughs, eyerolls, and attention, but it's definitely less fun without the King here to see that he's getting knocked down a peg.

The whole school has been slowly turning on Harrington, and Eddie has enjoyed watching that play out from the outside edges. It's been almost worth the repeat senior year.

Eddie scoops up some mystery punch, and then leans near the stained glass window by the front door, ready to make a quick getaway when needed. 

Oh, there's Harrington. 

He's pushing his way out of the bathroom, through the crowd, pinching his nose, making Eddie briefly wonder if he was doing coke in there. Fuck him, if so, because he didn't buy it from Eddie.

But, no, Eddie realizes Steve's trying not to cry. 

Shit.

Eddie follows him out the front door. He's not sure why. But Steve slides into his car, frozen, gripping the steering wheel.

Eddie hesitates. Then pulls open the passenger door.

Harrington's head snaps up, eyes red and wet, now looking even more defeated than before. He expected someone else. Wheeler, maybe. Of course he did. He definitely wasn't expecting Eddie Munson to climb in.

"Munson, what are you-" Harrington starts, then really looks at Eddie under the dome light, "Are you dressed up as me?"

Eddie pulls the wig off, bobby pins painfully yanking loose, "No."

And King Steve, through tears Eddie is politely ignoring, laughs.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiemicrofic and follow along with the fun! 🎃

Notes: The header is a real Members Only ad, just edited down and colorized. It seemed super fitting with that tagline. Something does happen when you put it on. Title from Taylor Swift's, "Call It What You Want."

[fruitcoops]

Debut

Day 5, ft. our black-cat lucid-dreaming king. Characters belong to @lumosinlove (sorry not sorry for what I did to your favorite boy) and header belongs to @noots-fic-fests!

Yesterday's movie: It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown! (1966)

TW for mentioned movie-murder (nobody actually dies)

Regulus spared the glass double-doors hardly a glance before wrinkling his nose. It was hot out, sticky and steamy, and the direct sun pummeling the entire courtyard reeked of early September. Busy chatter ran rampant around him between flashes of color and blurry faces.

“I’m dead,” Regulus said decisively.

Next to him, Leo rolled his eyes and caught his tennis ball on the downswing. “You haven’t even been to first period.”

“This—” Regulus gestured at the main building, blindingly bright and stuffier than any high school had the right to be. “This is hell. Ergo, dead.”

“Tell me again in pre-calc and I’ll believe you.”

“You tested out of pre-calc,” Regulus reminded him, laying back on the hood of Leo’s car. The blue paint was unspecific and unassuming, almost black in certain lights. “And that’s an ugly sweater you’d never wear.”

Grey cotton switched to thick stripes by the time he looked at Leo next; the stupid silver chain remained around his neck. Leo frowned down at himself. “I like this sweater.”

“Hmm.” The characters didn’t tend to care whether Regulus interacted with them much or not. The plot plodded on until he shook himself awake or the blare of an alarm did it for him. It rarely came to a conclusive end.

“Natalie got a phone call last night from some weirdo on the landline,” Leo continued, tossing his ball back up in the air. “They were talking about…I dunno, I think he was asking her questions? Sounded like a guy, anyway.”

“Horrifying.”

“Kasey’s going over tonight with Finn’s brother to keep her company.”

Regulus stretched his back against the windshield and looked to the vast sky. No matter how far he tilted his head back, the old tin roof was always visible. It was a mutated version of his memories—he hadn’t tried very hard to remember what it looked like from the outside. Sirius had excelled there. Every professor remembered his name.

A thread on his baggy jeans was coming loose. If he allowed the dream to progress, Leo would no doubt call him later to inform him, distraught, that Kasey and Finn’s brother (whose name slipped Regulus’ mind constantly) and probably Natalie had died in some explosively gory fashion. It would be distressing despite the fallacy of it all, he’d drag himself awake, and then it would be three o’clock in the morning and he would be sweaty with adrenaline. Regulus had enjoyed the party at Leo’s new house. He’d prefer not to pay the cost of attendance (a rare seasonal hangover) before he absolutely had to.

Denim-on-denim warned him of a new presence before he could actively pick a new story. “O’Hara.”

“Babe, is he bothering you?” Finn’s voice dragged and drawled with California haze. Under his arm, Tremblay narrowed his eyes at Regulus. His bubblegum gave a violent pop.

“Not too bad,” Leo said playfully.

Did Finn even own a denim jacket? God, he probably did. Even Regulus’ imagination couldn’t have pinned something that specific from nothing. Maybe he should just let the rest of this murderous Riverdale-ass nonsense play out in its original form to punish that fashion nightmare.

“Can you wear a hoodie like a normal person?” he yawned. Apparently, he was overtired even in his sleep.

Finn fixed him with a comically disgusted look. “Why are you even here?”

Where the fuck had Regulus picked that accent from? “This is my high school,” he said. “I spent the whole night at your house, can I have some peace and quiet here?”

Logan popped another bubble. His scowl held far too little legitimate danger; if nothing else, that would have tipped Regulus off. The original outright animosity had rested much heavier on him than teenage pouting.

But there—on the steps. “Calisse de crisse,” he muttered, swinging himself down from the hood of Leo’s car.

The courtyard was almost perfect under his feet, as if he was feeling the asphalt through his old loafers. He had hated those goddamn shoes. He came to a sharp halt, right as his shadow fell across lined paper marked with meticulous, infuriating lines.

“Go away.”

Sirius blinked up at him. “Hi.”

“Stop,” Regulus insisted. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Why?”

“We didn’t go to high school together.” Honestly, it was so embarrassing for his brain to mix it up this badly. Valley-Girl Finn O’Hara was a nightmare in and of itself; the least his imagination could do was keep track of a timeline. “Put your physics away and leave.”

Sirius’ brow creased. “How did you know I was doing homework?”

“Unlucky guess.”

“How did you know it was—"

“Because you’re always doing your fucking physics in my nightmares!” Regulus dragged a hand down his face and gripped the back of his own neck. It felt like nothing, not even air. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned his face toward the clouds. “Yes, I understand, I hated the classes Sirius excelled in as an extension of my own complex inner world, merci, au revoir.”

When he looked down again, Sirius was gone. Remus Lupin leaned on the railing by the bay windows, looking out over the river. He had a book in one hand and a bloody knife in the other.

Regulus stared at him.

“No.”

It was Leo when he blinked. A dark robe and everything, and that tennis ball instead of a book. His face got a little fuzzy in profile, but cleared up when he looked at Regulus head-on.

Regulus tipped his head back and forth. “Better.”

He walked with Leo through the never-ending halls. Some were direct rip-offs of his actual high school, down to the navy lockers and their silver buckles. Others had been borrowed: a staircase from elementary school, a music room from Steinhardt, the artificial glow of Sirius’ basement skating rink around a corner. His stomach swooped at the sight of the broken dumbwaiter he and Sirius had used for hide and seek, and he ground his teeth hard.

He had his loafers on. His khakis were tight on his thighs. Leo’s footsteps made no sound.

“I think you’re supposed to be a serial killer,” Regulus noted on their third circuit of the second floor. “With a mask and everything.”

“Oh.” Leo sounded almost disappointed. “I mean, I could?”

“I might just be bad at imagining that.”

“Should’ve stuck with Lupin,” Leo agreed.

“I can go off and find him—”

“Don’t leave me here,” Leo groaned, walking backward for a few floppy steps that made him look more like himself than he had the whole time.

Regulus huffed. “Neither of you pose much of a danger to me.”

“I think we do, in a way.”

--

No.

The thought was forceful enough to pull Regulus to the surface. He exhaled hard, blinking fast until his left eye decided to get with the program and open properly.

The stove’s electric clock told him it was just past two in the morning. Not bad.

He sighed. His feet, tangled in the fresh sheets Leo had laid out for him, still felt too compressed. That explained the loafers. He could get up for a few minutes; make a snack, take a walk around the still-sparse main floor of the house. He didn’t hear anyone else up yet.

Or he could stay here, burrowed in a quilt that smelled lightly of magnolia. The sheets let his legs free when he stretched, still shaking off the scent of bubblegum and industrial cleaning solution. He was tired. Perhaps a little drunk, enough to dull the oncoming throbbing behind his temple. The sugar rush was long dead.

Regulus tucked his nose down into a butter-yellow square and shut his eyes. Being asleep was an exhausting business. He had too many questions. There was too much to nitpick. Too much psychoanalysis to avoid.

The sheer audacity of Leo to pull some therapy trick in Regulus’ own dream. As if he wouldn’t be aware of it, as if he’d fall into the trap that easily. Regulus muffled a frown in the quilt. If Leo, the real one, was an actual danger to anything but the occasional low doorframe, he wouldn’t be on the foldout in the first place. Really, it was just lazy writing.

Do better, Regulus thought as he shuffled deeper into his cocoon. From the top, this time.

[sharp-silver4795]

Silly Creepypasta Contacts

Inspired by this post

These are all from BEN’s Perspective cuz who else would do this? let’s be honest.

A few of them may need explaining-

21 Pilots Bitch (Judge Angels)

🎶you’re the judge, oh no, set me free, oh no

I know my soul’s freezing, hells hot for good reason

So please… take me🎶

“The Judge” song by 21 Pilots

No brain-only scythe (Scarecrow)

🎶if I only had a brain🎶

Slender’s Lapdog (Rouge)

Rouge is given the nickname “The Operator’s Watch Dog”

BEN’s making fun of that

Nordic Cat (Kat Hunter)

The name of Kat’s cat is Loki, a Nordic god

To BEN, Kat means nothing in comparison to Loki

Which is correct

Chippy (Toby)

Toby likes chips

Aaaaannnnddd someone called him “twitchy” once and BEN thought they said “Chippy”

It’s just a running joke now.

Boring (Tim)

“Masky” is a boring asf name

He would have called Brian Boring too but the Voyeur was too good

Voyeur (Brian)

The camera

Whack-a-clown (Candy Pop)

The mallet

Frosty (Ani)

🎶 frosty the snowman🎶

Precious Baby (Lost Silver)

He thinks of Lost Silver as a lil bean

He’s not exactly wrong either

Scary Bitch (Kate)

Joker Reject (Jeff) ; Cat Woman (Nina) ; Lesbian Batman (Jane)

Jeff has the Joker smile

the people he tried to murder are going to beat the shit outta him

Tick-Tock (Clockwork)

Muscles (Zero)

Girly is strong

Buff friend

Not a Twink 🤯 (Liu)

BEN was thoroughly shocked to find that Liu actually has muscle and such, it’s just hidden under all them layers-

Bendy Eyes (EJ)

Referring to Bendy and the Ink Machine

Since the liquid coming out of his eye sockets looks like ink

Wine God (Kagekao)

Villain (Dark Link)

In the game, Dark Link is one of the characters you fight in the Water Temple

Plamt (Doll Maker)

His first name is “Vine”

King of Twinks (Jason)

The ultimate twink

Adopts twinks as his kids

Mono IT (L. Jack) ; Drag IT (L. Jill)

IT as in Pennywise the clown

Mono(chrome)

Drag, as in dressing/being in drag

Circus music (Candy Cane)

Sock boi (Puppeteer)

Referring to sock puppets

No friends lol (Nathan)

He’s a “nobody” so he has no friends

Divider Creds: Sister-Lucifer

Header Creds: ME!!!

[28dayslater]

after our tozer convo in the DMs i would really like you to give me a franklin expedition starting XI (formation of your choice). preferably with explanations for those of us (me) who don’t know ball

Here's my vision:

Crozier obviously gaffing like let's not take the piss here. He would probably play a Dyche style 4-4-fackin-2 lump it up to the big man none of this bullshit about half spaces but this is a 433. The midfield doesn't really work but let's ignore that

ST: Fitzjames. All the glory of being your team's star player, all the shame when you fuck up. He's flashy, he's the big man, he's got a crushing sense of shame that he's desperately compensating for. And his method of compensation? G/A per 90 stats and extremely brightly coloured boots

LW: Dundy and you know he's trying rainbow flicks and bicycle kicks and what have you, whether or not any of them are leading to a goal involvement is not the point. He is wearing a headband.

RW: You might think Hickey is a leg breaking defender but not to me. Fox in the box. Poacher. Dubious foul winner. He's done it again that Cornelius Hickey you dirty bastard you've done it again

CAM: Goodsir. Being a 10 is all about creativity... setting up your teammates... finding a way to break through defenses. You've got to be able to look at things differently. I feel like he would be very injury prone. Physician, heal thyself

CM: Jopson. I'm thinking of him as an 8... never ever stops running. The most boring job on the pitch but without him there's no team! King of the nice clean tackle and if he nips an ankle from time to time well that's their fault for putting it in his studs' way

CDM: Little. Episode 5 he was temping for Crozier and that's exactly what this is. Drops back into defense, adds numbers to the midfield, does his best to help with an attack here and there. Gets no thanks for any of it and always has a huge mistake in him a la Rice against the Netherlands other day

LB: Tartnell more of a traditional FB you forget he's there most of the time until he pops up and gets an assist. Alternatively Collins bc he's Welsh and sexy like my goat Ben Davies

CB: Irving. This is another mistake prone one bc he's so nervous. But it's not his fault... he's brave he tries his hardest. His positioning is shit he plays every fucker onside but he's TRYING. Flop era John Stones and you know he'd cry if he got caught eating a Magnum

CB: Tozer OBVIOUSLYYYYYYYYYYY. Big lad doing the dirty work defending everyone and getting fuck all credit it's too perfect. You just know his massive bonce is banging in headers from corners left right and centre. I see him as a very old school CB... progressing the ball? Line breaking passes? No, I don't think so. He's busy kicking the fuck out of some brittle boned winger in rolled down socks

RB: Armitage. Your modern fullback is always going forward and inverting and leaving the actual defence to the CBs. Big Toze has it covered you go overwhelm their midfield and- oh, no, it didn't work and every goal we concede is coming down the right side of the pitch

GK: Hodgson. Goalies are always weird. Much like vicario I do not respect him. Largely infuriating but a moment of brilliance once or twice a season so the fans start creaming over him again. Holding five against Scunthorpe United then saving a penalty in the 96th minute of a cup final by being so inherently off putting the other team's striker gets distracted and slips. Message relevant

[dumplingsjinson]

jinson?? as in jinyoung and jackson??? as in the kings that are got7???? i definitely squealed a little seeing your name and header pop up on my feed 🥹

-🐣💚

YESSSSS!! those are the two i'm specifically referring to AHAHA. glad someone recognises the name and the header ewnflkewfn <333

[strinerp]

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We've helped numerous D2C brands achieve remarkable growth through our SEO strategies. Here are a few success stories:

Brand A: From Obscurity to Popularity

Brand A was struggling to gain traction in a competitive market. After implementing our SEO strategies, their website traffic increased by 150%, and their sales doubled within six months.

Brand B: Dominating the Search Results

Brand B wanted to dominate their niche. Our targeted keyword strategy and content marketing efforts resulted in a 200% increase in organic search traffic, positioning them as a market leader.

Measuring Success: Analytics and Reporting

We believe in transparency and accountability. Our SEO agency provides detailed analytics and reporting to track your progress. We monitor:

Traffic: Analyzing the number of visitors to your site.

Rankings: Tracking your search engine rankings for target keywords.

Conversions: Measuring the number of visitors who make a purchase or take another desired action.

Future Trends in SEO for D2C Brands

The world of SEO is constantly evolving. Here are some trends to watch:

Voice Search Optimization: As voice search becomes more popular, optimizing for voice queries is essential.

AI and Machine Learning: Leveraging AI to improve SEO strategies and deliver personalized experiences.

Video Content: Video continues to grow in importance for SEO and engagement.

Conclusion

Unlocking explosive growth for your D2C brand is possible with the right SEO strategies. Our SEO agency has the expertise and experience to transform your brand, driving visibility, traffic, and sales. By focusing on keyword research, on-page and off-page SEO, content strategy, and technical SEO, we ensure your brand stands out in a crowded market. Ready to take your D2C brand to the next level? Let's get started!

FAQs

1. What is an SEO agency for D2C?

An SEO agency for D2C specializes in optimizing direct-to-consumer brands' websites to improve their visibility and rankings on search engines, driving organic traffic and sales.

2. How does SEO benefit D2C brands?

SEO benefits D2C brands by increasing their online visibility, driving organic traffic, building trust with potential customers, and ultimately boosting sales.

3. What makes your SEO agency different from others?

Our SEO agency stands out due to our tailored approach for D2C brands, focusing on comprehensive keyword research, on-page and off-page SEO, content strategy, and technical SEO to drive growth.

4. How long does it take to see results from SEO for D2C brands?

SEO is a long-term strategy. While some improvements can be seen in a few months, it typically takes six months to a year to see significant results, depending on the competition and industry.

5. What are the future trends in SEO for D2C brands?

Future trends in SEO for D2C brands include optimizing for voice search, leveraging AI and machine learning, and focusing on video content to enhance engagement and rankings.

[abumusamia]

Mastering On-Page SEO: The Key to Boosting Your Website's Visibility

In the ever-evolving world of digital marketing, staying ahead of the competition is paramount. One of the most effective strategies to achieve this is mastering on-page SEO. Unlike off-page SEO, which focuses on external factors like backlinks and social signals, on-page SEO involves optimizing individual web pages to rank higher and earn more relevant traffic from search engines. Let's dive into the essentials of on-page SEO and how it can transform your online presence.

Understanding On-Page SEO

On-page SEO refers to the practice of optimizing various elements within your website to improve its search engine rankings. This includes content, HTML source code, and architecture. Here are the critical components to focus on:

1. High-Quality Content

Content is king in the SEO realm. Creating high-quality, relevant, and valuable content is essential for engaging your audience and satisfying search engine algorithms. Ensure your content:

Addresses user intent: Understand what your audience is searching for and provide comprehensive answers.

Incorporates relevant keywords: Use keywords naturally within your content to help search engines understand the topic.

Offers value: Aim to solve problems, answer questions, and provide insights that set your content apart from competitors.

2. Title Tags and Meta Descriptions

These HTML elements are crucial for both search engines and users. They provide a brief overview of your page's content and can significantly impact click-through rates.

Title Tags: Keep them under 60 characters, include primary keywords, and make them compelling.

Meta Descriptions: Although not a direct ranking factor, well-crafted meta descriptions can enhance click-through rates. Aim for 150-160 characters, include a call to action, and incorporate primary keywords.

3. Header Tags (H1, H2, H3, etc.)

Header tags help structure your content, making it easier for users and search engines to understand the hierarchy of information. Use:

H1 Tags: For the main title of your page.

H2 and H3 Tags: For subheadings and sections within your content.

4. URL Structure

A clean, descriptive URL structure improves user experience and search engine understanding. Use hyphens to separate words, include relevant keywords, and avoid using long, complicated URLs.

5. Image Optimization

Images are vital for enhancing user engagement, but they also need to be optimized for SEO:

Alt Text: Describe the image content accurately using keywords where appropriate.

File Size: Compress images to ensure fast loading times.

File Names: Use descriptive, keyword-rich file names.

6. Internal Linking

Internal links help distribute page authority throughout your site and improve user navigation. Ensure you:

Link to relevant content: Provide users with pathways to related information.

Use descriptive anchor text: Avoid generic terms like "click here." Instead, use keyword-rich phrases that describe the linked page.

7. Mobile Friendliness

With the increasing number of mobile users, ensuring your site is mobile-friendly is crucial. Use responsive design to ensure your site adapts to different screen sizes and provides a seamless experience across devices.

8. Page Speed

Page speed is a critical ranking factor. A slow-loading site can lead to higher bounce rates and lower rankings. Optimize your site’s performance by:

Minimizing HTTP requests

Using browser caching

Compressing files

Optimizing images

9. User Experience (UX)

A positive user experience can indirectly boost your SEO efforts. Ensure your site is easy to navigate, visually appealing, and free of intrusive pop-ups or ads.

The Impact of On-Page SEO

Implementing effective on-page SEO techniques can lead to:

Higher search engine rankings

Increased organic traffic

Better user engagement

Higher conversion rates

By focusing on these on-page SEO strategies, you can create a robust foundation for your website's search engine performance, ultimately driving more traffic and achieving your business goals. Remember, SEO is an ongoing process, and staying updated with the latest trends and algorithm changes is essential for maintaining your competitive edge.

[absainte]

i just remembered an old embarassment.

you know, one of those that keeps you up at night.

i started blogging at a tender age of 13 and at first i used internet cafés to do so but later on, our town finally got lan and we were connected to the whole world! and the whole world was exposed to me who should wear safety hazard warnings.

you see, when i started writing a blog on blog.pl (gone :( ), it cost a whole 10 zlotys to make (10 quid) and nobody had online payments or digital bank accounts - we had to send a text that cost that much, which was fairly ingenious back then.

here's the thing - blog.pl was a great piece of software and it wss dead simple. i have never encountered similar ever again and i looked! they adapted the code from a german project but i have recently viewed the original and it was more complex. old blogspot kind of matched it but was less braindead in the coding department. in other words - i immediately dedicated myself to committing unholy abominations.

it started with my neighbour upstairs. i lived in a flat converted from a flower shop/poker club/strip club on the 7th floor that my mum made residential (she worked at the housing association that administered it back then) while the 8th floor had utility rooms and 2 flats - one belonged to a couple of serial cheaters and the other tended to have students. the guy living there when I was 13 invested in faster internet (our speed was half of modem one while he was 4x more) and a cd burner so he was the king of the neighbourhood and provided everyone with software/games/films. to be fair, lan used to be open back then too and we all had public sharing folders, which were great and actually worked fast. i recall that i played gta 3 on someone's pc without needing to move the files.

back to the sin that my neighbour has committed - he gave my mum a cd with frontpage saying that it's probably like excel and i might like it as i fancied every piece of software sorting information (i still do!). at first, i used it like i have used word and then i figured out that if i paste the code from the blogging portal into it - it lets me move the elements. i proceeded to break absolutely everything.

main post container? table. sidebar? table. metatags? tables inside of tables. buttons? ... iframes ... inside tables. any images? tables that i edited to get bigger or smaller pictures because i had no clue that i could manipulate photos. how did it all look? like a bunch of tables escaping one another because they all hated the horrendous colour schemes that i made. yes, i had no clue what screen resolution was.

due to it all being fresh back then - everyone else was starting in the same manner as me as barely anyone specialised in anything internet-related. all of the polish personal websites were mainly those blogs and you could read the whole daily feed of them in hours (at first ... just one hour). it grew and with it - i learnt to steal better code from other people ;) . divs were like a holy grail to me and allowed me to churn out designs with the energy of a hyperfixated teenager - i changed my whole blog every week!

this led me to the tragic event that i am trying to write about. during summer of 2003 - i had a whim to make my blog look very beachy and that meant one thing - i had a huge header image featuring random anime girls with big tits in their swimming costumes. did i ask myself if that would blind people? nope. did i think that it might make some uncomfortable? nope. did i see any sexual undertones and connotations to this? nope. did i look into fan service in anime? nah.

so, what's the issue if I probably changed it a week later? the issue was a new trend popping up and that had been satirical blog review blogs. does anyone remember sporking from the ancient times of livejournal? it was like that. everyone important submitted their sites to be brutally torn apart and i loved reading those posts because each author seemed convinced their little corner of the internet was perfect. the writers of the most popular blog of this kind did complement well-made and well-managed blogs regardless of someone's skill level so people took pride in those reviews.

i was convinced mine would get a glowing review too and that the whole bus would give me a standing ovation! boobs weren't a hit with the reviewers or my overuse of font effects and clashing colours but we all know that it is all about the writing! they looked into the most recent posts and mine were... yeah... surreal disasters.

what did 2003-me think about the world? how did i view it and how did i interact with it? nobody will ever know, because i have chosen to write novels about my inability to pack my stuff so that i could go out of town, and about my broken toilet and a whole thesis while cold milk is superior to hot milk in cereal (it is!)

the first post detailed how much i struggled with finding a bag to fit all of my books and cds into, so i decided to be a menace and packed it all into a fridge. somehow, my clothing or anything else was less important and never got mentioned but i doubt i packed it. the second post was written about the very next day where i bemoaned my broken loo and described each of my actions connected to using it which consisted of boiling some water and pouring it down the pipes, then doing the same with cold water and i spent pages upon pages of text repeating all of this. finally, the angry milk-venting post arrived on the third day and i detailed the whole of an argument between me and mum on who is correct about cereal.

i thought these posts were little, shiny, heritage gems of surreal polish essayist aesthetic and i wish i were kidding but i was a pretentious teenager who followed naturists back then and admired a poet writing about his furnace and about his curtains.

my poor blog was deemed unreadable. i was furiously livid for a week but i managed to move on after summer harvest, because i really liked driving a tractor and enjoyed photographic my cousin running away from the cows. both events became posts later on but the critics never read them!

who wants to read about my loo?

[marcuseejy]

NM3217 Final Project Blog Post

Post forum presentation, I added a cover page to my brand style guide to provide a quick introduction of myself to the reader instead of showcasing my brand logo straightaway which was too abrupt. My name “Marcus” and “Brand Style Guide” are given the brand gold colour so that they stand out to the reader and capture their attention first because they are the most important information on the cover page.

As my intention is to enter the events and hospitality industry primarily catered towards high-level clientele, I decided that I wanted my personal brand and hence, brand logo to look classy and luxurious. I chose to create a simplistic version of a crown, like a king, to signify elegance and grandeur. This logo takes inspiration from the Rolex logo, the difference being that the crown is simplified through abstraction and personalised to my brand. In the space enclosed between the 2 triangles, diamond and line used to create the crown, you can see the letter ‘M’ shape form which matches the initial of my name “Marcus”. The logo also has 2 variations, 1 suited for use against white backgrounds and 1 suited for use against dark backgrounds. The logo used against white backgrounds has a duller gold colour so that the contrast between the logo and white background is greater, making the logo more prominent. For the logo used against a dark background, a gold gradient is used to make the logo pop and shine just like a reflection. In most instances, using the logo with the gold gradient colour should be used unless it affects visibility such as when it is placed against a white background. The chosen typeface for the logo is a serif display font (Minion Variable Concept Display Medium) which is meant to be eye-catching while maintaining the luxurious vibe of the brand.

For the business card, I wanted the luxury theme of my personal brand to be kept consistent, so I decided to also use another serif typeface (Georgia) for the finer details such as email, phone number and LinkedIn on the back of the business card. This provided some contrast between the header typeface (name and job designation), which utilised Minion Variable Concept Display Medium and the contact information. A dark green colour was chosen as the background of the business card because it represents luxury, professionalism and calmness which are qualities that I want to exhibit when conducting myself in the aforementioned events and hospitality industry. My name is kept in the gold gradient colour because I want that to be the most noticeable feature when others first look at the business card. The other details are kept in a cream colour, which is a duller version of white as it provides a good contrast to the dark green background while being easier on the eye compared to a pure white colour. The amount of information kept on the business card is meant to be as minimal as possible, with only the most important details being left on it, as I wanted it to look refined and not overwhelm the person looking at it.

A mock-up of how the business card looks like while displayed. Textured paper and cardstock material are used when printing out the business card.

For my resume, I chose the most important factors such as language proficiency, technical skills, soft skills, personal information, educational history, work experience and contact information to be featured inside because these are key aspects that employers look out for when hiring job applicants. The resume is meant to display a clean, structured and organised look that emits a feeling of professionalism and masterfulness. My name and the headers use the brand gold colour to make them stand out and clearly demarcate each section of the resume. For the remaining body copy, they utilise the cream colour which allows the resume to be easily read against the dark grey background. The text in the resume is kept either left-aligned or justified to provide easy reading for the viewer. Post forum presentation, I made the “About Me” section easier to read by breaking it up into 2 paragraphs while reducing the amount of text present inside. I also increased the spacing (leading) between each point under “Ministry of Social and Family Development” in the “Work Experience” section to allow readers to digest the information more easily.

After testing different variations of the logo, I have curated a list of DO NOTs regarding the usage of the logo which is presented above.

Some modifications that are allowed to be made to the logo include allowing the crown (the entire crown) to be used in isolation without my name “Marcus Ee”. Reducing the transparency (not the same as blurring) of the logo is also allowed. These techniques are demonstrated on the back of the business card if you look carefully at the background.

Only serif typefaces were chosen because I wanted to maintain the highly luxurious feel of my personal brand and allow viewers to easily read the text displayed on my logo, business card and resume. San-serif typefaces did not fit the aesthetic of my brand even though it may have provided better contrast, hence the decision to use 2 different serif typefaces instead. The Minion Variable Concept typeface also has many different weights (16 in total) which adds to the versatility of its usage when necessary. I have included only Minion Variable Concept Display Medium and Bold in my brand style because they were used in the creation of my logo, business card and resume. Post-presentation, I removed a lot of unnecessary text under the description of the typography system and separated it into 2 different paragraphs that define the reasoning behind my use of each typeface.

These colours are perfect for representing my personal brand which stands for elegance, sophistication yet retaining formality and professionalism. I believe these 3 colours are sufficient in portraying my personal brand while keeping the colour palette minimal so that the colours feel pleasant and inviting to the viewer.

7 different variations of the gold colour were used to create the gold glimmering effect which is seen in the logo. The colours were arranged starting from the top left, going down the column, then moving onto the right column along the gradient scale. Post forum presentation, the brand gold gradient colour was added on the bottom right to give the reader a clearer view of the distribution of the gradient colour (eg: which parts are bright/darker, colours move vertically or at an angle, etc) and also provide balance to the brand style page.

[alwaystuffs]

° 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑜𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑔 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑎𝑣𝑒, 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒. ♡

[gulceonenoglu]

[iconsxo]

Icons the weeknd