#glitter flip lipstick

[kabukirune]

Cruelty Free DIY Hack for the Viral Dior Forever Liquid Sequin Lipstick

[gmanmedias]

💄 💄 💄

💙 🤍 ❤️

💋 💋 💋

[cutiepieautistic]

Pink y2k stimboard

×/×/× ×/×/× ×/×/×

[corruptedcaps]

Maid for it

“Another day, another mess.” Issy muttered, pushing the door open and stepping into the dim, stale air of the nightclub. Sammy followed close behind, tying her graying hair into a loose bun.

“I don’t know how they do it.” Sammy said, squinting at the leftover chaos. Empty glasses, glittering confetti, and half-crushed cans scattered across the sleek floors. “Every weekend, they come in here acting like they own the place. No respect for anything but themselves.”

Issy snorted, picking up a crumpled cocktail napkin. “The youth of today. They think the world revolves around them. Everything’s a selfie, a status update.”

“Right? Did you see that girl last week when we were on the night shift, the one in the sparkly dress? Spent more time filming herself than dancing.” Sammy shook her head, grabbing the mop.

“Remember when we used to go out? Actually had fun without needing an audience.” Issy said grabbing a trash bag.

Sammy smiled. “Good times, Issy. Good times.”

Issy looked around the club, hands on her hips. “So, where should we start?”

Sammy, already eyeing the far end of the room, groaned. “We should flip for the bathrooms. You know they’re always the worst. I swear, they must turn into animals in there after midnight.”

Issy pulled a coin from her pocket, holding it up with a smirk. “Heads, you do the bathrooms. Tails, I’ll take the hit.”

Issy flicked the coin into the air. It spun, catching the dim light, before landing in her palm. She peeked and grimaced. “Tails. Dammit.”

Sammy chuckled. “Good luck in there. I’ll take the bar.”

With a sigh, Issy grabbed her cleaning supplies and headed toward the bathrooms. The door to the ladies’ restroom creaked open, revealing the usual chaos. Loose makeup smeared across the countertops, lipsticks rolling about, and a few forgotten articles of clothing thrown haphazardly on the floor.

“Same old, same old.” She muttered, shaking her head. As she wiped down the counter, something caught her eye. There, lying next to an abandoned sequined purse, was a black wig.

Issy barely had time to blink before the black wig sprang to life, leaping from her hands and onto her face. “What the hell—!” She gasped, stumbling backward as it crawled across her skin like a living thing.

The wig slithered up her cheeks and over her eyes, settling firmly on top of her head. She reached up to tear it off, but just as her fingers touched the strands, a sharp, sudden pain pierced her scalp, like dozens of tiny needles burrowing in.

“Ow!” Issy yelped, frantically tugging at the wig, but it was on tight, as if fused to her head. Her hands shook, and as the seconds passed, a strange warmth spread through her body. Subtle at first but soon, it grew into an intense heat, like something was shifting beneath her skin.

She stumbled toward the mirror and froze. Her wrinkled skin, the creases she had grown accustomed to over the years, began to smooth out. The sagging around her chin and eyes lifted, disappearing before her eyes. Her body shrank, her waist narrowing, her arms slimming.

Her breath caught in her throat. “What... what’s happening to me?” She whispered, her voice sounding younger, sharper.

Issy stood frozen in front of the mirror as the transformation continued. Her chest began to swell, her old bra straining as her tits grew larger, fuller, and perkier. The sight made her gasp, her hands instinctively moving to her chest, feeling the unfamiliar weight.

“Oh my god.” She groaned as her hands grasped her new sensitive boobs.

Her lips plumped next, slowly puffing out until they were full and glossy, as if she'd just had an expensive treatment. Her fingers twitched as her nails elongated into perfectly manicured, polished claws, no longer the brittle, chipped things she had grown used to. Every detail, every change, unfolded right before her eyes in the bathroom mirror.

At first, her mind raced in panic. “This isn’t right! What’s happening to me?” She could barely recognize herself. Her body was no longer that of a middle-aged woman, but something else entirely. A younger version of herself, but not even that. This version of her was more idealized, almost like one of the women she’d see strutting around the nightclub, basking in attention.

“This... feels kind of... good.” She murmured, a smile creeping across her face.

Issy’s smile widened into a full, self-satisfied smirk as she admired her reflection. She couldn’t stop staring and why would she? She was perfect. Her body was flawless, every curve exactly where it should be, her skin glowing like it had been airbrushed. Her lips curled as she traced a finger along her jawline.

“God, I’m gorgeous.” She purred, the words tasting sweet on her tongue. She tilted her head, catching the light just right, and let out a soft laugh. “No wonder those girls spend all night taking photos. If I looked like this every day, I’d never stop looking at myself.”

Her eyes gleamed as she adjusted her stance, taking on a more bratty posture. “How could anyone not be obsessed with me?” She purred, running her hands over her hips, admiring the perfect hourglass figure staring back at her. She turned, posing, admiring herself from every angle.

Now, she felt invincible, untouchable. No one could match her. Not even the sluts she cleaned up after. “I’m better than them. Better than everyone.”

Issy’s breath caught in her throat as the words echoed in her mind. “Better than everyone.” She repeated slower, taking in the gravity of the statement, the condescension of the words. She blinked, suddenly horrified by the vanity consuming her.

“What am I saying?” She whispered, shaking her head as if to clear her thoughts. This wasn’t her. She wasn’t like those girls, shallow and self-absorbed. She was… a good person, wasn’t she?

“No!” She muttered, forcing herself to look away from the mirror. Her hands shot up to her head, fingers gripping the wig. She tugged, trying to pull it off, but it wouldn’t budge. Instead, a tingling sensation crept across her skin as the hair started to defend itself by hitting her with more changes.

Her maid’s uniform tightened around her body, the fabric hugging every new curve as it shrank higher and higher, separating at the middle. The bottom part morphed into a slick, black leather skirt, clinging to her like a second skin.

The top part relaxed and in fact became bigger, becoming a luxurious and decadent, fur coat draping over her shoulders. Her sensible work bra followed in her new skirts footsteps by turning into a tight leather tube top.

Issy’s hands dropped from her head and ran over the leather, feeling the smooth texture, her fingers grazing the fur. “It’s perfect.” She said, her bratty tone returning and a smirk creeping back onto her face despite herself. She twirled, watching the coat flare out.

She looked better than any girl she had seen walk in or out of that club and the feeling was intoxicating. She knew could any wan eating out of the palm of her hand with just a look. As a maid she was invisible, but looking the way she did now who could ignore her?

And yet there was still a voice in the back of her head urging her, begging her to rip the hair off. The hair was giving her a body to die for but it was also making her more conceited and vain.

“No! This isn’t right! Ohhhh fuck but it feels sooo good! No I have to end it before it’s too late.@ she groaned.

Using what resistance she still had in her, she reached up and grabbed the hair in her hands. Her pretty nailed fingers wrapping around as many strands as possible. With one big tug she hoped it could at least come a little loose but the hair had one last card to play.

All at once Issy felt a surge of heat flow to her pussy and she felt it tighten to an extreme she didn’t know was possible. The very act was making her cum like never before, her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

“Ohhhhh goddddd yessss!” She moaned loudly. Images of hot guys railing her in the very bathroom she was in filled her mind and made her cum again. She pictures herself strutting through the club like it was a buffet, choosing any man she wanted. She would be the best sec they ever had and she would make sure they spoilt her as rotten as her soul.

“Why fight it?” The thought slithered into her mind like an invader she couldn’t argue with. “I deserve this.”

Issy’s eyes rolled back to normal but there was a change instantly in them. They were no longer soft and caring eyes, instead they sparkled with spoilt narcissism. She stared at her reflection, the smirk growing wider, her eyes gleaming with pride. “Of course I fucking deserve this.” She said, the words slipping out effortlessly. She felt a surge of power, a thrill that coursed through her veins.

“I’m never going back to being some fucking loser maid again.” She declared, her voice full of conviction. The memory of her old self, ordinary and invisible, was pathetic. She sneered at the thought.

The bathroom door creaked open, and Sammy’s voice echoed off the tiles. “Issy, are you ok in here? I heard a moan of pain.” She called, her tone impatient. But as she stepped inside, she froze, her eyes going wide. “What the hell…?”

Standing in front of the mirror was a woman Sammy barely recognized. Issy, or at least what was left of her, turned slowly with a bored expression. “Relax loser, haven't you ever seen perfection before. Of course you haven’t just look at you.” She drawled, rolling her eyes.

Sammy’s jaw dropped as Issy picked up a glittering sequin bag from the counter. Unzipping it, she pulled out a thick wad of cash, a grin spreading across her face. “Look at this, my day just keeps getting better.” Issy purred.

Sammy stepped forward, her voice shaking. “Issy I don't know what happened to you, but you can't keep that cash and we need to get you help to reverse whatever the hell happened to you!”

Issy scoffed, flipping through the cash. She playfully put it up to her face like it was a telephone. “Hello police? Yes my friend put on a sexy black wig and turned in to the hottest bitch I've ever seen. Get real loser, even if there was a way to reverse this why the fuck would I want to go back to that pathetic loser I was?”

Sammy grabbed her by the arm. “Because this isn't you, Issy.”

Issy yanked her arm free, her eyes flashing. “You're right, I'm not Issy anymore. That weak, invisible woman is dead. I’m Bella now. And Bella gets everything she wants.”

Sammy’s heart raced as she backed away, her eyes darting between Bella and the door. “I’m going to find help. We’ll figure out how to take that wig off, Issy, I swear.” she said, her voice firm but shaking.

Just as Sammy reached for the door, Bella moved with lightning speed, slamming it shut with a loud bang. Sammy froze, staring at her in disbelief. “What are you doing?” She asked, fear creeping into her voice.

Bella leaned in, her eyes gleaming with a dark, twisted delight. “I can’t have anyone knowing about my wonderfully evil hair now can I? So, you’re just going to have to join me… Samantha.” She said slowly, her voice dripping with malice.

Sammy flinched at the sound of her full name, her body tensing as Bella ran her hands through her long luxurious hair, pulling thick chunks from her head that seemed to instantly regenerate. Without effort she twisted the clumps it into a sleek ponytail. Before Sammy could react, Bella flung it at her.

“No!” Sammy shrieked, trying to duck away, but the hair came to life midair, writhing and twisting like a serpent. It latched onto her arm, tightening with terrifying strength. Sammy gasped, frantically tugging at it, but the hair slithered up her arm, relentless, heading straight for her head.

“Get it off me!” She cried, her voice desperate. But Bella only smiled, cold and sinister.

“Don’t fight it, Samantha. You’ll love being a hawt bitch.” Bella purred.

Bella stood back, her arms crossed, watching with gleeful anticipation as the living hair slithered up Sammy’s arm and latched onto her head. Sammy let out a muffled scream, clawing at the strands as they dug into her scalp, but it was no use. The transformation had already begun.

Bella’s grin widened as she saw Sammy’s body start to change. Her chest swelled, her boobs growing fuller and rounder, the fabric of her cleaning uniform tightening around her frame. Sammy’s lips plumped next, growing into a pouty, perfect shape as if they had been touched by a masterful surgeon, designed to be prefect for dick sucking. Her wrinkles faded before Bella's eyes, years melting off her face as her skin smoothed into a flawless, youthful complexion.

Sammy’s body slimmed and reshaped, her figure becoming athletic and toned, curves in all the right places. Her old exhausted, middle-aged self was disappearing by the second. Bella felt a surge of satisfaction and pride watching the transformation unfold, seeing Sammy’s resistance fade.

Sammy’s eyes, once wide with panic, began to dull, her expression shifting from fear to something colder, more detached. Her lips, once trembling, now settled into a perfect, pouty smirk.

Sammy’s maid outfit began to shift, the fabric tightening and shrinking against her changing body. Her uniform morphed, the dull cloth replaced by sleek black leather that hugged her hips, forming a short, revealing skirt. Her top dissolved into a thin black string bra that left little to the imagination, her big tits barely being held by it.

A shiny black puffer coat materialized around her shoulders, draping loosely and adding a seductive edge to the ensemble.

Bella grinned in approval. “Now that’s more like it. Doesn’t that feel better, Samantha?”

Samantha turned to the mirror, her new reflection staring back with cold confidence. She ran her hands over her curves, admiring how her new clothes showed off her perfectly tight new body.

She turned to Bella, her eyes gleaming with approval. She took the cash from her friend’s hand and held it up to her face, mirroring the fake phone call Bella had done earlier. "Hello police? I want to report a crime. The crime of looking oh being a bad bitch." She said sticking her tongue out playfully.

“Thanks babe. You were right, I do love being a hawt bitch. I was meant to be this beautiful.” Samantha said, handing the cash back to Bella she turned back to her reflection. Bella sadled up next to her and the two beauties primped and admired themselves. Samantha grinned pushing her tits out at her reflection.

“We’re going to have so much fun. Imagine the broken hearts we’ll leave behind, the envious bitches watching us, desperate to keep up. We’ll show all those poser girls what it really means to be spoiled brats.” Bella said, her voice dripping with satisfaction.

Samantha chuckled, tossing her hair back. “They’ll hate us, but they’ll wish they were us.”

Bella nodded. "Of course but they never will be because we were maid for this."

THE END

[inkievoid]

The Prettiest Fairy Princess

ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ʜᴏɴᴇꜱᴛʟʏ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴅᴏᴍᴇꜱᴛɪᴄ ʟᴇᴏɴ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ. ɪ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅɴ'ᴛ ʜᴇʟᴘ ᴍʏꜱᴇʟꜰ.

"C'mon mommy!" Your little girl drags you to the living room, just having finished set up a "stage", 2 dining room chairs, an old pink sheet and construction paper with a background of a castle on a hill drawn in markers and crayons taped just above the sheet. It's for one of her performances she likes putting on now and again after writing her funny little stories.

Soon you're sat in the middle of the couch between her stuffed animals. Strawbeary, her large pink bear, to your right and her Bluey toy to your left. Soon a folded pieces of paper is put into the audiences hands, a crudely drawing fairy with a crown on it's head and a jumbled mess of 'The Fairy Princess' in sparkly gel pen. With enough glitter glue around the edges to choke someone to death.

"What's this?" You ask, your little one turning, now wearing what looks like mascara as a fake mustache. That old makeup you gave her really made her plays costume department thrive by the looks of it.

"It's a paybill!" She happily squeals, handing Bluey her paper.

"Playbill." You hear your husband correct her from the other room, you look into the hall wondering why he isn't being subjected to the audience like usual.

"A playbill!" She corrects herself, looking at you then back to the stage. Walking over she pushing her box of toys behind the curtain and grabs her fathers work jacket from the armchair near by. Putting it on and pushing the sleeves up to her little elbows as it swallows her. Crawling back behind the curtain her arm comes up, using Leon's flashlight and flicking it.

That's usually intermission... but God she really thought of everything.

Soon the room is filled with the sound of her ballet practice music from her room.

Ahhh, Leon must be a stage technician this time.

You hear your little one clear her throat, her tiny hand peaking above the sheet with a stuffed bunny in her hand.

"There once was a family of fairies that ruled a kingdom!" The bunny bounces slightly, fluffy ears wiggling as he's tousled around, her voice stretching with exaggeration. "In a kingdom of magical creatures! All happily living their lives as they could."

The bunny disappears, a Ken doll on a flip flop with a cotton ball pillow and tissue blanket appearing.

"But sadly, not everyone in the kingdom was doing well. The king was sick and the next heir needed to take the throne quickly before the king died. Because every marriage in the kingdom needed a royals blessing." Ken gets dropped to the floor with a clatter as the bunny appears again, the smile on your face only growing wider. Stifling a laugh as she continues.

"But there was a problem. No one in the kingdom wanted to marry the princess in line for the throne because she was different than any of the other fairy princesses..." Silence falls over the room for a few seconds. You hear shuffling, your daughters head poking out from behind the curtain towards the hall.

"Daddy, that's where you come in!" She harshly whispers before moving back into place.

"Sorry!" Settling in she repeats her line again.

"But there was a problem. No one in the kingdom wanted to marry the princess in line for the throne because she was different than any of the other fairy princesses."

You hear foot steps as your attention turns to the hall doorway as your husband steps through. You swallow your bottom lip, covering your mouth with your hand as you lean on your knees.

"oh my god..."

There Leon stood, your daughters bright white fairy wings on his back, straps stretched out way too far on him, the brightest pink lipstick you use to own smeared across his mouth and her princess tiara from a tea set she was given as a gift on his head. You desperately want to laugh at him but you can't. It would upset your daughter or worse... Make her cry.

You don't want to make your daughter cry.

"She was too tall for the other fairies to want to marry her!" You pull your hand from your mouth, gaining your control again. You mouth an 'I love you ' to Leon as he crosses his arms, not irritated but unamused, making the straps somehow stretch more against his shoulders. Your attention turns back to the bunny narrating the play.

"So the princess was sad and everyday she'd go to the pond not far from her castle. And sit with her only friend." The bunny dips down, being replaced by a frog plush, starting to bounce as your daughter spoke.

"Oh princess, why are you so sad?" Leon turns towards the frog, trying to put on his most delicate voice possible.

"No one wants to marry me frog. I just want someone to love me and... Help me protect my kingdom!" You let out a tiny giggle at his line stumble. He definitely wouldn't be winning a Tony anytime soon.

"I know what you need!" The frog sways energetically as he looks around. "I know of a place where you can have your wish granted."

The frog disappears and the bunnies back.

"So the fairy princess followed the frogs instructions to a wishing well in the middle of the woods. There she took out a coin, held it tight and threw it into the well while wishing for what she wanted most." Leon fished into his jeans and pulled out what looked like a button, tossing it behind the curtain.

"As she threw the coin a short handsome man came from the trees." Your daughter moves, fixing her fathers jacket back in place as she came to the front of the curtain.

"Who are you?" Says the very pretty fairy princess. Your daughter look up at Leon, face scrunched in what you guessed was supposed to be an angry expression.

"I'm the giant of this forest! What're you doing near my home!? Aren't you the kings daughter?" She asserts her voice to try sounding like a grown man but just ends up sounding like she's choking on something. You can't help but let out a tiny laugh and thankfully she's too busy with line delivery she doesn't seem to notice.

"I am the kings daughter! And you're a giant? But you're so small?" Leon glances down at his daughter, covering his own mouth as he tries keeping composure. She stomps her feet, readying herself to deliver her next line.

"Everyone says that I'm too small! I wish I could be bigger and show everyone home good I am."

"But I think you're perfectly fine the way you are. You're actually very handsome." Leon crouches down to her level, smiling at him as her eyes gleamed.

"And you're very beautiful madam. Would you like to be my wife?" Leon gasps excitedly, playing along with her enthusiasm. He always loved seeing his little girl look so excited.

"I'm not too tall for you?" The giant wraps his arms around the princess, hugging her tightly as he's hoisted into her arms. Leon carries her into the hallway and you raise your hands, about to clap when she rushes back in behind the curtain. Hoisting the bunny up.

"And so the giant and the fairy princess got married. Saving her kingdom and getting her fathers approval. Everyone lived happily ever after until the king died. The End!"

You start clapping as you stand up from the couch, your daughter coming out to take a bow, Leon coming back around the corner. He takes a little bow even before you get to your kids level.

"Honey, that was so good! Thank you for front row seats." She's jumping excitedly and smiles even wider when there's a knock at the door.

"Uncle Chris!" She screams running out of the living room. Leon freezes, staring at you while you stand.

"Chris is here?!" You look at him with a smirk.

"The boys are sleeping over tonight... Did you not remember?" Leon shakes his head starting to make a break for the hall.

"Uh, uh! I already texted Chris and he wants to see his nieces show... I didn't know you were gonna be in it though." You snort, covering your mouth as Leon looks at the hallway mirror and seems himself.

"Oh my God..." He looks mortified, knowing he's never gonna hear the end of this.

"Don't be so upset. At least you're the prettiest fairy princess in the whole house~"

[hxneyfarm]

here, have a little modern steddie meet-cute. meet-ugly, maybe? idk. 1k words, mostly dialogue

"uber for, uh," the guy in the beemer at the curb looks at the phone in his hand, "eddie m.?"

"hey, that's my name!" eddie shouts, stumbling toward the car. the world is tipping sideways a little, but it's been a good night.

he wrenches open the passenger side door and slides in.

"cool if i sit up front, man? i get motion sickness sitting in the back, and you would not like me when i'm motion sick."

"uh, sure?"

eddie pulls the door closed behind him and says, "so what's your name, pretty boy?"

"you don't check the app before getting into some random guy's car?" the guy asks with a huff.

"oh, no, i never order these things for myself." eddie laughs. he tries to think back, remember how many jameson shots he put back tonight. can't. oh, well. "my roommate always sets it up beforehand when i come down to the styx for a show."

"a show? like a concert?"

"uh, no. drag show. styx is a gay bar." the guy's quiet at that. "that a problem? still dunno your name."

"oh. steve," the guy - steve - says shortly. "no, it just... looks more like a... metal bar, or something."

"sometimes things are both, can you believe it! they do a drag show last wednesday of every month. good show tonight, all the girls looked great." he kicks his feet up on the dashboard of the car, watches steve's eyes cut sideways at them as he does. "do you like drag shows, steve?"

he's testing the waters, feeling steve out to see if he should be worried about getting into some random guy's car outisde a gay bar with a dead phone. eddie's definitely had a little too much tonight. he's probably got glitter in his hair. there's definitely black lipstick smeared across his cheek from when allison chaynz planted one on him earlier during her set.

"only been to a few, but yeah. they're a good time. good show."

safe, then. tentatively.

eddie studies steve for a moment, trying to figure him out. he's got this thing he does sometimes, in an uber; eddie's an easy read - he gets into an uber and the driver immediately flips their spotify over to a metal playlist.

the driver's are usually easy to read too, and it's eddie's favorite game; he tends to know when he's got a country boy behind the wheel, or an emo transplant from the mid aughts, or the indie girlies with their iced coffees and perpetual dark undereye circles that all the concealer in the world can't hide.

the guy looks like he wears teenage boy deodorant and smells like repressed trauma. he has the indie girlie dark circles under his eyes, an apple watch strapped to his wrist. rich boy. drives a beemer. good hair, stupid highlights. there's a tube of burt's bees cherry lip balm in the center console and a days old energy drink in the cupholder.

"hmmm, the front bottoms," he decides at last, after staring at steve for what must have been an uncomfortably long time.

"i'm sorry?"

"i said, the front bottoms."

"is that a... what's the word... a euphemism?"

"no, steeeeve. it's a band. check 'em out sometime, your daddy issues'll thank you. do you like music, steve?"

"sure."

eddie clicks his tongue. "smells like bullshit. no one who likes music says sure when someone asks if they like music."

they're stopped at a stoplight. from behind the wheel, steve is studying him right back, looking him up and down, his gaze coming to rest once again on eddie's shoes on the dash.

"get your feet down," steve says, pushing at eddie's shins. "do you have any idea how dangerous that is?"

"fine, fine. so if you don't listen to music, steve, what do you listen to in this fancy bmw?"

"sports, mostly," steve shrugs. "podcasts sometimes."

"oh, boy, you are a walking red flag, aren't you? shame you're so pretty."

"well what about you? what do you listen to?"

"guess."

"i dunno, probably that metal shit. five finger whatever, or something."

eddie presses his hand to his chest. "five finger - oh, stevie, i am wounded. i wouldn't be caught dead listening to bro rock."

out of the corner of his eye, he definitely catches a smile from steve.

steve holds an aux cable out to him. "here, then. wow me. show me some real metal or whatever."

"god, i'd love to take you up on that," eddie says, huffing out a little laugh. he holds his phone up. "this sucker's been dead for hours."

this time steve's the one to click his tongue. "shame."

"truly. so what's your story, steven? what's got you out at three in the morning?"

"it's my night off," steve shrugs. "just started night shift at the hospital, trying to get used to the new sleep schedule."

"mmm, the hospital. you a nurse?"

"i am. trauma nurse."

"nice. ever see any gnarly injuries?"

"had a pretty fucked up dog bite come in the other night."

"shit."

"yeah." another stoplight, another unsubtle once over from steve. "so what about you? what do you do?"

"line cook."

steve's eyes linger on him a little longer than necessary. "oh, but i'm the walking red flag. got it."

"whoa," eddie laughs. "what's that supposed to mean?"

"i've dated line cooks. everyone's dated a line cook."

"sounds like something a slut would say, steve. craziest dick you've ever had, huh?"

"mmm."

it's not a denial.

they're getting close to eddie's building now, and that's an actual shame. because steve's cute. he needs a haircut maybe, and the stubble around his mouth and chin is just on the wrong side of five o'clock shadow, but he's got these distracting little moles along his face and neck and arm that eddie's been itching to play connect the dots with since he got in the car.

"wait, i know this building," steve says as he slows at the curb and looks at the address on his phone again. "my roommate's girlfriend lives in this building."

it clicks into place, then, for eddie.

"oh, shit! you're robin's steve!"

steve's eyebrows draw together as he gapes at eddie, and then his eyes go wide with realization. "chrissy's ed?"

"eddie," he corrects. "gotta be a level twenty friend to call me ed. and chrissy's the only level twenty friend i'll ever have."

"noted. good to finally meet you, man. i, uh. i guess this is you, then, huh?"

"yeah, sure is. maybe i'll see ya around." eddie goes to get out of the car.

"oh, you will," steve says, his smile lopsided and goofy. "i'll make sure of it."

"hold ya to it," eddie promises with a wink.

steve wiggles his fingers in a flirtatious wave as eddie walks backward on the sidewalk toward his building.

so robin's steve is cute. maybe he should have been letting chrissy set them up this whole time.

still. sports and podcasts. guy's a walking red flag. who knows, maybe they're green. eddie's never been able to see the difference anyway.

[addicted-to-dc]

Hobie Brown/Spider-Man X FemmeFatale!Reader - Red Lipstick (Part 2)

Bruh this brain rot is surprisingly motivating. I may have gotten too carried away with this one? Idk, it’s nearly 1,300 words of pure smut. I don’t want to overwhelm myself with another series, so this just might be a two-parter??

Contents will be under the ‘keep reading’.

Contents: Smmuutttt (18+), face riding, p in the v (do not add to the population pls), and more. Flirts and quips, the usual stuff that comes with Spider People. I really need to write femme fatales more often.

Fuck, he knows he’s in heaven right now with you hovering over him. You both couldn’t reach your apartment fast enough, barely able to crawl through the windows before clothes were torn, tossed, and forgotten all over your bedroom. 

Your constant teasing has him all worked up and he loves it. The smile on your face grows even larger when you finish applying the new lipstick to his lips. The metallic red glitters with the shifting light, and you can’t help but steal it off of his lips. The color smears all over both of your faces, hands exploring each others’ bodies. You pull back, dragging your nails across his chest, “How does it look, Tiger?”

Hobie fucking moans at the nickname, the shimmering red on your lips driving him absolutely mad. Your smile widens, more akin to the Cheshire Cat as you lean down close, “You like that one, don’t you?”

His hips buck into yours, telling you everything you needed. Finally lowering your hips down, Hobie’s nails dig into you as you slowly grind down on him. “Fucking love it, Love. God, you’re a goddess.”

Smiling, you lean down, pecking him on the lips before leaning back, “You know how to make a girl blush.”

“I can do more than make a girl blush, Sweetheart,” Hobie chuckles, his fingers fiddling with your lingerie. “Get up here, let me see her.”

Biting your lip, he tears your bottoms off of you and pushes you upwards. Your muscles twitch as your thighs rest with his face in between them. Those beautiful piercings glisten as his hands massage your legs. “You’re pure sin.”

Hobie grins, his grip urging you to sit down, “Take your throne, my Queen.”

Gasping, you let him pull you down. As soon as his mouth is on you a moan erupts from your lungs, your hips rolling along with his tongue. “Fuck! I thought you hated m-monarchies.”

You can feel him smile against you at the comment. He only responds with his tongue sliding into you, stealing your very breath from your lungs. Hobie’s everywhere as he uses your body against you, your emotional barriers crumbling as you reach down to hold one of his hands. He squeezes your hand tightly, doubling his efforts that has you curling downward. 

“Cluh- close,” you moan, accidentally snapping your headboard in two as you come all over his tongue. 

Hobie pulls you even closer, tearing a scream out of you as he quickly builds you to a second orgasm. The metal crumples under your hand without resistance. His free hand slides underneath yours, weaving his fingers into yours before pulling. Hobie holds both your hands back, taking over your pace as your hips buck against him wildly. 

“Fuck, Tiger, just like that,” you cry out, looking down.

You moan at the sight of him, the red lipstick somehow still on his lips as he wraps them around your clit. Then you’re gone. Your throat vibrates, but you can’t hear any of the noises he pulls out of you. All you can see is static as you come down, your eyes refusing your commands to open them.

Breathing heavily, you yell when he pulls both your bodies downwards, you chest meeting the bed. He kisses your clit, making your hips lift with a hiss. A chuckle escapes his mouth, the vibrations go right to your core.

He flips the two of you. Your back meets the bed with a thud, his hands lightly drift across your skin as you calm your breathing down. A shiver crawls up your spine as his fingers dance across your stomach. Hobie’s eyes meet yours as his lips replace his fingers. “My turn to tease.”

“You’ve done that enough walking through HQ,” you whisper, exhaling loudly as his hands tear your bra off. “Fucking mesmerizing.”

Hobie flings it behind him, leaning in you kiss you again. It’s sloppy, but you can’t help but slip your tongue in. He bites it, chuckling when your tongue delves in even further. As soon as his eyes open he groans, seeing the red smeared all over you forever imprinted in his mind.

“God, gotta feel you ‘round me,” he mutters.

He feels your fingers unbutton his jeans and oh so slowly drag his zipper down. You push his pants down, finally freeing him from those clothes. He pulls them off and crawls on top of you. Just as he leans close, he flips you both over again. Hobie smiles at the sight of you above him, painted red like the goddess you are. The color stands out beautifully against the blacks, grays, and whites that make up your figure. Gwen’s right, he’s so fucking whipped. 

“You like your women on top?” you ask, lifting your hips up as you grasp him. “Come on, Tiger, you can tell me.”

He hisses as you slowly sink down on him, leaning close as you squeeze the life out of him, “Never with a woman like you.”

You lift your hips back up, his tip barely inside you as you flash that fucking addicting smile, “Honey, there isn’t another woman like me.”

As soon as the words come out of your mouth you sink all the way down. A weak ‘fuck’ escapes from his mouth, his hands shooting out to grasp your hips. You both work in tandem, him hitting all the right spots to make you see stars as you fuck him into oblivion. 

You both watch each other, taking note of every touch and movement that makes the other go wild. It’s a game, one that you were going to win. Your gray eyes stare into his, whispering sweet nothings as he gets closer and closer to falling over the edge. Biting your lip, you watch as he writhes underneath you. “Come on, Tiger, let go.”

Your words set him off. His hips spasm as he comes, filling you whole as you continue to ride him. Stubbornness fuels you, needing to overstimulate him just like he did to you. Hobie’s moans fill the air as he scrambles to get you to stop, but you just grab his hands and press them into your chest. He squeezes the soft flesh, making your hips stutter slightly. “Give it to me again, Sugar. I know you got it in you.”

Your moans join together as you both come again, limbs refusing to move until the pleasure is too much to bear. You remain still, still seated on him when you shoot a web to the nightstand. A case of cigarettes appear in your hand seconds after. You place a hand-rolled one into your mouth, lighting it before taking a long drag from it. The smoke escapes from your nose, the mischievous glint in your eye returning tenfold. You flick the cigarette around in your mouth, offering it to him. 

He leans up and takes it, his lips happily wrapping around the red-stained rim, “You got anymore tricks for me?”

Smoke escapes from his mouth, his eyes flashing with recognition, “Is this what I think it is?”

“The sweetest tobacco and Mary Jane, Sugar, that’s what it is,” you say, taking a hit when he offers the cigarette.

He holds onto it, watching as your lips leave another layer of red on it, “You’re a fucking dream, that’s what you are.”

Hobie doesn’t remember where he stole the lipstick from, but he’s regularly visiting it from now on. That’s a fucking promise.

[thetomorrowshow]

love is such a drag ch. 3

hehehe they go on a date.....

cw: an unnamed character uses homophobic and transphobic slurs

~

Grian pulls into a parking space slowly, peering over the dash to ensure that he doesn't hit the piled-up snow in front of the curb.

Here he is.

The Cheesecake Factory.

He's been doing vocal warm-ups in the car for the entire drive (ten minutes), pitching his voice gradually higher until he feels comfortable in a higher register. Luckily, his voice already isn't the deepest, and he's never found it too difficult to flip up to his Ariana voice.

He'd spent a little too much time picking out his outfit, but he's happy with his choice. One of his classic looks—a magenta skirt that stops about three inches above his knees, almost pencil-thin, which works well to accentuate hips that he doesn't really have. He's matched it with a lacy white crop top, a pale pink cardigan halfway buttoned up over it to protect his bare stomach from the cold. His winter coat is his normal black one, but he thinks it could pass as a girl's coat, so he decides to wear it inside instead of leaving it in the car (and that way, if he gets cold during the date, he won't have to borrow the man's jacket or anything grossly romantic like that).

Grian checks his make-up one last time in the rearview mirror. It looks good, subtle in a non-subtle way. A typical face of make-up, a dab of light lipstick, some autumn-toned eyeshadow (which compliments his skin and eyes) and a bit of mascara. Nothing too special, the biggest flair being a bit of glitter here and there.

There's a bit of a spot where he hasn't quite blended it right, where it leads to his neck. He clicks his tongue, reaches into his little purse for his beauty blender.

He dabs at his chin, fixing the lacking spot, then closely examines his skin for any other irregularities in his make-up. Too much glitter here, perhaps? Uneven mascara? Or—

He's procrastinating.

Right.

This doesn't have to be a long date. An hour. Long enough that he can get his food, eat some of it, and bring the rest home in a take-out box.

Besides, this man won't notice if his make-up isn't quite right. After all, he's oblivious enough that he didn't realize Grian wasn't a girl.

So Grian does one more vocal warm-up, just a quick sentence in his girl voice, and pushes the car door open with the toe of his sneaker, hopping out onto the asphalt.

Pearl has been trying to convince him to let her get the car jacked up, but if they did that he would have to jump to get out of the car, and it's a 2004 silver Ford Focus and that would just look ridiculous. He isn’t strong enough to defend such an ugly car, and he isn’t tall enough to get into and out of it.

He slips his purse onto his shoulder (after, of course, stowing away his phone and his beauty blender and his keys) and clicks the lock button on the inside of the door before pushing it shut.

He can go on a date, for goodness’ sake. He's going to be fine.

And if all goes poorly, Mumbo's going to fake an emergency.

Grian picks his way around the snow, grimacing as he can already feel his converse soak through. He hates wet socks. Does anybody like wet socks? Probably weird people. The kind of people that Mumbo goes on dates with.

Should he wait outside?

Grian looks around at the cars, none of which look quite like what he's imagining. In his mind, he sees the man pull up in a Ferrari, or a Tesla, or something fancy to match his gold-tipped cane. Everything here is pretty average, with the most expensive being some sort of Volkswagen thing.

Then, as he's waiting, a car pulls in.

It isn't anything that he expected. It's a station wagon, older than Grian, some of the brownish-red paint on the sides peeling. The windshield is cracked, a long line along the bottom, sending a distortion through the little parrot plushie sitting on the dash.

The license plate is bent, and as Grian watches this car pull in a little too fast and the tires hit the curb, he can guess why.

The driver doesn't bother with backing up and trying again. He parks it there, and Grian almost can't bear to look.

That can't be him.

That can't be.

But the door opens, and in a maneuver that almost cracks the windshield even more, the driver pulls a cane out over the shoulder of the passenger seat, familiarly gold-tipped and used to push open the door a bit further.

“Sorry I'm late!”

The man scrambles out of the car, tugging soft leather gloves off his hands and stuffing them into the pocket of his brown leather jacket. “I had to make a stop—took longer than I expected—how are you?”

He looks pretty much the way Grian remembers. His brown hair is just the tiniest bit long—it still looks fine, but it's meant to be shaved short on the sides, he thinks, and it’s started to outgrow that sheared state. The same brown scar trails down the side of his face, but that doesn't stop his face from stretching in a wide smile, teeth even and almost sparkling.

He's good-looking, at least. Grian isn't going on a date with someone who looks like they just crawled out of the ocean and was instantly bit by a zombie.

Honestly, though, the date with that one sea-monster-from-the-dead-looking man wasn't his worst date ever.

The man hurries forward, his cane almost slipping on a patch of ice, and halts just before he reaches Grian, slightly out of breath, one side of the collar of his leather jacket tucked in.

The man doesn't notice his errant clothing, just stares at Grian, mouth slightly open and green eyes wide.

“Hi,” the man breathes. “I—well—um . . . should—go in?”

Oh, this man is absolutely enamored.

Grian will be able to order anything he wants.

The man insists that Grian go first, so Grian starts down the sidewalk toward the restaurant, checking behind himself to make sure that the man's cane doesn't slip again.

The man, of course, hurries ahead right as they come to the restaurant and pulls open the door before Grian can even reach for it, and he flashes another toothy smile as he nods his head for Grian to pass.

Grian steps in and moves to the side, pretending to check his phone while he waits for the man to figure out their seating. He isn't going to give any impression that he's willing to pay.

Soon enough, a waiter leads them to a small booth, tucked away near the back of the dining room.

Great, they aren't sitting in public view? He was hoping to be more visible to the other diners, deterring this man from any unwanted displays of affection.

He sits reluctantly, on the end of the booth seat closer to the door, leaving no room for his date to sit beside him. He isn't taking chances with this one.

Luckily, his date doesn't try to squeeze in next to him, settling down (slowly) in the seat opposite. The waiter leading them sets down two menus, then steps back with a cheeky grin.

“Can I get you two anything to drink?” he asks, and Grian's date practically bounces up in his seat.

“Two Strawberry Blossoms,” he says, clearly quite excited.

And that—

Nope!

No, that's alcohol, that's got to be alcohol. Grian is underage, he can't get carded right now.

He hadn't even thought to bring his fake ID. They were going to the Cheesecake Factory, for goodness’ sake!

Not only that, but both his real and his fake have his face and name. It would entirely blow his cover to have to pull out his ID.

“Just—just pepsi, please,” Grian says before the waiter can ask for his ID.

“But—”

“Pepsi,” Grian says firmly, ignoring his date's protests.

The waiter nods, and when he reaches out for the other man's ID, the man shrugs morosely, looking quite like Grian had just confessed to being a drag queen.

He needs to stop thinking about blowing his cover if he doesn't want to actually blow his cover.

“I'll just have ginger ale, I guess,” the man says dramatically, valiantly going for a smile through his clear disappointment. His shoulders are hunched, his face the picture of weary-but-I-shall-do-it, his eyes somehow still sparkling through the hair that has drooped into his face.

Grian stares.

How can this man exude the same energy as six different cartoon characters combined? How can this man be the Voltron of over-expressive cartoons?

Why is he on a date with Voltron?

“I just want to be sober,” he finds himself explaining, even though he doesn't owe Voltron an explanation. “With driving in this weather, you know?”

The man perks up, reanimated by the simple sentence, even his hair seeming revitalized. “That makes sense!” he declares. He pushes Grian's menu toward him, fingers tapping on the plastic. “Is there anything—oh, wait, almost forgot!”

He unzips his jacket all the way. There’s a pocket on the inside of his jacket, and from it, the man pulls out an entire vase.

It’s thin, and red, and there’s a handful of multi-colored wildflowers stuck in it, and Grian can’t help but stare.

“How—how did that fit—?”

The man doesn’t answer, just places the vase between them with an odd flick of his wrist, then beams at Grian.

“Flowers!” he says, as if that explains and makes up for the absolutely insane act of pulling a whole vase of flowers out of your jacket.

Grian’s got to give him points for creativity.

“I was hoping they’d have pink and white,” the man says with a shrug, “but it is January, so I suppose I can’t expect the flowers to have much variety. But I think red and purple are just as nice—sunset colors, you know?”

“Mhm,” Grian answers absently (even though those are not, actually, sunset colors), his eyes darting from the vase to his date’s jacket. There’s no way. That had to have been some sleight of hand, or something.

He dated a magician in high school. Grian had been highly impressed by the tricks he performed, until they went on a date to the city-level robotics championship (to support Mumbo, of course) and Mumbo had been so distracted watching his magic tricks that he nearly lost the points that carried his team to the win. The next day, he awkwardly informed Grian that the magic his boyfriend was performing was actually a weird cover for ulterior motives, and that one trick that involved him dropping his phone and picking it back up to find the chosen playing card inside his phone case was part of an elaborate ruse to take pictures of Grian’s feet.

Maybe Mumbo wasn’t the only one serial-dating fetishists.

“I . . . they reminded me of you,” the man says, something bashful in his face as he sneaks glances at Grian over the top of his unfolded menu. “So I grabbed them. That’s why I was late.”

That’s. . . .

That’s actually very sweet.

When Grian doesn’t respond, the man clears his throat. “So. Um. Is there an appetizer you’d like?”

Grian flips open his menu, resolutely ignoring the flowers between them. He can’t find anything about this man sweet, or cute, or anything. He is the enemy. Grian’s just here for the free food.

“Er, the spinach dip?” Grian suggests, picking the first thing he sees. Spinach dip is always delicious (even if it hurts his stomach something awful every time he eats it).

“Perfect!” the man grins at him, and it’s quite a nice grin. It’s big, and lopsided, and his lips crack just the slightest bit to show his teeth.

Grian almost smiles back.

He doesn’t, but it’s close.

Grian’s been to the Cheesecake Factory twice in his life—once as a middle-schooler for his birthday (after he had won a coupon), and then again with Mumbo back when they were sixteen and they both scored jobs at Texas Roadhouse, as a treat with their first ever paychecks. He’s wanted to go back ever since, fascinated by the expansive menu. His first time, he’d gotten some boring pasta or something. With Mumbo, he’d tried the cheeseburger spring rolls. This time around, he knows exactly what he wants.

The Macaroni and Cheese Burger.

His mouth is watering just thinking about it. It sounds horrendous. It sounds beautiful. It sounds like everything he needs to make this date well worth his time.

“So! Do you live on campus?”

Grian’s eyes dart up—his date has set down his menu, fingers steepled before him, waiting for Grian to answer.

A simple, basic, getting-to-know-you question.

He can do that.

He can do this. He has to keep his eyes on the prize. Macaroni and Cheese Burger. He’s playing Ariana because it gives him the chance to taste his dreams.

How on earth does small talk work?

-

Two days later finds Grian back at the Aquetown bar, a blue drink set in front of him at the booth where he'd decided to sit.

He's not here as Ariana, this time. He's done with creeps for the night.

He'd worked a show at one of his normal venues. He wasn't the main feature of the show—he works with a group of five other guys, and there's generally three or four of them together at one show. Grian's pulled his own show several times, of course, even though he hasn't got near as much experience under his belt as some of his fellow performers—though, that may be part of the draw. Grian usually plays Ariana as a young, relatively innocent pop star, and there are plenty who find that desirable.

That does, unfortunately, bring in some . . . less than savory characters. Grian can usually shrug it off, worm his way out of uncomfortable situations, but tonight hadn't been a good crowd at all.

He'd left as soon as he had finished, exchanging grimaces with the two others that had performed, not even taking the time to change more than throwing on a set of sweats over his Ariana getup. In the car, he'd unclipped his hair extensions, and he wiped off the lipstick with a napkin once he sat down in the bar, but he really just looks a mess. His base makeup and eyes are still done, a bit of blush highlighting his cheekbones, and there’s still glitter in his hair, and—

Grian frowns at his own reflection in the dark screen of his phone. His dangly earrings. He unscrews those and shoves them in his sweatpants pocket, surely losing the back of at least one of them.

He really does love dressing up as Ariana. Drag is one of his passions! There are just are some nights where he can’t stand to be in it a second longer.

His hoodie is baggy enough to hide his cleavage, luckily. And the white tennis shoes he'd worn on stage are innocuous enough to not be out of the ordinary.

Stressful night, he texts Mumbo. Stopped for a bite.

As if on cue, his food arrives: nothing fancy, just some chicken fingers and fries. He starts on them, too tired to worry about washing his hands of the sweat and glitter left on them from the show.

Despite the night, his thoughts are elsewhere.

Namely, on the date with the man.

He had never figured out the man's name, because he had been so stupidly polite that he barely talked about himself. He just listened to Grian, eyes fixed on him, occasionally making an excited comment, utterly enraptured in whatever few stories Grian felt safe telling.

And when he had talked, it hadn't been bragging. It hadn't been overplayed boasts, or clearly false stories.

It had been a surprisingly informative discussion about what an Imagineer was (which was the man's dream job).

Which . . . that was kind of cute. Come on, who didn't secretly dream about finding a man who was attractive but hadn't lost his sense of whimsy? A man who loved cartoons and would sing in the car at the top of his lungs? A man who elected not to talk about himself in place of weaving an interesting and factual tale about the Disney parks?

It was nice. It was nice, for once, to have a guy that was actually nice.

Of course, Grian had ghosted him. There was no such thing as a man that perfect. And even if there was, there's no way such a man would be interested in him. Even if the man's intentions seemed perfectly genuine and chivalrous, at the end of the day he'd been on a date with Ariana, not Grian. He liked Ariana. He wouldn't have given the time of day to Grian.

He feels maybe a little bit gloomy, then. Not really, because he isn't actually into this nameless man, but it had been fun and now he probably won't ever go to the Cheesecake Factory again. Or anywhere else expensive.

Such depressing thoughts, combined with the mediocre bar food, keep him distracted enough that he doesn't notice the shadow of a person approaching him.

“Hey, fag!”

Grian winces, pushes his still-sweaty bangs out of his eyes and looks up.

The man before him is an older guy, his hair graying, his once-handsome face now a bit weathered, laugh lines carved around his eyes. He isn't laughing, his face twisted in a sneer.

There's another man behind him, a bit shabbier than this one, but just as condescending.

“Leave the dress-up to the girls,” the first says, and Grian should have just skipped grabbing dinner and gone home. Going out for food is one of his favorite comforts, but it isn't worth this.

“Or do you think you're a girl?” The man leers. “Tranny.”

Grian stares at them.

Just a level, tired stare, praying that the men will get bored with the non-reaction and leave.

He's way too tired to deal with this. And he needs to take off all his make-up when he gets home, still, which is probably the worst part of all of this. There’s so much he needs to do before he gets into bed.

He isn't hurt. He isn't even really offended. He's just so tired, and everything feels just a little too overwhelming, and he isn't too surprised when his itchy eyes start to burn with tears.

“Even his drink is girly,” the second man says, picking up whatever blue thing it was that he'd ordered. He swirls it a little, then spits in it.

A tear slips from his eyes, as frustrating as it is.

One of them touches his hair, pulls at it a little bit, and Grian just knows he's saying something about its length, and it isn’t that long, really, he’s been meaning to get a haircut but this works so much better with the extensions and why can’t they leave—

“Hey! What's going on, here?”

The two men step away quickly, and Grian hurries to rub his napkin over his face (which he'd avoided, not wanting to use the cheap napkin on his skin), scrubbing off as much make-up as possible while drying his tears.

He knows that voice.

He knows that voice, and he is keeping his face covered as much as possible.

A tall, rakishly handsome man with a scar trailing down his face stands before the men, leaning heavily on a gold-tipped cane, looking oddly intimidating in his green waistcoat and button-up shirt.

Because of course he does. Because Grian’s night can’t get any worse.

It’s the man, the one that asked Ariana out on a date in this very bar, and why didn't Grian think he might be a regular patron here?

“Nothing,” both men say at the same time, but one of them shoots a smirk toward Grian.

The man seems entirely unimpressed. “Sure,” he says. “I think it's time for you two to head out.”

“What? We're just chatting with—”

“You can't do that!”

Grian's former date draws himself up self-importantly. “I happen to know the owner of this establishment,” he declares, “and if you aren't gone in thirty seconds, I will be informing him that you are not welcome back.”

With surprisingly few additional mutinous mutters, both bullies leave, and Grian lets out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

Great. He can wait a couple minutes, then leave as well. Then he can go home and rant to Mumbo about how terrible the night was while he gets cleaned up. Mumbo will know just what to say.

But the man, curse him, slides into the seat opposite Grian and holds out a hand.

“My name's Scar,” he says, and that cannot be true.

Scar? Scar? It has to be a nickname.

Grian coughs into the napkin, unable to restrain his surprise. “For real?”

Grian does not shake his hand, and after a moment, Scar turns it into a smoothing of his hair (which would be cool, if he hadn't held his hand across the table for a solid ten seconds before). 

Scar smiles winningly. “Born and raised! I'm sorry about those guys. If it helps, I'm here every weekend and I've never seen them.”

“Do you really know the owner?”

“Yep! He's one of my mom's friends, consulted me on the interior, all that. I even worked here for a while!”

Grian doesn't pull down the napkin, instead choosing to scrub at his eyes with it. At least his make-up is a decent bit more excessive than it was on the date, though the rhinestones pull off with little jabs of pain as they get caught.

“I like your make-up,” Scar says, in a tone of voice so chipper that Grian isn't sure if he's being honest or lying to try and boost Grian's mood.

He shrugs. “I don't usually wear make-up.”

“You're good at it, though. I don't know the first thing about make-up—I wouldn't be able to tell a foundation from a—well, what's that little screwdriver thing that they use on the eyes?”

Despite himself, Grian snorts. “What? Like—mascara?”

Scar shrugs. “Maybe! But it's just amazing that you can do that. Whatever those other guys said, they're absolutely wrong. And terrible people, if I may be so bold.”

Scar stands again, grimacing as he shifts his weight to his cane. Grian had assumed it was cosmetic, but he definitely needs it for some purpose.

“I'll let you get back to your dinner,” Scar tells him, offering a soft, warm smile. It’s a nice smile, just like it was on the date, genuine and happy and well-meaning. “I ought to head home, anyway. My roommate hates it when I drive after midnight. See you around, I hope!”

With that, he leaves, picking up a backpack from a table a few booths away from Grian, giving a nod to the barista before exiting the building.

No.

Grian lets his face fall to the table.

No, no, no, no, no!

Why is that man so—so nice? So well-intentioned?

Grian's never dated nice guys before. He's dated quite a few bad boys, the kinds with motorcycles and leather jackets and cigarettes. He'd even been a bad boy himself for a few months his senior year of high school, but his sunglasses became eyeliner and his leather jacket became boobs and cute skirts before too long.

And then he'd gone through a phase of only dating bears, but that had never coalesced into anything substantial. He and Mumbo had gone on one date, back in high school, but they were both looking for the same kind of man and that kind of man was not each other. In fact, after that date with Mumbo, Grian had entirely written off the idea of dating nice guys, seeing as Mumbo fell firmly in that category in his mind and he and Mumbo are nowhere near romantically compatible, codependent as they are.

Scar is different, though. Different from every man he's been on dates with. Scar is nice, chivalrous, caring—and that isn't to say Grian's had a ton of bad relationships where his partners weren't those things, but Scar is all those things to everyone. He respects Ariana and her decisions and seems genuinely interested in getting to know her; he protects random men he doesn’t know from harassment and does his best to help them calm down.

He smiles the same way to both of them.

Scar is kind, plain and simple. He's kind, and has a good heart, yet is totally secure in his masculinity. What kind of man can stand up to bullies while wearing a waistcoat, swagger with unreachable confidence around a bar that he doesn't own or work at, then turn around and gush about Disney parks and movies?

After a long moment of contemplating, Grian decides that he isn't attracted to Scar. Not really. He's just . . . the man is odd, is all, and he wants to know more!

So he stands, chicken and fries forgotten, and heads up to the bar.

The woman tending the bar raises a brow, flicking her blond hair behind her shoulder. “Need another?”

Grian hops onto a barstool, his toes barely touching the ground. “No, I have a question.”

He looks back toward the door, back toward where Scar had just exited.

“That man,” he asks slowly. “Scar. Do you know him?”

“Oh, yeah. He used to work here. We exercise together, sometimes.”

Grian leans forward. “What's he like?”

The smile on the woman's face is calculating, knowing. “Scar . . . boy, the stories I could tell.”

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Little Moaner (Good Omens Drabble)

Crowley x GN!Reader + Aziraphale / requests are open and encouraged

Summary: Crowley has the shits with you and he's being petty about it.

CW: fluff, snakes, crack fic, Crowley is petty af

Gomens tag list: @coffee-and-red-lipstick @quickslvxrr @clarina04 @motionlessindoubt (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

Sometimes Crowley is a moody little shit. It goes with the territory, you suppose. What with him being a Demon and supposed to be promoting all the sins and evil behaviour and whatnot. But when he was like this? Oh, it drove you up the fucking wall. Not that being moody was an inherently evil thing, but it was made worse by all the Demonic energy coming off him. 

“Why is he ignoring me?” You ask the Angel. This particular Angel is doing his best to appear very engrossed in his book and not at all involved with the snake turning his head away from you in the armchair by the window. 

“I really couldn’t say, dear,” Aziraphale said, somewhat awkwardly. “I’d rather not get involved, my loves.” 

You huffed, making careful footsteps towards the serpent so he knew you were approaching. You scoffed at the ridiculousness as the serpent curled in on himself a little more, shielding himself from view. 

“Crowley- can you not?” 

A soft hiss was all the response you got. 

“Look, I’m sorry I saved the plant with the leaf spot. I know you’ve curated a very particular brand of fear into them and I’ve now given them hope. What about this…” 

The head of the snake peeks through a coil curiously.

 

“I’ll-” you hated even thinking about it. “I’ll give it back and you can do whatever you want with it. Would that make you happy?”

Really, you couldn’t see how having a leaf spot was that bad anyway, but oh well. Crowley demanded perfection from his plants. You just hated seeing them shake with fear. 

“Yesss,” Crowley hissed, slowly starting to uncoil his glittering body to slither towards you. “Better.” 

You grumble affectionately and press a kiss to his head, picking the serpent up only to flip the two of you around so he was on your lap in the lounge. You rested an arm somewhere around where Crowley’s stomach would be and sighed contentedly. 

“You’re a little moaner, you know that?” You ask. 

You ignore the soft chuckle that follows.

[jarofstyles]

FICTOBER DAY 9- Shut You Up

Fictober Prompts/Masterlist

Patreon

Warnings- exhibitionism, role-play if you squint, costumes, degradation

-----

“If you can’t be fucking quiet, I’ll find a way to shut you up.” Harry’s words vibrated against her cheek as she leaned against the sink, hands gripping it while his fingers curled inside of her. 

Y/N had known her costume would most definitely get Harry going, but she hadn’t anticipated being dragged into the bathroom at their friend’s halloween party and her skirt being flipped up with his cock grinding against her ass. When she had showed up in a cheer costume, it had dome something to him. He didn’t know himself how hot he would find it, but Y/N had a way of making herself look absolutely delicious in anything she put herself in.

Tiny little skirt and her high ponytail, showing off her neck and the little ‘H’ charm on her necklace, it swished over her ass and Harry had been very quick to get her alone. Her eagerness straight away had been enough to drive the girl mad, but his hand tugging down the protective shorts to keep her from flashing and smacking against the supple flesh was enough to get her dripping. 

“It feels too good.” She whimpered, trying to bite on her lip but failing as she felt the thickness of his cock against her ass. He was cruel, keeping it tucked away, but his finger was fucking into her cunt. The sounds were wet and squelching into the bathroom, a humiliatingly hot reminder of how desperate she got for her boyfriend. His costume was his jersey, eye black smeared under his cheek and his cap backward on his head, showing off his gorgeous face even more with his hair not falling into his face. 

“I can tell. Soaking my hand, for fucks sake.” He chuckled. “But you’re being too loud.  If you can’t do it on your own…” He released his own hand that had steadied himself, bringing it up to her mouth. “Suppose I can shut you up with my fingers.” Without warning, he pushed past her lips and placed two digits into her mouth. “Suck on those and keep fucking quiet. Already showed up in this slutty little thing. Do you want people to hear you being a slut too?” He crooned into her ear. 

She tried to deny it, her denial muffled against his fingers as he curled the ones inside her hole just a little bit. Her eyes lulled closed, leaning over the sink further before Harry's grip on her pulled her back up. “Open your eyes, watch it. Look at what I see when I play with that precious little pussy.”

His hand was slightly hidden under the skirt, and somehow it was hotter. Al she could see was his wrist glistening as he would pull out only to shove them back in. The top of the ensemble had been pushed up, her tits wet and nipples swollen from Harry’s prior mouthing, tummy heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Her face was the messiest, lipstick smeared around her and Harry’s mouths and glitter from her cheeks spread around on both of them. There would be no mistaking it when they came out, they’d been up to no good. 

“And now you’re drooling around my fingers. My filthy girl. Can’t believe you… Wanted to be a dirty little cocktease, and now you’re seeing what happens when you do all of that.” He taunted. “Suck on them. Go on, know you love to suck on things.” His cock throbbed against her ass. “Making a mess of both my hands. There we go…” He praised, sliding his fingers deeper into her mouth and making her gag slightly. “Don’t be dramatic, baby. You take my cock so much deeper than that. And you will, once I get you there. Want those cute little Bambi legs to wobble out of here and make sure the rest know that you’re being taken care of.”

The heel of his hand was rubbing against her clit as he fucked into her pussy, his thick fingers reaching places her own couldn’t. It was so good, but she wanted more. She wanted his cock inside of her. Like he could read her mind as she started to rut her ass back against his length, he laughed against her and made her shiver as he kissed her cheek. 

“Not quite yet, baby. I’m not done. But if you want to be a good little cheerleader for me and bounce on my cock when I’ve had my fill of watching you squirm… Maybe I’ll be nice.”

[dabislittlemouse]

Ok, so lately I've been listening to too much Peppers by Lana Del Rey and Tommy Genesis, so imagine that the chorus "hands on your knees Angelina Jolie" is playing in the background while reader and Dabi recreate the song, specifically that part, in such a way obscene and so aaa, If you don't mind, could you write something like this?

𝒫𝐸𝒫𝒫𝐸𝑅𝒮

-Touya Todoroki x fem!reader ୨⍣୧

➳ word count: 1.9k

➳ contains: SMUT- Minors do not interact, oral male receiving, praising, soft needy Touya loves dolling you up and ruining you 🦋

➳ A/N: I LOVE THAT SONG SO MUCH!!! I enjoyed writing this fic a lot, hopefully you like this. I decided to call him Touya in this fic.

➳ Song recommendation: Lana del Rey- Peppers

The faint smell of strawberry shampoo filled the room as you slowly walked out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around your wet body. The chill air made you shiver for a bit as you sat down in front of the vanity mirror, looking at yourself. All fresh and clean, that long shower was really needed.

It was only you in the room, or better say, in Touya’s room, which had also become your room at this point. He let you move all of your stuff in his room, to the point he had to ask for another closet since you had so many clothes. It didn’t take long for Touya’s grimy room to turn full of life, your dainty clothes and accessories all over the place, on the table or chair. And he didn’t mind it one bit, having you in his room felt like a ray of sunshine, a smell of fresh air that filled his lungs and scent of nature. That’s how you were to him, he’d look at your enamored while you sat near the desk, doing your makeup and fixing your hair, looking like a dainty princess compared to his edgy dark looks. 

And today was the same, you sat there, carefully drying your hair with a towel and giving it some shape. You decided to go for wavy hair today, which was one of Touya’s favorite hairstyles on you. The vanilla scented candle sat on your desk, along with all your makeup brushes,lipstick and glitter. What you loved most was getting dolled up for your man, he’d always make you flustered with the way he’d be all over you, like a man who’d never seen a pretty woman before. Sometimes he’d also doll you up himself, fixing the ribbons on your hair, helping you wear your tights, choosing the perfect dress for you, putting the blue stoned necklace around your neck, the one he got for you as a constant reminder that you belong to him. 

The song playing in the background helped you concentrate even more on getting yourself ready. It was one of your favorite artists, Lana Del Rey, her music was an inspiration to you in all aspects, especially the way you dressed. You felt that melody and that lyrics deep in your core, as your love and dedication towards your beloved was beautifully described by those words knitted together to create such masterpiece of a song that you wanted to inject in your blood. Passion and love, utter addiction towards one another, that’s how your relationship was. He took care of you like no one ever did.

——

“You’re my little girl, aren’t you? My good, pretty girl.. all mine” Touya whispered in your ear one day as he was braiding your hair, his lithe fingers skillfully going through each lock of hair as usual. You nodded, blushing at his words, stomach doing a flip at his possessiveness and praise. You wore a frilly white dress, diamond earrings that he’d taken for you, your thigh highs with two cute ribbons on each. The same song was playing in the background, and it was making you feel some type of way, especially from the fact that he was braiding your hair. A coincidence? Maybe. But now you had the need to act just like the song. 

~Let me put my hands on your knees, you can braid my hair..~

Oh, you had the need to please him again. Putting your hands on his knees, as you go down on him, tasting him. 

Touya hadn’t finished doing your hair when you turned at him, your face flushed and your eyes all big and needy, it took him by surprise.

“Baby, I still didn’t finish your hair..” he said, staring at you with a confused look on his face.

“I know Tou.. I just..” you licked your lips, putting your hands gently on his knees, your nails pretty and manicured, Touya chose  a cherry red color for them, always the sinful image of your fingers wrapped around his cock in mind. 

“I kind of love this song..” you whispered, as Touya payed attention to the lyrics. The corners of his mouth twitched as a shadow of a smile lurked on his face, and he stared down at you for a second longer, taking in every minuscule detail he could perceive about you. You shifted closer to him, getting between his legs as your hands stroked his thighs, shyly looking at his bulge forming in front of you. 

“That’s a nice song sweetheart. You wanna recreate it don’t ya? Tell me..use your words” his hand found your chin, lifting your head up to look at him. His stare was hypnotizing, those azure eyes could get you drenched without him touching you at all. 

“Yes..” you swallowed nervously, as he chuckled and squished your blushing cheeks together on his large hand. 

“And why is that?” he teased, knowing your answer too well but he still wanted to hear you say it with your own words. 

“Because I.. I want to give you pleasure Touya..” you bit your lip, and Touya could swear he felt the urge to grab that pretty mouth of yours and stuff it with his aching cock. Your shy voice saying his name, the way you looked up at him through your lashes, the way you smelled, the way you looked so angelic but your mind was full of dark and sinful desires, he loved that he turned you like this. So needy for him, addicted to him, just the way he wanted you to be. 

He leaned to give you a kiss on the forehead, his hands gently going through your half braided hair before he backed away. 

“Go on then, princess. Show me how you please your man~” he cooed, watching your delicate hands unbuckling his belt slowly. Touya was already rock hard and that gave you a tingle between your legs, especially with the way he was watching your every move. Carefully you lowered his pants, taking him in your hands, his cock was glistening with precum already, angry red tip begging to be sucked and licked, your small hand wrapping around his shaft made Touya hiss between his teeth. You were being agonizingly slow and careful with him as if he was going to break, but he let you do your thing. He loved seeing various emotions going visibly on your face, embarrasment, nervousness, lust, desire..

“Open that pretty mouth..” he asked before you tried to go down on him, making you stop. His fingers found your lips, smearing your red lipstick before opening your mouth and his thumb playing with your tongue.

“There you go.. put that tongue into good use. Just as I taught you, okay little love?”

“Yes” you breathed out, sticking out your tongue and swirling it on his sticky tip first, tasting the pearly precum leaking out of him. You heard the man let out a groan, which encouraged you to continue further, licking his shaft while your other hand fondled his balls gently.

“Shit, baby... f-fuck!” Touya moaned as you finally took him all in your mouth, trying your best to not gag on his cock that was hitting the back of your throat. The music was playing on repeat as your head bobbed up and down his cock, using your tongue as well and making his head spin. His hands found your hair once again, looking at the half done braids.

“F-fuck doll.. M’not sure if I can braid that pretty hair of yours again..aahh fuck- if you continue sucking me off like that~” he groaned, hips bucking up and slamming in your mouth. You were totally drunk in his cock, like it was the last meal on this earth, slurping and moaning and trying to get as much from him as you could. His half lidded eyes stared down at you as you made eye contact with him, which had your sloppy cunt clench on nothing.

 He was in bliss, his face flushed as he gave you a lustful needy look. A hand pressed on top of your head, pushing you down on him.

“Mmhm yeah.. choke on it a little, there you go. You look so fuckin’ pretty like this, my angel~” Touya whispered, as you sat there unmoving, his cock deep in your throat. You choked on him, tears slowly rolling down your cheeks, ruining the mascara, but his firm hand continued to keep you there until you started whimpering. He let you go and watched you with an amused look on his face as you coughed and whined.

“Don’t wipe those tears off baby, let me see ‘em..” he said, licking a singular tear on your cheek before gently tapping his cock on your face, smearing your lipstick and mascara on your dumb pretty face, full of tears and drool. You looked up at him pleadingly, letting him use your face and mouth however he wanted. He shoved his cock right back in, his hands caressing your hair as you continued taking him in your mouth like your life depended on it, licking up the sides with your tongue, trying to go deeper when he added a little more pressure to the back of your head.

“That’s it baby, just like that, you wanna make me cum? Yeah? Right in that throat of yours.. fuck, you want it baby? Nnghh fuck-” he spoke as his breathing got heavier, eyes rolled at the back of his skull in pleasure while you felt his cock throbbing in your mouth. 

You moaned in response, letting him know just how eager you were to have your mouth full of his cum. With a few more thrusts of his hips  he came hard in your mouth, a low guttural groan left his throat as you gagged and choked on his seed, trying your best to not let a single drop go to waste.

“Fuck- good fucking girl. Take it, ahh- take it all, oh shit-” he moaned out, eyes crossed in pleasure as he struggled to even move. And you did, you took it all, he grabbed your chin to look at your mouth full of his cum.

“Swallow for me...”

And you swallowed, just as he taught you and Touya hummed in amusement before bringing you closer for a deep passionate kiss, feeling the taste of him in your mouth which drove him crazy. 

“You look even prettier like this dollface..” he smirked, looking at the ruined makeup on your face and your hair now a mess. He then focused his gaze on your frilly dress and clicked his tongue.

“I’d feel bad to ruin that lovely dress of yours.. so I’ll just have you ride me on it, that okay with you princess?” he said, grabbing you by the hips and pulling you to sit on his warm lap.

“Yes Touya..” you mumbled shyly before he took you down to the bed with him, hands gripping at the plush of your soft thighs as he ravaged your neck and chest like a feral animal.

—-

As you got yourself all nice and pretty, butterflies formed at your stomach at the memories of that one day. Mostly for the fact that Touya will do it all over again once he comes back, beautifully ruin your makeup and hair. Now the dress you wore was a pretty blue one, his favorite color, while you waited in anticipation for your man’s arrival, more than excited to have him see how pretty you got yourself for him today. 

Taglist: @jjbarks @simpforthemall @syrenkitsune @mossy-opal @mostlyheinous @holydayaria @keiskake @dabislittlesluttyprincess @awalkingshame @malewifetouya @drownedbytears @cherryflavoredkissess @melancholy-nightmares @touyatodorokislut @sukunas-bitxh @arinexeisnotworking @ravenrobin152527 @0graceundead0 @lynsrosegarden

[nether-before]

I'm gonna be real, I was never huge on your portrayal of Callie before, but after reading that post that explained your headcanons, something clicked and now I'm FEELING it. Up until now I guess I thought you were just drawing her like that just because and thought it didn't fit the character, but after reading the reasoning behind it... omg, flipped like a switch, you're actually a genius.

Like, I LOVE headcanons about the idols that acknowledge how much the industry and being in it sucks moderately to severely for almost everyone in it irl... ESPECIALLY for the Squid Sisters, because they were teenagers when they started being idols, as opposed to Off The Hook and Deep Cut being in their twenties at their debuts. They also, to me, seem to be the most "by the books" idols the game has seen, at least in Splat 1. Pearl and Marina seem to be self-made, and Pearl had the wealth and connections to get the band rolling without signing any contracts. Deep Cut was also wealthy from the start, and thus likely has more power over themselves since they won't lose everything if they go out of style or fail to be 100% optimally marketable. The Squid Sisters, though? Farm girls found by a talent scout. They DEFINITELY belonged to an agency and signed some things they didn't fully understand. Thus, potential for angst, criticism of a shitty industry, something something capitalism...

Also also, I am a fucking SUCKER for the "weight gain as an outward signifier of mental/emotional healing" trope. Makes me go gaga EVERY time. I was saved by antidepressants after a lifetime of being The Skinny Kid, which doesn't seem to be that uncommon an experience on this website, so I connect to this sort of thing a great deal. Thin character who's been through some shit finally finds themselves in a better life, and as a result puts on weight? Already great. If, additionally, they struggle with it at first but eventually realize, accept and internalize that they're healthier in this state than they were while skinny but in a state of constant anguish? EXCELLENT. A+. Just like me fr.

And so, to cap off this wall of text, can I just end by saying that I'm pretty basic with my Squid Sisters hcs, ok? Yours do not align with mine, but I'm not the kind of person who gets upset about that. To the contrary; I LOVE conflicting hcs. I love when fandom is a conversation, not a consensus. I love when different people see the same character in different ways. And your take is one I don't see ANYWHERE else. I respect the hell out of you for boldly going your own way. I ALSO respect how you were not shy and went all-in on a rarely depicted but very real female body type that's mostly relegated to OCs. Your Callie isn't just chubby or curvy, and she isn't even just fat, she's really fat. She's an absolute unit. She has muscle under that fat, bulky and strong muscle like she pumps iron on the daily. She's got wide shoulders and thick fingers and a chest like a barrel and a huge belly. She's built like a brick shithouse. AND YOU DIDN'T EVEN GIVE HER BIG BOOBS, THEY'RE STILL SMALL.

You NEVER see this in fandom unless we're drawing orcs or dwarves, and hell even then it remains rare, despite women like this existing in real life. You portray a broad-framed, strongfat farm girl with a small chest, and you portray her as not only beautiful, not only a social butterfly, but as an absolute girly-girl fashionista glitter diva material girl supreme. What few instances of truly boulder-suplexing women we get are typically relegated to barbarians or aggressive tanky fighters, and they're almost always butch.

YOU say you can bench press a steer and make cars sag when you sit in them, but still be 100% femme. YOU say a girl can be an arm wrestling champ at the local biker bar AND gossip with her besties at the mall while holding 5 pink shopping bags. YOU say girliness, glitter and the colour pink have no size limit, that a woman can own a wide variety of dumbells and lipstick colours alike, that physical strength and being pretty are NOT mutually exclusive.

I've flipped like a dime on this, OP. Thank you for being so unashamedly original and positive in your portrayal of Callie.

HELL YEAH!! This was great to read, and I'm happy to see she kind of resonated with you with the whole "weight gain as emotional healing" thing. Love when art impacts people! Thanks for this.

[gmanmedias]

IT FEELS LIKE STEALING HEARTS CALLING YOUR NAME FROM THE CROWD!

💜 💜 💜

🤍 🤍 🤍

❤️ ❤️ ❤️

30. Create a crack ship!: so this is based off that one panel in vol 6 where sandra says “i’m totally gay for her” about envy. do you guys see the vision

[shescomingback]

types of people: patterns/fabrics

zebra print: false lashes, flip phones, bright pink, loud music, platform heels, teased hair, energy drinks, malls

leopard print: faux fur coats, smudged lipstick, train rides, bruises, glitter, big sunglasses, disco balls, bitten nails

gingham: mornings, curly hair, relentless optimism, niche collections, laying in the grass, rainbows, flowy dresses, ukeleles

polka dots: vintage dresses, rock and roll, parks, kitten heels, afternoon walks, great at dancing, healthy eating, purses

stripes: thrifting, cat beanies, soda, artsy, video games, sneakers, comic books, cloudy days

[ragedagainst]

bold what applies to your muse; italicize what sometimes applies; strike what never applies.

► AESTHETIC -- dark colors. bright colors.  neon colors.  soft colors.  blood.  forests.  space.  mansions.  ghosts.  asylums.  wastelands.  fire.  injuries.  hands. dolls.  fog.  storms.  galaxies.  snow.  dawn.  midnight.  cold.  animals.  sharp teeth.  neck.  shoulders.  bruises.  freckles.  legs.  feminine.  masculine.  burns.  weapons.  colorful hair.  witchcraft.  lips.  webs.  fields.  corn fields.  tears.  sweat.  glitter.  flowers.  plants.  magic.  fear.  pain.  murder.  guns.  scars.  missing posters.  old paintings.  strange eyes. explosions.  creatures.  lingerie.  kissing.  playfulness. metal.  diamonds.  rust.  iron.  stealth.  running away.  steel.  glass.  wood.  porcelain.  paper.  fur.  lace.  leather.  synthetics.  robots. droids.  monsters.  childhood fears.  cigarettes.  alcohol.  cameras.  video cameras.  polaroid cameras.  phones.  computers.  war.  peace.  angels. demons.  decay.  sadness.  red lipstick.  powder puffs.  abandoned cars.  skeletons.  strangling.  overcoats.  puppets.  torture. ptsd.  insomnia.  old cottages.  loyalty.  hospitals. syringes.  bared teeth.  scary basements.  butterflies.  prosthetic limbs.  cats.  dogs.  dreams.  burned-out buildings.  armor.

► APPEARANCE -- thick waist. narrow waist.  narrow hips.  average hips.  wide hips.  curvy frame.  muscular frame.  chubby frame.  petite frame.  lanky frame.  voluptuous frame.  lean frame.  skinny.  long legs.  stumpy.  average legs.  thick thighs.  muscular thighs.  toned thighs.  slender thighs.  beer belly.  toned stomach.  flat stomach. feminine frame.  masculine frame.  six pack.  harsh facial features.  baby face. shaved face.  soft features.  angular features.  square jaw.  beard. five o'clock shadow. freckles.  scars.  moles.  dimples.  braces.  tattoos.  piercings.  pigtails.  messy hair.  pixie cut.  bald.  long hair.  shaved head.  ponytail.  clipped-back fringe.  shoulder length.  bob cut.  old-fashioned hairstyle.  dreadlocks.  bun.  braids.  shaved side.  mohawk.  buzz cut.  afro.  asymmetric.  crown braid. wavy. short.  cotton buns.  fade.  comb over.  side part.  other.

► WARDROBE -- tight pants. denim jeans  cargo pants.  fatigues.  chinos.  khakis.  dress slacks.  slim-fit.  dockers.  pajama bottoms.  shorts.  short-shorts.  jean shorts.  dungarees.  skirt-overalls.  pencil skirt.  long skirt.  mini skirt.  tutu.  leggings.  sports bra.  yoga pants.  basketball shorts.  joggers.  sweats.  sweater.  sweater vest.  vest.  t-shirt. tank undershirt. long-sleeve.  tight shirts.  polo shirt.  athletic shirt.  cardigan.  button-up shirt.  v-neck. henley.  flannels.  plaid. crop top.  tank top.  blouse.  racerback shirts.  boob tube.  sundress.  1-shoulder dress.  strapless.  jumper dress.  apron dress.  dress shirt.  ball gown.  nightgown.  hoodies.  army jacket.  mechanic coveralls.  trench coat.  bomber jacket.  sport coat. leather jacket.  lots of layers.  uniform.  dress uniform. armor.  bare feet. high heels.  ballet shoes.  jelly shoes.  flip-flops.  sandals.  rain boots.  sneakers.  pumps.  flats.  thigh-high boots.  cowboy boots. timberland boots. doc martens.  slip-ons.  slippers.  motorcycle boots.  chukkas.  loafers.  dress boots.  knee boots. riding boots.  knee-high socks.  socks.  hose.  stockings.  beanies.  top hat.  sunhat.  newsboy cap.  fedora.  baseball cap. belt.  tool / utility belt.  gloves.

► HAS YOUR MUSE EVER… broken a bone. had a near death experience.  killed someone (and succeeded). saved a life.  self-harmed.  attempted suicide. had surgery.  kissed the same gender/sex.  had sex.  had sex and regretted it. lost a loved one.  had a pet.  gotten arrested.  gotten married.  divorced. cheated.  gotten shot.  been stabbed.  witnessed death.  taken drugs. gotten drunk. kept a promise you regretted.  played with an ouija board. seen a ghost.  been in a car accident.  gotten stitches. suffered from amnesia. survived a natural disaster. survived an assassination attempt. survived a plane / ship crash. been framed. gone undercover. faked death. assumed a fake identity. led a double life.  invented something. had something slipped in their food / drink.  been kidnapped. been taken hostage.  been sexually assaulted.  been bullied.  bullied someone.  had a stalker. been betrayed.  been a traitor. been blackmailed.  been abused.  gotten away with crime. killed someone (and failed).

tagged by: @stillsolo thank you so much! tagging: @deadmare , @proditeur , @enchaentd , @strnza , @guttcrson , @sectyr , @profecier , and you !!

[stillsolo]

bold what applies to your muse; italicize what sometimes applies; strike what never applies.

► AESTHETIC dark colors. bright colors.  neon colors.  soft colors.  BLOOD.  forests.  SPACE.  mansions.  ghosts.  asylums.  wastelands.  fire.  INJURIES.  HANDS. dolls.  fog.  STORMS.  GALAXIES.  snow.  DAWN.  MIDNIGHT.  cold.  animals.  sharp teeth.  neck.  shoulders.  BRUISES.  freckles.  legs.  feminine.  MASCULINE.  burns.  WEAPONS.  colorful hair.  witchcraft.  lips.  webs.  fields.  corn fields.  TEARS.  SWEAT.  glitter.  flowers.  plants.  magic.  FEAR.  PAIN.  MURDER.  GUNS.  SCARS.  MISSING POSTERS.  old paintings.  strange eyes.  EXPLOSIONS.  creatures.  lingerie.  KISSING.  PLAYFULNESS.  METAL.  diamonds.  RUST.  IRON.  STEALTH.  RUNNING AWAY.  STEEL.  glass.  wood.  porcelain.  paper.  FUR.  lace.  LEATHER.  synthetics.  robots. DROIDS.  monsters.  CHILDHOOD FEARS.  cigarettes.  ALCOHOL.  cameras.  video cameras.  polaroid cameras.  phones.  computers.  WAR.  PEACE.  angels. demons.  decay.  sadness.  red lipstick.  powder puffs.  ABANDONED CARS.  skeletons.  strangling.  overcoats.  puppets.  torture. PTSD.  INSOMNIA.  old cottages.  LOYALTY.  hospitals. syringes.  BARED TEETH.  scary basements.  butterflies.  prosthetic limbs.  cats.  dogs.  dreams.  burned-out buildings.  armor.

► APPEARANCE thick waist. NARROW WAIST.  NARROW HIPS.  average hips.  wide hips.  curvy frame.  muscular frame.  chubby frame.  petite frame.  lanky frame.  voluptuous frame.  LEAN FRAME.  SKINNY.  LONG LEGS.  stumpy.  average legs.  thick thighs.  muscular thighs.  TONED THIGHS.  slender thighs.  beer belly.  toned stomach.  flat stomach. feminine frame.  MASCULINE FRAME.  six pack.  harsh facial features.  baby face. SHAVED FACE.  soft features.  angular features.  square jaw.  beard. FIVE O'CLOCK SHADOW. freckles.  SCARS.  moles.  dimples.  braces.  tattoos.  piercings.  pigtails.  MESSY HAIR.  pixie cut.  bald.  long hair.  shaved head.  ponytail.  clipped-back fringe.  shoulder length.  bob cut.  old-fashioned hairstyle.  dreadlocks.  bun.  braids.  shaved side.  mohawk.  buzz cut.  afro.  asymmetric.  crown braid.  WAVY. SHORT.  cotton buns.  fade.  comb over.  side part.  other.

► WARDROBE tight pants. DENIM JEANS.  cargo pants.  fatigues.  chinos.  khakis.  dress slacks.  SLIM-FIT.  dockers.  pajama bottoms.  shorts.  short-shorts.  jean shorts.  dungarees.  skirt-overalls.  pencil skirt.  long skirt.  mini skirt.  tutu.  leggings.  sports bra.  yoga pants.  basketball shorts.  joggers.  sweats.  sweater.  sweater vest.  VEST.  t-shirt. TANK UNDERSHIRT. LONG-SLEEVE.  tight shirts.  polo shirt.  athletic shirt.  cardigan.  button-up shirt.  v-neck. henley.  flannels.  plaid. crop top.  tank top.  blouse.  racerback shirts.  boob tube.  sundress.  1-shoulder dress.  strapless.  jumper dress.  apron dress.  dress shirt.  ball gown.  nightgown.  hoodies.  army jacket.  MECHANIC COVERALLS.  trench coat.  BOMBER JACKET.  sport coat.  LEATHER JACKET.  lots of layers.  uniform.  dress uniform. armor.  bare feet. high heels.  ballet shoes.  jelly shoes.  flip-flops.  sandals.  rain boots.  sneakers.  pumps.  flats.  thigh-high boots.  cowboy boots. timberland boots. doc martens.  slip-ons.  slippers.  MOTORCYCLE BOOTS.  chukkas.  loafers.  dress boots.  knee boots. RIDING BOOTS.  knee-high socks.  SOCKS.  hose.  stockings.  beanies.  top hat.  sunhat.  newsboy cap.  fedora.  baseball cap. BELT.  TOOL / UTILITY BELT.  gloves.

► HAS YOUR MUSE EVER… BROKEN A BONE. HAD A NEAR-DEATH EXPERIENCE.  KILLED SOMEONE (AND SUCCEEDED). SAVED A LIFE.  self-harmed.  attempted suicide.  HAD SURGERY.  KISSED THE SAME GENDER/SEX.  HAD SEX.  had sex and regretted it. LOST A LOVED ONE.  had a pet.  GOTTEN ARRESTED.  gotten married.  divorced. cheated.  GOTTEN SHOT.  BEEN STABBED.  WITNESSED DEATH.  taken drugs. GOTTEN DRUNK. kept a promise you regretted.  played with an ouija board. seen a ghost.  been in a car accident.  GOTTEN STITCHES. suffered from amnesia. survived a natural disaster. survived an assassination attempt. SURVIVED A PLANE / SHIP CRASH. been framed. gone undercover. faked death. ASSUMED A FAKE IDENTITY. led a double life.  invented something. HAD SOMETHING SLIPPED INTO THEIR FOOD / DRINK.  BEEN KIDNAPPED. BEEN TAKEN HOSTAGE.  been sexually assaulted.  BEEN BULLIED.  bullied someone.  had a stalker.  BEEN BETRAYED.  been a traitor. been blackmailed.  BEEN ABUSED.  GOTTEN AWAY WITH CRIME. KILLED SOMEONE (AND FAILED).

tagging: @techniiciian @tapalslegacy @magikborn ( violet? ) @ragedagainst @intcthatgoodnight ( dexter? ) @hoovedrycal & you!!