#permanent eyeshadow

[pangur-and-grim]

going back in with a cunty elf

[strangled-mangoes]

teen titans textpost edits pt. 5!!!

sorry titans, but you'll never be able to catch slade. hes not here to serve time, he's here to serve CUNT <3

u can save these if u want to btw :3

previous text edits:

parts 1-3

part 4

next text edits:

part 6

[lamarie-artsy]

On the train to Melbourne with my partner :)

[foolishlyzephyrus]

the thing no one tells you about shadow casting rocky horror is that you will be washing makeup off for days afterwards

[forcefemme]

Please help the poll accuracy, peeps, possibly steering my future; only 2 days left.

So far it’s inconclusive:

[candystaples]

I've never done much to my brows besides pluck stray hairs. The natural shape is fine, albeit a little flat for my preferences. I looove an arched brow. My mom has teeny tiny super-plucked brows, and I guess my dad watched her draw them in all the time, so he always told me never to mess with mine and to leave them alone, which I appreciate. And then for the past decade-plus, big brows and "natural" brows have been popular. But through all this, I've still always thought I'd look better with thinner, sculpted brows...

[lumunesthetics]

Getting the Perfect Powder Brows in Tyson's Corner: What to Expect from Your Powder Brow Appointment

Are you tired of spending precious minutes each morning trying to achieve flawless eyebrows? If so, it's time to consider the latest trend in eyebrow enhancement: powder brows. Powder brows have taken the beauty world by storm, and Tyson's Corner is the perfect place to experience this transformative treatment.

Here, we'll guide you through what to expect from your powder brow appointment at a reputable esthetician service in Tyson's Corner:

Consultation

Your powder brow journey begins with a consultation. During this initial stage, a skilled technician will assess your facial features, skin tone, and personal preferences to determine the perfect shape, color, and density for your powder brows. They will listen attentively to your desires and offer professional advice to help you achieve the ideal look.

Preparation

Once the consultation is complete, your technician will prepare your eyebrows for the treatment. This typically involves cleansing the area and numbing it with a topical anesthetic to ensure your comfort throughout the process.

Application

The next step is the application of the powder pigment. Using a specialized microblading machine or a manual shading technique, the technician will delicately deposit the pigment into your skin, creating a soft, powdered effect that mimics the appearance of filled-in eyebrows. The process may take around two hours, depending on your unique requirements.

Aftercare

After your powder brow treatment, the technician will provide you with detailed aftercare instructions. It's essential to follow these guidelines to ensure the best possible healing and long-lasting results. Expect a healing period of approximately four to six weeks, during which you should avoid excessive sun exposure, scratching, or picking at the treated area.

With the service of Lumun Esthetics for powder brows Tyson’s corner, you can achieve the perfect set of brows that are effortlessly defined and beautifully shaped. Say goodbye to the daily struggle of eyebrow makeup and hello to the magic of powder brows.

[r1nstaaa]

matching tattoos [j.jk]

masterlist

warnings: none!! just some jungkook fluff for my beloved @zzzmayalol i wld recommend listening to amoeba by clairo while reading <3 enjoy!!

“Hey baby.” you said, slipping into the space beside him on the couch just as easily as you did into his heart. He put his phone down and motioned you to get on his lap. 

“hey, pretty.” he had an amused grin on his face, eyes shining bright as if he was looking at a star plucked right out of the solar system. “what’s up?”

“So, um. Funny idea, actually. You can absolutely say no-“ you started.

“Yes.” He deadpanned. “What?” “I said yes, pretty. You have my permission.” He grinned at you. You could’ve sworn your heart did somersaults.

“But you don’t even know what i’m planning to do, kookie.” you said through a chuckle. “What if i was planning on harvesting your organs to go out and sell them?” “With an eyeshadow palette? I don’t think so.”

You rolled your eyes, though your action had no bite to it. Man, he had you right where he wanted you. Always. He never even had to try.

“Alright. You caught me. Can i colour your tattoos?” “You know the answer, baby.”

It had been about twenty minutes since then. You decided just the eyeshadow wouldn’t be enough so you went and looked for the markers you swore were in your room somewhere. You were straddling his lap, holding his wrist in your hand like it was the most precious thing in the world. His tattoos were mostly all bold and intimidating, all sharp lines and deep ink. But right now? they were covered in all different hues of blue, pink and little stars and doodles here and there.

“You think this one deserves a permanent spot here?” he said, motioning towards the little star you’d drawn where his palm connected to his wrist. 

“What do you mean?” you asked, not quite looking up. You were so focused. He found it adorable. 

“I’m saying, I wanna make it real. Let’s get matching tattoos? I’ll draw it on your shoulder. Or wherever you’d like. If you want to, of course.” You were malfunctioning. Your boyfriend of a little over a year just suggested getting matching tattoos with you? while you were sitting on his lap? your heart felt like it was purposely trying it’s best to thump right out of your chest.

He just watched you with a lazy smile as you visibly froze up in his lap, but his expression softened a little when you didn’t respond. “Hey, it’s okay if you d-“ You cut him off with a soft kiss. You didn’t really trust your words as of now, totally caught off guard by his suggestion to even think. 

One thing was for sure, though. There was absolutely no one else you would rather do this with.

“I’m guessing that’s a yes, then?” he chuckled against your lips, going back to kissing you with a tenderness that made you wonder if he thought you were made of glass, or something so precious that he wouldn’t even dare to taint it with his touch.

Well, atleast to him you were.

“You might have to start charging for this. You’re too dedicated.” he teased.

“You could never afford me.” You said through a chuckle, eyes focused on the part of his forearm you were busy colouring. 

His fingers absentmindedly traced circles on your knee. “If it means you’ll keep touching me like this, I’d give you everything.” 

Your hand paused, warmth rising up your neck. But before you could react, he leaned in and kissed your nose. “Keep going, Picasso.” he murmured.

You tried pretending to be unimpressed, but the way the corners of your mouth tilted up just a little gave it away. “Fine, but no smudging my masterpiece.”

He just chuckled, letting you turn his tough tattoos into something entirely yours, just like he was.

[zziridian]

When it comes to the pact marks that line your body the brothers can't help but be entranced

If you find yourself relaxing with Asmo, he has a habit of coloring them in with makeup the intricate patterns practically glow with the shimmers in the eyeshadow.

Levi can't help but stare at them at his, he still can't believe that you'd liked him enough to have a permanent reminder on your body. But he can't lie he thinks it's beautiful.

Beel loves all of them his and his brother's, a enchanting reminder that you would stay, that you chose to stay with him. He'll follow you till the ends of the earth, please let that mark remind you that he loves you.

Belphie has trouble looking at his mark. He knows what he did too you how could you want a reminder of it? But when you grabbed his hand and let him trace the pattern, he couldn't help but blush.

Satan at first had a feeling that he wouldn't like the way his mark looked. Boy, was he wrong. The intricate pattern had him entrance and enchanted. Was this really for him? It's gorgeous.

Mammon can't lie he misses when his mark was the only one that Decorated your body. But it doesn't matter his was first! And well if you ask him, his is the most beautiful after all gold always did suit you the best.

A pack mark Lucifer used to scoff at the thought. But then he saw his. The way it wrapped around your form, the slight shimmer in the intricate Linework, it just looked right on you.

[formulaonecrumbs]

I loved the Oscar fic so much it’s exactly what i wanted and now more maybe like Oscar’s at home with his mum and all his sisters

we’ve made an icon 💅

Oscar Piastri x older sister!reader x piastri!siblings

summary: oscar’s sisters give him a makeover

warnings: none except for osc’s torture

A/N: literally had a blast writing this, thank u anon for the request aahhhh!!! i’m glad u liked the last one :) i searched his sisters names but couldn’t find the ages for Edie or Mae so i just made them 10 and 7. enjoyyyy i love u ❤️💋

༻ ❤︎︎ ༺

the living room looked like a tornado had blown through it — makeup bags spilled open across the carpet, costume jewelry flung over the back of the couch, feather boas and glittery sunglasses piled high on the coffee table.

“right,” you said, clapping your hands once, trying your best to look like you had control over this absolute disaster. “rules. no permanent marker, no scissors, no actual super glue. everything else… go wild.”

hattie smirked, already uncapping a hot pink lipstick like it was a weapon. edie giggled so hard she snorted. mae was bouncing on the spot, holding a sparkly headband two sizes too small.

and oscar — poor, poor thirteen-year-old oscar — sat cross-legged in the middle of it all, arms folded, an exaggerated scowl on his face.

“this is rigged,” he muttered. “i didn’t even agree.”

“yeah, you did,” you teased, leaning over to ruffle his already-messy hair. “you stayed in the room. counts.”

he groaned loudly, like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

but he didn’t leave.

he never did, not when it came to you lot.

mae immediately climbed onto the couch behind him and shoved the headband over his curls, almost taking his ear off in the process. “ow!” he yelped, swatting blindly. you caught his hand gently.

“easy, little man. you’re doing the country proud,” you said, solemnly, and he gave you the fiercest stink-eye he could muster.

hattie was in charge of the face. she attacked like a general on the battlefield, swiping neon eyeshadow across his lids while edie dabbed blush onto his cheeks with the wrong side of the brush.

“stop moving your face!” hattie barked.

“i’m breathing,” oscar grumbled.

“well, stop that too,” edie said sweetly.

you were laughing so hard your stomach hurt.

every time oscar opened his mouth to protest, mae stuck a gummy bear in it.

(you didn’t even know where she got them. the child had secret stashes everywhere.)

“okay, everyone chill — lipstick’s happening,” you warned, reaching for the tube before hattie could jab it straight into his nose. you knelt in front of him, squinting dramatically. “pout, piastri.”

“you’re dead to me,” he said flatly.

“that’s the spirit.”

the lipstick was a mess — bright pink and slightly crooked, but he wore it like a champ.

or, at least, like someone who had accepted his tragic fate.

next came the outfit. it took about ten minutes of arguing and two full wardrobe raids before edie triumphantly produced one of your old sequin skirts and a tie-dye singlet.

“you look stunning, darling,” you said, wiping fake tears from your eyes as hattie threw a feather boa over his shoulders.

“i hope every single one of you steps on a lego,” oscar said, his voice thick with betrayal.

“can i put glitter on his arms?” mae asked brightly, already uncapping the shaker.

“oh my god, no, stop!” you yelped, diving across the carpet to confiscate it before the house ended up looking like a disco ball exploded.

in the end, oscar sat there — headband cutting into his curls, cheeks glowing with too much blush, lips smeared pink, a sequin skirt twisted halfway around his legs — and accepted his fate with long-suffering dignity.

you pulled out your phone and snapped a photo, grinning so hard your cheeks hurt.

“this,” you said proudly, “is going to your wedding slideshow someday.”

he pointed at you, eyes narrowed. “i’m telling mum.”

“i am mum right now,” you said, tossing a feather boa at his head. “deal with it.”

everyone collapsed into a pile on the floor — giggling, shrieking, tossing costume jewelry at each other. even oscar cracked a smile when mae curled up against his side, babbling about how “pretty” he looked.

and when you finally turned off the lights hours later, stepping carefully over the chaos, you caught oscar looking around at all of you — his sisters, his chaos — and shaking his head with a tiny, secret grin.

he wouldn’t have traded it for anything.

༻ ❤︎︎ ༺

“right,” you said, clapping your hands and surveying the damage like a proud general. “now we show mum.”

oscar’s eyes widened in panic. “no. no way. i’m not going out there looking like this.”

“too late, mate,” hattie said sweetly, already grabbing his hand and trying to yank him up. edie was half-wheezing from laughing so hard, and mae was practically dragging the feather boa behind her like a prized pet.

“c’mon, osc, be a good sport,” you teased, ruffling his glitter-dusted hair. “you look gorgeous. stunning. a real icon.”

“this is betrayal,” he muttered, but he let himself be hauled up anyway — arms stiff at his sides like a tragic, sparkly soldier being marched to his doom.

you all barrelled down the hallway, practically vibrating with excitement, and burst into the kitchen where nicole was standing at the counter, sipping a cup of tea.

she turned at the noise, raising one eyebrow — and then she saw him.

there was a beat of complete silence.

and then nicole choked on her tea.

“oh my god,” she gasped, covering her mouth with both hands. “oscar! what have they done to you?!”

“i didn’t even have a choice!” he cried, flinging his arms out and sending glitter flying everywhere.

nicole was laughing so hard she had to put the mug down before she dropped it. “you look like… like a popstar from 2003!”

“he’s beautiful,” mae said solemnly, tugging the boa tighter around his shoulders.

“he’s fabulous,” edie added, hands on her hips.

“he’s traumatised,” oscar muttered under his breath.

you were leaning against the wall, trying (and failing) to keep a straight face. “you’re welcome, mum. we’ve unlocked his full potential.”

nicole wiped tears of laughter from her cheeks and walked over, pulling oscar into a hug — sequins, glitter, feather boa and all.

“you’re such a good brother, letting them do this,” she said warmly, kissing the top of his head.

oscar groaned loudly but hugged her back anyway, letting his head thunk against her shoulder like he was suffering through the greatest injustice in history.

“can i keep the lipstick?” hattie asked, already rifling through the pile of makeup again.

“no,” oscar said, dead serious. “i’m burning it.”

you snapped another photo, just to be safe.

because moments like this — messy, chaotic, hilarious — were the kind you never wanted to forget.

THE END :>

[chaptersleftunwritten]

Beauty is a beast that roars

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Blurb: You quietly long for Eddie’s attention, and when things with Chrissy start to look serious you resort to desperate attempts for him to look at you the way he looks at her.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Chrissy Cunningham x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Angst, hurt (no comfort), Eddie is kinda a dick, obsession, hurtful notes being passed, mentions of bulimia/eating disorder, mild stalking, low talk about self image, societal pressure to look a certain way, mental health struggles, characters are 20+ and in a college setting!

-

divider by @reveriesources

It started as a slow burn inside of your chest. You blamed it on the stress of finals but the more you saw them together, the more that burn worsened into a blaze; scorching your heart and tarring it black.

You didn’t think it possible to be obsessed with someone that you didn’t love- but you worshipped the very ground that Chrissy Cunningham walked on. At times, you thought she was able to read your mind. The way she effortlessly flicks her natural glowing golden hair over her shoulder as she laughs, looking like she was sculpted by Aphrodite herself- or how she presses her perfect rosy lips in peppery and sweet kisses to Eddie’s cheek. She had him wrapped around her skilful fingers. You couldn’t stand it.

It twisted your insides into a rope like knot- so tight and big and uncomfortable. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think straight when you looked at her. At them. Your brain harbouring thoughts of envy, rotting from the inside out with lightless horrid concepts.

You couldn’t help but follow study Chrissy. Her signature blue eyeshadow that adorns her gorgeous blue eyes, her tiny upturned nose, her well proportioned features- her body. You had never repeated this information to anyone before, not even Eddie, because not only would it expose your research into Chrissy, but because you definitely weren’t ever supposed to find out.

You had walked in on her one day in the bathroom. She was hunched over in a stall, her white sneakers peeking out from beneath the cubicle door. She was vomiting. Harshly.

At first you thought she may just be sick, and she was, but it was a different conversation. You entertained that thought until you walked in a second and third time to her in the exact same position- her fatigued body draped over the toilet bowl. You understood how she maintained her physique. It broke your heart; momentarily.

What broke your heart more was that Eddie evidentially had no idea. You knew, deep down, Chrissy was just like you. A sad, broken girl. But she was better at hiding it. The Duchess of disguise. The Queen of your psyche. Your admiration of her was unhealthy, you knew that much. You just couldn’t stop. You needed Eddie to look at you the way he looks at her.

So you cut your hair into a fringe, and you change your clothes. You find your own signature colour of eyeshadow and you even purchase a few skater skirts. Sports had never really interested you until now; now you were trying out for the cheerleading team. And with being Chrissy’s friend- of course she gave you direct entry.

Because despite her beauty, Chrissy was also kind. Which made the knot in your stomach grow firmer, imbedding itself within you permanently.

-

“Hey, Eddie!” You make sure your voice is dripping with the sweetest form of honey as you bat your mascara thick eyelashes at him. He glances at you from his magazine, quirking a brow at your chirpy energy.

“Hello… What’s up?” He asks, his words clipped as his eyes focus back on the flimsy book he holds sturdily in his hands. God… his hands. The rings that compliment his slender fingers and the bracelets that dress his wrist. You couldn’t get enough of it- of him.

It was impossible for you to hold his attention for more than a few seconds, and you had bound into the library full of hope and partial confidence today. You had pieced together one of your best outfit. A denim jacket draped over your shoulders, a white tank top (with no bra) and a cute skirt in your favourite colour which also matched your eyeshadow. Your hair was in a voluminous pony tail, held up by a great big scrunchie and your eyes were bright with popping colour. Your cheeks were dusted with blush and your nails painted perfectly; with the help of your mother.

You couldn’t think of a reason why Eddie wouldn’t look at you. You looked totally bitchin’!

“Uhm…” you stutter, your small confidence wavering at his lack of interest, “We haven’t really hung out in a while… I thought maybe we could? If you like!” There is a festering in the pit of your stomach, a panic that grows with every anticipating second, “We don’t really hang out anymore... just us, I mean.” You add, hoping further context will make you sound a little less desperate.

You and Eddie used to hang out every day. Sometimes alone, sometimes with the whole group. But lately… things have changed. And you know the reason why.

Eddie acknowledged you with a hum, finally placing his magazine down and narrowing in on your appearance. You thought you wanted him to look at you, but the intense confusion on his face made you long for the earth to gape open beneath you and swallow you whole.

“Looks like ya did a deep dive through Chrissy’s wardrobe.” His chuckle makes your ears heat and your face flush as his fingertips pluck at the sheer scrunchie wrapped in your hair. You can’t tell if he is joking or not— but to you, it’s a compliment nonetheless.

After a moment of pause and total excitement you gather your composure quickly and cough a meek reply, “I’m trying something new.”

You’re trying to be someone new.

“Hmm,” He examines you further, “I dunno,” Eddie scratches at his chin, his once soft and playful features now express something more distasteful, “I personally prefer your old style— this seems… out of character.” There was a lilt to his deep voice, which made him sound interrogative.

“You.. you do?” You curse inwardly at the stutter in your airy voice. To say his words shocked you was an understatement. They had your jaw hanging loose and your eyes opened broadly. Had you gotten it all wrong? Were you really just as pretty before all of this? Or was he teasing you… was he trying to make you feel better? Was this his attempt at telling you that you look like an utter clown in comparison to Chrissy?

You’d never know… because you would never ever ask him such things.

You think back to a note that got passed to you in class not too long ago- you weren’t sure of the culprit (you suspected Jason) — it read along the lines of,

‘Apply all the makeup you want, but at the end of the day it’s just lipstick on a pig.’

Were you a pig? Was this all just a feeble and comical attempt at beauty? To be desired. To be wanted. It’s all you longed for. It’s all you dreamed of.

You wanted Eddie to see you. To want you. And at this rate, you were losing all hope.

“Yeah,” alongside a small laugh he also flashes you a toothy smile, a mocking smile— and you clamp your jaw closed to stop yourself from shaking out a sob, “Listen, you’re free to chill here with me if you want but— hey!”

You couldn’t take it. The embarrassment. The knife twisting in your chest and puncturing your heart. You flee from the table abruptly before Eddie even has a chance to say anything more to you.

What was wrong with you? You wanted his attention, you wanted him alone and when you got it you despised the humorous way he gazed at you. You didn’t want to be entertaining or funny— you wanted to be loved.

Loved by him.

To please him.

To make him proud…

On exiting the library you pass Chrissy who was entering through the heavy fire doors, clearly she is on her way to meet Eddie. It was uncanny, almost like looking into a mirror.

The blonde spares you a small smile but not without a worried and intrigued glance at your attire before she is muttering a quick ‘Hello’ which you don’t even bother to return. You are too focused on your pursuit to the bathroom where you can hide yourself in an empty stall and cry without judgement. The only issue? You didn’t bring any makeup wipes for the mascara that has plagued your face in splotches and streaks of black tears.

Your eyes sting furiously and your bottom lip quivers outwith your control. It’s hard to believe that you have allowed yourself to stoop this low, crying shamelessly on campus in front of your peers. Their sympathetic eyes and taunting grins don’t go unnoticed by you as you finally make it to the bathroom, bursting into the void room like a bat out of Hell. Slamming the cubicle door closed and sitting on the toilet bowl where you start to question reality.

What are you doing?

You despise the fact that you know, no matter what, no matter how stupid you look- how ridiculous your clothes are and your sorry attempts at looking pretty, you would continue to do it. Even if people stared, gawked, whistled, laughed… you would continue on this descent into madness. The chase of perfection. The downward spiral of your mind had only just begun and you had a far distance yet to fall.

-

Whilst classes had finished for a long weekend and everyone was outdoors enjoying what was left of the sun before Fall crept its way in, you were sat in front of your bathroom mirror. 

Pulling, pinching, tweezing, twisting, sucking, shaving, grabbing and crying.

God, you couldn’t stop crying.

You couldn’t remember a time when you didn’t cry.

To you, winter was already here. You were chilled to the bone, hollow in your chest. Insides were sunken. You felt vacant of any joy.

“Honey!!” Your mother yells suddenly from the bottom of the staircase, her voice is cloud like and warm, “Someone is here to see you!” There is a mutter of something inaudible, “Chrissy!” She confirms snippily and your face drops heavily into a worried frown.

“I’m in the shower!!” You shriek back dishonestly and you are reminded that you have a heart as it shudders inside of your chest. You aren’t ready to see her— you don’t have a lick of makeup on, your hair isn’t done and you are still wrapped up in your bath towel. 

Your first thought is how do you get rid of her? How do you lie your way out of this?

You couldn’t.

“Okay, she’ll be waiting down here for you then…” Your mother’s voice dies out and you can hear her offering Chrissy something to drink and eat; which Chrissy declines.

You move around your bedroom agilely, hustling to get as presentable as you possibly could to face the girl waiting downstairs for you. It doesn’t quite register that Chrissy is sitting with your mother, chatting and possibly gossiping. All you care about is getting some makeup slapped on your face and some nice clothes hugging your body.

Your hair can be brushed, but you don’t have time to style it— that’ll have to come later. After multiple a few sprays of your favourite perfume that smells like vanilla and a tinge of cedar wood you feel ready enough to leave your sanctuary.

Nearly tripping over your entire wardrobe that covers your bedroom floor you fly toward the door handle, bracing yourself at the top of the staircase before you descend.

Time to meet your maker.

Your intense gaze flicks hurriedly between your mother and Chrissy as they both stand to meet you as you enter into the lounge room. Chrissy’s hair is twirled and curled to perfection and a short pink summer dress embraces her small frame. On her feet is a pair of red Mary Jane heels and you catch a peek at the silver jewellery strung around her neck and her wrists.

“Hi,” you say, feeling like it is the first breath you take since entering the room.

Chrissy bounds over to you, stringing her arms around your shoulders and pulling you in for a quick but sweet hug, “Hi!” She giggles in a sing song tone before pulling away, “You smell amazing by the way! You’ll have to let me know what that is later!” Her fingers linger on the exposed skin of your bicep and you cringe away from her touch.

“Thanks,” Your mother has long left the room and you walk a few paces away from Chrissy.

“We were heading to the movies, you wanna join? It’s meant to be such a warm night tonight!” To your disadvantage Chrissy follows behind you closely, closing the distance you were trying to create between the both of you, “The whole group will be there! Plus, it’s a thriller which I know you love.” She winks at you and you hate that you can feel your lips curving up into a minuscule smile.

“I dunno, Chris.” Your hand palms at the back of your neck, you feel hot with discomfort and to be quite frank all you want to do is lay in bed and mope.

“Please!” She clasps her hands together, inching closer to you— if that were even possible, “I’ll even buy your ticket!” Her pillowy bottom lip pouts out slightly, “I just wanna hang out with you, it’s been so long.”

And she was right. It had been a long time. You had been so swept up in this horrible pursuit of yours that you forgot you were actually friends with Chrissy. Long before you even knew of Eddie’s existence.

A defeated sigh leaves through your nostrils and you raise your shoulders to your ears, “Fine.” You smile, a smile that feels the most genuine it has in weeks.

Chrissy squeals with excitement, jumping up and down on the spot before taking your hand into hers. Interlocking your fingers so she can make sure you don’t make a run for it, “Let’s go, tiger!”

-

You all find your seats quickly, settling into them with your snacks and beverages. You partially regret not getting a drink but you decide that you’ll be able to soldier through. It’s what you do.

It was no surprise to you that Eddie was there too, but you couldn’t help but panic at the sight of him waiting for you and Chrissy to arrive at the theatre. His tatted arms crossed comfortably over his chest and a love filled smile teasing at his lips as Chrissy trotted over to him, practically jumping into his arms for a hug.

You fell behind them, ensuring you left as much distance as you possibly could. The sight of Eddie alone was enough to send you tumbling into a frenzy of inky feelings.

You could smell Eddie’s cheap cologne mixed with a hint of powerful weed and for a moment it clouds your senses. Taking hold of everything you knew— past, present, future. You couldn’t think about any of it, not with his scent engulfing your nostrils like second hand smoke.

Once the group had settled into the dimly lit theatre you sink into your seat behind Eddie and Chrissy, your shoulders slumping as you wish for the seat to turn into some sort of magical trap door that will transport you to another universe. But of course, you could never be so lucky.

The movie begins with a deafening introduction and you wince at the sound, your finger tips brushing over your ears gently to make sure that they hadn’t been blown off of the side of your head.

Steve occupies the seat next to you, and Robin is next to him with Vickie. You had grown to quite enjoy Vickie’s company. You loved how happy Robin got when she was in touchable reach… you pined for a connection like that.

Normally, you would be in your element as you watched a thriller movie, but something in front of you proved to be far more interesting.

Eddie and Chrissy were whispering sweet nothing into one another’s ear, Chrissy giggling and blushing at whatever it was that Eddie had said— probably something dirty and ridiculous.

And you could handle that. You could endure that.

But what you couldn’t take was watching as their tongues battled it out in a sloppy and erotic kiss. Chrissy had asked you to come and see this film— was it all a rouse just so she could show you who Eddie truly belongs too? So she could dismiss your attempts and break your heart further?

Unbeknownst to you, Steve had clocked the expression on your face. Tears glossing over your eyes, your front teeth gnawing on your bottom lip to try and contain whatever this was that you were feeling— but most importantly, he noticed the newfound stiffness in your body. He could feel you going rigid next to him.

“Hey, you okay?” His voice is low and kind and you should have paid more attention to his attentiveness but you don’t.

“I need to use the bathroom.” Is all you reply before lugging all of your stuff loosely and lazily into your arms and bolting for the theatre isle, but not without earning a few confused looks from Robin.

You bypass the restrooms, your eyes focused on the colossal glass doors which would separate you from Eddie and Chrissy officially.

The humid air hits your skin in an agonising envelop of warmth and you pull your sleeve over the palm of your hand to rub against your soaked cheeks.

Your chest feels heavy with every shaking intake of breath that you manage to pull into your lungs. You are heaving, gasping for air as you sob into the thick material of your sweater.

The sound of passing cars hits your ears and you slightly angle yourself away from the access road connecting the theatre to other public establishments. The images of Chrissy tongue down Eddie’s throat plays over and over in your mind— you don’t even know what the film was about because you were so hyper focused on them.

Your skin feels as though it doesn’t fit right over your skeleton and you grab at the material of your skirt, fisting the fabric as you try to ground your raging emotions.

You catch a whiff of theatre food and it causes bile to raise up the back of your throat, vomit threatening to project from your mouth.

People pass you by, their out of context conversations entering one of your ears and leaving the other. You felt so overstimulated— so riddled with anxiety that your brain hadn’t had space to even register Steve’s hand on your shoulder.

But when you do, you flinch away from him, taken aback by the horror stricken look on his soft features, “Hey… what’s going on?” His voice is low, a whisper as he tries to contain the situation between the two of you. Not wanting whatever this is to spill into the public.

You shake your head, your strong walls flagging up, “Nothing,” you dismiss him, “That movie was just… really scary..” you lie through your teeth and your watery eyes betray your words as tears continue to stream down your flushed skin.

“Bullshit.” He spits, his eyes turning to slits as he inches in closer to you, “Tell me what’s wrong right now.” His thick eyebrows have furrowed deeply on his forehead and you continue to deny him of any information.

“Steve— I’m fine! That movie was scary, I’m scared! That’s all… and.. and I needed some fresh air.” You shrug your shoulders, hoping that the messy headed man would leave it at that but he replies to your dishonesty with a discontent shake of his head.

“You’re fucking lying. Why are you lying to me?” He is so close to you now that you can feel his breath fanning onto your face, “We’re friends, right?” He cocks his head slightly to the right, his eyes becoming a bit more gentle, “Right?”

“Yes!” You respond instantly, “Of course we are friends-“

“Then tell me what’s going on! What is all of this about!” He gestures to your face, but his eyes scan across your body as well. He wants to know the whole truth, and you aren’t going to give it to him.

“I just told you!” You try not to yell, and thankfully your despair is doing a good job at strangling your voice, “I needed air—“ Steve cuts you off.

“Stop it. Stop it now.” He takes a hold of your arm, hurrying you away from the movie theatre entrance, “Just tell me. Whatever it is, I can help! I can help, okay? There’s nothing too big.” You stare into his honey suckle eyes, seeing your owe reflection staring back at you. It causes your stomach to flip with disgust.

“Why can’t you just let this go? I’m fine, Steve! I’m fucking fine! I just wanted air because I felt sick and you’re causing a scene!” You’re yelling now, your once sadness provoked tears turning to anger.

“I’m causing the scene? You’re the one lying to me and busting my balls! I just want to help you!” He takes a frustrated hand through his hair.

“I don’t need your help! I don’t need anyone, I’m fine on my own. I can take care of myself— you don’t get it! You’ll never get it, Harrington!” You jab at his chest, your body shaking with adrenaline.

“Harrington? Wow, okay. Something is definitely bothering you because you only ever call me that when you are really fucking pissed and I know I haven’t angered you this much so just tell me.” He circles you like a shark in murky water and you flee from him, needing some breathing space.

“Tell me!” He demands, charging after you.

You swing around to face him, your entire body feeling as though it’s going to combust.

“You wanna know, Steve? You really wanna fucking know?!” You march toward him, stopping a few paces away from his large frame.

“I’m in love with Eddie!” Your voice is an unattractive squeak, “Is that what you want to know, Steve? Are you fucking happy now?” You’re trembling now— a mix of rage, melancholy and dread.

“I am in love with someone who will never love me back. I… I have tried so hard to win him over.” You pluck at your t-shirt, scoffing at the silliness of it all, “I tried to change everything about me. I tried to be the one he would want but he doesn’t want me. He’ll never fucking want me, Steve.”

You wrap your arms around yourself, a form of defensiveness, “I’ll always be second best— no.” A moment of ugly realisation hits you, “I’m not even on his list. I’m not even a back up option to him. I’m a nobody. I can’t compete— I can’t compare.”

You’re a mess now. Smudged eyeliner. Smeared lipstick. You are a museum of failed art.

“I am in love with Eddie Munson and he doesn’t even know who I am.”

You try to lessen the blow of your own words with a tight lipped teary smile and a shrug of your shoulders… but whatever was left of your bruised heart was now torn to shreds. Unfixable. Unlovable.

“No one wants me.”

Through your distorted vision you hadn’t even noticed the tears pricking at Steve’s own eyes as he watched you fall to pieces in front of him.

Gently he brings you to lay flat against his chest, one of his hands rest tenderly against your hair whilst the other it draped over your shoulders.

He doesn’t say anything. He just holds you silently and allows you to sob into his broad chest— your makeup destroying his pristine white shirt.

A few moments of the embrace pass and that’s when you hear a muted voice from behind Steve’s large frame. A voice you had hoped to not hear— a voice that belonged to someone you had prayed would never ever hear you confess what you just had. A voice that was laced with what you could only pinpoint as malice and repulsion.

Eddie.

“What.. the fuck?”

And as Steve’s body tensed against yours, you blinked away the last of your tears and accepted your fate.

-

taglist: @colorful-white-ideas @littlered0000 @ali-r3n @daisy-munson @serenadingtigers

[unboundprompts]

Different Ways to Describe Brown Eyes

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

They had eyes like mud, perfectly matched with the frown that permanently stained their face.

Her eyes were as bright as the raging sun and the color of dancing flames.

They wore blue eyeshadow to contrast their dark brown eyes.

Her eyes were as beautiful as the leaves of trees in autumn.

His eyes were nearly black, like a void that held a lifetime of secrets.

Dirt. She had eyes like dirt. They were almost as dirty as her personality.

Their eyes reminded her of old brick libraries and vintage books.

She had the kind of eyes that made thieves wonder why they bothered to steal pieces of art.

His eyes made her think of the sandcastles she used to build as a kid.

Her eyes were the color of honey, irises swirling like the sweet nectar.

His eyes—the color of an intoxicating champagne—beckoned her over with nothing more than a wink and a smile.

Their eyes were the same color as the old oak tree their great-great-grandfather planted in the backyard.

His eyes were the same color as the bottle of liquor in his hand.

They had a smile like spring, but their eyes were autumn with a hint of passing summer.

Her dark eyes were flaked with gold.

His brown eyes had tragedy weaved behind his irises.

Brown, copper eyes that paired with the dry blood stuck to their face watched him as he stalked across the tiled floor.

If you like what I do and want to support me, please consider buying me a coffee! I also offer editing services and other writing advice on my Ko-fi! Become a member to receive exclusive content, early access, and prioritized writing prompt requests.

[chrrific]

[ 奇麗 ] GIRLS JUST WANNA DANCE

— 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝗂𝗋𝗍𝗁𝖽𝖺𝗒; 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌.

&&엔하이픈 ✦ bf! enhypen x 𝑓. reader ─── est. relationships fluff ♡ l’avis . . . kissing wc1000

✉️ 注記 — oh my, active mick ?? >< this one’s for @bywonyo aka my princessss (ilysm ai)

the masterlist reblogs & likes are appreciated !!

LEE HEESEUNG

heeseung wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes off you the whole night. i mean, how could he, when you were wearing that purple dress that he picked out for you? the music set list was on fire; charlie xcx, olivia rodrigo, troye sivan, kendrick lamar — it was the setlist. and who made it? heeseung.

PARK JONGSEONG

the drink in his hand had lost his attention, all of it now on you. the way you were laughing with your friends, the way you did your hair that night; it was almost about to break his self control.

he so badly wanted to kiss you senseless in front of everyone here, show them that this is what they missed out on, but he knew you’d give him the silent treatment after (from past experiences.)

SIM JAEYUN

your eyeshadow was glimmering under the disco ball placed on your ceiling fan, a light sheen of sweat coating your face from the singing and dancing with your friends.

you walked over to him, who was sat on the counter, and picked up a tissue, dabbing your skin with it. and for some reason, it looked kinda… hot to him. well, he thought you were hot in general, so that’s a different matter in its own.

PARK SUNGHOON

his eyes were only for you as you stepped up and picked up the mic, pink ‘birthday princess’ sash shining in the iridescent light of the disco ball.

“thank you for coming tonight, everyone! we have the dinner buffet out now, so let’s all go eat some good food!”

he smiled as he heard your voice, waiting near to take your hand and bring you with him to eat.

KIM SUNOO

his smile was irreplaceable as he watched you and your best friends take selfies together, your birthday tiara placed elegantly on your head. your lips were put in a selfie pout, and so he wanted to just pull you away and never let you go.

he didn’t even notice he was staring until heeseung came over and gave him a little nudge. “man, you’re really down bad, aren’t you?”

YANG JUNGWON

jungwon’s fingers drummed against the counter, the song — your favourite song — playing in the background enveloping his ears. a small smile tugged at his lips, and it got even wider and he saw you walk towards him.

“hey won, is my lip gloss okay?” you asked, and he was so grateful for the excuse to stare at your lips. he nodded, shooting you a mischievous grin, before pulling you closer and kissing your cheek. you tried to look annoyed, but the smile on your face was a huge giveaway.

NISHIMURA RIKI

he was busy staring at you(r lips), until he got an idea.

he got off the barstool, making his way over to where you and your friends were dancing. his fingers wrapped around your wrist, making you turn around in confusion.

“may i have this dance, princess?”

PERMANENT TAGLIST —

𐔌 ﹒ @liya07v @strvvy-anniee @flufflights @eunandonly @hannamoon143 @irasvr @ateez-atiny380 @amoressb @ikeulove @gudkc @mrsjohnnysuh @sol3chu @nerdywitchcrown @sol3chu @puma-riki @xeee334 @suhiiiies-blog @haerinheartss @layzfy @manaah02 @ijustwannareadstuff20

( bold — could not be tagged )

[haeryna]

thinking about idol!gojo and rockstar!geto (tw: mentions of underage drinking, implied abandonment, implied homophobia from gojo's parents, vague mentions of illness)

how you three, along with shoko, lived in the same ratty small town in the middle of nowhere. you'd moved when you were six, all shy and scared of the house your parents had moved to in order to help your sick grandmother that you barely remembered because the last time you'd seen her was when you were four. you were from the city; you'd never seen fireflies, or grass that stretched out as far as your eyes could see, and so when you saw the first firefly appear just as the sky turned to dusk, how were you supposed to resist it?

so you chased it down to the creek, all smiles and filled with excitement, until you realized it was dark, and you were in the forest, and you were scared. you couldn't help but start to cry, and that's where geto found you.

"are you lost?"

sniffling, you peered up at the dark haired boy, whose soft brown eyes filled with a sort of concern. "y-yeah," you hiccupped, and geto offers up a gentle smile. "it's okay, i know the way back."

and so, you'd taken his hand, let him tug you out of the creek bed, and lead you back toward the house that still didn't quite feel like home. you'd learn, his name was suguru. suguru geto, and wherever suguru geto was, satoru gojo was never too far behind (although you didn't know that, yet).

"you crying?"

you'd let out a startled yelp, still clinging to suguru's hand, twisting to look at the other boy who was staring at you with unrestrained curiosity. even at the age of six, you found him beautiful, with the piercing blue of his eyes, and the soft white down of his hair, even as he mocked you. satoru hadn't known how else to express the sort of silent jealousy that had torn its way through his chest once he saw you holding suguru's hand.

the two of you bickered, all the way back until they left you at your front door, much to suguru's displeasure. yet satoru was beaming; nobody but suguru and shoko dared to speak to him that way. he was too young to understand the way his heart seemed to churn every moment he saw you after .

later, you would meet shoko ieiri, who instantly took a liking to you, defending you with the stubbornness of an older sister you never had.

later, you would realize just how beautiful suguru and satoru were, as they grew. you were the one who pierced suguru's ears (a decision made at 1am in his basement), who bought satoru his first eyeshadow palette (his parents would have died if they'd ever see him use it). and it was eventually you who brought them into music, as you stared up at the ceiling of suguru's basement. the lights grew hazy as you blinked up at them, empty bottles of stolen beer surround you. suguru and shoko were busy smoking a pack of (also stolen) cigarettes, and satoru was on his phone.

"what if we like. made a band?"

you were only 16, and dreamed of leaving the small town you'd moved to. the temporary stay had turned permanent after your grandmother had inevitably passed. shoko immediately snorted. "i love you, but i can't sing for shit."

but you were persistent. you thrifted an old guitar that you gave to suguru as a birthday present, encouraged satoru's angelic singing.

you should have known they would outgrow you.

you're 21 now, still living in the old house, taking care of your parents. the dreams you'd had years ago turned into ash in your mouth. even shoko had left, off to pursue medical school.

you can't stomach looking at the news anymore. satoru has broken into the idol industry, creating equal amounts of chart toppers and scandals. an idol like that only comes once every one hundred years, they say. with the way he moves, the way he acts, you're inclined to believe it.

(when you watch him for the first time, on some variety show, you see him, see the way they've done his makeup, and you're brought back to sitting on the couch, telling him to stop moving or he'll mess up the eyeshadow you attempting to apply. you wonder if his parents were furious at the decision. you wonder where the eyeshadow palette you gave him went. did he take it with him before he left for good? bile rises heavy in your throat, and you shut off the television, unable to stomach it any longer.)

the radio is equally as traitorous. you know suguru has been dominating the indie charts, to the point where it's simply suguru and satoru competing against each other. you hate how whenever you go to the local bakery, you can hear his voice again playing through the speakers. hate how when you make the long drive to pick up your parents' medicine, how you can hear him through your car's speakers. it feels intimate in a way that you cannot bear.

(still, you hear the guitar and remember the look in his eyes when you gifted him the one you'd found in the thrift store. suguru had treated it reverently, telling you with an earnest sort of smile that, "the first song i write will be for you." he's traded out acoustics for rock. he has no need for that guitar anymore, you think absentmindedly. just like he no longer needed you.)

but what you don't know is that every time satoru's makeup artist gets to his eyes, he has to keep them firmly shut or else he'd burst into tears. she didn't do it like you. she never would. every time he steps onto the stage, he looks for you, though he knows he'll never find you. it never stops him from looking. how he sings his heart out in the hopes you'll hear him, unaware that despite his popularity, you avoid his music like it's deadly.

what you don't know is that every time suguru writes, he realizes how he lied to you. "the first song i'll write will be for you," he remembers, and yet now every song he writes is about you. now, girls he doesn't even know, screams his name, screams along to his songs that he wrote for you. they pretend that they're the girl who was left behind, the girl that he's never stopped loving.

(he'll never forget the way your hand fit into his, how even at the age of six he knew that you were the only one who ever had his heart along with satoru)

how on days he misses you particularly badly, the piercings you'd given him burns. he writes his love into his music, the music that you shut off every time you hear it come on the radio.

it changes nothing, if they come back, you tell yourself. suguru and satoru have each other. they don't need you.

but one day they do come back, come back for you, and it changes everything.

[azzo0]

"Jo?" you whispered, drawing circles on his tattooed back. His arm was thrown over you, pulling you flush into him. His emerald eyes were almost drooping shut. Lying on the couch with the sunlight flooding in through the windows seemed to make him drowsy. You had come over to spend the afternoon with him, and according to him, there was no better way to spend time than to take a nap together.

"Mmm?" He nuzzled under your chin.

"Can I colour your tattoos?"

"Where do you get these ideas from?" He laughed, looking up at you. He couldn't resist that look in your eyes. The same look that made him melt and say yes to everything you wanted, "Sure. As long as it isn't with permanent markers."

You kissed his cheek and immediately brought your eyeshadow palette and brushes from your bag. He let you adjust his arm so you could start with the dragon that went all the way up. He smiled at you whilst you did your thing, the soft brushes on his skin finally making him fall asleep.

By the time he woke up, hair disheveled and drool running down his chin, you'd gone home. He glanced at his arm, immediately grinning when he saw that you had coloured the dragon on his arm in pink and purple. You'd even given it a cutesy bow. He checked the tattoos on his back in the mirror and saw that you had coloured them in your girly colours, too. He took a picture and saved it to the album he had of you and him.

Ever since that day, his favourite way to take naps is when you're colouring his tattoos for him.

[cardansangel]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤSWEATER WEATHER ──── g. hawthorne

(🦢) ─── skiing with grayson at the slopes of true north, except he's a born natural at the sport, and you're .. you. ⌗ fluff. you'd probably end up a permanent part of the snowy landscape if not for grayson. kisses & snow angels. soft grayson (maybe a bit exasperated).

talk talk ✶ there's no actual skiing due to the fact that i have no idea how to write action.

with the air of someone who did this on a daily basis (you've never touched a ski in your life), you point your finger at the tallest slope, lips stretched into a wide grin. "that one," you announce. grayson's eyes flicker between you and the ski slope like a ping-pong match, eyebrows cocked as if to ask if you had a death wish.

his gaze told you more than he ever would, that your over-confidence would get you killed someday― perhaps even today.

"i know what you're going to say," you begin, raising a flat hand in front of his face, "and no, i will not attempt first at the beginner hills." you made a sour face. "there's no fun in that."

"i'm assuming a trip to the emergency room is fun, then?"

the bitter expression deepened, but quickly dissolved when grayson cracked a rare smile. his hand curved around your waist, thumbing the pocket at the side of your puffer jacket. "skiing is more than just point and go, i hope you know that."

"oh, but i have you with me!" you burrow into the slight warmth provided by his body towering over yours. "you're a pro at this, yes? triple-gold medal at the olympics, perchance?"

"not yet."

seventeen failed attempts later and counting, you were no more likely to skiing gracefully than grayson was to doing the macarena in a tutu and glitter eyeshadow.

"eighteenth times the charm?" you murmur feebly, arms stretched out on the snow. grayson stood over your starfish form, shaking his head in amusement touched with exasperation. "that's not the saying," he comments. his blond hair peeked out from under his ski helmet, snow frosting the tips, and despite the wrung-out mess you were on the ground, you still found it in yourself to find that attractive.

really, anything the man did was attractive, but there was something to him being shabby and tousled that just did it for you.

"i think you've endured enough agony for the day," he decreed, extending a hand for you to take and haul yourself up. "you're not going to get any better at this―" that earned him a light punch to the chest, "―so i speak for the both of us when i say that we should call it day and head back."

you let out a long-suffering sigh, your free hand reaching up to tug the plastic-rimmed ski googles away from his beautiful blue eyes. the sigh was resignation enough, and grayson took it as one, pressing his cold mouth to your temple, then trailed his lips down to yours. your goggles got in the way, but were hastily pushed up to your brow.

one final kiss in between your eyes, at the bridge of your nose, and he pulled away.

"we should do this again sometime," he said, hooking his ski poles under his arm and, with his free hand, intwined your fingers together. snow fell from the heavens then, an appropriate end to your eventful trip. and certainly not the last one; grayson seemed keen to do this again, regardless of how much of a walking disaster you were.

"yes. we should."

© cardansangel 2025