#glamorous life blog | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

honeytonedhottie · 3 months

Text

your guide to effortless glamour⋆.ೃ࿔*:･✨

personal branding - what does glamor mean to YOU. what makes your sense of glamor different from everyone else’s. personal branding is all about individuality. when everyones idea of glamor is identical to each other’s, everyones personal charm dissipates, and "glamor" loses its meaning. thats why its important to not conform to EVERY little trend, or try and copy someone else’s personal brand.

the difference with getting inspiration from someone and copying someone is simple. when ur inspired by someone, u can do something similar for personal branding, but the distinction between ur brand and INSPIRERS brand is very distinct.

confidence - the most glamorous people are ALWAYS the most confident. the thing about confidence is that nobody can ACTUALLY determine whether or not its real. because of that it is so easy to fake confidence. fake it till u make it. its SUPER easy to create confidence because of this fact.

my favorite way to work on my confidence is through self CONCEPT work. if ur a loa girlie then yk that self concept is the FOUNDATION for literally everything and i stress its importance relentlessly bcuz its JUST that important. im currently working on a big self concept post which is dropping soon, but for now i have lots of self concept posts already that u can reference if u dont know where to start.

treatment - when ur working towards effortless glamor, ofc you’re gonna TREAT yourself as the glamorous individual you are. and what i mean by that is -> treating urself with nothing short of respect and LOVE. some ways to implement effortless glamor into ur life are...

giving urself compliments

AFFIRM TO URSELF (vaunt, and rampage and affirm about how much u love urself, even if u dont at the moment it WILL come into fruition)

self care - pamper urself just like u deserve. take care of ur skin, hair and nails. when u look good u FEEL good. treat urself like a princess, with the upmost care.

pampering yourself - be EXTRAAA and be meticulous. take impeccably good care of ur body and ur health. when ur taking care of urself like u should, you'll glow from the inside out. when u make it a habit to put time into yourself, your confidence AND glamorous energy will skyrocket.

other resources ; i'll add youtubers, and other blogs that i take inspo from for ✨glamor✨ and ofc an affirmations list.

@prissygrlsorority - one of the most GLAMOROUS blogs that i've seen yet. overall a rly good resource.

misstada - one of my favorite youtubers, glamorous makeup tutorials and vlogs.

AFFIRMATIONS - my whole entire existence is so effortlessly glamorous. im the embodiment of the word fabulous. i have fabulous hair, fabulous style, and of COURSE that fabulous smile. im a star.

all in all, KNOW who you are, and remind urself of that ✨ - honey

1K notes · View notes

xoglamourqueen · 9 months

Text

📸: luxuryxarch

580 notes · View notes

meissamynizzle · 6 months

Text

47 notes · View notes

mayorwhisper · 20 days

Text

Is growing vegetable glamorous?

4 notes · View notes

invizigothx · 5 months

Text

a few weeks ago i went to this book event at a local anarchist bookstore. it was a biography of Nestor Makhno. and about 20 minutes into the event, I discretely left, because it was just so uncomfortable and unprofessional to me, the way that the writer and the event host were like "my favorite murder but for white anarchists". I think the last straw for me was some joke about the writer's inability to pronounce a certain Ukrainian word. which like ok I know that not everyone is willing or able to learn some language skills but also??? if you are going to be an American who only speaks English and can't pronounce words from other languages despite writing a whole biography about a person who spoke that language, at least be respectful about it??? ANYWAY. I said to myself, "This isn't for me, I'm going to olly out, difference without opposition, etc etc." WELL I just got an email about "congrats to our newly hired adjuncts" and it turns out this writer is now also teaching in the community college english dept where I also teach. I am skeptical about his ability to center student needs and not his own ego. Furthermore, I do not want to put time or energy into a one-sided rivalry! And yet!!!

#personal blogging #the glamorous life of a professional academic

4 notes · View notes

life-spire · 2 years

Text

@chanelfansaddict

See more fashion and style.

21 notes · View notes

kayshla19 · 5 days

Video

flickr

Style3612 ♥ I'm a little curious too by Kay ღ Lush ღ Photographer Via Flickr: thisiskayshla.blogspot.com/2024/04/style3612.html Cool for the Summer Tell me if I won, if I did, what's my prize? I just wanna play with you too Even if they judge, - it, I'll do the time I just wanna have some fun with you Got my mind on your body and your body on my mind Got a taste for the cherry, I just need to take a bite Don't tell your mother Kiss one another Die for each other We're cool for the summer Take me down into your paradise Don't be scared, 'cause I'm your body type Just something that we wanna try 'Cause you and I (you and I), we're cool for the summer

0 notes

awakefor48hours · 11 months

Text

Damn, you got 8 hours of sleep. That's so sexy

#i know this is rich coming from a blog titled “awakefor48hours” but #we need to stop glamorizing shitty life habits #we need to stop applauding people for staying up past midnight doing work #we're living beings that need to live

0 notes

rosielovesf1 · 2 months

Text

podiums + pregnancies

someone knows how to make an entrance (she gets it from her mummy)

word count: 1.5k

warnings: none! (my first post oop)

author's note: welcome to my blog!! this is a bit rough, but i figured it's only going to get better with time so here goes. thanks for spending some time on my little corner of the internet!

y/n was not joking when she said her ankles had left the building. she didn’t know when it had happened, but they had completely and utterly given up on her.

“Baby girl, it’s just rude at this point,” she said quietly to herself. Despite the discomfort, she was unable to stop the beginnings of a smile when she thought about the little human that she’d couldn’t wait to meet. “I thought we had a deal that you wouldn’t do this to me until my maternity leave started.”

And that leave was so close she could practically taste it (thank God), but brought with it some bittersweet feelings. In her comfortable seat in the McLaren motorhome, watching the race coverage on the television with papaya headphones secured over her ears, she took a second to enjoy the moment. Her whole life she’d been working towards her dream of being a motorsport journalist, and after a couple of wildly successful interviews with the most closed off of drivers, she was catapulted into the glitzy and glamorous world of F1. In the midst of seeing her dreams come true, she hadn’t expected to fall in love- with the curly haired boy who was currently in a comfortable third place.

The garage started to buzz with excitement as the end of the race drew closer and closer. y/n gasped as Lando’s position was threatened with five laps to go, but he defended skilfully, pulling ahead on the straight and successfully creating more distance between him and the contender. The mechanics roared, and suddenly there was a flurry of motion as they got ready to cheer their driver to the checkered flag.

“That’s your daddy!” y/n said, unable to contain her excitement. There was an uncomfortable twinge in her gut when she stood to celebrate him crossing the finish line with the rest of the garage, but it was easily ignored in the midst of hugs and cheers with the rest of the team. Pato found her in the crowd (she was hard to miss at 38 weeks pregnant), and squeezed her shoulders in a side hug.

“No wonder he’s on the podium, with his lucky charms here,” the McLaren reserve driver said, his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. y/n's smile grew as she took him in- race weekends were always made better by his presence in the McLaren garage. Pato had been one of her very first motorsport interviews while working in IndyCar, and her nerves had been through the roof when first meeting him. Luckily, they’d clicked instantly, bonding over their shared upbringing in Texas, and her ability to draw out his wonderful personality on camera had been a huge help to advancing her career. “Wanna head over there?”

“Yes! Definitely. But I’m warning you, it’s going to be slow.” She shook her head and smiled fondly down at her bump. “I’ve seen turtles who walk faster than me.”

“Oh, come on,” he said, steadying her arm as she stepped down from the raised platform where chairs were placed in the garage. “I think you could at least win a race with a snail.”

��Mean!” she laughed, swatting his arm away as they followed the horde of people surging towards the podium. “You get pregnant, and then we’ll see how you do.”

“Yeah, I don't think that's in the cards for me,” he said, bumping her shoulder. There was too much noise to continue their conversation as they neared the podium, and they only had to pause once on their journey as y/n breathed through another twinge. This one seemed a little stronger, but she recovered quickly, and Pato shielded her as people jostled for a spot close to the front. Luckily, the McLaren team recognized her fondly and made a path towards the fence, closing in behind her and Pato so they couldn’t be bumped around.

“God, this never gets old.” y/n said, taking in the roar of the crowd, the feeling of being one in a sea of many.

“Here he comes!” Pato yelled over the many voices around them, and an uncontrollable smile broke out across her face as her boy pulled off his helmet and ran towards them.

He slowed down as he neared her, wrapping her in a tight yet cautious hug.

“Doing okay, baby?” he said into her ear, planting a gentle kiss on her cheek.

“Are you kidding me? You were amazing out there! I’m so proud of you!” y/n squealed, hugging him as tightly as her belly allowed. Cameras clicked around them as she pulled back to meet his soft lips, smiling into the short kiss.

“Did it for my girls.” He said, eyes bright as he stared into hers. For a second, it was just them, and she felt a warm rush of gratitude for where life had taken her. Dream career, dream love, and a new dream- a child made from the best parts of both of them, arriving in just a few weeks.

“Go celebrate with your team,” she mouthed, eyes going glossy.

He looked conflicted but nodded, gently cupping the sides of her face and planting a kiss on her forehead before stepping away. With a giant whoop, he launched himself into the crowd of waiting McLaren employees, clapping hands with some and hugging others. He shot a wink over at her before walking into the building and the cooldown room, and the crowd grew antsy as they waited for the trophy presentation.

Now that there was a lapse in the excitement, the twinges y/n felt were becoming harder and harder to ignore. She gripped Pato’s arm to her left as a particularly bad one came on, wincing in pain.

“y/n?” he asked, voice filled with worry. “Everything okay? Is it too crowded?”

“Yeah,” she breathed out, the pain subsiding within a few seconds. “I just, I keep feeling this squeezing sensation that I-”

They came to the realization at the same time, and Pato’s eyes seemed to almost be more terrified than hers. “You don’t think?”

“I uh-, I mean,” Pato looked around frantically. Any hopes of further conversation were blown away as the trophy presentation started, and Lando was announced as the third place driver. He walked out onto the podium, a smile on his face and Pirelli hat on, taking his spot on the third place platform. His happy expression only grew as he scanned the crowd, until his eyes found what y/n assumed was an alarming sight- her practically doubled over, hanging onto Pato’s arm for dear life, and Pato looking like he would rather be thrown out of an F1 car than in this situation.

Others around them started to take notice, and the female employees in particular rushed to her aid, offering bottles of water. y/n accepted gratefully, and looked up in time to notice that her favorite driver was no longer standing proudly on stage, and all of a sudden he was rushing out to find her at the fence.

“Go back-” y/n forced out. “Fine. Just need a second.”

“Baby, no.” He said, finding a way to move the fence so y/n could join him on the other side. He took charge of supporting her- Pato practically sagged in relief- and ran a hand over her hair. “We have to go. Oh my god, we have to go? Is it time?”

“No.” y/n said firmly. She could feel all eyes of the crowd on her, and even the announcer on the podium had paused his program to watch the chaos unfolding below. “Your moment! She can wait!”

But as y/n's face crumpled in the wake of another contraction, the decision was made for the both of them by their daughter- she was coming, and she was coming now. His hands shook as he guided her inside, y/n groaning more about making a scene than the pain. Pato called out a feeble “Good luck!” from behind and she sent a weak wave his way.

A staff member inside the cooldown room had already called an ambulance, and Lando guided y/n into a chair before squatting down to press his forehead against hers.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, rubbing her hands over his shoulders.

“You have absolutely nothing to apologize for,” he said, taking a deep breath to try to stop his hands from shaking as he intertwined them with hers. The combination of the post-race adrenaline and the imminent arrival of their daughter was doing crazy things to his nervous system. “I can’t believe this is really happening. I’m so sorry you spent the day here when you could’ve been comfortable at home.”

She shook her head at him, her deep breaths the only sound in the space. “No place I’d rather be.”

He squeezed her hands at that, kissing both cheeks and leaving the lightest kiss on her nose.

“She’s really coming, huh?” y/n whispered in disbelief, a tear slipping down her cheek.

“She’s really coming,” Lando laughed, not able to believe his luck.

@y/nnorris: our angel on earth. amelia parker hinata norris. 03/16/2024.

@landonorris: my two favorite girls in the world. ☀️ someone knows how to make an entrance (she gets it from her mummy). ready for #2 whenever you are @y/nnorris

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #lando norris x reader #lando norris x y/n #lando norris fluff #mclaren f1

676 notes · View notes

books · 5 months

Text

Writer Spotlight: Jamie Beck

Jamie Beck is a photographer residing in Provence, France. Her Tumblr blog, From Me To You, became immensely successful shortly after launching in 2009. Soon after, Jamie, along with her partner Kevin Burg, pioneered the use of Cinemagraphs in creative storytelling for brands. Since then, she has produced marketing and advertising campaigns for companies like Google, Samsung, Netflix, Disney, Microsoft, Nike, Volvo, and MTV, and was included in Adweek Magazine’s “Creative 100” among the industry’s top Visual Artists. In 2022, she released her first book, An American in Provence, which became a NYT Bestseller and Amazon #1 book in multiple categories, and featured in publications such as Vogue, goop, Who What Wear, and Forbes. Flowers of Provence is Jamie’s second book.

Can you tell us about how The Flowers of Provence came to be?

I refer to Provence often as ‘The Garden of Eden’ for her harmonious seasons that bring an ever-changing floral bounty through the landscape. My greatest joy in life is telling her story of flowers through photography so that we may all enjoy them, their beauty, their symbolism, and their contribution to the harmony of this land just a bit longer.

(Photograph: Jamie Beck)

How do your photography and writing work together? Do you write as part of your practice?

I constantly write small notations, which usually occur when I am alone in nature with the intention of creating a photograph or in my studio working alone on a still life. I write as I think in my head, so I have made it a very strict practice that when a thought or idea comes up, I stop and quickly write the text in the notes app on my phone or in a pocket journal I keep with me most of the time. If I don’t stop and write it down at that moment, I find it is gone forever. It is also the same practice for shooting flowers, especially in a place as seasonal as Provence. If I see something, I must capture it right away because it could be gone tomorrow.

(Photograph: Jamie Beck)

You got your start in commercial photography. What’s something you learned in those fields that has served you well in your current creative direction?

I think my understanding of bridging art and commerce came from my commercial photography background. I can make beautiful photographs of flowers all day long, but how to make a living off your art is a completely different skill that I am fortunate enough to have learned by working with so many different creative brands and products in the past.

(Photograph: Jamie Beck)

Do you remember your first photograph?

Absolutely! I was 13 years old. My mother gave me her old Pentax 35mm film camera to play with. When I looked through the viewfinder, it was as if the imaginary world in my head could finally come to life! I gave my best friend a makeover, put her in an evening gown in the backyard of my parents’ house in Texas, and made my first photograph, which I thought was so glamorous! So Vogue!

You situate your photographic work with an introduction that charts the seasons in Provence through flowers. Are there any authors from the fields of nature writing and writing place that inspire you?

I absolutely adore Monty Don! His writing, his shoes, and his ease with nature and flowers—that’s a world in which I want to live. I also love Floret Flowers, especially on social media, as a way to learn the science behind flowers and how to grow them.

How did you decide on the order of the images within The Flowers of Provence?

Something I didn’t anticipate with a book deal is that I would actually be the one doing the layouts! I assumed I would hand over a folder of images, and an art director would decide the order. At first, it was overwhelming to sort through it all because the work is so personal, and I’m so visual. But in the end, it had to be me. It had to be my story and flow to be truly authentic. I tried to move through the seasons and colors of the landscape in a harmonious way that felt a bit magical, just as discovering Provence has felt to me.

(Photograph: Jamie Beck)

How do you practice self-care when juggling work and life commitments alongside the creative process?

The creative process is typically a result that comes out of taking time for self-care. I get some of my best ideas for photographic projects or writing when I am in a bath or shower or go for a long (and restorative) walk in nature. Doing things for myself, such as how I dress or do my hair and makeup, is another form of creative expression that is satisfying.

What’s a place or motif you’d like to photograph that you haven’t had a chance to yet?

I am really interested in discovering more formal gardens in France. I like the idea of garden portraiture, trying to really capture the essence and spirit of places where man and nature intertwine.

Which artists do you return to for inspiration?

I’m absolutely obsessed with Édouard Manet—his color pallet and subject matter.

What are three things you can’t live without as an artist?

My camera, the French light, and flowers, of course.

What’s your favorite flower to photograph, and why?

I love roses. They remind me of my grandmother, who always grew roses and was my first teacher of nature. The perfume of roses and the vast variety of colors, names, and styles all make me totally crazy. I just love them. They simply bring me joy the same way seeing a rainbow in the sky does.

(Photograph: Jamie Beck)

1K notes · View notes

honeytonedhottie · 26 days

Text

glazed doughnut skin secrets⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🍩

start off with a thick moisturizer, the key to this is to not use too much and instead, use a finger-lengths worth (or two) of body butter or cream or whatever u like to use. but in that same breath use enough to lather.

when ur using a thicker lotion/body butter make sure to rub it with ur hands first so that it can kind of liquify (is that the right word?) but soften and spread onto ur skin easier.

important spots to remember when doing this are ur elbows and beneath the straps of ur shirt or bra (i recommend doing this routine top-less but do whatever ur comfortable with)

next go in with a body oil so that then u can look glossy and pretty

an important thing to note with body oil is that not all body oils are the same ofc. some oils have more healing and repairing properties and some r meant solely to make ur body smell sweeter.

glitter oils and body bronzing drops (dont forget the shoulders and make sure to use shimmery spray to emphasize collarbones)

another hot tip : do a before bed body slugging routine that i spoke about in one of my previous posts so that u can wake up with baby soft skin in the morning

lastly make sure to use a perfume blend that makes u smell as scrumptious as u look ✨

500 notes · View notes

etayoh · 2 years

Text

MET GALA 2022) – THE BIGGEST RED CARPET MOMENTS FROM THE FASHION WORLD

Affectionately referred to as “fashion’s biggest night out,” the Met Gala 2022 is a fundraising benefit for the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City. The event welcomes stars, young creatives, and industry paragon.

THE THEME FOR THIS YEARS MET GALA 2022 IS “GILDED GLAMOUR”…..

The celebrities have not left any stone unturned to showcase their fashion first foot with Indian & International Designers….

Click the top link to know more.

#fashionblogger #fashiondesigner #style #life #fashion #fashion trends #womensclothing #wedding #fashion blog #fashion &amp; style #fashion & beauty #glamor model #glamorous #met gala

0 notes

patricia-taxxon · 7 months

Text

the discussion of "good representation" kind of falls apart when talking about media made by and for the group being represented. like, echo has a bunch of evil horrible gay people that (deliberately?) play on homophobic tropes and archetypes, but its for gay men. asking whether its "good queer representation" or not just doesn't make any sense, representation for who?

i am not the first person to say this (i am paraphrasing thoughts ive seen elsewhere) but i wanna apply this lens to the idea of "glamorizing" mental illness/disability/trauma or whatever. like, on this blog ive been known to make it seem a little cute to be an autistic child who was treated like a dog growing up, and i haven't felt the need to tack on disclaimers about how much my disability & the resulting abuse has ruined my fucking life lest i accidentally glorify or commodify my own mental illnesses. but like, glorifying to who? judging from the engagement i get, statistically, you're all autistic puppies as well.

i do kinda get it, i receive comments from autistic people who specifically hate that i make autism cute, that i made my abuse cute. like its disrespectful, i'm making light of it, i'm turning it into a vibe, an aesthetic. i disagree. i don't want to make autism appealing to neurotypical people, i want to make it appealing to myself.

#cilantromixture #mini essay

730 notes · View notes

meissamynizzle · 1 month

Text

No excuses, just results.

5 notes · View notes

idesofrevolution · 5 months

Text

Never Sleep with Your Phone On

Throughout recorded history, humans have been terrified of the dark. They created stories of sordid creatures of the night that would creep out from beneath your bed and drag you to some subterranean lair to languish in your final moments; or slither out of your mirror if you left it uncovered when your lights were extinguished to steal your soul from your snoring lips. The tales and cryptids across all cultures were all effective in terrifying their communities once the sun set on the horizon. Though that is not necessarily to say that every tale was crafted from pure imagination.

When technology bloomed, humans believed that the horrifying superstitions of yore were long behind them. They had evolved past the primitive fears of what lurks in the shadows, where in reality they had become complacent, arrogant, and lulled. Certainly some of the eldritch creatures had subsided, as all creatures do eventually. Though for every dead legend, a new myth sprouts, and each of those grew and evolved right there along with us. Which, of course, brings us to Asher.

Asher West was, by all accounts, a fairly normal guy. Graduated from high school, going straight into college on a modest academic scholarship. He played frisbee golf with his friends on the weekends, studied hard from 9 to 5, and was seldom seen without a cup of Starbucks in the mornings. He had a sizeable social media following, as was expected for someone with a traditionally handsome visage and adequately charismatic personality. Every day he'd happily post a quick selfie, posting for his thousands of admirers a run of the mill shirtless pic, often without so much as a filter. It'd almost become muscle memory for him: tap the camera icon, snap the pic, post with some benign emojis as the caption, and boom. 900 likes as the day meandered on. Did it provide him with a momentary burst of endorphins? Yes. Was it satisfying? Somewhat, at least he thought so. Years of his staggeringly average life had been all but usurped by this second life online, where he was glamorous, exciting, and adored.

It was so much easier to live in that fantasyland than to truly be present in the real world around him. He, as many of us are, was living his life as someone else- and a life that spectacled easily caught attention. It was easy to come across him in the sea of countless names and faces. It was easy to stumble upon that pretty face. It was easy find, attracting more than just starry eyed fans. Skulking in the void between lines of 1 and 0, buried deep in the infinite cosmic vacuum of the world electric and technological, another pair of eyes would befall him.

It had slinked into his vast sphere rather quickly, and it had begun to watch. Watching each and every 'tasteful' selfie, every vapid thought that he'd post, and every like and pin he'd make, it watched him with empty, expressionless black eyes from within a fragment of his phone's memory. It studied him, curious at first. Things of its nature were always curious, always inclined to watch and analyze and replicate. Even as he slept, his phone siphoning it's charge from it's cable, it would read. The more it saw, the more it had learned about Asher. In fact, it knew more of Asher than perhaps he himself was aware of, if not able to admit.

It had seen those intimate moments he'd taken careful measure to hide from the vast majority of those watching eyes. Second accounts under pseudonyms, gave way to countless of hidden alternate lives he lived: Tumblr blogs dedicated to bad-boy thrist traps and queer erotica, Twitter accounts cataloguing pictures and videos of his closest kept kinks, a well used and well loved Chaturbate account with his face tastefully cropped out of frame... all these lives immortalized in the endless archives of the internet. And after all it's patient watching, all the hours of analyzing, all the months of consuming his information, it had grown an attachment.

Asher had come home late one night. Not unusual for him, as the occasional party wouldn't derail his real life ambitions. After a few libations, and no small amount of cannabis, he'd made his way back home to his small apartment above the corner store. Just as he'd done numerous times before, he stripped himself of his shirt, pulling his camera from his jeans pocket, and snapped a slightly inebriated picture of himself. It'd be enough to boost his ego the next morning, enough to power through the long haul of his draining daily agenda.

SNAP. The flash of the camera went off, and his beloved face was shared for all to see. Though, that night, he mis stepped. Perhaps it was the booze, perhaps it was the toke, perhaps he was simply too tired to notice that he'd left the screen on. By the time he'd hit the bed he was out like a rock, collapsed onto the bed and quietly drifting to sleep. There on the brightly lit screen, in the darkness of the unlit bedroom, it saw its opportunity.

From it's perch on the nightstand, the phone began to spark. Small sparks at first, a quick fizzle and quiet pop. Then more: louder, brighter, faster. It began to rumble against the wooden tabletop, sizzling and sparkling as it danced before the screen went black and dead. Slowly, electric crackling gave way to a bubbling sludge. The glass subtly started wave and bellow, as if it were liquified, not taking long to begin to spill over the edges of it's metal frame. The black sludge fell like oil onto the hardwood floors, collecting in a growing, bubbling pool.

From the primordial ooze burst forth a long, slender arm; it's taloned fingers scraping as it braced itself on the ground. A second arm clawed it's way out, and with an echoing slosh, it had begun to pull itself out of the sludge. It's long, emaciated torso and thick muscled legs had slithered out, landing on two massive, clawed feet. It towered above Asher's bed as he slumbered, bent over so as not to hit it's back onto the eight foot ceiling. It stood there, looking at the person it'd observed and studied for so long. The image presented in the world it'd pried himself out of was nothing of what lay before it. From what it had gathered from his more clandestine dealings, it had noted that he was far from the archetypes he'd collected on Asher's behalf.

He did not have the tattoos like those he'd pinned on Pinterest. He was not wearing the dark, heavy clothes like those he'd saved on Instagram. He wasn't well endowed like the video's he'd favorited on X-Tube. He didn't give off the aura of some rebellious casanova like the stories he'd reblogged on Tumblr. To a creature of symmetry and consistency, this was an error to be corrected; a dichotomy requiring integration.

It crouched down above his drooling maw, gently caressing his head to face it's clenching claw. The talons pressed ever so tenderly past his lips and over his tongue, becoming the very black ooze it had crawled out of once more. It flooded down his throat as it's second arm made it's way into his mouth, as if it were being sucked into Asher. He was drinking it's essence, it's aqueous body slurping down into his core. It's torso compressed as it wriggled down his gullet, ringing out splashing squelches as Asher gargled it down.

As quickly as it had entered, it's long legs slithered into his mouth, leaving only its large feet thrashing about in the air. Asher's stomach was bubbling and undulating under the sheer pressure from this invasion, growing to a large gut spilling over the waistband of his jeans. One loud slurp and a crisp pop, and the feet slipped into him, leaving his writhing body squirming on the bed. It expanded within him, incorporating itself into every fibre of his being. Pressing into his arms, his legs, pushing up his throat until it met the top of his palate. The pressure began to mount, black goo dribbling down the corners of his mouth, until a wet crack sounded in his cavernous head, and it flowed into his skull.

It took mere seconds for it to reach his brain, which it flowed freely into throughout the grooves and nooks. Entirely coated, imbued and inoculated with it, the deed was done. Asher opened his eyes, tiredly sitting up in his bed. He looked over at his phone, tapping it with his finger: 3 AM.

At first it seemed like a nightmare. He could recall moments here and there, though the majority of his 'dream' was a blur. From what he could remember, it was nothing visual he could recollect... but it he could recollect the sensations. Wet, slimy, invasive, and cold- much like he felt drunkenly sleeping in his cold sweat. He brought himself to his feet, dragging his feet on the slippery floorboards to his bathroom.

Flipping the switch, the harsh fluorescent light flickered to life above him, as he turned the nozzle on his shower. Immediately, his jaw nearly dropped to the floor. In the mirror, Asher finally caught a glimpse of himself: strange black bruises and undulating bumps were scattered across his body. That pristine, smooth skin was now covered in sprawling web-like lesions from head to toe. He had mere moments to process the horror reflected in front of him before an immediate pain in the gut had him doubled over the counter.

His stomach started to bubble and groan, and through the foggy haze of his blurred vision he saw his feet begin to ripple and swell. He could feel the slick sweaty soles slide across the tile floor as they expanded and grew. As they reached a substantial size 13, the swelling crept it's way up his calves and into his thighs. Asher wobbled on his feet, as if they were filled with gelatin beneath his slippery skin while his knees began to buckle. He collapsed into a crouch, the fumes of sweaty footmusk bellowing up to his nostrils as his legs cracked and stretched above. He'd never truly experienced scentplay as he'd so dearly fantasized about throughout countless hours of edging to such content, nor had this funk ever emanated from his own soles. In the moment, he felt something within him prod into his brain. As if poking the individual folds of his cerebrum with thousands of tiny needles, causing cascades of thoughts to enter his mind- all of which telling him to embrace. In his mind's eye, he could see himself burying his face into his sweaty sole, between his long toes, lapping up every droplet of sweat that was spewing from his pores. The thought was buried deep in his subconscious, pried out with expert measure, by something now within him.

Grasping for anything to steady himself on, Asher gripped the edge of the sink, pulling himself upright once again and now towering above the countertop. He hung his aching head low, watching with strange newfound fervor as his cock began to feel heavier and heavier. Drool started to drip from the bottom of his lip, landing square onto the lengthening shaft. Like a sandbag, his balls dropped and swelled while he got harder and harder. Another onslaught of pinpricks in his head brought forth another command: stroke.

Steam started build in the bathroom as the hot water continued to fall from the shower, intensifying the scent wafting from now both his feet and his pendulous sac. Each breath of hot, wet musk hit like ecstasy, and with bated breath, he softly grasped ahold of his python and began to pump. Each knead of his engorged member was accompanied by a change. His fingers grew long and sinewy, smooth and slick with precum. His arms remained thin but toned, growing longer and packed with lean muscle. His torso lengthened, topped off with a firm pair of pecs above his sinewy abdomen.

As pressure began to build in his balls, his mind began to feel the needles one last time, imbuing his brain with one last injection of a single trait: pride. He didn't need the approval of anyone else, he was aware of how fucking hot he was. He didn't need to heed the rules that society had straddled him with, he always forged his own path. He had no fears of recompense for his attitude, his ego, his spirit- the world would either stand with him, or he would step on top of them. Either way, what bliss. As the last of his inhibitions and fears had gathered in his groin, he cried out in elation as he erupted. Rope after rope of black sludge shot from his cannon, washing him with a sense of relief he'd never before known. He released his grip on his softening cock, hanging at an obscene eleven inches. He smirked at the sludge coating his mirror and pooling beneath his toes. A sight like that would have shocked and terrified the old Asher, though as he stood before his reflection, devoid of any tension, he relented to the entity within him. It had delivered onto him a new self, a new image, a new viewpoint. As tattoos both vulgar and delicate began to sprawl across his skin, he happily admired his new likeness.

The entity had bestowed a gift to him; throughout the horror, throughout the fear, he was becoming the true Asher that had only ever peeked out from the abyss of his psyche. He leered, bringing his thumb and middle finger together before snapping loudly. From his pores, the black sludge began to spill across his body until he was nearly covered from the neck down in what appeared to be a rubber suit before it began to become a bit more defined. A plain white tee shirt, classically fashioned with a black and white varsity jacket from his college. Skinny, weathered black jeans barely containing his sizeable commando bulge beneath it's thin fabric. On his feet, a pair of white socks and tightly tied high top Chucks, quelling the ripe stink of his soles within the sneaker for some sub to pry off and enjoy.

He grinned, posing and modeling for himself, before he finally turned off the steaming water. After the long, arduous, painful process, the entity had incorporated itself entirely within him- now completely indistinguishable from parasitic to symbiotic. It had rewritten him, completely remade him in the likeness of who he had shown the vast virtual world. There was no cognitive dissonance, there were no lies, there was no deception. All that remained was the Asher he had created in his fantasy, now ready to fuck the real world and all within it.

Thus, as our creature feature comes to an end, I leave you with a modicum of friendly advice. Don't leave your phone on as you slumber, for those that are watching, those that are waiting, those that have been learning are a mere sheet of glass away from finding their way inside. Take my counsel, or ignore it. But do so knowing the outcome, and whether or not you are prepared to weather such a storm.

#body transformation #male transformation #original #transformation #musk #punkification #punk transformation #body possession #body invasion #symbiote #male symbiote #virtual cryptid #virtual symbiote #college

428 notes · View notes

ozzgin · 8 months

Note

omg, i'm so happy i stumble at your blog❤️❤️❤️..It's so very good and beautiful 😭💋.... btw, i was thinking about reader who's have kanae, mitsuri,and daki attitude. She's a model and a girlfriend from Jeff the killer , offenderman and Slenderman ... please 🙏🙏🙏....

Based on my brief google search I’m assuming those are characters from Kimetsu no Yaiba? Sadly I haven’t watched it yet, so I can only refer to the wiki. Since this is creepypasta I hope you don’t mind if it’s more yandere and horror themed.

Yandere! Creepypasta x Reader Headcanons

Featuring Jeff the Killer, Offenderman, Slenderman, and a model reader that becomes their partner with or without her approval. TW: may contain violence and dubious consent

Jeff the Killer

Jeff can tell that behind those pretty little eyes of yours lies a grim, unorthodox curiosity for the darker things in life. You might deceive anyone else as you confidently strut the catwalk flooded with glamorous light, but he knows better. He’s known it from the moment he laid his eyes on you, and you’ve confirmed his feelings every single day since. He’ll show you what you’re missing. He’s watched you long enough.

You wake up with a dry throat and try to shuffle in your sheets before you realize that something is pressing them down, limiting your movement. With eyes now shot open, you erratically look around in the darkness trying to find the cause of this strange feeling. Something tickles your face and you try to regulate your rapidly increasing breathing, slowly accustoming yourself to the pitch black room. It’s hair. Long, coarse hair frames a bizarrely distorted face with bulging eyes burning holes in you. You gasp silently, unsure how to proceed. The mysterious man has efficiently caged you in with his body, his limbs fencing your helpless self. “Do you usually take sleeping pills?” his voice creaks disturbingly loud in the previously quiet room. “It’s the first time you’ve woken up just from this.”

He cackles and lowers his head until his forehead is pressing against yours. You feel a faint moisture coming from his mouth and wonder if its source is the gaping wounds that spread across his cheeks. “Watching you sleep has its charm, but this way I can finally talk to you properly. I’m not really good with confessions, so don’t expect a cheesy ‘will you be my girlfriend~’. Alright?” You stare, struggling to follow. Has he been stalking you? Is this why you’ve been plagued with a feeling of impending doom for months? And your manager had suggested you might just be fatigued, arranging for a prescription for sleeping pills.

“Hey! I don’t like talking to myself” the man growls, seemingly angered. He slaps a cold hand onto your cheek, now sticky with sweat, and proceeds to harshly grab your chin and force you into a nod. “That’s more like it. Good. If you behave properly we’ll be done with this in a second.” “Are you here to kill me?” you manage to blurt out, despite your mouth being mangled between his fingers. “Huh? What? Have you been listening?” He lifts his head once again, now fully towering over you. “I said you’re my partner starting now. So no more flirting with those little worms that pile around you. Either way I’m getting rid of them.” You manage to turn your head somewhat and notice the dull blade that’s been laying next to your pillow. “Do you comprehend, (Y/N)? You belong to me.” He pulls your jaw down into another nod. You feel like a rag doll.

With the other hand he cups your chin and gently squeezes your face. “Oh, you really are the prettiest thing. Look at this lovely face of yours. Would be a great shame if someone were to mess it up, huh?” He releases your cheeks and you hear the knife shift across the sheets.

Slenderman

You sink yourself further into the camping chair and lazily raise the can of beer that’s uncomfortably wet from the condensation. Your friends follow the gesture and congratulate you one more time as a toast opportunity. Following the latest fashion show, you’ve gotten several offers to be featured in some big name magazines. You can’t be bothered to remember the names as this whole charade is just your main way of earning enough to survive. As the night goes on it abruptly occurs to you that you might’ve had one sip too much and groggily get out of your seat. You’re mildly dizzy and hold onto the tree trunks for balance, hoping to find a spot far enough from the tents that you avoid invading everyone else’s nostrils with the smell of fresh puke.

Strange. Have your friends suddenly gone to bed? The sound of the badly tuned guitar has faded without you noticing. You turn around and squint your eyes for the camping lights, but it’s unexpectedly dark. Did you walk that much in your quest to find a quiet place for your drunken relief? You’re a bit uneasy at the idea of being alone in a big forest at night, so you turn around and try to retrace your steps. Your sickness has suddenly been replaced with impalpable fear. You swallow dryly as you pat the branches in your blind pursuit. You barely distanced yourself from the camp. You’re sure of it.

Finally, some bushes rustle loudly behind you and a homely feeling warms your body once again. “Christ, you guys. I’m losing my drinking game, I can’t believe I almost got lost in the-“

Were these two trees here before? The slender black forms sway briefly and your stomach drops. You gather up the courage to move your gaze gradually upwards, following the shape of the objects in front of you. They’re legs. Your head is now fully tilted back as you try to take in the image of the massive, faceless creature that stands there quietly. You dare to blink, hoping it will erase this unholy deformation of nightmares.

Not only does the man remain before you, consolidating his factual existence, but almost instantly your ankles twitch from the pressure of some mysterious dark tendrils that slither they way from an unknown source and are now taking over your body. The large arms extend outwards in a frightening span before circling around you, bringing you closer. You can now discern that the creature is wearing a suit and an earthy scent takes over you as you bury your nose in the old, dusty clothing. You begin to shiver, wondering if this is how you die. Shh, shh, darling. One pale, clawed hand pats your back in a soothing manner. You’re at last away from those humans, back to where you belong. He’s waited for you a long, long time. Only watching you from a distance, admiring your beautiful features and counting towards this day. Oh, what an agonizing wait. He’s been tormented by dreams of hope. And now you’re finally his.

You’re home.

Offenderman

You check your phone one more time and sigh in frustration. You aren’t even remotely interested in dating this guy, but his profile mentioned he’s a designer and you could use some networking. You cross your legs the other way and scan the park. He could at least show up on time. As you idly fiddle with your thumbs you feel a sudden wetness on your shoulder. You pull your shirt to inspect it and twist your mouth in disgust upon seeing the liquid slowly being absorbed by the textile. What the hell, bird droppings? Another drop falls nearby and you look up.

The first thing that comes into your view is the unnaturally wide mouth comprising of sharp teeth tightly pressed together. Saliva seems to be pooling into the edge of the lower lip before spilling over. He’s drooling. You instinctively try to get up, but the large creature’s hands quickly push you back onto the bench. Rude! If you’re going to walk around being this pretty, at least have the common sense to let him admire you in peace. His mouth is curled into a satisfied, perverted grin as he carefully slurps your features in.

He’d say that you look way better than in the photos, but that would be a lie. That would imply it’s his first time meeting you, but he’s been stalking you for a fair amount of time now. You can’t blame him, he knows you’ve been cheekily tempting him even if you aren’t aware of it. Naughty girls like you need to be punished and luckily he’s a master at delivering the best kind of discipline.

He easily lifts you up and throws you over the shoulder. Your screams of protest only make him giddy with excitement. Oh, the things he’s going to do to you. You might be upset now, but you’ll soon be begging him for more. It’s always like this. Though he may keep you around for longer. He’s rather fond of you and might even make you his girlfriend.

“Miss (Y/N)”, the words roll out of his mouth as he’s testing the sound of it. Nice. “What do you say about being Offenderman’s girlfriend? I’m just kidding love, you don’t need to answer that. I’ve already decided.” He proceeds to walk away, blissfully ignoring your clenched fists hitting against his back.

#creepypasta #slenderman #jeff the killer #offenderman #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta headcanon #slenderman x reader #jeff the killer x reader #offenderman x reader #yandere creepypasta #yandere x reader

379 notes · View notes