#more gold than a Versace store

[henneseyhoe]

Daddy’s Money.

Lewis Hamilton x BLACK!FEM!Reader.

WARNINGS:lil bit of nasty smut, brief one sided relationship, lewis being pussy whipped, reader is heavily implied to be a gold digger(she is but shhhh! let her rock frl), daddy kink, money making reader hornayyy(me asf), not edited(idc rn i’m sleepy), there MIGHT be plot holes(again, i’m sleepy) and das it i think.

ps. also i’m ngl i wrote this halfway lazily, i just wanted to get back into writing sooo yeah.

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The arrangement was really an accident (at first). You were hired to fit and dress the man after practically begging for the job, needing the money to jump start your fashion career since your father had cut you off the month prior. It’d take nearly five years to do so, but with someone as easy going as lewis, time would fly fast.

Eventually he grew fond of you, and you of him..him a bit (a lot) more than you actually. Months after getting hired he began bringing you around for things that wasn’t about his style, things that someone would do for a budding romance. You didn’t mind either, it was working in your favor getting the extra hours to do nothing. You didn’t mean to snag a sugar daddy, a famous one at that, just like you didn’t mean to fuck him before the met gala, damn near making him late. It just…happened; Which is what you’d say to judgy bitches.

You also didn’t mean to point out that midnight black bag (and a few other things) you had been wanting when shopping for him the week after the met. Those things mysteriously showed up on your door step two days later to your surprise. You were beginning to think he was a little generous…so you tested something out.

“Ugh! Wouldn’t this look so good on me?”

You pout as you held the designer dress up to your body. It was originally intended to go to another woman they paired him with for an event, but seeing it up against you instead was all he had to see before he told his assistant to inform the woman she’d be wearing something else. In awe, you proceeded to wear that dress to the event that night, easily gaining eyes from guests and earning yourself a name as Lewis’s “sexy ass stylist” online when the pictures taken of you went viral.

Later on that night the dress was being ripped apart from the back and thrown to the floor by you know exactly who, him doing everything in his power to get to what was underneath.

You couldn’t tell if your pussy was good or if he was just that whipped for you after that night. Either way, you were having fun.

Before you could snap your fingers, whatever you were THINKING of wanting was at your fingertips. He had more money than he could spend, and you had no problem helping him find what to do with it! It was only fair, ya know, for his sake.

The first time you realized he was really wrapped around your little iced out finger was the last time you had wanted for anything for long.

“I could have anything I want? seriously??”

You looked to him in shock, the man shrugging as he debated on a pair of versace shoes. “Have at it, love” He responded simply with a quick endearing smile to you before waving over an assistant to help you. You felt like a kid in a candy store.

^Also the last time you referred to him as anything other than daddy when not in public, (or at least not noticeably to others in public).

He was liquid when you called him that. soft putty in your hands, ready for you to shape him into anything you desired.

“Come on, daddy. Don’t you wanna see your name in diamonds on me? Don’t you wanna mark me? claim me?”

You taunted him in a seductive tone as you rolled your hips onto him. You flipped your hair to one side of your shoulder so you could look back at the work you were putting in, Lewis staring back at you with hearts in his eyes and his bottom lip tucked into his mouth. Both of y’all’s jeans were halfway down with your pretty brown ass perched up for him to see the tip of his long dick teasingly slide between your lips and into your honey coated walls repeatedly. He was right there on the edge, you could feel it and you hadn’t even sat all the way down on him yet.

Really it was either say yes to the chain or be left to make himself cum, he understood that completely. As he nods eagerly in agreement, you plopped your plump self down into his lap and he came as fast as police in white neighborhoods.

By the seventh month of being together your closet was every woman with a fashion sense dream. Designer galore (and not the ugly shit neither). He got you designs that wasn’t on racks yet but straight off a runway, things that fit perfectly to YOUR body. (Seeing that he was getting to know it so well..He could probably draw a map of you with just his damn tongue.)

You began getting way more noticed by his fans and friends, not only for suddenly having a thing for wearing expensive clothes and jewels, but for also being close with Lewis. Dating rumors had started to run amuck. The first plan was to deny, deny, deny but it was hard to do that when you were wearing his name on your neck, hiding the chain under your shirts or wearing it backwards so no one would see the name plate.

But the chain wasn’t what caused the dam to break. It was when you posted bags and gifts with flowers, a card attached that had a heartfelt and flirty handwritten poem on it, forgetting to even scribble out his name. Fans and close friends were on the fence, some of his associates madder than an ant colony in the rain and some fans confused on where the hell you even came from and where you got off on gold digging. The clothes and jewelry were finally starting to make sense and you gave the saying “Look like money” a new meaning.

Lewis was quick to come to your defense in interviews, you had never seen anyone get so nice nasty or petty in your honor. He was witty and quick with comebacks, his polite tone masking rude comments at any interviewer that dared to have an opinion about you that he didn’t like. He made sure as everything went on online and your name trended for the second time that week that you didn’t lack reassurance ever.

“Look in the mirror and let daddy know who’s it is”

He pulls you by your braids up to the direction of the reflecting headboard, your back pressed against his chest as his hips met your ass with a hard smack. After hours of pleasurable “reassurance” there wasn’t a spot inside you that his dick didn’t hit, a place on you that his tongue didn’t lick. The chain you had asked for a bit ago clinked freely against your chest and a fucked out evil smile grew on your face as you look him in the eyes through the mirror. “It’s yours, daddy. you know it’s all yours” You would reply before your walls gushed around his dick.

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Fans who prayed on your downfall weren’t so happy when they got the news that you two married two years later in Greece. The wedding was private, but it was no secret that a fortune was spent and that didn’t make the gold digging comments better. (Even though your father paid)

Those comments followed you into your fashion brand era and though you chose to be mysterious about private life and yourself in general, (for obvious reasons) you felt it was only right to defend your honor at least once.

Like the great actress you were, you did what white women around him had been doing to you since the beginning and threw on the waterworks, crying in front of any watchful eye when the rumors were brought up with your amazing husband by your side comforting you immediately. How dare they say such things about THEE Lewis Hamilton’s wife?? THEE Y/N Hamilton???

Your newly grown fan base called it blasphemy. There wasn’t an online blog on beyoncé’s internet that went untouched when having something to say about you. Everything they said was untrue! You had your own money, your own brand, (funded by your husband) and your own name.

“They’re so mean to me”

You pout as Lewis carefully takes off your heels and kisses the top of your feet before standing and caressing your cheek. “You know how the media is, and I know nothing they say about you is true. I’ll have my team take care of it, okay?” He reassured and you smile, mentally noting to suck his dick before bed. As if you were rewarding a dog for jumping through a hoop, being soft and on your side at all times was Lewis’s hoop, and he had better jump through every. single. time.

To be fair, there may have been some superficial motives behind the building of this relationship (on your side at least) but he genuinely did grow on you, and that was before you knew he was a trick, that part just made it deeper.

You were in shock when he asked you to marry him originally, so much so that you refused the first time because it scared you. You avoided him for an entire week and refused to go to work until you realized you had grown so accustomed to being around him that you could barely function. Apart from the fact that you were opening doors by yourself and eating dinner alone, you hadn’t noticed how much you liked talking to him, being with him and simply in his presence.

Materials aside, you loved him, you were in love with him. Infatuated just as much as he was with you by now and you came too long of a way to be scared off.

In reality you telling him no wasn’t gonna stop him from perusing. He knew you were gonna be his wife for a long time now and nothing was gonna get in the way of him finding you (and he kinda duped you with the whole falling for him thing anyway because he knew what half of your motives were and played his role well), you just found him first and made him pop that question again, which that time you happily said yes to.

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[juniefruit]

-{ model bf hyunjin }-

I had writer's block for a bit, but I have written this! ((Also, happy almost friday))

Word Count: 955

Sometimes he takes you along with him to events & photoshoots. For most shoots he can’t take you on set, but just having you in the same city calms his nerves a bit. Paris is one of his favorite cities to visit. 

One of his favorite moments to indulge in is the quiet calmness found in the morning. Sun rays shine through the luxurious hotel blinds and cover the room in a staggered array of beauty. You two lay, a tangle of limbs, within the pristine white sheets. Hyunjin tries not to make a sound as he admires your effortless beauty before you wake. Your cheek is squished against the pillow, which he thinks is cute.

On his free day between shooting, He invties you to a walk on the riverside. In a world that is so fast-paced, he has learned to appreciate the seemingly ordinary. You hold his hand as the light breeze passes by. The emerald green leaves flutter up in the branches of the trees that line the walkway. As you walk, A swan meanders through the slow current of the river. It catches your eye, with its elegant white feathers and curved neck. With your free hand, you point to it. Hyunjin comments, ‘It’s not as beautiful as you, though.’ Always jinnie and his cheesy compliments. 

Sometimes, he will send you concept photos or videos of a shoot he’s on for your thoughts. Honestly, he just needed an excuse to text you. He’ll ask, ‘Do I look good here? What about this one?’ In what universe does he ever not look good?? 

He loves taking you to the fanciest, most elegant restaurants. Even if it’s not really your vibe, he’ll try to persuade you. He’ll pay for everything, help you pick an outfit, whatever it takes. He wants you to be comfortable and safe in your own skin. 

He is your #1 supporter when you’re going shopping. If you thought your best friend persuaded you to buy more than you need, you haven’t met Hyunjin. He gives out compliments like crazy. They don’t have your size? He will find an employee to order it for you. He will never hesitate to get you what you deserve. Window shopping is nonexistent, because he will drag you into the store instead of just peering through the window. 

Hyunjin doesn’t get jealous for every little thing, but he does notice when someone crosses a line, and he’ll step in. He is an expert at reading body language. It’s something you’ve always loved about him; he is observant and notices the small details. He can tell when you need him a little more than usual, or if you need some space to think. 

In public, he puts on his ‘business’ persona, which is classy, cool, calm, and collected. The aura he radiates is astonishing. He exudes elegance. However, in the comfort of your own home/hotel room, he has a tendency to be clingy and sugary sweet. There’s a reason he’s the drama llama! He’ll pout, whine, make random noises too. Sometimes when he’s bored he’ll strike a model pose or two in the living room just for fun. He constantly has to be touching you in some way; back hugs, shoulder/neck/waist rubs, anything :(

This is especially escalated when he can smell your presence. He loves the smell of you. With perfume, without, or just your regular shower gel has him go crazy. He’ll nuzzle his face into your neck, and play around with the collar of your shirt. 

Your high rise penthouse is chic, with the perfect mix of modern yet ‘old money’ vibes. White and black with accents of warm gold. Kkami has definitely made himself feel at home, too. With no concept of personal space, that dog will leap into your lap at any given chance. Particularly while you’re lounging on the couch or on the bed. Hyunjin jokes that Kkami might like you more than he does. Especially since Kkami does growl when Jinnie gets too close. 

He lives in those designer shirts, like the white ones that simply say Gucci, Versace, etc. on the front. Just a simple house shirt and sweats when he wants to be comfy. His shoulder-lenth hair is slightly disheveled, and small strands lay across his forehead and fall into his eyes. His lips are so glossy and pouty, just begging to be kissed. So you do. His head is resting against your shoulder, so you have to do some maneuvering. His response? A small hum and the most delicate smile gracing his face.

After going shopping, he makes you do a ‘fashion show’ in your living room with all the stuff you bought. It’s silly, but he loves it as a couple’s activity.

He loves to create matching couple outfits. Not that cliche cringry kind though. His vision is that your outfits complement eachother in aesthetic ways. Spending as much time as he does with the fashion industry means that he’s picked up a style tip or two. In no way does he see you as incompetent, he will always let you wear whatever you want or say no. But, he just can’t help but try to elevate your style and maybe put his own touch on the things you wear. It’s like his own type of love language. And it’s not like his advice is bad, either. At this point, both of your closets have influences from each other’s styles, and maybe some stolen pieces as well. It goes back to the part where he loves your scent. Scarves especially, because they hold your perfume so well. He will hold it up to his face and it instantly fills him with thoughts of you. 

If you liked this, see my masterlist !

[carolmunson]

old times. (stella's version - rockstar!eddie)

let's revisit our life as stella rink in the rockstar!eddie universe. another day another crossover, check out libby's version here. catch up with the rockstar!eddie au here.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, drugs and drinking mention (mild), pregnancy talk, general tension, puking/pregnancy sickness, very sweet and overbearing eddie, all around deeply fluffy.

“What heels should I wear?”

“It’s a house party with some of my old friends, Stell, why do you wanna wear heels?” Eddie asks with a laugh, coming out of the bathroom with a towel slung around his hips. He looks at you through the water droplets falling in his eyes from his curly bangs and smiles at the outfit laid out on the bed. Some little red number and nylons, four different pairs of heels laid out at the base of the hotel's California King bed.

“It’s not that kind of party, sweet thing. I told you,” he shakes his head, “just jeans and a t-shirt. There's no one to impress.”

"Are you sure?" you ask, turning to look in the mirror on the wall, tapping out a crease the concealer under your eyes.

"I'm sure," he encourages, "You want one of my shirts?"

"It's gonna be cold, right?" you wait for his confirming nod and start rifiling through the hotel dresser full of way too many clothes for a four day trip.

"I'll give you a sweatshirt, honey," he urges, tugging on a pair of old ripped jeans over a pair of boxers, "Just be comfortable, you're not supposed to be stressing out like this."

You roll your eyes playfully at him while he approaches you slowly, dimpled grin plastered on his face. A scratchy smatter of facial hair had come through over the past couple days that he hadn't bothered to shave and it tickled you while he leaned in for a kiss.

"It's bad for the baby."

Ever since you saw the little pink plus sign on the test, Eddie had taken any chance he could to say, "For the baby." He'd taken to calling you 'mama' in a Wayne like drawl ever since the blood work came in. He'd buy any onsie he saw in a store, always picking up one in a new state with some cheesy saying on it like, "My Daddy went to Texas and only got me this onesie!" He asked his manager to contact their merch developer to start making little Corroded Coffin shirts three weeks into the pregnancy. He asked the contractor on for the Hollywood house to start planning the nursery with him. There wasn't anyone more excited to be a dad than Eddie Munson.

Before you know it, you've found yourself in a pair of boot cut jeans (perfectly tailored of course) and white on white Adidas shell toes. A turtle neck and one of Eddie's Corroded Coffin sweatshirt's kept you warm on top -- not something you'd ever wear to a party in The Hills, but The Hawkins Daily probably doesn't care that you're not in Versace's SS RTW '94 collection.

You didn't look as glamourous as you would with a whole team, but at least your nails were done and your engagement ring sparkled brilliantly next to your diamond studded wedding band. Your small gold hoops hugged your earlobes -- you just needed something to add some pizzazz. You felt so tired and bloated these days, everything made you sick -- you deserved to feel pretty.

"You ready to go, lil' mama?" Eddie asks, rubbing his hand up and down your forearms to keep you warm. He looks so casually cool, you almost wanna shove him off you. Beat up old Reeboks from the 80s, ripped jeans, some stupid crudely drawn on shirt that said 'Hellfire' on it from years ago that wore tight against his adult body -- but still effortless, still sexy.

You blame it on the leather jacket and his over decorated battle vest. That had to be it.

You nod, heading down the back exits of the Indianapolis hotel to the parking garage where you loaded into Eddie's old van from high school. He preferred to drive this around when he was back home, brought on less attention than one of the Jeeps or Jaguars you both had lying around in California. While the outside still looked dingy and untouched, the inside had been redetailed and updated to keep up with the times. New carpeting, new sound system, updated leather seating, air conditioning, anything you'd want in a mid90s car -- it was in 'Charlene' -- named effectionately after one of Wayne's ex-girlfriend's who let Eddie have it when it wouldn't start anymore.

The ride felt simultaneously short and long, the rolling of your stomach in the car paired with the anxiety of being with a group of people you didn't know was inching up your throat. You looked pale in the side view mirror, pinching your cheeks hurriedly to bring some blood back to your face.

"You feel okay, honey?" Ed asks, "Want me to pull over? Did'j'you bring your water with you? I brought some if you need it."

"I'm fine, I'm fine," you assure. You're not fine, but it's better not to worry him. You weren't sick. Just nervous.

"Should I have just gone to Wayne's?" your heart sinks when you ask, "I don't want you to feel like you need to entertain me all night or anything."

"You know Dustin – you met everyone else at the wedding," Eddie says, putting a hand on your thigh, "It'll be okay. We're just gonna do a short campaign for D&D -- you can watch. You'll get to see my acting chops."

When he winks at you, you melt. It's been five years and you still feel like a teenager every time his gaze lingers on you for a little too long.

"You're gonna put me out of business," you joke back, "Hollywood's next girl next door, huh?"

"They're gonna beat down the door to book me," he replies with a faux-seriousness that makes you giggle, "Gonna outshine all you little bitches."

The rest of the ride is filled with laughs because he knows you're nervous. He knows you don't feel good. And sure, Wayne would love to have you tonight and make you dinner and talk about the baby but Eddie so rarely gets to show you the old him -- the version of him before he was famous. Before he ever did heroin -- when all he did was sell weed and comic books out of Hawkins Comics & Gaming Expo after dropping out of high school in '83 so he could get his big break.

Every trip to Indiana was a holiday or so short they'd only be there a night. You both almost exclusively saw Wayne, either staying at the trailer -- since he gifted the house Eddie got him to a new single teen mother who'd found her way to Forest Hills two months after the renovations had finished -- or in a hotel in the bigger cities. You both never had the time to show each other your old lives, even after all these years together. So when Will Byers got on the phone during one of Eddie and Dustin's weekly calls and invited him to his birthday party -- Ed cleared his schedule to make room for the occasion. He hadn't seen the guys in a while, not since the wedding in October, and before that it was during his stint in Hawkins after 'the incident' in Toronto.

When the van pulled into the driveway, already littered with cars, and your nerves pooled back in your stomach. It wasn't just not really knowing them well that was making you nervous, it was them not really knowing you. The press about the sex tape was just starting to die down -- but had they seen it? Did they know about it? Did they watch Eddie on Leno? Did they hear about the broken microphones when he got in a fight with Howard Stern? Did they know about how Eddie had to pay to get Howard's studio redone?

"He shouldn't have talked his shit, then, baby," Eddie shrugged when he got the legal papers in the mail. You'd never seen him so angry in his life than when Howard called you his 'whore wife'. The clip of Eddie saying "Excuse the fuck out of me, but what did you just say about my wife? Do you wanna lose your fuckin’ teeth man?" Replayed on a loop on all the metal radio stations before playing a Corroded Coffin song.

Were these guys going to judge her the way the press had? Should she mention the pregnancy? Did they already know? They had to have known. Eddie called Dustin minutes after you both found out.

"It's gonna be fine, Stell," Eddie knocked you out of your running thoughts with his soothing voice, opening your door on your side of the van. He offers his hand to help you out, he always does, like a prince helping you out of a carriage. You walk hand in hand to the door and you can feel the coolness of his wedding band against your skin -- it's the only gold jewelry he wears, even though you offered to get it in platinum. 'I want it to stand out, baby. Want everyone to know I'm Mr. Stella Rink.'

Eddie rings the bell, pressing a kiss to the top of your head while your other hang grips the handles of the bag of treats and expensive champagne you brought. The champagne you can't drink. The charcuterie board with cold cuts that you can't eat. Your stomach lurches again.

You're greeted by all the boys when the door opens and they all start to scream -- low and vibrating yells from men in their mid and late 20s who just wanna be boys again. Your nose is hit hard with strains of four different colognes, weed smoke, and beer and you grab Eddie's arm in a panic. Fuck.

"Oh, shit, shit shit," Eddie starts, "Sorry, sorry, can she use your bathroom. I think she's gonna puke."

"Yeah, of course, c'mon, c'mon in," Will is so immediately caring that you want to cry. His hand on your back while he and Eddie lead you to the bathroom around the hall. You drop the bag of food and liquor outside the door before you run inside to wretch, closing the door on both men behind you.

"Sorry man," you hear Eddie explain, "She's pregnant so she's just, y'know, like, puking everywhere all the time."

"It's totally okay," you hear Will assure.

"Not surprised she's pregnant," you hear another voice say with a snicker, "We all saw it on the news."

"Hey," you hear Eddie's voice get lower while another heave of bile comes out of you, "Watch your mouth, Wheeler."

There's silence and then the sound of a smack on the back, "I'm just kiddin' man. Fuckin' love you guys."

You finally think you're done, rinsing your mouth out in the sink.

"Do you guys have mouthwash?" you call out, hearing their murmur of conversation.

"Behind the mirror," Mike responds. Your sigh of relief at the Listerine is audible and the boys snicker and you laugh too. This is ridiculous. What were you so nervous about? This was going to be fine. Just fine.

Eddie's waiting for you outside of the bathroom, offering his hand again when you emerge, "You okay?"

You nod and he picks up the snacks and wine while leading you to the kitchen. He puts the champagne in the fridge, maneuvering it amongst hundreds of beer cans and a covered grocery store cake. You go to open the snacks before Dustin stops you.

"I got it, Stell," he urges, "You should sit down."

"Henderson," you say with a cocked head, "I'm pregnant, not dying. I can put out snacks."

"Look, I'm just doing what I'd do for Suze," he says, "If I'm here, you're not lifting a finger."

"And where is Suze and the baby now?" you ask with a smile.

"They are in Utah to visit her parents and her brother's and sisters," he explains matter of factly, "And...lucky for me, I couldn't take off work this week to go visit them, too."

"I'm sure your thrilled," you laugh. He puts a finger to his lips and laughs too, fatherhood suits him so well. Despite being five years younger, Eddie has gotten so much wisdom from Dustin. Asking every question that comes in his head, picking Suzie's brain about pregnancy even though you have to keep reminding him that all of this is different for every couple.

Eddie puts a plate in front of you full of snacks you can have and strokes your hair, "Do you want water? Soda?"

"Can I have a Heineken?" you ask with a hopeful smile.

"No," he singsongs, "But you can have a Coke if you want?"

You frown, "Fine, fine."

Eddie opens it for you and places it next to your plate, barely biting into a cracker before the doorbell rings again. You've started your conversation back up with Dustin and Eddie to tune out the ruckus at the door and you swear you hear it -- but you can't be sure. 

"Libby!"

Absolutely not.

There's no way.

You peer a little past the wall of the kitchen blocking off the view of the front door to see a glimpse of her hair falling over Will's shoulder and you know if she's here -- so is he. Your heart races in your chest, sweat building under your arms and in your hairline like you're going to be sick again.

You peer over a second time to see Steve on one knee taking off her shoes for her and bite back a scoff. You feel Eddie's hand on your shoulder and your attention snaps to him, "What're you lookin' at, baby?"

He follows your line of site and sees them, too. Eddie's regualr smile falls to a thin line, "What the fuck?" he mutters quietly.

"Of course he's taking her shoes off for her, can't do anything herself," you huff.

Eddie squeezes your shoulder, "Don't," he says with a shake of his head.

"Don't act up. You're just gonna make yourself upset," he warns. You both had a right to be mad, but Eddie didn't have the energy for negativity anymore. Lucky for him, you have enough energy for the both of you.

"I'm so sorry, dude. I should've told you," Dustin said. Their conversation is muffled while shock rings in your ears. You watch her give Will a gift, their jovial conversation, her dolled up outfit. Lucas and Mike giving her hugs hello. She sparkled. The life of the party. Her miserable hulking jock boyfriend hanging behind her with her purse in his hand.

You look back down at your plate of snacks -- you wanna puke again but you don't know if you need to puke again. You hear Libby and the rest of the crew maneuver into the livingroom, laughing and joking as they go. Her smile is so evident in her voice and your heart can't help but break at the sound of it -- she was your friend, too. Once.

It's not long before you hear it, the familiar stomps of a one Steve Harrington entering the kitchen with a cigarette between his lips. The interaction feels like it's happening in slow motion when he stops in front of the table.

"Shut the fuck up," you say under your breath, "You're joking."

Eddie instinctively steps in front of you, one hand sneaking behind him to stop you from talking -- ‘I got it.’

Steve stands there, dumbfounded at first, and then shakes his head.

"You gotta be fuckin' kidding me," he mumbles, looking straight at Eddie's face. It had been over a year, but rage surged through Eddie's system for a moment before he took a regulating breath.

"Uh, Eddie um, I just got my car uh, detailed -- wanna check it out? See if they did a good job?" Dustin offered, trying to break the tension.

"Yeah Henderson, that sounds like a great idea," Eddie agreed slowly, keeping his eye on Steve while the boxer turned on his heel to go back to the livingroom.

It was no longer a question of whether or not you wanted to puke.

You needed to puke.

Eddie and Dustin headed outside while you barreled back down the hallway to vom, turning the water on so no one would hear, praying that this would be the last time. After a couple of dizzying minutes, you gather yourself, rinse with Listerine, and cautiously head to the door.

You only see her feet in the corner of your eye, blocked by everyone surrounding her before you open the door. The cool March air kisses your face like a lover back from war, catching on the sweat of your clammy skin. You shut the door, making sure it's not locked, and scan the street for a sign of your husband.

"Over here," he calls from across the street. You jog over in your sneakers, Eddie looks you over, "You get sick again?"

"Yeah, but s'fine," you nod, "I'm okay."

Eddie reaches into his jacket pocket, hearing the crinkling of plastic, and his hand reappears with two gold wrapped candies.

Ginger chews. The only thing that kept your stomach settled these day. Eddie bought them in bulk the moment you found something that helped and kept at least 50 of them on him at all times, lest you felt even the slightest bit ill.

"Here, baby," he offers, holding the candies out on his outstretched palm, "You'll feel better. Think you need to eat something real, soon. You didn't eat a lot at breakfast."

"Ed, I'm fine," you assure, taking the chews and horking them down. You just don't want to feel sick anymore. He takes out his keys and hands them to you.

"I got a big bottle of Evian in there for you, go grab it," he instructs, "You're gonna just get more sick if you're dehydrated."

"Honey," you say with a warning edge, taking the keys, "I know. I can take care of myself, okay?"

He frowns, "Just tryna help."

You sigh with a smile, pecking his cheek, "I love you. I appreciate it. M'sorry." You cross the street again, catching Libby and Will in an animated conversation through the window and avert your eyes to the van. You grab the Evian and crack it open, practically chugging it behind the coverage of the passenger door -- heaving breaths out of your mouth when the bottle leaves your lips.

"Trying to pretend it's a real party, Stell?" Eddie teases, "Sucking that down like it's Moet."

You roll your eyes, "Fuck off, Munson."

"We're gonna go back inside, sweet thing," he says, tilting his head over to Dustin, "You need a minute?"

"Um, yeah, gonna let the ginger set in first and then I'll come in," you smile.

"I think they ordered pizza, that sound good? Want me to see if I can get you something else?" Eddie smiles.

"No, no, pizza's fine honey," your smile is tight while you watch them walk back in, the sound of too many voices and music peels through the open door.

You take a few deep breaths to steady your nerves, looking at yourself in the side view mirror again. You sigh, you’re sure you look fine to everyone else but you look bad to you. You step half way up and in to the van to open the center console, fishing out a spare blush and lip gloss that you kept there for emergencies. Your touch up helps make you feel a little refreshed, but still came the daunting task of going back into the house.

You crept in the door quietly, seeing Eddie and Dustin laughing with Mike and Lucas, standing like pretend grown men in a circle. You scan the base of the couch again and see Libby’s socked feet, taking a swig of your water while you position yourself next to Eddie. His arm naturally finds its way around you while he talks and you feel safe again. The vibration of his chest while he speaks, the scent of his cologne mixed with less and less cigarette smoke while he works on quitting before the baby comes. His presence lulling you back into security without as much as a word.

Lucas and Dustin walk away to help set up the table for the game, while Mike continues to talk to Eddie about guitars. Wheeler wants to get a new one but he isn’t sure he has the right adapter for his amp and your brain glazes over in boredom. If you never heard about amp adapters again it would still be too soon.

“Technology’s moving too fast, babe. The sound is getting too manufactured.” He’d complain throughout the house like a grumpy old man.

Will calls Mike over and they start talking about playing, you hear Libby’s voice in the background and your head swims. When the conversation pauses, Eddie looks down at you and smiles, “You look pretty, you put a different blush on?”

His ability to still notice the little things makes your heart leap, “The one in the car. Felt like I sweat all my makeup off after puking.”

“You look like a million bucks, mama,” he winks, pulling you in tighter and kissing your forehead, “Gonna go help set up sweet thing, why don’t you go put some food in your body with that water.”

You chug your Evian to stop from fixing your mouth to say something bitchy. It’s hard to let him take the lead, to have him suggest how to care for yourself in this state. You want to tell him to mind his business, to snap at him — but he’s doing it from a place of love and you know that. You’re not good at having someone take care of you like this. You never let him do it before.

There was someone at this party who had told you that to your face.

You get out of the way, padding into the kitchen and grabbing a handful of pretzels and tossing them on a plate, your previous snack plate thrown away. You gather some cheese curls, M&Ms, chips, anything in a bowl for eating and pile it high. Munching on it while you watch the party set the living room up for the game. Dice and maps and papers being passed out to eachother. Beers and weed being offered. 

You're only half listening while you came back over to the table where everyone was sitting in fold out chairs or the couch, only to realize there was no seat for you. Eddie turns at your movement, sitting on the end. He scans the room, there’s space next Libby on the couch but that’s not happening so he spreads his legs a little farther, patting his thigh.

“C’mon,” he says quietly, “S’fine, honey.”

You perch yourself on his lap and watch him look at your plate, he opens his mouth to say something but then closes it — plucking a chip off and popping it in his mouth, then another.

“Really looking forward to this birthday campaign, Byers," Eddie says across the table, "Never thought Wheeler could come up with something so creative."

"Rude," Mike scoffs, "But, even though I'm definitely that creative -- I didn't write it. Libby wrote it." You look down at the pretzels on your plate as if they are much more interesting than anything else.

“You wrote it?” Eddie asks gently.

“Yeah, I mean, I just threw it together,” Libby assured, “It’s nothing special.”

“No, no,” Eddie urges, “It’s good. It’s really good.”

Bile creeps up your throat.

Good enough to kiss her at the bar again? You shake it out of your mind. You’ve moved past that. He can compliment her and have it not mean anything more than that. He complimented Max's hair at your wedding, he compliments your manager Simone all the time. You bite into a pretzel — it’s incredibly dry. Eddie’s hand finds your hip and your mouth runs drier. Did he touch you after so that you wouldn’t be mad? Why are you thinking so far into it?

You reach down to get your water but he beats you to it, putting his character sheet down with his other papers to open it for you.

“I can do it, Ed,” you assure gently, “You’re busy.”

“I'm never too busy for you, Stell,” he whispers while the conversation continues around him, “I just — I’m sorry.”

You stay on his lap, snacking, feeding him snacks while he pays attention to everyone else.Minutes pass, they feel like hours while you watch everyone else laugh and joke with each other. Libby is glowing -- completely in her element, and you're here in your husband's sweatshirt feeling like hurling every five seconds and no one cares about you at all.

You need air.

You get up and fish into Eddie's pockets while he talks, grabbing a handful of ginger chews and the dregs of your Evian bottle and walk over to the kitchen to the back door. For the second time that afternoon, the cool wet air feels good on your face.

You shut the door behind you and take a deep breath, putting your head down and leaning forward with your hands on your knees at the exhale.

"You too?" you hear. It's a gruff voice. A voice you know well.

"What? Not havin' fun, Harrington?" you ask dryly, rolling up slowly, vertabrae by vertabrae.

"Could ask you the same thing," he says with a shrug. You turn to look at him, still big and hulking as ever. Sunglasses over his eyes and a cigarette between his lips. You look at eachother for a moment, you can feel his eyes through the lenses -- the honey eyes that looked like daggers the last time you saw him. The honey eyes that rounded like saucers when you told Libby to leave while she still could. Looks like she didn't heed your advice.

He takes a small step toward you, "Want a smoke?"

The box is nearly empty and you don't smoke Marlboro's anyway, "I'll pass."

He shrugs, taking one of the remaining cigarettes left and popping it between his lips.

"So, when're you due?" he asks while he brings up his lighter.

"Excuse me?" you ask, eyes narrowing. You cross your arms protectively over your chest.

"When's the baby due?" he asked again on his exhale, blowing the smoke away from you.

"Who told you?" you look at him quizically -- it's not like him and Libby would've found out any other way but this party. You weren't announcing to the press until you were at least 12 weeks.

"No one," he smirks, "Any other party I've seen you at you're normally stumblin' around with some Cliquot and chain smoking by now."

"I am not," you huff.

"And fuckin' Munson hasn't broken out any party favors yet so either you're knocked up or you finally put him on a shorter leash," his smirk widens while he takes another drag.

"Get his name out of you're fuckin' mouth, Harrington," you spit. You see his jaw clench, like he's holding back.

"See you haven't changed much," you mutter, opening your bottle of water only to see that there's nothing left. Steve drops the butt of his cigarette, stomping it out with his shoe before turning to one of the coolers outside and fishing out a Sprite.

"S'not as fancy as Evian but," he cocks his head while offering it to you, "Might settle your stomach."

You peer at it, and then at him, slowly reaching for the dripping can, "Thanks."

It comes out more apprehensive than you expect. You walk over to the picnic table that seems decades old, sitting down on the damp old wood of the bench and opening the can -- catching the bubbles as they over flow. You see Steve fish a Sprite out for himself and head over to you, lighting the last cigarette in his pack. You jaw clenches.

"Uh, congrats though," he says, flipping his glasses to rest on his head and running his hand over his face. You nod, feeling a little uncomfortable -- it wasn't pregnancy making you sick at this point. It was the threat of where this conversation could go, and you had a sharp tongue today. It was the fear of Eddie coming out here and causing a scene because -- despite it being over a year -- he wouldn't want you out here alone with King Steve.

"You know what you're having?"

"Twins."

Steve chokes on his Sprite, turning around to spit the liquid out onto the yellowed grass. He turns back around, wiping his mouth.

"Good fuckin' luck," he breaths, shaking his head. "Fuckin' twins."

"I know," you say quietly, toying with a piece of splintered wood on the side of the table, "I haven't told Eddie about it yet."

"The fuck you mean?" Steve asks, concerned, sitting down on the bench opposite you.

"I just found out before I came down here," you confessed, still toying with the splinter, "He was already in Indiana when I went to the 7 week appointment -- that's when they saw two of them in there. Fraternal. I'm due in November."

"Shit," Steve mumbles, "Uh...you okay?"

You nod, "I'm nervous he's gonna freak out. He's excited but I know he's so nervous about being a dad. He's so scared he's gonna fuck up -- I feel like this will be too much for him."

"I don't know why I'm telling you this," you say, shaking your head while the rest of you shivers, "I don't even fucking like you."

He barks out a laugh, "Yeah, sure. Whatever you say, Rink."

You laugh with him and for the first time, there's a subtle softness between you that hadn't existed before.

"Um," he starts, "Not sure it's my place to say this but -- I think Munson'll be fine -- he's off the heavy shit, right?"

You nod, looking at the opening of the Sprite can, the liquid reflecting the sky above you. Your shoulders tense at him mentioning Eddie's drug use -- 'How're those veins holdin' up Munson?' Eddie hadn't touched anything beyond weed and a few bumps of coke (off your body) since '92.

"He's been off for two years," you say, ripping the splinter of wood off the table and tossing it into the grass.

"See? Already ten times better than my folks. You’ll be just fine," Steve says softly -- you'd never hear him speak like that. So inward, almost calm.

Your eyes meet, holding each others gaze with understanding before Steve slides his glasses back down.

"Drink," he demands, his chin jutting towards the can of Sprite.

"Pfft. You sound just like Ed," you groan with an eye roll.

"What, is he finally bossin' you around?" Steve lets out a chuckle while he puts his last cigarette in his mouth.

"No one bosses me around," you snip, eyes reaching the sky, "God he just doesn't stop it's so fucking --"

"Steve," you hear Libby's voice behind you, her socked feet at the door frame. She tip toes clumsily in the dry grass, light on her feet as she does and gets behind him, reaching into his pants pocket.

"Baby, what're you --"

"There it is," Libby says with a smile, his wallet in her hand. She fishes through it, grabbing a few bills. She looks over at you, but doesn't make eye contact, "Oh, hey Stella."

"Hi Lib," you say to the rotting plank of wood at the center of the picnic table. You try to stifle a laugh from how clear it is that she's really been enjoying herself.

Steve looks up at her blankly, and she grins down, "The pizza's here, Stevie. I don't want Will to have to pay for it on his birthday."

She turns to tip toe back to the door with the cash in hand and he follows, her socks dirty with wet soil and grass. You don't hear it, but you know he's scolding her for something -- his fingers gentle around her chin while he talks to her.

He comes back when she disappears into the house and sits back down -- the bench creaks.

"She's having fun," you smile, "Happy for her."

"A little too much fun," he takes a drag of his cigarette, "That Sprite isn't there for you to look at, Rink."

You roll your eyes but take a sip of it anyway, "I know you're not telling me what to do. Must be the roids talking."

He catches your mean smirk and smirks back, his eye roll rivals yours. You're almost impressed.

Steve looks at the house, seeing Libby in the window with the boxes of pizza and his brows soften behind his glasses. He takes a moment, like he's considering something.

"Look, Rink -- what I did..." he starts, lifting his glasses to rub one of his eyes, "In Toronto and Malibu..."

"Steve it's --"

"No, no, shut up -- stop," he says, resting his glasses back on his nose, "What I did, what I said -- it was shitty."

He pauses, you sit in silence for a moment.

"I shouldn't have done that."

"Yeah, you shouldn't have," you agree, taking another sip of Sprite -- you're annoyed that it is making you feel better.

"Everything I said was the truth, so -- I'm not apologizing to you," you say with a smile and a shrug.

"Fuckin' Rink," Steve shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair, attention turning to the door again where Libby is standing.

"Come eat!" she calls. Holy God, you're fucking hungry.

"Go," Steve instructs, and you wanna snap at him too, but whatever demons are growing in your uterus are really begging for cheese and sauce. You get up, looking behind you while Steve works on finishing his cigarette and step into the house.

"Shoes off, baby," Eddie says when you see him in the kitchen, a plate of pizza in either hand. You kick your Adidas off and scurry over to the front door, leaving them with the pile of everyone else's before meeting your husband back in the kitchen.

"You want veggie or pepperoni?" he asks, holding either out in front of you.

"Veggie," you choose, taking the plate of his hand. You turn to see Libby waiting at the door for Steve, a plate of slices in her hand -- offering it to him when he comes in the door. Your heart sinks. You want to believe it's a good relationship, you really do -- but when you see her like this, this contrast of her bubbly nature with the group versus her obedient meekness when he's around -- you worry. Eddie catches you staring and looks at you through heavy lids, his lips a straight line.

"What?" you ask, "What's that face for?"

"Don't be sneakin' around on me," he warns, "I don't like that."

"Baby, it's fine," you say lightly, "I wasn't sneaking around -- you were busy! I just needed some air."

"It's not fine. I didn't want you to see him again," he says through a bite of pizza, "And definitely not by yourself."

"Oh stop," you click your tongue, "Put that fake macho attitude away."

"I'm so macho, what do you mean?" he quirks his brow while he gets in your face, dimples deepening when he smiles into a soft, pizza saucey peck on your lips. You look at him, his eyes are a little glassy and blood shot.

"Are you stoned?" you ask with a laugh.

"Eh...not a lot, enough that this tastes like the best pizza I've ever had," he laughs back at you.

"C'mon, lets sit," he urges, giving you a tiny pat on the ass to get you out of the way of all the moving parts in the kitchen. You cozy up next to him on the oversized recliner by the couch and look at the maps and dice left abandoned on the table.

"Are you winning?" you ask, taking a bite of your slice. Fuck, you might not be stoned but this is definitely the best pizza you've ever had.

"It's not that kind of game, baby," he smiles at you, eyes crinkling at the edges when he does.

"Oh, sorry," you blush, "I didn't know."

"S'okay," he says with a stretch of his arm, wrapping it at around you while he folds his now empty paper plate with his free hand.

"You having fun?" you ask, shoveling another bite of pizza into your mouth.

"Feel like I'm back at a highschool party," he blushes, "Excited to get to the making out part of the night. You know there's this girl I have a crush on? Her name's Stella. Think she'd wanna be my make out partner?"

"Oh, so wild," you play along, "I know her. Do you want me to ask her if she likes you?"

"No, no, she'd never go for a guy like me," he fake frowns, "I'm a loser in a rock band."

Almost as if on cue, a Corroded Coffin song comes on the radio and you playfully lean over him to turn up the volume on the stereo. Eddie covers his face with his hands, biceps bulging in the tight fabric of his shirt.

"Oof, so embarrassing," you tease. The party, sans Libby and Steve, clamber over to join in on the teasing, but it all turns into hype when they start screaming the lyrics at him. He peeks over his hands and then drops them, screaming the lyrics with them.

You feel the air around you get hot at the sight of him air guitaring the exact right chords, his face getting confident and concentrated like when he's really playing. He notices your stare, looking up to shoot you a wink but when you blush at him he can't help but pull you into a kiss. It's lewd and sloppy, like how you'd make out at California parties when you both had too much to drink. You know deep down he misses that version of you, but he can always find her when he kisses like this.

The hype turns into childish playful groans of disgust and teasing coos, "Ewwwww, don't be gross."

"Get a room!"

"No wonder you have a baby on the way," Mike teased. The grouped lulled in quiet, everyone blushing but not at dark as Wheeler. Your eyes flit quickly to Steve and Libby, and a strike of guilt pangs in your chest. She didn't know. How would she?

Always good at breaking tension, you make a joke at the expense of yourself, "Don't act so surprised, you all saw it on the tape."

They probably had. It was all over the news.

The room erupts in cackles and you laugh into Eddie's hand while it claps over your mouth, "Shh, shh, stop." His giggle in your ear is infectious. You reach up to touch his hand, your finger sliding over his wedding band as a reminder that he made all the changes he said he would. He put in all the work he promised. He's still going to meetings and still seeing a shrink -- he's even brought you with him a few times.

'Eddie mentioned he thinks you might have some issues with letting go of control.'

'I think you don't know what you're talking about.'

In your peripherary, you catch Steve pull away from her touch -- renderring her visibly upset. She gets up and heads to the hallway and part of you wants to get up and go after her, but your attention turns to Steve. His eyes lock with yours and he gives you a look like 'See what I'm dealing with here? What did I do?'

You look back at him flatly at first because he knows what he did. You motion your head toward the hallway at him mouthing a small 'Go!' He huffs and bobs his head with another award winning eye roll because he knows you're right.

Mrs. Fuckin' Munson.

Both of them disappear in the darkness of the hall and you watch as Max and Will's gaze follow them.

"It's okay," you assure them quietly -- it grabs their attention. Will was better, but Max always got flustered when you spoke to her or paid her any mind. You weren't a stranger to people being star struck around you -- but you wished it wouldn't happen around Ed's friends. Especially when he just wanted to be normal.

"Stell, you wanna hear a story about how Eddie struck out with a super hot babe at Hawkin's Comics back in '85?" Lucas asked.

"Yes, absolutely," you nod feverishly, "I want every painstaking detail."

"Oh god is this the story with --" Eddie starts, flush blooming on his cheeks.

"Yep, with the magic trick," Lucas interrupts with a laugh.

"Oh yes! When he punched her in the face?" Mike adds. Eddie's head falls into his hands, grin plastered on his face behind his palms. His face matches the can on Coke on the side table next to him.

"He punched a girl in the face?" you gasp but it turns into a girlish laugh -- a mean girl laugh that you thought you threw away in grade school. You run your hand over his back in soothing circles.

"Who knew he'd be Hollywood's heartbreaker a year later," you tease, "Tell me everything."

You listen to the tale intently, Eddie eventually finding comfort resting against your chest to feel the vibrations of your laugh under him. His eyes lull when your fingers graze over his scalp, running through his hair -- an absentminded soothing action you did without realizing it. He can't wait for you to be a mother -- he knows you're gonna be great at it. You've already spent so much time taking care of him, how different can some rugrat be?

When the story is over and everyone is nearly crying with laughter, your stomach lurches.

"Oh shit," you groan, wretching nothing, "Fuck, sorry, hold on."

You race to the bathroom for the third time only to be met with the closed door opening to Steve and Libby. You wretch again, looking at them while they look at you.

"Sorry, please -- just, please move -- " you plead, shoving past them and shutting the door on their backs. You heave into the toilet. Undigested chunks of pizza and veggies plopping down into the water unceremoniously -- the fizz of the Sprite crawling back up your throat burning while it mixes with your stomach acid.

"Ugh, shit," you groan as another hurl rolls through your body -- up your back to your neck and out of your mouth. Your coughs and sputters turn to more upheavels until there's nothing left to throw up. You take a few deep breaths, resting your head on the cool porcelain on the toilet seat -- not even caring at this point if its dirty.

With wobbling legs you get up and rinse your mouth for the third time that day, splashing some cold water onto your cheeks. The knock on the door makes you jump and you wait to hear Eddie's 'Baby, you okay?' come from the other side, but it doesn't.

"Hey, Stell?" it's Libby asking for you.

"I got you some water. Can I come in?" she asks. Your heart races. Steve you could handle -- but you don't know if you can handle this. You hesitate for a moment, looking at the door then back at yourself in the mirror, then back at the door again.

You reach for the handle and click it open, revealing her and her glassy stare -- cup of water in her hand, and one for her in the other.

"Uh, here."

You reach for it, your mouth and joints suddenly feelings the strain of dehydration, and gulp some of it down. Letting out a 'thanks' with a sigh.

You're silent for a second, mulling over your next move. You could just walk away and go back to your husband or you could grow the fuck up. You and Eddie have had countless talks about their hookup. He never shyed away from it, always doing his best to be as open and honest about it to quell and insecurity you might've had. It didn't kill you that he'd had a little crush on her, you had little crushes on plenty of people -- you worked along side the most beautiful and charming people in the world. At the end of the day, the ring was on your finger -- his vows were a short novel that he got bound in leather and gave to you the night before your wedding. He still knew your Big Mac order. He still knew you'd always take a sip of his regular Coke when you ordered diet.

"Do you wanna go outside with me? I just really need some air," you offer. You see her eyes widen, but she nods while you walk into the space she made for you in the hallway. You walk ahead, slipping your sneakers back on and finding Eddie back in the game with the boys. Steve sitting in darkness off to the side with his sunglasses on -- what a putz.

Eddie's character voice is low and gravely but animated -- some kind of accent lacing the words but you know it's his poor attempt at Northern Irish. He turns his head when you giggle as he finishes his sentence, sneaking behind him and reaching into his jacket pocket for some ginger chews.

"You okay?" he murmurs to you.

"Yes, honey," you whisper, grabbing the candies and sneakily slipping out his box of Camels and his lighter to slide into your jean's back pocket.

"Your character seems really cool," you smile into a kiss on the side of his head from behind, "You sound great."

"Thanks," he blushes, still whispering with you while the other members continues.

"I'm gonna step outside," you say with a rub to his back and he nods before joining a huddle with Lucas, Dustin, and Will to plan their next steps. You turn back to Libby and motion towards the back door, heading back outside towards the picnic table -- the sun begginning it's descent. You shivered a little in your sweatshirt -- you should've worn a coat or maybe another layer. You watch Libby as she comes outside, sitting across from you with her back towards the door.

"Hi," you say softly, with a smile, "It's been a while."

"Yeah," Libby nods. There's a permeating silence, neither of you knowing how to start the conversation. The last time you'd seen each other had been so cold. You had only kept up through seeing whatever brand deals she might have garnered, or running into some of Steve's fights on TV. Sometimes when your makeup artist had worked with her she'd give you her insight, but it had never been enough. Apparently Steve wasn't hovering so often.

"So how do you know these guys?" you ask, because this was the last place you ever thought you'd see Libby and Steve. She lights up at the question, easy and middle ground.

"Oh, I was really close with Will in high school. Some seniors were picking on him and I...sorta yelled at them," she explained.

She giggled at the memory, "How about you? How do you and Eddie know this bunch?"

"Eddie started living with his uncle when he was around 10 and then sarted working at Hawkin's Comics after he dropped out of high school in '83," you say it like you've heard this story a thousand times before, and you have, "The boys used to come in and buy new issues and some Dungeons and Dragons play books, eventually they started a little club and stayed friends after. I'm sure since you knew them back then you might've heard about it."

"He stayed friends with the boys for the most part, but stayed really close with Dustin -- so when he was here last year after um -- y'know -- everything. They sort of all got a chance to reconnect. And here we are."

"I bet it's weird, huh?" she asks with a shrug, " Not knowing many people, being far from home."

"And I'm sober for it," you complain with an eye roll. Your chin goes to rest on the heel of your hand, leaning on the table.

"Congratulations, by the way," Libby cracks a shy smile, "On the baby and the wedding."

"Thanks," you smile back, "I'm due in November. Y'know I thought I'd be so relieved once the wedding was over after all that planning but -- with y'know the tape and all the press -- and then getting pregnant it's been...it's just been a lot. Kinda lonely."

"I saw some pictures," she responded, "You looked really pretty."

Your heart breaks, "I wish..." you trail off for a moment, unsure if you should say what you're thinking.

"I wish you could've been there."

"Me too," she says, eyes casting down towards the table.

"It was fun, and all the boys were there -- and Max. You would've had a good time," you say, and then pause to think, "Maybe not Steve. He doesn't strike me as good at dancing."

Libby laughs, "Steve never dances."

'Not much of a dancer but good enough in bed that you stayed with him this long? What kind of rhythm is he even working with?' you think. You laugh too, but it fades out when your heart swells -- it's better to be honest.

"Not just the wedding though. When the tape came out and -- everything that went down. I wished you'd been around. It's hard y'know, when everyone is talking about how much of a slut you are for having sex with your own husband," you confess, "And then Jesus, everything with Ed and Howard -- so embarrassing."

"I only had my sisters and my mom for a while. It just would've been nice to have a friend around, too. Someone who understood," you pause for a beat, "I missed you."

You grab the box of Camels and his lighter from your back pocket to open it. It's half full, which is impressive since Eddie bought this pack last week -- really following through with cutting down. Any other time, this pack would've been gone by noon at the latest. You hold the box out in your hand across the table -- not the olive branch you thought it would be, but it'll do.

"Wanna light?" you ask, "It helps sometimes just to smell it around me. Takes the edge off."

You're surprised at how quickly she reaches for the pack, fishing out a cigarette and lighting it with one fell swoop. The kind of speed you see back stage at fashion shows or in the back alleys of the studios you shot at.

"You're telling me," she mumbles through a drag.

"Didn't realize you were one of us now. Are you that stressed out?" you asked. There was no way things were going that badly already. You watch her look over her shoulder with a nervous shiver, certainly looking out for Steve.

"It's just like you said," she says before blowing out the gray haze, the scent hits your nostrils and your heart finally stops thrumming, "to take the edge off sometimes. Steve doesn't know."

"I'd imagine not," you tease.

There's a moment of silence while Libby takes another drag. Smoking suits her, she looks more established -- more grown up. Sure of herself.

"I missed you, too," she says. You think it's the pregnancy hormones that make you want to cry. You both smile at eachother, eyes shining in the cold air. It would've been a different year entirely if you had just stayed friends.

"Is—has everything been okay? With Steve?" you asked. The answer seemed obvious since they were still together.

"Yeah, things are good. They're..." you watch her consider the answer. No longer under the watch of America or her family, but someone who'd seen some of Steve at his worst, "...they're much better. He's been going to therapy, it seems to be helping," she admitted.

You laugh at the confession. King Steve sees a shrink. Of course.

"Ah, that explains it," you grin, fiddling with Eddie's zippo on the table. She laughs with you. It's nice to laugh with someone else other than Eddie.

"I'm sure that was a terrifying moment for you," she jokes, tilting her head towards the house. It was at first, talking to Steve one on one -- but then maybe it wasn't.

"I definitely didn't wonder if you had him cloned and rewired," you tease before reaching out to her across the table, "And you? How have you been?"

"Good. We're back on the road next week, Steve has a fight in Chicago," she explains. You knew that life.

"Any more Prada shoots?" you ask. Your mind wanders for a brief moment if Steve ever ended up giving her the card you wrote her.

"Maybe. But...I don't know, ever since we came back to Hawkins, I've been...no, it's silly," she waves her hand, making a face -- but you want to know what she wants.

"No, I know it's not! Come on, tell me."

"I've been thinking about...maybe taking some classes. I wanted to go to school, before I met Steve, and I'm just...wondering if maybe I still could," she says nervously. Like a secret she'd been keeping for years.

"Libby, I definitely think you still can," you encourage, "I think that's a great idea."

"Ah, I don't know. We'll see. What about you? How far along are you?"

You pull your hand away -- you're excited but almost a little exhausted by talking about the baby -- babies, you keep having to remind yourself. But you know it'll only get worse the more you start to show.

"Not very, just due in November. I mean, I'm scared shitless, but I'm excited. Eddie's nesting more than I am and he's not the one puking every five seconds," you can't help but get exasperating at his constant flitting about -- but thinking about him with a baby makes your heart melt.

"But...he's gonna be a great dad," you confess, your cheeks heat up for a moment.

"Yeah, he is," she agrees, "And you're gonna make the best mom, Stell."

You gulp and shake your head for a second, "I dunno. You think so?"

"I know so," her smile genuine and warm and you want to reach up and give her a hug but something moves behind her that catches your eye.

You spy Steve at the door way and your eyes flick to the lit cigarette in her hand while she talks. He takes a strong step forward, eyes meeting yours -- he puts a finger to his lips with a devilish smile as to warn you not to reveal his unfortunate surprise. You want to roll your eyes while she takes her next drag, but you know it'll give it away.

He comes behind her and cups his hand under her jaw and you stifle a laugh while she sputters out the smoke into his face.

"Hey, angel. Whatcha doin'?" he asks, you can sense he's less than happy about her currently predicament. Another reminder why he probably didn't want you hanging out with Libby in the first place.

"I-I was just keeping it lit for you," she says with rounded, mischevious eyes. You giggle, which makes her giggle, while he makes a face -- and you know he doesn't appreciate it.

"You think that's funny?" he asks down at her, but you know he's asking both of you.

"No -- " she starts, her voice falling into something small and meek. A familiar head of shaggy curls appears behind Steve's hulking frame. Fuck, you forgot your husband was here.

"Stell, babe, have you seen my Camels?" he asks while he jogs out, slowing down to a confused stop when he sees all three of you outside. He stands next to you, seeing the box of cigarettes and his lighter on the table -- a lit cig in Libby's hand.

"Okay, so when did you start smoking?" Ed asks, furrowing his brow. 

"She doesn't," Steve says down at her. It's the only slight interaction they've had all night. You cringe. 

"Sure you don't want it, Stevie?" Libby asks, offering it to him. He gives her a look and shakes his head -- tossing the cigarette into the grass.

"I don't smoke that nasty shit, and neither to do you," he almost looks offended that she asked. Eddie turns his attention back towards you, shoving his hands in his coat pockets -- his exasperated breath floating out in contrast to the cold air.

"What're you doing, huh?" he asks, "It's freezing out, you have no coat on. You've barely eaten. You're a foot away from someone blowing smoke around you. C'mon Stell, it's bad for --"

"For the baby. Yeah, yeah, I know, Ed," you sass. He picks up the box and puts it in his back pocket, lighter shoved in the inside pocket of his leather jacket.

“Well, I hate the break up the Girl Scout meeting over here," Ed announces dramatically. You notice Steve's jaw tick.

"But I need to get you some dinner,” Eddie says, his hands giving your shoulders a soft squeeze, “Let’s go say goodbye inside so we can get going.”

“Ed, no, I’m finally having fun,” you complain.

“Don’t argue with me, please,” he says softly, “You got sick three times and barely finished your pizza. Let’s go get something that agrees with you. We can go to the diner.”

“No,” you half whine, grabbing Libby’s hand across the table.

“Let’s go, Stell,” he urged, annoyance and edge building on his voice — feeling Steve’s eyes on him while his wife blatantly doesn’t listen. Eddie turns and walks towards the house, expecting you to follow him but you stay on the bench and cross your legs. They tighten when Eddie turns back around half way to the house in the grass, frustration clear on his face.

“Stella Lynn,” he growls, "Get over here, now." 

You huff, and you swear you can hear Steve snicker under his breath. 'You finally lettin' him boss you around?'

"Sorry, I have to go," you frown, getting up and taking a step over to him.

"You're being a buzzkill, Ed," you say loudly enough for them to hear. He takes a few steps back to meet you, putting his arm around you while he scowls.

"What's our agreement, these days -- hm?" he asks, not even caring that the other couple is there watching you, "If I don't get to do cocaine -- you don't get to what?"

"Don't get to start shit," you reply with a frown. You know Steve is snickering and you'd give anything to be back in the ring in Toronto to give him a right hook that you actually know how to do now.

"So let's go," he repeats.

"Just give me like, one second okay?" you ask, pecking him on the cheek. You scurry back over to Libby and Steve and interrupt their conversation.

You meet Steve's eye and before he can speak you put your finger in his face but your face is playful, "Don't."

"555-4823," you say down at Libby on the bench, "That's my new number. Call me literally whenever."

You hurry back over to Eddie who pulls you back in tight at the waist, leading you back into the house. The warmth envelopes you like a hug, you hadn't even realized how cold you were until you came back inside.

"Everything good out there?" Dustin asks, his concerned stance matching Eddie's from outside.

"Everything's fine, Henderson," you singsong, "Don't let Munson get in your head."

He smiles and reaches forward to pull you into a tight hug, "I'll see you guys tomorrow, okay?"

You hug him back tightly, letting go to go around with Eddie for the rest of your goodbyes -- Max nearly falling over herself when you reached forward to wrap your arms around her. Eddie smiles when he watches you interact with his friends, a little heart broken to take you away just as you started to loosen up but he planned to make more trips home now that you were about to start a family together.

You hear Steve and Libby come in while you make your exit, the door shutting behind you when you hear Will call out to her.

"You have fun?" Eddie asked, opening the van door for you. He helps you in, but you shake your hand out of his when he reaches for it. Eddie frowns but shuts the door for you before appearing on the other side.

"Yeah, it was fine," you smile, "Talked to both of them."

"How'd that go?" he asked, apprehensive. The van chugs to life when he puts the keys in the ignition, pulling out of the driveway.

"Good. I think," you nod, "I think it's good."

"I don't wanna go to the diner," you confess when he pulls onto the road.

"No? What'd you want?" he turns, and then focuses attention on your tummy, "Better question, what do you want?"

"I think McDonalds," you admit, making a face. He pulls a face that doesn't match yours, he's frustrated with you.

"I don't think that's a good choice, baby," he says softly.

"You don't really get to tell me wh--"

"It's not that I think it's a bad choice because it's unhealthy, it's a bad choice because you've barely put anything else in your body -- you need nutrients, babe. You didn't even take your vitamins today," he says, his voice raising slightly to talk over you.

"I'm not made of fucking glass, Ed," you snap, "This whole week you've been up my fucking ass, I'm so sick of it. I know how to take care of myself."

"Stell..." his voice softens, "I'm just trying to help you."

"Well, don't!" you smack the console between you -- your voice was petulant but you didn't care.

"Okay," he says, his voice calm. He doesn't want to fight with you, not after a good day. Maybe you'll be happier after you eat something. He keeps one hand on the wheel, knowing the roads well, the other slides over to you with his palm outstretched, "You wanna hold my hand?"

You look down at it and pout, sliding your fingers in to lace with his own, "Yeah." 

Eddie smiles at your admission – something about your little mood swings these days was fun for him. Much easier now to reel you back in from being scathing, all he had to do was be a little cuter than normal. (And he was already pretty cute to begin with, if he does say so himself.) Ed pulls into the drive through, your order never changing, and before you know it you're back on the road with two hot bags full of burgers and fries on your lap.

"Want me to bring you to one of my old stomping grounds?" he asked with a smile, "We can pull over and eat instead of going to Wayne's right away."

"Oh, is it where you punched that girl in the face?" you tease. He huffs, spare hand reaching up and squeezing your cheeks while he keeps his eyes on the road.

"You're cruisin' for a bruisin', Rink," he laughs, teeth gleaming behind his lips.

"Nah, it's where I used to go hook up with nerdy babes from the shop," he blushed, turning down a heavier treelined road -- the mist of the rainy day settling against the warm orange lights.

"I'm sure they were throwing themselves at you," you mocked.

He turns to look at you, mildly offended, and scoffs, "I'm sorry. Have you seen my dick? Of course they were."

You giggle with him while he turns into an empty parking lot, a lone car further to the back. Eddie looks at the car and back at you, "Think it's a couple of kids?"

"Yeah, probably," you nod. He grins.

"Wanna go ruin their night?" he laughs.

"Ed, c'mon, let them have their fun. No one was interrupting you when you were screwing around," you chide, but as you pull closer you see the bounce of the car.

And the car is familiar.

"Oh even fucking better -- it's Harrington," Eddie is giddy at the realization, leaning on the horn with an evil giggle.

"ED!" you yell, swatting at his hands, "Stop! Stop!"

Ed turns on his high beams, able to see through the slight fog of the back window.

"Is that Steve's ass?" you ask, peering forward while Eddie beeps the horn again.

"Hey, don’t look at that," Eddie snaps, covering your eyes while he pulls away -- Steve's middle finger pointed directly at him. When you squeal out of the parking lot, you roll deeper down the road and onto the backway to Wayne's -- pulling in front of his trailer without getting out.

"Wanna eat in the back?" he asks, "We could fool around after."

"Just like with your nerdy babes?" you tease, "I can't wait."

You both hop out and meneuver to the back where he slides in close to you, passing your food over. You don't wait for him to get situated, your stomach growling at the smell of salt and cheese -- your saliva might as well be whatever oil they dunk the fries in.

"Woah," he says with raised brows, "That little gremlin is really hungry, huh?"

You swallow hard, gulping down a sip of your diet Coke.

“Little gremlins,” you say to the floor of his van. 

“Hm?” he asks, “You know I can’t hear you all the way when you mumble, baby.”

The only perk of him losing some of his hearing in his right ear is that he can’t always catch on, but you knew you couldn’t keep this from him any longer. 

“Gremlins,” you repeat, “As in plural.” 

Eddie looks at you, eyes wide, like he’s trying to understand what you’re saying. 

“As in two,” you say softly, pausing for a moment while he nods with your words, “As in twins.” 

“Twins,” he repeats, his voice normal before his eyes blow. It hits him, finally, what you were saying. 

“TWINS?!” you let out a breath of relief when he smiles, “We’re having TWINS?!”

“When – what — when did you find out? Why didn’t – how were you – we’re having TWINS?!” the food is left forgotten and fries skitter across the carpet of the van. He pulls you in before you can explain and kisses you, hard and intense, lips trying to move through his smile but he can’t stop grinning into your mouth. 

“Why didn’t you tell me when you found out?” he asks, resting his foreheard against yours, “Did they tell you yesterday?” 

“Yeah,” you smile up at him, tears pricking your eyes, “I don’t know, I was scared you were gonna get stressed out or – or – be mad.”

“Be mad?” he asks, “Stell, you’re having our babies. By proxy I don’t think I’m ever allowed to be mad at you for the rest of my life. Especially not for having twins.”

He kisses your forehead while he continues, hands massaging the sides of your scalp, “Do you think maybe you’re a little stressed out and instead of owning it, you decided maybe I would be stressed out when you told me?” 

You give him a look, “What, you see a shrink for two years and suddenly you think you know everything?” 

“Oh, so I’m right,” he nods with a smile, your look doesn’t subside. 

“I get that you’re stressed, because two is a lot – and we don’t even know what it’s like to have one,” he soothes, “But you’re gonna be the best mom. I keep telling everyone about how great you’re gonna be. I know you’re scared, but I’m here with you the whole way, okay?” 

Your lower lip wobbles, and a few tears sneak their way out, “Okay.” 

You are scared – but no one would hear you say it outloud. He pulls you against his chest, instinctively stroking your hair like he always does when you start to cry. His excited breaths steady so that yours can, too.  

“Can we go tell Wayne?” he asks, “He’s gonna lose his fucking mind.” 

You nod while he lets you go to pick up the mess he made, shoving slightly at your shoulder when you lean down to help. 

“Please let me,” he mutters, “Let me do it, just go inside. I’ll be there in a minute.” 

You can’t help but sigh while you open the van doors and slide out. His shoulders tense at the sound. 

“You gotta let me take care of you one of these days, Rink,” he says while you linger outside with your hand on the door. He scoops up the fries and puts them in one of the empty bags before crunching it up and hopping out of the van to meet you. 

“Deal?” he asks, offering his empty hand to you. 

“Deal,” you smile. 

“Okay but you can’t just say deal and then not actually mean it,” he rambles while you walk towards the door of the trailer. 

“Oh my God, Munson. You’re being so insufferable right now.” 

“Will you two stop yellin’ out here!” Wayne calls from the window, “They can hear you two counties over.” 

You both giggle. Still just two kids under the pregnancy. Under the sex tape. Under the wedding rings. Under the fight in Toronto. Under rehab. Under separating. Just two kids holding hands who don’t know how to be quiet when the street lights are on. 

[mediaonedesign]

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#Teechallaclothing LLC When Rihanna arrived on the Denver Champs Logo 2023 Shirt moreover I will buy this Cannes red carpet in 2017, the white custom strapless Christian Dior gown with a billowing offtheshoulder cape instantly made headlines (she also threw on matching white microshades for an extra dose of superstar power). Fast forward to last night, when Christensen commanded the runway in true supermodel fashion while sporting a replica of the exact same dress – sans sunglasses. Other memorable fashion moments from the night included Ambrosio wearing a crystalencrusted Balmain X Beyoncé dress complete with jeweled peplum and power shoulders, as well as Fontana in a blue figurehugging Moschino spring 2017 look designed by Jeremy Scott. On the first Monday in May, the world’s biggest stars ascended the steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art for the 2023 Met Gala to celebrate Karl Lagerfeld A Line of Beauty. Appropriately, the dress code read simply in honor of Karl, which means designers and stars alike pulled out all the stops for the occasion. Among the best dressed attendees was the model Anok Yai, dressed by Prabal Gurung, in a gold dress with a pannier skirt that seemed to evaporate into thin air. This particular dress I had in my mind for a really long time based on his [Lagerfeld’s] Chanel Haute Couture shows, shares Gurung. What most did not realize is that Yai’s look was two separate pieces a short dress with oxidized gold and silver handembroidered degrade sequin paillettes and beaded bugle bead fringe, and a sheer silk tulle mermaid skirt hand embroidered with cascading oxidized gold and silver sequin paillettes underneath.

#Teechallaclothing LLC In the Denver Champs Logo 2023 Shirt moreover I will buy this episode Gurung goes on to explain that when he received his CFDA/Vogue Fashion Fund award in 2010 it was Lagerfeld that presented it to him. I’ll never forget that exchange and it has remained with me forever. It has made me a better designer, he recalls. Good news for major red carpet fans The 2023 Cannes Film Festival is officially underway in Cannes, France. The annual event, which premieres and screens some of the mostdiscussed films of the year, produces one of the most lavish step and repeats in the world. It’s a fashion spectacle on par with the Oscars and Met Gala, and a decidedly much more formal one than other film festivals like Venice or TIFF. We’re bound to receive some toptier fashion on La Croisette, thanks to a starstudded lineup of new projects. Wes Anderson’s Asteroid City stars Scarlett Johansson, Tom Hanks, Tilda Swinton, and Margot Robbie; Todd Haynes’s May December features Julianne Moore and Natalie Portman; and Martin Scorsese’s Killers of the Flower Moon is anchored by Leonardo DiCaprio, Lily Gladstone, Robert De Niro, and Brendan Fraser. If all these names aren’t enough, there’s also the 2023 Cannes jury, with members such as Brie Larson, Paul Dano, and Julia Ducournau. Cannes has a history of delivering spellbinding style moments, after all. Glamorous moments from past years include Diana, Princess of Wales’s Catherine Walker gown in 1987, Madonna’s 1991 Jean Paul Gaultier cone bra, and Amal Clooney’s sunny Atelier Versace gown in 2016. More recently, model Bella Hadid made waves with her 2021 Schiaparelli Couture dress and gold, lunglike breastplate.

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[infinitemonkeytheory]

lyrics

One of them regular cats you find all over the damn map New York City to Phoenix rocking dusty ass Adidas / Fiendish for wax and anything that'll heat up the track / You'll find me in the back of the store 'til my fingers are black now listen / You caught me diggin' through crates I'm on a mission / Siftin' through old cuts like I was panning for gold dust / Mold must and mildew don't stop me when the fever's got me / Probably find it in my lungs at my autopsy / It don't matter rather die before my time than never find a record that's been sittin' on my mind / My wrists will never shine / No Prada or fine wine / You got obsessions? / Fuck it I've got mine!

Got no Bentley or Rolls but friends I got that

Got no bitches and hoes but love I got that

Got no fat gold rope but hope I got that

Got no full length mink but karma I got that

Got no platinum link but style I got that

Ain't got no ice grill but skills I got that

Got a lot of what I need and got little of what I don't / Got the hots for J-lo but if she ain't willing I won't / I got no castle or moat but I got a cool crib in Brooklyn / Got a lot of company 'cause I got nine stray cats I took in / Been lookin' for a job but I got an occupation making funky beats and speaking to the younger generation / I got Asian eyes and I got a Chinese dad / And I got a bad habit of jonesing for the things I never had / I guess we all do fall to our knees / Beg please for things and cheese from the powers that be / But see a little girl said some words I'll never forget she said / "You get what you get and you don't get upset!"

Got no Mercedes Benz but people I got that

Got no golf cart on rims but taste I got that

No Alizé by the crate but faith I got that

Got no six model chicks but promise I got that

Got no six bottles of Crys but health I got that

Got no STDs but please don't want that

I got an idea gettin' ain't all it's cracked up to be / Don't get me wrong I best get enough for me / But some folks want every last bit of stuff they see / Lust for things / Diamond encrusted rings / Stuff that blings don't mean a thing to me / Never are the keys to happiness that they seem to be / Money ain't freein' me bringin' to a state of nirvana / I'd rather be on a Dalai Lama tip skip the drama / All I need is what I got and I've got plenty of that / Many have cracked under the pressure when they measure the gap between what they've got and what the next man holds / But yo, that envy disappears soon as the next man folds / Got more than I need of the he say-she say / The shit I want to get got can't be bought on E-bay / These days, people want it this instant like replay / Me, I just wanna jam like L.A. freeways / Be safe and connect with real folks / Live life right and realize real hopes / Real scopes aimed at people who be thinking like me / All I want is what we all got to be and that's free

Ain't got no stretch S.U.V. but family I got that

Ain't got no Hummer on Ds but talent I got that

Don't even own no ride but pride I got that

Ain't got no nuclear sub but patience I got that

Ain't got no gold hot tub but respect I got that

Got no Versace designs but time I got that

[chaoticjellyfishinthesea]

FASHION FORECASTING 

Fashion forecasting is the prediction of mood, behaviour and buying habits of the consumer. It is no longer a question of identifying your customers by age, geography or income, but looking into how and why they buy, based on their mood, and the occasion

There is one more topic that goes hand in hand with Fashion forecasting , which is ; FASHION TRENDS.

What exactly are fashion trends?

Let me explain this by the situation that I have experienced.

I kept seeing people wearing clothes which had the Chevron pattern all over it.

Whether it be black and white , gold and blue , teal and black.

That pattern was everywhere.

Everyone kept talking about it , it was the talk of the town.

I remember going to the mall the next day with my parents , my friends and their parents.

As soon as we entered this one store , my friend told me she spotted something that she absolutely loved.

It was this really pretty black and white full length dress.

She kept on insisting to buy it because she saw so many people wearing it.

Then she continued telling me that all the famous people were wearing it and they kept promoting it on their social media.

So , Fashion Trends means to do something that later becomes fashionable , and that a lot of people try to copy.

 Let us look at some of the fashion trends of 2022.

1)BLAZER UNDERNEATH A HOODIE

Wearing a blazer with a hoodie is a mainstream look nowadays

2) CHUNKY BOOTS

The term “chunky” tends to describe boots with very large and heavy soles. Chunky Chelsea boots are an especially popular style, but these days, you can find chunky boots in many forms ― heeled, flat, lace-up, etc.

Chunky boots are truly made for being seen in.

3) BRALETTES

 The bralette is one of the more accessible trends. Strike the right balance by pairing bralettes and bra tops with oversized, boyish pieces like a slouchy suit, a baggy button-up (worn open) with a pair of equally loose jeans . to dress it up , pair with a short skirt or a maxi skirt.

4)  GOTHIC

The mere mention of its name brings back memories of Y2K, the Addams Family, all black outfits and pale complexions. While it had disappeared from the fashion radar since then, the goth style is back.

This time, it is more grunge than punk, under the influence of 2.0 designers, from Dior to Louis Vuitton through Versace and Rick Owens. Goth style is no longer as radical as it once was, and it can be mixed and influenced with subtlety.

5) Y2K FASHION

Y2K fashion is a stylistic trend covering the late ’90s and early-to-mid 2000s styles. The distinctive style of Y2K fashion is inspired by pop culture.

This aesthetic has a slightly retro edge but with a futuristic touch that includes shiny materials, chunky sneakers, pleated skirts, baguette bags, wide-leg jeans, and colorful sunglasses.

[subzeroparade]

A scion of the Golden bough // A martyr to Destined Death

Godwyn the Golden. Costume study from a 19thc painting of Saint Laszlo. Minus the Dragon/Erdtree sigil, obvs.

[bottombaron]

the high school Winterbaron au that I'll never write~

Zemo transfers to an American school. his father caught him attending a protest and he can't have him undermining the Sokovian government so now Zemo is living at his estranged mother's house in America.

his mother, being American, means Zemo has dual citizenship. her and his father are separated but not divorced. (Zemo hadn't seen her since she left them when he was four so their relationship isn't great)

Bucky is part of the large friend group of avenger characters (Steve, Tony, Bruce, Thor etc.) but he feels left out. it used to be just him, Steve, Natasha, and then later Sam. but now Steve is being pulled away by friends like Tony and girlfriend Peggy. Bucky has Sam and Natasha, but Nat is closer with Clint and Sam is naturally more outgoing and popular than Bucky is, with his own friends.

basically Bucky is feeling lonely as fuck.

due to a complex powder-keg of racism, American ignorance (on the avenger's side), and an already deep-seated resentment of the Starks' and the American forces bombing Sokovia (on Zemo's side): him and the 'avengers group' do not get along and are instantly at each other's throats

Zemo is constantly causing mayhem at school and trying to get kicked out and sent back home. everyone pretty much hates him and he's fine with that.

*vague plot hand wave* something happens, a bet between Zemo and the 'avengers' ends up with Zemo getting to take one of them out on a date and they have do what he says for the day

he chooses Bucky and everyone is thrown

Bucky hardly knows this guy and Steve and Tony thought it would be one of them. they try to refuse on his behalf but Bucky's not that bothered, '*shrug* he's like, what? 5 even?? (he's not) I could just pick him up and throw him if he tried anything (he could do that tho), i'll be fine.'

Bucky feels weird about it more because he's not a part of this fucking drama and now he feels like he's been made the center of it

Steve and Tony are fighting over his involvement in this mess (Steve is protective, Tony is dismissive) and Bucky is just tiRED

Zemo had simply noticed Bucky was being abandoned by his friends and thought he looked lonely like him. but he's also a little shit and too busy playing the villain (and having a blast thank you very much) to drop the façade

so Bucky and Zemo agree to meet at a mall for a 'date'

the mall Zemo chooses is huge and luxurious and Bucky already feels uncomfortable in it. he sits and waits in the food court where there's at least a Hot Dog on a Stick he can feel a little within his financial comforts

Zemo finds him and they're off walking the mall

they bicker, they banter, and of course Zemo is fucking weird. he's acting like they've been friends for years and excitedly showing Bucky all the window displays like Bucky isn't (technically) there against his will. but it's not uncomfortable enough that he isn't starting to catch onto Zemo's chaotic rhythm and enjoy himself a little

they start to talk in that sarcastic playfully teasing way. Bucky's dry wit and Zemo's sharp flirty replies work really well together and they're actually kind of having a good time

until Zemo reminds Bucky he has to do what he says for the day and takes him to a really fancy boutique and informs Bucky that his task is to try on some clothes with Zemo

Bucky instantly feels panic when he's in the store, it's too big and too crowded and there's actual security guards in three piece suits giving him the most judgmental looks as if he's a criminal

everyone knows he doesn't belong there and that he's small and dirty

he starts to have a panic attack

Zemo notices and pulls Bucky into a corner of the store, hands him a bottle of water and instructs him to focus on drinking the bottle up to the label. every sip of water he must take a deep breath like he's coming up for air in a pool. let it out. and take another sip. and repeat.

Zemo tells Bucky he's going to be right back and leaves to talk to someone important

Bucky doesn't notice when everyone starts to leave the shop

the doors close, the lights dim, the music stops playing current pop and plays something soft and old. when Zemo comes back Bucky is feeling a lot better

Zemo says he talked with the manager and they told him he and Bucky could have the next couple of hours by themselves in the shop, if Bucky was still willing that is

Bucky feels embarrassed but Zemo starts ranting about everything that's triggering in the store, like it was everyone else's fault and not Buckys'. it makes him feel less ashamed. 'it's these florescent lights, the doormen were assholes, that music hurt my head too, etc'. like what Bucky had just went through was perfectly normal and not something bad Bucky did on purpose or for attention like people normally make him feel.

he doesn't question how Zemo got everyone to leave and the store to soften (he actually doesn't know Zemo is rich, he never bothered to know Zemo at all. he was just the guy everyone at school hated)

the two of them spend the time running around like children with the store all to themselves, the only other person a butler-like-attendant that serves them champaign and cashews.

Bucky braces for Zemo to dress him up like he promised he would. he's expecting a trim three piece suit that Zemo was eyeing earlier or something equally uncomfortable. but with how surprisingly well Zemo had been treating him Bucky feels like he can indulge a small dress up party for the guy

he's surprised again when Zemo's wardrobe choices for him are sinfully soft cotton jeans, t-shirts, and the sexiest leather jacket he's even seen

they're clothes Bucky would have picked for himself and he feels great in them

Zemo for his part steps out of the dressing room looking like Elton John meets Cruella DeVil

the ugliest purple fur coat, heels with gold accents, and a crop top that says 'break my hole not my heart' on it

Bucky: that is the ugliest fucking outfit I've ever seen

Zemo: thank you, I love it 😎

Bucky asks why he wasn't forced to wear something more high fashion, Zemo answers that, 'while I would love to see you in a suit I know you wouldn't be comfortable in one. attractiveness is about comfort. my style isn't yours. I'm comfortable in things that you would never be in which is why I make this look good. and you look exquisite in that.'

Bucky blushes but doesn't disagree. he does however tease Zemo about his outfit. 'are you sure you actually pull that off?'

Zemo: oh hunny, I'm fuckable in anything

Bucky switches into his old clothes and whistles when he sees the price tag. 'I could never afford this' Zemo looks, 'ah yes , that is quite the ridiculous mark up.'

Zemo: which is why I was planning on stealing it ;3

and then he runs out of the store with all the clothes he picked out for Bucky, still in his gaudy outfit

Bucky is dumbfounded but quickly runs after him and they stop only after they're at the other end of the mall, out of breath

Bucky: the actual fuck, Zemo!

Zemo: *is wearing his ~who me? I've never done anything wrong in my cute little life~ face* :3

Zemo explains shoplifting is good actually fuck capitalism

and doesn't explain that the reason why they had control of the store in the first place is because his father is an investor and everything they ran out with was technically already bought the moment they touched it

but he doesn't want Bucky to feel indebted for the clothes or make him feel like he needs charity. and rebellion (even pretend rebellion) is funner

Bucky suspects everything is fine anyway because he's not an idiot but it's funner to pretend for him too

the fantasy world that they've created outside of their actual lives and drama, in this mall, on this day, is freeing

Zemo releases Bucky of their deal, the time having been completed

Bucky, instead of leaving, takes Zemo's wrist and guides him to Hot Dog on a Stick at the food court

he treats him to a $5 dinner and watches, trying not to laugh, as Zemo attempts to eat a corndog with mustard in a pair of white Versace cashmere pants

it's the best date he's ever had

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

IMAGINE: Introduction

a successful Black woman named Tatyana is living the dream. She’s married to the love of her life and has two children by him. What happens when her marriage is on the rocks? Tatyana finds solice and unimaginable dick in a drug kingpin named Erik a.k.a Killa.

Warnings: Smut, Drug Dealer!Erik, Dominant!Erik. Entanglements lmaoo, Nasty Talk.

Suggested listenings: King Von- F**k Yo Man

The most feared trap house in Grove Park ATL. The name speaks for itself. It’s a place where drug dealers peddle their poison. The biggest dealer in Grove Park of illicit drugs traps people into his business. Once you are into organized crime activities, you may find it difficult to come out of it...especially alive. Big-time drug trafficker and kingpin Erik Stevens; Daddy E or Killa, makes millions of dollars a month selling opiates such as opium, heroin, morphine and codeine; MDMA better known as ecstasy; strong stimulants such as cocaine and crack cocaine; LSD if you want to hallucinate; Xanax illegally, better known as Z-bars or Zannies, and of course weed. 

The Trap House is a bungalow style home on North Ave NW Atlanta, GA. It has a brand new front porch that overlooks a quiet corner lot in the heart of Atlanta. The outside of the single-family home is painted grey. It has a regular setting with children playing and the home is usually managed like a regular household by a middle-aged woman named Michelle, also known as the Trap Queen. She’s Killa’s godmother. Anyone who isn’t involved with the physically and psychologically hazardous activities happening within the Trap House would think it’s a standard family home. It’s all a hoax. 

Killa and his group of duffle bag boys usually come in the late-night hours during the week, every other weekend, or the third day of the month. Loud trap music blares from the home, signifying that they are working. Killa’s matte black Mercedes-Benz G Wagon with black rims is the only car he drives to work at the Trap House. The living room is simply furnished with a clean-cut black leather sectional sofa, and a wall-mounted flat screen used for surveillance of the entire home. The kitchen isn’t anything special except for the refrigerator filled with different types of Hennessy. 

The dining room is used for the dealers to play spades, dominoes, or gamble when there isn’t much to do except keep watch of the area. The main bathroom is a safe way to flush stash if need be but there was little concern for that since Killa has crooked cops in his circle. The three bedrooms all serve a purpose. The master bedroom or the Clandestine Chemistry Room is used as a drug laboratory to illegally manufacture drugs such as PCP, LSD, MDMA, Fentanyl, and Meth. The middle room has some local trap girls counting money with various bank machines and UV counterfeit detection lamps. 

The last and smallest room is the artillery room or The Heat Room. Various guns like shotguns, Uzi’s, Smith & Wesson, Taurus 9MM, GLOCK INC 9MM and .45, and Sig Sauer P938 are stored in that room. Killa makes it mandatory that the Trap House is cleaned and no traces left behind every other weekend. He has a few storage units in Atlanta where he keeps everything when shipments come in. He’s always watching his men because he wants to make sure none of them are snitching to the feds. They wouldn’t dare to anyway because they knew where their fate would end up if they did. 

Killa and the rest of the dealers were working in the Trap House on a Saturday evening. Killa is seated on his black leather sectional wearing a white beater, black and red basketball shorts, and Air Jordan 1s. He has a simple gold cross chain hanging from his neck and a gold and black Versace watch on his left wrist. Killa’s dreads are wild and tapered with the sides cut into a fade. He has bright white teeth lined with gold slugs behind his thick lips, a sinewy body covered in tattoos on his arms, chest, neck, and back, and black diamond studs in his ears. Evidently from the description of his physical appearance he’s absolutely sexy; fine; handsome; good-looking. 

Killa’s obsidian eyes are unyielding as he watches the surveillance. His dark, unruly brows furrow when he notices a figure approach the Trap House. Killa turns down the music playing from the Bluetooth speakers before grabbing his gold chrome Glock, holding it behind his back at waist level. He walked up to the door, peering through the peephole to see who it was approaching. With an annoyed grunt, Killa opens the door to find one of his dealers carrying a black and grey duffel bag most likely filled with his money. 

“Where the fuck have you been nigga?” He asked with an icy tone of voice, “you were supposed to show up a few hours ago with my money,” Killa checks the outside surroundings with a quick sweep of his eyes before opening the door wider, snatching the bag from his dealer's shoulder so harshly that the dealer’s arm was almost pulled from its socket.

“My fault, Killa, the drug deal started a little later than it was supposed to. They ain’t show up until thirty minutes after...I thought they were tryna jug me out of the deal.” 

Killa didn’t care for the explanation, all he was worried about was his money and if it was there.

“Rick, go to Stella and tell her there’s more money to count. I wanna know how much is here. Make sure she does it right too,” Killa hands Rick, his most trusted duffel bag boy and sometimes henchmen, the money.

“Keith, right?” Killa says with hard unwavering eyes and a stony face, “You got one more time to be late. If you keep that shit up working for me then these other niggas around here will try and be on that same shit too...I don’t play bout’ my drugs, and most of all I don’t play bout’ dat payola… Yen know before you decided to be in this game, nigga?” 

“Yo, Killa, I promise you, this shit won’t happen again,” He pleaded.

“Yeah, Aight, we’ll see,” Killa was standing at 6’3, “Lets take a trip to the money room.” 

Walking to the money room, Killa was greeted with ebony beauties dressed half-naked counting money. The UV of the room made their acrylic nails glow. Nothing but juicy ass and titties handling Daddy E’s money. Stella, a redbone with her bleach-blonde hair styled in six stitch braids was on the last stack of money from the duffel bag. Killa strolled over to Stella, lightly tapping her on the ass which caused her to blush and smile. 

“Hey, Daddy E. I’m almost finished,” She started up the counting machine while tapping it with her lime green stiletto nails. Once it was finished and she wrapped it in rubber bands, she allowed Killa to read the total. He felt like he was about to burst with rage. Stella made herself scarce and went to the other side of the room. Keith stood confused and from the deranged look on Killa face he knew he was in trouble. 

Killa raised a single dark brow, “You must think I’m stupid, where is the rest of my fucking money?” 

“I promise you, that’s all of it, Killa,” Keith says while fear throbbed inside of him. 

“Like I said, you think I’m a fool? Nigga...if I let you get away with this shit then other niggas will steal from me too, I’m not finna have that shit,” Killa says while chuckling, “NOW WHERE IS THE REST OF MY FUCKING MONEY AT HOMIE?!”

“What’s going on Killa?” Rick walks in holding his strap.

“I told you this nigga is wishy washy, Rick,” Killa pointed his gold chrome Glock to the amount of money, “This is counting out 95G’s I’m missing 5G’s!!!” Killa felt himself getting even madder than he was before. Rick gives Keith a dirty look before charging up to him, balling up the front of his shirt within his large hulking fist.

“WHERE IS IT?” Rick asks with clenched teeth and spit flying menacingly.

“You better get it out of him before I end this nigga life, Rick. I’m itching to use my piece on this sell out, aint kill a nigga in a grip,” Killa cocks his gun, waiting for the perfect opportunity. If he lied, he was going to die and if he told the truth he was going to die. Either way, he’s dead. 

“Didn’t you hear me ask you a question?!!! Where is Killa’s money!!!!” Rick pistol-whipped Keith, watching his lanky body fall to the floor. Killa crouched down to his level with his gold chrome gun dangling in his left hand. He gives Keith a sinister smile with eyes so vicious it made you feel like you were in the presence of the devil. 

“What’s up with my money? And don’t lie to me,”  Killa’s voice was smooth and threatening. 

It was clear that panic fueled him. Killa could see right through him. The sweat on his face, the slight tremble of his body, the way his eyelids would flicker. Killa wordlessly points his Glock to Keith’s temple so hard it left a painful indentation from the barrel. 

“I have it,” He finally says, “It’s in my car.” 

Killa sniffled with rage before standing at his full height. He shared a look with Rick before placing his gold chrome Glock in the front of his shorts causing them to hang lower on his hips. 

“Let’s take this nigga to the spot,” Killa tells Rick before walking out of the room. 

“The what?!” Keith asks with his voice numb with shock. The more he talked, the more he stroked Killa’s anger. 

“Take him out back to the Escalade, Rick, and bring PAC wit’ you too.”

“Wait!!! Wait!!!! The money is in my car!!!!” Keith yelled while Rick man-handled him to his feet by the collar of his white T-shirt causing it to rip, “I can go get it!!!! It’s all there, Killa!!! I promise you, man, it’s all there!!!!!”

“Niggas always wanna beg and plead when they about to die, shit is lame,” Killa spoke mostly to himself before entering his gun room to grab his favorite piece. 

The black Escalade was the car that Killa used for committing murder. They have a designated spot which is a dirt-covered lot that overlooks Downtown Atlanta. The lot has a mechanic shop that Killa owns which is one of the businesses to clean up a few dollars; an easy way to legitimize the dirty money from the streets. Only his circle used the mechanic shop. 

Killa sauntered out back to the parked Escalade with his Uzi. He checked the trunk to make sure everything needed to dispose of the body in such a way as to prevent, hinder, or delay discovery of the body, to prevent identification of the body, or to prevent autopsy, was there. Usually, after he murders his victims, Killa will have the bodies wrapped in heavy-duty plastic and driven out to a rural farm that he also owns to bury them. If someone were to ask him how many bodies are decaying there, he wouldn’t be able to tell you. Rick and another henchman nicknamed PAC-man carried a struggling Keith from the house and tossed him in one of the back seats of the Escalade. Rick hopped in the driver's seat, cranking up the car before pulling out into a back alley. 

“The house is getting cleaned up as we speak, Killa, here,” Rick hands him a handheld surveillance. 

“Thanks, Patna, nigga did you bring me a blunt? I forgot my shit back in the living room,” Killa says. 

“You lucky I rolled an extra one earlier,” Rick chuckled while passing Killa a freshly rolled blunt.

“Let’s get this shit over with so I can go see this broad,” Killa lights his blunt, takes a hit, and blows out smoke rings, “Aye, PAC, quiet that punk ass nigga down!!!” Killa yells over his shoulder, “Nigga crying too much...if you gotta gag that nigga do it...making my fucking ears hurt with all that bitch ass crying.” Rick and PAC-man share a laugh. 

“What broad you seeing anyway, Patna?” Rick asks. 

“Nicki,” Killa French inhaled the smoke while keeping his eyes on the rearview mirror. 

“The bitch who’s mama you selling crack to? Explain this shit because I’m lost.” 

Killa laughs, “For the record, I didn’t even know that was her mama until I saw both of them leaving Church’s Chicken. Anyway, she knows her mama is still smoking rocks...last time I had to check that old bitch,” Killa spits outside of the car window before licking his full lips. 

“Fuck, was she the one that came by the Trap House on Monday night?” Rick makes a left turn. 

“Bitch came banging on the door, Rick,” Killa shakes his head while stroking his goatee, “Begging me for some more crack. I told her old ass that she owes me 200 dollars for the crack I gave her a week ago...I only did that shit because Nicki didn’t have it to pay for it...why did this dry pussy bitch get down on her knees begging to suck my dick for some crack?!” Killa kisses his teeth, “I told her to take her ol’ ass off my porch before I put my foot in her. She ain’t getting no more from me until I get my money.” 

“Why don’t you just drop Nicki? That’s some wack ass drama, Killa, you know you don’t need that shit,”  Rick finally pulls into the dirt lot of the mechanic shop after a ten-minute ride. 

“The pussy is so damn good…” Killa left it at that. Nicki was Killa’s on-again, off-again booty call. She was the only girl that could match his freaky, that was before he met Tatyana. Saving the rest of the conversation for another day, Killa grabs his Uzi from between his legs before exiting the Escalade. He puts out his weed before placing it in his pocket. Rick and PAC-man grab the traitor from the back of the car, dragging him in the dirt before dropping him face-first about six feet away from Killa. 

“Aight, bring this nigga to his feet...face forward sneak nigga!!” Killa commanded before pointing his Uzi to the dealer's body, “There you go,” Killa congratulates Keith sarcastically, “Hold your chin up, Rick, grab his keys and wallet.” 

Rick cleans out his pockets before pushing him with his Nike boot covered foot. Keith stumbled while staring at the Uzi in Killa’s hand. He didn’t dare move. 

“Yeah...be a man and die right here like the rest of em’ you wanna steal from me? My money?” Killa spoke with squinted eyes and a tilt of his head, “I’m about to leave you layin’ where you standing.” 

Rick and PAC-man chuckle when they notice Keith wetting his pants. The dirt beneath his feet turned damp. 

“Ah, shit,” Killa laughs, “This nigga is pissing his pants…” Killa aims his Uzi for Keith’s left shoulder and shoots him. Keith screams with agony, clutching his shoulder. Killa shoots him in the hand that covered his shoulder. He paused again so that he could watch the mixture of pain and fear in Keith’s eyes. Maybe he was a sick, twisted individual for that but he thoroughly enjoyed watching his victims suffer before he really put their lights out. 

“Damn, I bet that shit burn,” Killa shoots him in his stomach, watching him fall to his knees, “Open your mouth, bitch, let that blood out,” Killa fired off two rounds in his chest, “you dip into my bag I kill you,” with those last words, Killa blasted Keith in his head between his eyes like the middle of a dart board. 

____________________

Tatyana Parham-Narvaez, a successful black business woman in Atlanta is best known for her line of intimate products and three luxury spa locations titled Tatyana’s Getaway. Tatyana’s Getaway boasts a fun yet relaxing environment that does not lose its chic and classic aesthetic. She believes that the overall experience is just as important as the quality of service that you receive. Licensed Esthetician,designer and Humanitarian, Tatyana holds yearly fundraisers to support other black owned businesses in Atlanta and also low income communities with food, beverages, clothing, and school supplies. 

Tatyana has cat-like mink brown eyes fringed with long lashes, cinnamon skin silken and glowing, a dainty nose with a ring, moist lush lips, a TWA with thick, dark brown spirals, short with generous curves, and a dulcet voice. She’s adventurous, some would consider that rebellious because she craves her freedom and can come off as quite the difficult ‘nesting partner’. She can be naive which explains her optimism, and she’s very independent. Tatyana never saw herself getting married but she found the love of her life just two years ago. His name is Carlos Narvaez and he’s an ex-convict turned businessman. Carlos Narvaez is a Party Promoter and famous Jeweler who moved from Miami to Atlanta five years prior. Los Ice and Gold is the place to go for many Atlanta rappers. 

Tatyana and Carlos first met each other at a mutual friends' album release party. It was his way with words, that dazzled her just like the ice around his neck and wrists. Usually, Tatyana would go for a much taller and more chiseled man but it was the way he articulated his words; bewitching her out of her panties, not to mention his beautiful smile and whiskey colored eyes. Carlos was the first man to ever sweep her off her feet with his mind rather than his dick. Carlos and Tatyana got married in Puerto Rico and just a year later they had a baby boy; Carlos Jayden Narvaez Jr, and soon after a baby girl; Nayelis Genesis Narvaez. Tatyana and her family live in Lawrenceville, GA, just 45 minutes outside of Atlanta. It’s a brick front suburban home with a driveway and a garage, four bedrooms and three bathrooms, a large family kitchen and dining area, a cozy living room, furnished basement, and a yard fit for summer occasions with a pool. 

As sweet and loving as it looks from the outside, Tatyana’s marriage is troubled. Carlos and Tatyana bicker a great deal; escalating out of control and into screaming matches, they don’t talk to one another about their problems and feelings, there is inequality between both of them concerning gender roles and decision making, and the level of sexual intimacy in their marriage is low or there isn't any at all. Since both of them are always so busy, Carlos Jr. and Nayelis spend more time at Tatyana’s parents' home than their own on weekdays. Although she has given birth to 2 children and married “the love of her life,” she still finds herself stepping out of her mundane life to mess with Erik. He’s EVERYTHING her mother warned her about—dangerous, doesn’t give a fuck, liable to shoot now and ask questions later yet is so damn enticing/addicting. 

Tatyana grew up in Bankhead,one of the places where Erik a.k.a Killa trafficked drugs. Tatyana’s baby sister, Tia, lives in Bankhead with her baby father and 8-month-old son named Demitri. From what Tatyana gathered about Erik when she saw him pull up in his matte black Mercedes Benz G Wagon is that he’s hood rich and he cares about his people. When Tatyana was leaving Tia’s home, Erik was talking to Miss Shay, Tatyana’s old babysitter, on her front porch. He was holding a white foam cup in his hand, and he was wearing a black beater with dark wash denim jeans and some black and white Jordan 1s on his feet. 

——————————————-

(Flashback) 

“Tati! Is that you?!”  Miss Shay yelled from across the street. She waved one slender and frail hand at Tatyana. Tatyana was still in her formal work attire; black pencil skirt, fitted peach colored blouse, and black peekaboo Christian Louboutin pumps. She walked across the street to Miss Shay, taking off her Fendi sunglasses and placing them within her Christian Louboutin black embellished clutch. 

“Miss Shay! Wow! You look amazing, you haven’t changed at all!!” Tatyana gives the elderly woman a gentle hug before kissing her cheek. She still wore that Sweet Honesty perfume by Avon. Miss Shay was known for being the Avon lady in Bankhead. 

“Me?! Child, look at you!” Miss Shay laughs before coughing slightly. Tatyana guesses that she is still smoking cigarettes, “Still just as pretty as ever! I was talking to Tia the other day about you, wondering how you were. It’s good to see you, Erik, do you remember Tatyana from daycare?” 

“Nah, auntie,” Erik says before taking a sip from his white foam cup, “I would have remembered shawty, trust me,” He brings the cup to his lips again, the gold watch on his wrist catching Tatyana’s eye. His stance was wide, shoulders squared, and brows furrowed slightly while his obsidian eyes never left Tatyana’s face for one second. 

“I was pretty quiet back then, and I didn’t like playing with the boys,” Tatyana says before blinking her eyes away from Erik. He’s attractive. Tatyana stole another glance, allowing her mink brown eyes to regard him from head to toe. Very attractive. The body art made his sinewy body appear more defined. She never knew a neck tattoo would look so good on a man. It’s a spade with a skull in the middle surrounded by shaded roses. She could feel his rugged energy and it made her shudder.

“That’s cuz y’all couldn’t keep up wit’ us, baby,” He laughs and it was so smooth and sexy. He must have a habit of licking his lips like LL Cool J, “And I liked picking on y’all quiet girls back then, I bet you say I don’t know a lot,” He smiles and the dimples blew her away, “I don’t know, maybe” he mocked with a sweet voice. 

“Jokes!!” Tatyana fought hard not to crack a smile but her lush lips turned up and her cheeks puffed out. Her laugh was a pleasant falsetto, “And you don’t know me like that so don’t come for me...Erik, right?” Tatyana says with an audacious tone. 

“Erik, leave Tati alone, please,” Miss Shay spoke with a stringent tone. Tatyana giggles, she can remember that tone of voice like it was yesterday when she was seven years old, “Tati, how are the children?”

“They’re fine, Carlos Jr. will be two in about four months, Nayelis will be seven months.” 

“I need a picture of them Tati!!! Erik bought me a cell phone, he’s been teaching me how to answer video calls and such.” 

“That’s so sweet,” Tatyana gives Erik a respectful gaze, “Well, let’s exchange numbers, Miss Shay, and I can send you some photos today.” 

“Oh! Let me go get my phone,” Miss Shay grabs the railing to her steps, pushing up onto her feet. Erik opens her screen door, making sure to watch her walk inside so she doesn’t trip and fall. 

“Careful, auntie, don’t trip over that part,” Erik was referring to the cracked concrete of her top step, “I thought I called somebody to come fix that? These motherfuckers man,” His irritation crackled, “You broke your toe because of that fucking step, ima give them a call when I leave.”

“Erik, calm down, don’t go roughing those damn people up because of a step.”

Erik closes the screen door behind Miss Shay. 

“She broke her toe?” Tatyana asks with concern. 

“Yeah, like five months ago. I’ve been coming to check up on her to make sure she's good. Dats my auntie right there, she means the world to me.” 

“I don’t know why I can’t remember you,” Tatyana says while her forehead creased in thought. 

“It’s cool, shawty, don’t stress your pretty head,” his eyes shot down to Tatyana’s matte brown lips, “Damn...you got some sexy ass lips.” 

“Excuse me?” Tatyana asks with a high-pitched tone. 

“Your lips, they're sexy. You got a man?” 

“I have a HUSBAND,” Tatyana clarified with a flippant tone. 

“Oooh, okay,” Erik held his hands up in surrender with a grin on his face, “You ain’t gotta get all mouthy on a nigga...my guess is he doesn’t know how to correct you.” 

“My guess is you have a habit of being in people’s business, Erik,” Tatyana spoke boldly, “and don’t no man correct me.”

“When I want to, yeah, I’ll make it my business. You’re feisty ain’t you?...how is ‘Hubby’ treating you Miss Tati?” 

Tatyana couldn’t believe the boldness of him. He didn’t waste any time trying to get at her. To be honest, Erik is the finest man she’s ever seen and that’s coming from a married woman. He didn’t need to know that, his head is already too big.

“None of your concern, Sir,” Tatyana shakes her head, laughing lightly. 

“I’m making it my concern though. Hubby doing what he’s supposed to? My guess is he’s not.” 

“Boy,” Tatyana rolled her eyes. Miss Shay was taking way too long to grab her cell phone. 

“Boy? Do I look like a boy?” He spoke harshly, “don’t be talking to me like you crazy Lil mama.” 

“I am crazy, but you don’t know me, remember?” Tatyana wasn’t about to hold her tongue with some hood ass, narcissistic motherfucker. 

“Yeah, I want you to keep that in mind and fix that shit before I fix you out here,” he warned her. 

“You ain’t fixing shit, who the fuck are you to be talking to me like that?” Tatyana was in disbelief. 

“You ain’t know?” He spoke arrogantly, “They call me Killa around here, ma,” he lowered his voice to a seductive lilt, “But you can call me Daddy E if you want, it’s up to you.” He says with a half-smirk. 

“I think that’s my cue to leave,” Tatyana puts her Fendi sunglasses back on, “Can you tell Miss Shay that I had to run? I’ll just get her number from my sister Tia.”

“I’ll let her know,” Erik sips from his cup again, his eyes focused on Tatyana’s plush booty and shapely legs, “Now that I know Tia is your sister I’ll definitely be checking for you.”

“BYE, Killa,” Tatyana chucked up the deuces to Erik before entering her all-white Bentley. 

___________________________

 Erik was freshly showered and wearing a plain black T-shirt with a pair of G-Star relaxed fit black shorts and black Armani slides. There was a knock on the front door of his luxury Condo in Buckhead. The warm and stylish condo features a gourmet kitchen, three covered terraces, two bedrooms, and three bathrooms; one bathroom is a master bathroom with a side-entry shower. There is a wide-open living room that connects with his dining room. The building included an on-site lounge, a gym with views, and a palm-studded pool deck, and a spacious hot tub. 

Erik was only expecting one person tonight; Nicki. Nicole Brown a.k.a Nicki is Erik’s frequent fuck buddy. She’s slim-thick with round cognac eyes, thinly arched brows like Megan Good, golden skin with raised freckles on her face, heart-shaped lips with a gap between her teeth, and a full head of thick, voluminous 4B curls. She can be self-centered, and stubborn. Nicki hates being ignored and not being treated like she’s in the first place. There had been many occasions where Erik had to put Nicki in her place. It was strictly sex between them both...only sex. Erik hadn’t seen Nicki in a week and the girl was blowing his phone up with at least ten calls a day. He was about to stretch her little pussy wide the fuck open on his daddy dick, got to teach um they place so they can remember, he says. 

“Well? Can I come in, Daddy E,” Nicki says with a honeyed tone. The pink gloss on her lips matched her pink tongue and Erik couldn’t wait to stuff his pipe down her throat. 

“Hurry up,” Erik opened the door wider so Nicki could walk inside. She’s wearing a pair of little black stretchy shorts, a hot pink bandeau, and a pair of black mules on her feet. She has her toes and nails painted with baby blue gel polish on purpose because she knows how much Erik loves blue against her skin. 

“What have you been doing the past week,” Nicki takes off her shoes by the door, “I’m tired of you ignoring me, Erik. I missed you like crazy, you can’t be doing that,” Nicki threw her arms around Erik’s shoulders before kissing his thick lips, “mmm...minty,” She smiles.

“Don’t get too excited, we gotta talk first,” Erik removes her arms from around his shoulders, “did you want something to drink?”

“Nah, I’m good...what are we talking about?” Nicki takes a seat on his couch, “I have to talk to you as well...so my mom tells me that you threatened her? Fuck is going on with that?”

“You’re hella bipolar, didn’t you just walk in here telling me you missed me?”

“I did, and I still do, daddy, but you and I have a problem. She told me you threatened to kick her in the ass on Monday, E.”

“Did she?” Erik makes himself a small glass of Hennessy before joining Nicki on the couch. He takes a seat away from her, resting his back in the corner of the sectional couch, “did she tell you why I threatened her?”

“Doesn’t matter, THAT'S my mom, Erik. I know she’s going through some shit but don’t do that, I will kill you,” Nicki mouthed off. 

“You’ll kill me? With what? These hands?” Erik grabs Nicki’s small hands, laughing at how little she is compared to him, “you can’t even wrap your hand around my neck fully so cut that shit out.” 

“Whatever, asshole, DON'T threaten my mom again,” Nicki jabbed her finger into Erik’s solid chest, “Now you owe me...I want my pussy ate from the back.” 

“Hm,” Erik brings his face closer to Nicki’s, “Did your momma tell you that she got down on her knees, begging to suck my dick?”

“...what?” Nicki’s eyes glanced at his lips.

“She came banging on the door to my Trap House, pleading to suck my dick for some more crack...what you got to say now, shawty? I don’t hear you talkin’ back.”

Nicki swallows spit, before letting out a ragged breath, “She didn’t tell me all that...She’s been staying with my aunt to get better…”

“Next time, I think you need to get all the facts before you come up in my place getting buck with me,” Erik spoke with a raw voice so close to her face that his nose was touching her cheek, “And you know what happens when you get buck with me, Nicki...shut yo ass up when you talking all that shit...told yo ass I ain’t nothing like these other niggas, bitch, I don’t play that shit.” 

“I’m sorry, Erik-

“fuck your throat till I’m done...I don’t stop...you know I keep going.” 

“I won’t do it again-

“You will because daddy’s dick is yo favorite...you love sucking this big black dick...get my dick nice and wet...giving me all that good sloppy top like the freak hoe you are...telling me I’m yo favorite thug nigga while you suck on my nuts…”

“Fuck,” Nicki turned so she could face Erik fully. Her nose brushed against his broad one and the tickle of it shot straight to her phat clit. 

“Then you blowing up my phone all week like you ain’t got no damn sense,” Erik looks her up and down with eyes so ominous they made Nicki shiver, “Calling me ten times a fucking day...I hit you back when I’m ready, this my last time telling you, ma, hear me?”

Nicki nods her head before quickly saying, “Yes, Daddy E.” 

“I ain’t have this pussy in a week...she's still super soaker wet?” Erik’s hand found its way between Nicki’s thighs, stroking her pussy, “I can feel that clit poking...that phat ass clit...you only want me to eat it from the back because I suck it good from that angle.”

“Damn...I miss your fingers on my pussy,” Nicki spoke with a serene voice. 

“I miss that juicy mouth on my dick,” Erik roughly spreads Nicki’s thighs so he could see her pussy lips sitting nice and plump, “Big pussy on a tiny girl...I love that shit…”

“I need you,” Nicki says with her glossy cognac eyes filled with lust. 

“Not before I get my dick sucked you don’t,” Erik stands up, undoing his shorts, bringing them down to rest around his ankles. He purposely left his Armani briefs on so she could see his thick print jump. It pulsated and pulsated. His wide glans was peeking at her from the bottom of his briefs. Nicki has to pick her jaw up off of the floor. She had that huge black dick buried in her pussy so many times before and yet she still couldn’t believe he was packing that much thickness and length. 

“You need me? Suck this daddy dick,” He points to his crotch that he was blessed with. Nicki scoots over so that she’s seated perfectly in front of him before grabbing the waistband of his briefs, pulling them down so they could rest around his ankles with his shorts, “I need your lips to show my throbbing dick how much you appreciate every inch of me…” 

Nicki grabs Erik’s dick in her hand. She moves it up and down...up and down...then she sticks her tongue out to lick his slit. Nicki’s tongue wiggles slowly while her cognac eyes blinked up at Erik innocently. 

“Stop playing and put this dick in your mouth,” Erik says.

“This big dick right here?” Nicki uses her tongue to circle the tip of Erik’s dick. 

“Nicki...stop playing with me,” Erik’s fingers tangled around her thick hair and he yanked it hard enough to extend her neck so that she could look at him, “And you can drop that good girl act you know when you see this dick all of that goes straight out the fucking window.”

Erik was reminded of how much of a nasty bitch Nicki is. Nicki spits on Erik’s dick before taking him halfway into her mouth and sucking him with just the power of her jaw muscles. She started making those nasty, loud slurping sounds that Erik loves. Nicki grabs Erik’s balls to massage them before using her lips to slurp along the sides of his lengthy dick. 

“Fuckkkkkkkkk,” Nicki relished in the squelching sound of Erik’s spit covered dick in her hand while she jerked him slowly. She knew that he wanted her to swallow all of him but Nicki wanted him to make her do it. 

“This dick is thick and heavy, Daddy.”

“Oh yeah? It likes being sucked too,” Erik takes his dick in his hand, “so why don’t you hop on that and stop playing, girl.” 

“Or what? What?” 

“I’ll just make you...open yo’ mouth.” 

“Make me like you said you would,” Nicki says with a sly grin. Erik takes his thumb to rub Nicki’s bottom lip before dragging his hand down past her chin to grasp her throat with enough pressure to remind her of who is in charge. 

“I need good head right now and I need you to focus...give me yo’ fucking throat.” 

Erik slapped his dick on Nicki’s lips and she opened up for him, sticking her tongue all the way out graciously. Erik’s dick slid right in easily and with both of his hands holding her head in place Erik moved Nicki’s head back and forth. He watched his dick disappear between her glossy pink lips until his hands moved away from her head and Nicki was sucking all of him on her own. 

“Looks like you don’t wanna stop...I don’t wanna let you stop...sucking the life outta me...suck all that dick...yeahhhh just like that...you’re into that I see why you called me ten times a day…” 

“Mhmmmmmm,” Nicki’s eyes never left Erik’s and the eye contact made her mouth just as wet as her pussy. Nicki drooled all over Erik’s dick and the spit covered her chest, staining her bandeau top. 

“Suck that dick bitch, I bet you wish this was a daily thing for you...no matter where we are...If you enjoy it like you say you do be a slut and suck this dick whenever I tell you to.” 

Erik’s words excited Nicki. She knew it was in the heat of the moment because her sloppy head was making his dick swell but the thought of waking up with Erik’s dick in her mouth was a world she wanted to live in. Looking up into his fine ass face reminded her of how much she really REALLY wanted Erik to make her his girl. He kept talking that nasty shit to her and it made her take her fingers covered in her spit to rub her clit. 

“Nah, don’t get distracted, I got too much dick to not be getting it sucked...Mhm, you see that dick getting fatter? that’s cuz daddy is about to bust...all that fucking nut? don’t waste my shit, Nicki, don’t be wasting my shit bitch! FUCK!” Erik grabs his dick to slap it on Nicki’s tongue. His cum spurted out in thick streams. Nicki wrapped her lips around Erik’s dick, “get all that nut the fuck out bitch.” 

Nicki finished emptying him before licking her lips clean. She sat back on the couch with her face gleaming with saliva. Nicki turned around, arching her back and started twerking in her little shorts. Erik’s hands reached down to play with her ass while she bounced it for him. His fingers then start to rub her pussy from the back. Nicki starts thrusting her hips back against Erik while whining for attention. 

“I know what you need, baby, you know nobody’s mouth is nastier than mine. Who sucks on that pussy the best?”

“Daddy E,” Nicki moaned. 

“Who gets all that nut out?” Erik pulls Nicki’s shorts down to reveal that she isn’t wearing any panties. 

“You do, Daddy,” Nicki hissed when her pussy finally became exposed to the cool air, “my pussy is so damn wet.” 

“I’m looking at this fat, creamy pussy now...all that dripping from your pussy...and that clit…” Erik takes his thumb to stroke Nicki’s phat clit, “ima make you cum all over my thick dick.” 

“Please,” Nicki reaches beneath her to hold her pussy lips open, “Daddy, please suck on my pussy...please…”

Erik got down on his knees and buried his face in Nicki’s pussy. His tongue lapped and cleaned up all her cream before sucking on her phat clit from behind. Erik spreads her cheeks so he could have more space to lick her asshole too. Nicki’s pussy was fitting in Erik’s mouth so good that it made him thrust his hips like he was fucking her. He just knew the tip of his dick was leaking pre-cum. He was eating that sloppy, juicy pussy. 

“Daddy, yes, clean this pussy up and make some more,” Nicki licks her lips, “Oh, daddy, fuck yeah, oh, daddy, yes, right there, I’m gonna cum, yes, fuckkkkk, daddy, oh my God, daddy keep sucking,” Nicki shouts, “FUCK IM CUMMING!!!” 

Erik kisses her clit before using his tongue to fuck her pussy and asshole, alternating back and forth. Nicki didn’t know what to do with herself. One minute, Erik’s tongue is in her pussy and the next minute it’s wiggling in her tight ass. 

“Oh, shit,” Nicki could feel the sensation to cum creeping over her body again, “oooooo daddy you always eat my pussy so good!!!”

Erik helped Nicki get through her orgasm with rough spanking to her ass. His dick was painfully hard and as much as he loved slurping on Nicki’s phat clit he needed to bury all ten inches of his big black dick inside of her. Grabbing his jeans, Erik pulls out a magnum, opening it with his teeth before taking the condom and rolling it over his dick. Erik stood up while bending his knees slightly since Nicki is much shorter than him.

“You know what time it is, ma, keep this ass up so I can fuck you good, give you exactly what you deserve.” 

Nicki held her arched position, pushing her hips higher so she could provide a good angle for Erik.

“Got this pretty pussy with all this fat ass for daddy to pound deep and hard…” Eriks hips retreated back , and forth as he found her entrance . His tip felt that warm slippery wet hole and he eased himself in, just enough to hear those sweet little gasps and pants from her. Nicki reached behind her to grasp Erik’s upper thigh. He always expected that because of his generous size. 

“Aight, ma, ima put the rest of this dick in. Bite the couch if you need to,” Erik spoke casually. Erik slammed into Nicki hard, resulting in a huge slap from his pelvis against her plump booty. When he did it again her head flew back in bliss. He gave her another stroke, much harder than before. Nicki’s entire body from her head down to her toes felt that pressure and it caused her head to slump forward against the couch. 

“Yeah, daddy got that ass now...this what you like? All this dick in you? Fix your arch, Nicki,” Nicki’s mouth drew wide open and she looked back at Erik. Erik invaded her tight wetness, reaching every spot that needed to be stroked. Hitting every itch that had been yearning to be touched. Erik fucked her hard and steady. It was the rhythm of his toned hips knocking into her that shocked Nicki every single time. His back muscles flexed when his arms reached forward to grab the back of the couch. Nicki felt like this was the only man that could control her body as if he practiced it. His thick pole hit a spongy spot of pleasure inside of her. It felt so damn fucking good that Nicki started throwing her hips back, fucking him. Nicki started moaning uncontrollably, so honest that her body practically did it for her each time. 

“Fuck this dick! Take this shit!” Erik says all the while fucking Nicki himself, “I see you keeping this dick nice and slippery for me…”

“Mmm, daddy, you got me shaking and tightening all over that dick,” Nicki says between heavy sobs. 

“I love when your pussy tells me I'm doing a good job...you got more for me?” Erik pushes himself all the way inside until his balls slapped her clit, “dropping this dick in that big pussy?”

“Fucck..... show me who’s daddy,” Nicki could feel Erik hitting the bottom of her pussy with the tip of his dick and he wasn’t slowing down. Erik brings one leg up to rest his foot on the couch before grabbing Nicki’s hips. He started really plowing her pussy; plowing it so damn good that Nicki started sounding like someone went at her throat with a cheese grater. Her ass was bouncing like a ball against him. Nicki wailed and Erik could feel the smooth ridges of her vaginal walls ripple along the broad shaft of his dick. 

“Shit, I feel it coming, baby!!!!!!” Nicki’s ass ricocheted off of Erik before she went stiff, her thighs caving in like she was crippled. Her creamy orgasm oozed from her pussy and dripped to his couch. It was beautiful watching Nicki’s pussy cum. He could only imagine the overwhelming sensation she must be experiencing to cum on a thick dick. 

“Wow, look at this juicy pussy,” Erik slows down before stopping completely, his dick slipping from her snug pussy and resting between her inner lips. The sound effects her wet pussy made when the tip of his dick stroked her labia caused Erik to bite down on his pouty bottom lip so hard it stung. His eyes glinted with desire when he saw how Nicki glazed his dick.

“Come clean up all this mess, girl,” The corners of his mouth turned up and then a stream of hisses followed. Nicki slurped all of her sticky cream from Erik’s dick. She showed him her cum covered tongue before licking her lips. Erik needed to bust a nut now, hard and urgent. Taking a seat on the couch, Erik forcefully slaps Nicki’s ass, soundlessly telling her that she needs to slam that pussy on his dick froggystyle. Nicki’s weak limbs shook out of control when she positioned herself over Erik’s fat ass dick. 

“What you waiting on? Ride that fucking dick,” Erik pointed to his dick, “you see how you got my shit standing up? You better get on this dick and make me bust.”

Nicki guides Erik’s dick back to her overworked entrance before she finally lowered herself over him. Erik’s hands automatically grabbed each ass cheek so that he could have something to hold onto when he fucked her himself. Nicki started working just the tip of his dick, a constant whimper coming from her mouth. 

“Where is the rest of that phat pussy? Ride the fuck outta me, Nicki...my nuts are so goddamn tight,” Erik tugged on his sack, “Lil ass bought to have me explode up in this bitch.” 

“Shitttttttttttt, whew!!!!!!” Nicki finally takes all of him. She sat still while Erik’s hands still cupped her ass cheeks. 

“Just like that, girl, keep going,” Erik started pumping his hips, “All I need you to do right now is make this big ass dick cum.” 

“Fuck,” Nicki squeezes Erik’s shoulders and then with whatever strength she has left, Nicki started bouncing her pussy up and down Erik’s dick. The sound effects of her pussy increased with the speed of her strokes. With no warning, Erik started force feeding Nicki his fat dick. It was a good thing he had a grip on her ass because she allowed all of her body weight to fall forward against him. 

“Gotta get up in it...DEEP...know what I’m saying?” He spoke nonchalantly like he wasn’t making Nicki cry above him. He didn’t expect her to answer him, not with all his dick in her stomach. 

“Damn, fuck, shit, Oooh,” Nicki’s body started shaking and then as if a pipe burst she began to cum all in Erik’s lap, “FUUUUCK! Okay, baby, okay!!! Shit!!” 

Erik wasn’t listening, his dick was trying to drill a new slippery hole in her pussy. Erik’s dick was all up in her to get to that perfect spot where he knows that every inch of his fat dick is stuffing her. He was afraid that the more he thrust against her cervix that the condom would break. Easing up a bit, Erik grabs Nicki’s hips and starts moving her up and down his dick instead. His head fell back to rest against the couch while his narrow eyes watched the blissful expression on her face. Nicki held onto Erik’s wrists and her bandeau top slid down to rest around her slender waist. 

“You’re about to make me leak all in this rubber...ahhh fuck, yeah, you like this dick baby...you love being daddy’s nasty little fucking slut...yeah, ahhhhh, fuck...get on this dick, bitch, sit on this fat-fucking-dick, ride that fucking dick...ride this fat dick until I fucking cum…” Erik’s dick became so robust and rock-hard that Nicki began to scream from how vast his dick was making her pussy, “Fuckkkk, Nicki, you finna make me bust, girl, shittttttttt,” Erik’s hips left the couch and his toes curled. He filled that magnum to the brim. Nicki’s pussy damn near pranced from his dick and she was on her knees, between his athletically built thighs, waiting for her reward. 

Nicki removed Erik’s condom, his cum overflowing his dick from his wide tip all the way down to the base. Nicki strokes her hair back before using only her tongue to clean him up. This was routine, Erik didn’t need to remind her what to do. His dick was only covered in her greedy saliva now. Nicki picks up the condom, tipping it over in her mouth and squeezing the remnants of his cum out like a tube of toothpaste. Erik lightly chuckles, he loved how cum hungry Nicki is. 

“You taste so good...I could drink you,” Nicki stands before walking away with a dramatic switch of her hips to toss the condom in the trash. Erik sits up, his elbows resting on his kneecaps. He used his right hand to shake out his dreads. He was going to need to disinfect his couch. He could feel his sweat between his muscular ass cheeks. Grabbing his glass whiskey 

tumbler, Erik takes a sip of his Hennessy to quench his thirst. Nicki smiles while tipping her head down slightly. She loved the way Erik looked after sex, sweaty and undomesticated. Nicki makes herself comfortable on Erik’s couch, her knees to her chest and thighs wide open. Erik drew his lower lip between his teeth and furrowed his brows at her. 

“What?” She asked with genuine confusion. 

“You know it’s time for you to go, right?” Erik stated in a straightforward tone of voice, “I only let you spend the night that one time because it was 3 AM and I was too damn faded to take yo’ ass home.” 

“You’re such a Goddamn asshole. I just want my pussy ate again and I’ll be on my way,” Nicki spreads her pussy lips to reveal her pink center, “Candy coated and ready to be licked...don’t you wanna?”

“You know I like that sweet little pussy but I got a busy day tomorrow, ma. As tempting as that phat clit is...I gotta pass,” Erik settles back against his couch lazily.

“Not even a little lick?” Nicki begged.

“Not even a tiny taste, girl, next time though,” Erik closed his eyes and began to yawn. Nicki was staring all in his grill at his gold canines. 

“Fine. I have an interview tomorrow for this CNA certificate program so I need to rest anyway,” Nicki grabs her little stretchy black shorts from the floor, “When should I call you for some more dick, daddy?”

“I’ll hit you up,” Erik helps Nicki by lifting her bandeau over her small, round breasts, “the next few days I got a shipment of supplies coming in and I’m gonna be really busy. Don’t worry, I gotchu.”

“We’ll see,” Nicki fluffs out her hair before standing from the couch, “Are you gonna escort me to the door?” Nicki says with attitude. 

“Stop tripping,” Erik kisses his teeth, standing at his full height, grabbing a short Nicki around her waist before giving her a chaste kiss, “Why all that attitude? You know that shit don’t even mean nothing.” 

“Whatever, I’m mad at you,” Nicki jabbed her pointer finger lightly against Erik’s right dimple. She allowed Erik to walk her to the door with his arm still wrapped around her petite waist. Finally at his door, Erik opens it, shielding his nude body so nobody can see him. Nicki turned towards him, flipping him off before making her way to the elevators. She made a sour face at him one final time before jabbing the down arrow button. 

“Fix your pretty face,” Erik gives her a final air kiss, “I’ll hit you soon. Keep that pussy wet.”

Nicki couldn’t help but to blush at the last minute before the elevator doors closed. A wide smile was plastered to her face the whole ride down and butterflies were in her stomach. She felt like a teenager all over again, only this time she was getting dick. The elevator dinged and Nicki was back in the lobby, she walked along the tile flooring, passing all the paintings that lined the walls and the calming and soothing ambience of the blue and brown interior design. Nicki was just about to push open the commercial double glass doors when a woman with short chocolate ringlets dressed in a fitted, strapless, black maxi dress and black Birkenstocks with a cream Christian Louboutin tote bag in her left hand almost smacked her in the face with the door. 

“My fault, girl,” She spoke with an apologetic tone, “I left my damn glasses in the car...excuse my blindness.”

Nicki gives her a polite smile followed by a light laugh. Her smile faded when she noticed the woman’s red-rimmed mink brown eyes are glossy, “It’s cool, sis, from blind girl to blind girl, I get it,” Nicki noticed the look of confusion on her face so she pointed to her left eye, “Contacts.”

“Ah,” She smiles pleasantly, the warmth in it causing Nicki to smirk, “My mind is all over the place...pretty mules by the way,” The pretty cinnamon skinned woman complimented while walking away. 

“Thank you! I was just about to say the same about that bag on your arm,” Nicki admired it enviously.

“Thanks,” She stroked it, “My fault about the door, girl, have a good rest of your night.”

“Ain’t no thang, and you do the same,” Nicki gives her one final polite farewell before she turns to leave the lobby. 

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[staruplatinum]

Family Fun

Long overdue commission for @bubbleu​ ! Hope you enjoyed it love. !

Warnings: Fluff 

Word count: 3,006 words

Halloween was approaching, your favourite time of the year! Between the trick or treating, chilly weather, fall activities and scary movies, there was one thing you and your family loved most - costume parties! 

It started when you first met Tiziano and Squalo. Both men had great taste in fashion - You could see from that from the get go. Tiziano especially was adorned in all sorts of outfits from various companies. Gucci, Prada, Versace... He had it all. Squalo didn’t dress as fancy, but it was still enough to catch your eye. Years passed, and before you knew it the three of you now had two beautiful children - a boy and a girl - who also happened to take after their father’s extravagant fashion sense. 

It was a chilly fall morning, the leaves had fallen down and Halloween was only a week away.  Tiziano was planning to have a costume party later this evening. Various People from Passione would be in attendance, along with some of your children’s friends as well. Tiziano was famous for hosting parties - he always went all out no matter the occasion. At your children’s birthdays he’d hire a whole circus to perform, not to mention the streamers and decorations were extensive! At christmas He’d get the biggest tree, covered in tinsel and ornaments from head to toe, plus the amount of lights around the house was enough to make it look brighter than the sun. Halloween was no different - in fact, Tiziano enjoyed it most! 

There was lots that could be said about the holiday and what he enjoyed most about it, but by far it was dressing up. Before meeting you - and even long before he had dated Squalo, Tiziano always had the best costumes in all of Passione. One year he went as a dead model and the way he applied the makeup and special effects + blood nearly blew everyone away. 

Both you and Tiziano were working on putting up the orange and black streamers, which were technically the finishing touches, save for some snacks that still had yet to be put out. Once they were up and the balloons were attached, Tiziano got down to admire his work. You had both decided to go for a ‘vintage’ Halloween theme - if the orange and black was any indication. Tiziano placed his hands on his hips, sighing in relief. Besides the food situation - they were pretty much ready. “I think the decorations look good, wouldn’t you agree bella?” He asked, gesturing to his daughter and smiling. She was looking up at the ceiling in awe, clearly impressed by the work her parents had achieved. The streamers looked beautiful, along with the trick-or-treat bags and every other decoration in the house. You could see by the look on her face that this was pure excitement, and it made your heart swell with joy. “Yes daddy!” she chimed back, giving his long leg a tight hug. You got down from the chair as well, helping Squalo and your son tidy up the tape and plastic packaging that was left over. This was probably the only thing that you hated about parties - was the cleanup. Squalo took the garbage into his fist and brought it over to the kitchen, tossing it in the bin. Suddenly, he tensed up when he heard what the rest of his family was talking about… “Did you all figure out what you wanted to be?” You smiled, rubbing your children’s heads. “I want to be spider-man!” your son chimed, jumping excitedly. “I want to be a princess!” Your daughter added. Both started to scream with joy and excitement. 

Shit.

They were really serious about this? Squalo should have known after being married to Tizano for all these years that costumes and parties were no joke to Tiziano. Squalo knew that they loved costumes and he should have been more prepared, but alas… he procrastinated once again. That, and he was far too busy and tired with work as of late. Now what were they going to do? He did not want to be a disappointment to Tizano or you, let alone his children.

Both Tiziano and you laughed at your child’s excitement, before looking over to squalo who had a clear look of surprise and discomfort on his face. Crossing your arms, you asked him.

“And you? What are you dressing up as?”

The smirk on your face was enough to show that you already knew the answer, but you played along, in any case. “Did you get the costumes we had asked you for?”

“Yeah - about that… I didn’t get a chance to um….. Get the costumes.” Squalo admitted.A look of defeat and disappointment crossed his face as he brushed his hair away. Fuck, looking down at his daughters big eyes was enough to make him tear up. He should have been more prepared, he knew that. You groaned in annoyance - once again - Squalo left it to the last minute, and here you guys were, the day of halloween - trying to figure out your costumes. “Well, what are we going to do now?” You asked, hugging your son as he looked up at you - then over to Squalo- , confused. 

Tiziano fixed Squalo with a look of mild disappointment. He was let down, certainly, but you could tell that there was no anger or deep resentment in his gaze. You both expected this of course, Squalo was infamous for procrastinating. “...Sorry,” Squalo said, twirling a lock of his bright orange hair around one of his fingers. He felt disappointed with himself, but he knew that Tiziano wouldn’t be that upset with him. “I’m not mad, honey,” Tiziano said, sitting down on a chair draped with a large sheet of orange fabric. “...Just disappointed.” You could tell that phrase made Squalo hurt as he let out a shaky sigh. A moment passed, and as Squalo stood there looking sheepish, your two children crowded around his legs, looking up at him with a pleading look in his eyes. The insufferable silence was broken only by the creaks of the house. Then suddenly, a loud sound of wood scraping on tile as Tiziano pushed his chair aside and stood up. “No use moping around, sitting around and being gloomy isn’t going to accomplish anything.” Tiziano placed one of his perfectly-manicured hands on his daughter’s shoulder. “You’re going to get to pick out your own costume this year, isn’t that exciting?” “You too,” he says, placing a hand on his son’s head, ruffling up his hair in the process. “You can be Spiderman, Superman, Aquaman… Whoever you want.” 

The children screamed with excitement - they were just happy that their party wasn’t ruined. There was still time to rush to the store, even if halloween was a week away. Surely they’d be able to find a costume at the store, even if it wasn’t something they truly wanted! “Can I be Aquaman?” Squalo says, retrieving the car keys from a basket on the kitchen counter. “Yes honey, you can be Aquaman,” Tiziano says, giving his husband a warm look and a knowing smile. You smile softly as you watch them converse, happy that Tizano was being so supportive and calm about the situation at hand. You knew how much he loved parties, and he hated having anything get out of hand or go wrong. He had a reputation to withhold, afterall.  The children, now bubbling with excitement, follow along behind you as you all get ready to go out. You help your son tie his shoes - he’s always had trouble with that. Tiziano makes sure your daughter’s hair is neat and in order too. He puts it in two curly pig-tails before kissing her forehead. Once everything’s ready, the five of you pile into the family car together - Squalo driving, you sitting in the passenger seat, Tiziano sitting in the back with your two children. The ride wasn’t too long, but Tiziano always liked doing that, sitting in the back with your kids on trips like these. He always likes to act aloof and distant from your children, not getting as involved in their affairs as you or Squalo, but it’s in the little moments like this where you see that he loves them just as much as the two of you do. He wasn’t picking favourites of course, but having a daughter really made him happy, especially because she was into fashion and clothes as much as he was! It takes you a little longer than expected to get to the pop-up halloween store in your town - Squalo takes a wrong turn and gets lost.He wasn’t the greatest navigator, but he was a safer driver than Tizano and you were.  Fortunately, both your kids don’t seem to mind it too much, they were just happy to play games in the back seat with their father as you guided Squalo back on the right path to the Halloween store. 

Once the five of you arrived at the store, you were a little disappointed by the lack of costumes around. The shelves were nearly bare, except for a few of the cheaper, less-popular costumes. It made sense, considering the fact that halloween was next week - but still. You hoped for something more! “Let’s split up with the kids, it should be faster that way,” Squalo said, holding his son’s hand and walking past the registers and into the shelves of costumes.

The family was set on what they wanted and they split up, looking around the aisles for what they wanted. On your own now, you decided to browse around. There wasn’t much to choose from in your size, so you had to improvise. There were some full costumes left, but none of them really spoke to you - a cat, a witch, an angel… It all seemed so cliche. You decided to look in the section devoted to costume parts and smaller costumes on their own, maybe you could find something that better suited you there. Browsing around, you found a few simple costumes, discarded on a middle shelf next to a witch’s broom prop. A bumble-bee, perhaps? It was simple and cute, and the store sold a small kit with wings, antennas and leg warmers. They also had a ladybug set, but  something about them both threw you off. Knowing Tiziano, these would be a little too basic for his liking. You set them back on the shelf, and continue to look around, hoping to find something more to his tastes and yours.

Browsing around some more, you found an eye-patch and a tastefully tattered blouse with a gold-colored plastic necklace. Then it hit you - you could be a pirate! Squalo mentioned how he wanted to be Aquaman, and while this didn’t entirely go with his costume - it was close enough to the theming of his costume. Not to mention you had a long black skirt at home that could be paired up with one of Tiziano’s belt around your waist, for extra detail.  Once you were sure that’s what you wanted, you headed towards the back of the store where you could clearly see your husbands.

Tizano was a tall man with distinctive honey-blonde hair, recognizable even from a distance. Finding him was not a difficult task. He was with your daughter, who managed to find a Cinderella dress. Lucky her! It seemed that the other more popular princess costumes were already sold out, but she had managed to find just this one, tucked out of place behind an adult-sized Snow White costume. Tiziano smiled, making sure that she was absolutely certain she wanted this. Even if it wasn’t her first choice, he’d find a way to make it special. Your daughter seemed content with it though, and Tiziano now had to figure out what he wanted to dress up as. Seeing that his daughter was Cinderella, and you were dressed as a pirate, He wanted to match one of you at least. 

He browsed around, finding a light blue cloak and a fairy wand on one of the shelves next to him. He could be the fairy godmother! He didn’t have everything he needed, but he could improvise with what he had at home. Tiziano was always good at that - improvising. Now that the three of you were settled on your costumes you hurried around the store since it was closing soon. You were almost sure that they had disappeared into the myriad dark shelves of the store when finally you heard small laughter from your son.

There were no more Aquaman costumes that were adult sized. Squalo could only find one in a child’s size, which he ended up giving to your son. He deserved it after all, since Squalo screwed up on the costumes in the first place. You looked around for Squalo, not seeing him near your son, until you got closer and looked where your son was pointing and laughing. Squalo had found his costume - a cartoonish, cheesy-looking shark costume. It was oversized, and baggy - but it would have to do. Besides, it went with the whole ‘aquatic’ theme that the three of you seemed to be going for anyways. Noticing a plastic tiara on one of the shelves, you scooped it up, deciding to add it to your costume. A crown to go with your pirate costume, making you into a sort of pirate princess - something to match with the themes both of your husbands seemed to be going with for their costumes. It looked cheap, but… Then again, what did you expect from halloween costumes? It didn’t go perfectly, but you felt the sentiment behind your choice in costume would mean a lot. “Oh, what are you planning on doing with that?” Squalo said, leaning over your shoulder. You jumped a little, not recognizing him in his ridiculous shark costume. “Oh, it’s a surprise,” you said, giving him a wide grin. You had to keep yourself from laughing at the sheer absurdity of his costume.

“So it’s settled then.” Tiziano smiled, placing a kiss on Squalo’s forehead. “Let’s pay for these and head home, yeah? We have a party starting soon.” 

The children were excited, fidgeting with their costumes in their little hands, chattering to themselves about how cool or cute their costumes were, respectively. You and your two husbands walked past the near-empty isles, towards the registers at the front of the store.

Your daughter looked up at Tiziano, eyes wide. “Papa, can I wear it now?”. Tiziano patted her on the shoulder, giving her a patient smile. “Not now, sweetie. Once we get home. Eventually, you reached the front of the store, and walked to the register - no one else was around, which was to be expected, really. Squalo spent some time fumbling through his pockets, looking for his wallet before Tiziano eventually told him that he’d pay for the costumes this time, and for him to be more careful with his belongings next time. “By the way, you’re all a family, right?” said the clerk behind the register, finishing putting your costumes in bags. “We have a special promotion going on right now - free costume family photos with every purchase.” “Would you like one?” “I’d rather not, we have a party we need to get to-” Tiziano was quickly drowned out by you, Squalo, and your two kids. “Yes!” With a tired smile on his face, Tiziano helped carry your bags of costumes to the back of the store, to the changing rooms, where you all changed into your costumes… With the except of Squalo, who hadn’t taken his costume off. All of you assembled outside of the changing rooms when you were done, in your costumes. Squalo in his baggy shark costume, Tiziano in his improvised fairy godmother costume, your son in his aquaman costume, and your daughter in her Cinderella costume. And finally, you, in your “pirate princess costume”. You all shuffled over to the cheesy pumpkin-patch backdrop next to the changing rooms, and got into the most photogenic poses you could manage. You could tell that Tiziano wasn’t exactly thrilled with the low-budget production, but Squalo and the two kids seemed to be thrilled with the prospect of a free family photo for Squalo’s photo album. The store worker was already there waiting for you all, with a disposable camera and a roll of film. They waved you over to the backdrop, posing you so the dim store lighting caught you all and so that nobody would fade into the background. Finally, all of you were ready. “Everyone ready? On the count of three… One… Two… Three…” “Cheese!” you all said, striking a pose. Yes, everyone, even Tiziano.

There was a brief flash for the camera, and the photograph printed. After making sure the photo wasn’t blurry and no one blinked, the employee set the picture down on one of the nearby shelves, and held the camera up again, to take a second photo. “And a silly one, too!” And again, everyone posed too, even Tiziano, who seemed to have finally warmed up to the prospect of low-budget costume photos. At the end of the day, the fact that he was with his family is what mattered most. After checking over your pictures with the employee and tucking them safely into your purse, you all de-costumed and re-packed your costumes into the bags. Once everything was in order, you said your goodbyes to the store worker, who wished you all a happy Halloween. In the parking lot, Tiziano gently took the keys out of Squalo’s hands, and got into the driver’s seat himself, jingling the keys at his husband. “I’ll drive this time, honey. We’ve got a party we need to get to, and I don’t think we should be taking the scenic route this time.” You all laughed, together. You couldn’t be more grateful, having a wonderful family like this.You all piled into the car, and after making sure everyone was buckled in, began the drive home.

[amphtaminedreams]

A/W 2020 Fashion Month: Before Vogue Went Blank

Hi to anyone reading,

I’m sorry this post is so late! I really have no excuse apart from all my mental energy being taken up by shooting and editing my Euphoria lookbook up until now and me being too much of a lazy, nap-loving twat to face the mammoth task of a fashion month review; honestly, by the time it’s done, it’s like a dissertation-level amount of characters, so let’s say the final push to get this out is in sympathy with all my 3rd year friends I started uni with finishing their ACTUAL dissertations.

Things have got scary since I originally started saving the photos for this post, and the world has been turned upside down. In response to the COVID-19 pandemic, the likes of which have not been seen since the Spanish Flu, Italian Vogue’s April cover was blank. As I’m writing this, 26,000+ people have died of coronavirus in Italy, the worst affected country behind the U.S in terms of sheer numbers ( though quick update: as I post this, I’m pretty sure our incompetent prick of a PM has made sure we’re up there too). Proportionally, the actual death rate is even higher, along with a handful of other European countries. There have been some complaints made about the cover and it’s supposed “lack of imagination”; all I know is that in a country whose death toll accounts for 10% of worldwide coronavirus deaths, something of a visual silence feels appropriate. 

That being said, for me, writing is one of the only things giving me a sense of purpose right now. Yeah, surprise surprise, working in a grocery store isn’t all that fulfilling. Who would’ve thought it? So what better time to reflect on a time when all the rich people of the world were going about their lives as usual and sitting front row at fashion week rather than crying on Instagram live to their millions of followers about how trapped they feel in their 10 bedroom mansions.

I’ve got to say, this year’s A/W offerings were a lot better than I expected, mostly due to the fact that I’m not generally a big fan of winter fashion; it’s hard to be disappointed given my preconceptions! There’s only so many knits and coats and jeans you can see before it begins to get a bit tiring, and I expected that to be reflected in the presentations. Fortunately, even the brands which are known for their bohemian, Coachella-esque collections generally managed to translate that into something recognisable and consistent on the runway whilst actually being weather appropriate. Of course, there were a few disappointments-I’m sure if I say one of them begins with D, you can guess which brand I’m talking about-but that was more than made up for by the standouts. Gucci in particular was my 2013 Tumblr wet dream and the Moschino show was what I can only describe as a live continuation of Sofia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette, though I’ll stop with my praise there and wait til I get to actually reviewing before I go overboard with kissing Alessandro Michele’s ass. And on that note, in chronological order, I’ll get one with the reviews! First up, Acne:

Continuing on a winning streak when it comes to catering to my personal preferences (if someone tries to tell me designers don’t care about my personal preferences I’m going to whack out that “just found out the world doesn’t revolve around me, shocked and upset” Marina Diamandis tweet), Acne once again channels futuristic hippy commune living in a dystopian wasteland. I know, those are very specific personal preferences

I love the shredded hems and the burnt velvet, the rawness of it all, and the baroque/your-nan’s-wallpaper patterns are actually a surprisingly nice touch. I imagine if Giselle from Enchanted had to make her dresses out of a thrifty goth’s curtains rather than an upper-middle-class New Yorker’s, they’d look something like this collection. You’ve even got the odd bit of classic fresh Scandi tailoring in there with the oversized coats and blazers which holds it back from being a bit TOO flea market. Plus, the renaissance painting detailing on the black leather-look coat is a stunning detail as well; I’m so glad it seems this trend is here to stay, why wouldn’t I want random nude bodies all over my clothes? 

As for the styling, I can’t get enough of the tousled hair. As an eternally tired person who can't be arsed to pick up a brush most of the time, I feel represented. Along with the outfits, it says “I’m an art student/transient painter in the 70s living in a city loft who smokes a lot of weed and does acid on the regular” and that is a life worth manifesting.

Alberta Ferretti was dreamy, and a perfect example of how to translate the bohemian aesthetic of their S/S show to A/W. Somehow despite the furs, ruffles (pussy-bows under tailored jackets and knits/generally heavier pieces always looks really chic imo), tulle, metallic tapestry style prints and chunky jewellery, it all still looks very effortless, like a natural continuation of what we saw last summer; the typically masculine structure of the oversized suits with the ornate patterns and the accessories lends to the careful navigation along the line where maximalism and minimalism meet, the looks as practical as they are decorative. Picture it: you work some high-flying, powerful job in the city, commute on a motor cycle and roll up in one of these suit sets. This collection is for the edgy businesswoman who is completely comfortable telling all the twattish males she works with where to stick it and I want to be her. 

The evening gowns are, of course, stunning too. In this analogy where I am a powerful businesswoman and not a pushover who works at a grocery store right now and only beefs with rude customers, I would be wearing one of them to the boujie work Christmas party. The ruffled dresses remind me of something Valentino would put out with the colour palette and the ruffles, and whilst we’re on the topic of colour palettes, this one is beautiful. The lilac and hot pink is SO right.

Though predictable, Alessandra Rich is just as much of a treat as usual, the first brand you’d go to if you were styling a throwback it-girl, Chanel Oberlin in Scream Queens if it took place 30 years earlier. Reminiscent of an amalgamation of vintage Chanel and Versace, there are so many cute details I love here, from the white tights with the black heels and the double breasted blazers to the gold chainlink belts and the pearls. The tartan suits with the shoulder padding are very Heathers, the prints the best of your mum’s 80s wardrobe, and nobody else out there is doing bows as well as this; these are the outfits that prissy bitch wears in the cartoons of my childhood that turn out to actually be quite good fashion inspo 15 years later, Trixie Tang from Fairly Odd Parents I’m looking at you. 

This girl was the blueprint. 

I think someone like Lilly Collins or Daphne Groeneveld would be an ideal fit for any of these looks, or Lana Del Rey if she wanted to stop serving us middle-aged suburban soccer mom and took us back to those H&M ad campaign days. Lana stans please don’t come for me for saying that, I am one of you; I say this because I love her. It’s all altruistic. 

Whilst I admittedly didn’t love it as much as last summer’s, I really enjoyed the Alexander McQueen collection too, plus I had a better idea of what to expect this time round; no, we’re not gonna get a repeat of the Plato’s Atlantis show but we do always get some beautiful pieces. Again, like with Alberta Ferretti, this seems like a natural continuation of what we saw in the summer, just with adjustments made for the colder, darker, and altogether moodier months. A/W being the gothier older sister of S/S, it seems right that a lot of the looks turn their back on the ethereal, almost fairy-like feel of what we saw before and embrace the vampier side, reds and blacks (the ultimate Bratz Rock Angels colour combination), plenty of dramatic structures and formidable suit sets. It’s punk but it’s classy, and even with the lighter pieces, we’ve got the grunge inspired harnesses on top to contrast with the elegance and effectively, toughen the whole look up, something Gucci does well too. 

The patterned suits with the clunky boots in particular are very cool and I need a gun metal grey heart detailing harness, but undoubtedly the MOMENT of this collection is Adut Akech in what appears to be a silver chainmail dress. She looks like an Amazonian goddess, and whilst I could never dream of pulling something like that off myself, I could happily admire her in it for hours.

There wasn’t much to get excited about at Altuzarra. The collection was very elegant for sure and the feathered belts are cute but it was all quite pedestrian and nothing new-the only detail I really like is the cut out on the second dress from the left, 3rd row down.

As for Anna Sui:

I’m not altogether sure why I wanted to review it. A lot of the outfits as a whole are a bit messy, and not in that avant-garde, expensive-looking Margiela kind of way, just in a “how many fabrics can we possibly get on this model” kind of way. Plus, the styling seems weirdly outdated-a lot of the jewellery looks like the kind of thing you’d see if you searched “gothic choker” on Ebay and ordered the results from low to high, and the makeup and hair in particular is very 2012 Tumblr fashion blogger. Backcombed hair and red lipstick? We’ve got a Zoella thumbnail on our hands.

When the collection did go down the bohemian route though (and when that route wasn’t a failed attempt at what Etro does a lot better), there were a few nice pieces and prints. I mean you really can’t go wrong with a teal fur trimmed coat.

Ashish, on the other hand, took their aesthetic from a similar era and did it a lot more creatively and kookily; this collection looks a lot more deserving of being on a runway. The prints are so loud and costume-y that at times the garments risk looking like something you’d wear at a decades themed dress up party, but they’re saved by understated and much more commercial silhouettes, plus some gorgeous hair and make up. On the whole, very groovy, unintentional disco queen, despite the few risks that didn’t quite pay off.

Next is a brand I always look forward to. In the words of Myrtle Snow:

BALENCIAGA!

Seriously though, if any brand knows how to blend costume and high fashion, it’s them. They take over-the-top, almost absurd silhouettes and turn them into theatre. This year we’re taking it in the direction of Phantom of the Opera, I guess? Dracula? The Woman in Black? An off-broadway production of Harry Potter where Snape is the protagonist? Whatever the direction of the collection is, I live for the dramatics of it all. Demna Gvasalia got these models walkin’ down the runway like they’re members of the Volutri, which is a reference you should all understand given the renaissance Twilight is having online atm.

Straight off the bat, I adore the staging, and all the models are exquisite-the theme of the show was climate change, and I always love when there’s a story behind the presentation of the clothes. I can’t imagine how amazing this must have been to witness in person, though I’m guessing equal parts mystical and intimidating. There are so many things I love here: billowing coats, cinched in waists, the pattens that are sprinkled sparingly in amongst the black, and the bloody shoulder pads that almost run PARALLEL to the model’s necks. This is really a collection that Myrtle Snow would be proud of and brb whilst I get rid of my padlock necklaces in favour of putting whatever meagre amount I can get for them on Depop towards a Balenciaga padlock belt (as if, lol, I don’t even think selling my soul would cover it).

And then there’s Balmain, which isn’t always the fashion critic’s favourite, but which I do tend to like. 

I mean there are some really good takeaways here-though the 80s inspired suit, as wearable as they are, can get a little repetitive, they are staples which here seem to pave the way for Olivier Rousteing to try something new for the brand. The moulded breast plates (reminiscent of the Tom Ford one Zendaya wore though I’m not sure which came first!), for example, along with the Matador-style capes and the flowing silk dresses are the most glamorous incarnation of Lara Croft one can possibly imagine, probably just as equally suited for a Roman goddess as they are for an Assassins Creed style action heroine. And yes, I am aware of the fact that Tomb Raider and Assassins Creed are two separate games, okay!  I just don’t know enough about the visuals of either to firmly plant this collection in the camp of either one, so I’m going down the crossover route with it!

Not to say there weren’t any bad choices-I omitted a good portion of the looks that were shown; there were definitely pieces that I found to be a little tacky, particularly a recurring chain print which has got to be one of my least favourite patterns out there. Overall, though, it’s gonna be the richly coloured art-deco prints, the wet-look boots and the gem-encrusted scorpion brooch which stick with me, so I’ll let it slide. 

Bottega Veneta was very meh; even of the looks I picked out, there are a lot I’m now looking back at and wishing I hadn’t included. Some of the men’s pieces are nice, sure, and I feel like one of those vaguely sick, victorian ghost looking male celebrities everyone obsesses over (Timothée Chalamet and Dane DeHaan I’m looking at you) would make those suits on the second row look fine af, but it’s mostly the womenswear that I’m here for and on this occasion it wasn’t great. A couple of the coats are nice and that’s about it. Like I really had to act as if the tassels weren’t there on a lot of the clothes and go from there because I really don’t like them in this context and if I was to veto looks purely on one of the garments having tassels, there’d be nothing to show or reference when giving my opinion on the show. They were EVERYWHERE. In a summer collection, done right, they can be a nice detail but here they just feel unnecessary and if I’m being honest, are quite ugly. 

Thank god for Brock taking the sour Bottega Veneta tassel taste out of my mouth. Never a let down. Literally, everything they put out sends me into a daze of imagining I’m in some romantic drama wearing one of the pieces, in a man’s idea of “no makeup”, running round in a field looking forlorn and windswept because my ghostly lover has-

Okay, you get the picture. I’ve never read Wuthering Heights, but it goes something like that, right? If not, lets just say envisioning myself in any of these catapults me straight into some period drama where I’m born into wealth and sit by my mansion window looking sad all the time and writing poetry and lusting over some stuffy upper-class man I can’t have and who is probably played by Colin Firth because I’m pretty sure that’s what happens in most of them (about to enrage my future English lit undergraduate sister with that line).

Nobody does modest, muted sexy to such a masterful degree. I mean, when Maison Marigela did face veils I was just mildly afraid, but here they’re subtle enough that they’re quite beautiful and almost other-worldly, acting as some kind of boundary between this world and the past that Brock aims to recapture through its designs-the red lip popping out from underneath is a perfect touch too. I don’t like it AS much as the summer collection but I would say that’s solely on the basis of the more autumn/winter appropriate colour scheme and the heavier fits, which is just a personal preference. I mean, I’m usually not a fan of empire waistlines at all and Brock even manages to make that work.

Burberry this season was a real mixed bag, mostly due to the styling. There are some really gorgeous, London back alley vintage shop looking pieces, especially the 70s style coats, reminiscent of outerwear a slimy record exec would've worn back in the day repurposed by someone like Alexa Chung or Zoe Kravitz or whichever effortlessly cool woman it is we all want to be-also the private boy’s school rugby gear looking shit is classic Burberry and I’m a fan of that, even though it’s not the most inventive or exciting. I just don’t get why there had to be SO much ill-fitting plaid over ill-fitting plaid. Again, like with Bottega Veneta, I thought the menswear was a lot stronger; whilst I wasn’t really wowed by anything, it seemed a lot less forced, whereas a few of the womenswear looks gave me the vibe of a design team desperately grasping onto some ill-conceived ideas of street style and relevancy. 

The design team at Carolina Herrera for example, know their niche. They never try to be something they’re not, always sublimely preppy and pretty and predictable-when it comes to target market, the bag is reliably secured. Laid- back princess dresses never get old for those constantly “summering” in one expensive coastal town or another, for the rich American moms attending charity galas and the Spencer Hastings and Blair Waldorfs of the world; women with glossy hair and fresh faces who act as if they woke up looking like that polished but are actually anal as hell and take 2 hours to get ready and would NEVER, I repeat NEVER, shit in a public toilet. 

Yes, I managed to worm toilet habits into a review of a Carolina Herrera collection. I’m sorry. Enough with the pearl clutching. 

Next is Celine:

I mean, when there are THIS many looks, it’s hard not to find something you like, and though VERY predictable and verging on lazy when you’re putting out the same shit every collection, Celine’s aesthetic is so similar to my own ideal style, it’s hard to be mad at it. That being said, a lot of the pieces, as per usual, came across as cheap YSL knock offs; the overall outfits are cute, but the more you look at the details-it particularly pained me to include a metal bow belt and an ill-fitting velvet skater skirt but I liked the rest of the outfits-the worse it gets. Please, PLEASE someone drive it home to Hedi Slimane, I’m begging you: QUALITY NOT QUANTITY. I get what he’s going for, 70s hipster Jane Birkin is a vision I can very much get behind, but not when it seems to be so rushed.

With the men’s looks, you can get away with it a lot more; when so much of menswear is so plain and unchanging, the slightest hint of Mick Jagger is enough to make a outfit edgy. But even then, I still feel like we’re seeing a load of variations of the same outfit. There are always some pieces that catch my eye, this time round the capes and the velvet blazers, and I would wear most of these things, sure, however I don’t think the combinations SHOULD necessarily look like something I’d personally put together; a runway collection is supposed to be aspirational and cutting edge, not pedestrian (entirely intentional self-drag, lol). Also, side note, the lack of diversity really bothered me. 111 looks and not one of these models has a body type that is naturally achievable for most people. It’s 2020 for fuck’s sake. I’m tired.

SO, let’s liven things up a bit with the Central Saint Martins collection, a breath of fresh air in terms of diversity (though a few more plus-size models would be nice):

As a former University of London student, I hate to heap praise upon them. If you’ve studied in London as well, you’ll know CSM students are ANNOYING. I mean, I’m sure they’re lovely as individuals but you can’t fully understand the meaning of the word pretentious until you’ve seen a group of them at a Uniqlo Tate Late. That being said, they are very good at what they do and I’m so glad that Vogue Runway includes them; this is what Off-White thinks it is, and really it makes sense that a bunch of current fashion students are able to come together to present one of the most experimental and forward-thinking shows of this season. 

And let’s talk about the RANGE. From catsuits worthy of comic book heroes to  dresses Twiggy would’ve worn in a 1960s editorial, every subgenre of fashion has been fully delved into here. Whilst we’ve got the adrogyny of the suits and suspenders combo and kitschy gender-bending co-ords David Bowie would be proud of, at the other end of the scale we’ve also got models walking down the runway dressed like wood nymphs or some other kind of siren-like creatures. There’s looks that wouldn’t be out of place in a Gucci or Come Des Garcons collection but at that same time would be equally at home in a Berlin techno club. 

Honestly, credit where credit’s due-it was a really interesting show and I wouldn’t expect anything less.

Chanel was quite literally the polar opposite of the CSM show. 

Very blah. 

It’s crazy because before you properly get INTO fashion, Chanel is like the epitome of style. And then you do, and you see the runway shows get lazier and lazier (with some exceptions) every year, and you realise that same prestige that had you aware of Chanel at the age of 7 or 8 is literally all that’s keeping the brand going at this point. I’m not saying the collection is flat out ugly, a lot of it’s cute, but you’re CHANEL for fuck’s sake. Yeah, I like the crucifixes but SCALLOPED HEMS!? No. I do NOT recall travelling back in time to witness Primark’s Spring 2013 collection on the runway and I am NOT having it.

It’s not at all surprising that a lot of the time newer brands Charlotte Knowles (above) tend to be more interesting than those more established-and yes that was a Chanel indirect if the transition wasn’t obvious.

With no room to rest on laurels or reputation, everything has to be bolder and smarter and more distinctive and most importantly, has to appeal to its target market with the fervour of an L.A sign spinner. I only found out about Charlotte Knowles because of a Vogue article citing her as Bella Hadid’s new favourite brand to wear, and once I saw the collection, it was clear why; daringly modern, slick, and edgy is both her street style (say what you want about her as a model but her outfit game is unbeaten) and Knowles’ USP to a T. If Dion Lee, Off-White, GCDS and Acne had an orgy, this would be the result, and that is a GOOD compliment.

Next, Chloe:

Not a huge amount to say, to be honest. Low-key, wearable, and cute. Like Emma Roberts’ Nancy Drew if she did an autumn exchange program at the Sorbonne and studied art history, libraries and coffee shops on the weekdays and galleries and protests at the weekend. On reflection, that definitely makes this collection sound more exciting than it is but there are some effortlessly beautiful pieces here. The 4th row in particular is full of stand outs-the vest with the watercolour faces on with the shirt underneath is perfection, and the burgundy suit with the saffron ruffled collar peeking out from underneath is adorable and not at all reminiscent of the Ronald McDonald inspired nightmare that any combination of red and yellow tones should theoretically be.

As for Christian Siriano, I see why people hate it, I really do. I understand that it seems kinda unfair to have it show the same week as Brock and Rodarte and Oscar de La Renta. We’re talking 2 very different kinds of quality here. BUT, at pure face value, his clothes are FUN, plus Coco Rocha will always have a special place in my heart as someone who lived on The Face and America’s Next Top Model and every show that could possibly give me an unhealthy body image ever.

Like are you telling me you wouldn’t wear these dresses to a party!? Live a little. They just need tailoring...which ideally would be done BEFORE the model’s walking down the runway in it but...you know...can’t have it all.

Christopher Kane is a show I always look forward to.

I would say his designs are the only thing that make geometry look fun but I’m going to expose myself and admit that would be a lie because I actually found geometry really fun. Trigonometry was my shit, lol.

He is a designer who perfectly demonstrates that juggling interseasonal consistency and taking risks can be done. There’s always something DIFFERENT about his collections, fresh and subtly experimental. There are occasionally a few misses, sure, but I’d rather that than for a brand to keep playing safe, plus he never goes too far in the opposite direction either; no going weird for the sake of weird. I don’t like it AS much as the summer collection but it’s mostly because of the more muted, autumn/winter appropriate colour palette.

Comme Des Garçons? Too weird?

Never.

Honestly when it comes to a CDG collection, I have to really shift my perspective to appreciate it. I’m not looking at fashion presentation, I’m looking at a moving piece of experimental art. I know, it’s a stretch. But you know you’ll never be bored by one of their shows. Not gonna lie, this specific collection crossed the line into plain ugly a couple of times for me. We had padding so extravagant it looked like several models were walking round with Ikea pillows stuck to their chest and headdresses reminiscent of the kids’ game Headbandz. In amongst that though, we did get some gorgeous veils like the ones seen above and the shoes and socks combo is actually quite wearable.

I’d say Dilara Findikoglu is the cut-off point after which things get a little too avant-garde for my personal taste, and it hovers over that cut-off point flawlessly; despite the other-worldly elements of her collections, they remain somewhat grounded by nods towards conventional fashion that allow the beauty, be it inner or outer, of the wearer to shine through. Comme Des Garcons garments undeniably have character but they tend to swallow up any trace of the individual underneath, whereas the character of Dilara Findikoglu garments seamlessly merges with the wearer and in turn elevates both to something transcendent and ethereal. If the Pussycat Dolls got transported into a rugged, post-apocalyptic future, they’d scrape together these outfits to perform in, I know it; the energy of the collection, with the body jewellery and the frayed cut outs and the chalk white faces, is very warrior princess, just as raw and intimidating as it is hot as fuck, and I want that energy in my life. Along with a Dilara belt, of course. I would wear her name like a badge of honour anytime she wants. Dilara, pls pls let me be part of your tribe. PLEASE.

Anyway, this is where I thought I’d cut things off, so as to end on a positive note. You know what that means: Dior is coming up. I feel bad knowing my first post was defending Maria Grazia and yet here I am now, looking at the bar down on the floor, but I mean, you never know; maybe girl is doing this on purpose and one day she’s gonna come out with a Gucci level quality show like a phoenix from the ashes.

If you got this far, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING even if you’re just here for the pics. Part 2 will be covering some of my most anticipated shows from Elie Saab, Fendi and Etro to Gucci and Moschino, Miu Miu and Marc Jacobs, and everything in between. Yes, the shitty ones too.

I’m plowing through all the material as quick as I can so I hope to get the next post up really soon, and yes-you can count on the overwhelming sense of needing to be productive pushing me into fulfilling that statement. 

Thanks again and I hope you’re well!

Lauren x

[mediaonedesign]

Mediaonedesign.com - Denver Nugget Temporada 2022-2023 Campeon shirt

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#Teechallaclothing LLC When Rihanna arrived on the Denver Nugget Temporada 2022-2023 Campeon shirt and by the same token and Cannes red carpet in 2017, the white custom strapless Christian Dior gown with a billowing offtheshoulder cape instantly made headlines (she also threw on matching white microshades for an extra dose of superstar power). Fast forward to last night, when Christensen commanded the runway in true supermodel fashion while sporting a replica of the exact same dress – sans sunglasses. Other memorable fashion moments from the night included Ambrosio wearing a crystalencrusted Balmain X Beyoncé dress complete with jeweled peplum and power shoulders, as well as Fontana in a blue figurehugging Moschino spring 2017 look designed by Jeremy Scott. On the first Monday in May, the world’s biggest stars ascended the steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art for the 2023 Met Gala to celebrate Karl Lagerfeld A Line of Beauty. Appropriately, the dress code read simply in honor of Karl, which means designers and stars alike pulled out all the stops for the occasion. Among the best dressed attendees was the model Anok Yai, dressed by Prabal Gurung, in a gold dress with a pannier skirt that seemed to evaporate into thin air. This particular dress I had in my mind for a really long time based on his [Lagerfeld’s] Chanel Haute Couture shows, shares Gurung. What most did not realize is that Yai’s look was two separate pieces a short dress with oxidized gold and silver handembroidered degrade sequin paillettes and beaded bugle bead fringe, and a sheer silk tulle mermaid skirt hand embroidered with cascading oxidized gold and silver sequin paillettes underneath.

#Teechallaclothing LLC In the Denver Nugget Temporada 2022-2023 Campeon shirt and by the same token and episode Gurung goes on to explain that when he received his CFDA/Vogue Fashion Fund award in 2010 it was Lagerfeld that presented it to him. I’ll never forget that exchange and it has remained with me forever. It has made me a better designer, he recalls. Good news for major red carpet fans The 2023 Cannes Film Festival is officially underway in Cannes, France. The annual event, which premieres and screens some of the mostdiscussed films of the year, produces one of the most lavish step and repeats in the world. It’s a fashion spectacle on par with the Oscars and Met Gala, and a decidedly much more formal one than other film festivals like Venice or TIFF. We’re bound to receive some toptier fashion on La Croisette, thanks to a starstudded lineup of new projects. Wes Anderson’s Asteroid City stars Scarlett Johansson, Tom Hanks, Tilda Swinton, and Margot Robbie; Todd Haynes’s May December features Julianne Moore and Natalie Portman; and Martin Scorsese’s Killers of the Flower Moon is anchored by Leonardo DiCaprio, Lily Gladstone, Robert De Niro, and Brendan Fraser. If all these names aren’t enough, there’s also the 2023 Cannes jury, with members such as Brie Larson, Paul Dano, and Julia Ducournau. Cannes has a history of delivering spellbinding style moments, after all. Glamorous moments from past years include Diana, Princess of Wales’s Catherine Walker gown in 1987, Madonna’s 1991 Jean Paul Gaultier cone bra, and Amal Clooney’s sunny Atelier Versace gown in 2016. More recently, model Bella Hadid made waves with her 2021 Schiaparelli Couture dress and gold, lunglike breastplate.

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[antichristsxbox]

could you write a fic where michael spoils reader with THE finest things, like gucci, Louis vuitton, dolce and gabbana, agent provocateur, diamonds, gold, etc. like GIVE YA GIRL THAT RICH BITCH LIFESTYLE, MICHAEL

Summary: I think this leans more towards Michael as a sugar daddy than anything else, to be honest. Warning— there is mentioning of smut!

From the writer: So, this is the most abstract piece of writing I’ve posted on here and nothing like anything else I have posted thus far. I’m not sure why this is what I was feeling for this request, but I couldn’t imagine writing this any other way because I didn’t just want to make this a shopping trip. I hope you like this style! If you don’t, constructive criticism is always welcome + feel free to send in more requests! If you enjoyed this, all likes and reblogs are appreciated + check out my masterlist for more fics I’ve written!

Word count: 377

“You can get the biggest Chanel bag in the store if you want it,” Michael says as he holds the door open to Neiman’s for you. The light shining down on his arm just the right way— wrist so reflective, it’s aggressive for a little clock. As you take his hand when he’s through holding the door, whoever walking past you would need dark sunglasses to avoid the glare of your matching watches. Truthfully, he enjoys shopping with you and doting on you. His gratitude and affection is shown through the extravagant items he buys you. As you’ve grown accustomed to your lifestyle with him, you only get in a car when the roof’s off. His 911 Carrera Turbo S is a perfect car for a casual shopping trip. You drop tops and let it rip. 

Wake up, take a sip of Ace of Spades like it’s water, Michael’s Chanel bedsheets on the floor like it’s nothing. Yeah, he spends a lot— Balenciaga jacket, Dior shades. Versace drawers, his underwear costs more than what the average person makes in a week. Michael’s got a cum stain on his Gucci shirt, he throws it away. Gucci and Louis shoes everywhere, you don’t have any closet space. Gucci down to the socks, Off-White on your feet, all these designers on you until the ground; you can barely spell their names. You know you’re a tag chaser, but Michael gives in to your every wish. His queen, his love, he says. You would believe him, but you’ve seen him buying two of the same thing before and the second item would certainly not be for him (two perfumes or two pairs of the same Louboutins?). Despite this, you let him remain oblivious to the fact you know he’s seeing other people. Not calling him out solely because of his money, although that doesn’t hurt his case at all. But, you know you’re his favorite— he needs a girl that’ll hold him down. With his side girl— Lamborghini dreams, but she still drives a Lexus. You’re his main object of affection, but he always keeps some bitches on the side. 

“When you say you love me, don’t you lie,” he says. You won’t cross your heart, you don’t want to die.

///

*** I’ve tagged you if you asked to be on my tag list or if I thought you would be interested in this fic based on interactions with my other fics/posts! Let me know if you would like to be added or removed from my tag list. :)

Tag list: @langdonsoceaneyes @ms-mead @daydreamingofcody @psychobitchtess @swampwitchh13 @ahstmblrupdates @forgivemelucifer @jocelynscloset @ccodyfern @sammy-samm @xavierplymptonsangel @lilithrmorningstar1 @slashersrus @im-the-music-whore @isometimeswrite132 @gingersnapped13 @recklessmoannn @nickiechao11 @dani5216 @antichristsqueen666 @nightsblackroses @bitchchatter @starr60 @perfectlyboring @victoriageiser @luyism

[fuforthought]

I've got two questions for you. What are some stereotypes about America that aren't true and you think you'll ever lose your English accent?

Nice question. At the risk of offending some of my American followers, I think I have a few answers...

A British accent will NOT get you pussy. It might help you out but you still need to be at least a smidgen attractive and have a good personality. An accent will get you a foot in the door but that’s it.

American streets aren’t paved with gold. You have to work hard as fuck to get somewhere here. Just as you would anywhere else.

Americans CANNOT drink. None of ‘em. White frat boy types will tell you they can but they’ll be on their arse after four shots and two beers. Americans CAN smoke weed though.

Not all black neighborhoods are “rough” areas. If you’re white, you don’t need to be scared every time you see more than three black people.

Not all American streets are lined with Gucci and Versace stores. You’re more likely to find an Old Navy than a high end fashion store.

The word “cunt” doesn’t upset everyone. You have to test the waters a little bit but a lot of people are alright with it.

You know those cool white-boy college parties in American Pie? It’s not like that. White-boy college dudes are super aggressive dickheads half the time.

Crack houses are not everywhere. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one where I live.

Cops aren’t all that friendly.

Regarding my accent, I don’t think I’ll ever lose it. I’ve been here almost twenty years and the only thing I’ve lost is my cadence. For some reason I now go up at the end of my sentences like a valley girl. But the accent itself I think I’ll keep. I’m not sure why. I used to work with a girl from Leeds who, after being here two years, sounded American. I suppose I’m just holding onto mine.

[kimarchive]

“keep it moving” | lil’ kim by mtv news, 2003.

"I'm locked in a five-year contract with [Kim]," said Cease, who's signed as a solo artist to Queen Bee Records. Other than albums that Kim herself has recorded, Cease's poor-selling but critically acclaimed 1999 solo debut, The Wonderful World of Cease A Leo, is the only release to come from the Queen Bee Records imprint since it was founded in 1998.

-- by Shaheem Reid, with additional reporting by Sway Calloway, Jeff Cornell and Quddus Phillipe Kimberly Jones is dying to go Hollywood, but some people are hissing that she already has. She definitely isn't the same 'round-the-way girl the Notorious B.I.G. introduced us to in 1995. Little Ms. Jones has estranged herself from old ideals and friends from her 'hood that she once considered family. She's got a fresh attitude to go with her new set of Hollywood and high-society buddies and associates, people such as Hugh Hefner, Pamela Anderson, Carmen Electra, Don King, Donatella Versace and Victoria Gotti.

Kimberly doesn't even look the same — she switches hairstyles almost as often as she changes rhyme flows. Plus she's got a new surgically altered nose to go with her voluptuous, augmented breasts. "When I decided to finally do that is when I realized I was a sex symbol," she has said about her implants. "It's something that I felt would make me have more fun with my photo shoots and enhance my look a little bit." But going Hollywood for Kim really means just that: She wants to make movies. Her dreams have nothing to do with forgetting where she came from, or — as they might say in her native Bedford Stuyvesant neighborhood — "acting brand new." Kim maintains she's the same Brooklyn girl at heart: feisty, focused and determined not to fail. Like Will Smith and, more recently, Queen Latifah, rap's Queen Bee wants to make it big in Tinsletown. Yeah, she's appeared in such flicks as "Juwanna Mann" (2002) and "Zoolander" (2001), but Kim knows she's capable of bigger roles and more explosive performances. "Being involved in different entities of the game is so much fun 'cause you don't just get stuck in one genre," she explained. "I like to be here and there. My personality and my character are versatile." But unlike the aforementioned rap legends, she still wants to keep the music industry buzzing about her material. "That's one thing I don't like," Kim said, referring to how some of her fellow MCs' music careers suffered as their movie careers took off. "Will [Smith] was doing it at one point. Regular rappers were trying to [sell] five million [albums] and he was doing seven million, with flicks out that were doing $50 million a week. That's the type of success I want to follow. I think what happens is that the rappers [who] have success in Hollywood kinda start ignoring their music. I don't think it matters to them anymore. I ain't gonna front, [if] you're getting $20 to 25 million a film ... even $10 million a film is enough to make you say, 'I don't have to do an album this year.' [But] I wouldn't do that." And that's no Hollywood talk, either. Kim not only has a movie called "Guns and Roses" due out this summer, she has a new LP, La Bella Mafia, in stores now. Named La Bella Mafia after a 1997 made-for-TV movie, "Bella Mafia," in which widows of mob figures take over the family business, this LP has been heralded as Kim's best work since her trailblazing 1996 solo debut, Hard Core. On Mafia, she runs away from the syrupy melodies and hooks that hampered 2000's Notorious K.I.M.'s "How Many Licks" and "I'm Human," which seemed to pander to radio and dancefloors. Kim's latest opus is a return to the streets, where she enlists such sound-shapers as the always-unpredictable Swizz Beatz, Scott Storch, who has co-produced some of Dr. Dre's classic jeep thumpers, and Mobb Deep's master of morose tracks, Havoc.

"She's a star, [and] people respect stars," said Havoc, who first worked with Kim on Mobb Deep's remix to "Quiet Storm." "She's smart, and most of the decisions she makes are good musically. She's among the top people in the game, and she's better than a lot of [guys]. You don't have a choice but to give her that respect." "I think she's on top of the game," concurred Queen Latifah, who recorded with Kim on the soundtrack for the Academy Award-winning film "Chicago." "I just bought her album the other day and I love it. I think it's [about] her growing up. She still ballsy, and she's still gonna pop junk to any other female rapper out there, but I like where she is right now. I like to see her in control of where she wants to go. I'm proud of her." And while Kim loves the praise she's received from her peers and fans, she feels things could still be a lot better. Although Mafia put her on pace to equal or surpass the numbers she posted with her biggest selling LP, the double platinum Hard Core (despite its lukewarm reception, Notorious K.I.M. still sold over a million copies as well), Kim wasn't pleased with La Bella Mafia's first-week sales of close to 167,000 copies. "A lot of people say 'Kim is up there,' " the Queen Bee lamented, "but I don't feel that I'm up there 'cause I haven't accomplished my goal yet, which is to sell 10 million records of one album. Imagine what people will say when I reach that point." One thing people do talk about is how long it takes Kim to churn out albums. There was a four-year gap between the first two records, and even with the widely heralded Trackmasters and the spirit of Mafia co-executive producer B.I.G. fueling this album's beats and rhymes, it took years to make as well.

"It's kind of hard because I like to take my time to make things perfect," Kim said, explaining why she always has such a long gap between projects. "I went into this album thinking, 'I'm just going to have fun with it.' I said, 'I'm going to do what I want to do. Let me do this the way I feel B.I.G would have wanted me to do this.' He's the one that taught me everything I know, and he tells me things still. That's why B.I.G is listed as the co-executive producer on my album. It's just me and him." What also slows down production is the fact that you just can't keep the black Erica Kane locked in the studio for too long. She's got her manicured hands dipped in far too many projects to be getting stuck in a sound booth all night. For one thing, she's got a new clothing line, Hollyhood, still in development, with a launch tentatively planned for the fall. A true fashion aficionado, Kim's wild outfits, trend-setting hairdos and modeling stints for Mac and Candies and have given her a strong presence in the fashion world. Hobnobbing with clothing kingpins with last names like Prada, Versace and Armani have only strengthened her cause. "When she did 'Guns and Roses,' she was on the mark," LisaRaye said of Kim's spin as Chastity, the vixen of the bunch. In addition to the movie, the two worked together on a song for the film's soundtrack. "We filmed that movie in 18 days, so you know how quick and steady the flow was," she continued. "She was actually excellent." "It was fun," Kim said with a grin. "It's like a female 'Young Guns.' Us five females, we're like sisters. When we all got together it was nothing but love. For the most part, we were all sisters on that set — we all had each other's back. I like to surround myself with good people — positive people committed to their work." 

And make no mistake — if you're not committed to Kim, you can't be down. At her album release party a few weeks ago, celebrities such as Dave Chappelle, Mobb Deep, Jagged Edge and Wayne Wonder came out to one of Manhattan's newest hot spots, the Lobby, all ready to hail the Queen. Conspicuously absent were Kim's longtime running mates, Lil' Cease and the rest of the Junior M.A.F.I.A. Kim and the J.M., all friends and protégés of Biggie's, had been virtually inseparable since they were introduced back in 1995. The originally nine-member crew appeared on classic songs together, put out a gold album and performed at countless shows nationwide. When B.I.G. died, they leaned on each other during their collective time of mourning, and his memory was the glue that held them all together. And the bond was deep. When Kim went solo, she looked out for her boys as their careers stagnated. If they needed money, she hit them off. If one of her guys got in trouble with the law, as Larceny and Cease were known to do on a few occasions, Kim, the perennial mother figure, always bailed them out. At one point, the clique was so close that they all lived together in Kim's New Jersey mansion. But since then, the group's relationship has soured, and the Queen Bee has had to literally clean house. "Well, you have to move on and you have to grow," Kim said, visibly holding back venom and opting to give a more politically correct answer as to why she no longer associates with Cease and Co. "You can't be taken advantage of for too long, and it's a case where unfortunately, [the relationship] just went bad. In the same sense, I hope they do well and [that] they can find God in their hearts." On La Bella Mafia's "Heavenly Father," however, Kim's a little less restrained. She raps, "And was it enough that I split 20 percent of what I make?/ Was it enough that I cut n----s half of what I bake?" 

Lil' Cease is just as angry with Kim these days as she is with him. His biggest beef with her is not that she cut him off — it's that she won't let him go. He's so miffed at his onetime homegirl that he's started a "Free Cease A Leo" T-shirt campaign.

"I'm locked in a five-year contract with [Kim]," said Cease, who's signed as a solo artist to Queen Bee Records. Other than albums that Kim herself has recorded, Cease's poor-selling but critically acclaimed 1999 solo debut, The Wonderful World of Cease A Leo, is the only release to come from the Queen Bee Records imprint since it was founded in 1998.

"She's putting all this stuff out like she's not messing with me right now," Biggie's puffy-cheeked former best friend fumed. "I feel like if you [are] not messing with me, give me walking papers so I can do me. We had our differences [and] I thought we could patch them up, but honey is doing her thing. I'm not knocking her, but she still got me under paperwork. [I've] been trying to get in touch with her, [but] she's ducking me. I call the office, [but] she don't want to talk to me. I go to the office [and] I can't see her."

"There's a lot of truth to what Cease was saying," Kim retorted with a snarl before clamming up. "I don't really want to get into that. The only thing I'm concerned with is La Bella Mafia being in stores. The whole truth will come out later and I can't wait." Although Kim is being clandestine and won't say exactly when her and the Mafia started to fall out, she is more than willing to reveal when her relationship with her former manager, mentor, friend and Notorious K.I.M.'s executive producer P. Diddy went south. "I can honestly say that during the whole process of [making Notorious K.I.M.], Puff and I were like a brother and a sister arguing," said the 26-year-old. "One minute we'd be the best of friends, and then the next minute things weren't working out at all," Kim said. "Sometimes Puffy likes people to do whatever he says. I'm a creative person, an entertainer. I'm a boss lady. A lot of times when you [are] working with a boss man, you have to respect each other's opinion. I just wanted my respect and because I was young and female, I don't think he gave it to me fully." "I'm a hard coach from beginning to end," Diddy said unapologetically about his meticulous work ethic. "I'mma push an artist to [be] the best. Some artists feel [like], 'I've grown up, and I don't want you to push me this hard no more.' I can't really do that. I'm not crazy or anything, I just want to be the best. We gotta be the best every time." Kim said she was also hurt because when times got tough for her after Notorious K.I.M. received mixed reactions, Diddy abandoned her. "I loved Puffy with all my heart, [and] if you look back, I was the only one supporting him. [At the time we were making my album] I wasn't even signed to Bad Boy," she vented. "During those times I held his hands, like, 'I know these people hate you right now, but I'm with you, dawg.' Puffy can be very selfish. I had to let him go do him and I had to go do me. I needed people at that time that was going to support me 150 percent. I was only getting 50 percent. Unfortunately, I don't speak to him at all."

P. Diddy, who seems indifferent about the split, offers a simpler explanation: "I think it's [about] people outgrowing each other and people wanting different things." While Kim hasn't cut off all her old friends, she has been gravitating toward a new crowd on the road to becoming a better-rounded person. One of her biggest cheerleaders now is Victoria Gotti, a multimedia personality and the daughter of late mob boss John Gotti. The two met over a year ago at an event in New Jersey and have built a nurturing relationship. They've done their share of partying and have at least one big adventure in common: The line-slinging siren recently held her buddy to a long-standing promise to appear in one of her videos. In February, the pair braved the bitter cold to shoot the unreleased clip for Kim's song "I Came Back For You" in front of the Brooklyn Bridge. Gotti says she'd do anything for her homie. "It's weird because she's everything she is onstage and nothing like her [persona]," Gotti said, describing why such a diverse group of people show Kim love. "She is a chameleon. She can just rise to [any] occasion and fit whatever mood everybody's in. That's the one thing I adore about Kim, [and] that's the first thing that shines through. Forget her looks, forget her outrageous outfits — she's got personality that's second to none." And what Kim's hoping for is that soon, her success in all fields will be second to none. Even as her fan base broadens, she maintains that she'll never forget the gig that first put her on to all the other opportunities. In fact, she is as hungry as ever to stand out and rock the mic.  "I don't ever worry about competition," she says confidently in regards to her fellow female rappers. "I do a totally different thing from all these females. Everybody feels that 'I have to be at the top.' We can all be at the top selling records. There is no 'I'm better.' I know I'm a Queen and I do what I do.' "

    And what she is doing is everything.

[liam-93-productions]

Liam Payne on tracksuits and his first Hugo Boss collection

Liam Payne found fame as one fifth of One Direction but can he cut it in fashion? He talks to Emma McCarthy about tracksuits and talking shop with Vogue’s editor-in-chief. - Evening Standard UK

It’s approximately 24 hours until Liam Payne’s design debut is revealed but already he’s in possession of a little black book to rival that of a fashion industry stalwart.

“I’ve made a lot of friends in the industry,” says the 25-year-old Wolverhampton-born pop megastar, who found fame as one-fifth of boy band behemoth One Direction, when we meet on a grey, grizzly day in London a fortnight ago.

We’re here to discuss the imminent arrival of his capsule clothing line for Hugo — the young, cool, image-conscious arm of German style juggernaut Hugo Boss — which is due to be celebrated with a star-studded party in Berlin tomorrow night, before launching on Instagram on Thursday and in stores on Friday.

Among his closest confidants is British Vogue editor-in-chief Edward Enninful, who he first met “at the same time as Anna Wintour”. Casual. “I was like ‘woah, what’s going on?’,” he says, eyes wide in mock panic. “But I don’t like to hover so I went over and said hello and left as quickly as possible to avoid saying anything stupid.” Since then he has come to regard Enninful as a firm friend and mentor, from hobnobbing with fashion’s inner circle at Chiltern Firehouse’s legendary after-parties — “the best fried chicken is there” — to ringing in the New Year on holiday together in Africa. He also recalls bonding with Idris Elba on the front row of a Versace fashion show in Milan and swapping design tips with Dior menswear superforce Kim Jones. “He said to me, ‘it’s kind of the same as music — once you have a hit and you know what you’re doing, everything becomes a little bit easier’.”

So is he ready for fashion’s frontline? “I’ve got a long way to go before I could be considered a style icon,” he concedes. Though the collection — a polished 10-piece range of T-shirts, trainers and tailored trackpants which expertly cater to the modern man’s smart-casual sensibility — suggests he’s come a long way from the X-Factor fashion cupboard. “When we were in the band, everybody had their thing. I was the guy in the patterned shirt. Louis had the trousers with the Tom’s, and no-one could wear stripes because he did. I haven’t worn a stripe since I was 15. It’s funny now looking at how everyone’s style has changed. Growing up as famous as we were, you can’t get away with all the fashion mistakes you’ve made over the years.”

I ask for specifics. “There’s a shot of me wearing this furry thing with no T-shirt and sunglasses on — inside — and red jogging bottoms. I don’t know what was going on that day,” he laughs, also remembering a fondness for wearing huge gold chains around his neck. “I think there was a part of me that enjoyed that the way I was dressing was annoying people — I was like, I’m going to get abused whatever I wear. Before, I used to hide behind my clothes, rather than putting them on and being myself. But you soon figure out what works. Now I’m more confident.”

There’s a self-assured quality to the collection too. A chevron design, which is laced into the logo and trimmed onto shirt pockets, is lifted from an early tattoo on his right forearm — “it was a mistake at the time but I didn’t want to tell this big, muscular biker guy that it was too big” — while the double zipper pocket which features on the joggers is inspired by Payne’s perpetual habit of breaking his phones.

Just as Hugo Boss straddles the worlds of streetwear and tailoring, so too does Payne. Today he’s dressed in a slim-fitting polo top which does justice to his jiu-jitsu-honed physique — he’d been training before we meet — with suit trousers and boots. He’s a big fan of a suit — an affection harboured through binge-watching Peaky Blinders — and describes his style now as laidback yet considered, adding “I don’t find myself leaving the house in joggers and trainers any more unless I’m going to the gym”.

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He speaks openly and with refreshing honesty about how an adolescence spent in the company of one of the biggest boybands on the planet has led to a life where even the simple act of shopping can prove a source of anxiety. “Sometimes I get high-pressured in shops now, like I’ll pick something up and stand in the queue, then I’m sweating but I don’t know why, so I put it back and walk out. Sometimes it just gets the best of me. I’ve had such a weird life in that sense.” At its worst, Payne’s anxiety led to him avoiding social situations altogether, something which he says his friendship with Enninful has helped to overcome. “At first I struggled going out. I developed this agoraphobia thing where I would stay at home and not meet anyone. Before, I was in my little comfort zone, buffering people away, but Edward was a massive help for me. He’s just so confident.”

When he needs to relax, you can often find him in the gym. “Going to the gym is grounding for me because it’s the one thing I have control over that’s totally up to me. When everything else in your world is so micromanaged it’s nice that that’s my thing,” he says, pointing out a gash on his chin from today’s training. “There’s going to be more music coming very soon,” he teases, before dashing off the studio. Jiu-jitsu disciple, megastar and style icon in the making — it sounds like he’s bossing it.