#the blonde at the top is Count Albert

[crownsofesha]

~ The Clemens ~

The Clemens are a noble family from Esha, the head of the family is Count Albert Clemens, who is married to Countess Dianah Clemens. They are the parents of Queen Arabella. TM being their second child, their siblings are Earl Sarah Clemens, who is set to become the next Count, and Earl Avital Clemens.

[ya-what--ya-erster]

OKAY I decided I need to describe in detail my modern newsies appearances so here’s for Race

Race is tall and almost unhealthily skinny

His hair is natural brown but he dyes it ALL THE TIME and when it’s not a bright color it’s dyed blonde

Race does makeup okay. Like. Not full face crazy but some winged eyeliner and maybe some super colorful eye shadow on occasion

HE HAS A TONGUE PIERCING

and like. One cuff on his left ear

he wears cropped shirts, and jeans with so many holes they barely count as jeans

high top converse and docs (projecting)

I don’t think I stressed enough how skinny he is y’all like a medium sized shirt hangs off of his frame like it’s just been hung on. A stick or smth

Edit- ALSO tattoos. Many. He def has something to mark the important events and people in his life. There’s one for Albert, one for Jack, one for Medda, and bonus- he has one for Jacks little brother who died, because they were pals (Jack is like three years older than race and race is like 3 years older than Michael. To me. Idk how canon says it shal be but)

[nihil-ism]

𝟐𝟎 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒.

1. How many works do you have on AO3? Nine and counting! I do have the occasional scraps of WIPs stashed in various places, including my singular brain cell, but I usually only start publishing once they are fleshed out enough.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 110,204 words.

3. What fandoms do you write for? Resident Evil and Final Fantasy for the most part. I am working on a draft for a Dune fic as well, but due to my shifted writing time, which is sadly not much presently, I put it on hold in favor of continuing my re fic.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

The Unquiet Grave (Resident Evil) | @virologikal

The Darker the Weather, The Better The Man (Final Fantasy VIII)

Fallacy (Final Fantasy VIII)

Day 1 - A White Lie (Final Fantasy XV)

Obsession (Final Fantasy VIII)

5. Do you respond to comments? Absolutely! I try to do so in a timely fashion, sometimes it does take me a while though, especially when I'm busy doing other things and not checking in on my AO3. I am deeply humbled whenever someone takes some time out of their day to leave some words (or even compliments!) on my fics and it means a lot to me.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? ...is this a bad time to menion I haven't really finished a fic before? x'D I mean, aside from my one shots of course. I have a penchant for working on massive ideas that take forever to write, so yeah. Anyroad though, the answer currently would be a hard tie between either The Price of Perfection (Resident Evil) or Love me whole (Final Fantasy VIII). The first is a glimpse at Wesker's life from birth to death, the second is a songfic based off of Missio's Love me whole, and focuses on a toxic interpretation of Squall and Seifer's ... "relationship".

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Day 2 - Festivities (Final Fantasy XV), easily. It was part of a series for an event or somesuch a couple years ago and focused on more casual themes (which I admittedly usually don't tackle).

8. Do you get hate on fics? Thankfully no.

9. Do you write smut? Big yes to that. I actually love writing intricate smut, which I did for Final Fantasy VIII without much story or context. I should get back on that for Resident Evil and Dune at some point (not everything has to be a novel Nihil, gdi.....) But admittedly, I enjoy when there is some set up around the actual smut just as much. It can be an amazing vehicle to convey character development, power dynamics, show trust or the loss thereof... I am a fan hahah.

10. Do you write crossovers? I did write crossovers in rp, so I think technically I could. But in fanfic, I personally don't really see the need to as I prefer to take the canon lore and expand on it, see how many headcanons I can make work with the actual lore so it fits seamlessly as if it was intended to be there. I do enjoy reading the occasional crossover though!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not to my knowledge.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Not yet, no. I am comfortable writing in English, despite German being my mother language, and honestly I don't think I could properly translate certain things into German without it sounding weird/cringe.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Nope! I could imagine doing that if I ever get my time schedule sorted. And I actually had plans to do a co-written fic with a friend ( looking at you, Bee :p ) but alas, time. I do sometimes help people brainstorm some fic ideas though if that counts^^

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship? Almahart (Squall Leonhart & Seifer Almasy), and of course Chrisker (Chris Redfield & Albert Wesker). Something about the blond bad guys and the brunet heroes ig °^^ With Almahart it's the tragedy binding the two together, the fact that Squall became everything Seifer wanted to be (without Squall even really trying/wanting it!), the resentment and rivalry that only barely manages to conceil the real feelings. I like them both as a ship that solves their hardships eventually, and as a toxic ship with Seifer never redeeming himself and not wanting to, either. As for Chrisker, it's a similar streak but darker, more violent, with a lot of psychological warfare included. The hardest thing is to convey Wesker's machinations and how he views the world (according to my interpretation) because I write him as extremely closed off, keeping to himself even with his facial expressions. It's a challenge to portray him correctly and I like it a lot. I love the tangle the both of them are in, how Chris wants to hate Wes so much for all he has done, while simultaneously being unable to let go, even decades later. There is desperation, hatred, blood, passion, everything I love in a ship.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? I am absolutely convinced I will finish both my Resident Evil project (which will consist of multiple one shots, The Unquiet Grave, as well as a sidestory to it focusing on HUNK), as well as The Darker the Weather, The Better the Man. What I will say though is that I am also certain it will take a long ass while. Both are huge and complex stories, so building them up and telling them correctly is time consuming, and oftentimes real life gets in the way, sadly. I hope the people who were excited about The Darker the Weather will have patience with me.

16. What are your writing strengths? I want to say my high standards when it comes to fleshing out characters, finding their voice and writing their perspective. It's at least something I get a lot of compliments for, so I seem to be doing something right ^^ Also, I am very thorough when it comes to canon. I try to keep everything in mind and weave my story into the existing lore and world as seamlessly as possible. For The Unquiet Grave I took a whole day to collect all possible information about the entire Resident Evil Timeline (it spans from 1909 to 2037), which I regularly consult while I am writing to make sure I have events lined up properly.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? I definitely question myself too much. As in, if the quality I am providing is good enough; if the characters are OOC, things like that. It's my perfectionism getting in the way of things. Generally I have a bad habit on putting too much unneccessary pressure on myself (publish within a certain time, write a certain amount of words, etc.) - silly, really.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? Ohhh yeah I love that! I don't use this enough and definitely should. (needless to say but it should not be too much untranslated content of course, and made available for the readers in some way so they know what is being said)

19. First fandom you wrote for? I believe my very first fic was Ville Valo x Lauri Ylönen, don't hit me for writing smut about real life people please xD I was young! Aside from that, Final Fantasy VIII or Angel Sanctuary, not sure anymore (I am rather certain it was FFVIII though because I have always been obsessed with it)

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?  Urgh this is hard.... Given how much my writing has improved and how I learned to apply certain tools (like drafting properly etc), I'd have to say The Unquiet Grave. Since I am not writing in my first language, the time I practised between this and The Darker the Weather definitely had a positive impact.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘: @judasiskariot (thanks again!) 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆: @sauron-kraut . @no-bee (if you like ofc) - any everyone who would like to do this, feel free to steal!

[lledron]

Allou one - shot

Lady de Winter struck her husband on the back of the head after he offered their daughter's hand in marriage to Count Morarty.

— Martha, why was that! — Because he's already married, you idiot! — And how do you know that, woman? Is it some other women's magic? — He has a green ring and genuinely smiles when he looks at it. It's clear he's remembering someone. — What if it's his mother? Or if he has a sister?

Moneypenny immediately knew that the head of MI6, M., was a married man. I mean, you had to be married to have a lunchbox that caused envy, handkerchiefs with matching initials... She sighed and thought about her last encounter with Bond. Maybe someday she would get an L.

Microft Holmes was not a gossip: he kept up with information. Moriarty genuinely smiled only when talking about going home for dinner. It reminded him of his own father, when they used to enjoy Eudoria Holmes's cooking. Whoever that man or woman was, they were very much in love.

Moran knew, knew that Albert had a lover. Or maybe two, by how satisfied he seemed. But those things weren't talked about.

There are times when Moran swears that Louis was seeing someone in secret. He's not stupid, so he knows that the beautiful blond man leaves his bed several times a week and doesn't return until the early morning. It's not like he's taken to spying, thank you very much. He just wants to tell Louis that loving someone is okay, it's beautiful, and a feeling he shouldn't be ashamed of. But then he thinks of Louis's possible reactions, one of which involves a knife, and he stops.

Before seeing William and Sherlock in love, there were Albert and Louis. They weren't as subtle as they thought, Fred thought as he enjoyed Albert's creme brulee. But if Albert left Louis again, well, there were things to talk about with him.

Why? Why did he go with his brother? No, rather, why did he wait for him and stay with him? Hasn't Albert already made it clear that William and his own ego matter more to him than his lover? Letting Louis James Moriarty into his heart was a game he lost.

Albert stopped reading aloud and proceeded to take off his glasses. Louis rested on his chest. Over twenty years and with gray hair, and every day he fell in love with his brother and lover several times a day.

And he could only pray and strive to make Louis fall in love with him as many times as possible.

On top of his chest, the blond angel sighed, slack-jawed between silk sheets.

[bothsidesofaquestion]

BODY / APPEARANCE TAG

TAGGED BY. snatched from an old blog TAGGING. Feel free to steal it! Tag me if you do.

BODY. Long legs. Short legs. Average legs. Slender thighs. Thick thighs. Muscular thighs. Skinny arms. Soft arms. Muscular arms. Toned stomach. Flat stomach. Flabby Stomach. Soft stomach. Six-pack. Beer belly. Lean frame. Slender frame. Beefy/muscular frame. Voluptuous frame. Petite frame ( 5 ft 4 or shorter ). Lanky frame. Short nails. Long nails. Manicured nails. Dirty nails. Flat ass. Toned ass. Bubble butt. Thick ass. Small waist. Thick waist. Narrow hips. Average hips. Wide hips. Big feet. Average feet. Small feet. Soft feet. Slender feet. Calloused feet. Calloused hands. Soft hands. Big hands. Average hands. Small hands. Long fingers. Short fingers. Average fingers. Broad shoulders.  Underweight. Average weight. Overweight

HEIGHT. Shorter than 140 cm. 141 cm-150 cm. 151 cm to 160 cm. 161 cm to 170 cm. 171 cm to 180cm. 181 cm to 190 cm. 191 cm to 2m. Taller than 2 m. ( 1 cm still counts hehe he is 201 cms) 

SKIN. Pale. Fair. Rosy. Olive. Dark. Tanned. Blotchy. Smooth. Acne. Dry. Greasy. Freckled. Scarred.

EYES. Small. Large. Average. Grey. Brown. Black. Blue. Red. Green. Goldish. Hazel. Doe-eyed. Almond. Close-set. Wide-set. Slanting. Squinty. Monolid. Heavy eyelids. Upturned. Downturned.

HAIR. Thin. Thick. Fine. Normal. Greasy. Dry. Soft. Shiny. Curly. Frizzy. Wild. Unruly. Straight.Smooth. Wavy. Floppy. Cropped. Pixie-cut. Short. Mullet. Undercut, Shoulder length. Back length. Waist length. Floor length. Buzz cut. Bald. Jaw length. Mohawk. White. Platinum blonde. Golden blonde. Dirty blonde. Ombre. Light brown. Mouse brown. Chestnut brown. Golden brown.Chocolate brown. Dark brown. Jet black. Ginger. Auburn. Dyed red. Dyed any “unnatural color”. Streaked. Thin eyebrows. Average eyebrows. Thick eyebrows. No eyebrows.

TATTOOS / PIERCINGS.

Full sleeve. Thigh tattoo. Hip tattoo. Shin tattoo. Back tattoo. Wrist tattoo. Hand/finger tattoo. Foot tattoo. Neck tattoo. Face tattoo. Chest tattoo. One tattoo. A few here and there. Multiple. No tattoo. Monroe piercing. Nose piercing. Septum. Nipple piercing(s). Genital piercing(s). Industrial piercings. Earlobe piercing (both ears). Prince Albert piercing. Eyebrow piercing(s). Tongue piercing(s). Lip piercing(s). Tragus piercing. Angel bites. Labret. Stretches out ears.Navel piercing. Inverse navel piercing. Cheek piercing(s). Smiley. Nape piercing(s). No piercings.

COSMETICS. Light eyeliner. Heavy eyeliner. Cat eyes. Mascara. Fake eyelashes. Matte lipstick. Regular lipstick. Lipgloss. Red lips. Pink lips. Dark lips. Bronzer. Highlighter. Eyeshadow. Neutral eyeshadow. Smoky eyes. Colorful eyeshadow. Blush. Lipliner. Light contouring. Heavy contouring. Powder. Matte foundation. Shiny foundation. Concealer. Wears make up regularly. Wears it from time to time. Never wears make-up.

SCENT. Floral. Fruity. Perfumes. Aftershave. Cocoa. Moisturizer. Natural soap. Shampoo. Cigarettes. Leather. Sweat. Food. Incense. Marijuana. Cologne. Whiskey. Wine. Fried food. Blood. Fire. Metal. Rain. Grass. Ocean. Autumn leaves. Baked bread. Freshly baked cookies. Smoke. Campfire. Lavender. Trees. Pumpkin Pie. Musk. Rose. Gingerbread. Peppermint. Oak. Honey. Lemon. Vanilla. Coffee Cake. Mint. Raw hyde. Burnt sugar. Oil. Matches.

CLOTHES. Jeans. Tight pants. Overknee socks. Tights. Leggings. Yoga pants. Pencil skirt. Tight skirt. Loose skirt. Tight/formfitting dress. Cardigans. Blouse. Button up shirt. Band-T-shirt. Sports-T-shirt. Sweatpants. Tanktop. Cut off t-shirt. Designer. High street. Online stores. Thrift. Lingerie (often paired with low cut/cut out shirts). Long skirt. Miniskirt. Maxidress. Sun dress. Tie. Tuxedo. Cocktail dress. Highslit dress/skirt. T-shirt. Loose clothing. Tight clothing. Jean shorts. Sweater. Sweater vest. Khaki pants. Suit. Hoodie. Harem pants. Basketball shorts. Boxers. Briefs. Thong. Hotpants. Hipster panties. Bra. Sports bra. Crop top. Corset. Ballerina skirt. Leotard. Polka dot. Stripes. Glitter. Silk.Lace. Leather. Velvet. Chemise. Patterns. Florals. Neon colors. Pastels. Plaid. Black. Dark colors. Fur. Faux fur.  

SHOES.

Sneakers. Slip-ons. Flats. Slippers. Sandals. High heels. Kitten heels. Ankle boots.Combat boots. Boots. Cowboy boots. Knee-high.  Platforms. Stripper heels. Bare feet. Loafers.

Bold: always, italics: sometimes

[itfitsitshipsart]

Till Death Due Us Part

Part 2

Pairing: Evelyn (s/i)/Albert Wesker

Word count: 835

Warnings: swearing, needles

Nearing the end of RE5's story, they board a tankard ship to complete their plans for the future.

--

Evelyn sat with a laptop, her back against the railing of the docking to the massive tankard behind her. Her bag slumped beside her, she tapped away at the device, and looked up only at the sound of footsteps. Even with the golden light of evening obscuring her vision, Evelyn frowned, the silhouette and saunter all too familiar.

“Where's Albert?” She asked the woman who walked up to her, who proceeded to put a hand on her hip and glare down at the blond.

“You're not worried about him, are you?” She questioned. “I figured you'd have more faith in Albert, or that he’d tell you things-”

“Don't play this game Excella.” Evelyn retorted bluntly, flashing a glare up to her. Excella sighed, muttering under her breath for a moment.

“He's having a reunion of sorts.” She finally responded. “That Chris man.”

“Ah,”

“‘Ah'? So you understand now?”

“Of course I do. Unlike you, I know their history.” Evelyn quickly typed at her keyboard, then closed the device and slid it into her bag. Standing up, she looked at the large tankard boat. “He needs to be here within a minute,”

“And here I am.” Albert quickly strode his way towards the women. “Is everything ready?”

“As far as I can tell.” Evelyn smiled sweetly at him, shifting closer as he rested a large hand on the small of her back. “There's just one. Last. Thing to tie up.”

Excella furrowed her brow, looking at Evelyn with a confused expression as she glanced back at her with cold eyes, her smile still on her face.

“That we can deal with on the ship.” Albert stated dryly, and led Evelyn onto the boat, Excella trailing closely behind. “Excella, go below deck and prepare some more serum for me, would you? Best to have enough ready for the next few days.”

“Alright.” She nodded, “I understand you need me to get it, being necessary for your well being. I'll meet you on deck 5 then, yes?”

“Yes.”

***

“That bitch is taking too long.” Evelyn muttered, sitting beside Albert, leaning comfortably against him. She flicked through the camera feeds on her laptop. “And Chris isn't too far behind.”

“My, I don't think I've ever seen you impatient to have her here,” Albert remarked.

“You know how I feel about her.” Evelyn huffed, and put away the device to stand. As she rose to her feet, Albert wrapped his arms around her, drawing her tightly against him.

“I know. And soon my dear. Soon everything will change.” He nuzzled the top of her head, inhaling the scent of her hair deeply.

Excella panted, having just run all the way up to the deck, half of the serum lost due to the meetup with Chris. She frowned, watching the tender moment between the two of them.

“And that last loose end now?” Excella questioned, sick of watching the two in front of her in silence. “Is the Uroboros project not complete?”

“It's ready, but this matter is just a small thing, a trifle, really.” Slowly, Albert pulled away from Evelyn, stepping towards her. “See, this is about… Us.”

“Us?” Her brow raised, and she flickered a triumphant grin towards Evelyn. “What about us?” He rested a gloved hand on her cheek, and she leaned into his touch. Slowly, he gripped her face and walked around behind her. And suddenly, with his other hand, he twisted her arm. Excella let out a shocked cry, the almost gentle caress turned harsh as he held her painfully still.

“About us,” he muttered, his red eyes behind his shades glowing. “It would never work out. It's true I need someone to rule with me in this new age, but it's not you. You've reached the end of your usefulness, Excella.”

Excella's eyes widened, watching Evelyn draw a vial and needle from her bag. She tried to move, to pull away from Albert, but he held her fast.

“I've been waiting for this,” Evelyn muttered, readying the injection and walking over. “Let's see how Uroboros takes to you, shall we? I have my doubts this will end well for you, though.”

“No, why do this to me?!” Excella strained to look at Albert. “I've done nothing but help you, Albert. I've shown you my loyalty. I-” her breath hitched, the needle digging into her neck. 

“And now you can show me your loyalty one last time.” Albert released her, roughly tossing her to the side as he strode back over to Evelyn. “Unless of course, Uroboros doesn't kill you, and you dispose of Chris. There may be something I could use you for then.”

“Albert…” Excella groaned, pain radiating quickly from her neck through her body. He scoffed, and put an arm gently around Evelyn once more.

“Let's observe from a safer place, shall we, my dear?”

“Of course,” Evelyn smiled, turning with him and walking off. The last Excella saw of them was Albert scooping Evelyn up into his arms, disappearing from her view.

[aceghosts]

“ we probably shouldn't do this... “ “ we definitely shouldn't do this. “ for Hunter and Albert? <3

Mika, thank you for being my Resident Evil enabler! I'm having fun writing for these two.

[Prompt List]

Summary: During a sparring session, Hunter finds out what they've been feeling for Wesker isn't so one-sided.

Words: 1,039 words.

Warning: Does Wesker being a tease count? I'm kidding! No real warnings. There is one mention of Hunter's death, and maybe if you squint, things start to get spicy at the end. But nothing too spicy as I can't write smut to save my life, lol.

AO3

Hunter readies themself for another strike against Wesker, raising their fists in a defensive posture. He stands relaxed, dressed all in black sans his usual long black jacket. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and Hunter remembers trying not to stare when he rolled them up. Much to their misfortune, Wesker noticed, seemingly have a sixth sense for when Hunter was thinking things they shouldn’t. He only teased in response, “Tell me, Hunter, do you like what you see?” They only scoffed at him, focusing on kicking Wesker’s ass.

Wesker smirks arrogantly as Hunter’s attention returns to the present. “Are you trying, Hunter? I would have expected this level of sloppiness from a human, not someone with our abilities,” He drawls with that infuriatingly snooty tone. Hunter knows that Wesker is trying to provoke them, to throw them off-kilter. Wesker likes to do that during their little sparring sessions; Hunter thinks he must get off on annoying them.

“I’m trying,” They respond nonchalantly, pretending that Wesker isn’t getting under their skin. This little sparring exercise was Wesker’s idea, not that Hunter exactly minded. It beat just sitting around the safe house while the pair waited for the heat to die down.

Wesker raises an eyebrow, his eyes glowing red for a brief second. “Stop trying and do it, Hunter. You know how I feel about people wasting my time.”

Hunter launches themself at Wesker, finally snapping under Wesker’s taunts. Wesker steps out of the way, a dark blur as Hunter races towards him. Expecting that, Hunter pivots sharply, launching a left hook at his face. His stupid, expensive sunglasses fly off his face, Wesker stumbling backward a step as Hunter catches him on the edge of his jaw. The black sunglasses land on the floor, a crack spider webbing through the left lens. Seeing their opportunity, Hunter strikes at him with their right fist, overly optimistic about getting a second hit in. Wesker catches their fist, his grip painful and vice-like. Another shitty part of sparring practice with Wesker; he rarely was a forgiving man. He pulls Hunter towards him, almost so close that their noses are touching. Wesker follows that up with a strike to their chest, sending Hunter flying backward.

They land on the black mats, with an ‘oof’ as the wind is knocked out of them. Their hood is knocked off; wavy, black hair fanning around their head like a dark halo. Trying to catch their breath, Hunter barely moves before Wesker is on top of them. He pins their wrists, his arms on either side of their head. His right leg is wedged between their legs as Hunter swallows nervously. A few strands fall free from Wesker’s normally neat, slicked-back blonde hair. He stares at them, a victorious look on his face.“Truly disappointing, Hunter.” Wesker drawls teasingly, his reddish-gold eyes burning brighter.

A warm, pleasant feeling rises in Hunter, their cheeks starting to burn. Shit, this is not good. Wesker smugly smirks, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. Fuck, Wesker’s ego doesn’t need to be fed by the fact that Hunter finds him attractive, it’s already galaxy-sized. “Get off me, Wesker.” Hunter tries to muster their usual level of venom, yet their words lack the bite they normally do.

“Do you really want that, Hunter,’ He leans in closer, deliberately teasing them with that smooth purr of their name, ‘It seems to me that would be the last thing you want.” His eyes roam their body, taking in the sight of Hunter. They shiver, resisting the urge to snarl for Wesker to stop fucking with Hunter and kiss them. This is a bad fucking idea. Wesker is a megalomaniac, who has a reputation for stabbing people in the back. Plus, if this were to become something more and end badly, Hunter would be shit out of luck for intel on Dr. Griffin and his team. Yet, a part of Hunter doesn’t care. A part of Hunter wants him to touch them, to devour them. It’s a thought that has haunted Hunter late at night, one they’ve tried to keep buried down deep. Wesker’s eyes linger at their lips longer than anywhere else, gazing at them with pure, unrestrained desire. His gaze returns to their faded green eyes, Hunter swallowing nervously again. “We probably shouldn’t do this….,” Wesker muses, yet his tone says the opposite. He very much wants Hunter, something they’re not used to, especially after their death.

As he leans toward them to close the gap, Hunter makes a sudden move, flipping the pair over so that they’re on top of Wesker. He releases their wrists, eyes widening in pleasant surprise. They slam their hands sharply on the mats on either side of his head, trying to frighten him off. Wesker shouldn’t want this, shouldn’t want Hunter. “We definitely shouldn’t do this,” Hunter states, an edge of need in their voice. They sit up, back on their knees as they watch Wesker.

“Do you really mean that?” Wesker asks as he pushes himself up into a sitting position. His right-hand reaches out for the collar of their hoodie, gently grabbing at the fabric. He pulls Hunter slowly toward him, drawing out the teasing. “Tell me you want me to stop,’ Wesker teases, his voice thick with want, ‘but, we both know you won’t tell me to stop. After all, you want this just as much as I do, don’t you, Hunter?”

Fuck it. Hunter gives in, eagerly kissing him. They wrap their arms around his neck, tangling their fingers into his stupid, fucking perfect hair. Hunter pulls roughly as Wesker lets out a low moan of pleasure into the kiss. He releases the collar of their hoodie, grabbing Hunter harshly by the hips as he pulls them closer. They’ll be lucky if they come out of this encounter with just bruises. “Hunter, you should know,’ Wesker nips their bottom lip, ‘I won’t be gentle.”

“Didn’t ask for you to be,’ A sharp eager whine escapes from their lips as Wesker nips at their neck, ‘I’m not made of fucking glass, Wesker. I can fucking take it.” Hunter knows Wesker is not a gentle man, but Hunter has never been gentle either.

[maria-scribbles]

we’re just like kevin bacon!

prompt: for @bricksatanakinswindow​ ‘s halloween writing challenge! this was initially inspired by "mortal enemies accidentally showing up in matching costumes every fucking year" but once i started writing it kind of snowballed from there and i ended up with this lmao

ship: jj maybank x fem!reader

word count: 4.6k+ (i think this is the shortest thing i’ve ever written lol)

warnings n stuff: childhood enemies to lovers, swearing, mention of underage drinking, halloween shenanigans, makin' out, smut (not too explicit but i still think it's spicy enough to need an 18+ warning), jj and the reader being cute lil nerds and quoting movies back and forth, the author blatantly using some of her personal favorite movies/shows as inspiration for costumes, the author also making her opinions on ghostbusters clear (instead of the human trash can peter venkman, stan the adorable dork known as ray stantz for clear skin)

a/n: this was hella fun to write and i already have so many more halloween fic ideas bouncing around in my head (it's spoopy season, y'all!). title of this fic comes from guardians of the galaxy 😊

Of three things in life you were certain.

One, you loved Halloween more than any other holiday of the year; after all, you and your twin brother Mason were born just after one AM on October 31st so you could say a penchant for all things spooky was in your blood.

Two, Sarah Cameron was your best friend. Being neighbors your whole lives, the two of you were thick as thieves and spent almost every day together, much to the annoyance of both your brother and hers; as much as you loved Mason, sometimes you wished Sarah was your twin instead of him and you knew without question the blonde girl would trade Rafe for you in a heartbeat (with little to no guilt, in fact.). 

And three, you absolutely hated JJ Maybank. You'd been at the top of each other's shit lists ever since you were both six years old, when he made fun of you for the stutter you'd had back then and you dumped a full milkshake over his head as payback, and even as time passed and you grew out of your stutter, your disdain for the blond pogue only grew stronger. He was infuriating, plain and simple, and the mere mention of his name made steam come out of your ears. 

The boy was just good at being annoying and seemed to love pushing everyone's buttons, yours especially, and always found ways to get under your skin without fail every single time your paths crossed (which was way too often for your liking, but running in the same friend group made it hard to avoid each other). It became an unspoken thing, the great Y/L/N-Maybank feud, with both of you trying your hardest to piss the other off until one of your mutual friends or your brother broke it up and pulled you to opposite corners of the metaphorical ring to take a breather before the next round.

You'd never admit it but deep down you kind of liked it. You liked being at the center of his attention (granted, it was antagonistic in nature but it was attention all the same), his bright blue eyes following your every move whenever you were within his sights and you liked that you were in his thoughts even when you weren't around, a fact proven to you by the tiny notebook Kiara carried around in her pocket recording how many times he mentioned your name. Knowing you lived rent free in his mind brought you an embarrassingly high level of satisfaction that you'd absolutely deny feeling if anyone ever asked, just as you'd deny the fact that he lived rent free in your mind, too.

...At least for most of the year. Everyone, including JJ, knew that to you Halloween was a damn-near sacred time. He knew never to mess with you during the weeks leading up to the holiday and definitely never on the day itself, lest he want yet another milkshake dumped over his blond head. He knew that, the whole damn island knew he did and yet...somehow, some way, he managed to get your blood boiling every. single. year. And you, like a masochistic idiot, let him. 

It all started when you were twelve.

You, Mason, and your friends were finally old enough to go to the annual youth party held on the sprawling lawn of the Island Club, an event you'd been looking forward to attending every Halloween since you were eight. Of course, you were excited for the dancing and games and food but the thing you couldn't wait the most for was the costume contest, a chance to show off your skills and prove to everyone on the island that Y/N Y/L/N was the undisputed queen of Halloween.

So what if your hopes were a little too high (considering you were only twelve and going up against kids ranging from your age to fifteen), you were still gonna give it your all; you spent weeks perfecting not only your costume but your brother's as well with your mom, helping her cut fabric and sew zippers, styling wigs and painting props until everything was perfect. 

"Oh my God, Y/N!" Sarah, dressed as Cinderella, yelled from the passenger seat of her dad's SUV when they swung by to pick you up. "You look amazing!"

"So do you!" You said, slipping into the back seat in between a miserable-looking Rafe as Sarah Sanderson ("I lost a bet," he explained with a scowl) and Mason, holding your mini R2-D2 on your lap. Was it kind of cheesy, dressing up as the most iconic twins in movie history? Probably, but you really didn't care because Leia Organa was a total boss bitch and Mason was practically over the moon that he got to be his ultimate silver screen hero and swing around his very own lightsaber as Luke Skywalker.

"The Force is strong with you two." Ward joked, earning an eye roll from both of his children as he drove to the Island Club to drop you off. Rafe immediately disappeared into the crowd to meet up with Topper and Kelce and the three of you went off to find your own friends, skirting around the edge of the party toward the snack tables, also known as the most likely place for them to be.  

You spotted Kiara first, looking like an actual princess in her Tiana costume and waved, smiling when she waved back and beckoned you over as she said something to Pope, dressed as Albert Einstein, that made him start laughing hysterically.

"What's so funny?" You asked, reaching between them to grab two handfuls of pretzels and immediately dropping one into your brother's outstretched palm, careful to keep the sleeve of your white dress away from the bright orange-iced cupcakes on the table. 

The two of them exchanged a look that instantly made you realize something was Up™ but before either of them could answer, Mason asked around a mouthful of pretzels, "Where're Tweedledee and Tweedledum?"

"J, why didn't we think of that?" John B's voice came from somewhere over your shoulder and when you turned to face him, you nearly dropped both the droid cradled in the crook of your elbow and the snacks in your hand. Not because of John B and his hilarious Chewbacca costume but because of the fact that JJ Maybank, the one person you hated the most on the whole entire island, was dressed as Han freakin' Solo. 

"Yikes." Someone muttered behind you -it sounded like Sarah but you weren't really sure- and Mason nearly choked on his pretzels as he tried and failed miserably to keep himself from laughing. 

"You've gotta be kidding me." You huffed, rolling your eyes as JJ crossed his arms and glared in your direction, blaster hanging from the holster on his hip.

"Listen, Princess, I'm not too happy about this, either."

"Oh, shut up, you nerfherder."

"Who you calling-" Mason and John B cut in and pulled you both in opposite directions before either of you could turn it into a shouting match, your brother physically grabbing you around the waist and carrying you off while the latter caught the back of JJ's vest and dragged him away. Despite their best efforts to keep you apart, you ran into each other more times than you could count and spent a minute or two squabbling like cats and dogs each time until one of them intervened once again. It was childish, it was immature, and it was fun, even though you'd never, ever admit it. Ever.

You didn't win the costume contest that year in the way you'd imagined at all. Still, first place in the group category was a win in your book and it felt good, even if one of the members of your unintentional Star Wars posse was someone who tested every bit of patience you had. The four of you split the cash prize and you went home 25 bucks richer, stashing it away for next year's costume and pushing the thought of accidentally matching with your mortal enemy from your mind. 

You had no idea this thing was only just beginning.

The next year, you let Sarah and Kiara convince you to match with them and the three of you rolled up to the party as the Pink Ladies -you as Rizzo, Sarah as Sandy, Kiara as Frenchy- only to run right into the boys, your brother included, dressed as the T-Birds. John B, perfectly in character as Danny, immediately whisked Sarah off to dance while Pope, the most adorably awkward Doody you'd ever seen, went to grab some snacks with Kiara, leaving you stuck with the bane of your existence as, of course, fucking Kenickie (Mason, as Sonny, dipped sometime before then without you noticing). The two of you spent the whole evening glaring at each other and hurling insults back and forth at breakneck speed, more in character than either of you'd ever want to acknowledge and for the second year in a row, you won first place in the group costume category.

At fourteen, you went as Princess Buttercup and JJ showed up as Westley, fake sword in hand as he followed you around all night like an annoying fly, sarcastically drawling "as you wish" every time you so much as glanced in his direction. Your brother, dressed as Inigo Montoya, nearly pissed himself laughing and you wanted to snatch both of their prop swords and shove them up their asses. You came in first again in the group costume contest and begrudgingly split the prize three ways. 

At fifteen, you worked hard on a Dr. Ellie Sattler costume from Jurassic Park, he strolled in as a disheveled Dr. Alan Grant with mud splattered boots and tattered clothes, and you really regretted not taking the offer to be the Tai to Sarah's Cher and Kiara's Dionne. Once again, Mason laughed so hard his face turned red and you were tempted to grab the sword he was holding and beat him over the head with it, not just for laughing at you but also for the completely atrocious Jack Sparrow costume he wore. To your absolute horror, you and JJ won the contest in the duo category and you wanted to melt into the ground when they called you onto the makeshift stage to collect your reward. 

When you were sixteen, you and your friends "graduated" to the party held for the older teens inside the club itself. With costume rules a little more lax than they were for the younger kids, you decided to go as (an only slightly sexy) Janine Melnitz, complete with a prop telephone you answered every so often with a loud "Ghostbusters, whaddya want?!" much to the embarrassment of Mason, who was once again dressed as Luke Skywalker, this time in the fatigues he wore while training on Dagobah in The Empire Strikes Back.

You strutted into the party in your heels and pencil skirt only to nearly fall flat on your face when you caught sight of JJ in a terrible black wig and glasses, proton pack strapped to his back and 'Spengler' printed on the front of his jumpsuit. Your brother winced when you all but screeched "Again?!" right into his ear and grabbed your elbow, dragging you over to an empty table and depositing you into an open chair.

"There's no way this is a coincidence anymore! He could've picked Venkman, with all the womanizing and lowkey being a creep and thinking he's God's gift to mankind? It would've been the perfect choice! He's not nearly adorable or dorky enough to be Stantz or sassy enough to be Winston-"

"Jesus, you have a lot of feelings about Ghostbusters," Mason muttered, rolling his eyes when you shot him a withering glare.

"Shut up! Listen to me, there's no way in hell Maybank randomly decided to be, out of alllll the 'Busters, Egon fuckin' Spengler, okay? He had to have somehow known I was coming as Janine and did it just to piss me off!"

Your brother heaved a deep, heavy sigh that made you want to smack him and fixed you with a deadpan stare. "Or, have you pulled your head out of your own ass long enough to think that maybe you're just becoming...predictable?"

You really did smack him then, hard on his exposed shoulder and he yelped, scowling as he rubbed at the red mark you left behind. "Ow! What the hell, bitch?!"

"Don't you dare call me predictable, you dickhead! I pride myself on my costumes being very unique and unexpected -you know, out of the box!"

"Hate to break it to you but they're not really out of the box if Maybank shows up in a matching one every single year." He said with an infuriating, shit-eating grin, patting your shoulder before straightening the plush Yoda strapped to his back. "I'm gonna go get some food, wanna come with?"

Still miffed at his comment, you shoved his arm away and glanced down at your lap, ignoring your brother's sassy "your loss" as he headed toward the snack tables. Not even a minute passed by before his empty seat was taken and you groaned when you looked up to see who it was, your eyes meeting a pair of bright blues behind tacky, oversized glasses. 

"Hi, Janine."

"...Egon."

The two of you sat in silence after that, watching the dancing crowd under the flashing neon lights and sparkling disco ball until you saw him turn to face you out of the corner of your eye.

"Why Janine?" 

"Huh?" You turned to face him, too, one eyebrow raised in a perfect arch as he gestured toward your costume.

"Why did you dress up as Janine, Y/L/N?"

"I've always liked her sassiness and 'I like to play racquetball.'" You offered a casual shrug of your shoulders and carefully stuck a finger under your wig to scratch an annoying itch above your ear. "Why'd you pick Egon, Maybank?"

"He's my favorite." He answered simply with his own shrug, shooting you a genuine, real smile that you, for who knows what reason, found yourself returning without a second thought. "Smart, hilarious -plus, 'I like to collect spores, mold, and fungus.'"

For the first time in your life, your eyes rolled out of amusement and not annoyance at something that JJ Maybank said and, to your complete surprise, it kind of felt...right. "Really? I'd have pegged you for a Venkman stan."

"Are you kidding? He's the worst!" 

Never in your wildest dreams did you ever think you'd sit across from your hated enemy, not only having a civil -hell, downright enjoyable- conversation but actually smiling right along with him, laughing at his jokes and doing your best to ignore the sudden flutter in your stomach each time you caught sight of his slightly crooked teeth when he grinned. You didn't even notice when your brother returned with Kiara, dressed as Moana, at his side and two heaping plates of snacks in his hands until his chair scraped gratingly across the hardwood floor. 

"Kie, are you seeing this? Pigs must be flying 'cause they're actually smiling at each other." Mason said, cackling as Kiara turned to squint out the window.

"Yeah, I think I see one or two soaring around out there." She giggled and sent a mischievous wink in your direction. With your face feeling like it was on fire, you flipped them both the bird and took off, disappearing into the crowd and leaving all your traitorous, confusing thoughts about JJ behind with the boy himself; it was Rafe's last party at the Club and he owed you a dance anyway, but even as your best friend's older brother, cute as hell in his Thor costume, playfully twirled you around the floor to the Ghostbusters theme song, you felt more than your partner's blue eyes on you.

To no one's surprise, you and JJ won the duo category for the second year in a row and when you joined him onstage to collect your prize and didn't feel like you'd rather die than be up there by his side, you suddenly realized you were only certain about two things in life instead of three. 

At seventeen, you were confident you and JJ wouldn't be matching for once (after last year, though, you were kind of thinking it wouldn't be that bad of a thing). You'd gone cult classic for your costume, pulling inspiration from your mom's favorite move, 1999's The Mummy, and put together a screen-accurate Evelyn Carnahan in her iconic black dress, including a handmade Book of the Dead and matching key. You blackmailed Mason with pictures of him, drunk as a skunk and dressed in your Janine costume from the previous year, and got him to go as Jonathan, complete with a pith helmet and prop bottle of The Glenlivet.  

But, as always, JJ managed to surprise you. You literally ran right into his chest and if it wasn't for his arms instantly wrapping tight around your waist, you would've bit it hard.

"Whoa, careful there," He said, one hand keeping you close while the other moved to help you hold the book in your arms. "'The Book of the Dead? Are you sure you wanna be messing around with this thing?'"

Of course he'd make the perfect Rick O'Connell, you thought as you playfully raised one eyebrow and curled your fingers around the strap of the gun holster draped over his shoulder. "'It's just a book. No harm ever came from reading a book.'"

Mason was a little too in character as well as he dramatically rolled his eyes and wandered off, muttering "puh-lease" under his breath and shooting Sarah a conspiratorial wink that you didn't see. The blonde girl glanced between the two of you -arms still around each other and identical smiles on your faces- and grinned. The party flew by in a blur of movie quotes, laughs, and more dances than you could count and by the time you made it home, 50 bucks in the pocket of your dress and another group costume win under your belt, you were almost positive you never actually hated JJ Maybank in the first place.

Now at eighteen, you pulled out all the stops for your last party at the Island Club. You'd spent the last few months slaving over your costume, sewing custom pieces, hand-crafting your prop, and spending way too much money on body makeup and a wig but when you saw the final product in the mirror, you knew it was all worth it. You were ready to slay the competition this year and take home first place for the final time.

Mason, indifferent as always about the contest but willing to do anything to keep those pictures from seeing the light of day, didn't protest one bit when you forced him into the matching costume you'd made for him -in typical Mason fashion, he liked that he didn't have to wear a shirt and could show off his muscles- and spent a few hours perfecting his makeup.

You felt on top of the world when you walked into the party that night as Gamora, a replica of her Godslayer sword in hand and skin painted a perfect shade of green, followed by your brother as Drax, already flexing for anyone and everyone looking his way. The rest of your friends came to win as well: John B and Sarah as Flynn Rider and Rapunzel, Kiara as Eleven, Pope as T'Challa, and, of course, JJ as Peter Quill, Baby Groot perched on his shoulder and twin blasters at his hips. 

"Lookin' good, Gamora!" He called over the music, shimmying his way over to you with some dance moves that would impress Star-Lord himself.

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Quill." You replied in a sing-song voice, even as you took his outstretched hand and let him pull you into the crowd of bodies hopping up and down to some terrible EDM beat under the twirling disco ball.

"It got you out here with me, didn't it?"

You rolled your eyes and hooked the sword to your belt before stepping closer and draping your arms around his neck, twirling your painted fingers in his hair. "Just remember, 'I know who you are, Peter Quill. And I'm not some starry-eyed waif here to succumb to your pelvic sorcery.'"

You should've known you spoke too soon the second you saw the spark in JJ's eyes that all but screamed 'wanna bet?'

And that's how you found yourself in the middle of the single hottest make out session you'd ever had the pleasure of participating in an hour later: back pressed against the locked door of someone's deserted office, legs wrapped tight around his waist and his hands hooked under your ass, both your sword and his blasters abandoned on the floor at his feet, and he was either a sinfully good kisser or trying really, really hard to blow your mind.  

"I'm not gonna end up green after this, am I?" He mumbled against your mouth before trailing his lips along your jaw and you breathed a laugh, tightening your grip on his hair.

"This is professional makeup, dumbass. It's gonna take more than some kissing to smudge it."

"I'm down for some smudging if you are." 

You pulled him back for another kiss in response and gasped into his mouth when he walked across the room, one strong arm reaching out to sweep whatever was on the desk to the floor before setting you down on it.

"Confident, are we?" 

JJ smirked at your breathless question and the way you hooked your ankles around the backs of his thighs to pull him closer. "So is that a yes to the smudging?"

"Just shut up and kiss me." 

He did -very well, you might add- and you kissed him back, untangling your hands from his hair to slide them under his jacket instead; you helped him push it off his shoulders and it had barely hit the ground along with poor Baby Groot before your fingers were tugging his shirt from the waistband of his pants.  

"Someone's impatient." He teased, leaning back just far enough to let you pull it over his head and toss it somewhere behind you.

"Someone doesn't know how to stop talking." You whispered your reply low in his ear and then trailed your lips down his neck, smiling in satisfaction at the tremble in his voice when you kissed the purple mark you'd left behind earlier.

"N-never was very good at that." 

"'You should've learned.'"

"'I don't learn, it's one of my issues.'"

One of his hands gripped your wig, pulling your head back a little roughly -you'd have so been into that if it had been your real hair he pulled- and you winced at the way the bobby pins holding it it place tugged painfully at your roots. "Ow, not so hard!"

"Wait, what the fuck? I thought you were wearing a wig!" 

"I am but it's still pinned to my actual hair!"

"Sorry, but how the hell was I supposed to know that?"

The sight of JJ's face slowly turning red made the butterflies in your stomach go haywire and so you just shook your head, mumbling "don't worry about it," before pressing your lips to his once again. He was gentler this time with the pulling and you dug your nails into his bare shoulders at the thrill of his mouth against the exposed column of your throat, leaning back further and further until you laid flat on the desk.

His fingers had just unbuttoned your pants when your phone started to ring from your pocket, blaring the Star Wars theme you had set as your twin's ringtone. 

"Mason's timing is impeccable," JJ said sarcastically, chuckling as you clamped a palm over his mouth and answered the call.

"What the hell do you want?"

"Jesus, no need to be pissy!" Mason loudly replied over the applause crackling through the phone's speaker. "I just thought you'd like to know that we just won best group costume with Maybank. Again." 

The blond winked at the mention of his last name and pulled your hand away from his mouth, pinning it to the desk beside you with one of his while the other started tugging your pants down over your hips.

"Oh, that's cool, Mase-" You inhaled sharply when his lips touched the edge of your underwear, so close to where you wanted him most but at the same time so far away, and your fingers held your phone in a white-knuckled grip. "But I-I'm kind of in the middle of doing someone -something!- right now."

"Smooth," JJ said, not even trying to be quiet as he released your pinned hand to finish pulling your boots off, along with your tight leather pants that he casually tossed aside. "And I knew you weren't green under these!" 

Your laugh quickly turned into a gasp when his fingers hooked under your panties and pulled those off, too, and the touch of his tongue against the skin of your inner thigh sent white-hot lightning racing through your veins; the phone slipped from your grip, falling with a clunk onto the desk as your fingers tangled in his hair and he lifted one of your knees over his shoulder.

"Okay, I'm hanging up now! I already know you're getting laid but I don't need to hear it." Mason's loud grumble drifted up through the speaker and if you weren't so preoccupied with the boy between your thighs doing some downright wicked things to you with his mouth, you might've noticed that your brother didn't actually sound that grumpy before he ended the call and your phone's screen went dark, right as you lost control of your voice.

"Fuck me."

"Funny, I thought that's what I was doing?" You felt more than heard his response against you and a shiver ran down your spine when his bright blue eyes flicked up to met yours in the dim light of the office.

"You know what I meant, Maybank."

"Trust me, Y/L/N, I know. Question is: where do you want me?"

You tugged on his hair, grinning wolfishly at the way his eyes fluttered closed and a low moan rose from his throat. "Everywhere in this damn room, starting right here."

"I was hoping you’d say that.”

- Back at the party, Mason looked up and met Sarah's gaze, both of her eyebrows raised expectantly as she asked, "Well?"

He took his time slipping his phone back into his pocket before giving her a quick nod, grinning triumphantly when she immediately burst into gleeful giggles.  

"Yes! I just knew they had a thing for each other! Mortal enemies, my ass."

"I think that was the very first time in my sister's life that she didn't give a shit about the contest." Mason said and reached over to snag a cookie from her plate, chuckling when she pushed his hand away from the chocolate chip ones and toward the peanut butter. "We couldn't have pulled this off without you. I mean, making sure they showed up in matching costumes every year? Genius, Sarah. Absolutely genius." 

The blonde girl grabbed her own cookie with a wink. "Think they'll ever figure it out?"

Your brother just threw his head back and laughed. "I hope not! I wanna save that story for my best man speech at their wedding."

taglist: @sinkbeneathwaves @cordeliascrown @maysbanks @jjpogueprincess @jiaraendgame @alexa-playafricabytoto @sexualparkour @agirlwholovescoffee​ 

[newtsies]

Wish You Were Sober || Ralbert One Shot

a/n: this one shot is based off the song ‘Wish You Were Sober’ by Conan Gray! anything italicized and bold is lyrics of the song! its from Alberts perspective but its 3rd person if that makes sense idk. includes both  92sies and livesies characters. albert and race are based off of the livesies characters

tw: mentions of alcohol, drunk race, swearing, mentions of weed, mentions of possible drink spiking

modern college newsies au!

word count: 2,401

this party's shit

All Albert wants to do is leave, but he couldn’t do that. Race was drunk, even though he would deny it, it was obvious. Now usually that wouldn’t stop Albert from leaving but, Racetrack had driven himself. He couldn’t let his drunk friend drive himself home.

All Albert wants to do is leave, but he couldn’t do that. Race was drunk, even though he would deny it, it was obvious. Now usually that wouldn’t stop Albert from leaving but, Racetrack had driven himself. He couldn’t let his drunk friend drive himself home.

“Racer,” Albert yelled into Race’s ear over the loud music.

He grinned widely at him and threw his arms around Albert, “Albie!! Have ya had a drink yet? C’monn, juss take a sip!”

Albert winced at the smell of alcohol on the blonde boys breath and shook his head, “You’re drunk, Race. Let’s go. You’re gonna have a horrible hangover tomorrow!”

“Aw, I’m not drunk, Albie!!” He slurred, “C’mon, have some fun! Don’t be soo tense!”

go anywhere but here

“Racetrack, I really don’t want to be here,” Albert begged, “Can’t we go to McDonalds or something? Get you coffee and get you sober?” Race shook his head.

“Noo, they have good drinks! Just try the beer, you’ll see!” Race raised his can but Albert pushed the cup away from him. Race shrugged and walked away into the crowd.

Albert stood on his toes in attempt to follow his friend through the crowd. Race walked towards Jack Kelly, the football captain, who had his arm wrapped around David Jacobs shoulder. As Racetrack sat down, he was offered a blunt from Skittery.

don’t take a hit

Racetrack pulled it to his lips and inhaled. Albert frowned as he watched his friend blow out the smoke and smile. He repeated this action a couple more times.

Albert shook his head again and made his way back to a couch. He sat down, trying to get away from the loudness. The music still boomed, even in the farthest corners of the house. People bumped into his leg and shouted over each other. He closed his eyes and covered his ears in an attempt to escape his reality.

A few seconds passed before he felt someone sit next to him. He opened his eyes to see Racetrack, still holding the joint. Albert was met with a tired looking smile, but he knew his friend was anything but tired. Race started to lean into his face, but Albert pushed his face away lightly.

don’t kiss my lips

Race frowned for a second but shrugged and went back to smoking. Eventually, he got up and handed the blunt back to Skittery. Albert watched as he danced to the music, carefree. Acting as though there was no one else in the world.

Albert was memorized and watched him with a grin. The song ended, Race made his way to the kitchen. Albert jumped up and followed him, pushing through the crowd.

“Race!” He called, finally pushing into the kitchen.

and please don’t drink more beer

Racetrack brought the can of beer up to his lips and chugged it down. Albert winced once more and attempted to pull the drink away. However, he was ignored and pushed away as his friend continued to drink.

“Race, you’re cross-faded,” Albert groaned, “I really think you should go home. I’ll drive you, or walk you.”

“I’m fine, Albie! Honestly. It’s a partyyy, this is supposed to happen!” Race stated confidently, his words slurring every so often. Albert shook his head and looked at Race desperately. His friend ignored him and instead grabbed onto his hand and pulled him through the house.

“Albert! Racetrack!” Spot called out to them, “Hey guys!”

“Spott!” Race slurred and giggled. He pulled Albert towards to Spot.

Spot had a beer in hand but placed a hand on Race’s chest to hold him up, “Jesus, Race. You’re drunk as hell. Having a good time?” Racetrack nodded excitedly at him. Spot smiled and looked at Albert. “Haven’t had a drink yet, man?”

“He wants to goo, can you believe him?” Race scoffed.

“Albert! C’mon, man! You gotta just let loose some times!” Spot quirked his eyebrow and held out his drink to Albert.

Albert shook his head, “No thanks, Spot. This really isn’t my kinda place. Thanks though, it was pretty cool. I had fun.” That was a lie. There was nothing fun about this to him, but you wouldn’t catch him dissing the football captains party.

i’ma crawl out the window now

Albert pulled away from Race’s hand and pushed his way to the front door. Sarah Jacobs was using the door to support her back as she giggled her way through kisses with Elmer. Elmer too was laughing as he kissed her and ran his hands through her hair.

Albert sighed and swerved towards an open window. He climbed through it and fell onto the grass. The grass was cold and wet, possibly from dew or possibly from spilled alcohol. He groaned and walked out.

cause i don’t like anyone around

He was grateful to finally be away from everyone. The music was a lot quieter and he could only faintly hear people talking. Although he had no beer, his head was pounding. He rubbed his forehead and sighed.

kinda hope you’re followin’ me out

He heard someone fall through the window and turned around to see who it was. Instead of being met with Race, as he hoped, he saw Henry on the floor laughing. Henry jumped out and shouted at the boys as he pulled himself back in through the window.

but this is definitely not my crowd

Romeo was passed out on the stairs, his head hanging off the step. His arm was hanging off too but his hand was wrapped firmly around a can of beer. Mush and Kid Blink were making out against the door too, except on the front side. They weren’t giggling either, just kissing each other.

A baseball flew threw one of the windows and nearly hit Albert, who ducked just in time. The whole window was shattered. Albert shook his head and continued to walk throw the lawn until he got to the sidewalk.

19 but you act 25 now

Albert was stopped as he felt a hand on his shoulder, weakly attempting to hold him back. He turned to see Race who was panting and smiling at him. Albert smiled a little back at him and helped him stand up straight.

“They had so much alcohol! It was all amazing- They had- They had the best brands too! The wine made me feel so fancy!” Race rambled.

Albert chuckled a little, “You’re 19, Race. How do you know so much about alcohol? You can’t even legally drink it yet.”

His friend grinned and shrugged as he kept talking about the party.

knees weak, but you talk pretty proud, wow

Race was all but wobbling, leaning against Albert for support. Nonetheless, he continued to talk about his adventures clearly.

“I downed like 5 cans,” He stated proudly, “Hey, did you know Crutchie is like amazing at chugging! He downed like 8 beer cans! Oh, today. Spot taught me that space doesn’t stop expanding, isn’t that crazy?”

Albert nodded, pretending as if they didn’t learn that in 8th grade. Race looked at the cup in his hand, noticing it still had liquid in it. He grinned and brought it to his lips, drinking the practically full cup in just one gulp. Albert sighed.

ripped jeans and a cup that you just downed

Race shivered as cold air hit his knees through the rips in his jeans. His flannel blew behind him and presented the white tank top underneath it. He held the empty cup in his hand.

Albert couldn’t help but watch Race. His friend was very attractive, he wouldn’t deny it to himself, only to other. Racetrack crumpled the cup and tossed it into some yard.

“That’s not good for the environment,” Albert sighed, but Race just shrugged at him. Albert continued, “What was in the cup?”

trade drinks, but you don’t even know her

“Dunno! Me and this reallyyyy pretty girl traded drinks!” He grinned.

“Who was it?”Albert asked.

“No idea,” Race chuckled, “Never seen her before! Didn’t ask for her name, music was too loud.”

“Race!” Albert groaned, “The drink coulda been spiked!”

“Nah,” He laughed, “Saw her drink out of it before we traded. Plus, I feel fine. I left anyways, so it’ll be okay.”

save me ‘til the party is over

“Anyways, I noticed you were gone. Thought you were kidding. Decided I’ll keep you company ‘til the party ended. Consider it me saving you,” Race grinned, his words slurring even more than at the party.

Albert forced a smile and shook his head.

“Give me your keys,” Albert stated. Race tilted his head in confusion but gave him the keys anyway. They walked together to Race’s Rover. Albert held the door open for Race and helped him inside. He then closed the door and climbed into the drivers side.

kiss me in the seat of your rover

As soon as he got into the driver seat, Race grabbed his face and pulled him into a kiss. For a second, Albert forgot his friend was drunk. He slid his hand into Race’s hair and kissed him back, until he opened his mouth and Albert could taste the alcohol Race had drank. Albert pulled away and pushed away Race’s hands away as his friend attempted to pull him into a kiss again.

real sweet but i wish you were sober

Albert looked up and held his eyes open, attempting to hold back tears. He closed his eyes and banged his head gently against the steering wheel.

“Why did you pull away,” Race whispered.

“You’re drunk,” Albert choked out, “You’ll forget tomorrow, anyways. I can’t kiss you. Just drunken feelings, Race, that’s what you’re feeling. I don’t feel that. I got real feeling, sober feelings. Let’s get you home, yeah?”

trip down the road

Albert turned the keys and started the car. Driving off towards Race’s house. Nearly halfway there, the car started sputtering. He pulled off to the side, only to see the gas tank was empty.

He groaned and got out of the car, pulling Race out too. Albert called Tripple-A.

“We can take you boys home,” The tow-truck driver offered. Albert shook his head.

“We’ll walk, it’s only a bit from here,” Albert stated and pulled Race along the sidewalk.

walking you home

Race couldn’t walk straight. Albert was holding his hand and pulling him, but he kept tripping. Albert sighed and ducked under Race’s armpit and supported him. He wrapped his arm around his blonde friend’s waist and held him up.

Albert continued to walk himself and Race towards the rental house his friend lived at. After a bit, they finally arrive at the house. Albert walked him up the porch.

you kiss me at your door

Racetrack grabbed Albert’s face and pulled him into a kiss again. Albert sighed and pulled away, resting his forehead against Race’s. Race sighed too, the alcohol on his breath filled Albert’s nose. He groaned and grabbed his friends keys.

He pulled Race into his own house and sat him down on the couch, moving to the kitchen. Albert quickly made coffee, black coffee, and sat down next to Race. He brought the cup up to Racetrack’s lips and made him drink it.

Race’s nose wrinkled at the bitter taste, but he drank it anyways. Albert brought the cup down and place it on the table.

“Finish drinking the coffee. Take this,” Albert placed an ibuprofen on the table, “Then go to sleep, okay? I’ll come check up on you tomorrow.” He started to get up.

pulling me close, beg me stay over

Race pulled Albert close to him, and looked at him with sad eyes.

“Stay, Albert. Please,” He begged, “You can stay on the couch. Don’t leave me here alone.”

but i’m over the roller coaster

Albert sighed and kissed Race on the forehead, “Not this time, Race. You’ve  kissed me twice today, and you’ll forget that in like 5 minutes. I’m tired, man. It’s been a crazy day. Tomorrow, I’ll be back. I promise. I gotta go.”

i’ma crawl out the window now

He placed the house keys on the table and moved towards the door. Albert figured that Race wouldn’t get up, meaning he wouldn’t lock the door behind Albert. So, he locked the door for him then crawled out of Race’s window. He closed the window behind him and watched Race’s hand lazily lock the window.

getting good at saying, “gotta bounce”

Albert didn’t expect to drag himself home. Usually, he would just go along with what Race said. “Stay,” was all it usually took to get him to stay.

He’s just getting better at saying goodbye, he figures.

honestly you always let me down

Race was always dragging him to things, promising to not drink. It never happened. He would always drag him home and make sure he didn’t die. But, no matter how many times Race let him down, Albert would still go along with him.

Albert grumpily walked into his house, angrily slamming the door behind him. He kissed Race twice today. His friend wouldn’t even remember. He shook back tears before climbing into bed and falling asleep.

He woke up early the next morning due to a consistent ringing of his door bell. A hand banged on the door repeatedly while the door bell rang. Albert climbed out of bed and opened the door.

and i know we’re not just hanging out

Albert didn’t even get a minute to register who was at the door before he was pulled into a kiss.

“I didn’t forget,” Race whispered into his ear before pulling him back into another kiss. Albert grinned and finally kissed him back.

No trace of alcohol was in Race’s system.

He was sober.

--

[spacebunnywrites]

Fenk8- Denki Kaminari x Male Reader

After hours of having to rewrite this piece, another half hour of tumblr simply not co-operating, and a few minutes of needing to convince myself that my piece wasn’t trash... I present to you my submission to the BNHA Server Collab. Our prompt was plain and simple, Pen Pals.

Pairing: Kaminari Denki/ Male Reader

Rating: E for Explicit. And C for Crackhead Energy

Kinks: Cyber Sex, Semi-Anonymous Sex, Penpal Sex, Dom!Denki, Daddy Kink, Premature Ejaculation, Cum Eating Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Flexibility, Dumbasses in love

Word Count: 2930

QUICK NOTE BECAUSE I AM A DUMBASS- Paladin is our boy Icyhot... dumbass needed a real Hero name and in a fic I enjoy that is the one he chose. And Flashpoint is our favourite boy Touya Todoroki AKA Dabi. I made him a damn hero because baby deserves it.

His username had been Fenk8, of which you weren't certain why. The penpal website was known for people seeking out more adult interactions, but you hadn't been looking for that. Not at first, really. Charming messages such as, "Hey sweet thing" and "If we were the alphabet I'd put U and I together" changed that slightly. The message that made you laugh the most had been the U and I joke. Corny pickup lines were the way into your heart. Of course you had to respond with your own corny pickup line, "Did you just shock me, or was it your electric personality?" Of course he freaked out a little at that, which you didn't understand. Fenk8 got a little wiggy when anything mentioning electric personalities was brought up. So you tried to avoid it. But you couldn’t help that he sparked your interest.

>>Hey sweetness. Birthday cake can be any flavour. But birthday cake is a flavour

>>What is up, hot stuff? The opposite of waterfall is firefly.

>>My sugarcube, the oldest person alive was born with an entirely different set of humans around.

>>Technichally… if we made everything legal the crime rate would be zero. I'M JUST SAYING!

>>Woah, sunshine… if we can't see air… can fish see water?

>>Orange is the only colour you can taste. I'm just saying.

Every conversation started with something random. Something that had you scratching your head, or made your eyes go wide because holy fuck he wasn't wrong. It was chaotic, but you loved it. He also tried out different pet names most of the time. Your favourite was Sugarcube. It was cute and different. You loved talking with him, it was like talking to your best friend. Only you didn't know your best friend's name, or what he looked like. Or what he did for a living. But Fenk8 was your best friend, nonetheless. The friend that had the nerve to ask you who put the alphabet in alphabetical order. But still your best friend. Days of talking turned into weeks. Weeks into months. The two of you had yet to share photos of yourselves yet, and that was fine. He sent you pictures of dogs he saw on walks, of beautiful flowers, and occasionally the most beautiful sunrises. He worked strange hours, often all over Tokyo and surrounding cities. But it just meant you never got the same scenery twice. Once he had been in the same area as you, sent photos of the bakery you worked at. He didn’t know you worked there, just sent a picture of a little pastry you had made. Said it reminded him of you. That same day Chargebolt had come in and bought one of your pastries. The two of you were excited for different reasons that  day. Him because he found out that you made pastries, you because your favourite hero had bought something you made and even came up after and said it was delicious. You hadn't told him about that, you did tell him that you had a small obsession with the electric pro hero. Your potential friend(?) didn't need to know that your favourite sleepwear was an oversized t-shirt from the very first line of Chargebolt merch.

>>Hey sweetheart! Saw the cutest little dog today, thought you would love him as much as I did. His name was Chowchan!

>>How was your day??? I hope you didn't work too hard! I've missed talkin' to ya. Sorry I've been so busy, sweetcheeks.

Attached to his messages was a picture of the most obnoxiously fluffy Chowchow curled into a ball at the feet of… holy fuck was that Pro-Hero Dauntless!? Fenk8 got that close to the Number One hero, got a picture of his dog, and it looked like they were having a casual conversation based on the flush covering Dauntless' cheeks and the adorable pikachu bag you knew belonged to Fenk8 sitting beside him. Just what did Fenk8 do for work that he was chummy with a pro!? Reporter? Maybe he was a PR agent? Or a personal assistant? The last two would make a lot of sense, given that he travelled a lot for work.

<<OH MY FUCKING GODS FENK8. YOU GOT SUCH A CUTE PICTURE OF CHOWCHAN! 

<<you even got Dauntless out of his hero gear, sitting still… a god. You're a god.

After a few moments of silence, your phone dinged with another notification.

>>I guess Dauntless is your favourite pro then? Makes sense, he is pretty hot.

<<No? Chargebolt is my favourite. He's been to my bakery a few times, compliments my pastries. Sure, his quirk has a pretty big drawback… but over the years he has really gotten good at controlling his output. Did you see his most recent thwart of a bank robbery!? He got the emergency backups back up and running using his quirk! And when he let himself be the backup generator for the children's hospital last winter…

<<Sorry… rambling. I just… Chargebolt is the best. Some are born for greatness, others have to work for it. He works for it. He said my Lemon Puffs are his favourite, which is good because he inspired them. The popping candy in the dough represents static electricity! I can't believe that Chargebolt likes my sweets… sorry. I'm sure you don't want to talk about pros.

>>Honestly, reading you so passionate is amazing. I can't believe that someone would be so vocally passionate about a hero only in the top fifty. Ground Zero, Dauntless, Flashpoint, Paladin… even Uravity and Froppy. I hear so much about them. But never someone so excited about Chargebolt. 

<<He is an amazing hero. I watched his first Sports Festival… all of his Sports Festivals really. I really love him as a hero. But ue never does press events, not like the top ten. And I work when he does patrols. So I've never interacted with him outside of work… but man what I wouldn't give to meet the man. I'm sure you have a favourite pro?

>>Honestly, I do. Red Riot is one of my favourites. Ever heard him sing Karaoke? I'll have to send you a video I have of it. Guy goes all out. 

<<Red Riot is pretty cool. But Chargebolt will always be my favourite. 

How had you gone off on a full rant about a pro hero? Especially to your internet friend. He was going to think you are such a weirdo now. But apparently he didn't, because he requested a faceless video call for that night. Something about needing to get off, and hoping you would help. Sure, he was a little more smooth than that, but all you cared about was actually getting to see part of Fenk8. You two had only done something similar once, and it had been through text alone. Now you got to attach a voice and a faceless body to Fenk8. You only hoped you still found him sexually attractive after this. What if he was too muscular, like Red Riot. Or covered in deep scarring like Flashpoint. Not that you didn't find them attractive, but with Chargebolt as the man in your fantasies anyone else would pale. He was your number one fantasy, could you really be blamed though? It didn't occur to you that Fenk8 could be a creepy old man, or a murderer or something. Surely the man who seemed chummy with Dauntless couldn't have even an evil bone in his body. Dauntless was too pure to be friends with someone who was genuinely bad.

So when the evening rolled around you found yourself in just an oversized fleece sweater and a pair of black boxer briefs. Your already straining erection begging to be touched as you looked over the thin yet very toned torso before you. Fenk8 was built just like you imagined Chargebolt would be. Lean and just toned enough to show he worked out. You noticed a faint glimmer in his nipples, holy fuck Fenk8 had them pierced! A tiny barbell in each dusky nipple, catching the light just right every time he moved. Below that was a navel piercing, man did he have a lot of piercings apparently. Because he had mentioned his tongue, and webbing in an earlier message you guys had shared.

"Like what you see, Sugarcube?" You could hear the smirk in his words. And the chuckle he made when you whimpered an affirmative was divine. "Why don't you take that sweater off, I had a long day at work and watching my Sugarcube stroke himself would really make my day." The man already stroking himself. A nice thick cock in his hand, nestled nicely beneath a cute nest of blond curls. Faintly you wondered if you would ever get to sit on it, positive that it would be a perfect stretch. Quick to comply you pulled the sweater over your head and let him see your chest in its entirety. A deep blush staining your chest, lower lip pulled between your teeth. Removing your underwear took a little more courage, your member was not as nice to look at as Fenk8's. You would call Fenk8's cock attractive. Thick, long, nicely curved. You would probably call yours cute. It was smaller than his, and looked smaller beneath your curls that were a little darker than the rest of your hair.

"That's a good boy. Now why don't you stroke yourself for Daddy. Let me hear you whine and whimper for my cock to stretch you out." You imagined a wicked smile on his face as he spoke. Eyes locked on the cock in his hands, mouth falling open when you finally noticed the glimmering bits of metal. A three piece bottom ladder, a two piece scrotum ladder, his lorem, a King’s Crown and an Albert. Eight piercings in his dick alone. Was there anywhere he didn't have pierced?! 

"Y-yes, Daddy." Finally spoken as you wrapped a hand daintily around your length and began to softly stroke. A soft whimper ringing out before you could stop it. You had been pent up all day, ever since the message he sent asking for this call. Already your body threatened to betray you and make Fenk8 think you were some pathetic virgin. Which you weren't! And even if you were… it was no one's business.

"F-fuck!" You whined out and tensed as you came. Embarassed that you finished so quickly. But it wasn't entirely your fault. Fenk8 got you so worked up earlier. White ropes splattering your chest and stomach as you tried to hide your face from him while slowly slumping down.

"That was so hot baby. A few strokes and you're already cumming for Daddy. I'm so proud of you for wanting to make me happy. Want your reward, Sugarcube?" His voice was thickened, dripping like honey as he spoke to you. Opening your eyes you saw his hand lazily stroking over his length while the other reached toward the camera to adjust it. Raising it and- HOLY FUCK. Fenk8 is Chargebolt.

"Hey, Sugarcube. Heard you have a favourite pro." His charming smile on full display, the hand that had adjusted the camera shooting you a finger gun. Your eyes went wide and he licked over his lips. That tongue piercing you dreamed of, the one positioned a little off to the left, darting out and teasing you. The blond kept amber eyes locked on your frame while keeping the slight motion of him playing with his dick.

Never once did you think that Chargebolt would be a dominant. Or have a daddy kink. Nor did you think he would ever call you cumming in less than thirty seconds hot. Yet here he was with a straining erection, his plush tip glistening with pre, demanding you call him Daddy. Honestly, you had never been more aroused either. "Ch-char… holy fuck." Your own words stammered and stuck in your throat. The blond chuckling warmly as you seemed awestruck.

"Don't be like that, Sugarcube. Your mouth has better uses. Clean yourself up. Scoop all that cum into your cute little mouth. Show Daddy how badly you want his cum." Instructions you quickly followed. Two fingers sliding through the mess on your belly and bringing it to your waiting mouth. Lewdly moaning to make sure your dream man had the best show in the world. You wanted him to never end this, and if happily eating your own cum was what he wanted… it was what he would get. Your tongue pushing apart your fingers to clean between them before you repeated the action. Another scoop of your own cum dancing on your tongue. Fuck, were you already getting hard again? You supposed that was the best part of cumming so quickly anytime you got into it, you were always ready to go again real soon. Apparently he noticed you growing hard too, because your next instructions followed not long after.

"Sugar cube, you're going to cum directly into your own mouth this time. Lay on your shoulders, and bend those pretty legs over to rest at your head. Use the wall to help support you if you need to. I just wanna watch you get all cute and cum drunk on your own cum. Can you do that for Daddy?” His instructions weren’t hard in theory. But actually maneuvering your body to make it work was actually kind of hard to do. But after a few minutes, and comments from the man about how juicy your ass looked, you managed to get the position perfect. Your tight asshole on display as well, but Chargebolt wasn’t looking for that yet. He wanted you to eat your own cum. Tentatively you began to stroke your length again, at least you would last longer than thirty seconds this time. You hoped so at least. It would be pretty fucking embarassing if you only lasted less than a minute again. You might as well just end the call, move away from Japan, change your name., and start a new life as a Norwegian sheep farmer or something if that happened. Premature ejaculation wasn’t cute, no one would want you if they knew you only lasted a few seconds. Your soft moans filled the air, and you felt something bubbling in your stomach. Only a few strokes in and already you were getting closer by the second. 

“Cum for me, Sugarcube. Open your mouth and cum on that pretty tongue of yours for Daddy. I love how quickly you cum. I can already hear how needy you are. Just like last time, you get so pink when you need to cum. And look at all your precum dripping onto your pretty lips. Perfect lips for wrapping around Daddy’s cock. Cum for Daddy so he can cum too.” Honeyed words low and sultry. If you opened your eyes you would see his hand flying furiously over his length. The blond trying to cum at the same time you did. But he wouldn't get there before you did, already you were spilling down into your waiting mouth. Groaning at the slightly sweet taste blossoming over your tastebuds. Legs collapsing by your head, your body almost falling off the bed as you tried to right yourself again. 

It was amazing the sight you saw. The blond man, basically a twink in his own right, completely debauched. Chest covered in his own spunk, a dazed look on his face, both thumbs sticking up as he blinked a few times as his only response to you asking if he was alright. Did he always overcharge when he came? Was this normal for him? Part of you wanted to try and contact someone to check on him, but the better part of you knew to just give him a few minutes to recover. Grabbing a tissue from your bedside table and cleaning your chest off slowly, keeping an eye on the man filling your laptop screen. Making sure he didn’t like, die or something. Could you die from cumming to hard? Was it possible for his quirk to completely fry his brain? But then you heard him say something other than whey. At least he wasn’t brain dead. That was good.

“Denki. S’my name. Use it… Kaminari Denki.” Words slightly slurred, but clearly understandable. He was giving you open permission to not only use his name… But his given name. Holy fuck. Of course you whispered back your own name. Letting him know he was free to use yours. The two of you had a good connection, and continued this on for a while longer.

BONUS

“So… Denks. Why the ever loving fuck did you choose Fenk8?” It was Kirishima that asked that while you all lounged on your couch. The entire squad knew how you and Danki got together, apparently he never shut up about you in the beginning. Always mentioning the really cool baker guy that made the best sweets. It was actually Bakugou that stole Denki’s phone and made the request for the video call that night. Tired of hearing the electric blond complaining over how awesome you were.“Heh… Funny story. It was supposed to be Denk8, but I misspelt it while signing up and didn’t notice. Cn’t change your username, even if you’re a pro apparently. If you said it out loud it was supposed to sound like my name. The 8 was for my di-” Cut off by a pillow thrown at him by Hanta while Mina died laughing. You even couldn’t help the laughter as you heard what was shouted through the pillow over his mouth. “-CK PIERCINGS! BECAUSE I HAVE ONE FOR EACH INCH OF MY COCK!”

[sleeplessandstubborn]

Emily in Paris or why I stopped caring about the protagonist and I started rooting for the French. Episode 1.

Let’s be clear. I was planning to root for the French anyway. They are in the neighbouring country, I quite like them and I was prepared to confront and make fun about all the stereotypes in this series. Because this was exactly what I expected. Funny, lighthearted and totally braindead (wink wink) escapism in an instagrammed to the top Paris which has the same resemblance with the real one than Vincent Minelli’s... But without Gene Kelly. So what did I think of the first episode?

Meet Emily Cooper from Chicago. She’s young, she is dynamic, she struggles to be liked by everyone and at the beginning of the series. She is a marketing executive about to be promoted or so she thinks.

... Because her boss Madeline (played by Kate Walsh) is going to Paris in order to take work with Savoir, a luxury firm the company (sorry I forgot its name) has just adquired. Madeline is overjoyed because working for a year in Paris is one of her dreams and because French men like mature women, as probed by the fact that their young and hot (sic, but this blog agrees) president married his high school teacher. We’ll never know which plans Madeline had for Frenchmen, whether they are young or hot or not. The case is after two minutes in the series she vomits, which means she’s pregnant and she can’t go anywhere because it’s an truth universally aknowledged that pregnant women can’t go on with their plans.

It’s in the next scene when we meet Emily’s boyfriend, Doug, and when we learn she’s going to Paris in Madeline’s place, in spite of being unprepared and not knowing the language. At this point one wonders how it’s possible that no one else in the company can replace Madeline. All of them are monolingual? Our plucky heroine is not discouraged by the litle fact of knowing virtually nothing about the country in which she’s going to live during the next twelve months. She and Doug - the moment you see the scene you know it wont’ go well - agree on a long distance relationship.

And after a very well done transition, we have crossed the ocean. Yes, this is well done, and I say it unironically. Episodes are short, your show is called Emily in Paris, so, what’s better than having your main lady already in the French capital in less than five minutes. The series goes to the point in this aspect and it’s a good thing to spare us of unnecesary scenes.

So Emily arrives to her apartment with pretty views, confused about in which floor she’s supposed to live (running gag ahead) and already hit on by a French guy on a suit that looks like the love child of Gabriel Attal and Albert Rivera (check it, seriously). I couldn’t take him seriously not only because of that but also because he said that Emily’s appartment was a chambre de bonne. Not by any means. Look, I’ve never lived in Paris but I know that apartment is huge when compared with a real chambre de bonne.

Off to know her working place, Emily has this HUGE smile pasted on her face. I don’t know if this supposed to make her charming and likeable. For me - it’s true than I have this European perspective - she looks a mix between an anxious puppy and a psychopath. I would be scared and would avoid her at all costs. The cultural clash is about to happen.

Yeah, I would look at her too, Julien a.k.a. token black character. You have probably heard about the lack of diversity in this series, I won’t abound in that, others have worded it better. It also an established fact that French people smokes at their workplace, even if in the European Union we have these things called smoking bans that won’t allow it.

And enter Sylvie, Emily’s Parisian boss and supposed main antagonist, à la Devil wears Prada. What to say about Sylvie other than I adore her? Her clothes, her style, her sarcasm. As any rational being would do, Sylvie is pretty dismayed to learn that Emily does not have the slightest idea of French and its already wanting to impose her American perspective and her alleged knowledge of social media. The problem is I don’t know if her posts on Instagram really deserve that much attention. Clash ensues with the rest of her new coworkers. C’est la cata! they comment. I quite agree.

Our fish-out-of-water takes an evening afterwork stroll (this Paris is like one square kilometer and public transport is something you mention but never appears) and calls her boyfriend to state the entire city looks like Ratatouille, which legitimately made me laugh. I am not sure if this reference means that Emily’s filmic culture is that limited or if it’s her boyfriend the one who only knows a movie which takes place in Paris and that’s one is Ratatouille. We know that Emily at least has seen Moulin Rouge and that makes two so probably is Doug’s fault.

Back at home, and since she has forgotten how to count, Emily attempts to open the wrong door. Immediately a wild Frenchman appears; it’s Gabriel, played by Lucas Bravo probably one of these young hot men Madeline would target. He takes the intrusion reasonably well. Especially when it’s discovered that Emily only knows his region, Normandy, from Saving Private Ryan. That makes three films, so definitely I think Doug is the problem here as far as filmic culture goes.

Next day Emily picks a yellow outfit and goes to work, purchasing a pain au chocolat in her way to work. I confess I was underwhelmed when discovered that there wouldn’t be any joke about the Great Civil War that has been going on in France since its earliest days: the partidaries of pain au chocolat vs. the ones of chocolatine. A ferocious, merciless conflict unknown by most nations. A lost opportunity not making this woman someone from the South who bravely defies Parisian conventions calling it chocolatine. I’m team pain au chocolat btw. Naturally when she discovers the wonderful world of flavours she makes another Instagram post. She’s earning more and more followers, Heavens know why.

However, she has a Big Problem with Doing Research. Example given, she doesn’t know her schedule - a problem which could have been solved with reading numbers - and arrives two hours early to her workplace.

Once there she discovers she can’t sit with the cool kids. No one wants to lunch with her, so she decides to miserably sit by herself at the park, where we met her best new friend. Her name’s Mindy, she’s from Shangai and she’s working as au pair, while teaching Mandarin to the two blond children she’s looking after. We’ll later discover more about her. She instantly detects the American in Emily and offers her help to this awkward but at the same time arrogant newcomer.

Meanwhile at Savoir, Emily has earned a sobriquet. La Plouc, which is adopted by Sylvie and most of her coworkers even if Luc seems more or less reluctant to say it. La Plouc means the hick, as she instantly discovers thanks to an online translator. It’s really not a good day for our heroine, and she cames back home - remember that thing about this Paris being one square kilometer? - walking. Co-worker and someone who  for some resason reminds me to the posh-y version of Philippe Poutou - check it - Luc passes by as she sits lonely by herself and apologizes for calling her la Plouc earlier. He also claims she’s arrogant for coming to Paris without speaking or even understanding French - which is true - and tells her people is probably scared as her new, modern ideas. Which makes no sense at all and it’s probably a white lie.

Meanwhile and for some reason her totally inocuous posts in Instagram makes her earn more and more followers. During the night, her oblivious to timezones boyfriend call her and they have - or attempt to have - a totally awkward and unsexy session of cybersex. At the end Emily is so frustrated that she tries to use her electric vibrator which leads to the short-circuit of the entire building. Fortunately before she has the oportunity of getting closer to the device in question. And that’s how Episode 1 ends.

What did I think? It’s fun and pretty to look at. Even prettier to rant about. As long as your brain remains carefully shut off in the meantime and you don’t take it that seriously you are going to enjoy it I guess. At least it’s my case.

Still frustrated for not covering the Great Civil War tho.

[writinganothertime]

Specs Turns to Mush

pairing: specs x romeo

warnings: none

story: fluff, just friends hanging out :)

time period: modern au

word count: 873

Specs had a couple of friends over at his place, well more like they had walked in and he hadn’t kicked them out. That’s how their friend group worked. Albert was sitting sideways in an armchair. Mush and Race were on the couch with Specs. Albert and Race had come together. They just wanted to see Specs and Mush had shown up for unknown reasons.

The door opened again and Jojo appeared. Everybody was staring at him so he offered an explanation, “I was bored and saw on snap map that a couple of you were over here. Hope that’s ok.”

“Yeah of course.”

Jojo flopped into the other armchair.

Mush resumed his wonderings.

“But seriously, did you know those things existed?”

“What things?” Race asked.

The boys (minus Jojo) groaned.

“Race he was just talking about this!”

Albert shot a rubber band at Race. The blonde recoiled, pouting, brushing the rubber band onto the floor.

“Cat cafes Race, cat cafes. That was my discovery and I really want to go to one.”

“Romeo would love that,” Specs smiled, thinking about how his boyfriend would react to that, “you should take him.”

Mush laughed, “with that dopey smile I think you should take him. You might melt into a puddle seeing his reaction.”

“Oh you’re one to talk,” Specs rolled his eyes.

The topic changed, Albert brought up a new video game he’d bought. Jojo knew about it too so they were excitedly discussing it. Race suddenly went dead weight, collapsing onto Mush.

“Hey!” Mush pushed him off but he just fell back onto him.

“Race what is up?”

Race sat up looking defeated. “I was bored, I thought maybe you wanted cuddles.”

Mush stared at him, “dude, your boyfriend is right there.”

“So?! He’s not paying attention to me!”

“Which means I have to?”

“Yes.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Thank you,” Race leaned into Mush’s side but this time Mush just sighed, rolled his eyes, than put his arm around Race.

Once again, the front door opened and Romeo entered.

“Ro!” Race said happily.

“Hey Race! Hey guys... what are you all doing here?”

Several explanations were said at once so Romeo just shook his head and waved them off.

“Hi baby,” Specs said.

Romeo grinned, “hi.”

Specs opened his arms, asking for a hug but Romeo sat in his lap instead. Specs wrapped his arms around Romeo’s waist and dropped his forehead to the shorter boy’s shoulder.

“Oh stop it,” Albert groaned.

Jojo shot a glance at him, “you’re literally in a relationship? With the kid who’s currently, uh, basically on top of Mush?”

Albert glared at Race and the latter just stuck his tongue out.

Romeo smiled then turned his head to kiss Specs’ temple. “Let me be in love!”

“I’m not stopping ya! Just don’t have ta be all sappy around me.”

“You’re annoying,” Race said, directing it at Albert.

Albert crossed the floor pulling Race up off the couch, kissing him hard.

“And that was for?”

“You talk too much.”

“I’ve been pretty quiet today!”

“Whatever.”

“You just wanted an excuse to kiss me! Ha!”

“Shut up.”

Race laughed gleefully. Albert sat back down and Race sat on top of his boyfriend.

“Dang, I feel lonely now,” Mush lamented. He glanced at Jojo, “you wanna..?” Jojo shook his head. Mush shrugged then lit up when he remembered his idea.

“Oh yeah! Romeo do you wanna go to a cat cafe?”

“A what?”

“A cat cafe! You go get coffee and there are cats there to adopt or just play with.”

Romeo’s eyes got very wide and he sat up straight, “you’re kidding.”

“Dead serious, ask Specs.”

“Spectacle! You knew these existed and we haven’t been to one?!”

All eyes shifted to Romeo.

“Did you just call him Spectacle?” Jojo asked.

“Yes.”

“But wouldn’t it be Spectacles? With an “s” at the end?”

“No,” Romeo said firmly.

“Ok.”

Romeo turned back to Specs. “Can we please go to one? Right now? Please please please?”

Specs shot a glance at Mush knowing what he was thinking.

“Yes baby we can go to one, I think we have to make an appointment first though. I’ll call them later.”

“Can’t we go now?”

“That’s not how it works, what if we go to a pet store now instead?”

“Oh yeah! Let’s do that!”

Romeo bounded from the room.

“I toldja dude, he’s ecstatic,” Mush grinned.

“I know I know.”

“Why do you sound annoyed.”

“Because you’re right! Heck, I think my name should be Mush because that is exactly how I feel right now.”

There was a chorus of gagging and laughing.

Mush picked up the nearest thing (a throw pillow) and chucked it at his friend’s head just as Romeo ran back in.

“Come onnn Specs let’s go!” Romeo tugged on his boyfriend’s hand.

“Yes Romeo,” Specs smiled and leaned down to kiss Romeo’s forehead.

Romeo rushed back out.

“Dude you are so whipped,” Albert laughed as Specs started leaving.

“Yeah I’m whipped, but I’ve never been happier.”

He grabbed his keys off the hook and walked out the door calling behind him, “don’t wreck anything!” Then muttered, “yeah I’m calling Davey to watch them or get them out of my place.”

[broadwaynoodle]

bitter sweet pt 1

Tittle: Bitter sweet pt. 1

Pairing: mob!Racetrack higgins X fem!Reader

Word count: 1273

Summary: If your brother gets in debt with New York’s greatest mobster, you become the victim.

Warning: swears, violence later on, maybe a little more spicy in later parts.

A/N: Hey babes! I’m back and idk if there’s even demand fort his kind of series but i felt like writing it so yeah, fuck this. Also this is kind of a mess right now because I always struggle setting up bigger stories (hence this being my first series.) but i promise it’ll get better. Love you all xx BroadwayNoodle (also anyone who knows how to make a master list please DM me to help me out xxx)

gif not mine

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Black, that’s all you could see right now, black, you were just walking around the streets, doing some shopping, when you felt a hand around your mouth, you got lifted up and pushed in the back of a car, left, right, right, another right, and left again, the car came to a stop, are you going to die? Are these people going to hurt you, a pushed and grabbed by a big hand dragging you behind them, you almost fell as fast as he was walking, you heard a door close, wood you are walking on wood. Another door closed, chair, you’re sitting, you got pushed in a chair, four hands held you down, another pair pulled off your blindfold. Your breath was heavy, what was going to happen to you now? Footstep, you heard footsteps, you looked over your shoulder, and then you saw him, fancy dress pants, a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the top three buttons unbuttoned, baby blue eyes and messy ash blonde curls. You knew this man, Racetrack Higgins, the biggest mob boss of New York City.

Your brother inherited your family's mob, Race’s mob happened to be your brother’s rival. ‘Damn angel, you really are as gorgeous as they all said.’ Race said. ‘What do you want from me Higgins? I didn’t do anything to you, I’m not even part of the mob.’ His response was the most sinister chuckle you ever heard. ‘Owh angel please, your cute little brother thought it was a good idea to steal money from me, I could have put a bullet through his had, but that would be no fun now, would it?’ He said while he's slowly sitting down across from you, blowing all of his cigar smoke into your face. You cough. Not being able to handle the taste you were breating in from it. ‘So now what? I’m here, you think my brother is just gonna show up and give you your money back?’you scoffed at the man sitting across from you he’s delucinal.

‘It’s not that doll, let’s just say you are a little motivator for him, I mean, we can at least have him thinking his baby sister is in danger, doesn’t have to me true don’t you think?’ you rolled your eyes, Race gave a little wave to the two men holding you down, they walk towards the door of the office you’re in. ‘See doll, you’re not a prisoner, you’re as free as a bird, and I’ll spoil you doll, we just need Jay to pay up.’ You frowned. ‘And what if he doesn’t?’ for the first time in the entire conversation Race looked you in the eyes. ‘Well, then I’ve had my fun, and well, we’ll see what happens to you doll.’ You rolled your eyes. ‘don't call me doll, I’m not a toy.’ race chuckled, stood up, walked to the front of his desk, he crouched down in front of you, lifted your head so you’d look at him, and then he leaned in and whispered in your ear: ‘Everyone is a toy to me doll.’ He got up again to lean against his desk. ‘I expect you in the dinning hall around 7 doll, show up or you’ll have to have dinner with my men, they are not as nice to pretty girls as I am doll.’ You were speechless so you just nodded.

Race looked at the two men that were waiting by the door ‘Y/N, doll, these are Albert and Elmer, my two most loyal men, they’ll show you to your room, and to the dining hall at 7, if you need anything you can call for them, they’re responsible for you now ‘kay?’ The men nodded, you got up and hoped the men would hurry up. ‘owh and doll.’ Race called after you, you turned around to look at Race again, you had to admit he was dashing, even though he kidnapped you and now wants to keep you like a dog or something. ‘the library is on the thrid floot, and the pool and cinema are on the fifth, Albert will bring you some of mine stuff for today, we can look for some stuff for you tomorrow.’ He sent you off with that, you felt like shit, you knew Jay wasn’t gonna get the money, he wouldn’t even notice you were gone, when you were 15 you stopped talking to him in the hopes you could stay out of this whole mobster mess, and here you are, in some psycho’s house, lord knows for how long.

 ‘We’re here.’ The redhead walking you to your room said, the brunette walked off, lord knows when you would see him again. ‘I’ll be back within 10 minutes with some clothes okay?’ he tilted his head slightly, as if he was a puppy waiting for his owner to tell him he did a good job. ‘Yes thank you sir.’ You said opening the door to your new room. ‘Just Albert will be fine, no need for formalities.’ He smiled at you. ‘Okay well then thank you Albert.’ You smiled back and then he walked off, you walked into the room, and you had to admid it was even more impressive then your family home.

The room was clean and white, except fort he blush pink sheets on the bed, a little note lying on top of them.

‘I’m sorry it has tob e like this, heard blush was your favorite color.

 X Racetrack’

For some reason this made you smile it made you have peace, knowing he might have a little bit of feelings, then you heard a faint knock. ‘Yes?’ the redheaded boy walked in with a tshirt and a pair of sweatpants, he saw you looking at the note and walked up to you. ‘Can i sit?’ he asked, you nodded so he sat down next to you. ‘I tried to stop Race you know, but he’s just really hard headed.’ He began. ‘Please don’t start, he’s a psycho, i dont wanna talk about it. ‘I’m sorry, I’m just trying to help, he might look scary, be scary even, but he’s really not, you should give him a chance.’ You scoffed ‘A chance to do what? Kill me?’ you said as you got up. ‘I’m sorry, I’ll be back in two hours to you know, get you for dinner.’ You nodded, as soon as Albert closed the door you broke down in tears, your worst nightmare came true and you didn’t know what to do about it.

You decided to go tot he bathroom and take a shower, trying to wash the awful smell of Race’s cigar off of you, you started scrubbing lightly, but the scrubbing became harder and harder by the minute, you felt assaulted and gross, you could feel the hands of Race’s men on your body, Race’s lips on your ear and after an hour you gave up. You slipped into the clean clothes Albert had brought you and the decided to look through the cabinets in the bathroom, you found some make-up and decided to work wit hit, maybe if you tried hard enough, Race would be nice to you, maybe he wouldn’t kill you after he got bored of you, you gotta be an optimist to survive in prison after all. You looked at yourself, wet hair, some mascara, red lipstick, a nirvana shirt that was way too big on you, some gray sweatpants and fuzzy socks. The  you heard a knock on the door and Albert yell. ‘Princess it’s time for dinner!’

Well fuck, here goes nothing.

[sunmoonandeddie]

rosemary’s corner

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 2,788

summary: There’s something up with Bucky.

warnings: Some h*ckin’ words.

a/n:  This is dedicated to @johnnynunzio.  I love you so, so much and I’m so proud of you.

There was something up with Bucky.

And Sam could call him paranoid all he wanted, but at the end of the day, Steve Rogers knew his best friend—goddamnit—and he knew something was going on.

Bucky had gotten into the habit of disappearing for hours on end—sometimes entire nights—without warning, only to reappear and act as though he had been in the Tower the whole time.  And even though he wasn’t big on hanging out with the rest of the team before, it had gotten even worse over the past few months.  Hell, when he was with the team, he spent the entire time staring at his phone.

Steve’s brows furrowed as he stepped out of the elevator.  He’d spent the past four hours down in the gym, desperately trying to figure out what the hell was going on with his best friend.

But if he couldn’t figure it out, maybe FRIDAY could.

“Hey, Fri?” He called out as he shut his bedroom door.

“Yes, Captain Rogers?”

The heat of the water turns his skin pink as he scrubs at his hair.  “Do you know where Bucky’s been going?”

“Yes, Captain Rogers.”

When the A.I. doesn’t continue, he frowns up at the ceiling as though she was up there.  “... Can you tell me where he is?”

The A.I. sounded almost sorry as she said, “I’m sorry, Captain Rogers, but Sergeant Barnes asked me to not tell anyone his whereabouts.”

“Even me?”

“Yes, even you.”

And okay, yeah, that kind of really fucking hurts.  It hurts that Bucky is keeping something from him because in their hundred years or so of being alive, they’d never kept secrets from each other.  Shit, Bucky had even told Steve when he first got his hands up a dame’s skirt way back in ‘34.

They told each other everything.

“Alright,” the blond said as he shut off the water.  “Guess it’s time for Plan C.”

Plan C, as it turns out, requires a little more time.  It means waiting until Bucky gets back to the Tower and then waiting for him to leave again.

But apparently that’s even harder than he thought it would be since trying to catch the former Winter Soldier leaving is like trying to catch a ghost.

It took him almost two weeks to finally catch him.  It was a little after nine, and the rest of the team had retreated to their respective bedrooms for the night.

Steve, however, spent almost half an hour by his door, ear pressed to the wood and listening for the tell tale sound of Bucky’s door opening from across the hall.

When he finally heard the creak at precisely 9:42 PM, he makes sure to wait a few minutes before following him out.  He took the stairs, bolting down each flight.  He had to wait several long minutes for the elevator to catch up, watching as Bucky zipped up his jacket before heading out into the cool autumn air.

Not for the first time, he cursed his best friend’s ability to sneak through the streets of New York almost undetected.  Plan A had been Bucky just telling his best friend where he was going as he should’ve done as his goddamn best friend, and if that had happened like Steve had hoped, he wouldn’t be traversing down tenth, after having to follow him through several subway rides.

He’s even more confused when he started to spot the NYU signs littering the area.

He stopped in his tracks as Bucky stepped into a familiar looking store, a string of lights glittering brightly in the window display despite the late hour.

He vaguely remembered walking past the shop with him a few weeks before, but when he’d told Bucky that they should stop in sometime, he’d immediately clammed up and shrugged, claiming that it was probably too hipstery for either of their tastes.

Which, to be fair, it was really close to the New York University campus.

Steve got a little closer, just enough to peek in through the window that had ‘Rosemary’s Corner’ emblazoned across it.

The store was the perfect picture of cozy, though it did have that hipster feel that both him and Bucky tried to avoid.  Shelves full of records lined the front end of the shop, lights hung up along the tops of each one.  He could just barely see what seemed to be a coffee station towards the back, a menu with titles such as ‘Pumpkin Spice Marshmallow Latte’ and ‘Blueberry Delight Cappuccino’ hung up on the wall behind it.  A vintage record player in the corner was crooning out the familiar voice of Billie Holiday, just barely audible outside the shop.

And there in the back, amidst the waist high shelves, was his best friend.  Steve’s eyes widened as he watched him grab a record from a cart next to him, handing it to a girl who seemed to be the only employee present.  There was a flush in his cheeks, a shy smile tugging at his lips, that the blond hadn’t seen since the forties.

The girl seemed to be just as enamoured as him as she placed the record amongst the stacks.  Her movements were slow, unhurried, as she took each record that Bucky offered her.  She seemed so content to just be in his presence.

Bucky’s mouth moved silently and he lit up like a Christmas tree as he watched the girl erupt into giggles.  Her teeth caught her lower lip as she moved to shelve yet another record, but she froze as the man’s flesh hand reached up to gently tug it, releasing it.  The two of them were stuck in place, too lost in each other to think about the task at hand.

And despite the fact that anyone could walk past at any moment and see them through the window, Steve felt like he was intruding on something… private.  The intimacy between the two so apparent that it sent a blush to his cheeks to have seen it.  Just before he turned to leave, he saw Bucky rub the back of his neck in embarrassment, the both of them attempting to pretend that they didn’t just have a moment.

He went back the next day, when he knew that Bucky would be stuck at the Tower for at least a few more hours.  He wanted to be able to talk to her in private, to maybe ask her intentions.

And yeah, it was really shady for him to go behind Bucky’s back, but he wasn’t about to just let some girl walk in and fuck with his emotions if she didn’t intend on staying.

So he made the trek up to tenth once again, though it went a lot faster now that he knew where he was going and he didn’t have to hide.

Rosemary’s Corner looked almost the exact same during daylight, though Steve wasn’t sure why he was expecting any different.  The only difference is that there’s a few more patrons than just Bucky during the day all spread out through the shop.

The girl’s sitting at the cash register towards the back, flipping through a book.  She looked up as the bells above the door chimed with his entrance, an easy smile gracing her features.  His eyes are drawn to her shirt, recognizing it as the flannel that Bucky had been wearing the night before over his t-shirt.  The sleeves were rolled in order to accommodate her—she wasn’t exactly the size of the super soldier—but she looked so cozy it was hard to imagine her ever wishing him harm.  “Hi!  Welcome to Rosemary’s!”

He tried to pretend as though he’s not there to interrogate her, perusing through the stacks in what he hopes is a casual and aimless manner.

“Hi.”

Steve jumped, whirling around to stare at the girl.  “Hey.”  The super soldier was more than a little surprised that she was able to sneak up at him—he had espionage training from Natasha fucking Romanoff.  But even so, she’d somehow managed to approach him without making the slightest noise.

“You’re James’s friend, Steve,” she said, holding out her hand for him to shake as she gave him her name.

He eyed her hand warily.  “How do you know me?”

Her eyebrows rose as she stared at him, reminding him a little too much of how a certain redhead would look at him when he was being particularly stupid.  “It takes more than a baseball hat to fool me, Captain.”

Swallowing, he crossed his arms over his chest, going into full Captain mode.  “Then I’m sure you know why I’m here.”

But she simply breezed past him, heading for a cart at the end of the aisle with a sign on it that read Don’t want it?  Leave it here!  Thanks!

He stood there in his spot for what seemed like ages, staring after her.  Did she really just disregard him?  He was Captain fucking America.  No one had disregarded him like that since he was in the USO shows.

“You know, I used to come here everyday when I was a student,” she said, pushing up the sleeves of the flannel to her elbows, before nudging the cart towards the first row of stacks.  “Back then, it was owned by Albert Cook.  He opened it for his wife back in ‘97 because his wife, Rosemary, missed records.  Everyone was using CDs at that point, and it just wasn’t the same.  They added the coffee shop in ‘02.”

Steve followed her like a puppy as she reshelved the records.  He wasn’t sure where she was going with all of this, but she’d made it clear that she wasn’t going to put up with him pushing her around.

“They hired me here my freshman year, but I was here even when I wasn’t working.  It’s my favorite place in the entire world, and Albert and Rosemary became my home away from home.  It’s not easy moving so far from home for college, but they helped me.  A lot.  Two years after I graduated, it became mine.”  She paused, staring at the Cher record in her hand.  Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears and Steve could feel the sorrow rolling off of her in waves.  “Albert passed and in his will…  I told Rosemary that I wasn’t going to take the shop from her, that she could have it, but she insisted I take it.  Apparently her and Albert had decided to put me in his will ages before he died…”  Her eyes crinkled up as she laughed, “I thought their kids were going to shit themselves.  They were so mad.”  She shrugged as she finally put the Cher record in its place.  “Rosemary didn’t really understand why they were so mad about me getting the shop when they never came in.  But she moved upstate with her kids and I moved into the apartment upstairs.  I still see her every week for lunch.”

“Excuse my interruption,” Steve said when he finally sensed a pause.  “But why are you telling me all of this?”

She finally turned to him then, looking so open and honest that it took him aback.  “You’re here to question me about James, and I get that.  He’s been through a lot.”

“He’s told you?” He asked, blue eyes wide.  “About all the… HYDRA stuff?”  At her nod, he narrowed his eyes at her.  “But he never tells anyone about—”

“Well, he tells me,” she snapped, her hands going to her hips.  “I know about all the things he’s done and I don’t care.  He’s the best man I’ve ever met.”  The girl closed her eyes as she paused, taking in a deep breath.  When she opened her eyes, the storm in her eyes had settled.  “I need you to know that I love James.  I wouldn’t ever do anything to hurt him.  And while I can appreciate that he has a best friend like you—”

“You don’t like your loyalty being questioned,” Steve finished, much quieter.  He felt as though he’d been put in his place, which didn’t happen often.  “I…  I don’t either.  Not when it comes to Bucky.”

A sarcastic smile settled on her lips.  “We have that in common, Captain.”

The two of them went quiet as she went back to her task, occasionally having to go to the front to ring up a customer or make a cup of coffee.  At some point, Steve started helping her, handing her the records just as Bucky had been doing the night before.  Customers came and went, but as it got later, it got less and less populated.

“I changed the hours a few months after I got the shop,” she mused as she glanced over at the few college kids studying at one of the tables.  One of them had put on a Hozier album, the earthy songs sounding like they belonged on a record.  “It’s better for college students.  Gives them a place to study or just hang out late at night, and they can choose any album from the used record wall to play for free.”  Her nose scrunched as she smiled.  “And I’m not much of a morning person, so it gives me a reason to sleep in until noon.”

“Does he know you love him?” Steve asked suddenly, cheeks going a particular shade of pink.  “Bucky, I mean.”

“Yeah, I got that,” she said, nudging him.  But she was just as flushed as him.  “I hope so.  I haven’t exactly been subtle.  But I might have to make a move soon if he doesn’t.”

He cleared his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets.  “You should.  Make a move, that is.”

“He can be rather shy, can’t he?”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Both of them looked up, startled, to see the man of the hour standing there in the doorway.  Neither of them had heard the bells above the door as he entered.

“James,” she breathed, a fond smile painting her lips as she saw him.  “You’re early tonight.”

His ocean eyes softened just a tad as they flickered over to her, but hardened juts as quickly when he turned his attention back to the other man.  “What are you doing here?”

“I followed you last night,” he said, apology clear in his eyes.

“Why?”

Steve flinched at the harshness of his tone, but knowing that he more than deserved it.  “I was worried, Buck.  You weren’t telling me where you were going, and you disappeared for so long and I was just…  I was worried.”

“You don’t have to take care of me,” Bucky said as he moved to stand in between his girl and his best friend.  “I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.”

“I know that.”

“Then why—”

“James,” she said, cutting him off, “He’s here because he cares.  We both do.”  The man searched her eyes, his metal hand gently resting on her elbow.  “I’m okay.  Captain America can’t scare me.”

Steve crossed his arms over his chest, once again feeling like an intruder.  He’d never seen his best friend so taken with a girl, so... enraptured.  “Don’t worry.  Your girl put me in my place faster than I could blink.”

The brunet flushed, shaking his head.  “She’s not—”

“I think I should go,” he said, backing towards the door.  “I’ll leave you two alone.  But, Buck—”  He nodded towards the girl, who had slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow.  “Don’t be afraid to bring her around the Tower.  I’m sure everyone would love her.”

Bucky nodded once, his arm moving to wrap around the girl’s waist and bring her into his chest.  “I will.”

As Steve stepped out into the night air, he was shocked by how late it had gotten, by just how long he’d spent in the shop.  A breeze promising an early winter ruffled his hair and sent a chill through him.  As he wrapped his jacket tighter around him, he took one last look at the two through the window.

The girl was pressed up against him, eyes sparkling as she stared up at Bucky.  He could clearly read the words ‘I love you’ on her lips and the shock on his best friend’s face.  Without a second thought, she pressed her lips to his, her fingers tangling in his hair.  It took a few seconds for his brain to start working again, but when it did, his arms wrapped around her tightly, pulling her in for another kiss just as she started to pull away.

Steve headed for the subway, a smirk on his lips.  “You’re in good hands, jerk.”

[stina-is-a-punk-rocker]

stephanie perkins: ‘anna and the french kiss’

SPOILERS AHEAD!

Then again, if you’ve read any YA book, ever, it’s fairly obvious what’s going to happen.

I was going to go easy on this book; I really was. It’s really unfair how media aimed at a female demographic is seen as frivolous and vapid, and more often than not bashed and bullied when it comes to reviews. “People actually enjoy this crap?” ask the powers that be. “It’s worthless! Pulp! Dreamy-eyed nonsense only complete nimrods could ever like!”

And I take offense to that. There’s nothing wrong with liking romance or happy endings or stories about cute European boys. I was ecstatic when I stumbled across Anna and the French Kiss upon a chance trip to the bookstore. The cover was… meh (Century Gothic? Really? There were no other fonts?). But I’d heard nothing but praise about the book, and I was prepared to stay up all night and into the wee hours of the morning to finish it.

Admittedly, I was far from impressed upon the first reading. The characters were unlikable, the plot would’ve worked better for less shitty characters, honestly fuck these characters am I supposed to like them, fuck Anna, fuck Étienne, fuck Bridgette, fuck Toph, fuck Dave and Meredith and Amanda and Seany and every other stupid character in this stupid book.

The second time around, I expected to not hate it as much as I did when I first read it. It’s happened- I hated Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda when I first read it, and when I read it again, all that red-hot anger simmered down into an overall dislike. I thought To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before was trash at first, and then I read it again, and it got promoted to recyclable waste matter.

I found Anna and the French Kiss horrendous the first time I read it, and then I read it again, and… yeah, it’s still pretty awful.

Le Sommaire:

Anna Oliphant is a seventeen-year-old wannabe film critic who is #NotLikeOtherGirls – so she’s exactly like every other female YA lead. To her credit, she never explicitly says she’s special… everyone around her does.

She has a pretty meh life in Atlanta, Georgia with her mum and little bruv Sean- and then her dad decides to ship her off to France for her final year of high school. I’m not judging Anna for bawling her eyes out on her first day; I’m a huge mummy’s girl myself and I’d probably (definitely) do the same.

Meredith is Anna’s next-door neighbor, who does that thing which only happens in YA where she’s like “Oh, newbie? Let’s be friends!” (Or maybe it does happen irl and I tend to make a bad first impression which is why no one has ever approached me.)

Meredith’s friends are: Rashmi and Josh (who are a couple), and Étienne St. Clair. Guess which one is the love interest.

Étienne is cultured in that white person way where he’s half American, one quarter French and one quarter British. A true international.

But- *gasp*- American-British-French boy has a girlfriend, Ellie.

Anna has an absolutely gorgeous punk rocker (yum) boy with sideburns (yikes) back home named Christopher. Also, Christopher’s nickname is ‘Toph’ instead of ‘Chris’ because he too is #NotLikeOtherGirls. Anna tells us that nothing will happen between her and Étienne.

Anna is wrong.

Meredith has a crush on Étienne. So does the Regina George of the school, Amanda.

Étienne and Anna have some moments ™.

♫ Everyone else in the room can see it, everyone else but Anna ♫

I tear my hair out in frustration.

Several other white boys vie for Anna’s heart. Anna remains blissfully unaware (♫ that’s what makes you beautiful ♫). Étienne (who is still dating Ellie, mind you) is unreasonably agitated by this.

Étienne’s mum has cancer btw, which excuses all the shitty things he does, because he’s just a poor, misunderstood boy.

Ellie dresses up as a, quote unquote, ‘slutty nurse’ for Hallowe’en, though- so it’s perfectly okay to dislike her (even though, in the first interaction she had with Anna, where Ellie meets Anna and Étienne, after Étienne takes Anna to the movies, Ellie is perfectly sweet).

Anna, however, is NOT a slut. Amanda is, though. And Rashmi’s cold. And Meredith’s desperate. And Emily’s a slut, too. And her friend Bridgette from Atlanta is a traitor. Anna has an intense case of internalized misogyny.

Anna’s friend Bridgette from Atlanta is screwing Toph, and Anna throws a fit.

Étienne and Anna have some more moments ™.

A truly chaotic series of events befall Anna. She somehow winds up dating Dave (one from the harem of white boys who likes her) to spite Étienne, she gets into a fight with Amanda, more drama ensues, there’s a hint for a spinoff, Étienne and her kiss, Meredith sees and feels betrayed… several misunderstandings and more bullshit later, Étienne and Anna wind up together, because true love conquers all.

Mes Réflexions:

(If the French is off, blame Google Translate.)

Usually, it takes me half a page of my notebook to scribble down my thoughts about the book I’m reading. This motherfucker took me almost an entire page.

Granted, a solid 30% of those notes are me throwing insults at Étienne, but still. ‘STOP STOP STOP YOU HAVE A GIRLFRIEND YOU DICK’ counts, right?

(That was #17 in my notes, by the way.)

For the record, I like Stephanie Perkins’s writing. It’s not as over-the-top and unnecessarily introspective as Jenny Han’s in To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before, and the interactions between Anna and her classmates were natural and not the “How do you do, fellow kids?” style of Becky Albertalli’s Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda. The pacing is decent- I didn’t feel like it was too rushed; not the insta-love trope most YA romances unfortunately fall prey to.

And yet. AND YET.

Anna: “What’s your problem?” Amanda: “You.”

Same, Amanda, same.

Anna Oliphant is one of my least favorite leads in a book, ever. Étienne’s even shittier. And it’s not like Nick or Amy Dunne from Gone Girl, or any of the main characters from The Secret History, where readers pretty much unanimously hate them. You’re meant to relate to Anna, you’re meant to find Étienne charming and dreamy. I literally had to put the book away and calm myself down several times- especially in the last quarter of the book.

One of my main gripes with Anna is how… dumb she is. I guess Anna’s “Oopsies, silly me, I don’t know French!” is meant to be relatable to the readers. And some parts (like her not knowing how to order food because she can’t speak French) are plausible, but- sis, you didn’t know how to spell oui? And my idea of a cinematic masterpiece is Kung-Fu Panda, but even a dumbass like me knows that France is the film appreciation capital of the world. And yet Anna, a self-professed film freak, doesn’t?

Of course, Anna’s gorgeous, but she has no clue, because of course she doesn’t- even though she has multiple guys falling head over heels for her.

I’m in a short skirt. It’s the first time I’ve worn one here, but my birthday seems like the appropriate occasion. “Woo, Anna!” Rashmi fake-adjusts her glasses. “Why do you hide those things?”

Étienne is staring at my legs. The scales covering them throb under his intense gaze, and the pincers sticking out of my thighs start clicking rapidly in arousal. My hooves shiver in ecstasy.

… sorry, that’s not funny.

Her friends think Anna’s weird for wanting to write film reviews (which is the most contrived thing I’ve ever heard) instead of being the next Margot Robbie or whatever, but of course Étienne doesn’t and he thinks it’s not weird and cool and that Anna is such a special snowflake.

(Man, I sound like Amanda.)

And then we have this spiel by Anna about how she got into film critiquing (?), because we the readers need to know how special and #NotLikeOtherGirls Anna is.

To this, I say, “Piss off, you pretentious fuck.”

Of course, Anna’s a virgin and she’s never gotten drunk before or worn short skirts- she’s not a slut, she shaves below the knees only.

And would YA really be YA without several hearty helpings of internalized misogyny?

First up, we have the bimbo; the Barbie doll archetype whose only goal in life is acquiring the main guy (who is quite obviously uninterested in her), and making life hell for our protagonist. Amanda Whatsername (is she ever given a surname?) has this coveted role in Anna and the French Kiss. She’s blond (because of course she is); the first time we meet her, she’s in a, quote unquote, ‘teeny tank top’, and she also ‘positions herself for maximum cleavage exposure’. She’s always flipping her hair, getting her grubby paws on Étienne, giving Anna the stink-eye, being homophobic and a grade-A bitch.

Meredith goes batshit when Anna and Étienne kiss, and is very pouty and unhappy during prior Anna x Shittiene moments. Honey… he’s just not that into you. Rashmi’s the Ice Queen reincarnate and halfway to bitchdom. Anna doesn’t go as hard on them as she does on literally every other female her age in the book, though.

Rashmi looks at me for the first time, calculating whether or not I might fall in love with her own boyfriend.

Anna, hate to break it to you, but not everyone’s a possessive fucking weirdo.

About Cherrie, her ex-boyfriend Matt’s new girlfriend:

And maybe Cherrie isn’t as bad as I remember. Except she is. She totally is. After only five minutes in her company, I cannot fathom how Bridge stands sitting with her at lunch every day.

Her lifeless laugh is one of her lesser attributes. What does Matt see in her?

Even Bridgette, Anna’s best friend from Atlanta, isn’t immune to Anna’s anti-female propaganda. She’s screwing the guy Anna used to like, and Anna, the hypocrite, throws a huge fit.

For context: Bridgette and Toph are in a band called the Penny Dreadfuls (why is it with YA books and horrible band names? ‘Emoji’ from Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda was bad enough), and Anna + Matt + Cherrie go to a bowling alley to see them perform. After the performance, Toph announces that he’s sleeping with Bridge, and Anna confronts Bridge… onstage.

“… You’re welcome to move in when I leave again, because that’s what you want, right? My life?”

She shakes with fury. “Go to hell.”

“Take my life. You can have it. Just watch out for the part where my BEST FRIEND SCREWS ME OVER!” I knock over a cymbal stand, and the brass hits the stage with an earsplitting crash that reverberates through the bowling alley. Matt calls my name. Has he been calling it this entire time? He grabs my arm and leads me around the electrical cords and plugs and onto the floor and away, away, away.

Everyone in the bowling alley is staring at me.

I duck my head so my hair covers my face. I’m crying. This would have never happened if I hadn’t given Toph her number. All of those late-night practices and… he said they’ve had sex! What if they’ve had it at my house? Does he come over when she’s watching Seany? Do they go in the bedroom?

I’m going to be sick.

Give me a goddamn break.

Anna, about Ellie:

To my amazement, Ellie breaks into an ear-to-ear smile. Oddly enough, it’s this moment I realize that despite her husky voice and Parisian attire, she’s sort of… plain. But friendly-looking.

That still doesn’t mean I like her.

“Anna! From Atlanta, right? Where’d you guys go?”

She knows who I am? St. Clair describes our evening while I contemplate this strange development. Did he tell her about me? Or was it Meredith? I hope it was him, but even if it was, it’s not like he said anything she found threatening. She doesn’t seem alarmed that I’ve spent the last three hours in the company of her very attractive boyfriend. Alone.

[about Ellie’s Hallowe’en costume] Slutty nurse. I don’t believe it. Tiny white button-up dress, red crosses across the nipples. Cleavage city.

If I didn’t like Ellie before, it’s nothing compared to how I feel now. It doesn’t matter that I can count how many times we’ve met on one hand.

I fantasize about their break-up. How he could hurt her, and she could hurt him, and all of the ways I could hurt her back. I want to grab her Parisian-styled hair and yank it so hard it rips from her skull. I want to sink my claws into her eyeballs and scrape.

It turns out I am not a nice person.

YOU DON’T FUCKING SAY.

Emily Middlestone bends over to pick up a dropped eraser, and Mike Reynard leers at her breasts. Gross. Too bad for him she’s interested in his best friend, Dave. The eraser drop was deliberate, but Dave is oblivious.

One of the juniors, a girl with dark hair and tight jeans, stretches in a move designed to show off her belly button ring to Paul/Pete. Oh, please.

And I’m meant to like this character? I’m supposed to root for her?

I’m not saying every girl in the book should be perfectly sweet and friendly- that’s just not realistic. But when Anna has something judgmental to say about every other young female character… maybe she’s the problem.

In fact, the only girl I recall getting a pass is Isla Whatsername. And why do you think?

Brilliant.

And now we have the amalgamation of almost every fanfic boyfriend trope from 2014, Étienne St. Clair. Brown-eyed Harry Styles. I can’t fucking wait.

Étienne could’ve discovered the cure for cancer, or abolished poverty, or volunteered at animal shelters in his spare time. He could’ve been the most virtuous guy around (fret not; he decidedly isn’t). And I still wouldn’t’ve thought of him as the man of my dreams because HE HAS A BLOODY GIRLFRIEND.

I mean, which girl doesn’t want her boyfriend to say:

“I cheated on her every day. In my mind, I thought of you in ways I shouldn’t have, again and again.”

Fuckin’ smooth, bro.

“No matter what a terrible boyfriend I was, I wouldn’t actually cheat on her. But I thought you’d know.”

Such a gentleman!

“So you can keep dating Ellie, but I can’t even talk to Dave?”

Étienne looks shamed. He stares at his boots. “I’m sorry.”

I don’t even know what to do with his apology.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. And this time, he’s looking at me. Begging me. “And I know it’s not fair to ask you, but I need more time. To sort things out.”

And this gem:

“If you liked me so much, why didn’t you break up with her?”

“I’ve been confused. I’ve been so stupid.”

*me, banging pots and pans together* F U C K Y O U

“Ellie’s not like you, Anna; she’s a slut and a whore even though I’m the one who’s been thinking about another girl inappropriately and I’m the one who gets my knickers in a twist when another man glances in your direction because my masculinity is extremely fragile and I’m a total hypocrite and a dickhead.”

I mean, he didn’t actually say that, but that’s the gist.

WHILE DATING ELLIE: he gets Anna a book of sexual love poems, he calls her attractive (“Any bloke with a working prick would be insane not to like you.”) multiple times, he gets jealous whenever another guy so much as breathes in Anna’s direction and constantly interrupts such interactions, he’s been ditching his friends for his girlfriend but suddenly decides he prefers a new girl over said girlfriend, he thinks bread pudding tastes good- in conclusion, he is a Massive Fucking Prick. Though in hindsight, him and Anna deserve each other. They’re awful.

I had loads more notes taken down (Anna using Dave; “The important thing is this: Dave is available. St. Clair is not.”); the implication that cheating is okay because Ellie is bad or whatever, even though the sudden change in her character seems contrived because she was perfectly okay with Étienne and Anna hanging out before; how my blood boils whenever I read an American book and American girls are like “oOoOh AcCenT!!!1!!1!!”; me reading “DAVE SAYS YER A SLUTBAG” in Hagrid’s voice; the sheer atrocity of the name ‘Étienne St. Clair’ (sounds like a caricature of a French person)… but this ‘review’ is already pushing 3k and I can’t be fucked to expand on any of those points.

Verdict (which is apparently the same in French):

Who needs Christopher when Étienne St. Clair is in the world?

Speak for yourself.

[aumhearted]

Appearance Headcanons

bold where applicable; italicize where situationally relevant. add as needed.

body.

(For body, height, skin, eyes, and hair, I tried selecting what looked closest to her official art)

long legs. short legs. average legs. slender thighs. thick thighs. muscular thighs. skinny arms. soft arms. muscular arms. toned stomach. flat stomach. flabby stomach. soft stomach. six pack. beer belly. lean frame. slender frame. muscular frame. voluptuous frame. petite frame (wasn’t too sure if she counted. I mean, she’s 5′6, so I guess she counts?). lanky frame. short nails. long nails. manicured nails. dirty nails. flat butt. toned butt. bubble butt. thick butt. small waist. thick waist. narrow hips. average hips. wide hips. big feet. average feet. small feet. slender feet. calloused feet. soft feet. calloused hands. soft hands. big hands. average hands. small hands. long fingers. short fingers. average fingers. broad shoulders. average shoulders. slender shoulders. underweight. average weight. overweight.

height.

(I looked through her Feh Winter art, and apparently Marth is taller??? He’s 5′8 or something, so...)

shorter than 140 cm. 141 cm to 150 cm. 151 cm to 160 cm. 161 cm to 170 cm. 171 cm to 180cm. 181 cm to 190 cm. 191 cm to 2m. taller than 2 m.

skin.

pale. fair. rosy. olive. dark. tanned. blotchy. smooth. acne. dry. greasy. freckled. scarred.

eyes.

small. large. average. grey. brown. black. blue. red. pink. green. gold. hazel. doe-eyed. almond. round. close-set. wide-set. deep-set. squinty. monolid. heavy eyelids. upturned. downturned.

hair.

thin. thick. fine. normal. greasy. dry. soft. shiny (I wanna say it’s shiny based on picture... but idk). curly. frizzy. wild. unruly. straight. smooth. wavy (sometimes). floppy. cropped. pixie cut. afro. short. shoulder length. back length. waist length (sometimes). floor length. buzz cut. bald. jaw length. mohawk. undercut. white. platinum blonde. golden blonde. dirty blonde. ombre. light brown. mouse brown. chestnut brown. golden brown. chocolate brown. dark brown. slate. jet black. ginger. auburn. unnatural colour (blue). streaked. thin eyebrows. average eyebrows. thick eyebrows. no eyebrows.

tattoos / piercings.

full sleeve. thigh tattoo. shin tattoo. wrist tattoo. lower back tattoo. hip tattoo. hand / finger tattoo. foot tattoo. neck tattoo. face tattoo. chest tattoo. one tattoo. a few here and there. multiple. no tattoo. monroe piercing. nose piercing. septum. nipple piercing. genital piercing. industrial piercings. earlobe piercing(s). prince albert piercing. eyebrow piercing. tongue piercing. lip piercing. tragus piercing. angel bites. labret. gauges. navel piercing. inverse navel piercing. cheek piercing. smiley. nape piercings. no piercings.

cosmetics.

light eyeliner (for formal occasions). heavy eyeliner. cat eyes. mascara. fake eyelashes. matte lipstick. regular lipstick (for formal occasions). lip gloss. chapstick. red lips. pink lips. dark lips. bronzer. highlighter. eyeshadow. neutral eyeshadow. smokey eyes. colourful eyeshadow. blush (usually formal occasions, but whenever she feels like it). lip liner. light contouring. heavy contouring. powder. matte foundation. shiny foundation. concealer. wears makeup regularly. wears it from time to time. never wears makeup.

scent.

floral. fruity. perfumes. aftershave. cocoa. moisturizer (every now and then). natural soap. shampoo. cigarettes. leather. sweat. food. incense. marijuana. cologne. whiskey. wine. fried food. blood. fire. metal. rain. grass. raw wood. ocean. autumn leaves. baked bread. smoke. campfire. lavender. trees. musk. rose (formal occasions). gingerbread. peppermint. oak. honey. lemon. vanilla. coffee. cake (whenever she’s baking). hyde.

clothes/aesthetic. (includes modern au)

(I refuse to disclose info on undergarments. sfw only. 😤)

masculine. feminine. androgynous. jeans. tight pants. cargo pants. overknee socks. tights. leggings. yoga pants. miniskirt. loose skirt. form fitting dress. cardigans. blouse. long-sleeved shirt (around the house/dorm). button up shirt. graphic shirt. T-shirt. sports shirt. sweatpants (modern au, around the house). tank top. cut off shirt. designer. high street. online stores. thrift. lingerie. maxi dress. sundress (summertime). suit and tie. cocktail dress. high slit dress. scarves. loose clothing. tight clothing. jean shorts. sweater. sweater vest. khaki pants. hoodie. harem pants. kimono (special occasion). basketball shorts. boxers. briefs. thong. hotpants. hipster panties. bra. sports bra. crop top. corset. leotard. polka dots. stripes. glitter. cotton (modern au or casual wear). silk. lace. leather. velvet. chemise. patterns. florals. neon colours. pastels. neutral colours. black. dark colours. warm colours. faux fur.

shoes.

sneakers. slip-ons. flats. slippers. sandals (for summer weather). high heels (formal occasions). kitten heels. ankle boots. combat boots. boots. knee-high boots. platforms. stripper heels. bare feet (around the house/dorm). loafers.