bedazzle bra

We’re gonna get len out of the time stream by making cisco make lisa one of the costumes she’s suggested to him. This is just a gold thong and a pair of roller skates. This is just a romper with the boobs cut out. This is just body paint but i… i guess? Oh your brother’s back look at that

anonymous asked:

Number 1 please!

Let me start it off right quick!

1.“The skirt is supposed to be this short.”

Okay, this was fine, totally fine and totally normal, she could do this, she’d been working out like crazy, sure she was in shape but… there was no way anyone looked good in this outfit. It was… it was sacrilegious, Saint Nick would be rolling over in his grave right now. Betty stood in front of the floor length mirror Veronica had specifically asked for in her bedroom, there staring back at Betty was the sluttiest Mrs.Clause she had ever seen. Bare legs were peeking through a tiny velvet hoop skirt that billowed out around mid thigh, a chunky black belt hanging low on her hips, her top was nothing more than bedazzled red bra and there was a floppy Santa hat sitting crooked atop her head. Veronica Lodges apparently annual Christmas party was in full swing and Cheryl had organized costumes for all the river vixens, apparently inappropriate Santa Clause was the theme this year.

“Betts? Ronnie told me you would be up here getting changed.. are you decent?”

The voice of Betty’s very considerate boyfriend came from outside the door as Betty groaned

“Hardly, but apparently that’s the look I’m going for.”

Jughead slowly opened the door, the hinges creaking as he slid in,

“What do you…”

Jughead stopped abruptly, the candy cane in his mouth fell to the ground as he took in the sight of his girlfriend.

“You.. uhh… it’s umm…” he stuttered, his eyes landing on her bare legs, lingering on the hem of her skirt

“The skirt is supposed to be this short!” Betty defended her horrible outfit, hands crossing at her chest and giving him more than an eyeful

In seconds flat Betty was laid out on Veronica’s bed, his hands dipping under the velvety skirt

“Merry Christmas to me” he mumbled into her mouth.

Enzo Amore x Reader - Treats

“MY NAME IS ENZO AMORE AND I AM A CERTIFIED G AND A BONAFIDED STUD AND YOU CAN’T TEACH THAT!!” You scream down your mic in your best Jersey accent. Yes you were doing the signature intro of the iconic wrestling due of Enzo Amore and Big Cass along with your best friend in the whole world. It was Halloween and you and your best friend thought it would be a great idea to play a little trick on your boyfriends. You were dressed as the female version of your boyfriend Enzo. Sporting a cute pair of leopard hot pants and matching sports bra. Your bedazzled leather jacket had a huge G on the back that blinded everyone including haters. Your hair was up in a sassy braid and of course your feet were snug in a pair of J’s. Your best friend walked around with a proud grin on her face as the crowd hammed it up for you two. She was looking adorable in black hot pants and black sports bra with Cass’ sleeveless shirt draped over her toned figure. Black thigh high boots finished off the look as she mimicked his swaggering walk. Once in the ring you and your best friend were in a fit of giggles as the crowd cheered on. “What in the world we got ova here??” Enzo’s voice rang out as he and Cass walked into the arena. “We gotta cuppa sexy copy cats… Now I ain’t complaining because honestly my girl has never looked better.” Enzo smiled as he climbed up into the ring. Taking your hand he gave it a chaste kiss before urging you to give him a spin. “Come on give us a twirl… My oh my sweet potato pie you look amazing babe…” Enzo grinned ear to ear as you gave him a little curtsy. “Best treat I’ve had in a long time.” Cass announced as he threw his arm around his best friend. “This girl right here never ceases to amaze me… Zo how did we ever get so lucky??” Cass called over to his best friend who was busy making flirty comments to you out of the range of the mic. “No idea man… But me and you we hit the jackpot…” Enzo planted a sloppy kiss on your cheek earning some whistles from the audience. “But I do know… That with these two girls right here… Neither you nor I are Sawft… If you know what I’m saying…” Enzo wiggled his eyebrows now earning a smack on the arm from you. “What babe??” He giggled as he wrapped his arms around you burying his face in your jacket collar as you squeal. “You know what Cass?? We shouldn’t let this go to waste… If our girls wanna dress and act like us why not put it to use… How you feel about an open challenge for a mixed tag team match??” Enzo called over his shoulder. “Sounds a plan to me… Because I know for sure that there is only one word to describe the competion and I think my beaitufl girl is gonna do us the honors and spell it out for us…” Cass grinned down at his girlfriend. “Heck YEAH!!” She smiled ear to ear and stepped out from under his arm to stand in the middle of the ring to start the chant with the crowd starting off a wonderful Halloween. 

HAPPY HALLOWEEN AND THANKS FOR READING… thanks @nickie-amore for the help and support on it… please let me know what you think… any and all feedback is welcome… THANKS AGAIN FOR READING

the signs as festival trends
  • aries: the offensive cultural appropriated feathered headdress
  • taurus: high waisted shorts
  • gemini: pizza nipple pasties
  • cancer: holographic choker
  • leo: glitter gel "space paste/jam" all over their scalp, shoulders, cheek bones, and nose
  • virgo: bedazzled bras
  • libra: fitted neon onesie
  • scorpio: leather cutout bikini thong piece
  • sagittarius: light up platform sneakers
  • capricorn: pleated see-through skirt
  • aquarius: sticker jewels
  • pisces: goddess headband
Fifty Pounds Chapter 2

Fifty Pounds

A/N: Yes, I made up a band for this chapter. I am most definitely not sorry. Let me know what you guys think! I’m having WAY too much fun with this fic.

 Chapter 2

It had been an unnaturally long day. Finn had woken up in the morning to find that the artist who’d bought the rights to his latest song had turned it from a slow, acoustic ballad into a dance hall nightmare, drowning out the poignant lyrics and chords with a generic dub step beat. He really shouldn’t have cared- he’d already gotten paid for it, really, and that was to be expected, but he’d been so proud of that particular piece, and ever since they’d moved him up from sound engineer to producer he hadn’t had as much time to work on his pet projects. Then, he’d toiled for hours arranging a new piece for one of his label’s indie artists, going back and forth with the sound engineer who’d taken his old job, Hard Amy. It had all been well and good until her laptop died, taking the last hour of mixing with it. Finn had to lock himself in the break room to collect himself before he could step out to try recovering what was lost. Then Chop, good ol’ Chop, darling fucking Chop, had given him a ring and reminded him that he’d unwisely agreed to accompany him to the new cabaret club that night, where Finn was currently enjoying being laughed at by a bevy of half-naked women and being told that the woman he’d been about to drop fifty pounds to see was actually tone-deaf.

“Wha-?” Finn said. “But…the posters say all the performances are live! No recordings! That’s half the appeal!”

Chloe’s eyes and voice are flat. “Yeah, and they’re true.”

“Then how–”

“Another performer. She sings, I look pretty on stage and flap my gums a bunch.” Chloe mimed crooning into a microphone exaggeratedly, her mouth opening wide for a silent belt. She cut off the display abruptly, crossing her arms and looking him up and down quickly.“S'not exactly rocket science. Look, I know you’re disappointed. You can keep your money, this is pathetic enough as it is.”

She turned to move back behind her curtain.

“Who’s your voice then?” Finn asked, before she could disappear.

“Go away,” was her response. Behind him, Stacey the Peacock giggled maliciously. Finn wondered how he ever could have found that girl attractive; he’d never seen anyone take such transparent pleasure in someone else’s misfortune. 

“Look, I’ve made a fool out of myself enough comin’ down here,” Finn said. “And I swear on my life, I won’t go spreadin’ rumors about you not being able to sing or nothing. You go on bein’ Aphrodite.” The name seemed silly and trite now that it was revealed to be nothing but a stage identity, Aphrodite, Goddess of Love, of course given to the most beautiful girl of the troupe. “But you know as well as I that not everyone can sing like your…your friend can, and she should know about an opportunity if there is one, right?”

He wasn’t used to saying so many words. His place was behind a laptop or a turntable making other things make sounds. At the end of his declaration, his head felt a little light from the effort.

But it had been worth it. After a second, a small voice responded through the curtain.

“Her name’s Rae.”

“Ray as in Raymond?” Finn said, startled. That voice had been so distinctly feminine, though, how could a bloke hit notes that high-

“As in Rachel.” She mumbled something else, probably an insult to his intelligence. 

Finn waited a moment for her to elaborate, but when several seconds passed with no further comment, he stepped back on his heels.

“Thanks so much…er…Chloe,” he said. Then he turned to Samira, who was no doubt hanging back to show him out. “Sorry for the trouble, Samira,” he said, “but could you maybe introduce me to this Rae person?”

Samira scrunched her face in annoyance. “What do I look like, an errand girl? Only did it the first time cuz it seemed funny, to be honest, and my break ends in five minutes-”

Finn sighed, then pulled out the fifty pound note he’d intended for Aphrodite. It was a hell of a lot of money, and maybe tomorrow, he’d regret dropping it. But he’d parted with it already in his mind, so that made giving it to Samira that much easier.

“Yeah, well, now I’m paying you. You can help me out, yeah?”

Samira looked down at the note, then back up at Finn, and then with a curl of her lips, plucked the fifty pounds out of his hand and tucked it into her bra.

“C'mon, then,” she said, sweeping in front of him and leading the way.


Rae stretched backwards on her piano bench, sighing with satisfaction as each vertebrae popped dully. She hadn’t been able to watch the show, but Archie had told her that the crowd had been especially fun tonight. “Almost took a flower to the eye!” He’d said, far more excited at the prospect of being blinded by a carnation than he had any right to be. And Chloe, of course, had been an absolute vision. Izzy had trussed her up in this new gown that looked like it’d been made from stardust, and she’d never thought her biffle had ever been more deserving of her stagename. It was no wonder, Rae thought a bit enviously, that Chlo would have fans. Fans who would pay fifty fucking pounds just to see her up close! Who had money like that? They weren’t on stinking Broadway; they were literally just a group of misfit ex-theatre dorks in a dead-end town providing entertainment. And this fan had been a looker too, not a fifty year old businessman looking for a beautiful sugar baby like they were used to! He’d seen Rae standing there and looked away, probably wondering what a minger like her was doing in the company of so many lovely ladies.

Her fingers ran over the keys pensively, playing out a chord. She was glad, though, that it was Chloe out there singing and not her. She didn’t want to see the looks on the patron’s faces when they saw that their next performer wasn’t some little, curvy bird in a bedazzled bra, but a huge, ugly cow. They’d demand their money back.

Outside her door, she could hear voices. One sounded a bit like Samira. She liked Samira a lot- she was one of the youngest girls at the theatre, and had been part of the acts for the first two weeks until juggling show rehearsals and her schoolwork at the nearby Uni became too much for her and she’d had to drop down to being a server. It was a royal shame, too; Rae had put together a cover of a Sia song just for her, and Samira’d only been able to perform it twice. 

There was another voice, mostly unfamiliar, accompanying Samira’s. A male voice. That was odd; she knew all the guys at the Theatre pretty well, at least by sound. And Samira wouldn’t dare bring one of her beaus to the practice room; if Kester caught her trying to sneak a quick romp on the Baby Grand, she’d be out on her rump.

A knock sounded on the door. Rae jumped in her seat, then stammered out a “Yeah?”

“Hiya, Rae,” Samira said, sticking her head through. “Listen, ah, I’ve got someone who wants to meet ya. Don’t be mad, he gave me fifty quid to bring him, and you know I’m a little behind on the rent this month-”

Someone wanted to meet her? Bollocks. 

“No worries, love. Bring ‘im in, I guess.”

Samira opened the door a bit wider and revealed the last person she’d expected- the bloke from the dressing rooms, the one who’d been mooning over Chloe. God, was he fit. Black leather jacket over a red t-shirt, dark wash jeans and well-kept converse draped over a body sent in straight from the gods. True, all the male back-up dancers at the Grand were gorgeous, but they existed on another plane of good-looking reserved for models and actors and Rae could hardly find them attractive (her loins took one glimpse and decided it was a wasted effort.) But this guy was just barely ordinary enough to get her heart jumping. She’d never known how to talk to fit boys. Except for Archie, but as he wasn’t exactly gynephilic, he didn’t really count.

Why was a guy like him wanting to meet a girl like her, anyway?

“This is Finn,” Samira introduced briefly. “I’ve got to run, I’m at the bar next and I’m running late. Bye!”

She ran off, her sequined dress tinkling as she went, and Rae realized in alarm and horror that she was now alone with this…Finn. She winced as the door clicked shut behind them.

“What can I help you with?” Rae said, as professionally as she could manage.

Finn had the grace to look a little nervous, biting down on his lip and turning away before looking back at her again. 

“I was just talkin’ to Chloe…erm, Aphrodite, I mean, and she told me you’re the one who does the singin’.”

Rae narrowed her eyes mistrustfully. “Yah, I do,” she said shortly, waiting for him to continue. 

“Well,” he finally managed to meet her eye, “Then, Samira was tellin’ me how it’s you who picks the set list for the performances here, you work out how the covers work and all, and…” He paused, took a deep breath. “I just wanted to tell you that I think you’re…you’re really fucking good.”

The color is rising to her cheeks before she can stop it. So, he was coming to compliment her?

“Thanks,” she murmured, looking down.

“It’s the truth,” Finn muttered. “But anyway, I was thinking that with a sound like yours, you should go pro. I’m a producer at WhisperDome-” Rae gasped, that was where the fucking Pigeon Racers had started their career- “and I was wonderin’ if, maybe, you’d ever considered a music career? Something bigger than a little club in Stamford?”

The card he held up in his hands verified him as legit. Unless this Finn had a nasty habit of printing off glossy business cards with the label’s logo and his name on it for shits and giggles, at least.

The ecstasy and hope sprung up in her like a sprout and then died almost as quickly as it came. Stars don’t weigh sixteen and a half stone, she reminded herself. Stars have got to look nice and sound nice. Either this guy was here to make fun of her, or he’d been mistaken about her looks and thought she’d be prettier.

“You’re takin’ the piss.”

“I’m not!” Finn said, exasperatedly. “Look, if I was takin’ the piss, I wouldn’t have spent all that money tryna meet you, right? Why would I be taking the piss?”

“Cuz I know how these record labels work,” Rae shot back, “and they’re looking for the 'whole package.’” She swung around in her seat to face the piano again. “And obviously, I’m not that. Plenty of good looking girls with decent sound who could make it big just under this roof, so it don’t make sense for you to be here right now." She said the last bit softly, but there was nothing in her tone suggesting she was fishing for compliments. She wasn’t trying to get him to tell her she was wrong; she was speaking truths. If Britney Spears was fat, she’d be singing in her dressing gown in a mumu, not on stages across the world.

"Some places care lots about having real…specific aesthetics, yeah,” Finn countered, choosing his words with obvious effort, “but we’re not one of them. You can arrange music, and you could sing the sodding phone book and I’d sit here and listen. I dunno why you’re in this place, to be honest. Not even getting to take credit for your own sound.” He paused at the same time that her eyelashes lowered bashfully. “I’m not promising anythin’, you might start up as back up or somethin’, but I could help ya get your foot in the door.”

So basically he’s saying that I’m talented so they would take me on despite the fact that I’m a blob. Sounding good might distract from the fact that I don’t look good.

But he also thinks I’m talented. I mean, I know I’m talented. But this is different!

Like, we’re talkin’ professional level! 

“You ever meet Barney Mayfield?” She tried changing the subject, running her fingers idly over a few of the keys. 

“Yeah,” Finn said, cracking a bit of a smile. “Was probably the best day of my life, actually. Pigeon Racers was solid back in the day.”

Rae’s mouth dropped. “I was only jokin’! You’ve actually met him?”  When Finn nodded, she held up her hands in jealousy. “Well? What’s he like?”

 "Brilliant, but he talked like he was stoned all the time.“ He paused, then bit his bottom lip in a way that was just slightly too distracting. "I mean, well, he probably was stoned all the time, but…” He trailed off with a shallow shrug. 

The fact that she thought Finn was deluded didn’t stop her from gaping at him in awe.

“How’d you get to meet him?”

“Early days at the company. They’d just been picked up by a bigger label, so they was sayin’ their good-byes, and I happened to be there, scuttling around gettin’ everyone coffee." 

"Holy…holy fuck.” Rae’s hands grasped into the piano as if to keep herself grounded. “That’s awesome.” Almost as if she couldn’t help herself, she continued. “You meet anyone else?”


Then Finn recounted the story of how he’d met Liam Gallagher of Oasis, and Rae nearly had a conniption because Liam Gallagher had been the god of her teenage years. She’d been to a concert in Knebworth when she was sixteen and practically passed out in the middle of the mosh pit when Liam Gallagher had stepped a little close to the edge of the stage. She told Finn as much- “I think I got a bit of his sweat on my face, wiped it off with a napkin and nearly put it up for sale”- and Finn laughed so loudly that she started to laugh too, and soon they were both bowled over, nearly wheezing with laughter. At some point, he’d taken a seat next to her at the edge of the piano seat, close enough to feel intimate but with enough space between them not to feel inappropriate.

“He as much of an arsehole in person?” Rae managed, still grinning.

Finn shrugged. “Wouldn’t know. I heard he was comin’, so I wore a Man City kit to make sure he’d like me.”

“It work?”

“I got a nod out of him,” Finn said, closing his eyes as if to relish the memory of Liam Gallagher acknowledging his existence.

 There was suddenly something so loose and easy about their conversation. She cared about music almost to the point of pathology; music was what brought her up when she was down, what she was good at, and she knew almost too much about it. But so did Finn. He asked her what her favorite kind was, and she’d responded of course with “the good kind,” leading to a discussion of whether mainstream pop could ever fit this category. (Rae thought no, though there was no denying their catchiness, while Finn seemed inclined to think that there were a few gems among the rough.) They both agreed that boy bands were the worst things to happen in the history of sound, though Rae admitted to having a One Direction song on her MP3 player (“Chlo really loves it, okay!”)

She’d never met a fit boy who actually wanted to talk to her as anything other than a means to an end (and the end was usually Chloe.) Granted, he wanted something from her- her voice- but she’d already refused him that and he’d still hung about to chat. That meant something, right? That he was actually enjoying her company? Rae had plenty of friends, sure, but most of them were ladies and the lads were either allergic to seafood or treated her like one of their own. 

Eventually, their conversation came to a lull, and she turned to find that Finn was looking intently at her, a small, unreadable smile on his lips. After a second, he dredged his eyes away to glance at his watch.

“It’s two'o clock in the morning,” he said dumbly. 

“Jesus.” They’d managed to kill two whole hours. 

He really ought to stop smiling at her like that. It was doing things to her gut.

“Well, Rae,” he said, standing up from the piano chair, “It was lovely to meet ya. I should…” He yawned loudly, “I should head home.”

“Oh,” Rae muttered, with a wide smile. Was that it, then? “So, you get your fifty pound’s worth?” She said cheekily.

His eyes twinkled, and a look that could only be described as mischievous crossed his face.

“No, no I don’t think I did, actually,” he said seriously. When her smile dropped, his recovered. “I’m thinking I’m gonna need a few more exclusive meetings with Rae Earl before I get my money’s worth.”

It took her a second to fully comprehend what he was saying he wants to see you again, you knob and in the time it took for her face to transition between dejection and delight, he’d started to lose confidence, playing with his hands like he didn’t know what to do with him. 


Oi, is he asking me out? 

Finn was scrawling something on the back of his business card, then handed it to her. “That’s my cell phone number. Give me a ring, yeah?”

She looked down at the digits in her hand, her heart thumping in her chest. “Yeah. Course.”

“Right. Cheers. It was lovely meetin’ ya, Rae.”

“You too.”

One more warm smile, and he was out the door. Rae waited a few moments to make sure he wouldn’t burst back in before slumping backwards in her seat, hitting a few errant keys on the way.

“What the actual fuck.”

hips don’t lie (1/2)

A little two part CS modern AU fic. Emma and Tink are used to their friend Ruby’s crazy ideas, so when she signs them all up for belly dance classes they don’t bother arguing and just go with it. 

Rating: T - or at least this part is!

The belly dance lessons were Ruby’s idea. Just like entering that wet T-shirt contest at the dive bar they passed on their way home from a day at the beach that one time was Ruby’s idea, and the spontaneous weekend trip to Vegas on two hours’ notice was Ruby’s idea, and the ankle tattoo was Ruby’s idea.

Emma now had a gaudy plastic trophy on her dresser that proclaimed her to be - Carl’s Bar and Crab Shack Miss Best Boobs 2014 - 3rd Place Winner - a cocktail named The Black Swan after her was listed on the menu of a Vegas hotspot, and she had a large yellow and black sunflower inked on her ankle, so the belly chain and the bedazzled bra Ruby brandished at her weren’t too outlandish by comparison.

Keep reading

A Comedian’s Takedown of Victoria’s Secret Angels Was Pitch-Perfect

Rebel Wilson is no angel. The Australian comedian and Bachelorette actor took the stage at the MTV Movie Awards Sunday night to publicly apologize for her purported wild antics on the set of Pitch Perfect 2. She wore a pair of oversize white wings with black leggings and a bedazzled bra, but the words printed on the back of her pants suggested her message was about more than just fashion.

“Think,” the pants read in bold silver capital letters that mimicked the logo of the Victoria’s Secret line “Pink,” which is known for sweatpants bearing the brand name across the butt. In the press room of the awards show, Wilson told reporters the pants were about encouraging girls to use their brains rather than their bodies.

“Sometimes girls look at Victoria’s Secret models and think they have to model themselves after that…but I really don’t think that’s the best,” the 29-year-old said. “We’re all different shapes and sizes and nationalities, and I think that one of the messages in [Pitch Perfect 2] is we’re all beautiful.”

Wilson, who plays a character named Fat Amy in the Pitch Perfect films, often uses her weight as a source of comedy, but it doesn’t always go over well. When she hosted the MTV Movie Awards in 2013, she caught flak for continually inserting herself into the punch line of fat jokes, including in her opening monologue, when she said, “I’m just a fat simple girl from Australia.”

Her stunt at this year’s awards show is the second one this week to mock Victoria’s Secret supermodels, who are branded as angels. Lane Bryant’s new campaign takes a direct swipe at Victoria’s Secret with its “I’m no angel” hashtag and advertisements that aim to promote body acceptance by featuring curvy women of varying sizes.

Read similar stories at!

artazen  asked:

So I really love your Toad, Bowser, and Mario designs, they're super rad, but honestly I'm wondering why you've made Peach the way she is? You've exaggerated all the other forms outwards, and yet.. Peach just gets stretched a lot upwards and taken way in at the waist? Also what's up with get-up? A bedazzled bra, short shorts, boots for protection, and nothing else? What made you go in that direction? I'm sort of side-eyeing you here on that design tbh, even if the actual art is great.

Peach has always been the tallest (with the exception of Bowser) character in the Mario series, and I really wanted to play that up when I designed her, hence her mile long legs. And the reason I went with a more “risqué” choice of clothing is because for me personally, I wanted to design a character that was edgier because my work tends to be on the cutesy and conservative side. I wanted to give my portfolio some diversity and show I can design different types of characters. I know her main outfit isn’t very protective but honestly this whole project was about fun and if Mario doesn’t need protective armor then Peach shouldn’t either. Another thing is that my teacher wanted us to be aware of that we were not creating fan art, and I felt that if I kept Peach in her ball gown, then I wouldn’t be pushing my designs enough, so there was that reason as well. 

I’m a big advocate of female empowerment and having strong female leads in all forms of media so I know that this seems to be presenting the opposite of what I support, but if Peach wants to go kick some bad guys faces into a pulp while wearing short shorts then why can’t she? Sailor Moon and the Sailor scouts fight evil by moonlight in miniskirts and heels right? Female heroes come in all different forms :) 

Again, this was just a project to help push myself in a different direction stylistically, I meant to take no offense to anyone. Thank you so much for caring enough to write to me to better understand my concept.