“I’m in the club high off purp with my shades on..” MILEY?
Miley, “ I don’t listen to that kind of music.” When people inquired about the references in Party in the USA. Only to find herself twerkin in a frog suit with black women behind her years later, Miley?
Miley, who was propelled forward and profited off the appropriation of hip hop culture and her relationship with a black producer, Miley?
Did she return her J’s (I’m asking for the culture.)
Girl cop a squat on your wrecking ball and swing the fuck out my face….you were never apart of this. You used hip hop culture to progress your, “ I’m just trying to be me… agenda” on the backs of black and brown women who are still shamed for the very things you were applauded for. All while those women continue TIRELESSLY FIGHTING THE MISOGYNY PRESENT NOT JUST IN THE WORLD, BUT IN THE HIP HOP CULTURE THEY LOVE.
You couldn’t “step away” fast enough, cause it was all good when you were getting pulled on stage to twerk and collecting your check….
I support anyone that is willing to speak out against misogyny. But I’m sick of these fair weather white feminist and their endless parade of bullshit. Quick to condemn hip hop but have nothing to say about the misogyny present in country music. Quick to claim feminism while dismissing scores of black and brown women who’s voices and concerns they actively attempt to invalidate.
Now to address another matter.
Can we STOP giving out passes to the cookout so prematurely….
Fanart for the lovely @andmynewlymeltedheart who is writing wonderful fanfic called Open to My Eyes which can be found here and here. It’s honestly so cute so far and you guys should read it! The scene I drew is based off of chapter 2
I took some liberty with this prompt, as well. I’m trying to keep this to a single, continuous story arc, and I wasn’t ready for them to get naughty just yet. So, you’ll just have to make do with LUST rather than SMUT this time.
This is for @siderealsandman. You set the sin bar high, my friend. If anyone wants to read incredibly well written sin, go check out Sandman’s AO3.
Marinette checked her reflection in her mirror for the umpteenth time, because she was too antsy to sit still. Which was silly. She didn’t even know that he would be coming over. She swung away from the mirror with a groan, and began pacing. They hadn’t made any plans, but he had made a habit of dropping by on Friday evenings. He didn’t always come, but he did whenever he could.
And since she’d finished her Chat Noir outfit earlier in the week, she’d decided to go ahead and put it on, to surprise him with the complete look. After his reaction to the choker, she was quite looking forward to seeing his reaction to all of it. But what if he didn’t show tonight? What if he showed, but he thought it was ridiculous? What if he thought it was slutty?
She stopped. Why was she freaking out over what Chat Noir thought of this outfit? Sure, a bit of anticipation and even nerves made sense. She did want him to like them, after all. But this level of anxiety was over the top, even for her. It was just Chat Noir, and regardless of what Alya thought, they weren’t dating. It wasn’t like that for them, it wasn’t anything like she was waiting for Adrien to show up.
“Get a hold of yourself, girl,” she muttered. She resolutely pulled a new library book from her desk, and sat on her chaise to read. Either he would stop by, or he wouldn’t. She opened the book to the first page, and set about getting herself engrossed in the story.
It was late when Adrien was finally released from that stupid black tie affair with his dad. It had been boring and superficial and excruciatingly long, just as those events always were, but this one was worse because it fell on a Friday night. It had somehow become routine to go visit Marinette on Fridays, and now, he couldn’t stand to miss one. So, even though it was probably already too late, he called for his transformation as soon as he was sure that Nathalie wouldn’t be bothering him any more for the night.
The journey across the rooftops was freeing, as it always was, and he’d managed to lose some of the tension from that interminable dinner by the time he reached her balcony. Her lights were still on, which was always a good sign. He peered in through her skylight, and saw that she was curled up under a blanket on the chaise, with a book. He tapped on the glass to get her attention, and waved. Her face lit up when she saw him, and when she waved him in, he wasted no time in joining her.
“I’d given up on you coming over today, Chaton,” she said as he came through the opening in her ceiling.
“Eh, I got tied up as my civilian self.” He pulled the trap door closed behind himself, and began to climb down from her bed. “I almost didn’t come over, as late as it is. And had your light been off, I’d have turned back.”
“Well then, I’m glad I left my light on.” She pushed the blanket back to stand, then turned to set her book down, and Chat realized that she was wearing something other than her customary pink.
She was wearing black.
No, she was wearing black and green.
His colors. She was dressed entirely in his colors, and he quite suddenly forgot how to breathe. It must be the outfit that she’d designed from her sketches of him. She’d elected to stay surprisingly close to the design of his suit, and the sight of Marinette’s trim form clad in something very much like his suit was wreaking havoc with his equilibrium.
She’d made herself a pair of black skinny jeans, but rather than using black thread and a traditional cut for pants, she had cut these to echo the lines of his suit and stitched them with heavy green thread. The result was striking, to say the least. When she’d bent to put down her book, he’d gotten a very good look at the horizontal line across her derriere, as well as the twin lines that traveled down the backs of her legs, making them appear even longer than they were. The waist band sat at her hips, like the belt that circled his own body, and was likewise stitched in the heavy green thread.
By this time she’d turned to face him, and he saw that while her top also echoed the lines of his suit, she’d taken greater creative license with it. It was not made of denim, like the pants, but of matte satin, and was trimmed all the way around in piping of the same green as the thread. In some ways, it resembled a cheongsam, though she’d taken a great deal of liberty with that, as well. She’d clearly modeled the shape of the cap sleeves on the lines on his shoulders, so that they came to gently rounded points. In place of the high neckline, she wore her bell collar necklace above a low “V” neckline that would have shown cleavage on a bustier woman. The green line continued straight down the middle of the shirt to the hem, and was further embellished by two matching green frog closures.
She’d found a way to combine the style elements of his suit with elements from her own heritage, and the over-all effect was stunning, and…provocative. He moistened suddenly dry lips with his tongue, and allowed his gaze to rove over her again.
“Um, Chat? I-is it ok?”
He jerked his eyes to her face, finally aware that he had been staring, and saw that she was watching him anxiously. “Guh, Marinette, you look—er, I mean, this is—this is incredible! And—are you wearing chopsticks in your hair?”
“I am!” She turned to show him her hair, which she’d coiled into a bun and secured with a pair of shiny black chopsticks, which were embellished at the ends with tiny green paw prints. “So, you like it?”
“Like it?” He stepped closer to her, and touched a claw to the paw print on one of the chopsticks with something nearing awe. Not only had she dressed herself in his colors from head to toe, but she had made every last bit of it herself. She’d all but marked herself as his. “I fucking love it,” he breathed.
She whirled to face him, grinning happily, and he found himself staring down into her blue, blue eyes, which were presently very, very close to his face. His gaze dropped from her eyes to her lips without consulting him first, and in that moment, he found himself faced with a very intense desire to sweep his hand over her curves, pull her against him, and press his lips to hers. He watched in fascination as her grin faded, and her pink tongue darted out to moisten her lips before tugging the lower one in between her teeth. His breath caught, and he found himself swaying toward her.
“Ch-Chat,” she whispered, and he didn’t know if it was a question or an invitation or a rejection, but it was enough to bring his brain back online.
He straightened abruptly, and took several hasty steps back, aware that his pants were feeling uncomfortably tight. What in the hell? Where had all of that come from? She was watching him, wide-eyed, with something like disappointment on her face. He mentally kicked himself, hoping that she wouldn’t notice his uh, problem. Why did he have to go and make it awkward between them? He cleared his throat, uncomfortably aware that he was probably blushing enough for it to show around his mask. “S-sorry about that. I, um, ahem, I love it. You did a great job.”
She opened her mouth to speak, apparently thought better of whatever she was going to say, and closed it again. She looked down, tugged at the hem of her shirt nervously, and one half of it pulled briefly away from the other, revealing a flash of the skin beneath.
The shirt didn’t close all the way down, he realized. Those frogs weren’t just decorative; they were the only things holding the silly thing closed. He leaned heavily against the ladder behind him, feeling poleaxed all over again.
“Thanks,” she finally said, with a small smile.
He blinked, an idea forming in his mind. “Hey, uh, Princess?”
“Would you mind if I took a couple of pictures?” Crap, was that weird? He really hoped she didn’t think it was weird.
Her smile broadened, and it reached her eyes again. “Not at all.”
He tugged his baton from behind his back, and brought up the screen. After tapping the pad for the camera, he snapped a couple with her facing him, and lowered it again uncertainly. “Could you, uh…”
“Turn around? Sure.”
She smiled again, and turned away from him so that he could photograph the back. She had her head turned to the side, so he was able to capture her face in profile. Had she always been so…sexy? He gulped, and hoped that she couldn’t hear. “Perfect. Thanks, Princess.”
“Of course!” She moved to the desk, then, and picked up her phone. “Would you mind taking a selfie with me? I don’t have any pictures of us together…”
“Only if you promise to give me a copy.”
“You know I will, Chaton.” She brought up the camera on her phone, and moved to stand beside him, but the angle was weird.
“Here.” He took the phone from her hands, and stood behind and just to the side of her, and held his arm out to take the picture. He pretended not to notice that her face was right next to his, or that only a few centimeters separated their bodies. He took a few pictures before straightening and taking another step away from her.
He was discovering that her proximity was inversely proportional to his ability to think. He managed to say goodnight without embarrassing himself, and then made his escape. When he was safely several houses over, he stopped and looked pensively back toward her balcony.
They’d grown close over recent months, and he considered her one of his dearest friends. If he had found himself attracted to her, he’d chalked it up to the fact that she was a pretty girl and he was a normal 17 year old guy. He’d never thought beyond that, because he’d been so focused on pursuing Ladybug. It hadn’t occurred to him that he might develop feelings for someone else, and if anyone had asked him yesterday if there was something between him and Marinette, he’d have scoffed.
Now? He wasn’t so sure any more. She’d somehow left him aching without ever touching him, so whatever else he felt for her, he definitely desired her. He adjusted himself in his pants with a sigh, and continued on his way.
Anyone want to guess what he’s going to be doing when he gets home?