loud prints

the fact that tae pretty much went on a 5 minute long rant when someone said his shirt didnt look good on him and was straight up like ‘BITCH WATCH THIS lemme pull out these other shirts i bought with super loud prints that are revolutionary and will look amazing on me’ and then went on to call out people who said he couldnt pull off his glasses and proceeded to talk about how they shouldnt say that all while wearing said glasses……………..im so fucking proud of him U GO BABY U FUCKING TELL EM

Bad: character with solar-powered metabolism going about mostly naked.

Good: character with solar-powered metabolism going about in loud tropical print outfits because that’s the only pattern she can get tan-through fabric in sufficient quantities in.

Revision of my very first Loud House poster, now with added Mom and Dad Loud. 

Another on my *eventual* prints list. Why not have a framed image of your favorite cartoon family?

Support my Patreon to get first looks at all my completed works!


Described as such by Ava DuVernay, the actor-director — who showed up at Comic-Con in a pineapple-print men’s romper — explains how he pushes the aesthetic envelope.

Taika Waititi is a fashion superhero. The proof: When the New Zealand native and director of November'sThor: Ragnarok showed up at Comic-Con in July, he stole the spotlight from his stars, including Chris Hemsworth, Cate Blanchett and Idris Elba, by pulling off an outfit that almost no other Hollywood man could: a men’s romper look — and in a pineapple print, no less. The getup prompted director Ava DuVernay to tweet that he’s the entertainment industry’s “best-dressed helmer,” and fashion news sites took note, giving him plaudits ranging from saying “this outfit is perfection” to calling him a “style icon.” There’s even a Twitter account, @taika_fashion, that chronicles his looks.

Waititi, 42, is part of a burgeoning group of entertainment-world men with highly original and bold personal style, from such stars as Jared Leto,Atlanta’s LaKeith Stanfield, Pharrell Williams and Harry Styles to director Paul Feig of Bridesmaids andSpy, who has a line of suits coming out this fall with J.Crew. Because these guys are talent, they — unlike their compatriots in Hollywood’s executive ranks — are afforded a fair bit of sartorial latitude. “Some would call it peacocking. It probably is, but I’ve always loved bright things and things that stand out,” says Waititi during a break from putting the final touches on Marvel's Thor sequel, his first big studio film. Harking back to the classic comic books and giving the costumes an ‘80s edge enabled Waititi to do “a really fresh new take on the whole franchise. That’s one of the things that drew me to it [and because] Chris [Hemsworth] wanted to do something different. He wanted to move away from the version of Thor who was stoic and wasn’t the most interesting element of the film. Whereas now, he is the best character. He spent a couple of years on Earth with Tony Stark and has got this colloquialism now, which is way more relatable for audiences and way more fun.” Adds Brad Winderbaum, vp production and development at Marvel Studios and executive producer on the film: “We met with Taika a few times, and he had a great angle on the character. [Marvel head] Kevin Feige realized this guy could bring something special to Thor. He really wanted to highlight Chris Hemsworth as a comedic force.” Waititi also appears in Thor: Ragnarok via motion-capture as a villain called Korg, and he is currently in talks with Warner Bros. to direct a live-action feature adaptation of the anime classic Akira.

Waititi won the Thor job on the strength of his independent films, which he has described as dealing mainly with “the clumsiness of humanity.” With a flair for fusing comedy and drama in unforgettable coming-of-age stories, he has directed the two top-grossing New Zealand-made films of all time: 2010'sBoy and 2016's Hunt for the Wilderpeople, which each raked in nearly $10 million in a nation of just 4.8 million people. The latter is about a Tupac-obsessed Maori teen who stands apart in the wilderness with his urban leopard-print baseball cap and dollar-sign-print jacket. “He makes up for his personality by wearing bright colors,” says Waititi. His earlier film,Boy, set in the 1980s, is about an 11-year-old who’s obsessed with Michael Jackson and longs to meet his long-absent father, played by Waititi. He also co-directed with Jemaine Clement (Flight of the Conchords, Moana) the 2014 mockumentary What We Do in the Shadows, in which he plays one of five vampires who share a flat in Wellington, New Zealand. Waititi scored the character with the best costumes: an 18th century dandy turned bloodsucker flaunting lace collars and flouncy sleeves.

But now that he has ascended to the directing big leagues, Waititi hasn’t become any more cautious with his style. Unrestrained patterns and prints are a staple for him, whether it’s shirts covered in mega-polka dots or bananas or bomber jackets, such as the one with a black panther design by Stolen Girlfriend’s Club that he wore to the Sundance premiere ofWilderpeople. Even when he’s rocking a loud print, the cut always works for his body type (which he says he keeps trim by doing intermittent fasting, often restricting daily eating to an eight-hour period). “I don’t do weird shapes. I hate boxy giant shirts. If you push it too far, you’re leaning into a clown look. You have to watch out for that,” says the director, who also can successfully get away with the generally impossible feat of wearing a newsboy cap. Adds Mayes Rubeo, the costume designer for Thor: Ragnarok, “He’s very careful that everything has to fit well. I think design is fundamental for him, and it shows in his everyday style.”

Waititi says that he has never experienced a downside to standing out with his wardrobe in Hollywood. “I don’t ever wear anything conservative in a business sense,” he says, admitting he finds men’s style in Los Angeles lacking. “In Hollywood in general, especially in the studios, it’s a very boring style. It’s very safe. It’s a ‘you might as well be wearing a beeper on your belt’ style, you know. Just tucking in an ugly shirt into some ugly trousers serves a purpose in a way, but you may as well just wear jeans and a T-shirt to work. To me, that’s not dressing well.” On the set of Thor, by contrast, Waititi wore a suit to work almost every day (his favorites are by Paul Smith and Topman), not unlike David O. Russell, another Hollywood style icon. “Ever since I was a kid, I loved the idea of leaving the house and going to work. I couldn’t wait to get a job and actually go to work. So if I’m on a set now, I like to make some effort to present myself,” says the director, who is married to producer-director Chelsea Winstanley (a co-director of the new film Waru, a drama about child abuse in a community of indigenous Maori, which premiered at this year’s Toronto Film Festival). When in L.A., the couple stays in Hollywood; they have two young girls, ages 2 and 5.

Waititi — who was nominated for an Oscar in 2004 for his short film Two Cars, One Night — was raised in a small town of around 300 people in rural New Zealand, the son of a farmer father, who is Maori, and a schoolteacher mother, who is European and Jewish. (Early on in his career, he sometimes went by the name Taika Cohen, using his mother’s maiden name.) He recalls as a kid hungering for images of people of color to look up to. “We were looking for heroes who were like us, you know?” says Waititi, whose childhood idols were Michael Jackson (one of the director’s next projects will be a stop-motion animated film called Bubbles about the late singer’s pet chimpanzee) and Bob Marley. The reggae singer, to this day, inspires his style. “Bob Marley was big into denim, and I love denim,” says the director, who also has become a strong voice speaking out against bigotry, whether on his Instagram account (where his bio states, “Give Nothing to Racism”) or working earlier this year on a campaign for New Zealand’s Human Rights Commission. For that, he created a satirical ad that encouraged people to be “a tiny bit racist,” making the point that micro-aggressions can add up when directed at people of color. “They’ll be getting hundreds of small bits every day. … It will be noticed,” he says in the PSA.

When it comes to style, Waititi — who is based in Auckland but spends lots of time in L.A. — pulls off his idiosyncratic style choices with a dose of braggadocio and humor. “Sorry you’re not me. #god,” he wrote on his Instagram when he posted a shot of his pineapple outfit, which technically wasn’t a romper but a matching shirt and shorts combo by L.A.-based Wallpapr. The company was co-founded in March by cinematographer Kevin Gosselin, who says that after Waititi wore the design, “we were getting orders all over the world the next day.” For another Instagram post in which he wore a denim jacket paired with jeans, Waititi typed, “Yeah it’s double fucking denim. Even the hair is denim. The lesson? Be me. #GodOfDenim.” In photo shoots, he’s known for clowning around, throwing off Zoolander-type poses. “Taika is so much fun,” says Rubeo. “Fun is something you don’t buy. He was born with it.” Adds Waititi, “Making movies is like a fancy job that no one has realized is not really a job. It’s a really sweet, small, little creative corridor that I’ve managed to squeeze into. So I think you’ve got to embrace that.”

Taika Waititi, fashion superhero! I like it!

Ed Sheeran drawn using marker pens, with torn brown paper and “Thinking out Loud” lyrics background.

Art Prints: https://www.etsy.com/listing/508560823/ed-sheeran-portrait-drawing-with

Original: https://www.etsy.com/listing/495077626/ed-sheeran-original-drawing-with

The Eldest

I’ve been reading Lord of the Rings with my kid, and we read about Tom Bombadil the last couple of nights.  Some things are easier to notice when you’re reading out loud; in print, some of what Tom says is formatted as songs, with italics and one line of poetry to a line of print, and some of it is formatted as dialog, with quotation marks and everything.  But when you’re reading aloud, there’s no difference between them.  Where everyone else in the book (so far, and as far as I know) is speaking prose, Tom speaks poetry.  Except for one bit:

“Eh, what?” said Tom sitting up, and his eyes glinting in the gloom. “Don’t you know my name yet? That’s the only answer. Tell me, who are you, alone, yourself and nameless? But you are young and I am old. Eldest, that’s what I am. Mark my words, my friends: Tom was here before the river and the trees; Tom remembers the first raindrop and the first acorn. He made paths before the Big People, and saw the little People arriving. He was here before the Kings and the graves and the Barrow-wights. When the Elves passed westward, Tom was here already, before the seas were bent. He knew the dark under the stars when it was fearless—before the Dark Lord came from Outside.”

Somewhere in the middle of this, the rhythm starts to falter; I started reading this passage in the same sing-song that I’d gotten used to reading Tom’s dialog in, but I stumbled when I got to Tom was here before the river and the trees, and by the time I read He knew the dark under the stars, there was no way I could make it fit.

Having some familiarity with Tolkien, I suspect that this is exactly what was supposed to happen.  In any case it’s an interesting and effective metaphor for Frodo’s own confusion in this scene and his inability to fit Tom into his understanding of the world.

Old Harry Image:
Rich, elite; loud prints; sheer shirts; deep, so deep, like, the deepest; womanizer; hipster; journal keeper; distant from the band, doesn’t like them; wants to be solo; dressed by a stylist

New Harry Image:
Rich, elite; loud prints; sheer shirts; deep, so deep, like, the deepest; pimp; hipster; journal keeper; distant from the band, liked them at the time; wants to be solo; dressed by a stylist to look like other people

Most of my dash:


Originally posted by ninicutiepie

shinetroll  asked:

Hello, fellow listener! I want to be Cecil for Halloween this year, but I can't decide what I should wear. I have a "Night Vale community radio" t-shirt that I might incorporate into the costume, but other than that, I'm not sure of the best approach to be recognized as Cecil. Do you have any tips or suggestions?

Hello there! 

Since you already have something that literally says Night Vale community radio I wouldn’t be overly concerned about being recognized. That said, the easiest cheat to be recognized from my (limited) experience cosplaying Cecil is usually lots of purple and a pair of headphones or a radio mic prop. 

Some possible additions to your ensemble could be do use your interpretation of a canon outfit (the fuzzy pants, the sponge clogs, the cat ears in particular make repeat appearances, the tights etc.), or just an interestingly loud clash of prints. 

The great thing about Cecil’s character is there really is no “wrong” way to interpret his unique sense of style, or more generally his appearance. 

I just want 2 say I hope you don’t ever feel afraid to wear bright colours or loud prints because you are worried what people might think. It is the most fun to wear something that is a bit of a risk, that you think looks good, that makes you stand out!! 🌻✨✨✨👏👏👏

Good Luck Kiss (submission)

HOly shit okay so I intended to write a little blurb about some *thoughts* I’ve been having all day today… and then this happened instead. This is my 2nd writing and my first smut ever so I’m sooooo sorry in advance if it is cringey or bad or if there are grammar problems i did my best okay?!?! kjlkajsgkjsal okay here it is. 


You couldn’t be more excited about your show tonight. Los Angeles is always an amazing crowd, but you know it’s going to be an extra special performance because Harry is in the audience. You always get butterflies before any performance, and tonight is no different. Usually to calm your nerves you blast loud music in your dressing room, drink your hot tea, and have some laughs with your crew as a distraction. But tonight your usually remedies just won’t do the trick. And it’s all because you know he’s in the audience. He’s out there, waiting to watch you on stage and it has you restless; that it’s now your turn to perform for him instead of the other way around.

All of this anticipation has got you in a naughty mood.

You were excited that he and some friends had come to see your concert so you were already buzzing about that, but part of you was so ready to show off for Harry a bit. You’ve seen him in concert countless times and watching him on stage was one of your favorite things. The way he gets the crowd screaming, how he moves so effortlessly on stage, how he comes off as a literal God among men, how he owns the crowd and has everyone (especially you) ready to drop to their knees for him. You wonder (well, hope) if you have the same effects on him.

So as you’re getting ready to go on, he’s out in the crowd with Jeff, Glenne, Mitch and a few others watching the opening act and you’ve been texting him; begging him to come back stage for one last good luck kiss, but he’s ignoring your texts. He knows what it is you really want; you were in a mood all afternoon, and he gently denying your advances a few times, not because he didn’t want to, but because he was trying to have some self-control in front of his friends. But you’re making it awfully hard for him when you keep texting flirty things, about how one kiss from him would insure a perfect show, how you promise all you want it just one little baby kiss to the lips. You even send a pouty selfie with your hair and make up done but still in your robe, not yet dressed yet. (Of course it’s pulled down a bit to show off your shoulder and a little cleavage.)

Y/N: Wanna do good for you tonight and can’t if I don’t have a good luck kiss.  

But he’s being firm with you. 

H: I know what you’re trying to do love, s'not happening. Keep getting ready, your opener’s almost done.

You’re pissed. Livid that he’s denying you of what you want when this is your day. Your concert. How many times have you come back to his dressing room for him when he’s asked? Now the roles are reversed and it’s his turn to give you what you want. Right? 

You sit in your chair sulking, and then an idea pops in your head. You’ll have one of your security guards go get him. A big, burly man finds him in the friends and family section and asks, no tells, him to come with him. His friends don’t think much of it, other than Jeff, who has done this very same thing before, going and grabbing you at last minute, and he knows exactly what is going on, giving Harry a knowing smirk. Harry’s cheek flush to a soft shade of pink, not because he’s embarrassing of Jeff knowing his business, but because he knows he’ll lose all self control if he goes back there. Because the second he sees you, he’ll give into you.

The big man in front of him isn’t giving him any other choice but to follow him backstage. Your security guard leads him to your dressing room where you are still in your robe, sitting in your make up chair, fussing with your hair in your mirror. The man shuts the door once Harry is inside, and you look up very innocently, immediately smiling when you see your beautiful boyfriend in his signature black ripped skinny jeans and perfectly tousled hair. He opted for a softer patterned shirt tonight in a lame attempt to stay somewhat discreet, but let’s face it, it’s still Harry; it’s still a loud, expensive, Gucci print that screams rock star, and dare you think it, daddy.

His expression is hard to read though, when you get up and move towards him. 

“Hi baby,” you say softly, your eyes and smile showing you are so happy to see him again.

He clears his throat, rubbing at his nose, a telltale sign he is frustrated. “C’mon pet, why aren’t you dressed yet? You go on soon.” 

You just giggle, immediately grabbing his big, ringed hands.

“I just wanted a little kiss, why’d you have to go and make everything so difficult?” You roll your eyes playfully, giving off a dramatic breath and batting your eyelashes at him. You place his hands on your hips, and you push yourself closer to him.

“Cause I know you want a lot more than a kiss and I can’t give that to you right now.” 

“And why not?” You give him puppy eyes as you stroke his cheek.

You’re breaking him down slowly; you can feel him relaxing at your touch. Usually he’s in charge, you rarely get to call the shots and you’re hoping that just maybe he’s finally going to give into you. You have to step up on your tip toes to reach, but you start to press lingering kisses to his jaw line, slowly moving down to his neck, up to the other side of his jaw, his cheek, and then right before you come to his lips you pause, wanting him to be the one to lean in first, to break. You’re testing him, he knows this, and as much as he’s tried to remain unaffected, he’s struggling to stay composed. If his staggered breath doesn’t shine light on his internal struggle, the growing tent in his pants gives him away. You’re everywhere; your hands in his hair at the nape of his neck, your perfume invading his nostrils, and the feeling of your faint soft lips remain on his skin.

“C’mon pet, be good for me.” He closes his eyes, thinking if he can’t see you maybe he’ll be able to maintain control.

“’M always good for you, Harry” you murmur against his cheek, pressing your lips softly to it.

“Ha, no you’re not. A menace you are,” he all but barks, his voice thick.

“Only when you don’t give me what I want…” you pout, your voice trailing off as you try to decide your next move. He’s holding strong, stronger than you though he could, and although you’re impressed, you are running out of patience and time. You need him, and the tingling in your core is screaming at you, but you need him to be the one to break first. Your fingers are still in his hair, and you stroke the curly strands gently.

“How about this, hmm? You give me what I want nowwww, and I’ll promise to be an extra good girl for you later.” Your voice is at a soft whisper now, your lips grazing right to his ear. You think you have him right where you want him. His body’s gone frigid at your proposition, and he’s continuing to breath through his nose with his eyes closed. You assume this means he needs a little more convincing, so you gently take your tongue across his earlobe, and then give it an even so slight bite, letting his lobe slowly move through your teeth. 

And then he’s alive.

The groan that leaves his throat is sound you will never forget, and is a noise that you will forever try to make his repeat. His hands move from your hips where you early placed them, to your wrists. In one swift movement he has your back to the dress room door with your arms above your head. He’s got a firm hold on your wrists, so firm it almost hurts a bit, but you don’t mind. This is exactly what you wanted (and you’re secretly hoping it’ll leave a mark).

“Think you’re funny pet? Havin’ your security pluck me from the crowd like I’m some fuckin’ groupie?” His accent is coming through thick, his words dripping with authority and need. His hot breath is hitting your face, he’s so close if you moved slightly forward your lips would touch. But you don’t make a move. You wait. He needs to break. He needs to crumple just like you’ve crumpled for him time and time again.

You smirk at his comment, looking at him challengingly.

“Didn’t expect it to come to that. Thought you’d wanna give your only angel a kiss before her big performance.” Your baiting him, you know. And you’re enjoying this now but you know that when you go back to the hotel tonight, there will be hell to pay. But maybe that’s why you keep pushing him. Maybe that’s why you press your core to his, hoping to find that he’s in need just as much as you are.

He’s hard against your stomach, and you moan, needing him inside you. Your noses are touching and he’s so close to you, you’re breathing in his cologne, your favorite scent, the one that makes you feel at home. Your mind is fuzzy with him, of what you want and need from him, and the teasing act that you have put up is starting to falter as you realize just how needy you are for him. Your core is tight, you can feel yourself dripping for him, and although you’ve been teasing him, it’s been agonizing for you too.

“Please baby,” you whisper, rubbing your nose to his, “I need it.” Your voice cracks at the end, it’s so quiet you wonder if he even heard you.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” he growls, and with that his lips hit yours, hard. You want to celebrate your victory, but there’s no time. He’s everywhere; his lips kissing you so passionately and roughly it almost hurts. He drops your wrists in order to grab your face, cupping it gruffly and his continues his attack down your neck. In the back of your mind you are worried about your make up being messed up, but how can you care for too long when he’s kissing, sucking, biting his way down your exposed throat.

“N-no marks!” You choke out, trying to catch your breath.

“I know, I know,” and he’s fumbling with the tie on your robe, pulling it down to reveal your naked body.

“Christ, pet! Really had this planned out, didn’t yeh?” He instinctually grabs your braless boobs, looking up at you in wonder, but you’re breathless.

“N-no, no time to underdress, ahhh,” and you hiss as he attached his lips to one of your nipples, his tongue lapping at the now hardened bud.

“Harry, have to be quick, ahh, ahhh!” You yelp as he bites down gently. “Harry, c’mon please.” You whine.

You reach between the two of you to undo his zipper and you yank down his pants, only to reveal that he too didn’t have any underwear on. He’s already hard in your hands and he’s practically leaking even though you’ve barely touched him, hissing as you gently pump him.

He reaches down to your core to find his fingers glide through your folds, and you yelp when he grazes over your very sensitive bud.

“Jump,” he demands, and you oblige as he forcefully picks you up, his large hands grabbing your ass and lifting you up so you are able to wrap your legs around his waist. His strong hands remained firmly gripped one your ass, and it’s then that he finally enters you, your head falling back against the wall as he does so. You both moan in unison, both swimming in the relief you both feel of finally being joined at last. His lips are on your neck, his breath heavy as he tries to keep you both up right. You struggle to keep your noises quiet, knowing that your entire crew is on the other side of this door.

“Harry,” you whimper in his ear, one hand pulling at his thick curls, the other clawing at his back through is shirt.

“I’ve got yeh, angel. ‘ve got yeh.,” he breathes. “Feels so-fuck- feels so good.”

You moan, agreeing with him. “Gotta, ahhh, gotta be quick baby,” you remind him as he grazes that spot inside you.

“Mmhmm,” he grunts, continuing to thrust up into you, fucking you into the door. “Hey- be- uhh, be nice pet,” he chokes out as you squeeze around him.

“”m’sorry,” you gasp, “Feels so good. Needed this. Needed you. Can you please- Harry, need you to-” and of course he knows exactly what you need, as his hand travels between you two, his thumb rubbing circles at your slick bud.

“C’mon angel. Give me a good one. Know you can. Be a good girl. My good girl, hmmm? My only angel.”

He’s watching you now, watching as you come undone on top of him. He watches as your head throws back, and he doesn’t mind the stinging on his scalp when you grip his hair even tighter. You are trying so hard to keep your cries to yourself, not wanting to completely give yourselves away, but it’s so hard when he’s fucking you so good and everything feels just right.

If you pulsating around him isn’t what does him in, then it must be the fucked out look you give him when you’ve finally come down from your high. Your eyes are glossy, your lips a berry red, and a hint of red to your cheeks that your make up artist didn’t put there. He’s overwhelmed by you; he’s heaving on top of you, choking in his curses as he shoots his hot load into you. It takes a minute for him to come back to you, you gently rub his back as you both try to regulate your breathing. You press soft kisses to his cheek, his forehead, his eyes and nose, and lastly his lips, lingering there for a few seconds.

“Yeh okay?” he grasps, kissing you back.

“Mmmhmm,” you hum, a smile radiating from you that only he could inspire.

“Gonna pull out now,” he speaks to you softly, slowly unwrapping your legs from his waist. You hiss for a few reasons; your legs feeling stiff from being wrapped around his waist so tightly, your back feeling as though there might be a bruise from being pounded into the door, and lastly your cunt, now feeling empty, both of him and his seed, that is now making its way down your leg. He grabs a towel to clean you up, rubbing his hands down your legs. You are stood almost frozen, but only for a second longer, only until you remember where you are.

“Holy shit,” you laugh. “We just fucked in my dressing room.” You wrap your robe around yourself as he tosses the towel to the trash, pulling up his pants in one motion. Tucking himself in, you can’t help but stare at him, at this beautiful man in front of you, this man that you love very much.

He laughs as he looks up at you, adjusting himself as he moves towards you. His hand comes up to tuck strands of hair behind your ear, his infamous smirk spreading across his face.

“Your makeup artist is gonna have my head,” he laughs, running his thumb over your now plump lips.

“Maybe so,” you giggle, kissing his thumb. “But it was worth it.”



Our critic Heller McAlpin says “Most of the 35 very short essays in Would Everybody Please Stop? are either hilarious, heartfelt, or both. 

Many, including “I’m Awake,” first appeared in The New Yorker. Some are over-the-top silly, others read like material for her performances as a monologist and may be even better live. Yet her wry voice — sometimes confiding, sometimes overbearing — comes through loud and clear in print.

Find her full review here.

– Petra

CoL, chpt 1


When Percy first proposed the idea of living in New Rome to Annabeth, she had vehemently opposed it. However, after a year of college there, the place had definitely grown on her.

Inside the Pomerian Line was a cosy world of demigods living tucked away from the constant danger of monster attacks and vengeful deities. The university’s architectural design programme was first-rate, as was to be expected in a city that was modelled after the original Greek and Roman ones. Her friends were often around: Reyna lived nearby, having recently retired from the legion and passed on her praetorship to Hazel. The latter Annabeth saw often as well, along with Frank, since they attended senate meetings regularly. Camp Half-Blood had finally established a regular exchange programme with Camp Jupiter, spearheaded by Jason and Piper, with a cross-country transportation service courtesy of Leo and Festus. Annabeth’s half-brother Malcolm had been in the first wave of exchange heroes. She even got out into San Francisco occasionally to visit her dad, and while she missed Chiron dearly, there were always Iris messages and summers back on Long Island.

Keep reading

that one eminem song (again)

still cleaning out my closet/resetting my style, and holy shit I owned too many clothes. items that need new homes include: the most beautiful faux fur lined winter coat of all time, a pencil skirt covered in loud necronomicon print (yes that necronomicon), an enormous petticoat, a white 80s vintage coat that I don’t deserve, plus an assortment of other skirts and tops that I hate to let go but are no longer “me”.

would anyone be interested in another round of Buy Emily’s Gorgeous Clothes To Help Her Afford New Ones?

When the King Likes You

Based off this request: i was wondering if you can do a fluff one? Where crowley is interested in the reader and she is in love with him but thinks he prefers…. thinner….women. but he proves her wrong. You can keep the sarcasm that is Crowley. Thanks:)



The boys had left you alone at the motel. They’d offered for you to go with them, but you were weary from travel and hunts. You’d much rather stay back and gorge yourself on vending machine snacks and reality TV.

The knock at the door startled you. You quickly grabbed your gun and held it at your side as you peered out the peephole.

What you saw there made your heart flutter and shudder at the same time.

You slowly opened the door, leaving the chain on. “Crowley. What do you want?”

“Hello, darling,” the King of Hell crooned at you. “I’ve got some information for Moose and Squirrel. May I come in?”

“They’re not here.” You silently cursed yourself. Should you really have told him that?

“Hm. Well, mind if I come in and wait for them? It’s a long journey from Hell and I’d rather not make it twice in one day.”

You looked him up and down. He seemed unarmed, but really, what sort of physical weapon did the King of Hell need? But he’d never harmed you in any way….

You felt the weight of the gun in your hand. You knew you were more than capable of protecting yourself. Sam and Dean had made sure to leave behind plenty of weapons.

“Fine,” you said, shutting the door and removing the chain. When you opened it back up, Crowley smiled at you.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he said, walking in past you. The nickname made your heart flutter again, but you tried not to think too much of it. Surely he called all women that. It didn’t make you special.

You tried to play it cool as you stalked past him and flopped on the bed. The crinkle of cellophane made you wince and you were suddenly aware of just how many snack wrappers littered the room. Sure, some of them were from Dean, but the ones on the bed were all from you.

You felt, more than noticed, Crowley looking at you. You quickly swept all the wrappers on to the floor, as if that reversed your having eaten what had been in them. “Sorry,” you mumbled, unsure what exactly you were apologizing for.

You turned your attention back to the television and tried not to jump out of your skin when Crowley sat next to you. The King of Hell commandeered whatever space he wanted and somehow managed to look regal even while sitting on the obnoxiously loud floral printed quilt.

“What are you watching?”

“Trashy TV,” you said, unsure what exactly you’d stumbled upon. Hopefully it wasn’t anything too embarrassing.

“Ah,” Crowley said after a moment. “I recognize her. I believe one of my crossroad demons made a deal with her—got her this show. Shame she’ll be losing her soul in…” You saw him check his watch. “Two and a half years.”

You looked back at the screen. The woman he was talking about was someone you were envious of—perfect hair, perfect teeth, perky breasts, taught stomach, tiny waist and hips—tiny everything except breasts, really. You self-consciously pulled your knees up towards you and wrapped your arms around them.

You and the King of Hell watched the television for a bit, in silence. Once or twice you thought you saw him glance over at you. During the commercial, he finally spoke again.

“You know, there’s something that I’ve always wondered about you, darling. Which of these boys do you plan on taking as your Prince Charming?”

You scoffed. “Neither. And I find it insulting that you assume I’m going to fall in love with one of them, just because I hunt with them. I’m stronger than that, thank you.”

“Oh, I know you’re strong, love. I just thought surely with their charming smiles and alluring personalities…”

“I’m not looking for Prince Charming.”

“Oh,” Crowley said, a strange expression on his face. “Are you…”

“No,” you said with the slightest roll of your eyes. “I’m not looking for Prince Charming, because I don’t need to be whisked off my feet and saved. And besides, why be a princess when you could be a queen?”

Your heart leapt to your throat, realizing what you’d said. ‘No, no, no,’ you thought to yourself. ‘Please don’t let him–’

Crowley let out a laugh at that. “Very good,” he said, a smile on his face. There was a strange look in his eye, which made you turn away from him. “You know, I do believe I’ve got an opening for you…”

“Please,” you said. “You don’t want me. You’d probably much rather have someone like her,” you pointed at the screen, where the woman from before was back. “She’s more fit to be a queen.”

Crowley noticed the emphasis you put on the word ‘fit’. “Love, I’d much rather have a pretty little thing like you beside me than that pile of silicone and diet pills.”

You weren’t sure which word shocked you more, ‘pretty’ or ‘little’. You dared take another look at Crowley and all you saw in his eyes was sincerity. You remained frozen in place as the King of Hell gently slid his hand into one of yours.

“Besides,” he said in a low voice. “‘Y/N, Queen of Hell’ does have a nice ring to it.”

You looked down at your clasped hands, trying to hide the smile creeping onto your face.

“You don’t have to give me an answer immediately,” Crowley said, drawing your attention to his face. “But I do hope you’ll give me the chance to show you how wonderful it would be.”

You bit your lip. “I’d like that,” you said in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

Tips for your outfit.

  • Matching all the metal accents (gold with gold).
  • Play up your best feature. Mine are things that fit snugly to my waist, which is 23 inches.
  • Buy in different shades of the color that look best on you, which is blue/green for me. 
  • Emphasize your bust OR your legs, never both or you’ll look trashy.
  • Don’t choose something with a loud or busy print or you’ll look childish.
  • General rule of thumb is if your skirt is above your knees, you don’t need heels. Below the knee = heels.
  • Try to match all your leather. (white shoes, white bag)
  • Stick to good quality even if it is more expensive.
  • ALL THE JEWELLERY HAS TO BE THE SAME METAL, DO NOT MIX. (gold = gold. gold /=/ silver)
  • Try to go for silk as much as possible.
  • A lot of guys are tactile, meaning they like to touch. Choose soft clothes.
  • Wear what you’re comfortable with. Everybody can tell when you’re not.
  • Keep your stuff clean. 
  • Jeans = heels.