sperry-shoes

Straight White Boy Problem #863

*in class*

bro: *looking at girl in yoga pants* why do girls always wear yoga pants if they aren’t going to yoga class? I don’t get it? Why do they do that?

Me: huh thats a really interesting question. i wonder why we wear boat shoes like sperrys even if we don’t go boating

Bro: what hte fuc k

Confession

White girls shouldn’t have box braids. White girls shouldn’t have box braids. White girls shouldn’t have box braids. White girls shouldn’t have box braids. Sperrys are not dress shoes Sperrys are not dress shoes Sperrys are not dress shoes Sperrys are not dress shoes Idc idc idc idc Idc idc idc idc

Spring is here

Spring is finally here. Possibly my favorite time of the year. It’s finally getting warmer and the best part is seeing other guys especially jocks and frat dudes walking around in sperrys and other shoes sockless. Nothing hotter than imagining a dude stinking up a pair of his well worn sperrys with his sweaty feet while walking all day in warm weather.  Anyone else a fan?

Day6 Mafia!au

Jae

-          In charge of arranging deals and working with any relations with other gangs and such

-          Has that very casual, unshakeable, chill persona

-          For some reason, he usually has something in his mouth, whether it’s a cigarette (don’t smoke, kids), a snack, or a lollipop (yes, a lollipop)

-          Most people when they first meet him, they kind of question whether he’s really capable of dealing with serious issues, but he never fails to impress

-          Actually a very organized, street smart guy

-          Deals with the toughest of situations without a hitch

-          Sungjin’s right hand man and advisor

-          Dresses very nice, but casual at the same time. Like expensive, ‘I can afford literally whatever I want but I also don’t go to black tie events very often’ type of clothes

YoungK

-          Hitman, straight up

-          Doesn’t enjoy the killing, but also doesn’t hate it

-          However, he will not bring Dowoon or Wonpil especially on a job because he doesn’t want them to get used to it

-          Does a very good job, isn’t too flashy, but is pretty up front about it. Like he doesn’t use poisons or anything, he prefers to see it done and be there for the finish, just to make sure everything goes over properly, but doesn’t leave any loose ends

-          Third in the pecking order

-          Wears lost of dark clothes, but a little refined. Like leather jackets and jeans if he’s dressing down, but also suits a lot of the time

-          People might assume he’s a harsh, unfeeling type of person because of what he does, but he’s actually not terribly unapproachable, and he’s got a major soft spot for Wonpil and Dowoon just because he feels sort of a protective instinct for them

Sungjin

-          Leader of the gang, if there was one of those ridiculous and completely not useful webs of string and pictures and newspaper clippings, his picture would be at the center

-          Very sharp and good at keeping everything running smoothly

-          Very loving and protective with the other guys, but if they screw up, oh boy. ohOOOOHH boy

-          It’s generally just a really good idea not to make Sungjin unhappy

-          This especially goes for people outside the gang who cross him and make things difficult for his boys

-          If you’re in his circle and you screw up, he’s gonna get on you for a little while and let go of it pretty soon, but if you mess with his people and are dumb enough not to skip town immediately after, you’re going to be getting a visit from YoungK in the near future

-          Wears really nice custom tailored suits, usually with black ties, but if he’s dressing down, it’s some kind of nicer shoe like sperrys or a casual dress shoe and muted colors

Wonpil

-          The younger brother of the gang

-          Responsible for most of the less dirty jobs, like transportation and helping with internal management

-          Helps the others to maintain their honor just because they all want to do their best to stay good for him, because he’s the lil bro and they gotta take care of him and be a good example

-          Sungjin is training him in the management and he does a lot of work with budgeting

-          He’s in the mafia because he was born into it, he doesn’t care about the bad reputation, he just trusts and loves his family and will never leave them for anything

-          Keeps dark, beautiful hair, dresses the most casually out of all of them

-          Wears suits when he should, but when he doesn’t have to, he wears black jeans, ankle boots, dark shirts, and sometimes chokers

Dowoon

-          Helps Jae with external relations

-          Works some con jobs

-          Mostly because he seems very innocent and sweet, but he’s really not. He has standards, but if he decides that he needs to then he can and will lie through his teeth with a silver tongue and get away with it every single time

-          There’s talk of him maybe working as a hitman on occasion once he’s a little older and more experienced, but YoungK hates the idea, and Dowoon is okay with not so it probably wont happen

-          Much like Jae in that he can keep the mood light, but also understands how things work and has some street smarts. Not as lighthearted as Jae by a longshot, that boy is hard to beat, but still has it a little

-          Wears a surprising number of sweaters for someone in his line of work, but can pull off the suit

4:56 PM, Monday Afternoon at the Monsieur Valjean Household

ao3

Valjean walked into the kitchen. His feet were hurting, and all he wanted to do was pop open a Copa di Vino and curl up next to their fireplace that was made entirely of amethyst crystals (it opened up the room, Javert had told him, when telling him how much the project would cost and how much labor Jean, himself, would have to do) whilst reading a book, or catching up on Outlanders. 

Instead, he was greeted with the displeased face of his husband, Javert, standing in front of the fridge with his arms crossed over his chest. The redness of his angry cheeks bounced colorfully off the Apple-Green lime colored walls.

Jean stopped dead in his tracks, blinking in confusion. “Are you alright, honey?” 

“Am I- Am.” Javert huffed, and looked away, as though he was astounded that Valjean could ever ask that question. “Am I alright? You tell me. Do I like alright?” He was wearing his Sperry-brand boat shoes, with the blue button-up that he seemed to reserve for his most… Well. What Jean could only describe as his most ‘high-maintenance’ days. 

“…No. I’m just not certain why. It would help if you told me.” Maybe he would be forced to add ‘one hit from the pocket vape’ on his itinerary for the night.

Javert’s stance only tightened, his lips squeezing in the way that meant he was about to launch into yet another of his tirades. “You tell me.” With a flourish, he opened their chrome-plated, double-door fridge, complete with the pull-out freezer, and produced… A bag of Kraft cheese? 

“…Cheese.” Jean said. Javert merely stood there with the cheese in hand, offering no explanation and, indeed, no inclination to move, or progress the conversation, apparently. “It, uh,” Valjean said, after a moment, at a loss for words and resorting to the only thing he did know; taste in food. “It tastes good in quesadillas.”

“It tastes good in HELL!” Javert screeched, and threw the bag of cheese at Valjean to catch. He did catch the bag, of course, and Javert’s eyes were clearly momentarily distracted by the brief flex of muscle that was hinted at under his Calvin Klein green blazer.

Valjean sniffed, and said ominously, “You do not know of hell, Javert.” 

Javert blinked, and waited for an explanation. Without recieving one, he continued, “You bought Kraft™*. Cheddar cheese. To my house. To MY HOUSE.”

It’s just cheese, sweetheart!” Ah. He knew where this was going now. There was no avoiding it now. And… Here it was. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I married Mansanto!” Javert’s voice could be grating on a good day. Standing here, in front of the open fridge, while he screeched at Valjean, it was just about unbearable. As though a 1980′s leather daddy had decided ASMR was his next big breakthrough. 

Valjean sighed, and dutifully turned around to throw the bag of shredded cheese into the garbage. He turned back to his husband. “There. See, Javert? All gone now. No more quesadillas for me.” 

Javert’s gaze went from the garbage can, to Valjean, to the garbage can again, before he said, “Just confer with me on these things. You know Kraft™ is the devil-”

Before he could finish his thought, one of their many children happened to walk by. Enjorlas. The one Valjean worried the most about and the one Javert doted on more than the rest. He seemed to have heard the tail-end of the conversation, for he marched into the room in his bio-degradable and earth-friendly sandles with all the confidence of a Victoria’s Secret model. “Did I hear you say something about Kraft™? Funnily enough, I was reading-”

Fuck. Valjean loved them both so very much, and held both of them dearly in his heart, but there was no possible way on this godly earth that he was going to get subjected to an Enjorlas Soapbox special, likely to last at least an hour, maybe more, if Javert was heated enough to get involved, as well. 

He gave both his husband and adopted son a borderline apologetic look before he snuck behind Javert, grabbed a Chobani Greek Yogurt (his second of his allotted two yogurts per-day) and his can of Copa di Vino, and hightailed it out of the kitchen. 

He’s let one of the other kids deal with the fiasco in the kitchen. He was having a dinner date with The Daily Show with Trevor Noah and going to bed.

*[AN: Both Javert and Enjorlas pronounce the ( tm ) portion of the brand name out lout.]

Park Bench AU

Hey everyone, so I wrote my first piece of fanfiction, its just a short lil’ ficlet, and I’d like to dedicate it to @littletinygothamite :DDD

I’d really appreciate it if @freckledandspectacled you took a gander at it, maybe give me some pointers. 


Ed was sitting by a fountain in Hillshire Park, and reading a book. A particularly good book in his opinion, The Road by Cormac McCarthy. The more disturbing scenes described in the book didn’t bother Ed like it bothered his classmates. But what did they know? They made fun of him, and as far as he was concerned they could all go fuck themselves. He knew that he was different from them, and not just in his sexuality (he considered himself bisexual) but in the way he comprehended subjects and thought about things. That was just fine with Ed, he didn’t like his peers, they were all stupid in comparison to him. Oh well he thought, At least I don’t have to deal with during summer. Ed shook his head to clear it of distracting thoughts, which occurred quite frequently, he wanted to finish this book. He uncrossed his legs, and arranged himself into a more comfortable position on his stomach. He had just finished reading the bottom part of the left page and was starting at the top of the right one when someone caught his eye on the other side of the street.

A boy of his age, maybe a tad older sitting on the park bench alone. But that wasn’t the most unusual part of this character, he was wearing black skinny jeans rolled up at the bottom and burgundy vans. His shirt, a black button down, had a peculiar iridescent glimmering to it, like an oil slick, and was buttoned all the way. It was nearly 87 degrees out and this person was wearing all black and pants! It was almost a foil to Ed’s kelly green Bermuda shorts, Sperry boat shoes, and a white shirt with the “Got Science?” slogan on it. He loved that shirt, especially the way the top of the question mark curled in on itself. The way the stranger dressed still wasn’t the weirdest thing about him, it was what he was doing. The pale boy was feeding ravens and talking to them with an absolutely straight-face. Ed, curious lad he was, took it upon himself to go and investigate this person further. He returned The Road to his messenger bag and began walking over to the other boy. Upon approach, Ed realized a few things 1) this boy was a lot smaller than he originally thought, 2) his hair looked like soft black feathers, and his nose made him look quite avian, 3) he was damned gorgeous! Ed couldn’t believe what a perfect specimen this rando was. He tried to contain his excitement as he neared the bench. The short, pale boy was lost in his own world until Ed walked right up to him and simply stood there, smiling almost manically.

Bird-boy, as Ed decided to call him in his head, slowly looked up from his meeting with his winged associates, and he was glaring. Jesus Christ Ed thought, his eyes are fucking beautiful. Bird-Boy’s glare said how dare this person come up to me, I didn’t come here to interact with other people! Do I fucking look like I want to talk? But the glare quickly switched to a fake, well-practiced smile. “Hello, friend.” His voice was dripping with sarcasm. But Ed brushed it aside and plopped down onto the bench.

“Hi!” Ed beamed, “My name is Edward Nygma, but you can call me Ed!”

"Nygma, I’m Oswald Cobblepot, please don’t ever refer to me.” The small, pale one shot back. He emphasized Nygma to try and prevent further conversation. This tactic, however, did not work on Edward. Oswald went back to whispering to the ravens, and one fluttered up to his shoulder.

“It’s really neat that you talk to birds like that, Oswald!” Ed Blurted out,“Did you know that some ravens are better at mimicking human speech than parrots? Maybe we should say ravening instead of parroting?!” He cackled at his own joke, and the ravens on the ground scattered and ascended to the nearest tree, all save for the one on Oswald’s shoulder. Oswald did not look amused. Os turned and stared hard at Ed for a solid five seconds, giving Ed time to study Oswald Cobblepot’s face. His eyes were a piercing blue,  fury as cold as an iceberg. The beautiful eyes were framed by flawless eyeliner, and light mascara.

Edward broke the silence first. “I love your makeup! It really makes your eyes pop.” He said honestly.

Oswald looked taken aback by the complement. It was obvious that he rarely received positive comments about his guy-liner and man-scera. A small, v-shaped smile escaped Oswald’s lips, he was visibly blushing at the kind words.

“Why, thank you,” he paused,

“Edward.” He responded, clearly not knowing what to do with words of such praise.

“It’s just the truth.” Nygma said matter-of-factly, “but you’re very welcome!” This caused Os to blush an even darker shade of red. “So, uh, why are you feeding ravens?” He inquired.

Oswald shifted to face him fully, grimacing as he re-arranged his bad leg. “I really loved Edgar Allen Poe’s poems when I was younger, and seemed to possess an affinity for birds. My mom works from 2 pm until 2 am, so I just come to the park and feed the ravens.” He looked physically uncomfortable from sharing such details about his life.

“That’s really fascinating.” Ed said earnestly. “I just come here to avoid my father-” The words tumbled from his lips before he could stop them. He breathed in sharply and tried to salvage the conversation. “Erm, nevermind.” He heard the dinging of the ice-cream cart, and his face brightened. “Do you want some ice-cream? My treat for interrupting your afternoon!”

“You didn’t interrupt anything.” Os said quickly. He stared at the ground “Actually, I’m quite glad that you came over to talk to me.” He realized that he hadn’t answered Ed’s question about ice-cream yet. “I’m really more of a snow-cone guy, though.” He answered.

Ed feigned an overdramatic gasp. “I’m not sure if we can be friends, then.” He said with mock-seriousness. A look of panic fluttered across Oswald’s face briefly, but then it registered that Ed was joking. Os silently chastised his social anxiety, and took Nygma’s outstretched hand, as he helped Os from the bench, the bird that was on Cobblepot’s shoulder flew off, but not away. It perched itself on the bench back. Hand in hand, Ed helped Oswald limp over the the cart of frozen desserts. Ed ordered a pistachio ice-cream and Oswald ordered a grape flavored snowcone.

They were sitting under a tree, deep in a friendly debate about Enlightenment philosophers, when the guitar riff from “Sanitarium” by Metallica started playing. Oswald reached into his back pocket and fished out his phone, silencing the noise. “Sorry.” He apologized briefly,“It’s an alarm for my anxiety medication. It works best if I take it at the same time each day.” Os explained.

“Oh, good.” Ed stated.

“What?” Oswald asked, slightly impatient, still on edge from the suddenness of the alarm.

“You do have a cell-phone, I was hoping you would.” Edward said coolly.

Oswald blushed harder than he had in a long time, and gave Nygma his number. They texted each other every evening, after they had spent all day in the park together. Both of them were quite happy, and catching feelings for each other rather rapidly. Surely a romantic relationship would soon follow.