Have you ever started a new job and been told that what you’re wearing doesn’t fit with “business casual”? Or have you received an invitation to a party with a dress code like “garden attire” or “creative black tie” and had absolutely no idea what to wear? Dress codes can be really confusing, especially when you’re growing up and suddenly have to deal with a lot more than everyday casual. But worry not, because we’re about to break them down one by one so you’ll be the best (appropriately) dressed at your next party.
“On my show, I think you can see it best with the characters Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons [who are both agents and main characters in the show]. In the beginning, they were more colorful, they wore more patterns, things like cardigans. Then in season three, Simmons experienced post-traumatic stress disorder, and we reflected that in her clothes: We stripped away all the patterns, all the color, and kept it very simple, to show her headspace. We also showed how much Fitz had grown up by replacing his cardigans and sneakers with slacks and sports coats.”
-Ann Foley- (costume designer for Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D)
oHhhhHOLLLY SHIT "I would have followed you anywhere." FOR WARREN 👀👀👀👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻
i’m 99% this is my first drabble for warren, so feedback would be amazing!
warren + “i would’ve followed you anywhere.”
Two years, three months, and twelve days.
Two years, three months, and twelve days. That’s how long it’s been, since Warren Worthington III had been presumed dead. Two years, three months, and twelve days, since you had seen on the news that the love of your life was dead.
But here he is now, standing in front of your door; alive, but not well. The years of alcohol abuse to drown out the pain of not being good enough, and the memories of Apocalypse taking his wings and replacing them with the harsh metal, had physically and mentally taken a toll on him. The bags under his eyes are heavier and darker, akin to the thoughts that run through his mind.
It seems like an eternity before he can even bring himself to fucking knock, but when he does, he feels as if his heart is ramming itself against his ribcage.
He already feels his eyes glass over when he hears the faint sound of your voice, calling out ‘coming,” followed by the light patter of your feet. It’s been so long, so long since he’d seen his baby.
When you open the door and meet the man you’ve been mourning for over two years, the warm smile you’re sporting dissipates, jaw going slack; as if he were a mirage, too good to be true.
Fuck, he’d practiced this a thousand times over - but he never figured he’d actually have the guts to face you after these years; all of the times he’d practiced in his head, seems to run out of his mind, as his gaze is steady on yours.
The silence is acute, as you both try to find anything to say to each other that wouldn’t be weird or stupid or angry-
But before Warren can even begin to apologize or anything, your body lurches forward to his, winding your arms around his neck. The propulsion causes him to stumble a little, before regaining his footing; winding his arms around your waist with all the weight of the world, letting the tears wet his cheeks.
You don’t control the sobs of relief and happiness and confusion that wreak it’s way through your throat and into his shoulder. You have so many questions that need answering, but you can’t bring yourself to badger him with them now; not when you have him back, safe and home.
“Why didn’t you come back, Warren?” You choke out, pulling away to look at him directly. Another sob wracks through your heart, at the sight of his green eyes. “I would’ve followed you anywhere.”
In all your years that you’ve known Warren, you have never seen him cry. So when he scrunches up his face and breathes out a shaky sigh, all you do is cup his cheeks and pull him down to you, crushing his chapped lips onto yours.
The kiss is messy and desperate and full of longing and remnants of past memories, and when you pull back he leans his forehead against yours; his messy curls brushing against your face.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” He whispers, anguish laced in his voice. “I’m just - I’m so fucking sorry, baby girl. I’m-”
He’s cut off by his own sob that reverberates throughout the hallway of the apartment building, burying his face in your shoulder.
You know later he’ll give you the answers you need, but for now, you hold him - you hold him and revel in the feeling that he’s back in your arms.
“Uncle Rwooster!” Nalla exclaimed as she ran to Rehvenge who had just walked through the mansions front door and into the colorful foyer, the Moors and Xhex coming right behind him. Rehvenge and his crew had been called over to meet with the King, and since he was headed to the mansion he had called ahead to let Bella know he was coming so they could spend a little time together before his meeting. Bella and Nalla had been waiting him in the foyer. Bella smiled as she looked her brother over, Rehv was dressed like he always was, high end suit, a pair of nine millimeters peeking out from under his sable coat and his red cane. Along with his trademark mohawk and amethyst eyes.
Rehv ignored the chuckles behind him, although he did give his sister a rueful look as he knelt down to lift Nalla into his arms, his cane clattering to the floor as he fitted her against his chest. She was in a little dark green sun dress that brought out her canary yellow eyes that were currently shining with love and laughter. Her blonde, brown and red curls pulled up high into a ponytail. Nalla really did look like the female version of her father, only softened with Bella’s elegant bone structure.
Bella smiled mischievously at her brother as she gave Xhex and the Moors a wave of greeting, which they returned.Rehvenge was surprised to see how dressed up Bella was. A sapphire cocktail dress that hugged her curves and a pair of black stilettos that easily topped her out at 6'5", her mahogany waves were pinned up high on her head, showcasing her swanlike throat. She was a knock out.
“Bock Bock” Nalla said in a giggle as she lifted her hand to pat the short mohawk that he usually sported. Rehvenge gave an exasperated sigh, but tilted his head down so the little girl could have better access to his hair.
Taylor glances at her phone as she sits at the
round table. She reads a text from Tree, who is letting her know that it’s time for her to come
backstage and prepare for the iHeartRadio Tour Award that she will be receiving tonight. The producers had previously decided that she should accept the award
by walking out from backstage, rather than from the audience. Reaching to her
right, Taylor caresses Adam’s thigh, causing him to turn his head to his left. He meets her gaze and smiles.
“I have to go backstage now, for the Tour Award,” she tells
“Okay, well, I’ll be here.” His hand had happily been
enjoying itself on her leg, but he moves it, now to her back, and eases her towards him.
Adam places a brief kiss on her lips, and as they pull back
from one another, she rests her phone on the table. “Hang on to this for me,
will you? I’ll see you in a bit.”
“Doves” like the bird. For Aphrodite. Catch my drift?
Word count: 1,873
Nico didn’t hate school, not entirely. He liked class, and it was better than the public schools in the area. But the counselors at Doves High School relentlessly “encouraged” him to join some kind of extracurricular activity or “club”.
“Get involved!” his assigned counselor cheered, “Have some fun during your teenage years!”
Nico couldn’t exactly say, “No, never, and by the way, I hate all of you rich pricks.” He only attended Doves because of the generous scholarship that Phoebus Apollo, owner of the elite (and subsequently high upper class) school, had granted him. He had to find a club. The only scholar student in the whole damn school better appear to be enjoying his free ride to Doves.
His search for a club was rather boring and overall disappointing.