#the intentional matching of the gold hoops

[chromehoney]

“AT THE SAME DAMN TIME.”, chap one, chapt two, chap three.

synopsis; After a messy, short-lived situationship with Stack—reckless, flirtatious, and all the wrong kinds of possessive—you swear you’re done with hood boys who can’t keep up. But when you drop something off at his mother’s store and find both Stack and his older twin brother Smoke inside, something shifts.

“Don’t let me walk out this house lookin’ basic.”

You sat in Sevyn’s bathroom, your legs crossed under you while she dipped into edge control and eyed her parts in the mirror. A pile of synthetic hair bundles sat between y’all like some kind of offering. You’d been braiding each other’s hair for years, but today? It felt different. Intentional. A little…competitive.

Because Smoke and Stack were gonna be at that party. And like Sevyn said earlier—this had to be bitch-you-lost-me loud. Your hair was already halfway done—soft, loose boho knotless braids with curly ends that framed your face like silk. Sevyn’s would match. You told everyone it was so y’all could be twins for the summer.

By the time y’all were finished, the sun was getting low, casting that golden hour light on your skin as you both stood in the mirror, checking your angles. Sevyn wore a lime green swimsuit with clear heels. You chose the cherry-red bikini—the one Mary would’ve killed to fit the way you did. You tied a mesh skirt around your waist, hoop earrings in, clear gloss shined up, gold anklet catching the light.

“You look like a damn problem,” Sevyn said, snapping a photo. “Good,” you smirked. “I wanna ruin somebody’s night.”

•several hours later,

The bass from the backyard speakers was deep enough to vibrate through your chest. The crowd was thick—bodies half-drunk, glittering in oil and chlorine. You and Sevyn walked in side-by-side, braids swinging, skin glowing, confidence high.

Y’all mingled with a few people you knew from high school, laughed over plastic cups, and dipped your feet in the pool before finally slipping in waist-deep. The water was warm from the sun, and for a moment—you almost forgot about the real reason you were here. Until you saw him.

Smoke.

Fresh cut, black tee stuck to his chest, chain resting against his collarbone. He wasn’t in the pool, just standing to the side with a drink in his hand, cigar tucked behind his ear, eyes locked on you like you were the only thing worth watching.

But then—him.

Stack.

Leaning back in one of the patio chairs, shirtless, glistening, laughing with his head tilted back. And sitting next to him? Mary. Long-legged. Bikini too small. Hair damp from the pool. And she was giggling like she’d never heard a joke that funny in her life. Your smile dropped. Your stomach twisted. Ugly and mean. You didn’t even notice the way your lips pushed into a pout until Sevyn whispered, “Bitch, relax.”

You inhaled once. Smoothed your expression. Then let a slow smirk spread across your face. “Nah,” you said, wading toward the steps. “I’m good.” You walked up to Smoke, water still dripping from your thighs, mesh skirt clinging to your curves. His eyes followed the drops. Then rose—slow and hooded—to meet yours. “You always watch this hard, or is it just me?”He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. “It’s you,” he said simply.

You stepped closer, real close. Chin tilted up. The music slowed into something bass-heavy and slick, and suddenly you didn’t care who was watching. “And what you gon’ do about it?” Smoke set his drink down. Palmed the back of your waist, warm and confident, drawing you into him with quiet heat. “Come here,” he said low.

And you did.

The kiss hit different. Slow. Warm. Wet. His lips moved like he already knew how you tasted. Like he was just confirming what he imagined. Your fingers gripped the front of his shirt, lips parting, and he kissed you again, deeper—his hand sliding down to the small of your back like he’d claimed it.

You didn’t know how long it lasted. But you knew when it ended. Because suddenly, a voice snapped from behind you.“Man, what the fuck?!” You pulled back, blinking. Stack was standing there, arms wide, face twisted up. Mary was beside him, eyes darting from you to Smoke to Stack like she couldn’t believe what was happening. “What is your problem?” she snapped at Stack.

“Why do you care if she’s over there with Smoke?!” “Because!” he barked, hands dropping. “Because it’s her! You don’t get it.”People had turned by now. Faces watching. Eyes wide. Mary threw her hands up. “No, you don’t get it! You been flirting with me, making me think—!” “Man, I don’t owe you nothin’,” Stack spat.

And right there, in front of everyone, they were yelling. Mary’s voice sharp, Stack’s louder. Your name came up once—“You was just tryna get back at her!”—but you stopped listening. Your stomach was tight. Your face hot. Smoke’s arm was still around your waist, but the moment had died. Sevyn found you quick. “We gotta go,” she whispered, already tugging your hand. “They just killed the whole damn mood.”

You nodded numbly. Turned to leave.

But before you did—you looked at Smoke. Reached in your purse. Pulled out a pen and slid it across his hand. Your number. “For when the mess dies down,” you said. You didn’t say it was to get back at Stack.You didn’t say you actually liked that kiss. You just walked off. Braids swinging Heart racing.And Smoke?

Smoke watched you go.

[malfoysanctuary]

The Way He Loves

Fred Weasley x Reader

Summary: Fred Weasley has always been reckless on a broom, but when it comes to you, he's careful—intentional. He sees the little things, the way you endure the roaring Quidditch crowds just for him, and he makes sure you never forget just how much he loves you in return.

The Gryffindor stands were vibrating with energy. The air was thick with tension, and the roar of the crowd was deafening, a mix of cheers, groans, and the occasional spellfire of colorful charms thrown into the air in celebration. It was everything you hated.

And yet, there you were, tucked into the very front row, Fred’s old red and gold sweater drowning your frame, your hands clenched into the fabric as you watched him soar through the air like he was born for it.

You hated Quidditch. Loathed it. The dizzying speed, the crashing bodies, the way your heart jumped every time a bludger narrowly missed Fred’s head. The games were long, the crowd was loud, and frankly, you had a thousand things you’d rather be doing.

But you loved Fred Weasley.

And Fred Weasley loved Quidditch.

You watched as he grinned mid-air, swerving past a Slytherin Chaser with a level of recklessness that made your stomach twist. He was all confidence, all ease, the golden boy of Gryffindor with mischief in his eyes and trouble in his veins. And then, between the chaos, the yells, and the bludgers flying at ridiculous speeds, he looked at you.

Just for a second.

A split moment where he searched for your face in the sea of screaming students, and when he found you—watching, waiting, there for him and him alone—he smirked. That stupid, cocky smirk that made you want to both kiss and hex him.

Then, with one final, showy move, he sent the Quaffle flying straight through the hoop, sealing Gryffindor’s victory.

The crowd exploded.

Your stomach unclenched.

You watched as he celebrated with his team, as the Gryffindors around you went mad with excitement, but you stayed still, watching, waiting. Because you knew—no matter how many cheers or slaps on the back he received—Fred Weasley was always going to come to you first.

And he did.

Before the victory chants had even settled, Fred was running toward you, hair windswept, cheeks flushed, still in his sweaty Quidditch gear. You barely had time to react before he scooped you up, spinning you in the air as you shrieked in protest.

"Fred! You’re disgusting—put me down!"

He only laughed, spinning you once more before setting you back on your feet, his hands sliding to your waist as he grinned down at you. "You love it, darling."

You scowled, trying to shove him off, but he held firm. “You smell like a broomstick and sweat. It’s revolting.”

"And yet, you're still here," he mused, tilting his head. "Still sitting through an entire match, watching me be brilliant, all because you love me."

Your face heated. “You’re insufferable.”

Fred leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, and just like that, all your irritation melted. “And you’re my favorite person in the world.”

Your heart clenched.

Because Fred Weasley noticed things.

Noticed the way you endured the games despite your hatred for them. Noticed the way you never complained, never made him feel guilty for loving the sport, even though he knew you hated every second.

And because he noticed, he never let you feel like your efforts went unappreciated.

As the celebration roared on around you, he pulled you closer, lowering his voice. “Tomorrow’s all yours.”

You blinked up at him. “What?”

He smiled, brushing a stray hair behind your ear. “Tomorrow. No Quidditch, no flying, no rowdy Gryffindor nonsense. Just you and me doing whatever you want.”

Your chest tightened, warmth blooming beneath your ribs.

"You mean that?"

Fred’s expression softened. "I always mean it when it comes to you, love."

The next morning, true to his word, Fred met you outside the common room looking as far from a Quidditch player as possible. Instead of his usual uniform or training gear, he wore a cozy sweater, hands stuffed into his pockets, a lazy, easy smile playing on his lips.

“I am officially at your mercy today,” he declared, pressing a dramatic hand to his chest. “I, Fred Weasley, solemnly swear to participate in whatever god-awful, non-Quidditch-related activities you desire.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Even if it means being dragged through a six-hour book-shopping excursion?”

Fred grinned, slipping his fingers through yours. “Even if it means suffering through your overly dramatic book obsessions.”

And that was how you found yourself wandering through the cozy, quiet aisles of the bookstore in Hogsmeade, Fred trailing behind you like a lost puppy, occasionally picking up the most ridiculous books he could find just to make you laugh. Instead of bludgers, he dodged your playful shoves. Instead of a roaring crowd, it was just you and him, tucked away from the world, his hand never straying far from yours.

And at lunch, when you sat together at The Three Broomsticks, he listened intently as you rambled about your latest book obsession, nodding along despite the fact that he had absolutely no idea what you were talking about.

Because Fred Weasley made an effort.

Because he never let love be one-sided.

By the time dinner rolled around, the Great Hall was buzzing, students chatting excitedly about yesterday’s match. But as always, Fred didn’t care about any of it. He sat beside you, the rest of Gryffindor still riding the high of their victory, but his attention was only on one thing—making sure you had food before he even thought about his own.

You watched, warmth spreading through your chest, as he grabbed your favorites first, piling your plate high before finally grabbing his own. It was instinct for him, something so small yet so telling.

The little things.

The way he paid attention.

The way he always made sure you were taken care of, always put you first, even when you didn’t ask him to.

You swallowed, nudging his thigh beneath the table. "You really don’t have to do that every time, you know."

Fred simply shot you a look, as if the mere suggestion was absurd. "Course I do. You think I’d let my girl starve?"

You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile. "You’re ridiculous."

Fred leaned in, brushing his lips against the shell of your ear. "Ridiculously in love with you?"

You sighed, shaking your head, but your smile gave you away.

Loving Fred Weasley was easy.

Because when he loved, he loved completely.

And he made sure you never, ever forgot it.

[thefemigirl]

★ Dress Expensive Tips

Let me tell you about something that’s completely changed the way I approach getting dressed: learning how to create an elegant, elevated look—without blowing my budget.

Turns out, you don’t need a closet full of designer pieces to look (and feel) like the best version of yourself. It’s all about working with what you’ve got, adding a few chic investments, and a dash of creativity.

▸ Find Your Shape

Choosing silhouettes that flatter your body makes any outfit look intentional.

Experiment with different cuts (like wide-leg pants vs. skinny jeans) to see which shape brings out your confidence. A quick mirror check can reveal if a piece truly complements you.

▸ Discover Your Colours

Neutrals are classic, but the right pop of color can bring you to life.

Notice which hues make your complexion glow—try pastels, jewel tones, or soft neutrals. If you’re not sure, look for style inspo from people with similar skin tones and test-drive their palette. Using ▹ Pinterest ◃ can be very helpful!

▸ Accessorise with Intention

A few well-chosen pieces can completely transform a basic outfit.

Invest in simple, high-quality everyday jewellery (like gold hoops or a delicate necklace). For statement occasions, add eye-catching pieces—think drop earrings or layered bracelets.

▸ Make the Bag Count

Your purse can be the perfect accent or a major distraction.

Have a reliable everyday bag that’s very good quality. For special outings, grab a fun, budget-friendly statement bag that pops without clashing with your outfit.

▸ Elevate Your Shoes

Footwear can make or break your look in seconds.

Swap casual flip-flops for a sleek flat or kitten heel. If you prefer sneakers, pick a simple, versatile style that doesn’t overpower the outfit.

▸ Tailor and Iron

Wrinkles and poor fit can dull even the prettiest pieces.

Iron or steam your clothes to keep them looking fresh. And if something doesn’t fit quite right, consider tailoring (or learning some basic sewing skills) to make it your own.

▸ Build a Strong Foundation

Basics aren’t boring—they’re the backbone of a versatile wardrobe.

Stock up on neutral tops, flattering jeans, and a few layering pieces. Mix and match these staples with your statement items for endless outfit combos.

Looking elegant is about knowing your body, playing with colour, and being thoughtful with how you style every piece. Your wardrobe should celebrate you—every curve, every shade, and every bit of your beautiful personality.

Sending you so much love on finding your next outfits,

[sxytwker]

Curious Hands. Careful Mouth.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Summary: Luigi playing with your titties, but then you flip the switch and make him beg.

18+ • MDNI

𓆸 this is shorter than most of my other ones, but enjoy

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃ ᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃ ᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃ ᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂

The softness didn’t last long.

It never does with her.

She still slept curled into his chest. Still let him kiss her bare shoulder in the morning. Still moaned his name when he touched her just right.

But the attitude?

Back in full force.

She rolled her eyes at his reminders.

She gave him clipped little “mhms” when he told her he liked her outfit.

And at lunch, when he gently took her phone out of her hand to get her to look at him, she didn’t even blink — just said, “Are you done?”

Luigi narrowed his eyes.

Something shifted behind them.

Later —

They walked together, her tote bag slung over one shoulder, gold hoops gleaming in the setting sun, pastel pants low on her hips like she knew what she was doing.

He held the door open for her. She walked through like she didn’t notice. Didn’t say thank you.

He stepped in behind her. Calm. Focused. Silent.

She turned halfway to him, chewing gum like she was still on break.

“You good?”

Luigi didn’t answer right away. He stepped close. Too close.

Then leaned in, lips by her ear.

“Come home tonight at seven sharp,” he said, voice low and clipped. “I don’t care if you keep this little attitude. But I am going to get rid of it.”

She blinked.

Pulled back.

Smirked.

Scoffed once.

“Okay, daddy,” she said, sarcastic, brushing past him toward the subway.

Luigi didn’t react.

Not then.

But his jaw flexed. His eyes followed her the entire way down the steps.

And in his head, the plan was already unfolding.

She thought this was cute.

She thought she had time.

She thought the attitude made her untouchable.

She was so wrong.

She opened the door slowly, half-expecting him to be standing in the entryway with that look on his face already — the one that pinned her in place with a single raised brow.

But the apartment was quiet.

Too quiet.

Just her, the click of the door shutting behind her, and the faint hum of the fridge across the kitchen.

Then she saw it — the note.

A single sheet of paper, folded clean, sitting on the counter next to a chilled bottle of water and her phone, which he’d apparently moved from her nightstand.

She raised an eyebrow, slid the paper open.

His handwriting was sharp. Neat. Intentional.

You’re late.

Barely — but late.

I went out to get groceries an hour ago. Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon.

Until then, follow these instructions exactly. No attitude. No negotiating.

1. Go into your dresser. Back left drawer.

2. Put on the light pink thong and the matching bra— you know the ones.

3. Get in bed. Sheets down.

4. Get your phone.

5. Wait for me.

6. Do not touch anything else. Do not put anything else on.

One more thing.

Since you thought it was funny this morning — you will call me daddy tonight. Every time. No exceptions.

And yes. I’m in a mood.

— L

She let out a little pfft of a laugh under her breath. Rolled her eyes. Bit her lip.

“Dramatic,” she muttered.

But still…

She was already walking to her bedroom.

7:06 PM — Her Bed

The sheets were down just like he asked.

She was lying there in nothing but the soft pink thong — the one he’d specifically picked once when they were shopping together, claiming “this one’s for nights when you forget who’s in charge.”

The fabric clung to her hips, barely covering anything, soft against her freshly washed skin. Her phone was in her hand, glowing softly. Notifications off. Camera ready.

She curled onto her side for a moment. Waited.

And despite herself — despite the soft smirk on her lips, the half-laugh stuck in her chest — she felt it.

The tension.

The quiet.

The weight of obedience.

She looked down at her phone. Stroked her fingers over the screen. Laughed to herself again.

“Daddy,” she whispered under her breath with a grin.

She didn’t know what time he’d walk in.

She didn’t know what kind of mood he’d really be in.

But she knew one thing:

Tonight?

She wasn’t in control.

And her little joke?

Oh, she was about to pay for it.

She heard the lock click, the door swing open. Keys on the counter. The soft thump of a grocery bag hitting the kitchen island.

And nothing else.

No words. No footsteps coming toward her bedroom.

Just the sound of paper bags rustling. The fridge opening. Plastic lids snapping as he unpacked.

He was taking his time.

She shifted under the sheets, still in that soft pink thong, phone in hand, legs pulled up loosely. Her skin prickled. Her stomach fluttered. The silence was louder than anything.

Ten minutes passed.

Then finally–

His steps echoed down the hall. Measured. Calm. Controlled.

He walked in.

Stopped in the doorway.

Looked her over from head to toe — slow, unreadable, his brows pulled slightly, tongue tucked into his cheek.

And then he walked straight to the closet.

No words.

She blinked, lips parting. “Hi—”

Closet door shut.

Oh, she thought. He’s really doing this.

7:48 PM — 

When he came back, he’d stripped down to nothing but his grey Calvin Klein boxers — the ones that hugged him just right, waist riding low on his hips, the elastic band flexing as he moved.

Still no words.

He crawled into bed like it was just any other night, like she wasn’t lying there waiting, bare, flushed, quiet.

He propped a pillow behind him, leaning back against the headboard, broad chest rising slowly as he exhaled through his nose.

Then finally—finally—he looked at her.

“Straddle me.”

His voice was low. Firm.

She moved quickly, heart pounding. Legs swinging over his lap, her knees resting on either side of his thighs.

“Phone,” he said next. “Record.”

She blinked. “Record?”

He raised a brow, head tilted. “You heard me.”

She hit the red button, propped it on the nightstand to catch everything, the soft glow of the screen blinking to life.

Luigi leaned back again, dragging his hands up her thighs.

“So,” he said, casual, eyes locked on hers. “How was your day?”

She smirked, shifting a little on his lap. “Boring, but good. Nothing exciting.”

A pause. Then a grin.

“Well… Daddy.”

He stared.

Then smirked back. Slow. Dangerous. “Good.”

And then he did something she wasn’t expecting.

He didn’t pull her hips. Didn’t slide inside her. Didn’t demand anything filthy.

He just sat up — chest to chest — and put his hands on her breasts.

Soft. Curious. Intentional.

His palms cupped her, thumbs brushing over her nipples through the fabric of her bra. His eyes never left hers.

She blinked.

“You’ve never—”

“Shhh,” he murmured, already leaning in.

His mouth closed over one nipple through the fabric, lips warm, tongue slow. Not greedy. Not rough. Just thorough. His other hand squeezed gently, fingers pressing into her skin, dragging her deeper into the moment.

She gasped softly.

It wasn’t sharp, it wasn’t dominant — not yet. It was… exploratory. Like he was figuring out just how sensitive she was here, just how sweet she could get when he gave her attention she didn’t expect.

His teeth grazed her through the cotton. His tongue flicked again. Then again.

“Fuck,” she whispered, surprised at how fast her back arched.

“You like this?” he muttered, dragging her bra strap down her arm, exposing one breast, already pebbled and flushed.

She bit her lip, nodding. “I didn’t think I would—”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, voice low. “I knew you would.”

And then his mouth was on her bare skin.

Hot. Wet. Pulling.

His hands kneaded, gripped, teased.

Her hips rocked into him, her moans coming faster now, her thighs trembling around his hips.

The camera blinked quietly in her hands.

She wasn’t smiling anymore.

She was melting.

And Luigi?

He hadn’t even started yet.

She was straddling his lap, breath shaky, one strap already down her arm, one breast bare and glistening from his tongue. Her bra hung off her like it had given up the fight, and her mouth was open — stunned, dazed, lips wet, chest rising in rhythm with the slow, dragging pressure of his mouth.

Luigi didn’t speak.

Didn’t smirk.

Didn’t tease her like he usually would.

He just watched her.

Every shift of her thighs. Every sharp gasp when his tongue circled a little tighter. Every faint tremble when his teeth scraped, not biting, just testing the edge.

He switched sides.

Pulled the other strap down. Let the cotton bunch at her elbows.

She didn’t help. Didn’t need to. She couldn’t think.

Her hands dug gently into his shoulders, her hips grinding in slow, helpless rolls. Not trying to get off — just reacting.

His mouth latched onto her other nipple, lips soft but focused. He sucked slowly, gently, then added the faintest flick of tongue — quick, repetitive. Not rough. Just… thorough. Curious.

She moaned.

Sharp and high.

Her hand flew to her mouth — instinct — but he caught her wrist and pulled it away, locking his eyes to hers.

“Let me hear it,” he murmured, tongue dragging slowly across her skin. “I need to know what works.”

That sentence alone sent a shock through her.

He was testing her.

Learning her.

Wrecking her with precision.

One hand slid up her side, dragging his fingertips across her ribs, then back down to cup her breast fully in his palm. His fingers played. Squeezed. Rolled. Just enough pressure to make her thighs clench.

And then his other hand — slow, unnoticed — slid between her legs.

She gasped again, back arching, her hips grinding down against his fingers. He didn’t go inside her. Not yet. Just rubbed — slow, teasing circles over the fabric of her thong, right where she was swollen, soaked, and throbbing.

“You’re already shaking,” he whispered against her chest, lips brushing her skin. “And I’ve barely done anything.”

She moaned his name. Jaw slack. Head tipping back.

Her body was so responsive.

Every drag of his tongue. Every scrape of his teeth. Every slow, perfect roll of his fingers over her heat.

He pulled back from her chest for a second, breathing against her skin.

“Like this?” he asked, voice thick with heat but low, almost tender.

She nodded, eyes glazed.

“Yes—fuck, daddy, yes. Just like that.”

He smiled, but only faintly — like he was proud of himself.

And then he kissed her chest again — slower this time, tongue flat and warm — while his fingers pushed just a little harder between her legs.

She jolted, mouth open again, breath shattering on her tongue.

Luigi looked up at her from under his lashes.

“You’re gonna be ruined after this,” he whispered.

And she already was.

His mouth dragged over her chest again — tongue slow, lips soft, sucking gently until her nipples were flushed and swollen from the attention. His thumb kept tracing circles between her legs, still over the fabric, still patient.

She was breathing hard now, her hair falling over her shoulders, sticking slightly to her skin. Her cotton bra, still hanging halfway off, had clearly given up — and yet, it wasn’t really in the way.

But Luigi didn’t care.

He wanted it gone.

He sat up slightly, one hand sliding around her back, fingers tugging at the clasp.

“You don’t need this,” he murmured, almost to himself.

She didn’t move. Just let him unhook it, let the straps fall. Let the bra drop into his lap like it didn’t matter.

And she looked stunning like that — bare, glowing, flushed with heat and soft everywhere, thighs trembling against his hips.

He leaned back on the headboard again, licking his lips slowly as he took her in.

Then, calm as ever:

“Slide down. A little.”

She blinked.

“Further,” he added, guiding her by her waist, dragging her lower on his thighs until she was straddling just above his knees, her bare heat grazing his skin.

The contact alone made her breath catch. The position was new—exposed. But she didn’t resist.

She just looked at him through her lashes.

“Like this, daddy?”

His jaw twitched.

Her smirk deepened.

“You think you’re funny,” he said quietly.

“I think you like it.”

He didn’t deny it.

He just nodded once. “Now take control. You’re not done impressing me.”

She sat up straighter. Rolled her hips forward. Her folds grazed the inside of his thigh, dragging slick over his skin.

Luigi’s breath hitched just slightly.

Then again—when she did it slower. Deeper.

And said, “Like this, daddy?”

His fingers dug into the blanket beneath them. His mouth parted.

She moved again, letting her thighs flex, dragging her heat over his bare skin, slow and deliberate. The friction made her gasp, but she was watching him now — watching his eyes darken, his jaw flex, his abdomen twitch with every slow grind against his leg.

He was feeling it.

And she knew it.

“You’re already tense,” she whispered, voice sticky-sweet. “You said I’d be ruined, but you’re the one falling apart.”

He didn’t respond right away.

Just let out a breath through his nose and grabbed her hips with both hands.

“You like teasing me?” he muttered, voice sharp, low.

She nodded. Bit her lip. Rocked again.

“Say it.”

“I like teasing you, daddy.”

Luigi’s hands clenched. His thigh flexed beneath her, muscles tightening, and she moaned from the pressure against her soaked, needy core.

Another roll. Another gasp. Another twitch of his thigh, this one not subtle.

“You’re shaking,” she said, breathless.

“I’m holding back,” he growled. “But if you don’t stop—”

She rolled again. Harder.

“Then what?”

His jaw clenched.

“Then you’re gonna be the one begging, baby.”

But her mouth just parted in a wicked little smile.

“I’ll say please… if you do.”

And for the first time all night—

Luigi Mangione was speechless.

She was still straddling his thighs, her bare chest rising and falling with every breath, her heat dragging slow and deliberate over the thick muscle of his leg. Every grind left a smear of slick against his skin. Every motion made him twitch harder.

Luigi leaned back again, his hands gripping the blanket beneath him — white-knuckled now. His chest was rising fast, his lips parted like he couldn’t quite catch a full breath.

“You okay, daddy?” she asked sweetly, dragging her chest up his stomach, her nipples grazing his skin.

He jolted.

Actually twitched.

“F-fuck,” he groaned under his breath.

She did it again. Slower this time. Her skin brushing against the hard lines of his abs, breasts teasing the dip just beneath his ribs. Her hands braced against his hips, steady and calm, but her mouth?

Smirking.

“You like that?” she whispered.

He didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

So she reached down, hooked her fingers into the waistband of his Calvin Kleins — now visibly strained, twitching, struggling to contain him.

“Let’s fix this,” she murmured.

She pulled them down slowly, dragging them down his thighs until he sprang free — thick, flushed, and angry. The band caught for a second, tight around his thighs, before she tugged them off completely and tossed them beside her bra on the bed.

He twitched again.

Harder now.

“You’re so hard, daddy,” she said softly. “That all for me?”

His head tipped back.

She could see it in his jaw, in the way his brows knit together: he was fighting not to give in.

So she leaned forward — lips brushing the base of him, chest dragging against his thighs — and pressed her breasts around him, wrapping him in soft, warm skin.

Luigi let out a sound that was not a groan.

It was a whimper.

A desperate, high-pitched, helpless sound that made her thighs clench now.

“Oh my god,” she whispered. “That made you twitch?”

He opened his eyes — barely.

His voice cracked when he spoke.

“You keep doing that, I’m gonna cum all over you and I won’t be nice about it.”

She giggled.

And squeezed.

Let her chest push tighter around him. Dragged slowly. Slid her tongue along the top just for good measure.

He grabbed a pillow behind his head and gripped it, his entire body tightening under her.

“Please,” he choked. “Baby—”

She lifted her head, smirking, her chest still wrapped around him.

“You were so curious before,” she whispered. “So interested in my tits.”

He moaned again — whiny now, shaky, his thighs twitching.

“So let me show you what they’re good for.”

She pressed tighter. Moved faster. Squeezed.

And Luigi Mangione — the most in-control man she knew — was falling apart in her lap, helpless to do anything but beg.

Luigi was right there.

His back arched slightly off the bed, his thighs trembling beneath her. His cock was flushed and soaked, twitching helplessly between the soft, slick warmth of her breasts. Her skin was glossy now — covered in the glistening mess he’d already made trying to hold back.

He gripped the sheets.

His abs were tightening.

One more stroke and he was done.

But she stopped.

Slowed. Backed off.

He let out a strangled, broken breath — part moan, part frustrated whine that made her pulse throb between her legs.

She looked up at him, wide-eyed and sweet, chest still gently squeezing around him.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Not yet.”

His eyes were glassy now. “Why?”

“Because,” she said with a grin, reaching toward the nightstand for her phone. “You’re gonna record this for me.”

He blinked.

“Record?”

“I want to watch this later,” she whispered. “I want to see you like this. Whiny. Leaking. Begging.”

He groaned, tipping his head back with a groan. “You’re evil.”

“Uh uh,” she smirked, handing him the phone. “Record.”

He took it, rolling his eyes, but the way his hand shook slightly said everything.

The red light blinked on.

And she didn’t waste a second.

She leaned forward again, dragging her soft, wet chest over him — slow at first, then a little faster, letting the slick smear between them, her hands pressing him up into her cleavage. The sound was obscene. Wet. Perfect.

She looked right into the camera and smiled.

“Hi,” she said, breathless but proud. “My name is—well, doesn’t matter.”

She pumped her chest up and down once, watching Luigi twitch violently.

“And this right here?” she said, glancing up at him before turning back to the camera, voice soft and filthy.

“This is daddy.”

Luigi groaned so loud it almost covered her next moan.

She grinned harder, dragging her chest a little faster now, watching his hand tighten around the phone as he tried to keep filming through the overwhelming need to cum.

“Say hi, daddy,” she cooed.

His voice cracked. “F-fuck. Hi.”

“Look at him,” she whispered, mouth right near his base now, tongue flicking up. “He’s so close. But he’s not allowed. Not yet.”

And she kept going — teasing, squeezing, dragging slick heat over every inch of him while he recorded, shaking, moaning, whimpering into the camera like he wanted to be ruined on tape.

And she?

She was going to make sure of it.

Luigi’s hand trembled around the phone, the red light blinking in the corner as she kept working him — chest tight around his cock, skin wet with his slick, her lips brushing his shaft every few seconds as she spoke directly into the camera like she was giving a demonstration.

“And here,” she said softly, bouncing her chest in a slow rhythm, “we have a man who used to be so cocky.”

She grinned.

“Not so confident now, are you, daddy?”

He let out a whine — high, broken, involuntary.

It was the prettiest sound she’d ever heard him make.

His thighs tensed hard beneath her. She could feel them start to lift, trying to buck up into her chest.

She reached down with one hand and pinned his hips to the bed.

“Ah, ah,” she cooed, her grip firm. “You stay still. I didn’t say you could finish.”

Luigi groaned, eyes clenched shut, the muscles in his arms shaking now. His abs were twitching violently, sweat beading along his chest.

“I can’t—baby, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” she whispered. “You’ll do it when I say. Not a second before.”

She kept the motion steady — just the perfect pressure between her breasts, moving slow and smooth, letting the friction build back up with agonizing control.

And the sound of it — the wet, lewd slap of his cock against her chest, the squeak of the sheets under his flexing thighs, the breathless whimpers he tried to swallow — it was enough to make her whole body light up.

His hands dropped the phone for a second, bracing on the bed, until she reminded him.

“Pick it back up,” she said. “You’re gonna want to remember what this looked like.”

Luigi grabbed the phone again with a shaking hand, now filming her perfect, ruined chest and her soaked skin — her tits bouncing, glistening, smeared with his slick — as he begged to be allowed to finish.

“I need it,” he whispered. “Please. I’ll do anything, just—fuck—please let me cum.”

She looked up at him through her lashes.

“Beg again.”

He nearly sobbed. “Please, let me cum. Let me fucking cum. I can’t take it—”

And that’s when she finally gave it to him.

“Okay,” she said, voice so soft it barely registered over his ragged breathing. “Cum f’me, baby.”

And everything broke.

His whole body convulsed. His thighs lifted again and this time she let them, keeping her chest pressed tightly around him as he erupted between them.

It wasn’t just release — it was explosive.

The first spurt hit her collarbone. The next, her throat. Then her cheek, her lips, her hair — hot ropes of cum painting her chest in thick, heavy waves, spilling between her breasts, dripping down onto her thighs.

Luigi groaned so loud it echoed in the room — not filthy this time. Raw. Deep. Destroyed.

His hips bucked helplessly, twitching again and again as he emptied everything he had onto her body.

The phone captured it all — every drop, every gasp, every wild tremor of his muscles as she held him there, let him ride it out, and watched him fall apart.

He finally collapsed backward, chest rising like he’d just run a marathon, face flushed, sweat on his forehead, hands slack.

And her?

Covered.

Flushed.

Smiling.

She looked at the camera. Lifted it gently out of his hand.

And panned down over her chest, her lips, her dripping stomach.

“This,” she whispered, eyes glinting, “is what happens when I take control.”

Luigi was lying flat on the bed, chest still rising like he hadn’t breathed in years, arms flopped above his head, every muscle twitching from overstimulation. His skin was painted with sweat and flushed pink in all the right places.

She was still straddling him — her chest, lips, neck, and hair covered in the evidence of what she’d just pulled from him.

The phone was still recording.

She looked down at him, eyes glinting, and tilted her head.

“So,” she said, playful but firm. “Who’s in control now?”

He didn’t answer.

He just rolled his eyes, one hand lazily covering his face like he was too ruined to speak.

She leaned in and gave him a light slap on the cheek — not hard, just enough to make him look at her.

“Luigi,” she said, lower now. “Who’s in control?”

He looked up at her through half-lidded eyes.

And whimpered.

“You are.”

She grinned and kissed him — slow, warm, possessive — tasting him on her tongue, her fingers brushing gently through the curls at his temple.

Then she reached over and finally stopped the recording.

Bathroom —

She practically had to lift him off the bed, but she didn’t mind. He was floppy now — dazed, heavy, not putting up a fight. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him to his feet, steadying him as he leaned against her shoulder.

“You’re a mess,” she whispered, smug.

“You made me this way.”

“And I’ll clean you up, too.”

She reached into his drawer and pulled out a soft pair of loose boxers — the kind he only wore when he wanted to lay around all day, grey and worn-in. She set them on the bathroom counter, already turning the shower on.

Luigi stepped into the steam first, hands braced against the tile, still quiet.

She followed, hands immediately sliding over his back, grabbing the body wash and loofah. She didn’t rush. Didn’t tease.

She scrubbed him gently, starting with his shoulders, dragging slow circles down his spine. Her fingers worked into the tightness along his back, soft and steady. She washed his arms, his chest, his stomach — all of it, slow and loving.

She ran her hands through his curls, massaging his scalp, making him let out a soft hum of surrender. His head tilted forward under the water like he was falling asleep.

And then, quietly—

“So…” he said, voice hoarse. “About that video.”

She bit her lip, smirking behind him.

“Oh yeah,” she said. “That’s going in a special folder.”

He turned slightly. “Delete it.”

She raised an eyebrow. “No.”

He gave a weak little whine, covering his face again.

“You looked so good,” she whispered, dragging her lips along his wet shoulder. “Whimpering. Trembling. Saying please like you were losing your mind.”

“I was.”

“I know.”

She rinsed him off slowly, kissed his cheek, and whispered, “Don’t worry. I’ll only watch it when I miss you.”

Luigi turned his face just enough to look at her.

“…You’re evil.”

She smiled.

And kissed him again.

“Only for you.”

She pulled on a fresh pair of panties and one of his hoodies — one that hung oversized on her, sleeves too long, the hem brushing her thighs. He stepped into his clean pair, drying his curls half-heartedly with a towel before tossing it to the floor.

The lights were low. The city buzzed softly outside her window.

And they climbed into bed together — this time not for games, not for control, not for anything except closeness.

Luigi pulled her into him.

Arms wrapped around her waist, nose tucked into the back of her neck. Her hair smelled like vanilla and warmth. Her skin was soft, clean, and still marked faintly from where his hands had been earlier.

“Comfortable?” she asked sleepily, already sinking.

He nodded against her. “Perfect.”

And they just breathed.

Her hand found his. Their legs tangled. The silence was steady, filled with the kind of peace neither of them usually let themselves have.

She was asleep in minutes.

He wasn’t.

Not yet.

1:12 AM —

Luigi shifted carefully, reaching across her without waking her. Her phone still sat on the nightstand, screen dark.

He picked it up, held his breath, and unlocked it gently — muscle memory guiding his fingers through the passcode she let him use the week before.

He scrolled.

Opened the folder.

Hit play.

There it was.

Him. Utterly ruined. Whimpering. Barely holding back.

And her?

Smiling. Wicked. Covered in him.

He watched until she dragged her hands down her chest, pressed her lips to the camera, and whispered, “This is what happens when I take control.”

Luigi swallowed hard, cheeks flushed in the low light.

He paused the video.

Scrolled back. Found that frame — her face, flushed and messy, lips parted, eyes wild, still smiling. Glazed in him. Victorious.

He screenshotted it.

Then quietly airdropped it to his own phone.

For safekeeping.

For later.

He set hers back where it was.

Slipped under the blanket again.

Wrapped himself around her.

And this time?

Luigi Mangione — usually cocky, usually composed, always in control — fell asleep in her arms.

With a smile.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃ ᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃ ᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃ ᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂

Based on this & this request!

[sierrale8ne]

40 DAYS AND 40 NIGHTS CHAPTER TWO

thought i’d be lying if i said ‘i didn’t want you to myself.’ when you look me in my eyes and, tell me that it’s mine, i…

pairing wnba!paige bueckers x singer!oc

taglist @thaatdigitaldiary @ohbueckers @patscorner @wbbgetsmewetter @makethemhoesmad @authentic-girl03 @rosemariiaa

kalena speakss 🪽! wanted to give yall another chapter tonight since college is kicking my butt atm and idk when the next update will be. hopefully soon tho!

May 2025 — Los Angeles, California 

“I just don’t see why you keep acting like our relationship doesn’t matter. I'm tired of acting like it doesn’t piss me off.” Julian spoke, disrupting the peace I had created for myself as I got dressed in the bathroom.

We were supposed to be getting ready for the Sparks home opener game against the Dallas Wings. I was exhausted from getting into LAX at an ungodly hour of the night, and now the conversation was giving me a headache.

“Ju, are we together?”

“Yes—”

“Did you ask me to be your girlfriend?” I turn around, slipping the mini gold hoops in my hand into my ears.

“No, but—”

I cut him off before he gets the chance to defend his position. “Then we’re not together.” I sigh. “I like where this is going, I really do, but we can’t keep having this conversation, Julian. I’m tired of it. This is just the way my career is working out right now.”

“So what? You make more money when the public thinks you’re single?” Julian asks. He’s very visibly frustrated, as he has been since before I even stepped off the stage in New York.

“No. I make more money when I keep the main thing the main thing. And right now the main thing is my music.” The words bounce off the wall for a moment, silence cutting through the air. I feel bad. He really is a great guy, and I hate to put him in a position like this, but it’s the way it has to be. “Ju’ come on. You have to understand where I’m coming from. I’m sorry.”

My hand reaches out for his shoulder, attempting to lessen the blow. Instead he steps back from me, shaking his head with a huff and leaving the bathroom. 

“Have fun at the game, ‘Raye.” He speaks as he leaves, and it’s my turn to huff.

I turned around. Looking intently at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. 

This is the closest thing I’ve had to a relationship in years, and yet, I’m spending the majority of it fighting over something dumb. But is it really dumb, or am I being insensitive?

I really do like Julian. He’s funny and sweet, he never fails to go out of his way to support me; I mean he just caught a flight to see me on Jimmy Fallon. He buys me flowers, he cares about communication, and all the little things. But for some reason I Just can’t keep up with it. 

It sucks.

—

May 2025 — Crypto.com Arena, Los Angeles, California 

The atmosphere in the arena is booming, and oddly enough I find myself surprised at how many people have filled Crypto. I’m seated courtside, underneath the basket nearest to The Sparks bench. The game is halfway through the first quarter and at a timeout when I take my seat. 

I have on a burgundy leather set from Fashion Nova. The shirt is a cropped button up that I only fastened at the bottom button and matching shorts. I’m wearing a pair of matching burgundy Prada slingback pumps that my recent success has gratefully allowed me to purchase. 

I sent a last minute text to my sister, telling her that Julian bailed and I would love it if she joined me, hence the slight tardiness. 

I’ve never seen Cassie as excited as she is right now. She’s beaming with energy, you would’ve thought she’s been planning this for months rather than being invited last minute. She’s for sure more of a basketball fan than I am, I credit that to my uncle. Whereas my dad made me more of a football fan.

“You’re gonna be getting infinite Christmas gifts this year for this, oh my God.” Cassie jokes with a kool aid smile on her face. I giggle, brushing her off.

“I’m glad you’re having fun, Cassie.” I giggle, brushing her off playfully. My phone dings, and I pull it up from my lap to check the notification.

Hey I feel like shit about earlier

Talk when you get home?

It’s Julian. Of course it’s Julian. I try to fight the urge to frown but I can’t help the way the disheartened expression forms in my face. I shut my phone off, shaking the feeling off and turning back to the game.

The buzzer sounds, alerting us that the game is starting again. It allows me to finally bring my attention back to the game. The Sparks are down seven, but you couldn’t even tell that the fans were bothered by it. 

“Jumbotron.” My sister whispers to me and I notice the camera moving past ‘celebrity row’ and getting shots of everyone.

“Bro.” I groan. I don’t hate it, it just gets so awkward. The camera man stays out there for too long and then I forget what to do with my hands. 

But regardless, the camera approaches me and my sister. I look up briefly at the Jumbotron before back down at the camera in front of me. A smile spreads to my face and I wave emphatically. Fortunately it doesn’t take very long and the camera man backs away a little.

Only briefly though, because within a matter of seconds he’s crashing to the ground and his large camera falls into Casandra’s lap.

During all the basketball games I’ve ever watched, I’ve always wondered how common the players run into the media crew or the stands. And every time I've sat in an arena, I’ve always said it would never be me. So you can imagine my surprise when a 6 '1 Paige Bueckers fell right on me after getting fouled going for a layup, knocking over the camera man in the process.

“Oh shit, man you good?” Paige asks him. Her hand helps steady him on his feet and Cassie hands him his camera back, mumbling hurriedly if he was alright. The man nods, patting her on the back.

My eyes meet hers, and suddenly I’ve never seen a prettier set of eyes. A shade of blue that was indescribable. Her hand reaches out to the both of us, palms outstretched as she asks, “Are you guys okay?” It comes out as a stutter and I barely notice it but it’s there.

I nod. And then I remember she still has free throws to shoot. “Yeah. All good, thanks.” I smile. Paige turns around, brushing her teammates off with thumbs ups and high fives when they ask if she’s alright. 

I would be an idiot to say that I wasn’t a little star struck. Sure, I wasn’t completely up to date with all things basketball, but I knew more than enough to know just how much Paige Bueckers was loved in the basketball community. Hell, the city of LA basically through a parade when they got that #1 overall pick.

She was a superstar, in all possible definitions of the word. You couldn’t go more than five minutes without seeing her face on TikTok or some commercial. 

And she was stunning; the last five seconds of me staring at her confirmed it in my mind even more.

—

“Thanks, Holly.” I beam with a smile. It only takes a few seconds of me walking away from postgame to hear yelling in my ear and Cam’s long arms around my shoulders.

In the least cocky way possible, I played an amazing game. Yes, the defense I faced tonight was different than when I was at Connecticut and efficiency wise I did struggle a bit. Who am I kidding— I played phenomenal.

26 points 9 rebounds and 7 assists, the pick-and-roll with Dearica racking up many of those. The team came out with a narrow win over the Wings, getting our season off on the right foot.

“That’s my fuckin’ rook!” I hear Azura Stevens hype me up. I dap her up cleanly, the smile on my face physically impossible to get rid of. For only being on the team for a month, they did a great job of welcoming me with open arms. 

I could definitely get used to this.

A towel hangs around my neck, picking up all the sweat from the game. I’m walking towards the locker rooms with a few of my teammates when I get pulled back for some autographs. I don’t say no, honestly I can’t remember the last time I refused to sign an autograph. Or if I ever did. 

There’s a young girl in front of me alongside her mom. She has on the UConn National Championship shirt from a month ago, her eyes wide as she pushes my sparks jersey up to me. I sign it with a smile, my heart swelling in size when she squeals and thanks me profusely.

“You’re welcome. Thanks for coming out!” I grin. My feet carry me through a few more fans. I sign all sorts of memorabilia from hoodies, to jerseys, phone cases, and shoes. As well as a wild number of selfies before I hear my name.

“Paige, come here!” It’s Rickea, as her voice has become widely recognizable in the last month that I’ve been here. “Oh my God, walk slower!”

I roll my eyes as I pick up my pace. She’s standing courtside with her warmups on. “Finally. I wanted you to meet a friend of mine. Maraye, this is Paige.”

When I look over it’s the girl from the TV last night, standing there with her purse in hand and— oh my God I ran into her like an hour ago. I fell into her lap. Oh my God this is embarrassing.

She looks even more gorgeous than when I was drooling over her last night. Her hair is the same, from what I can remember, but her outfit is completely different. The color she has on is similar to the one from last night, but the set shows off so much more skin. Her legs are toned, the top she wears is unbuttoned just enough to give me a show of the lace black bralette under it, and her gold septum shines in the arena light. 

“Hey.” I greeted her and the girl who sat next to her earlier in the night. “I do apologize about earlier by the way.”

“Don’t worry about it. It happens.” She reassures me.

“P, Cam, and I were watching the show last night. You did great, Raye.” Rickea pushes at Maraye’s shoulder. My eyes catch how she blushes in response. 

“You on a world tour or something? New York last night, and LA tonight.” I joke, and she laughs. Her laugh is possibly more angelic than her singing, and the way her accent popped out when she spoke might even have an edge on that.

“Nah. I just couldn’t miss opening night. Kea’ would never let me live it down, plus my sister is like a huge hoops fan.” She explains, gesturing to the two women next to us. 

I’m towering over her as I look at her but she still keeps eye contact with me. My eyes never leave hers, I didn’t even want them to.

“I was just telling her about Cam and Ben’s dinner party on friday.” Rickea starts. She turns to face me, but I’m still stuck on Maraye and her— well her everything. Rickea swats my arm as slyly as she can to get my attention. My eyes rip away from the musician with an incredulous force. “You are going to that, right?”

“I, uh, I’m not sure. I gotta check on when Drew and my dad are coming to town.”

“Maybe I’ll see you there then?” Maraye speaks. 

Someone please help me figure out why her eyes are so mesmerizing. They’re big and a perfect shade of brown. The slight tilt of her head when she asks me nearly drives me crazy.

“Yeah maybe.” I nod before looking at Rickea. I don’t know how long we’ve stood here, but what I do know is that coach will hand our asses to us on a silver platter if we’re late to the first media session of the season. “Yo, we gotta…” My head tilts towards the tunnel.

“Oh shit you’re right. It was so good to see you guys!” She jumps, pulling Maraye and her sister into a group hug. “Tell y’all folks I say hi!”

The four of us exchange waves and we walk off the court. By the time we make it to the tunnel Rickea is letting out a loud cackle and pushing me away from her. “You’re not even trying to hide it!” She laughs. I know exactly what she’s talking about but I act clueless, it’s too early for my teammates to be ridiculing me over my choices in women.

“You are sooooo going to that dinner party.”

A smirk spreads on my face and I roll my eyes. For the first time all month, I can’t even disagree. Nothing is stopping me from going to that dinner party.

[trophy-girl]

How to Look High Maintenance on a Budget as a Black Woman

Let’s be real looking expensive isn’t always about designer bags salon appointments or five-star facials. It’s about how you carry yourself the details in your look and the confidence that says “I’m the whole package.”

As a Black woman your beauty already turns heads but now it’s time to elevate and give luxury, even if you’re living on a budget. Here’s your guide to looking like high maintenance without breaking the bank.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ༺ ☆ ༻ °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*: °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ༺ ☆ ༻

Luxury skin is healthy skin. You don’t need $300 serums to glow

🌸 Cleaning: CeraVe is the gold standard, but African Black Soap (the real kind) also gives a deep clean.

🌸 Exfoliating: Use The Ordinary’s Glycolic Acid 2–3 times a week to stay smooth and glowing.

🌸 Moisturizing: Raw shea butter mixed with rose hip or jojoba oil is the ultimate budget glow-up combo.

• Sunscreen: Black Girl Sunscreen gives you a soft, dewy finish and protects your melanin from sun damage.

✦₊ ˊ˗ ╰───────────── ✦

Keep a consistent style. Your hair should always be done whether you’re natural, relaxed, or a wig girl, it make you look polished.

Wig Girls

Invest in one good human hair wig. Straight, body wave, or bob it doesn’t matter as long as it’s laid. Keep it fresh with deep conditioning and store it properly.

Natural Queens

• Sleek buns, twist-outs, and puff styles can look high maintenance with just a little edge control (try Ebin 24-Hour Edge Tamer).

• Always sleep in a satin scarf to keep your style intact and your hair frizz-free.

Protective Styles

• Knotless braids, faux locs, and sew-ins always give that girl energy. Add gold cuffs, a silk wrap, or an oversized claw clip to accessorize.

♡₊˚ ₊✧ ─── ꕀꕀ ⋅ ⋆ ♡ ⋆ ⋅ ꕀꕀ ─── ♡₊˚ ₊✧

One thing about high-maintenance girls? Their nails are never chipped.

♡ Press-ons are elite. Kiss, Amazon, and Etsy custom sets give salon vibes at home. Stick to almond, square, or coffin in soft pinks, whites, or nudes.

♡ Gel Manicures at home: You can grab a full kit on Amazon and do your own nails every two weeks.

♡ Cuticle oil is a must even Vaseline works. Keep those hands moisturized and soft.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ⋆*:･ﾟ✧*: *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ⋆*:･ﾟ✧*: *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

You don’t need a full beat every day to look expensive. A soft glam or “clean girl” face can go a long way.

• Brows: Shape them naturally, fill in with a pencil, and clean up with concealer for a snatched finish.

• Lashes: Strip lashes from Shein or your local beauty supply store instantly upgrade your look.

• Foundation: Match it perfectly. Try L’Oréal Infallible or Maybelline Fit Me for budget-friendly, flawless coverage.

• Lips: Brown liner + nude gloss = high-maintenance staple.

Signature look tip: Choose one thing that defines your makeup maybe it’s fluttery lashes, glossy lips, or snatched brows and make it your thing.

Looking high maintenance doesn’t mean labels. It means looking clean, coordinated, and intentional.

• Neutrals are your best friend. Beige, black, white, olive, grey these colors always look polished.

• Thrift smart: Search for structured blazers, silky tops, and quality denim at thrift stores or resale apps like Poshmark and Depop.

• Accessorize with purpose: Gold hoops, mini purses, claw clips, and layered necklaces turn a basic outfit into that look.

Bonus: Tailoring even cheap clothes makes them look designer. A well-fitted $10 dress > a baggy $300 one.

　🦋　˚ 　✦　✪ 🥂🌸　🦋　˚ 　✦　✪ 🥂🌸

Perfume is one of the most powerful parts of your high maintenance .

• Fragrance layering: Use body wash + lotion + perfume in the same scent family for a long-lasting effect.

• Perfume oils: Arabian oils or Etsy shops offer dupes of designer fragrances that last all day.

• Signature scents: Vanilla, oud, amber, and white floral notes are universally seen as luxury scents.

You can wear the outfit, the hair, the nails but if your energy isn’t giving soft, feminine, and secure? You’ll miss the whole aesthetic.

-`♡´- Walk slowly, speak with confidence, and never chase. Let people come to you.

-`♡´- Don’t over-explain yourself. High-maintenance girls let their presence speak for them.

Be mysterious. Be graceful. Be selective.

Final Thoughts 💋

You don’t need a fortune to look and feel high maintenance. Sometimes, the key is learning how to make small, affordable choices work in your favor. From your skincare routine to your wardrobe, there’s always a way to create a luxury look without going overboard. It’s about paying attention to the details, and most importantly, believing that you are deserving of luxury no matter your budget. Start small, stay consistent

[hannahbarberra162]

A Mean Mean Marco ask from @quinloki

@quinloki 's ask is below the cut. I was actually writing nice Marco but this pulled me to the dark side (I'm not complaining). I definitely DO want to answer it but it is terrible wonderful mean Marco goodness (badness?).

TW: dead dove, dub / non-con, needles mentioned, Reader beware.

Also this is OOC (mine not Quin's) because idk I just wanted to write this.

Oh Quin. Oh my delightful, wonderful Quin. I absolutely love your version...here's my take.

You looked at the small jewelry box in Marco's hands with confusion. It was really all you could do since you were bound with your hands above your head and a spreader bar keeping your legs apart as you tried to maintain your position on your tiptoes. A gag was keeping you quiet but you wouldn't have said a word without it, either.

"Don't you love it yoi?" Marco asked you, drinking in your reaction. You didn't know what to make of the gift so you just nodded. Inside the box were 5 small golden hoops, each about the size of your pinkie nail. They were delicate and pretty but you couldn't understand what they had to do with you.

"There's a second part to the gift that will come later," he said while affectionately pinching your cheek. You tried not to jerk back as his hand approached your face, you knew he didn't like that.

"Aren't you curious what it is?" Marco asked calmly, picking up one of the rings in his large fingers. You nodded, unease filling your chest as Marco smiled at you. Nothing good ever came from that lazy, relaxed smile.

"I thought you might be tired of the clamps yoi. After all, you cried for so long after the last session outside, I thought you would never stop. So this is something we will do instead. Isn't that nice yoi?" You felt a bead of sweat down your back and an invisible weight against your neck. Marco set the ring back in the box and walked behind you taking the box with him.

You couldn't strain your neck far enough from your position to watch him but you quickly heard a cart being wheeled in your direction. Marco shortly returned with a cart full of medical looking equipment. You shook as you remembered some of your previous "inspections" which made Marco laugh lightly.

"No, no. Nothing like that, pet. I'm adorning you in my colors, permanently," he said. He had clamps, another jewelry box, needles, alcohol pads...and the rings. Your heart sank as you realized his intention - he was going to pierce you with permanent jewelry.

Five rings meant five piercings, you thought. As if answering your question, Marco began speaking to you again.

"One for each ear," he said, rubbing an earlobe between the pads of his fingers.

"One for each nipple," he continued, biting your left nipple for emphasis, causing you to flinch back.

"And one for your clit," he finished, running his finger through your slit. Due to a previous edging session, you were already soaked through your folds.

You tried shifting, wiggling, squirming, anything to get away from his hands, but all that got you was a swat on your already abused cunt. You whined but tried to keep your sounds to a minimum, not wanting to give him what he wanted.

"Hm. That is not the reaction I was anticipating yoi. So ungrateful, so disrespectful. I was going to put numbing cream on your clit for that piercing but you don't deserve it. Usually these piercings take weeks to heal but of course, that's not the case with me yoi. I'll be able to adorn you with my feathers this very night," he said, opening the second box. Inside were many metal teal feathers hanging from hooks.

Marco removed one and held the hook between his fingers, allowing the feather to dangle. The small hook matched the yellow gold of the hoops and glinted in the light as he turned them over in his fingers.

"Each one weighs only a quarter of a pound. Let's see how many feathers your nipples can wear for me," he said, snapping on latex gloves.

"Maybe if you show your appreciation, I can be the only one in feathers."

[ins4nebxtch]

effortlessly chic : mastered

a guide to looking effortlessly classy

“It’s not about what you wear, it’s about how you wear it.”

1. Hair: Perfectly Undone

Effortless hair isn’t about looking like you spent hours on it. We’re going for the slightly messy, yet polished look. Waves are key here—think lived-in texture, not those stiff, defined curls. A little undone, but still under control. Messy, but not like you just survived a storm. No Clean Girl slicked-back buns—keep it loose, slightly imperfect, but still intentional.

Healthy hair is everything. But here’s the catch—you don’t want it to look too done. The goal is that slightly tousled, I-don’t-care-but-I-secretly-do look. Your waves should have a bit of mess, but not like you’ve just been attacked by a pack of wolves. Keep it natural but polished enough to show you’ve got it under control. Too slick and sleek screams high maintenance. Too wild and it’s giving “I tried but failed.” Find the sweet spot.

2. Color Coordination

Wearing the right colors? Absolute game-changer. When you’re in your shades, everything about your look just clicks into place. You know those times when your outfit is on point but something feels off? Yeah, it’s probably the colors. The wrong tones can make you look like you’re trying too hard to make something work, while the right ones will have people thinking you just glow naturally.

Same goes for jewelry tones. If you’re cool-toned, silver will have you looking effortlessly chic, while gold will seem forced. And vice versa. Match your metals to your skin tone, and you’ll always look polished without even trying. I speak from experience so trust me on this.

3. Jewelry: Statement Pieces Over Basic

Let’s talk jewelry. The key is balance—statement pieces are where the magic happens. You don’t need to overdo it with cheap, fast-fashion accessories. A well-placed statement necklace or a bold ring says so much more than a bunch of basic hoops. Wearing a statement piece that pulls an outfit together looks much more classy and effortless than throwing on a bunch of jewellery. if you want to look like you spent a couple mins throwing yourself together yet you still look amazing, don’t wear too much jewellery all at once. For example if you’re wearing a dress that’s plainer around the top, wear either statement earrings or a neck piece, not both.

It’s all about choosing one or two pieces that pop and elevate your look. When done right, your jewelry should feel like an extension of your vibe, not a distraction. Trust me, you’ll stand out in a sea of basic.

Timeless pieces like a Cartier Tank watch, pearl earrings, or a vintage-inspired chain necklace are perfect examples of effortlessly stylish accessories. They add sophistication without screaming “look at me.”

here are some examples

1. Delicate Gold Necklace: A simple, thin gold chain or a pendant necklace adds a touch of elegance without being overpowering.

2. Pearl Earrings: Classic pearl studs or small hoops can elevate any outfit while maintaining a timeless look.

3. Stackable Rings: Thin, stackable rings in gold or silver can be mixed and matched for a chic, layered effect.

4. Dainty Bracelets: Minimalist bracelets, such as a simple cuff or a chain bracelet, add subtle detail to your wrist.

5. Chic Hoops: Medium-sized hoop earrings in gold or silver offer a classic vibe that can be dressed up or down.

6. Charm Bracelets: A simple charm bracelet with a few meaningful charms can add a personal touch without being too flashy.

7. Minimalist Watch: A classic watch with a thin band and clean face is both functional and stylish.

4. timeless outfits

We’re not doing fast fashion here. You want pieces that are timeless, effortlessly stylish, and not screaming I just bought this because it’s trending on tiktok. Quality basics, suiting your body type , mixed with some unique statement pieces are where it’s at. Think of it as curating a vibe that feels like you rather than jumping on every fashion bandwagon. Dressing for your body type is very important too as clothes that don’t fit how you’re built just make you look like a try hard and kind of odd.

5. Confidence: The Secret Ingredient

No matter what you wear or how you style yourself, the real trick to looking effortless is feeling effortless. When you feel good, it shows. Confidence radiates in a way no amount of makeup, clothes, or jewelry can. Wear what makes you feel like the best version of yourself, and that energy will do the rest.

In the end, looking effortless is all about balance. It’s about being polished without being too perfect, stylish without being too trendy. Embrace your signature style, rock your colors, and remember: the ultimate IT girl look is about owning who you are—effortlessly.

6. examples and references

[myreitha]

Costume time!

Okay, you know what, I want to share this process and I've chosen y'all to suffer with me.

SO! A friend of mine doesn't have a spooky show to produce this year, and so is putting all his energy into a cool-ass halloween event (Fancy paper invites, puzzles to solve, challenges, games, seances, etc). The whole thing is themed around this fake secret society that we're all now part of, and the dress cose and we're being encouraged to come up with cool fancy clothes/outfits to match the theme to come in. Best description I can come up with for this theme is "Fancy witchy-vampire" (Like, think VtM, but witchier). THAT SAID. I'm still out of a job, so, I've got to be strategic. AND I've got the itch to make things. Even better. (More past the cut!)

I don't have photos for a lot of these earlier decisions and stages, sorry. BUT I go through my closet and costume tubs (the for-fun-or-cosplay costumes as well as the circus/performing ones) and have a nice closet-runway to figure out what I'm starting with and settle on this one burgundy satin wrap top with big-ass sleeves that I love. . .that unfortunately doesn't go with much that I have in my wardrobe that vibes with the theme. (There's like. . .one or two things it works with, but I want to be FANCIER). So I sketch around and come up with an idea based around this shirt (and a statement necklace collar I have that was some of the best $5 I've ever spent)

I have this old dress I'd bought at a flea market years ago and had altered to be an overskirt for a hoop skirt, and then it's been worn as a bustle with the bodice tucked away more times than it's felt hoops. It's a similar color as the top, so I figured I'd finally take the bodice off it, pull it in to be something I could walk in that wouldn't trail on teh ground, and I could set it under a corset in the center. Bing-bang-boom! Genius!

No. The skirt and the shirt were similar-but-different enough colors and textures that they clashed. Damnit. Well, I can ditch the skirt and figure out the rest! Some skinny moto pants. A decorative corset - I could embroider a corset (Myr no), or, ooh, use gold appliques (Okay, more realistic, proceed).

Next step was to mock things up as I'm trying to find what I want without purchasing a bunch of shit, which got me to this:

Okay okay okay. Cool, I've got a direction (that's not the shirt, but it's the closest I coudl find online to use, so I used it). Now for the endless internet and thrift store (No fingers, not thirst store, dear god) and internet thrift store searching to find me some cool-ass pants and a corset and some shoes that'll work with this. You'll notice, though that my statement necklace has been swapped out for cool-strappy-thing. Because statement necklace-collar is geometric and GOOD LUCK finding geometric applique. Harder than I expected. Took me a couple months to find things that weren't lots of money that I could afford. BUT I EVENTUALLY DID IT. This included buying multiple corsets with the intention of returning things. Benefits of modern shopping. The happy "lets try everything on" day was this weekend!

SO FAR SO GOOD. Took a poll from friends and the short corset is the winner. It's definitely the best constructed of the three, though the pants aren't QUITE high enough waist to be able to wear under it without some adjustments. But it'll do. The shoes turned out to be dark brown instead of black, so I need to see about making them black (and fixing them so the tongue doesn't decide to go deep diving towards my toes.) Other things to do: bring in the wrists of those sleeves some, they're a bit too big (Here they're clipped with bobby pins), decorate the corset, maybe add some gold detailing onto the pants? They've got that gold ridging along the thighs that you find on moto-pants, but that's absolutely invisible most of the time, so I think if I just brush some gold paint along the tops of those ridges, it'll make them pop in a good way. You'll note that none of these photos have the strappy-thingy, and instead we're back to the statement necklace-collar. Turns out the differece between the image I found on the internet and teh shirt I own is enough that you BARELY SEE the strappy. Also, I decided that instead of using applique, I'd buy some gold paint, make a design that'd work, and paint it on the corset. Only time will reveal whether this was a good or a bad idea.

Other thing this showed me is that this doesn't feel FANCY enough. So I'm coming back to that half-skirt idea. This time, though I'm thinking about something sheer - either a burgundy to match the top, or a black with gold accents (OR A FULL DESIGN?!?!?!).

Last night I got flat photos of the corset for figuring out the design, since the shape I was working with in my sketches doesn't match the chosen corset shape. Pls to enjoy some of the designs I was playing with:

Proooooobably going to see about adjusting the eye design. I think it fits the theme best.

Last night I started on the alternations by taking in the waist of the pants. Please have this photo that happened 30 seconds before my thread was attacked.

[venus-xcy]

𝑰𝑰 || 𝑨𝑵 𝑨𝑵𝑮𝑬𝑳

❝You look like an angel (look like an angel) / Walk like an angel (walk like an angel) / Talk like an angel❞  [You’re the Devil in Disguise  - Elvis Presley & The Jordanaires]

≪ ◦ ❖ ◦ ≫

≪ ◦ ❖ ◦ ≫

You sat at your vanity, the soft whirr of the morning air mingling with your quiet humming—a melody as delicate as it was distant. Your hands moved with gentle precision, smoothing out each section of hair until it fell exactly the way you wanted. Neat, polished, intentional, each strand was carefully coaxed into place—not a single flyaway daring to break free from your meticulous styling. The reflection that stared back at you was as polished as your intentions—smiling sweetly, eyes lined with the faintest shimmer, and not a flaw in sight. It was the same smile you wore every morning: calculated, charming, and entirely yours.

You rose to your feet with the grace of someone who’d practiced posture and poise since toddlerhood, brushing invisible creases from the hem of your neatly pressed black blouse and smoothing down the pleats of your black skirt. Everything about your uniform was immaculate—crisp collar, perfectly ironed fabric, the red neckerchief at the end of the sailor collar tied in an elegant knot. The golden pin on your chest gleamed faintly under the soft bedroom light, a small but deliberate statement. You liked things to be just so.

Your room was untouched by chaos, not even a misplaced book or askew pen. Every corner was clean, every surface wiped to a shine. Your mirror reflected a still life of control and charm.

Descending the stairs, you walked into the kitchen with practiced grace, your steps silent on the wooden floor. You took your usual seat at the countertop—a tall, velvet-cushioned high chair that felt molded to your shape after years of the same morning ritual. It was your spot, as much yours as the air you breathed.

Reika stood behind the kitchen island in her pressed robe, pouring the final swirl of syrup and placing the last few blueberries over a short stack of soft pancakes. She slid the plate in front of you, her movements fluid and efficient. As always, your breakfast was warm, balanced, and perfectly portioned. You didn’t speak as you picked up your fork and began eating—methodically, like you did everything else.

Reika leaned her elbows onto the cold marble, folding her arms and tilting her head slightly to study you. “Is he going to walk you to school today?” she asked, her voice casual, but her eyes sharp with curiosity. The faint upward twitch of her lips hinted at amusement.

You didn’t answer verbally. You simply shook your head once, a graceful, quiet dismissal that spoke volumes. He wasn’t needed today. You had more important company to be seen with.

The girls you associated with weren’t friends—though they believed otherwise—, not in the traditional sense. They were alliances—chosen carefully after your transfer at the beginning of middle school. Girls with polished nails and gold wristbands, who spoke in sweet tones laced with superiority, and laughed at the right moments. Girls who didn’t just follow trends—they created them. Being near them meant eyes on you, status.

And you loved that.

Outside, the cool morning air wrapped around you like a hug. The pavement glistened faintly from last night’s dew, and the smell of wet leaves drifted from the trees that lined the neighborhood path. Your black polished loafers clicked softly and gleamed with every step, the rhythm matching the quiet giggles and half-hearted whispers of the girls around you.

They walked in a loose cluster, their uniforms pristine and accessories chosen with delicate intent—gold or silver simple yet elegant chains with charms, hoops or earrings that varied in sizes, subtle designer touches that whispered wealth instead of shouting it. Their laughter rang into the morning air like wind chimes, and you joined in at just the right moment, adding your perfectly rehearsed chuckle.

You didn’t need to dominate the group with words, you had already done that with just your presence.

And as the school building came into view—tall and imposing under the rising sun—you felt it settle again: that quiet satisfaction.

Like everything was exactly where it belonged.

Just like you.

You sat casually on top of your desk, legs crossed, swaying your foot to a rhythm only you could hear as your fingers absentmindedly weaved strands of your friend’s hair into a loose braid. The hum of classroom noise faded into the background, your attention only half on the girl sitting in front of you—more focused on the movement of your hands than her steady stream of gossip.

She was ranting, voice hushed but dripping with malice, tearing into one of her own. Apparently, one of the other girls in your group had dared to develop a crush on the same guy as her—an offense treated like treason in your circle. Now she was being dissected, piece by piece, for her audacity.

The girl being talked about didn’t hold much weight in the group. She was tolerated, not respected. Not like the one currently airing her dirty laundry, who sat comfortably in the middle of the social ladder. And definitely not like you.

You didn’t need to chime in. You were above the petty back-and-forth, the whisper campaigns disguised as concern. Your silence spoke enough—detached, knowing, superior. You simply kept braiding, your expression unreadable, while your friend did the dirty work of keeping the hierarchy intact.

This was how it worked. Alliances were fragile, loyalty conditional. And only those who knew when to stay quiet managed to keep their crown.

“Done, do you like it?”

You asked, your voice soft and laced with feigned kindness—perfectly crafted and practiced like always.

You leaned back slightly, palms supporting your weight against the desk as your friend eagerly pulled out her phone to open the front camera. She turned her head from side to side, admiring the loose braid now cascading over her shoulder. A wide, self-satisfied smile bloomed on her face as she angled her head towards you.

You watched her, chin tilted slightly downward, an unreadable look flickering across your eyes. On the surface, you remained composed—yet that sweetness you always wore like a second skin remained. But beneath that facade, your mind was always moving. Measuring. Weighing. Judging. She was pretty. Not threateningly so, but enough to be useful. Enough to stand next to you without dimming your light. For now, at least.

“I love it,” she breathed, eyes never leaving yours.

Of course she does, you thought, smile tugging faintly at your lips. You made sure of it.

You slid off the desk with slow, graceful ease, brushing invisible lint from your skirt before stepping back into the center of the group. The tension from earlier—the whispers, the venom disguised as gossip—still lingered in the air like a cruel mist.

Excusing yourself to go to the bathroom, you slide open the classroom door with a quiet hiss, stepping into the soft gold haze of early morning light flooding the hallway. The building was unusually still—eerily so. The usual murmur of voices and shuffling of shoes were absent, muted by the fact that most classes were in session. Yours wasn’t, thanks to a conveniently absent teacher. A lucky break, really.

The soles of your loafers clicked softly against the polished floor as you made your way down the corridor. Dust motes danced lazily in the shafts of sunlight slanting through the square windows, the warmth brushing your skin like the calm before a storm.

As you neared the restroom, a familiar, sharp voice echoed from somewhere down the hall—aggressive, hoarse, unmistakably his. The blond you knew all too well. He was yelling at someone again, his voice ragged with irritation, like sandpaper dragged across steel.

You didn’t stop walking. Not yet, at least.

Instead, you pushed open the heavy restroom door and stepped inside the cool, sterile space. The tile floor gleamed beneath the flickering fluorescent light overhead, and the scent of strong lemon cleaner clung to the air.

You moved toward the sink and turned on the tap after having used the toilet, letting the cold water run over your hands. The noise of the world dimmed for a moment, and your reflection stared back at you with practised serenity.

Perfectly calm. Perfectly composed. Perfectly charming.

But the second the metallic click of the main door echoed behind you, your instincts took over. You moved quickly, silently, slipping into one of the stalls and shutting the door without a sound. In one fluid motion, you perched on the toilet lid, legs folded up, the soles of your shoes pressing firmly on the cold porcelain.

Two pairs of heels tapped into the room, followed by the sound of giggles and the door being clicked shut. You recognized one of the voices immediately—naive, bubbly and cloying. The other voice that responded sent a cold prickle across your skin.

Ayumi.

The girl who’d been the target of everyone’s spite that morning. And now, apparently, the one spitting venom.

“She’s such a bitch,” the high pitched voice of one of them scoffed. “I don’t get why they—especially ___—hang out with her.”

A short pause. And then Ayumi’s voice, quieter but steadier than you'd expected.

“___’s not that much of an angel, you know? People believe it, but she’s kind of like all of them.”

Your hands clenched the fabric of your skirt, the black of your knee-high socks wrinkling beneath the pressure of your grip. Your breath stayed even, but your heart drummed once, hard, behind your ribs.

How dared she?

How dare she speak about you like that. Like you were something ordinary—worse, mean—like you were just one of them.

The other girl hesitated. “No way! She’s like—so cool and kind! She gets along with everyone!”

But Ayumi didn’t respond. The silence hung between them, heavy and telling, before the sound of the door opening and closing marked their exit.

You didn’t leave the topic behind. You couldn’t.

⇋♤⇌

By the end of the month, Ayumi was gone.

Of course, no one pointed fingers at you. Why would they? You had spun the perfect web—an intricate ballet of rumors, whispers, and twisted truths. You had made it look like one of your friends had taken things too far. That girl had always been a little dramatic anyway. Ayumi was suddenly "too sensitive," "too distant," "overreacting."

Slowly, carefully, her days at school had turned gray. Her locker would be empty before lunch. Her name would go unmentioned in conversations she used to be a part of. Every smile turned sharper when aimed at her. Every glance, colder.

By the time she transferred, her existence had already been erased.

Because you couldn’t let her spread those poisonous little thoughts. You couldn't risk the wrong person hearing her words and believing them. You had spent too long polishing your image into something dazzling—something untouchable.

And power, true power, doesn’t come from mercy. It comes from maintenance. Precision.

One doesn’t stay at the top by brushing aside specks of dust. You wipe them off before anyone notices they were ever there.

That same day, once the final bell rang and the classroom had emptied, you lingered behind under the pretense of forgetting something. In truth, you wanted to visit Ayumi’s old desk one last time—like a farewell to a chapter already closed. You stepped inside, the classroom bathed in golden late-afternoon light, empty chairs and quiet corners echoing with the ghosts of conversations.

But you weren’t alone.

As you silently slid the door open, voices—sharp, rough, and far too close—snapped you out of your thoughts. You stopped cold.

Against the chalkboard, Bakugou had Midoriya cornered. His usual scowl was twisted with something deeper—anger, maybe frustration—and his two lackeys loomed nearby, their presence making the air feel heavier. Midoriya, tense and wide-eyed, looked trapped like an insignificant insect.

You didn’t move for a moment, your eyes locking with Midoriya’s—wide, panicked, and desperate. A quiet, almost imperceptible sigh left your lips as you offered him a feigned look of concern. With a gentle motion, you slid the door closed again, as quietly as you'd opened it, letting the scene dissolve behind you like steam off water.

A muffled explosion cracked through the air—then the sound of something heavy hitting water. You turned on your heel, pace unhurried as you made your way toward the patio koi fish pond. Ripples still danced across the surface—and the poor fish living there swam away from the disturbance—as you crouched down, arm reaching in to retrieve the floating object. Your fingers curled around the waterlogged cover of a white notebook, the words 'Hero Analysis' barely legible now.

Izuku Midoriya’s precious treasure.

You shook it gently, droplets cascading like tiny tears, then tucked it away inside your bag with quiet precision. A quick scan of your surroundings confirmed you were still alone. Perfect.

You started walking toward the school gates, expression unreadable, but the sound of rushed footsteps behind you brought your performance back into place.

“Sōzōkami-chan! Wait, please!”

His voice was trembling. Too easy.

You turned, that warm, polished smile slipping seamlessly onto your lips as if it had never left. Your voice softened with false concern. “What’s wrong, Midoriya-kun?”

He launched into the story, stammering and frustrated, relaying Bakugou’s aggression, the explosion, the ruined notebook. You listened attentively—eyebrows furrowed just enough, eyes wide in well-crafted sympathy as you denied seeing the notebook he asked for.

When he turned to leave, defeated, you caught his hand.

“Midoriya-kun…”

Your voice, a gentle purr, held him in place. You cupped his cheeks like he was something fragile, like you might break if you didn’t handle him carefully. “I’m so sorry I didn’t stop him. I saw it, but… I just froze. Bakugou’s anger terrifies me sometimes. You’re so strong, so determined. I wish I had that kind of courage.”

His cheeks turned scarlet beneath your fingertips. You stepped back, the smile lingering just long enough to burn into his memory.

Then you walked away.

As you rounded the corner of the school building, the warmth slipped off your face like a shed layer of skin, replaced by something more neutral—detached, even. You didn’t flinch when you saw him.

Bakugou was already there, leaning against the same brick wall where you’d first seen him that morning. His hands were shoved tight in his pockets, jaw taut, eyes narrowed in the way that meant he was barely containing an explosion. You stopped a few feet in front of him. He opened his mouth, but movement behind you made him hesitate. Midoriya walked past, his head down, not noticing the two of you—thankfully. Bakugou’s scowl deepened at the sight.

He didn’t say it, but you caught the way his fists clenched tighter than before.

“You took your damn time.”

You raised a brow, expression flat, uninterested. “Didn’t know I had to report to you.”

His glare sharpened, but he didn’t reply immediately. You adjusted the strap of your bag over your shoulder and started walking, and after a beat, he followed. The silence stretched long between you, but you didn’t offer an explanation. Let him break it. When he finally spoke again, it was low, clipped.

“So where were you?”

You didn’t turn your head. “None of your business.”

Another pause. You could feel his frustration radiating off him like heat from the pavement. But he didn’t press—not yet. Suddenly, you stop on your tracks, cupping his chin and stopping him as well.

“Suki~... getting this mad over him? I thought better of you. But, I guess I was wrong.”

The last words were cold, your hand leaving his chin as you resumed your path. The rest of the way to your house was silent, Bakugou emanated jealousy, rage, and a turmoil of emotions he couldn't quite handle nor name.

And you—you were calm, mockingly so.

⇋♤⇌

Izuku lay sprawled across his bed, the soft sheets crinkling beneath him as the cool breeze from the barely open window stirred the quiet room. Pale moonlight poured in through the sheer curtains, casting silver streaks across the floor, his desk, and finally across his face—softening the boyish features now painted in wonder.

He stared up at the ceiling, but his mind was far from it. His green eyes, wide with thought, sparkled faintly under the moon’s glow, and a shy smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

Slowly, without even realizing it, his hand drifted to his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt right over where his heart was thudding gently against his ribs. The warmth of the memory spread through him like a whisper.

Your voice echoed in his ears—the kindness in your tone, the way your fingers had cupped his cheeks like he mattered. Like you saw something in him that no one else did.

His blush deepened, blooming across his cheeks even though no one could see it in the dark. But it was there, bright and burning, all for you.

You had looked at him with soft eyes. You had smiled at him like he was worth something. You were so kind and sweet. His fingers curled tighter over his heart, the faintest tremble in his hand.

You weren’t just nice. You weren’t just beautiful. You were something out of reach, something dazzling.

An angel. His angel.

:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:1

[rococojewellery01]

Anna Beck Jewellery at Jewellery by Rococo: Timeless Artistry with a Balinese Soul

The Anna Beck collection at Jewellery by Rococo offers handcrafted elegance deeply rooted in Balinese tradition. Designed by Becky Hosmer and made entirely by hand in Bali, each piece reflects a dedication to slow, meaningful craftsmanship using ancient techniques and a distinctive dot-punch design.

Key Features of Anna Beck Jewellery

Handmade Detailing: Each piece is created by Balinese artisans using centuries-old metalwork techniques, such as hand-placing tiny metal dots and textured finishes.

Mixed Metal Appeal: Many designs combine 18k gold vermeil with sterling silver, offering a warm, versatile two-tone aesthetic.

Reversible Elements: Several Anna Beck necklaces and earrings feature reversible designs, giving you two styles in one—ideal for everyday wear and special occasions.

Gemstone Accents: Select pieces incorporate semi-precious stones like turquoise, pink opal, amazonite, and moonstone for a refined, earthy touch.

Symbolic Shapes: The collection includes circle motifs (symbolizing unity and wholeness), bar and V shapes, cuffs, and beaded styles that all carry a modern yet soulful aesthetic.

Available Styles at Jewellery by Rococo

At Jewellery by Rococo, the Anna Beck range includes:

Necklaces: From circle of life pendants to long layering chains and gemstone doublets, ideal for mix-and-match styling.

Bracelets & Bangles: Includes open cuffs, delicate beaded strands, and bold bar styles—perfect for stacking or solo wear.

Rings: Wide-band, stacking, and saddle rings, all with Anna Beck’s signature textured detailing.

Earrings: Studs, hoops, and drop earrings—all featuring the unique dot-punch craftsmanship Anna Beck is known for.

Why Choose Anna Beck at Jewellery by Rococo

Authentic Craftsmanship: Each piece is handmade in Bali, reflecting cultural depth and attention to detail.

Modern Spirituality: Designs balance minimalism with meaningful symbolism, making them both stylish and heartfelt.

Charitable Roots: Some Anna Beck pieces support causes like wildlife conservation, adding even more meaning to your purchase.

Versatile Styling: The mixed-metal palette and reversible elements make these pieces easy to wear with anything.

Gift-Ready Packaging: Thoughtfully boxed with brand messaging, each piece feels like a personal and heartfelt gift.

Styling Suggestions

Layer with Intention: Mix various necklace lengths or stack cuff bracelets and rings to create a personal, layered look.

Mix Metals Confidently: Don’t shy away from blending silver and gold—the Anna Beck aesthetic encourages it.

Let a Gemstone Lead: Use a turquoise or opal accent piece as the focal point of your outfit.

Day-to-Night Flexibility: Reversible pieces make transitioning from casual to dressy effortless.

Final Thoughts

The Anna Beck collection at Jewellery by Rococo is more than just jewelry—it’s wearable art with purpose and soul. Every handcrafted piece tells a story of tradition, care, and balance between beauty and meaning. Whether you're seeking a signature necklace, a meaningful gift, or a stack of rings to wear daily, Anna Beck offers a collection worth treasuring.

[nakiahsuniverse]

✨ A Manifestation Outfit Guide: What to Wear When You Want to Attract Love, Money, or Confidence (By Zodiac Sign)

ARIES ♈ 🔥 Love: Red silk top, leather mini, gold hoops – bold & fearless. 💰 Money: Structured blazer, designer belt, combat boots. 💪 Confidence: Statement pants, crop top, and sleek sunglasses.

TAURUS ♉ 🌹 Love: Rose-toned wrap dress, pearl necklace, soft waves. 💰 Money: Neutral co-ords, gold jewelry, loafers – rich & grounded. 💪 Confidence: Cashmere turtleneck, flared pants, and a luxury handbag.

GEMINI ♊ 💌 Love: Mixed prints, layered necklaces, glossy lips. 💰 Money: Smart trousers, a cool graphic tee, vintage bag. 💪 Confidence: Mismatched earrings, claw clip, colorful nails.

CANCER ♋ 💕 Love: Soft cardigan, satin slip, romantic perfume. 💰 Money: Pastel blazer, matching tote, moonstone ring. 💪 Confidence: Oversized sweater, silver hoops, slick bun.

LEO ♌ 💖 Love: Gold dress, faux fur coat, glitter highlight. 💰 Money: Designer-inspired fit, statement bag, chunky rings. 💪 Confidence: Bodycon + heels – main character energy.

VIRGO ♍ 🌿 Love: Clean lines, dainty jewelry, fresh linen scent. 💰 Money: Tailored trousers, button-down, sleek ponytail. 💪 Confidence: Matching set, clear accessories, bold brow.

LIBRA ♎ 💞 Love: Balletcore fit, bow details, pink blush. 💰 Money: Blazer dress, vintage clutch, glossed lips. 💪 Confidence: Chic monochrome, beret, luxury scent.

SCORPIO ♏ 🖤 Love: Black lace, chokers, deep red lipstick. 💰 Money: Structured coat, all-black fit, sleek heels. 💪 Confidence: Leather jacket, smokey eye, platform boots.

SAGITTARIUS ♐ 🔥 Love: Off-shoulder top, fringe details, bold earrings. 💰 Money: Cargo pants, techwear-inspired fit, confidence smile. 💪 Confidence: Funky layers, travel-ready bag, oversized sunnies.

CAPRICORN ♑ 💎 Love: Velvet dress, minimalist makeup, designer flats. 💰 Money: Power suit, watch, pointed heels. 💪 Confidence: Pencil skirt, high-neck top, crisp blazer.

AQUARIUS ♒ 🌈 Love: Futuristic fit, metallics, asymmetrical cuts. 💰 Money: Statement coat, silver accents, unique boots. 💪 Confidence: DIY fashion, layered textures, bold hair.

PISCES ♓ 🌊 Love: Flowing fabrics, soft blue hues, heart necklace. 💰 Money: Dreamy co-ord, shell earrings, sparkle flats. 💪 Confidence: Artistic details, oversized knit, soft glam.

✨ Manifest with intention, style with soul. ✨

[theelegantaura]

The Elegant Aura: How to Effortlessly Transition Your Jewelry from Day to Night

In a city like New York, your day might start with a boardroom meeting and end with rooftop cocktails. The fast-paced lifestyle of the modern woman requires more than just flexibility — it demands versatility, especially when it comes to fashion. One of the most practical ways to stay stylish around the clock is by choosing the right jewelry that can effortlessly shift from sunlight to starlight

At The Elegant Aura, we specialize in fine jewelry that blends timeless beauty with modern functionality. Our collections are curated for women who want more than just sparkle — they want substance, adaptability, and elegance in every moment. In this guide, we’ll show you how to transform your look from day to night using key pieces like paperclip chain styling, certified diamonds, and other standout trends from the 2025 jewelry trends forecast.

Why Versatile Jewelry Matters More Than Ever

Today’s jewelry isn’t just about aesthetics. It’s about purpose. With work, social events, and self-care often happening in the same 24 hours, the need for versatile jewelry looks has never been more important. At The Elegant Aura, we design our pieces for real life — elegant enough to elevate a formal ensemble, and relaxed enough to complement casual wear.

By investing in pieces that can evolve with your day, you’re not just saving time; you’re creating a more cohesive and sustainable wardrobe. Jewelry should be wearable, adaptable, and make you feel confident every step of the way.

Morning: Keep It Minimal, Polished & Professional

Your morning look should be clean, intentional, and chic. Jewelry should complement your outfit without distracting from it. Think minimalism with a hint of luxury — the kind of subtle shine that shows you mean business.

Top Picks for Daytime Jewelry:

Paperclip Chain Necklace: This trending piece adds an edge to your outfit without going overboard. The Elegant Aura offers refined, lightweight paperclip chain styling that is perfect for layering or wearing solo.

Gold Stud Earrings or Huggies: Our NYC-inspired gold jewelry collection features classic designs that add sophistication to any ensemble. Small hoops or studs offer a balanced, polished look.

Delicate Diamond Ring: Keep your diamond jewelry simple in the morning. A thin band or a single certified diamond solitaire brings quiet elegance to your fingers without stealing the spotlight.

Afternoon: Build on the Base

As your day progresses, you can start building on your minimalist foundation. Lunchtime meetings or early networking events are great opportunities to enhance your look with bolder elements while staying daytime-appropriate.

Style Tips for the Afternoon:

Add a Pendant: Layer a subtle pendant over your paperclip chain for a slight upgrade. Choose something meaningful or eye-catching, like a birthstone or a small engagement ring-inspired design.

Stack Bracelets: Add one or two thin bangles to your wrist to create interest without being too flashy. The Elegant Aura offers both affordable jewelry and luxury stacking options to help you mix and match.

Switch Earrings: If you're still wearing studs, try medium-sized hoops or drop earrings for added flair that’s still office-friendly.

Jewelry Care Tips for All-Day Wear

While transitioning your jewelry from day to night is a great style strategy, you’ll want to make sure your pieces are maintained throughout the day. Here are a few quick tips:

Use a Jewelry Cloth: A quick wipe with a microfiber cloth can restore shine instantly.

Avoid Harsh Chemicals: Especially if you’re reapplying fragrance or makeup before going out.

Travel Case: Keep a mini jewelry pouch in your bag so you can easily swap pieces on the go.

All purchases from The Elegant Aura come with care instructions and optional travel pouches to keep your pieces pristine wherever your day takes you.

Why The Elegant Aura is NYC’s Go-To for Versatile Jewelry

When searching for jewelry stores in New York, shoppers want more than inventory — they want integrity, innovation, and inspiration. The Elegant Aura offers all three.

What Sets Us Apart:

✅ Certified Diamonds: All of our stones are ethically sourced and come with authenticity certificates.

✅ Luxury Meets Affordability: Our collections span a wide range of price points to meet all budgets, without compromising on quality.

✅ Handmade in NYC: Each piece is made or curated with the modern New Yorker in mind.

✅ Style Support: Need help styling your look? Our team offers personalized recommendations, whether you’re buying your first engagement ring or building your evening statement.

From custom jewelry New York loves to trend-setting designs for every occasion, The Elegant Aura is the one-stop shop for all-day elegance.

Final Thoughts: From AM to PM with Confidence

The way you wear your jewelry should reflect your rhythm, your energy, and your elegance — no matter the hour. Whether you prefer minimal charm or bold sparkle, transitioning your pieces throughout the day adds depth, emotion, and personality to your style.

With the right collection, curated by a trusted brand like The Elegant Aura, you don’t need to change your entire outfit to own the night. All it takes is a few strategic changes and the perfect piece to make your presence unforgettable.

[darkspine10]

GF Fanfic - Jailbird Mabel

Amidst the Pines, Beneath the Falls (5,724 words) by darkspine10

Chapters: 8/25

Fandom: Gravity Falls

Rating: Teen

The bare grey walls lined the route to the cells. Ed Durland plodded along the passageway behind his office at the back of the police station. He didn’t like coming back here, with the smell of dry urine infesting the floor tiles and a dank mustiness that would never go away. There was a reason these cells were kept far away from the main station. It was far enough that you couldn’t hear the commotion from outside.

His keys rattled as he slid open the metal door that barred the way. The door stuck slightly at the end, requiring him to give it some force to get it to grind along its rail and fully open. Just inside was a wooden table. It usually stood empty but today a plastic bag sat on top, containing a wooden placard, two cans of spray paint, and a black wrist brace of unusual design. Durland studied these objects, trying to put together a picture of the owner of these effects.

“Hey Sheriff.”

The voice made him turn to the lone occupant of the row of three cells lining the opposite wall. In the one furthest from the door, a young woman sat with her knees forming an arch on the bench, her hands behind her head. She leant back in her pink jacket, looking for all the world like she was oddly at home in these surroundings. A curtain of brown hair fell across the occupant’s face, revealing that the rest was shaved in an undercut. The woman was grinning, a splash of glitter mingling with freckled cheeks.

What kept you?” said Mabel Pines. His prisoner.

The ruckus started a few hours earlier. A crowd of people had gathered downriver from the Northwest mudflap factory, at a temporary site that had been set up as a construction area for a planned expansion of the factory. While diggers cleared land within a walled-off zone, the protestors had assembled by the gates. They’d brought tents and supplies to camp out, with the intent of blocking supply deliveries and making their dislike for the project evident.

All of them had been brought together under one banner, that of May Pines. She’d used her contacts to get supporters, some local, others bussed in, all of them opposed to the Northwests’ plans. Things had been civil at first, with the protestors chanting slogans and waving signs, both against pollution and in support of keeping the local ecology safe. When the delivery trucks arrived things began to deteriorate. People blocked the roads and jostled the vehicles. It had been a pandemonium, with Durland’s small force of police officers trying desperately to contain the protest outside of the construction yard. They’d succeeded for a time, though the mood of the crowd continued to boil over.

Preston Northwest himself was hardly deaf to the cries, and came out to address the people from atop a stage. He spoke of progress and stimulating the town’s flagging prospects with new jobs. He’d been met with heckles and thrown vegetables. Durland had stood guard, his men and women taking the blows in defence of the patriarch. He couldn’t resist thinking that the man looked ludicrous in his neatly pressed tailored suit (which was no doubt needlessly expensive). Out here beside the mud and the peons he was an easy figure of disdain for the crowd.

At one point Northwest’s daughter showed up, elbowing her way through the crowd to reach the front. Durland found himself impressed with her imperious nature. She wasn’t a part of the protest but she wasn’t going to let that stop her getting a word in. Her father didn’t understand that. “Not now, Pacifica, your father’s trying to win over these unwashed masses.”

She put her hands on her hips, and Durland caught the flash of a gold watch on her wrist. It drew his eye to her gold hoop earrings and matching gold necklace. He couldn’t tell if that was her normal attire or if she’d dressed up to present a more acceptable impression to her father. “Come on, Dad, call this off. Sit down with these guys and talk.”

“Talk? My dear, these are common folk. I’m not sure some of them are even intelligent enough for that.”

The blonde rolled her eyes. “Here was me thinking you might be open to change.”

“I am open to change. Pennies, nickels, dimes. One must never let money slip through one’s fingers. That’s what this expansion is about, darling.”

“Ugh, you’re such a tool.” The young, excommunicated Northwest wasn’t winning any sympathy points, so stormed away from her father in a huff. She’d likely return to her family, or her modest job as a writer. Anywhere out of sight of the protest. Her visit didn’t seem to dent Preston’s unaffected tone, and he continued to talk over the jostling crowd, promising great wealth and admonishing their ungrateful jeers.

Not long after that Durland received a call on his walkie-talkie from one of his lieutenants. She’d found a protestor inside the boundary wall. Evidently there’d been a break-in. When Durland came to investigate he found the woman sitting cross-legged in the centre of the pit that the Northwest crews had started digging to put in the foundations. The woman wasn’t doing anything disruptive, not destroying the equipment or damaging any property. She was sitting serenely, zen-like, with her eyes shut. Almost daring them to arrest her. Durland had called her bluff, and now May Pines was lounging in one of his cells like a common criminal.

“So, let’s get this over with. When do I get to call my lawyer?” Pines said this with a resigned energy, almost boredom. This wasn’t her first rodeo. “What exactly am I being charged with?” she asked, turning from her reclined position to gaze at Durland.

He picked up a clipboard and read, “Unlawful entry.”

“Trespassing?” she snorted. “Yeah right.” She leaned back against the wall, her posture relaxed.

“That is a criminal offence.”

“I climbed over one prefab wall and sat around for a couple of minutes. You know, two weeks ago that spot was a nice little grassy field, good for rolling around in and not much else.”

Durland ignored her and flipped over the page on his clipboard. “We’re also charging you with defacement of private property. We found three sites with evidence of spray painting, and you were carrying these.” He gestured to the cans sitting in the ziploc bag.

Mabel sat up slightly straighter. “Ooh, what’d you think of the design?”

Durland flipped over a photo of one of the defaced walls surrounding the site perimeter. On it had been sprayed a shooting star with luminous trail, colliding with the wall. The artist had drawn bricks being flown aside and a hole with a sunny sky and clouds poking out. If he squinted, Durland could see the illusion that the wall really had been smashed through.

“Charming,” he deadpanned, tossing the photo through the bars where it floated to rest on the floor of Mabel’s cell.

“All my idea, of course.” At the other sites she’d scrawled ‘question authority’ in messy black paint and a red anarchist ‘A’ symbol. “You’re lucky I didn’t use any magic sigils,” she said.

“Magic…” he slowly drawled.

“To hex the site.”

“Right.” Durland was taken aback by how matter of factly she’d said it. Then again, in this town he’d have to be a fool not to recognise that her words had the ring of truth. Durland’s eyes flicked up to the woman’s hot pink jacket. A crest of the same shooting star and rainbow was emblazoned across both halves of the unzipped hoodie. Between the gap he saw her t-shirt had a red silhouette of Che Guevara printed on it. Nice, the archetypal rebel. “You do realise that you’re admitting to this crime? These walls-“

“Walls. All they do is divide us. Walls are designed to keep things out.” She threw her hands up. “All I was doing was trying to remind people of that, to get them to tear down the walls in their minds. You get me?”

“Not really, Miss Pines.” He shook his head, unimpressed with her attempt at profundity. “My deputies are out there right now trying to keep the peace, while your ‘supporters’ are creating mayhem.”

This seemed to grab the woman’s attention. She stood up and held onto the bars, trying to look Durland in the eye. “Mayhem? Sounds like all’s going as planned. Preston’s getting what’s coming to him. Paz tries to tell me sometimes that he’s not so bad, that he’s mellowed, but I don’t see it. Neither does Dipper, he’s probably checking his journal right now, trying to come up with some way to disrupt the factory. He always goes all out when he knows I’m in trouble.”

“I can believe that,” Durland said, raising the slightest smirk. He knew the reputation both Pines twins had in this town. Ever since they were kids they’d been breaking laws in small ways, here and there, causing minor infractions and ending up in these cells every now and again. He was also well aware that while her brother had settled down to raise a family, May Pines had grown ever more infamous across the country, and indeed, the world. She was a notable figure in several organisations that opposed corporations and government restrictions. An agitator, that was what she was, someone who couldn’t leave well enough alone and whose goal in life was convincing others of the same. That hadn’t been something he’d concerned himself with, until last year when she’d moved into town with her aloof partner. His initial worries had softened as both women appeared to be avoiding conflict. Mabel had bought a house, started running a curio store, kept herself off the radar and generally lived a normal life. Until today.

“C’mon, can’t you let me out?” Mabel wiggled her eyebrows, trying to convince him she was the same wacky kid he’d once known to elicit some sympathy. “I didn’t know that place was off-limits. You know what they say, ignorance is nine tenths of the law.”

Something in Durland snapped. “For chrissakes, girl, this isn’t some one night stay in jail because of your uncle’s misdemeanour. We’re talking about the town’s economy. You have to take responsibility for-”

“Relax.” She cut him off and slid back onto the bed. “This isn’t my first time behind bars.”

“That’s very clear.” Durland gritted his teeth and flipped to the front page on his clipboard. “I’ll need to take some personal information, if you don’t mind.” This wasn’t strictly necessary, given that he already knew exactly who he was talking to. But it might put her in her place a bit. “Name, Miss?”

“Mrs,” she grumbled, wiggling a wedding band at him on her finger. He glared at her, stony-faced, until she relented and said, “May Pinos. That was my gang name.”

Durland dutifully scribbled it down exactly as she’d said it. “Gender?”

“AMAB.”

Durland’s eyes looked up over the end of the clipboard. “Excuse me?” She’d rattled it off so quickly that he’d hadn’t quite processed what she’d said.

“Assigned Mabel at Birth.” She looked at him cheerily, disappointed when he frowned. “C’mom, can’t I have a little fun messing with police formality and gender at the same time? You need to think bigger, Sheriff. It’s that or ACAB, take it or leave it.”

“I don’t appreciate your tone.” He flicked his pen sharply across the page, marking a cross in the box marked ‘F’. “Age?”

With a shiver, she replied, “30, if you can believe that.”

“Occupation?”

“Witch- no, druid, or- uh, purveyor of mystic artefacts! How about anarchist terrorist? But if you wanna be boring put store manager I guess.”

“Finally, have you recently consumed, or are you in possession of any controlled substances.”

“Uh, no comment.” She whistled a shapeless tune and glued her eyes to the ceiling.

Durland jotted down a note that said ‘run urine test?’ and left it at that. “That’ll do for now,” he said. “We may need to take fingerprints later, but I’m convinced of your identity.”

“Woohoo,” she said blandly. “I hate filling out questionnaires. Especially cop questionnaires.”

“Do you say things like that to be purposefully provocative?” he shot back.

“Well, sure.” Mabel gave a light shrug. “The way I figure it, if you’re gonna make assumptions I might as well be honest about myself. You’ll treat me the same either way.”

“I try not to judge,” he said, though doubted she’d believe him. “Although, when I heard we were pulling you in I read your file. You have a long record, girl.” He flipped over the clipboard to the page copied from Pines’ file on the FBI database.

“I see my reputation precedes me.” She eyed the list of crimes warily. “Go on.”

“I have you down here on suspicion of drug running in Colombia back in ‘22.”

Mabel sighed wistfully. “I miss my uncle Rico. Those were the days. What next?”

“You were active all around the world in the mid ‘20s, ended up on several government watchlists for ‘subversive behaviour’. I believe this is you at a protest in Hong Kong.” He showed a blurry shot of a crowd of people wearing face masks. Mabel’s brown eyes peered out of the image, captured in a half-turn. She’d had much shorter hair back then, and was avoiding her penchant for bright colours, choosing instead a muted brown jacket.

“That could be anyone,” Mabel said, examining the photo and letting it float down with the other one. “Who among us hasn’t had a crash-out pixie cut phase?” She squinted, then shrugged. “I could be sure that was me, but I haven’t got my glasses.”

“Ah yes, that’s in your file too.” He glanced over to the evidence bag, conspicuously lacking in eyewear.

“I’m s’posed to wear them, but I can’t be bothered all the time.” She gave a cheeky grimace, somewhat disappointed in herself.

Durland continued reading from the file. “There are also suspicions that you were involved in break-ins against both Re-Gen Corp and the Vechnyy organisation in 2027. What do you say to that?”

Mabel gave an amused chuckle. “Man, what a crazy year that was. Fighting the man, everywhere we went, even on other worlds.” She waved it off. “That was ages ago though, three years or more. Not really relevant, is it?”

“Once again, you’re admitting to these offences.”

“I may have a rap sheet, but I did my time. Ain’t nothing there you can pin on me with cold, hard evidence.” She sat back on the bench, arms folded in victory. From the window slit above her, Durland began hearing a growing sound of chatter and bustle. “Aha, my followers figured out where you’re keeping me. Over here, I’m not silenced!” Mabel hopped up on the bed, stretching her face towards the window slit. She was too short, so sat back down.

Durland pinched the bridge of his nose at her childish antics. Ignoring her, he examined her evidence bag again. No mobile phone, that was the most obvious thing he noticed. She’d been smart enough not to be carrying it during her big stunt. The spray cans’ purpose was obvious, and she’d had the placard placed in front of her when her boys had brought her in. It read ‘come and get me’.

The cloth bracer was her cobbled together ‘grappling device’, likely the means she’d used to get over the walls and into the site. Durland was half-convinced to permanently confiscate the device, due to the thin firing tube that sat adjacent to the retraction mechanism. He knew it was used to launch small projectiles, such as tranquiliser darts or ball bearings to cause distractions. It could conceivably be described as a concealed weapon, though Durland abandoned that train of thought. Mabel Pines was many things - and he knew for a fact that she possessed a firearm, locked up safely in her home - but she wasn’t violent.

He sighed and turned back to the cell. “I’m trying to understand you. Why are you doing all of this?”

Mabel tilted her head to one side, and for a second Durland recognised the carefree kid who’d first come to Gravity Falls two decades ago. She still had the same chubby cheeks that puffed out when she was confused about something. “What? The protest? Northwest doesn’t care about safety, he’s only about the bottom line. That new factory’s gonna pump out double the toxins straight into the river. I’ve seen the crazy mutations that can cause. Ever heard of Octavia? Not to mention the ramifications to our mystical neighbours. They won’t be happy when we edge into their territory and muck the place up.”

Durland was silent for a moment, letting the babble of the crowd outside filter in, then said, “Better to try and fail to make a better world than to never bother making a difference. Is that it?”

“Uh, yeah.” Mabel looked at him suspiciously, and he sensed walls coming up behind her eyes. He’d finally managed to put her on the defensive “It’s weird,” she said, “I don’t usually have to justify myself. Either people hear my message and agree, or they resist what I have to say. Rare to find someone on the fence. Then again, if I was able to win my brother over then maybe it won’t be so hard with you. You’re a long-timer.”

“A what?”

“You know, from the old days. The Weirdmageddon crew. You were there, I was there. Most of the town was there. You’ve seen the absolute worst day that ever hit this little town. I’m not saying that what I was trying to prevent today was as bad as all that, but surely you get that I’m on the right side?”

“No, I don’t get that.” He set down the clipboard and sat on a bench beside the cell. He scratched the military-grade ginger buzz cut under his hat which he’d maintained for the past twenty years. “I’m on the side of peace, order, and civility. From where I’m sitting you’re disrupting all of those things.”

“Only in the short term. Which is worse, an afternoon of disobedience or a lifetime of regret?” She sighed, and it was as if the weight of the world was on her shoulders. Durland wondered what had driven this young woman to bear such responsibilities. “In truth I’m supposed to be semi-retired. All I wanted to do for the next few years was take it easy, run the store, spend time with my wife and my snake. Maybe catch up on my overdue art commissions, heh. But I thought, cause this was so local, that it wouldn’t hurt. I’ll mobilise some people, get boots on the ground, maybe do some good and stop that factory being built.”

“You sure that’s a good thing? What about all the jobs it could bring in?”

“Pfft, this town doesn’t need heavy industry, it needs protecting. Tourists are one thing, but we have to manage it carefully so we don’t upset the natural balance. Or supernatural balance.” She smiled to herself at that, then turned serious again. Leaning on the bars, she pointed at Durland’s chest. “The real question is, why are you here?”

“What do you mean? You’re my prisoner, this is a police interview.”

“No it’s not,” she stated bluntly. “You didn’t need to personally have this little chat. You coulda just slapped a fine on me and let me stroll out. Instead you’ve come for a one-on-one. Why is that? Does something tickle your conscience, Durland?”

He scratched at his forehead once more, an itch that refused to go away. “I want you to tell them to stop.”

“Stop? Who, that crowd of angry protestors?” Her eyes flicked up towards the window. “I may have called them here but they’re not about to give up. They’ll know if I’m faking it.”

“I’m not…” He took a breath, trying to find the right words. “I don’t want you to ‘fake it’. I want you to ask them to stand down and go home.”

“And why would I do that?” she asked, eyes narrowing.

“Because I’m asking. And from where I’m standing, you’re the one stuck in a cell without any other options.”

“So that’s it? Blackmail?”

“No, not exactly.” His words tumbled out. He felt frustrated with how she was misconstruing him. He calmed himself and tried to rephrase his plea. “I want to win you over. You’re a resident of this town, and thus under my protection. I want what’s best for everyone, and the best way to avoid any more of those kids getting arrested and sued by the Northwests is to disperse and go about their business.”

“Damage control then?” She seemed slightly more sympathetic to this line of reasoning. “I get it, I really do. Sometimes it can be hard work, this life. Standing up for what’s right. It’d be so easy to sit back and let the world turn. I’ve been trying to do that lately, to live my life. I can’t help but get tangled up in a cause.”

Mabel slunk back from the bars and took off her jacket. She dropped it beside her on the bed, and once again Durland was reminded that the girl didn’t know the meaning of the word subtlety. Every spare scrap of skin on her arms was covered by colourful tattoos. His eyes couldn’t help but snap to a red hammer & sickle design on her forearm. “Look at this one: Pines.” She pointed to a different tattoo, a golden pine tree below the opposite shoulder that he could swear shone like glitter, before he blinked and the effect vanished. “It’s a sign that my family all carry in some form. A sign of solidarity. I’m not about to sell out my principles.”

Desperately, he jumped to his feet. “But you can get them to trust me, those people out there.”

“They might trust you if you stop arresting them. If you let me go right now then who’s gonna find out, besides Preston? Uh, that’s right: No-one. So why don’t you act like you’re not a stuck-up pig and let me outta here!”

“You watch your tone,” he muttered, feeling the conversation slipping ever further out of his control.

“That’s the main thing I don’t get, Durland. How can you stand to wear that uniform? I mean, being who you are, with Blubs-”

“That’s enough!” he snapped.

“No, it isn’t.” Mabel rose to her feet and angrily clung to the bars of the cell. “How can you support the same system that goes against your own relationship like that? I can’t make sense of that.”

“My personal life is none of your business.”

Before he could respond further through gritted teeth, the babble of the crowd outside was entirely overwhelmed by a horrendous screeching which forced Durland to clamp his hands over his ears. The sound was tempered for a moment as he made out discordant violin strings and threatening percussion, which continued to rise in pitch. “What in heaven?” His cries were nearly drowned out.

“Oh, that,” Mabel said, leaning against the wall with her hands behind her back as if this sound was nothing more than gentle birdsong. “It’s the Threnody for the Victims of Hiroshima. I think it’s kinda beautiful.” Durland tried to focus on her words, to blot out the assault on his ears. The girl seemed to take a perverse pleasure in the whole thing. “It was that or my Heavens to Betsy cassette tape, pick your poison. If you’re not gonna let me go I might as well make it harder for you. Sound based disruption is a classic guerilla theatre technique. Hey, you listening?”

Durland was on his knees, the blood pounding in his head. The crowd must have been using an industrial-level speaker to be blasting that so-called music so loudly. Stumbling towards the door, he shouted back at Mabel. “I hope you enjoy the night!”

Once he was down the corridor the the so-called music continued to echo. He wiggled his fingers in his ears to no effect. Despite all his efforts to get through to May Pines she’d blanked him at every turn. Now she’d banished him from his own prison.

When he got to the front desk he found his chief deputy talking to a woman he recognised as Pines’ wife, Zera. When she noticed him she walked past the desk despite the deputy’s cries. Her expression was forlorn, but he detected a resilience beneath her tired frown. She said something and realised his ears were still ringing from the cells. He asked her to repeat it.

“Is May alright? You haven’t hurt her have you?”

“Hurt her, god no! We’re not barbarians.”

“I was just worried.” Zera clutched her arms together. “When you handcuffed her I thought it looked like it might have been too tight on her wrists. I wasn’t sure how restrictive the police were on this pl… in this town.”

“Please, ma’am, you don’t have to worry. Mrs Pines is in a perfectly fine condition. We’re restraining her until further notice or such time Mr Nortwhest chooses to press charges. She’ll be taken care of until then. I’ll have someone bring her a warm meal.”

“Please remember she’s a vegetarian,” Zera added.

He wondered if she was merely playing the ‘worried loved one’ routine. There were stories about the new Mrs Pines, that she was some kind of ex-con herself. Yet he felt that her emotions were genuine.

Mollified, Zera walked to the door, turning back at the last moment. “If you see May again tonight, please… tell her I love her.”

“I-” He hesitated, torn between his duty and a quiet, nagging voice saying ‘there is another way’. The same voice that had led him to May Pines’ cell in the first place. “I will, ma’am. You can count on that.”

Durland drove back from the station in a daze, passing from streetlight to streetlight down main street. A faint white glow over the treetops was the only sign that hundreds of eager young people were camped out by the river. He hoped there were no overnight calls that necessitated him having to rush to the scene. After his chat with Pines he was ready to fall into bed.

He pulled into the drive of the two-storey Victorian and stepped out, already undoing his tie. He sighed gratefully on entering the hallway. If the stresses of the job became too great this was his peaceful spot. A man’s home is his castle, but he preferred to think of it as a secret retreat from the hectic pace of modern life. Perhaps that description was overselling it - this town rarely saw much action on an average day - but he still relished the quiet of home.

Durland heard a gentle humming coming from upstairs. Throwing his hat onto a stand, he took each step on the staircase with the weight of the world. The bedroom was dimly lit by a single lamp, and his husband was already tucked up in bed with his reading glasses. “Hey there, Ed,” he said. His smile lit up the room and Durland almost forgot how tiring the day had been. With his shirt half unbuttoned he slid in besides Blubs.

“Hi Daryl.” He gave him a kiss on the cheek then sunk gratefully into the pillows.

“Long day?” he replied incisively. It was hard to miss Durland’s tightly wound mood.

“You could say that.” Durland sighed and took a moment to close his eyes. When he opened them he saw that Blubs was reading another Tom Clancy novel. Reliving the glory days, as Durland liked to joke. “The glory days were never as exciting as this,” his husband always responded, as he would take Durland’s hand in his.

Tonight he didn’t have the energy to say that much. Corralling the protestors was one thing, but he couldn’t get May Pines’ words out of his head. Looking at his husband he felt her sharp comments stab even harder.

“Did we always do the right thing?” Durland asked aloud.

Blubs finished his page, then took off his reading glasses and put them away in his dressing gown. “I don’t know about that,” he said, guffawing. “Remember the Pioneer Day conspiracy?”

Durland mustered a grin. “I do indeed. Couldn’t even catch a couple‘a twelve year-olds. But on the whole?”

Blubs knew he wasn’t generally a deep thinker, but chose not to comment on the fact Durland was obviously unsettled by something. “More or less. We kept the town safe as well as we could, that’s what’s important.”

“Safe?” He chewed on that word, sounding it out in his mind. “Is safety always the best thing though?”

Blubs placed his hand on top of Durland’s and kissed him for a long time, letting the weight melt off of Durland’s shoulders. “The best time to do the right thing was 20 years ago. The second best time to do the right thing is always right now”

Durland found solace in this simple wisdom. As he settled into bed, an image of May Pines reclining on the hard prison bed flashed through his mind. One night in that place. Was that enough? Or too much?

The first rays of sunlight shone through the high window slit directly into Mabel’s eyelids. She scrunched up her face to no avail, and forced herself to sit up and stretch. Her back was killing her; an unfortunate downside to ageing that she’d been unwilling to accept gracefully. After eating the meal provided by the cops - mashed potatoes, on the milder side of tepid - she’d tried to stay awake through the night. She’d even cast her newly tested illumination spell, before realising that there was nothing to see within the three walls of her accommodation, even if she’d had her glasses. After that she slept fitfully for a few hours.

Groaning and slapping her lips, she was taken aback by the presence of the Sheriff, already sitting hunched over on the bench right outside the cell bars. “Mornin’. Do cops get overtime?”

Durland got up and strolled in her direction. “Good morning, May. I’ve come to a decision on what I’ve got to do with you.”

Mabel tensed. Jumping out of bed, she sprinted over and clung tightly to the bars. “You’ll never make me revoke my principles, ya hear me! Freedom for nature! Freedom for May Pines! Freedom for- whuh.” A tiny click, and the door to the cell swung open, causing her to barrel over onto the floor. She peeked one eye open to see Durland standing over her, keys in hand, having unlocked her cell. “Wha?” she mumbled.

“You’re free to go, Mrs Pines.”

Mabel awkwardly rolled over and got up into a crouch. “How come?”

“After our little discussion yesterday… I’m releasing you with no charges. I’ve deemed that the evidence was flimsy and wouldn’t hold up.”

“But, but why?” Mabel said with widened eyes.

Durland wondered how this girl, who’d spoken at such length on this very topic, could be so naive. “I thought about all that you said. And you were right. I may stand before you wearing this uniform, but I stand for my own code first.”

Mabel’s mood instantly brightened up. She winked at Durland and shot a finger gun towards him. “See, I knew I could win you round. Folks say I’m good at that, getting people to see the bigger picture.”

“Some people might call that manipulative.”

“Not you though.” She hooked an arm around Durland’s shoulder, angling him towards the door before remembering her personal items. The Sheriff gestured for her to take them back, though Mabel dithered over the wooden ‘come and get me’ sign and ultimately left it lying on the table. The grapple brace went straight on her wrist, and she tensed and released her muscles to test the hook. With three cans of spray paint stuffed into her hoodie, she made constant click-clack noises as she walked. “So, what happens now? With the protest.”

Durland glanced at the window. He could already hear a morning chorus of voices gathered outside the cell again. He prayed that they weren’t about to blast out more deafening ‘music’. “I’ll have to watch over the crowd, make sure it all stays under control. But you can do whatever you like. Frankly I think it’s more trouble than it’s worth keeping you here.”

Beaming, Mabel strolled happily towards freedom, Durland keeping pace with her energetic gait. “This is great. I better get back to my friends. Wouldn’t want them to try something more drastic to get me out.” She suddenly slammed her fist into her palm. “And Z! I’ll have to check up on her before I get back to tearing down the patriarchy or whatever.”

“I’m sure whatever you do will be unmissable,” Durland said with a slightly critical edge.

“Hey, hold up.” Mabel turned to face him. She rubbed at her arm and said, “thanks. For not completely sucking. For making this town somewhere I can be myself.”

“It’s where I can be myself too.” He winked at her, and Mabel gave a sigh of relief.

She turned to leave and stretched her arms once more to loosen her back. “Man, sometimes I can’t get over what my life is like as an adult living in this place. Being middle aged is so weird. When I was a kid I used to have, like, existential fears. Fears of what might happen in the future, fears of losing my personality, or my brother. Now I just worry about mundane shit like paying taxes or-”

“Please don’t tell me you’re guilty of tax evasion too?” Durland said wearily. “You do have the right to remain silent.”

Mabel was taken aback that he’d cut her off for a second, then broke into a grin. She let out the bubbliest laugh Durland had ever heard. It echoed off the solid walls of the jail. He found it delightful, and led May Pines out into the light.

[cleverhottubmiracle]

TikTok and Instagram are continuously redefining the fashion landscape. From whimsical aesthetics like cottagecore to the glitz and glam of night luxe, there’s always a fresh trend dominating our feeds. Yet, one standout style refuses to fade into the background: the bold and unapologetic baddie aesthetic. Characterized by edgy silhouettes, eye-catching accessories, and a fierce, confident attitude, it’s no surprise that more and more people are eager to master how to dress like a baddie.Whether it’s a curve-hugging corset top, high-waisted jeans, or a perfect pout framed by flawlessly sculpted brows, the baddie look is far more than a passing trend—it’s a full-fledged lifestyle. So, if you’ve ever found yourself wondering how to dress like a baddie, consider this your ultimate guide. From go-to outfit formulas to hair and makeup musts, we’ve got everything you need to channel that main-character energy and turn heads wherever you go.Here are 9 things to note if you want to dress like a baddie…#1. Own the Streetwear-Influenced EdgePhoto: @lachelletrends/InstagramBaddie fashion takes its cues from streetwear, but with a glamorous twist. Picture Air Jordans teamed with oversized graphic tees, or sleek bodysuits paired effortlessly with cargo pants. This aesthetic thrives on bold, edgy combinations that feel both effortlessly cool and intentionally curated. Essential streetwear staples—like bomber jackets, distressed jeans, and fitted joggers—should be mainstays in your rotation. To truly embody the baddie vibe, embrace the contrast of casual and elevated. A body-hugging dress with chunky sneakers? That’s a signature move.Shop editor’s selection #2. Show Skin, But Keep It ClassyPhoto: @kimberlyanthony_/InstagramAt the core of every baddie look lies one essential ingredient: confidence. This means fully owning pieces like crop tops, bralettes, and cutout dresses that celebrate your figure while maintaining a polished vibe. It’s not about revealing everything—it’s about striking the perfect balance and showing skin with purpose. High-waisted pants or skirts offer just the right amount of coverage to complement more daring tops, while layering with flannels or lightweight jackets adds depth and versatility. Ultimately, dressing like a baddie is about showcasing your assets with both style and intentional flair.#3. Match Sets Make MagicPhoto: @basketball_drip_/InstagramCoordinating sets are a non-negotiable staple in the baddie wardrobe. Whether it’s a ribbed crop top paired with a matching skirt or a cozy two-piece loungewear ensemble, these cohesive outfits deliver major visual impact with minimal effort. They perfectly embody the “effortless yet put-together” vibe that defines the aesthetic. While monochrome sets in neutral tones like beige, black, and grey lay the groundwork, don’t shy away from bold shades—hot pink, neon green, or electric blue can add that Instagram-worthy pop that takes your look to the next level.#4. Statement Accessories MatterPhoto: @destmercadoo/InstagramOf course, no baddie outfit is complete without the right accessories. These are the finishing touches that bring the whole look together. Think oversized sunglasses, large hoop earrings, chunky chain necklaces, and mini handbags—they’re non-negotiable. After all, accessories are what turn a basic outfit into a scroll-stopping statement. Stack your rings. Layer those gold chains. And don’t be afraid to throw on a bucket hat or a bold belt. Because at the end of the day, knowing how to dress like a baddie means recognizing that the smallest details often make the biggest impact.Shop similar designs #5. Embrace the Power of OuterwearPhoto: @_thisisclaire/InstagramWhen it comes to the baddie aesthetic, layering is key—especially during transitional seasons. Outerwear isn’t just practical; it’s a statement. From edgy leather jackets to cropped puffers and oversized denim, each piece should enhance the outfit while standing strong on its own. Want an instant upgrade? Throw a sleek trench coat or structured blazer over a body-hugging dress. The result is effortlessly bold.#6. Keep It Fresh with Makeup & HairPhoto: @lolathompson/InstagramBut the baddie vibe doesn’t stop at clothes. Beauty plays a major role in completing the look. Think perfectly contoured cheeks, bold brows, fluttery lashes, and high-shine lips—they’re all signature elements. As for hair, it’s usually sleek and polished. A long straight weave, high ponytail, or slicked-back bun all fit the bill. The goal? To look camera-ready at all times—but with an effortless edge. So, if you’re learning how to dress like a baddie, don’t skip the beauty game. It’s just as important as what you wear.#7. Master the Art of AthleisurePhoto: @latto/InstagramAthleisure is where comfort meets high fashion—and it’s a staple in every baddie’s closet. Picture fitted leggings with crop tops and zip-up hoodies, or sports bras styled with joggers and bomber jackets. Matching tracksuits, especially in velvet or soft pastel tones, are another go-to. To finish the look, throw on designer sneakers or slides and add a sleek crossbody bag. Ultimately, knowing how to dress like a baddie means mastering that perfect blend of sporty and stylish—and wearing it with confidence.Shop editor’s selection #8. Build Around Basic Wardrobe StaplesPhoto: @ayo_fierce/InstagramYou don’t need a massive wardrobe to dress like a baddie. In fact, starting with high-quality basics makes styling much easier. Every baddie’s closet should include fitted black and white tees, high-waisted denim, ribbed bodycon dresses, leather leggings, and a versatile collection of crop tops. These foundational pieces can be mixed and matched endlessly. Simply put, learning how to dress like a baddie is less about extravagance and more about smart, intentional styling.#9. Confidence Is the Core of the AestheticPhoto: @evangelej/InstagramNo matter how many trendy pieces you own or how flawlessly you apply your contour, the baddie aesthetic ultimately comes down to confidence. The goal is to radiate self-assurance and independence. Stand tall. Own every room you enter. Wear your outfit like it was made just for you. When it comes to mastering how to dress like a baddie, attitude truly is everything.Shop editor’s selection Embrace BoldnessAt its core, dressing like a baddie is all about embracing your boldness and showing up with intention. It’s the perfect mix of fashion-forward choices and a fearless mindset. Whether you’re heading to class, brunch with friends, or a night out, the baddie look guarantees you’ll turn heads while staying true to yourself. So, the next time you plan your outfit, keep these tips in mind—and don’t forget the key ingredient: confidence. Because, ultimately, that’s what defines how to dress like a baddie.Check out more baddie style inspirations…Photo: @teairawalker/InstagramPhoto: @ally.benji/InstagramPhoto: @its_elyzah1028/InstagramPhoto: @sofiamcoelho/InstagramPhoto: @lolathompson/InstagramPhoto: @_emefaa_/InstagramPhoto: @maiyathepapaya__/InstagramPhoto: @_shopteneleven/InstagramPhoto: @nidelle.tg/InstagramPhoto: @thekashbarb/InstagramPhoto: @_dopeboy/InstagramPhoto: @tiffanynicoleray_/InstagramPhoto: @jpeg.angie/InstagramPhoto: @z.eynabbbb/InstagramPhoto: @sydniepottingerr/InstagramPhoto: @im_blacklily/InstagramFor the latest in fashion, lifestyle, and culture, follow us on Instagram @StyleRave_—Read Also!function(f,b,e,v,n,t,s) if(f.fbq)return;n=f.fbq=function()n.callMethod? n.callMethod.apply(n,arguments):n.queue.push(arguments); if(!f._fbq)f._fbq=n;n.push=n;n.loaded=!0;n.version='2.0'; n.queue=[];t=b.createElement(e);t.async=!0; t.src=v;s=b.getElementsByTagName(e)[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(t,s)(window, document,'script', ' fbq('init', '496558104568102'); fbq('track', 'PageView');!function(f,b,e,v,n,t,s)if(f.fbq)return;n=f.fbq=function()n.callMethod? n.callMethod.apply(n,arguments):n.queue.push(arguments);if(!f._fbq)f._fbq=n; n.push=n;n.loaded=!0;n.version='2.0';n.queue=[];t=b.createElement(e);t.async=!0; t.src=v;s=b.getElementsByTagName(e)[0];s.parentNode.insertBefore(t,s)(window, document,'script',' fbq('init', '1453079628754066'); fbq('track', "PageView"); Source link

[norajworld]

TikTok and Instagram are continuously redefining the fashion landscape. From whimsical aesthetics like cottagecore to the glitz and glam of night luxe, there’s always a fresh trend dominating our feeds. Yet, one standout style refuses to fade into the background: the bold and unapologetic baddie aesthetic. Characterized by edgy silhouettes, eye-catching accessories, and a fierce, confident attitude, it’s no surprise that more and more people are eager to master how to dress like a baddie.Whether it’s a curve-hugging corset top, high-waisted jeans, or a perfect pout framed by flawlessly sculpted brows, the baddie look is far more than a passing trend—it’s a full-fledged lifestyle. So, if you’ve ever found yourself wondering how to dress like a baddie, consider this your ultimate guide. From go-to outfit formulas to hair and makeup musts, we’ve got everything you need to channel that main-character energy and turn heads wherever you go.Here are 9 things to note if you want to dress like a baddie…#1. Own the Streetwear-Influenced EdgePhoto: @lachelletrends/InstagramBaddie fashion takes its cues from streetwear, but with a glamorous twist. Picture Air Jordans teamed with oversized graphic tees, or sleek bodysuits paired effortlessly with cargo pants. This aesthetic thrives on bold, edgy combinations that feel both effortlessly cool and intentionally curated. Essential streetwear staples—like bomber jackets, distressed jeans, and fitted joggers—should be mainstays in your rotation. To truly embody the baddie vibe, embrace the contrast of casual and elevated. A body-hugging dress with chunky sneakers? That’s a signature move.Shop editor’s selection #2. Show Skin, But Keep It ClassyPhoto: @kimberlyanthony_/InstagramAt the core of every baddie look lies one essential ingredient: confidence. This means fully owning pieces like crop tops, bralettes, and cutout dresses that celebrate your figure while maintaining a polished vibe. It’s not about revealing everything—it’s about striking the perfect balance and showing skin with purpose. High-waisted pants or skirts offer just the right amount of coverage to complement more daring tops, while layering with flannels or lightweight jackets adds depth and versatility. Ultimately, dressing like a baddie is about showcasing your assets with both style and intentional flair.#3. Match Sets Make MagicPhoto: @basketball_drip_/InstagramCoordinating sets are a non-negotiable staple in the baddie wardrobe. Whether it’s a ribbed crop top paired with a matching skirt or a cozy two-piece loungewear ensemble, these cohesive outfits deliver major visual impact with minimal effort. They perfectly embody the “effortless yet put-together” vibe that defines the aesthetic. While monochrome sets in neutral tones like beige, black, and grey lay the groundwork, don’t shy away from bold shades—hot pink, neon green, or electric blue can add that Instagram-worthy pop that takes your look to the next level.#4. Statement Accessories MatterPhoto: @destmercadoo/InstagramOf course, no baddie outfit is complete without the right accessories. These are the finishing touches that bring the whole look together. Think oversized sunglasses, large hoop earrings, chunky chain necklaces, and mini handbags—they’re non-negotiable. After all, accessories are what turn a basic outfit into a scroll-stopping statement. Stack your rings. Layer those gold chains. And don’t be afraid to throw on a bucket hat or a bold belt. Because at the end of the day, knowing how to dress like a baddie means recognizing that the smallest details often make the biggest impact.Shop similar designs #5. Embrace the Power of OuterwearPhoto: @_thisisclaire/InstagramWhen it comes to the baddie aesthetic, layering is key—especially during transitional seasons. Outerwear isn’t just practical; it’s a statement. From edgy leather jackets to cropped puffers and oversized denim, each piece should enhance the outfit while standing strong on its own. Want an instant upgrade? Throw a sleek trench coat or structured blazer over a body-hugging dress. The result is effortlessly bold.#6. Keep It Fresh with Makeup & HairPhoto: @lolathompson/InstagramBut the baddie vibe doesn’t stop at clothes. Beauty plays a major role in completing the look. Think perfectly contoured cheeks, bold brows, fluttery lashes, and high-shine lips—they’re all signature elements. As for hair, it’s usually sleek and polished. A long straight weave, high ponytail, or slicked-back bun all fit the bill. The goal? To look camera-ready at all times—but with an effortless edge. So, if you’re learning how to dress like a baddie, don’t skip the beauty game. It’s just as important as what you wear.#7. Master the Art of AthleisurePhoto: @latto/InstagramAthleisure is where comfort meets high fashion—and it’s a staple in every baddie’s closet. Picture fitted leggings with crop tops and zip-up hoodies, or sports bras styled with joggers and bomber jackets. Matching tracksuits, especially in velvet or soft pastel tones, are another go-to. To finish the look, throw on designer sneakers or slides and add a sleek crossbody bag. Ultimately, knowing how to dress like a baddie means mastering that perfect blend of sporty and stylish—and wearing it with confidence.Shop editor’s selection #8. Build Around Basic Wardrobe StaplesPhoto: @ayo_fierce/InstagramYou don’t need a massive wardrobe to dress like a baddie. In fact, starting with high-quality basics makes styling much easier. Every baddie’s closet should include fitted black and white tees, high-waisted denim, ribbed bodycon dresses, leather leggings, and a versatile collection of crop tops. These foundational pieces can be mixed and matched endlessly. Simply put, learning how to dress like a baddie is less about extravagance and more about smart, intentional styling.#9. Confidence Is the Core of the AestheticPhoto: @evangelej/InstagramNo matter how many trendy pieces you own or how flawlessly you apply your contour, the baddie aesthetic ultimately comes down to confidence. The goal is to radiate self-assurance and independence. Stand tall. Own every room you enter. Wear your outfit like it was made just for you. When it comes to mastering how to dress like a baddie, attitude truly is everything.Shop editor’s selection Embrace BoldnessAt its core, dressing like a baddie is all about embracing your boldness and showing up with intention. It’s the perfect mix of fashion-forward choices and a fearless mindset. Whether you’re heading to class, brunch with friends, or a night out, the baddie look guarantees you’ll turn heads while staying true to yourself. So, the next time you plan your outfit, keep these tips in mind—and don’t forget the key ingredient: confidence. Because, ultimately, that’s what defines how to dress like a baddie.Check out more baddie style inspirations…Photo: @teairawalker/InstagramPhoto: @ally.benji/InstagramPhoto: @its_elyzah1028/InstagramPhoto: @sofiamcoelho/InstagramPhoto: @lolathompson/InstagramPhoto: @_emefaa_/InstagramPhoto: @maiyathepapaya__/InstagramPhoto: @_shopteneleven/InstagramPhoto: @nidelle.tg/InstagramPhoto: @thekashbarb/InstagramPhoto: @_dopeboy/InstagramPhoto: @tiffanynicoleray_/InstagramPhoto: @jpeg.angie/InstagramPhoto: @z.eynabbbb/InstagramPhoto: @sydniepottingerr/InstagramPhoto: @im_blacklily/InstagramFor the latest in fashion, lifestyle, and culture, follow us on Instagram @StyleRave_—Read Also!function(f,b,e,v,n,t,s) if(f.fbq)return;n=f.fbq=function()n.callMethod? n.callMethod.apply(n,arguments):n.queue.push(arguments); if(!f._fbq)f._fbq=n;n.push=n;n.loaded=!0;n.version='2.0'; n.queue=[];t=b.createElement(e);t.async=!0; t.src=v;s=b.getElementsByTagName(e)[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(t,s)(window, document,'script', ' fbq('init', '496558104568102'); fbq('track', 'PageView');!function(f,b,e,v,n,t,s)if(f.fbq)return;n=f.fbq=function()n.callMethod? n.callMethod.apply(n,arguments):n.queue.push(arguments);if(!f._fbq)f._fbq=n; n.push=n;n.loaded=!0;n.version='2.0';n.queue=[];t=b.createElement(e);t.async=!0; t.src=v;s=b.getElementsByTagName(e)[0];s.parentNode.insertBefore(t,s)(window, document,'script',' fbq('init', '1453079628754066'); fbq('track', "PageView"); Source link