#because look how pretty it is running through the bristles of the hairbrush and look how caring mammy is it must be precious

[trashyswitch]

Never Steal From Roxanne

Roxanne confronts Monty, who she thinks has stolen her hair products. And when he refuses to tell her where he hid them, Roxanne decides to brush it out of him.

This fanfic was suggested by an anonymous user. Whoever you were, I hope you enjoy!

Roxanne was stomping around the pizzaplex, trying to find Monty. Her hair was a mess thanks to someone stealing her hair products on her. And Roxanne was FURIOUS. She was determined to find out who had stolen her hair products. Because she did NOT feel like she was the best. 

“MONTY.” Roxanne shouted. 

Monty raised his head and turned around. The moment he saw Roxanne’s messy hair, he just about blew up with laughter. “Whohohoa! Look at you!” Monty reacted. 

“Where are my HAIR PRODUCTS, MONTY?!” Roxanne shouted at him. 

Monty smirked and shrugged his shoulders. “And why would I know that?” Monty asked. 

Roxanne growled. “Give me. My hair products back.” Roxanne ordered. 

“Or what?” Monty asked. 

Roxanne smirked and walked closer to him. 

Monty’s smile dropped a little bit as he soon started backing up. “Okay, here.” Monty pulled out her hairbrush and threw it to her. 

Roxanne caught her hairbrush and looked at Monty with a bigger smirk. “You shouldn’t have done that…” She warned. 

Monty quickly took off running the other way. Roxanne ran after him, holding the brush as she ran. “YOU’LL NEVER CATCH ME!” Monty shouted. 

“WE’LL SEE ABOUT THAT!” Roxanne replied. 

Monty ran through the bathrooms and slammed the doors behind him to slow Roxy down. But unfortunately for Monty, Roxanne was a lot faster than Monty had realized. So the closed doors didn’t slow her down one bit. 

Eventually, Monty yelped and felt his face hit the ground as Roxanne lifted him up by his foot. “Gotcha, thief!” Roxanne told Monty. Roxanne threw Monty against the wall and walked closer to him as he fell to the ground on his side. 

“You didn’t have to throw me!” Monty reacted. 

Roxanne sat on Monty’s hips and grabbed Monty’s arms. 

Monty rolled his eyes. “And what are you gonna do? Ground me? Break me? Put me on a TiMe OuT?” 

Roxanne smirked and poked Monty’s exposed armpit. Monty yelped and widened his eyes as he realized what she was planning. “Uh oh…” He muttered, growing nervous. 

“What’s wrong? Scared?” Roxanne asked evilly. 

Monty tried pulling on his arms to get them out of Roxanne’s grip. And though he was strong, he wasn’t strong enough. 

Roxanne finally started using her long, green nails to tickle Monty’s armpit. “Let’s see how ticklish-” 

“ooOOOOH GAAHAHAHAD NOHOHOHO!” Monty shouted. 

“Whoa! Okay! I’d say pretty ticklish!” Roxanne reacted. 

Monty threw his head side to side as he tugged on his arms to get them out. “PLEHEHEHEASE! IHIHI’M SOHOHOHORRYHYHY!” Monty told her. 

“Really?” Roxanne asked. “Well, I’m sorry too…” She told him, removing her hand for a moment. 

Monty rested his head on the ground and breathed in a little more heavily to recover. Monty looked up at Roxanne to tell her to let go. But Roxanne was smirking at him. 

“I’m sorry…to say that apologizing won’t be enough to save you.” Roxanne told him before putting her fingers back into Monty’s armpit. 

Monty squealed and squeezed his eyes shut as he laughed. “COHOHOME OHOHOHON! WHAHAHAT EHEHELSE DOHOHO YOHOU WAHAHANT?!” He asked. 

“I want you to tell me where you hid my hair products.” Roxanne told him. 

“NOHOHOT…HAHAPPENIHIHING!” He yelled back. 

“Well, we’ll see about that.” Roxanne grabbed the hairbrush Monty had given to her. “Maybe we should start adding a little tool into this experience.” Roxanne suggested.

Monty widened his eyes and covered up his muzzle. “NO.” He warned. “NOO!” 

Roxanne smiled eagerly and brought her hairbrush bristles closer to Monty’s armpit. Monty squeezed his eyes shut and tensed up his arms. 

Just to be an evil little shit, Roxanne gently placed the bristles one millimeter away from Monty’s armpit. Monty was frozen in place, his eyes still shut tightly.

Then…Roxanne made the bristles of the brush just graze his armpit. Monty’s breaths quickened for a moment as he turned his head to the other side. He was so tense. 

“You ready?” Roxanne asked. 

Monty grunted. “Just-Just do it!” He begged. 

Roxanne began to think. “Hmmmm…” She hummed. 

Monty slowly opened his one eye, wondering what the heck Roxanne was doing. “What-” 

“Alright.” Roxanne started brushing the hairbrush all over Monty’s metal armpit. 

Monty wheezed and bursted out laughing in a hoarse, growly laugh. “HEHEhehehey! Nohohohot fahahair!” Monty reacted. 

Roxanne smirked and started brushing in a circular motion on his armpit. “A wooshy-wooshy-wooshy-woosh!” Roxanne teased. 

“Quihihihit thahahahat!” Monty ordered her. 

“Nah. I’d rather not.” Roxanne replied. 

Monty growled as he laughed. “Yohohou are ehehevihil!” Monty yelled. 

Roxanne guffawed. “I’m barely even tickling you! And you’re acting like I’m trying to kill you!” Roxanne reacted. 

Roxanne fixed her grip on the brush and started brushing his armpit super quickly. 

“GrrrraaAAAAHAHAHAHAHA!” He growled as he opened his mouth wide and cackled loudly. 

“Now tell me where my hair products are.” Roxanne ordered. 

“IHIHI DOHOHOHON’T KNOHOHOHOHOW!” Monty yelled. 

“That’s bullshit if I’ve ever heard it.” Roxanne muttered loud enough for him. 

Monty tried to pull his arm down, but Roxanne was surprisingly strong. “LEHEHEHET MEHEHEHE GOOOOO!” Monty shouted. 

“Not until you tell me where my hair products are.” Roxanne ordered. 

“IHIHIHI DOHOHOHON’T KNOHOHOHOW!” Monty shouted at her. 

“Oh really? I’d beg to differ.” Roxanne told him. 

Roxanne let go of his wrist and sat onto Monty’s knees. “Let’s see how well you can handle the brush against your feet.” Roxanne told him. 

Monty growled and sat up, grabbing Roxanne’s shoulders. “GET OFF ME-” 

Roxanne smirked and started scrubbing the brush all over Monty’s right foot. “Nah.” 

Monty gasped and covered his muzzle. He laid himself down onto his back and shook his head wildly with his paws covering his mouth. 

Roxanne slowed her tickling spree a little bit. “Gonna tell me where the hair products are now?” Roxanne asked. 

Monty growled and tried to push Roxanne off his knees. “GET OFF ME NOW. I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!” Monty shouted. 

Roxanne raised an eyebrow. “So…is that a no? Or…” 

Monty turned to Chica and saw her walking up. “CHICA! Help me! Roxanne won’t leave me alone!” Monty reacted. 

Roxanne rolled his eyes. “He stole my hair products…and he’s refusing to tell me where they are.” Roxanne explained. 

“I don’t know where your damn hair products are!” Monty yelled. 

“Quit fibbing!” Roxanne reacted. 

“I’M NOT!” Monty shouted. 

“You are one who fibs!” Roxanne reacted. 

Chica giggled with a big smile. “I wish I could’ve found some popcorn.” Chica admitted. 

“Why?” Roxanne asked with a smile. 

“Because that would be the perfect snack for this moment!” Chica reacted. 

Roxanne nodded in response. But she quickly yelped and tried to look backwards as her vision told her she was rising up. 

“I’ve got you now, you little SHIT!” Monty yelled. 

“Hey! Let me go!” Roxanne yelled. “YOU NEED TO GIVE ME MY HAIR PRODUCTS BACK!” 

Monty rolled his eyes. “I didn’t do anything with your hair products. I took your brush, but I didn’t take anything else. Maybe try asking someone else before you tickle torture the evil Monty Gator.” Monty warned. 

Roxanne growled and tried to wiggle herself out of Monty’s arms. 

“Hey Roxy. I was trying to look for you in your room, but you weren’t ther-” 

Roxanne turned around and widened her eyes. It was Freddy…and Freddy was holding her hair products. 

“YOU!” Roxanne shouted. Roxanne sprinted to Freddy. “YOU STOLE MY HAIR PRODUCTS!” Roxanne told her. “What?! No I didn’t! Monty took them first!” Freddy reacted. 

“I did not! Stop fibbing!” Monty reacted. 

“I’m not fibbing! You’re fibbing!” Freddy reacted. 

“I’m not fibbing! You’re the fibber!” Monty argued. 

Roxanne looked to Freddy. 

“I am not! We have cameras here! We can easily figure this out.” Freddy told him. 

Roxanne looked at Monty. 

Monty pointed to Freddy. “You’re the one holding her hair products!” Monty argued. 

Roxanne looked at Freddy. 

“That doesn’t mean anything!” Freddy argued back. 

Roxanne looked back and forth between the boys…Then she looked at Chica. Chica was touching both her index fingertips together awkwardly. 

“Would…you like to borrow my hair products?” Chica asked. 

Roxanne thought for a moment. “Do you have L’Oréal Paris? or Pantene?” Chica asked. 

“Both. Plus Dove hair gel if you want it.” Chica told her. 

“Okay. Sure!” Roxanne replied. 

While Freddy and Monty continued to argue, Chica and Roxanne walked to Chica’s backstage room and tried out Chica’s hair products for a while. It was at this moment that Roxanne became thankful she wasn’t the only female animatronic…

Because old spice is not exactly meant for women…

#monty the thief #or was it freddy? #funny #ticklefic #ler!roxanne #lee!monty #girls night

[amorgansgal]

Sooooooooooooooo, you know how I wrote that Cornwall's Daughter x Arthur Morgan headcanon thing and everyone seemed to really like it (thank you very much to everyone who liked and reblogged it <3)... I might have accidentally written a second part.

You can read the first part here: A Pretty Cage

Arthur Morgan x Female Reader

Warnings: That good old sexual tension, kidnapping, suggestions of an abusive family relationship.

A Pretty Bird

‘Mr Cornwall, Miss Cornwall is-!’ you heard your maid began to say, but a loud crash made you turn your head and you quickly got to your feet.

You were still wearing your nightgown with a soft peach, silk robe covering you but you still wrapped it around you as your father stormed in your private quarters.

Your maid nervously followed, but you quickly shook your head at her, it wasn’t worth her getting in trouble and being fired when your father was in a rage.

‘Father, I-!’

‘You had one goddamn job! Just one and you failed!’ he snarled.

‘I spoke to Mr Van Der Linde and his associate-!’

‘You spoke, you flirted, you danced, you drank champagne and wasted my time!’

‘I thought that was what you wanted me to do, father.’ You wanted to defend yourself, but instead you let him rant and rave, lowering your head. You waited for him to tell you how you had failed.

You saw his top lip quiver with anger, his moustache flecked with spit. ‘I gave you two tasks, you incompetent child! I asked you to make sure Lemieux signed that contract. He has not.’

You nervously bit your lip and could feel heat rush into your cheeks. You had been so entranced by Arthur Morgan’s eyes, the way his fingers had firmly held onto your waist, the way you had both been so close when whispering to one another you could’ve almost kissed, you had forgotten about the contract.

‘Lemieux has the contract though and I intend to see to it that he does-’

‘You better. My patience is growing shorter with you by the day. The fact that you’re my daughter doesn’t matter, fail me again and you won’t be. No one in polite society will give a damn about you.’

‘Father, you can trust me to-!’

He raised a finger to stop you from speaking further. ‘You’ll have tea with him today, see to it that the document is signed.’

‘What about Mr Fairweather and his-?’

‘I already told you,’ Your father says through gritted teeth. ‘Mr Fairweather will have to decide whether he cares more about his own pride or the family business, because if he marries into this family his desires will have to come second.’

You nodded, swallowing harshly and looked back to your vanity table. You picked up a hairbrush, running your fingers over the bristles. Your father marched out of the room and your maid cautiously entered.

‘Are you alright, Miss Cornwall?’ she asked politely, her voice trembled slightly.

‘I’m fine,’ you said, but your hand trembled as you placed the brush down on the vanity. You exhaled slowly.

You gazed at yourself in the mirror. Your father had never hit you or threatened you with physical violence, but every day was like treading on thin ice. One wrong move and you would crash under the freezing water, not allowed to swim up towards the surface.

Maybe that’s why you were so keen on marrying a boring fool like Harold Fairweather, he would be easy for you to control. He’d do whatever you said and you wouldn’t be stuck under the thumb of your father or your husband. Maybe that was delusional, your father would always be there.

Your tea dress was a muted affair in comparison to the black velvet evening gown you had worn the night before. But in the muggy heat of Saint Denis, you were grateful for the simple white cotton dress with its three-quarter-length, sleeves decorated with lace and pearl buttons. The wide brim, straw sailor hat, decorated with white ribbons and roses, kept your face from the hot afternoon sun.

You pulled out your fan, it had simple white slats decorated with blue forget-me-not flowers and you began to fan yourself, trying to gain some composure in the hot afternoon sun as you followed the butler up to Lemieux’s house.

You spotted the gentleman sitting under the shade of a large oak tree. There was a pretty, intricate metal table similar to the ones you sometimes saw outside the bistros and cafes of Saint Denis, it was covered with a white cloth and a tea service.

You frowned when you realised he was sitting with two other people, a man with lank, dark curling hair and a woman with her bright red hair tidied into a neat bun. Though the painful red flush on her neck suggested the heat was getting to her too.

As they turned on hearing your tread on the gravel footpath, you recognised Mr Van Der Linde. Your heart leapt into your throat and you quickly looked around to see if Mr Morgan was nearby.

‘Ahh, Miss Cornwall,’ Mr Van Der Linde gracefully got to his feet. He strolled over and pressed a kiss to your hand. ‘It is a delight and a pleasure to make your acquaintance once more.’

‘As it is mine, Mr Chambers.’

Lemieux practically stumbled around the table and hurried over to you, clasping your hand in his. ‘Miss Cornwall, how are you today?’

‘Very well, thank you Maire Lemieux. I didn’t realise you would be entertaining other guests.’ You bite your cheek. It would be a lot easier not to have Mr Van Der Linde around while you are trying to conduct your father’s business.

‘But of course, it would be inappropriate for a woman to have tea alone with a man. So, I asked if Mr Chambers would know of any women who would like to join us for tea. Luckily, this is his wife, Mrs Chambers.’

Lemieux pulled out a seat from the table and gestured for you to sit down. You could see the woman practically bristle as Van Der Linde’s shoulder briefly brushed against yours. You take her in.

She’s a beauty: Flame red hair, green eyes, skin as pale as milk but dusted with freckles, a pretty pouty mouth. She wore a dark green blouse patterned with gold thread and a burgundy skirt.

You did your best not to raise your brows. The outfit was nice enough, but not suitable for afternoon tea. It was too dark and clashed too much to be appropriate.

But you could already tell, she cared too much to be his wife. This was, undoubtedly, Van Der Linde’s mistress.

‘Good afternoon, Mrs Chambers.’

‘Afternoon, Miss Cornwall. My husband’s told me a great deal about you.’ Her voice would have sounded pretty too, a soft, lilting Irish accent. But her tone suggested she would much rather you were dead in the ground, than here drinking tea!

‘Oh really? I’m afraid I didn’t have the pleasure of speaking much to Mr Chambers at the party, though I do know he extolled you highly when we did speak.’

Mrs Chambers turned on Van Der Linde coolly. ‘Did he now? Extoll me?’

Van Der Linde offered a cold smile. It was already plain to see he would prefer Mrs Chambers not to be here.

‘But speaking of the party, I was wondering if Mr Callahan will be joining us?’ you asked.

‘Alas not, Mr Callahan has been called away on business,’ Van Der Linde replied.

‘Ah, a pity, my father would like to learn more about his oil in Alaska.’ You watched as Lemieux gestured for a maid to cut him a slice of orange spiced cake. If he hoped to avoid the topic of the contract by having Mr Van Der Linde present, you were perfectly happy to make things awkward for him.

‘Speaking of business affairs, Mr Lemieux, have you had the opportunity to sign my father’s contract? It would be quite fitting if I could return that to him this afternoon.’

Lemieux’s face briefly showed his true emotion, irritation, but he kept his smooth smile in place and gave a nonchalant shrug. ‘Ah, Miss Cornwall, I’m afraid I quite forgot and I’m not quite sure where it is in my study, but please ensure your father-’

‘Oh, no matter,’ you gestured for your maid servant, who was carrying a satchel. You opened the satchel and pulled out the contract. ‘My father is always prepared to make multiple copies.’

Lemieux gave an amused smile, though you could see the contempt in his eyes as he stared at you. He made a great show of patting down his pockets. ‘Alas, I do not have a pen on me. When trying to enjoy tea, I rarely do-’

You pulled out a pen from the bag and gave him a sickeningly sweet smile. ‘As a man of politics, Monsieur Lemieux, you do surprise me. A man should always carry a fine pen on him, do you not agree Mr Van- Mr Chambers?’

You silently cursed at your foolish slip up. How could you have let that happen? You saw a brief shadow pass over Van Der Linde’s expression, though he was much better at not making it obvious that he had noticed your mistake. Mrs Chambers eyes nervously darted between you and her husband.

‘I certainly do, Miss Cornwall,’ Van Der Linde replied, taking a sip of his tea and looking at you over the rim of the cup. A shiver ran down your spine. You didn’t even notice Lemieux furiously signing the papers, you were too focused on how you could be so stupid to let Van Der Linde that you knew who he really was.

You were happy for the afternoon tea to be wrapped up quickly. The conversation was stilted and uncomfortable, so you were quite happy to make your excuses and to be accompanied out to your carriage.

As you climbed up the steps, with the help of your guard, you noticed Van Der Linde leaving the mayor’s house and hastily walking down the street. His mistress followed him, though Van Der Linde made no attempt to wait for her or offer his arm when she slipped slightly on a raised cobblestone.

They disappeared around a corner and you quickly got into the carriage, eager to be off home and to get the signed documents to your father. You could prove to him that you were a worthy asset and would not disappoint him again.

You had been so busy and in thought, as you travelled across the Rhodes countryside, you barely realised the coach had stopped until your maid touched your elbow.

‘Mistress, we’ve-’

‘Now, I would suggest not doing anything foolish, sir.’ A voice called out loudly and, with dread, you recognised it instantly. Van Der Linde. ‘I think you will find you are outnumbered, if you value you your life-’

A gunshot went off, your maid screamed, another shot followed the first. You pulled your maid down onto the floor of the carriage. You could hear the horses whinny in fear and suddenly the coach was travelling at speed down the road. Your maid was sobbing.

‘Arthur-!’

‘On it!’

You could hear the beat of horse hooves approaching your carriage and the familiar voice of Arthur Morgan called out. ‘Lenny, see if you can jump up into the seat and stop the damn thing! I’ll get the horses!’

It seemed to take both forever and no time at all, but the coach slammed to a halt and you almost rolled under the other seats. Your maid was still crying and you were doing your best to comfort her, when the door was pulled open.

You look up. The bright late afternoon sunshine was making it difficult to figure out who was standing at the open door, but it didn't take you long to recognise the broad shoulders. Arthur Morgan offered a hand to help you up, but you refused to take it and stepped out of the carriage.

You glanced up the road and wished you hadn’t. You could see the bodies of the driver and guard scattered along the dusty track. Van Der Linde rode up to you. There were several other men with him, but you looked at Arthur. Even with a mask covering his mouth and nose, his eyes were unmistakable.

‘Miss Cornwall, I apologise for the interruption to your journey-’

‘Do you, Mr Van Der Linde?’ you snapped.

‘Ah, so you do know me.’

‘Of course, I do. I’d have to be a fool not to.’

He gave an indulgent chuckle, as though you were a child having a temper tantrum. ‘Your father and I are having some disagreements.’

‘You robbed his train first!’

‘I’ve robbed many trains, Miss Cornwall. One of those just happened to belong to your father and now he is dead set on seeing us destroyed.’

‘Perhaps if you tried not robbing trains-!’

‘Oh, I’m sure that could be arranged, Miss Cornwall. But I expect if your father wants us to leave him be, he can pay for your ransom and we will happily leave.’

‘My father wants you all dead, he won’t be happy until you are!’

‘Well, I think we have ways of persuading him otherwise.’He offered his men an amused grin and a few chuckled as though he had told an excellent joke. You rolled your eyes and raised an eyebrow, as though you had found what he said utterly dull.

‘I’m afraid, Miss Cornwall, you will be accompanying us and your maid will return to your estate to inform your father that his sole, beloved daughter has been taken hostage. Of course, you will be returned safely and with your dignity intact, but only if your father agrees to paying your ransom in full.’

Your maid looked terrified and she clutched the satchel between hands that were trembling. She was jostled over to a horse and a young man with dark, lank hair helped her onto it. He mounted up, gave a quick nod to everyone gathered there and then they rode off.

You slowly realised, with a sudden jolt of fear and growing nausea in the pit of your stomach, that the maid had the signed contract on her in the bag. You hoped that you were just being foolish, but you couldn’t help but wonder if your father wouldn’t even bother paying for your ransom, considering he now had got what he wanted from Lemieux.

Your heart beat faster as you watched your maid disappear from view. You had to keep your mouth shut, had to buy yourself time, had to figure a way of escape without the help of your father.

‘Miss Cornwall, as you seemed to get along so infamously with Arthur, why don’t you ride with him?’ Van Der Linde’s mocking voice cut through your whirling thoughts.

Arthur came to your side and tugged down his bandana. His cheeks and jaw were covered with the first prickle of stubble and his clothes were dusted with the dirt from the road. He looked very different from how he had done at the mayor’s party.

He was still handsome, ocean eyes gazing into your own and you felt yourself lift your chin up, as though encouraging him to admire the line of your neck. You watched his gaze follow down your throat, then back up over your lips.

You suddenly imagined the desperate, demanding kiss he would give you. Pressed up against the abandoned coach, the leather of his gloves warm against your arms and the way his knee would nudge between your legs.

You bit your lower lip and Arthur quickly turned his head. He lowered his gaze to the road, hiding his expression under the brim of his hat as though he had sensed what you were thinking about.

‘You know how to ride?’

‘Yes,’ you replied.

‘Without any of that side saddle nonsense?’

‘Yes. But I’m not exactly dressed for the occasion,’ you muttered irritably. You hated the thought that your fine, pure white tea dress was about to be ruined.

Arthur abruptly placed his hands around his waist and heaved you up onto his horse, before you could even splutter with rage.

‘You ain’t exactly in a position to be asking for favours.’

You tried to make yourself comfortable on the horse, though the cut of the dress made it difficult for you to move your legs. He mounted the horse and you pulled off your gloves, then dusted down his jacket. You scowled at the dirt that covered your palms, but heard his chuckle.

‘You’ll have to forgive us, we don’t usually kidnap people in our Sunday best!’

You wrapped your arms around his midsection and felt him stiffen slightly as your hands came to rest on his stomach.

‘My father won’t be happy if you try anything untoward.’

‘Wouldn’ dream of it, Miss Cornwall.’

‘Y/N, you can call me that.’

You felt Arthur chuckle once more, then he clicked his tongue and his horse moved forward into a smooth trot.

You cast one more look behind you. The coach looked like it had been abandoned by the road side for months, the wheels caked in mud, the horses had already been unattached and taken by the gang. You prayed that your father would consider it worth the expense to rescue you.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x fem! reader #arthur morgan x f!reader #arthur morgan x f/reader #arthur morgan x f reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan hcs #arthur morgan headcanon #arthur morgan hc #dutch van der linde #leviticus cornwall #leviticus cornwall's daughter #arthur morgan x leviticus cornwall's daughter #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption #rdr #van der linde gang

[jaskierswolf]

Title: Colours of a Rose

Prompt: Curse causes fluffy/funny results

Pairing: Gerlion

Rating: T

Warnings: Mentions of whump but all fake

Written for @whataboutthebard

_

Dandelion screamed.

It was the sort of scream that tore through Geralt, making his blood run cold. Instantly his silver sword was in his hand and he was running through the empty sterile walls of Lettenhove castle. He hated the place, but after a particularly nasty run in with a griffin, he’d needed somewhere to stay long-term to recover, and Dandelion had suggested his childhood home.

Because apparently Geralt’s best friend was secretly a Viscount and had never thought to mention it.

None of that mattered though, not when Dandelion was in trouble. Geralt couldn’t reach the poet’s room fast enough, getting lost in the halls and having to rely on his witcher senses to track Dandelion’s lavender scent, soured by misery.

“No! Oh no, no, no!” Dandelion whined as Geralt burst through the door, his sword raised and ready to strike.

The scene in front of him was nothing like what he’d expected. There were no monsters or guards or bandits holding his flower captive. There was no crimson blood streaking across the floor, painting Dandelion’s pale skin red as the life drained from his lungs. There were no torn up doublets or broken lute strings.

Instead, it was a perfectly normal sight. Sun streaked through the windows, bathing the room in a glowing golden light, and Dandelion was sitting at his dresser, the gilded mirror shimmering and beautiful. The ivory brush in his long lutist fingers clattered to the floor and he whined pitifully, staring forlornly into the mirror with sad eyes.

“Dandelion?”

“Oh, Geralt, thank the gods!” Dandelion cried as he spun around to face Geralt, tears streaking down his cheeks. “The most terrible thing has happened!”

Geralt raised an eyebrow as he sheathed his sword, crossing his arms in front of his chest whilst he waited for the poet to explain what was quite so terrible. He cocked his head, eyes roaming over his friend but nothing seemed out of sorts.

Until Dandelion tucked a lock of golden hair behind his ear to reveal a striking red curl, brighter than anything Geralt had ever seen.

“Huh.”

“Oh don’t just ‘huh’ at me, witcher. I’ve been cursed! Do something!” The poet flailed his arms in the air and then sighed, pouting back at his reflection and steadfastly refusing to meet Geralt’s gaze in the mirror.

“Umm…” Geralt fumbled as he tried to work out how the fuck he was going to break the curse, if it even was a curse. The bard seemed fine, except for the strange colours and there was no obvious magic in the room - Geralt’s medallion lay still upon his chest. “What happened?”

The poet huffed, elegantly bending over to pick up the abandoned hairbrush, extravagantly decorated with flowers and gold leaf. He winced as he gently stroked the brush through a golden lock of hair, and Geralt’s eyes widened as he saw the strands turn a vibrant orange wherever the bristles touched.

The brush was turning Dandelion’s hair into a rainbow.

And the poet was devastated. His hair was his pride and joy outside of his music and writing but Geralt... well, he thought it looked pretty. It wasn’t practical for life on the road, the bright colours attracting all sorts of nefarious monsters, but Dandelion’s doublets were bright enough on their own for that, and for now they were trapped at Lettenhove.

“I like it,” he admitted.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I like it. It’s colourful… like you.”

“Oh.”

Geralt reached his hand out for the brush, a faint smile on his lips. “Let me.”

The poet still pouted as Geralt combed out the rest of the curls. With every stroke of the brush, Dandelion’s hair slowly turned into a shining rainbow, vibrant and sparkling just like the poet. Gradually, Dandelion’s pout began to melt into a brilliant smile. Geralt had been right, the rainbow hair suited the poet perfectly, and he seemed to grow in confidence the more he looked at his reflection. It probably wouldn’t be permanent but it was beautiful.

Dandelion was beautiful.

His best friend, his poet… his flower.

-

Taglist: @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde, @comfyswitcherblanketfort, @fontegagrilledcheese, @dani-dandelino, @dapandapod @unyielding-as-the-sea @officerjennie @feraljaskier @geralt-of-riviass @kueble @gilberik @llamasdumpsterfire

#the witcher #geraskier #gerlion #wuv the bard #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #julian alfred pankratz #wolfie's witcher writing

[ymiwritesstuff]

Tenderly Perfect

Well, here it is, a Zhongli fic as I promised. I swear this man is doing things to me I can’t lmao. Also I’m not THAT deep in the lore so apologies if some things are incorrect. Anyway hope you enjoy, just some simple fluff with not much plot hehe.

Genshin Impact

Zhongli x Fem!Reader

Summary: Zhongli insists on taking you outside the city for a moment of good food, company and hair brushing.

Notes: SPOILERS FOR THE ARCHON QUESTS!, Fluff

Climbing to the highest point of Mt. Tianheng was the last thing you were expecting that day, though you should have expected as much. You have known him so long, of course he would be the one to suggest something like this. After hearing that you had never been on top of the impressive mountains just outside of the city, he was almost shocked and insisted on spending a day there, enjoying an all too lavish meal from Wanmin restaurant.

Zhongli held your hand throughout the trip, despite it not being entirely necessary, though he did save your face from hitting the ground a few times as the terrain proved to be rather unforgiving with its uneven areas and tiny pits. Being the perfect gentleman he was, he was more than happy to carry everything you brought with you on your little trip in his other hand while never letting go of yours. The action warmed your heart.

“We’ll reach our destination shortly.” He turned to you, a warm smile on his face. “The view up here is among the finest in all of Liyue.”

The way his deep voice spoke softly tingled your insides pleasantly, his hand gently holding yours as you ascended a set of stone stairs. You couldn’t help but mirror his smile, appreciating his efforts of showing you his favorite places in hopes that you would enjoy them as well. With him though, everything was enjoyable. Perhaps it was his divine presence that seemed to make every location that much better.

“I can’t wait.”

Despite learning of his true identity only recently, you had always had this underlying feeling that there was something peculiar about him. The way he spoke of Liyue’s traditions and history as if he had been present in those influential moments, was something you thought about a lot, yet it still surprised you when the truth was revealed.

Zhongli was somewhat uncertain of your reaction initially but was washed with relief when you expressed no hysterical shock or possible hostility. Since then, he has been enjoying his retirement with you with much jubilance.

You knew the journey had come to an end when Zhongli let go of your hand, allowing you to take in the breathtaking view on top of the mountain. Your (E/C) sparkled in awe as they looked around. The entirety of Liyue was visible, the whole city looking so incredibly tiny from so high up. The gentle breeze that hugged your form and swayed your hair was warm and welcoming, and you finally realized why the Lord of Geo wanted you to witness this with your own eyes.

“Zhongli this... This is…” You couldn’t find the right words because nothing would do the stunning view that bathed under the afternoon sun any justice. So you opted to just turn to him, immediately noticing his gentle smile that always made your heart swoon.

“I am glad you like the sight.”

You walked up to him and placed a kiss on his lips, being mindful of the bag he was carrying. After pulling away you glued your eyes on his resplendent golden ones, staring at him in admiration.

“It’s perfect.”

His other hand rested on your waist as you pressed your foreheads together, enjoying the feeling of having each other so close. At times like these, you couldn’t help but wonder what had you done to be blessed with someone like him. One would think that after becoming aware of his true identity as Rex Lapis, you would treat him as such. However, the person before you was Zhongli, just Zhongli, the man whom you had met while wandering aimlessly around Liyue, surrounded by unfamiliarity.

“Shall we begin?” you heard him ask, lightly lifting the bag that held the food you hadn’t even realized you had been craving. The quality of Wanmin restaurant didn’t disappoint, though you wondered if Zhongli had remembered to bring Mora with him when making his order. Though, knowing him, he most likely found another way to pay for the meals as he always did.

“Certainly.”

You helped him place a large blanket on the grass, allowing for a more comfortable experience, before placing the food that was still somehow warm on top of it, your eyes admiring the meals prepared by the famous restaurant. As you examined the sight before you, you noticed something and decided to open your mouth.

“No seafood?”

Your words were meant as a mere joke, as you were more than aware that the Geo Archon absolutely despised having anything from the sea on his plate. Still, to your surprise, he merely looked at you, slightly tilting his head to the side.

“Would you have preferred that? If you’d like it is in no way an issue for me to go back and-”

You cut him off with a giggle, finding his desire to make you happy above all else adorable.

“No, no. There’s no need. This is perfect.” You threw him a smile which he happily returned.

Once all the food had been laid out, you immediately went to dig in, enjoying the delicate flavors of the jade parcels and the juiciness of the meat rolls. With each bite you hummed in satisfaction, all the while enjoying the surrounding nature and the wonderful company.

In the midst of the dining and chatting with the gentleman responsible for this lovely picnic, the surrounding wind seemed to get stronger, as if the playful Anemo Archon himself was messing with it. You only noticed the change in the weather when the wind decided to latch itself onto your hair, causing it to fly everywhere before settling right on your face.

You heard Zhongli let out a chuckle of amusement as you moved your hair away from your eyes, looking at him with slight embarrassment in your gaze. With a soft sigh, you reached for your own bag and took out a hairbrush that you had fortunately taken with you.

“Didn’t think I’d need to use this here,” you laughed softly tracing the designs carved into the handle. It was an old brush but did its job wonderfully.

Just as you were about to start brushing your hair that had become full of knots in a matter of seconds, you felt Zhongli place his hand on top of the one that held the brush. You looked up at him questioningly. 

“May I?”

His voice was gentle as if he was asking with the utmost carefulness. You didn’t understand why though, you were more than happy to accept his offer.

“Of course.”

You gave him the hairbrush and turned your back to him, leaving your messy hair to be dealt with by the Geo Archon. Before he would start running the bristles through your locks, however, he had to inspect the brush closer. His golden eyes looked at the carvings, his mind traveling through Liyue’s long history.

“I recall a time when these handmade hairbrushes first arrived in Liyue. Traveling merchants would sell these at the harbor for a large sum of Mora,” he stated and you listened, always ready to hear his many stories and memories from a time unknown to you. “Only a few made their way to civilians’ hands, and fewer remain today.”

“Guess I’m pretty lucky then, huh?” A smile stretched his lips at your words.

“Indeed you are, my love.”

Zhongli ran his covered fingers over the carvings on the back of the brush reminiscing for a moment as he often did, especially now that he had abandoned his position as Morax. He removed his gloves and placed them beside him on the blanket before finally moving his attention to your (H/C) hair.

“Despite its age, this brush has stood the test of time rather beautifully.”

You felt the brush run through your locks, closing your eyes and enjoying the feeling.

“You mean just like you?” You joked, which earned you a chuckle from the male as he occasionally ran his bare hand through your hair.

Zhongli loved your hair, how soft it felt between his fingers, how it often swayed in the wind, how perfectly it shone. It framed your face perfectly and only enhanced your appearance he was so fond of. It was as if it was touched by a divine being.

He took his time with brushing it, making sure to unravel every knot carefully as he did not want you to feel even the slightest bit of discomfort. Even if you did, though, you wouldn’t mind. The fact that he was willing to brush your hair for you in the first place was good enough and filled you with happiness in its purest form.

His golden eyes, filled with a fondness for your entire being watched as your hair regained its previous state, and even when there were no visible knots, he continued to run his hand through the strands, enjoying the softness that he had restored.

“Beautiful,” he whispered as you felt his hand move to your cheek. He turned you to face him, his touch so gentle one would think it impossible that they were used to make spears out of stone to slay an ancient god. His words, no matter how many times he said them, always made a shade of crimson dust your cheeks.

Zhongli reached for something in the bag that once held all the food items, retrieving a single Glaze Lily, fully in bloom. Your eyes glued themselves on it, staring at the stunning flora in awe.

“I picked this before our departure,” he said as if answering a question you hadn’t stated out loud. “My intention was to merely give this to you, but…”

With gentle movements, Zhongli placed the lily behind your ear, moving a tiny bit of your freshly brushed hair to the side. You watched him, drowning in his loving gaze.

“This just might be the most efficient way of doing so.”

He kept a hand on your cheek and you placed yours on top of it, wanting to enjoy the feeling of his bare hand on your skin. You smiled once more, his words sticking to you. He made you feel so happy, so appreciated, so loved. No words came out of your mouth as you slowly closed the gap between you.

Zhongli returned the kiss, keeping his hand on your cheek while the tips of his fingers grazed the tiniest part of your perfect (H/C) hair that he adored.

#genshin impact #GI #genshin impact x reader #原神 #zhongli #genshin impact zhongli #zhongli x reader #genshin impact zhongli x reader #zhongli x you #genshin impact imagines #reader insert #fluff #gi zhongli #gi zhongli x reader

[busterkeatonfanfic]

Chapter 7

When Nelly opened her eyes, she couldn’t remember what day it was, what time it was, or most of all where she was. The bed sheets smelled like a man. Buster. She sat straight up, hardly noticing the clanging in her head.

She scrambled to the edge of the bed and tried to tear off the sheets that were twisted around her middle. She saw as she swung her legs over the side of the bed that her dress and girdle had ridden up around her waist, but she was still wearing her cami knickers. Whatever had occurred last night had not apparently involved their disposal. 

A wave of nausea and dizziness seized her before she was able to stand up. Her head ached so badly that she ran her hands over it, suspecting that she’d fallen and hit it. The exterior was intact, but the interior … It was in agony. Her very brains felt hot and swollen. 

“Hello?” she said. The suite seemed empty, but she couldn’t be sure. “Hello?”

When no answer came, she reached for the half-full glass of water on the nightstand and drained it. She had a raging thirst and scanned for the bathroom so she could fill the glass again and relieve herself. She had to pee like a racehorse. She got up and was forced to hobble on her way to the en-suite. Her misadventures had led to one thing at least: a twisted ankle. She remembered a phonograph and a rolicking jazz tune that made her feel the lightest and gayest and youngest she’d ever felt in her life. She remembered Tommy now, how good-looking he’d been. She remembered dancing for what seemed like hours. She was in such a good mood that she’d even danced with the men who weren’t handsome. She groaned at the memory of the other men as she relieved herself.

There was water in the round basin at the bottom of the skeletal shower and the bathroom felt slightly humid. A towel hanging on the bar confirmed that Buster had come and gone.

At least she thought it was Buster. That part she remembered too. Vomiting her guts out and Buster Keaton squatting opposite her in his white undergarments … doing what? It was fuzzy. She vaguely recalled a desire for a pillow, but he must not have given one to her because she woke up in the bed. She couldn’t remember how she’d gotten from the blind tiger to the hotel room. She tried and failed. It was a big black spot, a blight on a reel of film. Buster had not been at the blind tiger as far as she remembered. 

At the sink, she drank four glasses of water total, then rinsed her sour mouth. Her face was pale and haggard in the mirror. She looked about twenty years older. Suddenly, her heart hammered at an alarming thought. It wasn’t Sunday, it was Saturday. What had made her think it was Sunday? They were filming today! She was hours late. 

Her eyes scanned around the bedroom for a clock. She spotted one on the mantel and rushed to it. A quarter to noon. 

“Damn!” 

She ran into the adjoining salon, hoping to at least find her handbag. She did, half-spilled on one of the seemingly dozens of ornate chairs that dotted the room. The handbag held no powder or rouge, but at least it had lipstick and her tin of mascara. She dashed back to the bathroom to apply it. Her hair was another story. There was no hairbrush in the handbag, just a small backcomb that was impotent against the rat’s nest of tangles confronting her. She was out of bobby pins. Her dress was wrinkled and covered in lint, not to mention that she stank of sweat and stale booze. She would have to go back to 22nd Street unless she wanted to get fired on the spot for improper dress. Also, her stockings were nowhere to be found. She looked on the chairs in the salon, underneath the bed, on the mantel, and in the sheets and bedspread. Nothing. She even peeked, blushing, in Buster’s closet and his bureau drawers. She did find a sterling silver men’s hairbrush on the bureau. She also discovered a bottle of aspirin in the medicine cabinet and washed down four capsules without a second thought. 

As she considered the sterling silver hairbrush, she felt guilty. It was expensive and she didn’t want to get it clotted up with her long hair. Promising herself she’d use her own comb to clean it afterwards, she sat on the bed trying to get the tangles out. The hairbrush smelled like Brilliantine. It seemed important not to be seen wandering the halls of the prestigious Hotel Senator with the unbrushed hair of one of Macbeth’s witches. Maybe she could call and have some bobby pins brought up—but that would alert hotel staff to the fact that there was a Girl in Buster’s Room. From her first encounter with him in his dressing room, it was clear that he had dalliances, but she wasn’t sure how discreet they were. For all she knew, an enterprising maid might sell a story to the papers for some extra money at the first opportunity. She brushed her hair and tried not to think of how terrible her head felt. 

Her situation went from bad to worse when a doorknob rattled in the salon. Of course. The staff tidied the suite every day. She considered hiding under the bed, but it was too late. From her position, she watched an arm come through the door, shortly followed by a leg, shortly followed by Buster himself. 

Of all the things she might have expected to come out of his mouth when he saw her, it wasn’t, “You’re awake.”

Before she had a chance to do much other than stammer a response, he was in the bedroom. He took off his jacket and hung it in the wardrobe, saying, “How do you feel? Feel like eating?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, feeling rather weak and desperate. 

“I’ll order sandwiches and coffee. You look like you could use some coffee.”

As soon as he’d exited the room, she frantically pulled the strands of her hair out of his brush and padded to the bureau to return it. Job accomplished, she sat on the sofa rather than the bed, noticing for the first time that there was a rumpled sheet draped over the back and a pillow lying on one end. From them, she deduced that she had run Buster out of his own bed. 

“Relax,” said Buster, appearing in the doorway and startling her. 

“Am I fired?” she said, looking over at him. 

He looked surprised. “Fired?” A half-smile played on his lips as he realized what she was driving at. “Oh, for being young and silly and frivolous? No.”

“I am terribly sorry for last night,” she said soberly. “I kicked you out of your bed and you—when I threw up, you—”

He waved her off. “Don’t worry about it.” As if he’d peered into her mind that very second, he added, “Nothing happened between us, don’t worry about that either. Why’s your hair look like that?”

“Like what?”

“Brushed on only the one side.”

“I don’t have a hairbrush in my bag.”

He squinted, clearly confused. “How’d you get half of it brushed then?”

She flushed what she could only assume was a violent red. “I borrowed your hairbrush.”

“But you only brushed half?”

She was going to die of mortification right here in Buster Keaton’s hotel room. That’s how she was going to go, rest in peace Nelly Foster. “I didn’t want you to know I’d used it, when you came in just now. I hadn’t asked permission.”

He cocked an eyebrow. He strode over to the bureau, then to her, and dropped the hairbrush in her lap. “All yours,” he said. 

“Thank you. Do you think,” she said, not meeting his eyes, “you could have some bobby pins brought up?”

“Sure. Need anything else?”

She shook her head. “I’m just going to go back to my room to change before I head over to the set.”

He sat on the foot of the bed. “You’re not going to the set today, you’re going to rest. How far away is your room?”

She thought. “A mile, a mile-and-a-half? 1911 22nd Street. I didn’t mention it last night?” 

Buster grinned. Nelly had seen him smile, but never up close and never with full teeth. His teeth were very straight on top and he had a dimple in his right cheek. She was keenly aware in that moment of how extraordinary it was that she had ended up in the bedroom of Buster Keaton’s hotel suite, never mind that her methods were nothing short of disgraceful.

“You mentioned a lot last night, but I couldn’t get that address out of you to save my life.”

“Oh no,” she said, her stomach sinking. She shielded her face with her hand.

“You’re a lot of fun.” He stood up and squeezed her shoulder on his way out of the room. “I’m going to call for those bobby pins.”

As he used the telephone, she hastily brushed out the rest of the tangles, swiped her hair from the bristles, and set the brush on the nightstand next to the bottle of aspirin. Pretty soon there was a knock at the hotel door and she ducked into the bathroom, partly to relieve herself again, mostly to hide from whoever was delivering lunch. She looked in the mirror, tried for a moment to make her hair and her face more presentable, but gave up. The lipstick and mascara would have to do. She also gave her teeth a hasty brush with a finger and Buster’s toothpaste.

Feeling shy, she stepped into the salon where a silver tray sat on a cart. “Sit down,” said Buster. He handed her a small plate that held a chicken sandwich. “There’s soup here too. Something asparagus, I think.”

Nelly took a bite of the sandwich and found that she was ravenous. The sandwich gave her an excuse not to talk. As she ate, she considered how she would politely remove herself from Buster’s company and sneak away before he changed his mind about not canning her. Her bare legs made her self-conscious and she tucked them under her on the chair as she ate. The silence didn’t seem to bother Buster. He dipped his sandwich in his soup and ate, glancing at her once and awhile.

“I can’t find my stockings,” she said, after she’d finished her sandwich. “Do you know where I put them?”

“You threw them out the window.”

“I what?” she said, not sure she’d heard right. 

“Of my car.” Buster blinked without expression, the famous frozen face she knew so well from pictures.

She was bewildered. “I don’t remember that.”

“You were hot,” he said, with a small shrug. “By the way, I noticed the ankle.” He gestured. “You should ice it when you get back to your room.”

“I don’t remember turning it,” she confessed. 

“What do you remember?” he said, his eyes probing hers.

She told him about drinking and dancing in the blind tiger. She also told him about the gap in her memory between dancing and winding up on his bathroom floor. “I am really, terribly sorry about that,” she said again. More of the incident had come back to her and she remembered how he’d dragged her into the bathroom and held her hair back as she vomited. 

He waved her off. “I’ve seen worse. I want to talk to you about something serious for a moment, though.”

A hot-cold rush of dread ran through her insides at his words, but she kept her hands steady on her cup of coffee and tried to make her face cool and calm. 

Buster finished the rest of a second sandwich, dabbed at his lips with a napkin, and put the plate on the bottom of the cart. “You know that tall man, the one with the blonde hair?” He paused, looking at her.

“Tommy,” she said. Why she should feel so guilty about Tommy, she didn’t know, but under Buster’s gaze she somehow learned that consorting with him was a horrible mistake.

“Is that his name? Well anyway, I’ve fired him. If he ever comes around again to bother you, come straight to me.”

She must have looked as puzzled as she felt, because he went on. 

“When I walked into that speak-easy last night, they were trying to get you into a room with them. A whole gang of them, and he was the ringleader.”

She was horrified beyond words. Tears filmed her eyes, but she blinked them back. On top of the spectacle she’d made of herself the previous night, she was not going to cry in front of him.  “I don’t remember that at all,” she said, her voice feeling weak.

“I know you don’t.” He reached over and laid a hand on her knee for a moment. “They got you as drunk as possible for that very reason. Just be careful from now on, okay? Take a few girlfriends when you go out.” He withdrew his hand. “Here.” He took a red box out of his pocket and handed it to her. It was decorated in violets and labeled INVISIBLE HAIR PINS. “Do your hair up and I’ll drop you by your room before I go back to the set.”

Back in the bathroom with Buster’s brush, she saw she no longer needed rouge. Her cheeks were in a high flush now, partly from the effects of last night’s imbibing, partly from their conversation. There was no crimping iron to be found, so she made do with a hasty chignon, patting down the flyaways with Buster’s Brilliantine afterwards.

“Ready?” he said, when she returned to the salon.

She felt hot and ashamed walking through the halls of the Senator and down the stairs next to him, but he didn’t seem to care if they were spotted together. She kept her eyes on her feet as much as possible. Even though they hadn’t slept together, no one in the hotel knew that. No one in the hotel knew either that she’d almost been raped by a gang of men last night, but all the same it felt like she was wearing a scarlet letter. 

They waited in silence outside the grand hotel doors for the valet to bring Buster’s car around. He didn’t seem to have anything to say and she was too mortified to make small talk. When the green Duesenberge rolled up and the valet exited, Buster held open the passenger door for her. She assumed it must have been the car she’d ridden in last night, but her only memory of it was from the parking lot in River Junction. She sat beside Buster in silence as he took a right on J Street. When they had come to Joe and Maggie’s house, he went around to the door and helped her down from the car.

“Don't look so glum,” he said, before he let go of her hand. “Everything’s okay. And ice that ankle as soon as you get in, hear?”

#Buster Keaton #Silent film #silent movie stars #Golden Age Hollywood #Fan fiction #fan fic #Actor RPF #rpf

[apatheticanvas67482]

50 Questions Tag

thank you for the tag @mischiefandi sorry it took me so long to respond but this looks like fun ❤️

1. what is the colour of your hairbrush? black, but I've also got a multicoloured bristle one for fun somewhere

2. name a food you never eat: im allergic to pineapple and kiwi

3. are you typically too warm or too cold? too cold, brrrr

4. what were you doing 45 minutes ago? trying to find my psychology teacher to hand in an essay assignment :/

5. what's your favourite candy bar? snickersssss

6. have you ever been to a professional sports game? yup yup I love going to see rugby, such great atmospheres

7. what is the last thing you said out loud? does anyone actually understand what's going on in chemistry at the moment (the answer was no)

8. what is your favourite ice-cream? mint cuz I'm weird but pistachio is my second, such a good shout

9. what is the last thing you had to drink? strawberry squash

10. do you liek your wallet? yes love it, it's pastel-y blue and got a little dog on it, lots of pockets

11. what is the last think you ate? bacon pizza

12. did you buy any new clothes last weekend? nope currently riding the broke-mobile

13. what's the last sporting event you watched? Everton Vs Liverpool, draw

14. what's your favourite flavour popcorn? sweet and salty all the way

15. who is the last person you sent a text message to? school friend who isn't in today

16. ever go camping? used to go every summer with my parents and best friend til covid broke the tradition

17. do you take vitamins? yup yup yup

18. do you regularly attend a place of worship? nope

19. do you have a tan? nope I'm as white as they come, burn burn burn, sad

20. do you prefer chinese or pizza? chinese whenever I can

21. do you drink soda through a straw? only from mcdonalds

22. what colour socks do you usually wear? grey

23. do you ever drive above the speed limit? y

24. what terrifies you? honestly not much, I panic all the time but retrospectively I'm like lol why did I care.

25. look to your left, what do you see? entrance hall of school, my coat

26. what chore do you hate the most? ironing

27. what do you think of when you here an australian accent? that episode of 8 out of 10 cats does countdown with adam hills and jon does impressions

28. what's your favourite soda? dr pepper

29. do you go in a fast food place or just hit the drive thru? drive thru

30. what's your favourite number? 4

31. last person you talked to? my bestie

32. favourite cut of beef? I don't really eat beef much

33. last song you listened to? I wanna be yours - arctic monkeys

34. last book you read? traces by patricia wiltshire

35. favourite day of the week? friday bc I only have to do 1hr of psychology and then I have the rest of the day for free study

36. can you say the alphabet backwards? ... I have now done it once in my life

37. how do you liek your coffee? If I'm being fussy I have one sugar, one spoon of hot chocolate, and two spoons of coffee, with abt an inch of milk

38. favourite pair of shoes? my black platform ankle boots :) they're pretty trashed by now

39. time you normally get up? 6am kmn

40. what do you prefer, sunrise or sunset? sunset is such a vibe

41. how many blankets on your bed? one duvet and one massive fluffy blanket

42. describe your kitchen plates? white with a dark blue rim

43. describe your kitchen at the moment? uh pretty spacious square but kind of a mess and its sort of a dining room too because we don't use our actual dining room

44. do you have a favourite alcoholic drink? peach snaps and pink lemonade

45. do you play cards? yeh with my mom and her side of the family if we visit - demons run is fun

46. what color is your car? blue

47. can you change a tire? In theory, never had to tho

48. favourite state? not american so no clue

49. favourite job you've had? I volunteered at a cat sanctuary which was fun

50. tagging: @usercasss @nyamafriend @snowfea @aka-its-called-whiskey idk

[canadian-riddler]

Borderlands: Cat-trap

By Indiana

Synopsis: Claptrap has some special, special friends.  With credit to @hugsforvillains 

 Claptrap had, at some point in time, acquired a great deal of kittens.

  … or perhaps he only had two or three (or maybe four), and it simply seemed as though he had a great deal of them.  The furry little things seemed to be everywhere.  When Claptrap was around, you were guaranteed to find a kitten someplace you didn’t want one. Or, at least, a great deal of cat hair. And pee.  There was a lot of that too.

Yes, those kittens seemed to think Claptrap was some sort of metallic and very thoughtlessly shaped cat tree.  Not that he made any indication he cared.  No, Claptrap was apparently quite content to stand there with his arms out, letting the cats crawl all over him like some sort of massive, noisy caterpillars.  The upside was that when he was talking, he was talking mostly to the cats.  The downside was that he didn’t see proceeding with life as usual covered in cats as a problem.  Whenever somebody brought it up, his go-to response was, “But they’re so cuuuuuute!”, which he said whilst holding out a squirming cat, following it up with, “C’mon, pet him!”

Well, the goal of getting rid of them was just a lost cause when there was a double handful of soft and tiny kitty in front of one’s face.

There was honestly no getting away from those cats.  They were underfoot, over-foot, and on-top-of-lap.  Claptrap, having no grasp of any kind of boundaries himself, had obviously not attempted to curb their behaviour in any way whatsoever.  “Claptrap,” asked Moxxi rhetorically, removing a kitten from the beer pitcher she had found it in, “is this yours?”

“Captain Sexyboy!” crowed Claptrap, throwing his arms in the air whilst simultaneously not moving to accept the cat.  “I have been looking all over for you!”

“You named your cat Captain Sexyboy?” Moxxi asked, squinting into the pitcher, taking note of the voluminous collection of cat hair, and then electing to pour the draft into it anyway.

“Well, duh,” Claptrap said, ignoring the animal as it jumped off the bar and onto the counter holding the moderately impressive collection of mismatched glasses and tumblers. “Look at how sexy he is! He’s gonna have so many kids when he grows up.”

All Moxxi saw was a cat enthusiastically making a mess of her clean(ish) glasses, but she obviously didn’t know anything, as Captain Sexyboy was indeed very handsome.

Eventually (to everyone’s immense relief) the cats gradually tagged along with Claptrap less and less. Which meant (to everyone’s immense chagrin) that Claptrap went back to talking to them instead of the cats. And that, if you didn’t know, is one of the most unacceptable forms of torture listed in the Geneva Convention, right up there with waterboarding and sensory deprivation.  The latter, of course, being far preferable to whatever noise Claptrap happened to be making on any given day.

At some point he had acquired a very deep gouge in his chassis (which had conveniently managed not to sever anything important (if there was indeed anything important in there to sever)), but nobody knew where he’d gotten it from or when.  Not because he hadn’t told them all several times each, but because nobody cared.  Until Hammerlock, damn his insatiable curiosity about the beasts of Pandora, actually did ask him about it.  Everyone in their vicinity knew that was a terrible, terrible mistake and immediately chugged whatever drink they had in front of them in the hopes of ushering in the blanks of memory infallibly produced by excessive amounts of alcohol.

“It’s those cats,” Claptrap lamented unnecessarily loudly, waving one hand over what he thought was a drink but what was actually a cup of whatever was dripping out from under the dishwasher.  “They just do not understand they’re too big to climb on me!”

“Oh, my dear boy,” Hammerlock said, too polite to withhold a response even though he really should have at least tried, “they understand. But if you thought they would care, well, that’s where you’re gravely mistaken.”

“They just are not good listeners!” continued Claptrap ironically.  

“I see,” said Hammerlock, wishing fervently he had not started this conversation.  This wish followed him for the rest of the day.  Mostly because Claptrap followed him for the rest of the day.

Claptrap continued telling outrageous stories about the cats, from things such as, “They keep thinking I’m some kinda toy!  Who would think that, right?” to, “One ‘a them ruined Brick’s garden, but you guys’ll keep that to yourselves, right?” and concluding with, “They ran off into the desert to live their lives without meeee!”  This last one was accompanied by hysterical sobbing, which might have garnered him more sympathy if he hadn’t done the same thing the day before when someone changed the song on the jukebox before his had ended.

“Moxxi!” Claptrap hollered as he entered the bar one afternoon, causing several patrons to scramble for the exit complete with chair-tossing, drink-spilling, and table-overturning. At least one of them was skipping out on his bill, for which he would probably be catching a bullet in the head for. “The things I have seen today!”

Moxxi rolled her eyes and, because she was out of dishwasher juice, provided him with the sludge that was coming out of the bottom of the sink.  What she gave him turned out not to matter, because as soon as he got up on the barstool he waved his hand dramatically and it flung the foul mixture across the bar, which of course hit some poor bastard in the face. Unfortunately, he was far bigger and stronger than Claptrap.  Fortunately, he had fallen fast asleep in a puddle of his lite beer some time ago. That’s what happens when your bartender doesn’t cut people off.

“I couldn’t believe my eye!” Claptrap shouted to no one in particular.  “They ate him!”

“What?” asked the man next to him, merely because he was drunk enough he couldn’t shut up.  Claptrap immediately turned to face him.

“Phantom of the Opera!” he explained, leaning over far enough a few people began to hope he’d fall off the barstool.  It wouldn’t stop him talking, but it would be funny.  “They just tore inta him!  Ripped him apart like he was an imitation condom!  It was… it was… well, it was pretty cool, actually.  I was gonna say I was horrified, and I was, while it was happening, but now I’m thinkin’ about it… yeah!  It was pretty lit!”

“You named – you know the Phantom of the Opera had a name, right?” the man asked in exasperation, as he happened to be a massive theatre snob and had memorised everything about every Phantom production that had ever been made.  And if you thought there were a lot where you come from, well, you haven’t seen Phantom performed solely with live skags, have you?

“Of course I do!” Claptrap somehow snorted, because he, too, happened to be a massive theatre snob who had memorised everything about every Phantom production that had ever been made, including the one that was performed solely with live skags. “I just liked the name Phantom of the Opera better!”

If Claptrap had been any other person, the man would have smashed his glass over Claptrap’s head and left.  Since that would have absolutely no effect, he smashed it over the head of the person on his other side instead.  That was how Claptrap started his eighty-ninth bar fight, despite not actually fighting anybody.  That got Claptrap kicked out of Moxxi’s for the hundred and seventy-fourth time, despite his protests that he’d done nothing wrong.  Surprisingly, he hadn’t, but that had never mattered before and so it absolutely wouldn’t now nor any other time in the future.

As they often did, a bandit spotted Claptrap rolling obliviously along through the dust by himself.  And again, as they often did, he decided now was a good time to put the robot out of his misery.  Wait, no.  To put everyone else out of their misery.  From having to put up with him.  Because he’s – yes.  Moving on.

The bandit sauntered across the dirt, both hands holding a shotgun that was mostly built out of other, discarded, crappier shotguns, and thought about what he might like to do with Claptrap once he’d caught up with him.  The bandit was both too stupid and too ignorant (mostly ignorant) to know quite why the little robot reacted to even extremely unpleasant experiences such as being set on fire and electrocuted with exuberant good cheer, but he didn’t really need to know.  All he needed to know was that it was pretty funny.  He was cool with just knowing that.

As he ambled along he pondered just how he would do it.  He could always shoot him, of course, but then there was the risk that he would ruin something important and then Claptrap would die, and that wouldn’t be worth his time.  He could try demanding the robot turn himself off, which he would probably agree to do, but then the bandit would have to drag what looked to be a very heavy robot back to camp, and that just didn’t sound like fun.  He decided that his best bet would be simply to ask him to come along.  From what he’d heard, the stupid thing would probably do it, too.  And he’d heard right, unfortunately.  

“Hello, Claptrap,” the bandit announced, in a voice that he probably thought sounded friendly and welcoming, but really sounded like that obnoxious stranger who opens their screen door on Halloween and thinks it’s clever to hand out boxes containing about eight sour raisins or pint-sized toothbrushes with bristles that make it feel like you’re sucking on a soggy, fuzzy hairbrush.  “Where are you headed?”

“Good day, gentle sir!” returned Claptrap, who had never been trick-or-treating and so had no idea what voice the bandit was using.  “I’m searching for my friend!  He’s around here somewhere, but you know how friends are.  Always running off on you!”

The bandit stifled a laugh and a gleeful smile.  Or at least, he thought he did.  He actually looked mildly like he had been holding his breath for a very long time in a strange attempt to impress someone.  A woman, probably.  Or perhaps a man.  Or possibly himself in the mirror.  “Friends?” the bandit said, in a way that conjured up visions of screaming doormats and someone sitting in a rocking chair on their porch breathing very slowly into a Darth Vader mask in the minds of everyone within a one-hundred kilometre radius, excluding Claptrap.  “Why, what a coincidence!  I got lots of friends back where I’m going!”

“Really?” Claptrap asked, jumping and spinning around about ninety degrees which, if you didn’t know, is very impressive for a robot that clumsy.  “Lots of friends, you say?”

“Oh yes,” the bandit nodded. “If lots were a number, that’s how many friends I’d have waiting!”

“Ooh!”  Claptrap rubbed his flat little hands together, which produced the exact noise a violin makes when someone who has never played it before believes they are in fact in the beginnings of the next great concerto. “Hey, if we’re all getting our friends together, mind if I bring my friend along?  It won’t take long!  He’ll be here any minute!”

“Of course,” the bandit replied, because he did not for one second believe Claptrap had a single friend in all the universe.  Even rust seemed to be avoiding him, somehow.  Even the organic process of oxidising metal couldn’t stand Claptrap!  The bandit thought he was clever for knowing this information, which he was, but only because of the company he was with at the moment.  The company in question raised himself as high as possible, cupped his hands around the mouth he didn’t have, and hollered so loudly he disturbed a nest of rakks about two hundred kilometres away, “Mrs Fluffers!”

Yeah.  The friend definitely did not exist.

That was when the eclipse happened.

The reason I didn’t tell you there was an impending eclipse was because it didn’t make it into the weather forecast.  It hadn’t been predicted by any satellites, or meteorologists, and even the prerequisite crazy-haired man with the apocalypse sign was pretty sure the end of the world wasn’t nigh until at least next week.  And that was because it wasn’t really an eclipse.

The bandit looked toward the shadow blocking out the sun, and then he looked up.  And up.  And up farther.  So far that his jaw kind of fell open without his permission.  He honestly wished that the predicted fire and brimstone would happen right now, or at least that there really had been an unexpected eclipse, because Claptrap did have a friend.  The very worst kind of friend, in fact.

This friend was some massive, unholy beast.  It was covered head to whip-like tail in mangy orange fur, sported ears that resembled Swiss cheese, had four-foot fangs bordered by an expansive tangle of eight-foot whiskers, and eyes that were definitely being used by the soul of some hellspawn to scare the everloving shit out of him.

It worked.  Both literally and figuratively.  

Most bandits, this one included, prided themselves on being tough-as-nails badasses that would go up against a Vault Hunter with their bare hands.  A high percentage of them would even actually do that.  So when I tell you that this beast was terrifying enough to make this man turn around, hitch up his freshly soiled pants, and run screaming back to the hive of scum and villainy from whence he came, you know it was pretty darn scary.

“Oh, Mrs Fluffers,” lamented Claptrap, looking sadly at the tire tracks he’d made in the dirt, “I just don’t understand it!  Every time I bring someone to meet you, they piss themselves and run away!  They don’t even try to get to know you. Rude!”

Mrs Fluffers purred quietly, which only caused one or two minor rockslides.  Claptrap petted an area on his leg approximately the size of the cat’s toe and held his other hand up thoughtfully beneath his eye.  He had a surprisingly wide range of facial expressions given that he didn’t have a face.  “Well,” he said finally, straightening, “I guess he’s just gonna have to come to your place!”

Mrs Fluffers licked his shoulder, which would make it a good time to mention said shoulder was matted down with a thick layer of some dark, hardened substance.  Blood.  It was blood.

“Mrs Fluffers!” Claptrap shouted up in the direction of the cat’s very distant ear.  “Invite him over already, willya!?”

Mrs Fluffers gave a meow that would have only been about seventy-five decibels if anyone had been measuring (which no one was) and looked over in the direction of the fleeing bandit with mild interest. He didn’t care very much for the bandit, but he was holding something that glinted temptingly in the blazing sun…

“Finally,” groused Claptrap as the cat ambled to his feet and collected the bandit, who had not even managed to run the length of the animal.  Mrs Fluffers contained the hapless idiot inside of his teeth with remarkable gentility and turned to face his beloved master again.

“Hooray!” Claptrap shouted, jumping up and down with his arms in the air.  He actually had impressive height for someone with a suspension that old.  “Oh boy!  Mrs Fluffers, try an’ take care of him until we get back, huh?  You always wreck ‘em before Jerry gets to meet ‘em.”

“Who’s Jerry?” sobbed the bandit, whose bladder tried and failed to empty itself a second time. Claptrap spun around and continued rolling forward.  But backward. Forward but backward.  Like his life as a whole.

“Oh, you’ll like Jerry,” Claptrap said enthusiastically.  “He loves playing.  But he’s shy! So we gotta bring him people to play with!  Or we would,” and the robot paused here to fold his arms indignantly, “if Mrs Fluffers here didn’t hog all the friends.”

“I don’t want to play with Jerry!”

“Oh, you,” scoffed Claptrap, waving one hand in airy dismissal, “you haven’t even met him yet!  You really should get to meet people before you write ‘em off, y’know.”  And he hopped in an attempt to spin himself front-facing again, which he was very successful at doing.  What he was also very successful at doing was falling down.  “Gingersnaps!” he yelled into the dirt, because he was only allowed to use K-rated profanity (and even that was pushing it), and Mrs Fluffers immediately dropped the bandit, to his immense relief.  That was, until about five seconds later when he hit the ground and broke his leg in at least three places.  At least.

He was too busy screaming and staring with comically bulging eyes at the brand-new configuration his leg was now in to look over and see that Mrs Fluffers had ‘helped’ Claptrap by batting at his chassis as though he were some tiny prey to be joyfully toyed with. “Now, now,” Claptrap was saying (which the bandit also wasn’t listening to, since he was screaming so loudly).  “We have talked about this, young man!”

Mrs Fluffers proceeded to drag his tongue, the size of which rivalled a full-sized van, up Claptrap’s chassis so hard it actually stood him back up again.  It also removed an impressively-sized stripe of years-old dirt, which revealed that Claptrap had once been quite a different, but still obnoxious, shade of yellow.  “Thanks bunches!” Claptrap said.  “Now, you wanna help our – oh, crap.  You broke him!  It’s gonna be real hard for Jerry to play with him now.”

The cat retrieved the sobbing bandit and deposited him in front of Claptrap, who smacked himself in the eye with the palm of his hand solely because he didn’t have a forehead to smack.  “No!  I don’t want him!  He’s for Jerry!”

Mrs Fluffers looked expectantly down at Claptrap, bony tail sweeping the dirt in such great swaths he was probably unburying some long-forgotten skeletons.  Claptrap sighed and turned around.

“Come on,” he said, rolling onward.  “I don’t wanna hang out here all day.  There’s scary monsters around, y’know?”

Mrs Fluffers purred.

  Author’s note

hugsforvillains suggested that the cats of Pandora grow up to be vicious beasts. Usually I just said cats didn’t exist on Pandora anymore.  

One of the people I know from work came up with the name Captain Sexyboy.  For himself.  He calls himself that.

This is also on AO3 and FFN, but no linkies allowed.

#so says Indy #Claptrap #Borderlands #fanfic from Indy

[grace-lost-in-space]

Sick

The time is 9:28 am. I trudge slowly and carefully to my mom’s sectional in the living room, where I finally decide to lay down. I heave a sigh of relief and pain. Everything hurts. My heart skips another beat. I am curled up in a tiny ball on my left side. I weakly drape a Christmas themed plush blanket over my shrinking body. 

“What are you doing?” My mom asks as she walks into the room. 

“I do not feel well.” I admit softly. 

“Well. I don’t know what to tell you. I need you to get off the couch. I have a million things to do today and here you are, just lying around on my couch.” She scorns. 

She is still talking but my brain feels like cotton, and so does my mouth. Her words are hazy as I stare upward at the curtains. Brown with cream colored flowers flowing up and down in no particular pattern. I breathe out again and my stomach lets out an angry rumble. Not the hungry kind, but the angry kind. After all, I do not treat it well. Why would it like me?

“God. You are so lazy. Do you not understand that I have things to do and I actually have to WORK tomorrow.” My mom screams. 

Here we go again. I have endured this many times throughout my life but this pain that I am in makes her seem even louder than usual. 

“Please stop.” I beg. “I do not feel well. Just please let me lay here.” I whisper. 

“Do you EVER feel well? You always feel sick. You lazy little ass. You really are just a sorry excuse. What do you even do? You don’t have a life. All you do is lay around.” She screams. 

I think spit is coming out of her mouth from speaking so quickly and forcefully. I felt a drop on my forehead. I continue to lay there. I pray. I pray that Dr. R will not be right and read my obituary in the paper like he claimed he would “any day.” I pray that my mom will sit next to me, or give me a hug, or even a pat on the shoulder. I have not had human contact in three weeks. I sigh heavily again as my stomach muscles clench tightly through no control of my own. My body is waging a war against me. Who will win? 

“I am not always physically sick. You are wrong.” I argue. 

I do not have enough energy to argue. What little energy I do have must be preserved so that I can get off of this couch and make the hour and a half trek home with Sirius. My mom does not want me here. She does not want me at all. 

“Okay. Whatever. What do you ever do? What kind of life do you have? You are L-A-Z-Y.” She screams again. 

She can spell lazy. Good to know. 

“I can’t afford to get sick because I WORK. I have to work tomorrow. I don’t have the luxury of just getting to lay around. But there you are, just laid out on the couch. I can’t get sick.” She rants. 

I sigh again. My heart skips another beat. I raise my watch to check my heart rate. 46. My stomach lets out another angry cry. I raise up suddenly and run to my hallway bathroom. I close the door and slide down to the cool tile floor. I place my palms down on it. My nails are blue and brittle. My skin looks pale in the harsh lighting. I look up at the ceiling and remember the time I painted it bright purple without my mom’s permission. I had so many breakdowns in that bathroom that I was tired of looking at a white ceiling so, one day, I took the leftover paint from my bedroom and painted the bathroom ceiling. I have laid on this floor many times over the past 8 years but never so close to death--or so it feels as such. I can almost feel my organs. My heart skips another beat. How did this become my life? I am so weak. I wonder how I will get up off of this floor. My head is aching. My legs and feet are tingling from a lack of circulation. I look up and to my right as I struggle to find the energy to breathe. I see my hairbrush full of hair. My hair. I just cleaned the brush out last time I used it. My once pretty blonde hair looks dull against the bristles. 

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN THERE?” My mom screams and bangs against the door. 

Can she not give me five minutes of peace? I look at my watch. Twenty minutes have passed since I moved from the couch. I guess my cotton filled brain is having difficulty focusing on sense of time. 

“I do not feel well.” I call out, again, weakly. 

“Well, I need in there. So get out.” My mom screams again. She is perpetually screaming. 

I sigh again. I do that a lot, it seems. I take a deep breath in and my lungs feel a sharp, stabbing pain. I somehow find the strength to sit up. I look at my watch. 108. My heart rate is 108 now. I pray again. Please, please, God, or whoever is listening, do not let Dr. R be right. I grasp the door knob and pull myself up. My hips feel like they might not support me for much longer. They pop. I open the door and move back to the couch. 

“MY GOD, you really are just a sorry excuse.” She says. 

“I am.” I admit, as I exhale. “I am, and I am sorry.” I say to my mom, and Dr. R, and CB, all at once. None of them can hear me. 

#anorexia #anorexia relapse #ed relapse #ed recovery #tw anorexia #tw ed #recovery #I want to recover #recovery is worth it #eating disorder recovery #eating disorder relapse #remember this #abuse #abusive mom #writers on tumblr #writers of tumblr #spilled ink #spilled words #excerpt from a book I'll never write #excerpt from a story i'll never write #lit

[woildismyerster]

hii *slides candy and adog photo* can we get a more finch fluff please?

Dude, I would marry somebody for candy and a dog photo.  You’re trading at a loss.

There was something strange about seeing Finch in your bedroom, helping you pack your things before moving into your dorm.  He had been in your room many times, but this was somehow more intimate.

Like most teenagers, you had buried your childhood in boxes and bags, under your bed or in your closet.  All of that younger you was locked away, hidden from the eyes of people who you didn’t trust with that innocence.  When Finch came into your room, there were only traces of that kid.  Now he stood knee deep in your childhood, smiling at stuffed animals and scoffing at your CD choices.

He had wanted to hang out, maybe as a goodbye bash, but you still had to pack.  He offered to help, saying that helping with a chore was better than not seeing you again.  You hadn’t chosen a college too far from his, but neither of you were naive enough to believe that nothing would change.

He used his toe to nudge a bag of old schoolwork with distaste.  “Why do we have to go through all of this?  It’s not like you’re taking it with you.”

“My parents want me to get rid of stuff,” you said glumly.  They had thought that as long as you were moving out for the school year, you might as well sort through stuff you didn’t need anymore.  They were making you say goodbye to children’s books and old toys that had faded from your memory but still felt important when you looked at them.

“I have no idea why,” he deadpanned, holding up an old hairbrush with missing bristles.

“This is my entire life,” you said.  You didn’t know why you were defensive, but seeing him with your old things was a little odd.  You felt the need to justify every single thing, but not all of the stuff was easy to explain to someone who hadn’t known you then.

Finch had come into your life in high school, and they had been four very good years.  Four years of sitting together at sporting events, seeking refuge together at lunch, and a guaranteed partner in any class you shared.  Four years of slow dances at homecoming.  Four years of hoping he would ask you to homecoming, but taking the singular dances because they were far, far better than nothing.

You ran your hand over the worn down fur of your teddy bear.  “These are all of my memories.”

“You have all of us as your memories,” he said.

“For now,” you said wistfully.  “But next comes college, and most of you won’t be there to remember with me.”

“We will be,” Finch said firmly.  His jaw was set when he met your eyes.  “We will be there.”

“Not scared at all about us drifting apart, huh?”  You were teasing him, but you were truly curious.  Finch claimed to be fearless, but what about now, when everything was changing?  What about all of you, inseparable for years, but separating now?  You had never had to try to stay friends with them, but now it would take more effort to keep them than it would to lose them.

“Of course not,” he said.  He looked away, the muscle in his jaw ticking.  He was worried, you realized.  “You and I won’t drift.”

“No,” you acquiesced.  “You and I are a unit.”

“Like macaroni and cheese,” he agreed.

“Movies and popcorn.”

“Peanut butter and onion sandwiches.”

“Actually, now that you’ve reminded me that you like those, I think I will drift from you,” you said.  “I will actively leave you and your gross eating habits behind.”

He smiled sweetly.  “I’ll come after you.  I’ll breathe on you once I catch up.”

You wrinkled your nose.  “I’m pretty fast.  I think I could get away.”

“You’re fast, but I’ll wait it out.  I’m in it for the long game,” he said.  His smile was light, but the words came out heavily.  They felt like a promise.

“Hey,” you said suddenly.  You had been rooting through a box of old things when you found your old Truth or Dare game.  It was probably a gift from some birthday or slumber party long since past, stupid and silly and forgettable.  “Check it out.”

At first, the two of you just pulled out the sticks to read the truth or dare it offered.  You marvelled at how risky the game felt when you were young.  The truths were so shallow, asking about most embarrassing memories or for you to identify which person in the room had the most beautiful eyes.

(“I’ll have to say Y/N,” Finch said gravely.

You fluttered your eyelashes at him.  “Oh, Finch, stop it.  You flatter me.”

“Fine.  It’s probably one of the other people in the room,” he said, gesturing to the otherwise empty bedroom.

“I was trying to be humble.  Keep flattering me.”)

Somewhere along the line, you started following the instructions.  You had to do the macarena until it was your turn again, so Finch made sure his turn took as long as possible.  Finch had to lick your foot, which flustered you more than you cared to admit.

“Gross,” you said.

“Kinky,” he corrected with a crooked grin.

“Of course you think so.  Anybody who likes peanut butter and onion sandwiches can’t be trusted.”

He laughed, only joining in for the end of the macarena with you before offering you the cup of sticks.  You pulled one, smiling when you read the dare.

“Call somebody and tell them you love them.”  You remembered this dare.  As a kid, the only phone numbers you knew off hand were your best friend’s and your home number.  Neither one felt all that risky, so the dare was never scary.  Now, with all of the contacts in your cell phone, you had to think a little harder.

Finch grinned at you.  “Gonna call the love of your life?  You have time for a tear soaked, Notebook-worthy one night stand before leaving for college.”

“You’d have to leave for that,” you pointed out.

“Oh, I wouldn’t be leaving,” he said with a jaunty wink.

“You’re either really confident or really pervy,” you said.  You pulled out your phone and scrolled through the contacts.  You could call a family member as a cop out, but that would be lame.  You could call one of the guys, like Race or Romeo, who would surely get a kick out of the game.  You might have done so, but you were sure they would all come over if they heard you were playing.  You loved them, but wanted this time with Finch.  You were running out of time, so you would give him everything you had left.

In a way, that thought was what cinched it for you.  You called his cell phone.

He blinked when it rang, shooting you a bewildered smile.  “Hello?”

“Hey, Finch,” you said.  

“Y/N, what a pleasant surprise.”

“I just wanted to tell you that I love you.”  You smiled back at him, making sure to keep your voice totally sincere.  You didn’t want to taint your words with sugary sweetness or wicked sarcasm.  Things were changing, so you wanted to give him a truth to hold on to.

He leaned back against the foot of your bed, making himself comfortable.  “That’s nice of you.”

“Not so nice,” you said honestly.  You could hear your voice coming from his phone, and it was a little trippy.  “The whole college thing is kind of freaking me out, and I wanted to tell you before I lose the chance to.”

His eyebrows rose.  You could see the gears turning in his head as he realized that this was for real.  This was a Talk.  “You won’t lose the chance.”

You shrugged.  “College is different.  New people.  New opportunities.  Fewer old people.  More lost opportunities.  This seemed like something you should hear.”

“And here I thought this was a game of Truth or Dare,” he said dryly.

“And what’s a game of Truth or Dare without surprising truths being weaseled out?  I’ve gotta go.  I think I have to have an important conversation,” you said, and hung up.

Finch did the same, eying you cautiously.  “You love me?”

“Sure.  How could I not?”

He smiled at that.  “Very true.  I can’t blame you.”

“Nobody ever could,” you agreed.  Your heart was hammering in your chest, but you just waited for his response.  Finch was not one to be rushed.

He stared at you for a while, twirling one of the sticks between his fingers thoughtfully.  “Nobody could blame me for doing this, either,” he finally said.  He leaned forward and firmly pressed his lips to yours.  You had always thought that you knew his mouth by heart; the way it moved when he talked, the different smiles it bore for different emotions.  As it turned out, you had a lot to learn.  Kissing him was not the same as watching it move - it was a new language.  Your tongue ran over the jagged edge of one of his lower teeth, where it chipped after he rollerbladed into a tree.  You learned the feeling of his chapped lips against your skin.  You tried to memorize it all, but you could gladly keep exploring this one part of him for hours.

You cleared your throat when he pulled away, breathless and smiling.  “I definitely don’t blame you.  That was necessary.  Commendable, really.”

His face lingered near yours.  “We’re a unit.  College won’t ruin that - we’ll just be changing the type of unit.”

“Okay,” you said.  You kissed him again, wanting to test the waters of this change.  This was a change you could get behind without worrying.  You would get rid of many things when you left for college, but Finch would not be one of them.

#Newsies #newsies fanfiction #newsies x reader #finch #finch x reader #ally writes

[sanm]

Dark Creatures - Seokjin

Word Count: 3,858

Content Warnings: Questionable consent, slight D/S themes, Jin is kind of an asshole, this is basically PWP 

Disclaimer: I do not know BTS personally, nor do I believe they are as I portray them. I am simply using them as characters in a plot of my own.

The cool evening air caressed your bare shoulders and the nape of your neck, hair knotted messily on top of your head and your tank top drenched with sweat as you jogged around your neighborhood. It was one of those nights where there was just too much going on in your head so you had decided to go for a run, even though it was past midnight. It was Friday, so the weekend party crowd was just starting to return home from whatever dens of iniquity they had visited for the evening. It wasn’t like the street was deserted. That would be unsafe.

Your route took you past an alleyway between your apartment block and the next. In the shadows cast by the streetlight, you happened to notice a couple heavily making out. From the quick glance that you got, the girl seemed to be enjoying herself. The man’s eyes suddenly snapped open, and glowing copper-gold eyes met your startled ones. You flushed and quickened your pace, scurrying back to your apartment and hoping that you would have exhausted yourself enough to sleep.

-----

The sheets slid soft as satin against your skin as long, tapered fingers trailed down your face to your breasts, squeezing lightly and teasing the tight buds located there. Your back arched as a soft moan escaped your lips, the hands leaving your breasts to part your slick folds, roughened pads rolling your clit beneath experienced fingers. Just as the tight little coil in the pit of your stomach was about to burst, the fingers stopped their ministrations. Snapping your head up in indignation, your eyes met a faceless man with a pair of copper-gold orbs and shock jolted your body awake.

-----

You rolled over and noticed the clock on your nightstand read 10:23 a.m., far later than you had planned on sleeping. With a curse, you catapulted out of bed, threw on a pair of jeans from the floor of your room and a sweater, and grabbed your phone on the way to your bathroom. Once there, you hurriedly scrubbed your teeth and dragged a brush through your hair, wincing as the bristles caught on tangles. In the hand not occupied by your hairbrush, your fingers danced across the touchscreen on your phone, dialing your best friend’s phone number from memory.

“Listen here bitch, I’ve been in this restaurant for 20 minutes and if you didn’t want to do brunch you just should have -”

“I know I’m sorry… I overslept. I went running last night -”

“You went running at night? _____, how many times do I have to tell you that’s dangerous! There are all sorts of things that hide in the dark, like rapists and murderers and -”

“I know, I know, I’m always careful.”

“I just worry about you, you know? Anyways, get your cute butt here so we can have mimosas.”

“All right, all right, keep your pants on,” You laughed as you hung up your phone, grateful that your friend wasn’t that mad about you being late.

Brunch with your best friend went well, with minimal teasing and your dream from last night all but forgotten. As punishment for being late for brunch, your friend cajoled you into going out to a club later that night. You went home to nap in between, strangely more tired than usual. After you napped, you changed into a formfitting dress and darkened your makeup. You regretted the dress choice immediately, as there was no possible way to wear a bra with it, but unfortunately it was the only club-appropriate dress you owned. Clubbing wasn’t particularly your thing, but you did kinda owe it to your friend for oversleeping and being half an hour late this morning.

Walking past the bouncer (just how did your friend manage to get you onto the V.I.P. list?) you entered the main room of the club. A heavy bass beat reverberated from the floors up through the soles of your shoes, making your very bones vibrate to the music. Heading over to the bar, you ordered your usual drink before turning around to try and find your friend. You thought you spotted her head in the midst of the writhing crowd, but before you could investigate fully a hand tapped on your shoulder forcing you to turn your attention back to the bar.

A pair of umber eyes met yours, the most intriguing pair of eyes you’d ever seen. Realizing you were staring, you quickly dropped your gaze to the bar where your drink was waiting. You looked back up to the bartender, noticing just how incredibly attractive he was. His hair was a honey brown, the slightly sweaty locks brushing his forehead and shading his eyes. A straight, romanesque nose and full pink lips completed his face making him almost too pretty to be real. However a glance at his body - broad shouldered and toned beneath the all-black ensemble bartenders seem to be required to wear - assured you that he was both very real and very manly.

He smiled, a truly heart-stopping smile, before gesturing to the glass between you and him. Blushing, you took the glass and scurried away from the bar, feeling his gaze between your shoulder blades the whole way over to your friend.

Downing your drink, you set the glass on the table where you and your friend had left your purses and coats and turned to find your friend on the dance floor. Locating her sandwiched between two men, you decided not to interfere and took a seat at the table. From where you were sitting, you had the perfect view of the bar, and it was to there that your eyes drifted.

The attractive bartender was still there, large hands expertly juggling bottles of vodka and triple sec. His pours were generous and done with precision, liquid coming to the brim of the glass, always full, never overflowing. As if sensing someone watching them, he brought his head up and shook his hair out of his eyes, surveying the crowd in front of him. Before his eyes could meet yours (and catch you staring), you dropped your gaze to your glass, sliding it back and forth on the table between your hands.

You risked a peek back up, only to find that the space behind the bar was empty. With a defeated slump to your shoulders, you looked back down at your empty glass and continued to roll it between your hands. However, you were distracted by someone taking the seat across from you. Scowling and ready to tell them off, you looked up only to meet the gaze of the bartender, the corner of his mouth upturned into a smirk.

“Aren’t you supposed to be behind the bar? Working?” You questioned the man who still sat regarding you with something dark in his eyes.    

“I am working,” he said as he slid another of the drinks you had been drinking all night across the table.

“And as for being behind the bar, I am allowed to take a break, you know,” his smirk turning into a real smile.

Blushing, you looked down at your new drink, cursing yourself for being so affected by his attractiveness.

“So, can I have the name of the pretty girl I came all the way over to personally deliver a drink to?”

“It’s ____,” you managed to stammer out.

“Hm, a pretty name for a pretty girl. So what brings you out tonight?”

Jabbing a thumb over your shoulder, you gestured to your friend who was still sandwiched between the two men from earlier.

“Ah, so you’re the one left out from the fun while your friend over there finds someone to hook-up with for the night.”

“Woah, I didn’t come here to hook-up with anyone.”

The bartender snorted.

“Sure, that’s what they all say.”

“Alright, asshole, I came here because I was late to brunch and this was my friend’s way of making me pay her back, that’s all there is to it, ok?”

“You’re awfully defensive all of a sudden.”

“It couldn’t possibly be because of guys like you making assumptions about girls like me, could it?” You drawled.

“And just what kind of girl are you, _____?”

“The kind that’s done with this conversation.”

You set your glass back on the table and got up to flounce off to the bathroom. You had just made it to the darkened hallway that housed the bathrooms when a surprisingly warm hand grabbed your wrist. Turning around and intending to give the person a piece of your mind, your scowl only deepened when you saw that the hand on your wrist was connected to the arm of the hot bartender.

“WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!” You screeched as you tried to tear your arm from his vise-like grip.

He tilted his head so that his umber eyes caught yours and suddenly, all the tension drained from your body. In fact, you began to feel a little warm, the tight dress that you chose to wear almost suffocating in the sudden heat. It also could he been a trick of the light, but you could have sworn that his eyes flashed gold.

The bartender’s grip slackened once he saw your pupils blow wide, and the corner of his mouth tilted up into a smirk as your breath slipped from between your lips in a pant.

Lowering his head to the shell of your ear, he whispered, “want to go somewhere more private?”

In your overheated, befuddled state, all you could do was nod.

The hand on your wrist was used to guide you further down the hall, past the bathrooms, and into a storage room on the left-hand side.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind you, his hands were at your hips, the pads of his thumbs rubbing small circles against the bone. His head dropped to meet your forehead as your eyes rolled up to meet his.

You could not recall the last time you had felt this aroused. Heat pooled low in your belly, muscles tightening that hadn’t been used in months. There was just something about the bartender that mesmerized you. The small circles he drew on your hips caused you to shiver in anticipation of things to come.

His eyes almost seemed to glow in the dim light of the room, the light from the single bulb creating a halo behind his head as he gazed deep into your eyes. Suddenly, the heat spiked, and you felt a bead of sweat slip down your spine. The bartender seemed to notice how flushed you were and his hands slid down to the hem of your dress.

His fingers stopped, poised just under the hemline, as he quirked his eyebrows up to ask permission. Sweating profusely now, your hands moved his away and tore the dress up over your head in one quick motion, desperate for some relief from the heat.

The store room’s air was blessedly cool against your fevered skin. Your relief was so complete that you barely noticed that the bartender’s eyes had dropped to the round globes of your breasts.

A fire was in his eyes as he stripped off his shirt, leaving him in only his pants and you in only your panties. His hands resumed their earlier placement, only this time stroking up your sides to cup your breasts. Once there, his thumbs ran lightly back and forth over your nipples, causing them to harden into tight little nubs. Feeling the need to return the favor, your hands came to rest gently on his shoulders before trailing down his chest, palms flattening over his nipples and causing him to release a sigh as his eyes fluttered shut.

When they reopened, something darker had slid into them. His head snaked down and captured your lips in a spine-tingling kiss. His lips were rough and chapped, as though he spent a lot of time exposed to the elements or did a lot of kissing. Your brain would have puzzled more over this, but his tongue had forced its way into your mouth while your guard was down. He probed gently at first, swiping his way in to collect the sweet taste of you. The taste drove him mad as he pulled back for a moment, allowing you both to take a gulp of air before his hands were carding into your hair and tugging you towards him.

Where the first kiss had been passionate but tentative, this kiss was one made to brand and claim, full of teeth and tongue and the bumping of noses. Your palms were crushed to his chest as you kissed him back with a fervent desire. Breaking for air, the two of you separated slightly.

With the newly-found space, the bartender hooked his fingers in the waistband of your panties and with a rip, he tore the flimsy fabric away from your body and the last of any modesty you may have had with it. The panties were dropped unceremoniously to the floor as his hands had better things to do. He probed two digits dipped into your exposed core, coating themselves in the wetness that had gathered there before bringing them to his lips and sucking off the sweetness with a rapturous expression on his face.

“You taste so damn good,” he growled.

His words caused the heat that had faded somewhat to return with intensity.

“I want to taste you too,” you managed to whisper.

He stepped back again, allowing you to reach between your bodies and fumble with the button on his jeans. Sensing your distress, his large hands closed over yours and gently moved them out of the way so that he could unbutton the offending fastening. He went to pull down his jeans, but you batted his hands away in order to yank them down his muscular legs.

He wasn’t wearing underwear.

His dick sprang free and rested proudly before you as he emitted a small groan of satisfaction at his freedom. A small, purely feminine smile of pride graced your lips as you noticed how hard he was because of you.

“Are you going to do something about it, beautiful?”

The heat spiking again, you dropped to your knees on the cement floor, hardly registering the pain as your hands wrapped around his dick, thumb swiping away the pearly fluid at the tip. A small moan escaped his lips at your touch.

Encouraged by this, you brought your face closer, sticking out your tongue to give a kittenish lick to the tip. He moaned again and pulled your hair from your face, gathering it into his fist.

“Quit playing games, kitten.”

WIth that, he used his grip on your hair to push your panting mouth onto his member, shoving your head down his length as far as he could until he felt you gag when he hit the back of your throat. He slackened his grip so you could come up for air before pushing you back down again. This went on for a few more minutes before he spoke again.

“The next time you go down, swallow.”

Nodding as best you could, you took in a big gulp of air before going down again, gagging a bit as he hit the back of your throat before doing as he instructed and swallowing. Suddenly, he was in your throat and you moaned at the feel of him. With a hiss, the bartender released your hair and pushed you hard enough so that you fell back onto your ass. At a loss as to what you did wrong, you looked up at him bewildered and somewhat drained. The heat was still pulsing through your body, if anything worse than before. The bartender pulled you to your feet, before bending down to grab you around the waist and lift you up onto one of the boxes lining the room.

He pushed your legs apart, coming to stand between them. The height of the box put you eye level with him, an incredibly intimate feeling. For a moment, you just stared at each other. His eyes had melted from umber to a smooth, glowing copper-gold, and the tips of his bangs were damp with sweat.

His head dove down again to capture your swollen and abused lips, communicating that he was done playing games. Muscles down low clenched in response, and to your embarrassment you felt some of your arousal dribble out onto the cardboard of the box. The bartender’s nostrils flared as he took in the heady scent of your sex.

“Kitten, I’m going to need you to be quiet. Can’t have anyone walking in on us back here can we?”

You mutely nodded your agreement. At this point, the heat was so demanding you would do almost anything he asked.

“Good.”

He finally gave you the relief you wanted. There was no warning other than the simple word that fell from his lips. A long finger slipped into you, quickly sliding in and out. Finding you to be open to his touch, he added a second finger, crooking them at the end and making you cry out. Immediately, he stilled and grabbed your chin with his free hand.

“ Kitten, what did I say?” He heaved a sigh. “Unfortunately for you, only good girls get to cum.”

Whining in the back of your throat, a tortured “please” escaped your lips.

“Please what?”

Biting back your pride, you replied, “please, Sir.”

He let out a growl low in his throat, and the lights flickered overhead. The heat within you reached unbearable levels, causing you to double over and almost fall off the box.

Strong arms caught you before you could, and turned you over to shove you against the front of the box. The flat of the bartender’s palm was placed between your shoulder blades to force your upper body to the top of the box, nose to the cardboard already damp with your arousal. His feet came between yours to nudge them further apart as your breath escaped your lips in harsh pants. The feeling of being trapped between the strong, hard body of the bartender and rough texture of the cardboard abrading your nipples sent shivers down to your core. Your lower belly was roiling with the heat, convincing you that you would die if you didn’t cum soon.

Thankfully, you didn’t have to wait long. You felt his hands part your folds and then the tip of him against your opening. All it took was one roll of his hips and he was in you to the hilt. You supposed you should have been embarrassed with how wet you were and how easy that, but you couldn't bring yourself to care over the wonderful stretch he provided.

The bartender drove his hips into yours at a punishing pace and the heat in your belly increased in direct proportion with your coming orgasm. Sensing you were close, the bartender shoved a hand between your body and the box to get at your clit, index finger rubbing it in tight little circles. It took only a few more moments before you felt the knot in your stomach unravel, your mouth opening in a silent scream as your orgasm ripped through you.

Curiously, the heat remained, almost pulsing in time with the bartender’s last few thrusts. It took only a few more before his hips jerked then stilled. However, instead of the warm wash of his seed, you felt the heat leaving you, and with it all your energy.

The bartender pulled out and it was if some mystical connection had snapped, all heat leaving your body and suddenly you were shivering. Lethargically, you began to slip down the front of the box, hands slapping weakly at the edges in an attempt to keep yourself upright. The bartender didn’t bother to catch you. You collapsed to the cement floor in a heap, upper body still half-leaning against the stack of boxes. With your waning strength, you were able to flip over to watch the bartender calmly pulling his pants back on, his eyes still glowing the same copper-gold. His gaze fell dispassionately upon your crumpled form, lips curving up once again into a smile.

“The name’s Seokjin, kitten. Not that it matters, since you’ll be dead soon anyways. It’s nothing personal, it’s just been way too long since the last time I fed. Incubus problems and all that. Anyways, I hate to fuck and run, but I’ve got a job to do, and my break is almost over.”

Seokjin pulled his shirt over his head and brushed his bangs back out of his eyes, taking a moment to straighten his shirt before throwing you one last look over his shoulder as he exited the store room. You would almost swear there was a hint of regret in his eyes. However, it was entirely possible that you misread the look, as staying conscious was becoming very difficult. Your eyelids were loaded with lead weights and breathing just seemed like too much effort. You gave a few more shallow breaths before your eyelids flickered closed and your chest fell still in the small store room that smelled of you and Seokjin’s sex.

Seokjin, eyes still faintly glowing, had sidled back to the bar to resume his shift.

“God, you stink.”

“Yeah, look who’s talking,” Seokjin sassed back at his friend and fellow supernatural creature.

The man was tall, with elaborately coiffed bleach blonde hair, and dressed all in black. A scowl seemed to be permanently affixed to his face, at least as long as Seokjin had known him.

“You want the usual?”

“Yeah, bloody mary, extra bloody.”

“Well, as it turns out, I have a particularly fresh vintage in the back storeroom.”

“Damnit Jin, that’s the fourth one this month.”

“Is it? Oops.”

The man in black dropped his head into his hands before muttering, “I’ll deal with it. I guess.”

Seokjin beamed at the younger man.

“You’re the best, you know that?”

“Yeah yeah, you owe me one.”

Seokjin just smiled as he slid the storeroom key across the bar, amused at what his friend would find, and also grateful that he wouldn’t have to deal with the body. Being friends with a vampire was useful, sometimes. Seokjin hummed a bit as he began preparing his friend’s drink, knowing it would be more for show than anything once he returned. With a final garnish of celery, the drink was done, and Seokjin was turning to face the next person in line at the bar.

She was a pretty young thing, and Seokjin would bet that she was barely a year over 21. His eyes began to glow as he asked for her order. He turned away to get her beer, opened it on the bottle opener kept behind the bar, and handed it over to her, brushing his fingertips against hers in the handoff. He smiled to himself when he turned away from the girl. Sweat had begun to bead at her brow.

#jin smut #seokjin smut #bts smut #bangtan smut #kpop smut #I am so sorry #it's been over a year since I put anything out #and this is the first thing that comes #I promise I am still writing #Life is just crazy #admin m #admin m writes #sanm writes

[everlarkficexchange]

Not a Walk in the Park

Written by: @booksrockmyface​

Rating: T

Prompt 6: Hi! I’d love to see the toast babies as bratty teenagers. Thanks :) [submitted by Anonymous]

Summary: Lily is getting ready for a date. Her brothers have quite a bit to say on the subject. Katniss and Peeta try desperately to keep the peace (and a secret).

Author’s note: Title comes from the Paramore song Still Into You. Many thanks to my bestie @thesaltywinteradult for betaing.

____

Peeta heard a loud squeal from the top of the stairs. Lily came running down with powder all over her wet hair.

“I’m going to kill them both.” She said angrily as she looked around for her brothers.

“What happened?” Peeta asked, lifting a hand up to brush the white from his daughter’s shoulders. “Is this baby powder?”

“Yes.” Lily was explosively angry. “Drew will be here in less than a half hour and those brats decided to put it in my blow dryer.”

Peeta suppressed a laugh. “It’ll be okay. Go use the blow dryer in mine and Mom’s bathroom and it’ll come out.”

Rowan laughed from the living room. “Is it snowing, Lil?”

Reed held up his hand for a high-five.

“You’re dead.” Lily said through her teeth, launching herself toward her younger brothers.

Peeta grabbed her wrist. “Finish getting ready for your date. I’ll handle these two.”

“I hate you.” Lily called over her shoulder as she stomped up the stairs.

Peeta crossed his arms. “Boys?”

“It was his idea.” Reed pointed to his younger brother.

“Nuh-uh!” Rowan shook his head. “Reed said it would be funny. Reed made me do it.”

Katniss stepped into the back door laughing with Gale. She paused when she saw the scene in front of her.

“What is it?” Katniss asked.

“Your sons decided to play a prank on their sister.” Peeta explained.

“Today?” Katniss stared Reed and Rowan down. “Is this true?”

They started talking over each other, saying it was the other’s idea. Gale made a mumbled excuse and backed out the door.

“Enough.” Katniss held up her hand. “Just apologize to your sister. And don’t prank her when she’s getting ready for a date.”

The boys looked between each other and then nodded and headed up the stairs.

_____

Reed stepped into Lily’s room. She wasn’t there, but he knew that. No need to try to get her to stop blow drying her hair just for an apology.

Rowan followed and wandered over to the vanity. He picked up Lily’s makeup bag. “Bet you’d look pretty with this lipstick.” He snorted as he held up a tube.

Reed laughed and took it from Rowan. “No, it’s more your color.” He swiped a bit of the red lipstick under his younger brother’s eyes.

Rowan laughed and did the same to Reed. They took out the eyeshadow next.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Lily asked from the doorway.

“We came to apologize.” Reed said, picking up one of Lily’s makeup wipes and cleaning his face.

Rowan followed suit.

“Apology not accepted.” Lily said. “You could have ruined my night.”

“Do you ever think that might have been the point?” Rowan snorted.

Lily advanced. “Get your butts out of my room now.”

“Or what?” Reed challenged.

“Or you’ll be sorry.” Lily said through clenched teeth.

“Oh, I’m so scared.” Reed laughed.

“Look at me shaking in my boots.” Rowan added.

“Dude, you’re barefoot.” Reed pointed out.

Rowan laughed. “You’re right, I am.”

Lily fumed. “Get out of my room.” She picked up a shoe from the corner and threw it in their direction. “I said get out!”

_____

Katniss leaned her forehead against Peeta’s shoulder. “I wasn’t ready a teenager. I definitely not ready for a dating one.”

Peeta laughed and kissed the top of her head. “Well, at least we have a couple more years until the other two are teenagers. And thirteen for the new one.”

“Oh, you’re funny.” She looked up. “I’m not sure I’m ready for sleepless nights because of a baby any more than I am because of a teenage daughter with a boyfriend.”

He rubbed her arms. “You said okay when I suggested the new addition.”

She grinned. “I think my exact words were somewhere along the lines of, ‘Oh, god, yes!’”

He laughed and pulled her in for a deep kiss. “Repeatedly.”

She laughed as she looked up the stairs. “I was going to be home earlier to help her get ready, but we got a pretty good sized deer. I helped Gale dress it, but he said he could get all the meat split up. He’ll bring it to us tomorrow.”

“Sounds good. But I’m so glad you’re finally back. Lily has been running all over like a chicken with her head cut off. Reed and Rowan haven’t helped.”

“Get out of my room!” Lily screamed from upstairs.

“We just wanted to say we were sorry!” Reed replied in the same tone.

“Yeah, don’t be ungrateful!” Rowan yelled.

Peeta sighed. “Maybe we should keep the news to ourselves until just before it’s born.”

Katniss laughed. “That won’t be easy. I always start showing early.”

He leaned his forehead against hers. “Either way, they won’t be too happy when they find out about the new baby.”

“Another one?” Lily asked. “Are you kidding me?”

Katniss and Peeta looked at each other in contrition and then to their children standing on the stairs in different levels of shock.

“You’re really having another baby?” Reed asked.

Katniss nodded. “Yeah.”

“This is the last thing I need.” Lily stormed back up the stairs.

Rowan’s eyes were big as he looked between his mother’s face and her stomach. “I get to be the big brother now.” He said softly.

“Yeah.” Peeta said. “You okay with that?”

“I don’t know.” Rowan said. “That’s a lot of responsibility.” He wandered off to the living room.

Reed sighed. “You two are the worst.” He followed his brother.

“I better change before the boy gets here.” Katniss said, walking toward the stairs.

“No, leave the hunting gear on.” Peeta took hold of her hips. “And it probably wouldn’t hurt to be looking over your arrows when he comes in. Or sharpening your knife.”

Katniss laughed and shook her head. “I’m not going to subtly threaten violence against our daughter’s boyfriend. I think our girl has better sense than to need our help warning a boy. She knows our expectations.”

Peeta sighed. “Okay, fair enough.”

She pressed a kiss to his lips. “I’ll go see if Lily needs some help.” She sauntered up the stairs.

Peeta let out a soft groan. “Why are you so gorgeous?”

Katniss paused at the top of the stairs and looked over her shoulder. “You should recognize the glow by now.” She winked and continued on.

_____

Lily was shaking her hair out when Katniss walked in her room. Fine powder fell to the floor from her dark locks. She sat up and looked in the mirror. The powder was mostly gone now. Lily reached for her hairbrush.

“You want me to do it?” Katniss asked as she walked over.

Lily smiled and handed the brush over. “Thanks.”

Katniss slowly ran the bristles through her daughter’s hair. “Younger siblings can be a real pain in the neck, huh?”

“Yeah.” Lily chewed her lip. “Why did you have go and get pregnant again?”

Katniss went to work on an intricate braid on Lily’s hair before she answered. “Your father always wanted a house full of kids. I only wanted two to start out with.” Katniss paused in talking to pick up a pin to slip into Lily’s hair. “After you came along, I decided two wouldn’t do it. I just loved you so much I could burst.” She finished the braid and then sat down beside her daughter. “Of course, then the pain medicine wore off and I changed my mind for a while. That’s why there’s a gap between each of you.” She gave her daughter a teasing grin.

“Does it hurt a lot to have a baby?” Lily asked with wide eyes.

With a laugh, Katniss wrapped an arm around her daughter’s shoulders. “It’s extremely painful. And I wouldn’t have made it with all three of you if your dad hadn’t been around to help out. So remember that and make your boyfriend wear a condom.”

Lily blushed deeply. “Whatever.”

Katniss kissed her temple. “Your dad and I decided we wanted another baby. No real thought behind it except we wanted another. Just know that we love you all so very much. And we never will stop.”

“If it’s a boy, I’m going to move in with Haymitch and Effie until I graduate.” Lily said with a smirk to rival her mother’s. The smile revealed a dimple in her cheek just like her father’s.

Katniss laughed and gave Lily’s shoulders a squeeze. “Good. One less mouth to feed here.”

Lily laughed. “Maybe I’ll come home for dinner. They can’t cook to save their lives. I don’t know how they survive.”

“A lot of takeout.” The doorbell rang and they both looked out to the hall. “Well, there he is.”

Lily gave her mother a nervous look. “Am I going to screw this up, Mom?”

Katniss shook her head. “You’ll do fine. You hang out at school. You’ve gone on group outings. Just behave like you normally do and everything will work out.” She gave Lily another kiss and helped her to her feet. “Have fun. And call if you need us to come get you.”

“Okay, Mama.” There was a tremble in her voice.

“Make sure you kiss her goodnight.” They heard Reed say as they made it down the stairs.

“But be careful, I don’t think she brushed her teeth for a week.” Rowan said.

“Boys.” Peeta warned.

Drew looked up as Lily stepped into the room. “Hi, Lily.”

With a blush, Lily said, “Hi, Drew.”

“Why are you all red?” Rowan asked with a giggle.

“Embarrassed about her face, I bet.” Reed said with a snicker.

Peeta placed a hand on each of their shoulders and pressed his thumbs in to add pressure. “Tell your sister to have a good time and then go to your rooms.”

“Have a good time.” Rowan said quickly.

Peeta dropped his hand from Rowan’s shoulder, but Reed refused to say anything.

Lily gave her father a quick kiss on the cheek and then pulled Drew out the house.

“We expect you back by ten.” Katniss called.

“Okay, Mama!” Lily said as she shut the door.

Peeta leaned down and looked into his older son’s face. “Your sister is nervous enough about this date as it is. You didn’t need to act like that. And when she gets home tonight, you’re going to apologize. Understand?”

Reed swallowed and looked over to where Katniss stood with arms crossed, eyes giving him a pointed look that said he needed to agree to his father’s terms.

“Yes, Dad.” Reed said softly.

“Go to your room until I have dinner ready.” Peeta straightened.

The boys stalked out of the room.

Katniss walked over and wrapped her arms around Peeta. “Do you remember our first official date?”

“I’ll never forget it.” Peeta said with a chuckle. “I threw up half a dozen times between the bakery and here.”

“And three more times on the date.”

“That you knew about.” He put his finger under her chin to lift her face. “But you were so patient with me.” He smiled, bringing out that dimple. “I wish it had just been nerves instead of food poisoning.”

She pressed her lips to his. “You were still so cute, opening doors for me and pulling out my chair.”

Peeta looked toward the window. “He seems like a good kid, but I’m still nervous.”

Katniss gently scratched his back. “I am too.”

“She’ll be okay.” Rowan said from the top of the stairs.

“Yeah, if he tries something, she’ll give him that left hook Haymitch taught her.” Reed said with a laugh. “And if that doesn’t work, he taught it to us too. We’ll kick his butt.”

Katniss laughed. “I guess Haymitch is good for something.” She looked to Peeta. “Did you start cooking yet?”

Peeta shook his head.

“Then let’s order pizza and watch the clock.” Katniss pulled her phone out of her pocket and headed for the living room.

#Everlark Fic Exchange #Springtime Edition 2017 #submission #booksrockmyface #prompt 6

[leaving-fragments]

being loved and feeling loved really does make it easier to love yourself

#i'm just here romanticising everyday life again ignore me #but i'm home for the weekend and my mam just came and brushed my hair rlly gently while i was brushing my teeth #and i could feel her hands softly disentangling the knots and i thought to myself maybe my hair is quite nice maybe i don't want to dye it #because look how pretty it is running through the bristles of the hairbrush and look how caring mammy is it must be precious #and then i realised just a second later how those thoughts came right from that feeling of someone else caring for me 🥺 #i think maybe that's the most important thing in being human... caring and being cared for #everyone should be experiencing that always and isn't it fucked up that it's only a few fortunate that feel like they do? #anyway i'm gonna sleep now pls ignore me being pretentious fsjhd i hope u all dream something nice! #emma talks

[healthwomeninfo]

New Post has been published on Health Womens

New Post has been published on http://health-womens.com/dance-for-fitness-grace-beauty-and-poise-5/

Dance For Fitness, Grace, Beauty And Poise

Many people are under the impression that you are either look attractive or you aren’t. But that is not true at all. This article can help you to enhance your natural beauty. Beauty is not just skin deep; a favorable personality adds to physical beauty.

Try a night-time application of Vaseline for your feet before bed. This will make them soft and taut as they do after getting a professional pedicure!

Studies have shown that lots of people believe symmetry is beautiful. If you want to appear more beautiful, strive for symmetry. Whether you’re putting on makeup, moustache or beard, be certain that your right and left sides are mirror images.

Make sure that you are not allergic to eyelash adhesives before applying them. Make sure that the test area.

If your eyes are green or hazel, use colors that will highlight the gold and green to almost simulate candlelight. These colors include silvery pewter, shimmery purples, light brown, and deep purple.

TIP! Eating one teaspoon of curry-leaf chutney daily will help you ward off gray hair. The nutrients in this promotes hair pigments to continue to color your hair and improves the health of your hair.

Use a product called “hot spray” on your wet hair dryer. This product, which big-box retailers like Target and Wal-Mart carry, can be found at stores such as Wal-Mart or Target.It locks in moisture and smells terrific!

Water naturally cleans contaminants from your body, which helps you obtain clear, acne-free skin.

TIP! You can replace pricey designer skin care products with alternatives like soft washcloths, pure castile soaps, Aloe Vera gel for moisturization and even white vinegar or witch hazel for mild toning. These products are perfect for any skin type.

Always wash off your makeup before going to bed. Use a soft cloth dipped in warm water or a makeup remover solution. After removing the makeup, wash the face normally. Make-up left on overnight can block pores and cause acne.

Drink enough water every day to keep skin looking healthy and fresh. Dehydration dries out skin dry and causes wrinkles. You can fight this by consuming a minimum of 8 – 10 glasses of water daily. You can always add a hint of lime or lemon to make the water too.Your skin will thank you drank lots of water.

Brush in a circular motion, starting at the feet and ending with your face; then, and then finish off with a warm shower and gentle soap.

Drinking Fruit

TIP! Using a boar bristle hairbrush on your hair can help to reduce frizzing. Many people suffer from frizzy hair.

Drinking fruit juice can add vitality to skin. Eating fruits and vegetables is highly beneficial to healthy skin and your skin. Drinking fruit and vegetable juices is a delicious way to get your servings of fruit. Your skin can achieve that healthy glow if you add ample amounts of fresh juice to your diet.

Having nice eyelashes will actually enhance your face. Doing so improves the curl of your eyelashes and give them a really pretty curl.

This can help to reduce inflammation on your face breathe and it allows it to stay healthy. You will see that your skin is more fresh a day later.

Here is a great and often overlooked tip that can make anyone look better. You must take care for your eyebrows.

TIP! A great way to switch up your beauty routine and add a little spark to your makeup is to use shimmer eye shadow. Because the shimmery particles in the makeup reflect light, these shadows can create the illusion of bigger, brighter eyes.

To avoid ruining your mascara when you cry, angle your head downward slightly to encourage the tears to flow from the inner corner of each eye. This will help your makeup to stay on.

Don’t look to magazine models who grace the pages of beauty. Beauty doesn’t mean to compete at looking good, but looking the best that you can. This philosophy can help you in a number of your life.

Get a regular massage frequently to enjoy the benefits.

Sunglasses are accessories that can either hurt or help one’s attractiveness. The decision needs to be made by the person who might be wearing sunglasses.

TIP! The foundation that is underneath the makeup cap can be used as a concealer. If you have no concealer and require some, simply use a bit of the accumulated makeup that is beneath the cap of the foundation you use.

Vitamin H otherwise known as Biotin is an important nutrient for hair that grows quickly. Vitamin H is what assists in turning carbohydrates into energy and helps the body metabolize protein and fats.This is all good for hair strength and growth.You can obtain biotin naturally in your diet by eating nuts or egg yolks.

Zinc is an essential trace mineral found in many parts of the body. By eating foods such as sesame seed butter, natural dark chocolate and toasted wheat germ, you can naturally raise your zinc intake.

TIP! People who don’t take the following advice are guaranteed to look terrible. You should always keep your eyebrows well-groomed and separated.

Make sure your face is dry before you apply an expensive moisturizer or facial cream.If any lingering moisture is on the surface of your skin when you apply the cream, it will dilute your product.

You can use a small amount of moisturizer or hand cream to tame wild and frizzy hair.Run the cream through with your fingers, then pin your hair up for a little while. Once you let your hair down again, you will notice that the frizz is gone and your hair is easier to manage.

TIP! If you regularly use hot tools on your hair, make sure you allow your hair to have a break from them every few days. Air dryers and irons do massive damage with constant use, but air-drying your hair a few days weekly can counteract a lot of this.

Even straight hair can suffer frizzing caused by humidity. Run your hands on top of your dry hair just as soon as you are finished moisturizing your overall body. The little bit of moisturizer in your palms will help keep your hair manageable. People with any type of all hair types can benefit from this tip.

Don’t apply any matte lipstick if you want your lips that have crinkles and lines. Use cream colors instead, or anything that is creamy.

TIP! Put Visine in your purse to calm irritated eyes. Stress, wind, allergies and lack of sleep may leave you with red eyes.

Regularly inspect your makeup to look for any that has expired. If you have makeup that has changed consistency, smells strange, it is probably expired and should be thrown away. Also, dispose of any makeup that you touched or used while you were suffering from an illness, as it can infect you with the same bug all over again!

It’s so true that beauty is more than how you look on the outside. When you feel ugly, this article will provide what you need to know. Instead of focusing on your imperfections, concentrate on positive things.

#drinking fruit #Beauty

[scottyunfamous]

#RunningWilde Ch. 28 | Brixton

 Sharpshooter in my backyard

Killed a small boy once and never told no one

 If it wasn't for my shotgun

 He'd be alive and I'd be halfway to heaven

 Instead of sitting in the dark going through hell

 You should've been here

 You should've been here

 -Green Mile

 SZA

 *

It was like standing in a recently abandoned museum, a time capsule, a shrine that was never meant to be, filled with objects that had belonged to another –his long lost lover -that accounted for a glance into her bleak history. A few days ago this was her bedroom and now it represented another time. Another life.

 Gone.

 Never again would Ash's porcelain hands curl determinedly around her Mora knife blades or the pretty pearl handle of her pistol, tucked away down the side of her bed. Nor would her hair of amber and rubies be pulled through her hairbrush that lay with wispy strands entwined between the bristles on her dressing table. Her signature -her red, red lipstick -would never grace her mouth again, and her exquisite body, the colour of moonlight and star shine, would never be wrapped up in her provocative way, in her black bedsheets.

 They'd existed for many heated nights in that bed. It was so cold now, like they'd never really been there, like it was all his imagination and he'd dreamed up the beautiful nightmare that they once were.

 Aiden sat in her room through the night, perched stiffly on the edge of her bed, staring at her things, enveloped in her fading scent –one day he'd forget what she smelt like altogether. He hoped that day never came. As every moment passed it was like he was losing her all over again, piece by broken piece, such tiny losses that he didn't notice it until he'd try to recall something accurately, like a memory of the way she laughed. He was unsure if the joyous, musical sound that rang in his head was what she actually sounded like or if he was making it up because he was too afraid to admit to himself that he was already beginning to forget.

 He wished he could hear her laugh one last time. He wished they could do everything one last time, the good and the bad.

 Every now and then his hollow eyes would lock onto the door. He half hoped in vain that this was all a sick joke and that at any moment she'd slink through the door, set her oceanic eyes on him and purr his name like she was the goddess of the seven seas. His Siren. It made it seem even more unreal that she was gone. All her things were here. All her things were here...

 Aiden didn't say a word, he didn't move, he just sat there on the edge of her cold bed and waited for the sunrise, and hoped that it would chase the shadows away.

 He took one of her sheathed Mora knife blades up and tucked it in his pocket. That would be his token of remembrance of Ashleigh York; a woman as furious and unforgivingly beautiful as a tidal wave. His freckled alabaster girl who looked art and made love like poetry.

 The sun rose and he walked out of the door and ordered the maids to get rid of every single thing that was in there, every item of clothing, every trinket, every weapon, all of the furniture -everything had to go.

 He wanted to do the same for Keegan, but since Sophia's death and the convenient disappearance of Jamie, the police were watching his brother's home closely. They weren't stupid, they knew that the Mafia was behind it but they couldn't convict anyone. There had been no trace of them at the crime scene. As if that wasn't reason enough, Keegan went missing and then the downfall of the UK's biggest drug lord happened soon after, and then there was the added disappearance of the Lockewoode girl. As much as everyone was keeping quiet, the streets whispered with Aiden's name. He knew that as soon as the cops had enough evidence, not even the ones in his pocket could protect him and his people, so it was up to him to make sure that that day never came.

 "Get Mighty for me," he grunted in his husky sleepless tone to one of the maids over his cup of coffee. It was 6am and it had been a very long night, but there were still a few loose ends to tie up before the war began. The maid nodded and headed down the hall wordlessly. She returned a few minutes' later two steps behind a disoriented Mighty, barefoot with his dirty blonde hair sticking out at awkward angles from running his hand through it too many times and sleeping on it. Planning a battle strategy was stressful work. Aiden almost felt bad for waking him up when it was likely that his capo had only nodded off little over an hour ago.

 "Long night?"

 Mighty rubbed the sleep from his eye, "I could ask you the same thing, boss. So wassup?"

 "I need you to find a girl. Jasmine."

 "Last name?"

 "Don't have one. All I know is that she was sleeping with my brother and now she's carrying his kid."

 Mighty perked up and scraped his hair back, "Any idea where she's located?"

 "No. All I have is a name."

 "Okay...is Trish still about? She might know. She and Keegz were close."

 "She's in my room. I'll go get her for you."

 Aiden walked into his bedroom to find Trish already awake with lavender rings under her eyes, entertaining a well-rested Jamie. "I'll take over here," he said reaching for the squealing child as Trish opened her hands for the fiftieth time for her game of peekaboo, which she was regretting playing now. "Mighty's waiting for you in the kitchen."

 "Mighty?"

 "Yeah. Keegan's got another one on the way and I need to track down the mother. Do you know her? Jasmine?"

 "Jasmine," Trish scrunched up her face in distaste, "Yeah I know her." She shifted off of the bed and readjusted the sash on her dressing gown, "Keegz sure did know how to pick 'em. Ugh!" As she shuffled towards the door she studied Aiden, noticing that the bags under his eyes were darker than hers. "Is it done?" She nodded her head in the direction of Ash's room.

 "Yeah, it's done."

 She folded her arms, resisting the urge to wrap them around him, "How do you feel?"

 "I'm not sure yet." Aiden picked Jamie up, "Take the rest of the day off. You look like you need to catch up on some sleep."

 "I'm not the only one," she said softly. She was looking at him in that way again, like she pitied him. He was glad she didn't move to comfort him.

 "I'm fine. I've gotta go see my mum, finalise the details for tomorrow. I'm taking Jamie with me."

 "Okay."

 "Keep an eye on Heaven for me."

 She frowned, clearly not pleased to have to associate herself with his premature midlife crisis again, "I thought you said I had the day off?"

 "You do...from the baby," he smirked lazily like he couldn't be bothered but he couldn't help it. "I'd leave her with Dougie but...you know."

  "Yeah I know," she rolled her eyes.

 ***

 Aiden pulled up outside his mother's place at around 10 o'clock with Jamie in tow. He looked up at the pollution stained, graffiti bound walls of his childhood home, Myatts Field Estate, and sighed. Driver turned off the ignition and looked at the building with him. They'd come a long way. They had a lot of fond memories of growing up on the block but coming back here was depressing, only serving as a reminder as to why they'd been so eager to get out in the first place.

 Aiden had thought about moving her out of here once, his mother, because that's what you did with your parents when they got old. It was your turn to look after them -but Aiden didn't think she'd ever really taken her turn in raising her boys. She hadn't earned the right to be spoiled properly. He'd been the one to raise himself and Keegan, and he had taken on the added pressure of trying his best to look after his mother on top of it.

 His father, like Keegan's, was no staple in his life. Just another one of his mother's wastrel lovers, who was out before Aiden even made it into the world...and never bothered to come back.

 She'd called Aiden her little man. For as long as he could remember, Aidan was told that he was the man of the house. That was so much pressure for a kid to bear, but bear it he had. He didn't want to be like the men his mother associated with. He didn't want to be like his dad, but in fighting the urge to turn into one sort of monster, he'd turned into another.

 Instead of the junkie, he was the pusher.

 So she didn't deserve anything more from him than the bare minimum because she'd barely given them that. He kept he fed, clothed, her bills paid, and made sure she was clean. It was the least he could do. It was the most he was prepared to do.

 "I'll be back in half an hour," he said peering up at the second floor of the run down council block where he mother stood watching him from over the chipped railing in her night gown, smoking a cigarette, with her hair in rollers under a silk bonnet. "That's if I can't get out any quicker." He stepped out of the truck and fetched Jamie from the back. She shook her head at him disapprovingly, her yellow tinged eyes combing over his all black attire, his gang colours, and the huge truck he'd pulled up in. "Here we go," he muttered to himself. "Open the door," he called up to her. She kissed her teeth and turned to walk inside to press the enter button on her intercom. "HEY!"

 She turned around, "What?" she snapped back in the same unfriendly tone Aiden had used.

 "Put that out. I don't want you smoking around him." He held Jamie a little tighter, fearing that even from two floors up she could potentially ruin her grandson's life too.

 She kissed her teeth again and stubbed out her cigarette on the side of the railing, making ash rain down, carrying its dying embers away in the breeze, and went to let them in.

 Aiden nodded at his soldiers posted outside of her block as he passed. It wasn't safe enough to leave her unguarded yet and just because nobody had tried to harm her yet, didn't mean they never would. His soldiers shared their condolences with him and smiled at little Jamie as they went, some more heartfelt than others. Keegan had been well-liked amongst their makeshift family of ghetto misfits. His absence was felt across the board.

 Titan stood to the right, outside of his mother's front door. "What's good, A?" They bumped fists, "Heard you went missing."

 "Did you?" he replied, disinterested in talking about his short break from home -his small slice of Heaven.

 Titan took the hint, "I'm glad you're back."

 "Thanks," Aiden smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "How's she been?" he nodded toward the cracked door to his mother's flat with the same dull brass numbers and too bright red paint that chipped and flaked in areas, the surface uneven from being repainted so many times without care.

 His mother reappeared, poking her head around the door and scowling, "She has been fine, now hurry up and come in. You're letting all the heat out."

 Titan looked away, pretending that he didn't hear his boss being addressed in such a manner. Aiden entered without a word.

 "There's my beautiful grandbaby," she cooed reaching for Jamie, "You look just like your father, so handsome..." her smile faltered but she recovered as quickly as she'd begun and nuzzled her lined face into her grandson's youthful skin. Years of recreational drug use had taken a toll on her appearance, aging her beyond her years. The term 'black don't crack' didn't apply to Grace Michaels, and it was a shame; she had been so beautiful. Jamie whinged and pulled himself closer to Aiden, gripping his shirt and burying his face in his broad chest. She pouted, "You're facety like your father too."

 "You smell like cigarettes," Aiden scolded, leaning the baby away from her nicotine breath.

 "Aiden, please," she said putting her hands up in defence, "I don't need any of your noise right now. I've just lost my son. If I want to smoke a cigarette to deal with it, I will. It's not like you let me do anything else. You've always got these bloody thugs of yours outside of my house, watching me like I'm a damn child."

 "It's for your own safety, Grace."

 Grace narrowed her eyes at him. She hated it when he called her by her name. She kissed her teeth, "Yeah, yeah, whatever. D'you want a drink?"

 He furrowed his brow, "It's ten in the morning."

 "Did I ask you for the time? Are you a clock? Do you want a drink or not?"

 "No," he said tightly.

 "Suit yourself. I'm having one." She sauntered into the kitchen and pulled out a bottle of cheap vodka. Aiden sighed internally -if it wasn't one thing with this woman, it was another. Take away her drugs and she turned to cigarettes, take away her cigarettes and she turned to drink. Take away her drink...and you were in for a headache, so Aiden said nothing when she grabbed a chipped mug from her cupboard and poured herself a double on the rocks at ten o'clock on that cold Thursday morning.

 She was burying her son tomorrow.

 Grace took a satisfied sip of her substitute medicine and led them into the living room filled with overflowing ashtrays of too many crumpled cigarette butts, dust on all of the surfaces, plates with dried food on them, and her net curtains stained yellow by tobacco smoke and dust.

 Aiden kept Jamie in his arms. "The place looks like shit."

 "Well give me one of your fancy-schmancy maids then and it won't."

 He couldn't be bothered to explain to her that that's not what the Diamond Mafia maids were for. "You don't do anything all day and it's just you here, so why can't you keep the place clean?"

 "Because it's just me that's here," she reiterated, talking out of her neck, "What do I care what it looks like? It's a shithole." Aiden didn't argue. The place was a shit hole, and no matter how many coats of paint or how much redecorating took place, she always made it revert back to this state. It had looked like this all his life; filthy. It looked worse than usual today.

 Despite his hostility towards her he still asked, "How are you doing?"

 She took a sip of her drink and smacked her lips together, "How do you think I'm doing? My baby's dead. I've gotta bury him tomorrow, and my other child treats me like I'm some mental patient to be locked away and dealt with at arm's length." She sunk down in the tattered threadbare loveseat and cradled her mug to her chest, "I feel like I'm a prisoner in my own fucking house. I can't go nowhere, I can barely wipe my own ass without seeing one of your men lurking."

 "They're keeping you safe, Grace."

 "I don't need to be kept safe, I'm fine. Ain't no one looking for me. It's you that's the criminal," she jabbed her finger in his direction, "You and your brother. That's why he's dead."

 Aiden's jaw tightened.

 "You can sulk all you want. I wasn't perfect but I didn't raise you lot to do the shit you do. There is nothing good down the road you're walking. It's either death or prison. Keegan was nineteen-years-old and now he's dead, Aiden, because of you."

 Aiden breathed heavily but said nothing. He was used to these kinds of conversations with his mother, the classic blame game. It was another reason why he avoided seeing her. She never wanted to own up to what she'd done to them, never wanted to face the fact that had she done better by them, they would have never had to turn to the streets to find a family of their own. To survive. She loved talking about how bad they were, but when time came to take Aiden's money that he earned from being the criminal she loathed so much, she accepted it without comment. Her silence never lasted long; she still managed to turn around and run her mouth some more after she'd spent it all. He was used to it by now.

 "I spoke to James; told him about the funeral."

 Aiden's eyes flashed and his scowled tightened further at the mention of Keegan's sorry excuse for a dad. "Why the FUCK did you do that?" he barked.

 "He's his dad."

 "He ain't shit and he didn't do shit for Keegan. That man is not his dad. All he did was knock you up and leave."

 She shrugged, "Yeah, well he didn't seem too bothered anyway. He won't be attending."

 "Good. I don't want him there."

 "It's not about you."

 "Keegan wouldn't have wanted him there either."

 "How do you know what Keegan would've wanted?"

 "I know more than you!"

 Sensing the tension in the atmosphere, Jamie's bottom lip quivered and his big doe eyes bounced between his uncle and his grandmother's turbulent expressions. If Grace gave Aiden anything, it was most definitely her temper.

 Aiden took a pause and stroked the baby's chestnut curls reassuringly. His voice though, still tense, came out softer, "Look Grace, I came here to finalise the plans, not fight with you. We're going to St Bernard's church at nine tomorrow. Did you find something appropriate to wear?"

 "Yeah, I bought something." She readjusted her slight frame in the chair, "I could do with some more money for shoes though."

 "I gave you five hundred pounds."

 "I had to buy a few other bits and bobs too. Look, stop being tight all right. It's not like you're strapped for cash, Mr big shot drug dealer!"

 Aiden sighed and reached into his pocket, "How much do you need?"

 "Two hundred should do it."

 "For a pair of shoes?" he said incredulously. His mother wasn't exactly a luxury shopper; there was nothing luxurious about her. Two hundred pounds for some shoes was an unusually high amount for her.

 "I'm going to my son's funeral. I'm not turning up in some cheap shit from Brixton market."

 Aiden sighed, "Fine." He pulled out a wad of twenties and held it out to her, looking the other way as she snatched it avariciously from his hand without so much as a thank you. "What about grandma?" he asked with false hope.

 His mum kissed her teeth, "Why are you even asking me about that old bitch? Don't look at me like that, Aiden. You know how she feels about us_"

 "I know how she feels about you." Grace leant back in her chair and arched her brow. "Forget about it. I don't think they'd come anyway. It's not like they knew Keegan."

 "Oh Aiden, piss off! Every time you come round you're always on this 'woe is me' rubbish. Why do you even give a toss about them? What have they ever done for us?" He wanted to point out that she'd never given them a chance too because she was too selfish to drop her petty issues with her family and let her kids meet them. "You're bloody rich, you've got everything you need. The world is at your feet."

 "It's just money."

 "Yeah well some people don't have 'just money'. If it's just money then why are you so damn tight with it?"

  "I just gave you two hundred pounds," he said through gritted teeth.

 "Two hundred pounds is nothing but a drop in the ocean to the great Aiden Michaels. I hear what they say about you, how you practically own South London. I bet you've got more dosh than you let on."

 Jamie whinged again.

 Aiden bounced him gently on his knee and tried to ignore the burning sensation in his chest. He'd had enough. He spoke low and fast, "His tombstone is engraved and the flowers have been ordered an arranged how you wanted them. I told the choir to sing the hymns you asked for, they're in the programme." He dipped into his inside pocket and pulled out said programme. On the front was a dashing photograph of Keegan in a tailored suit at a wedding they'd attended the year before. He looked so smart, so handsome and...happy. His smile was roguish, but that was Keegan -troublesome through and through.

 Aiden had frequently wondered if his kid brother would ever grow up and be a little more serious. He'd hoped for it when Jamie came along but Keegan stayed the same. Aiden told himself that he just needed a little more time; after all, he was only nineteen.

 But now his time was up and Aiden would never know.

 On the back on the programme was Ash. His mother screwed up her face, "Oh, the little white girl's dead too. Humph." Her tone suggested something along the lines of 'good riddance to bad rubbish'.

 "Yes," Aiden said tightly, mentally preparing himself for her ignorant comment that was sure to follow.

 "How'd she die?"

 "She got shot."

 "Serves her right; stupid girl. She had no business running around with you lot the way she did, like some damn hussy, thinking she was bad 'caused she was getting dicked down by a nigger. I told you, they're all the same, them white girls, thinking they're God's fuckin gift to_"

 "Are you done?" The fire in Aiden's chest blazed. He couldn't stand his mother's closed-minded ignorance. She was so bitter and hateful toward everyone and it made him even more ashamed to be her son than he already was.

 "I never did like you and her together. You could've done so much better. That's the thing with you young ones; the sistahs' ain't good enough for you."

 "Is that right?" he scoffed.

 "Yeah, it is. The media got all of you fucked up thinking everything else but black is better. You'd have been better off sticking with your own kind."

 "I did stick with my own kind," he said darkly.

 "That trollop was not one of us."

 "She was a human being, wasn't she?"

 His mother kissed her teeth, "Okay, 'All Lives Matter'. You know damn well that ain't what I meant."

 Why did he even bother?

 Aiden got to his feet and readjusted the squirming baby in his arms, "I came here to let you know what's going on and to let you see your grandson, and I've done that."

 Grace's eyes dulled and the corners of her mouth turned down. She jumped up and ungracefully splashed her drink onto her carpet that was in dire need of a hoover, "You're leaving already?" She sucked the spilt alcohol off of her fingers like she didn't want to waste a drop more than she had to.

 Aiden averted his eyes. Even without the drugs she was still a junkie.

 "Jamie's being fussy. It's time I got him home."

 "And where is home, exactly? 'Cause it ain't with Sophia. The police have been here, asking about where his mum went. You know I don't like police at my house, Aiden," she snapped making Jamie fuss even more.

 "And what did you say?"

 "I told them I didn't know shit...but you do, don't you?"

 Aiden gave her an ominous look.

 His mother pursed her lips and nodded to herself, "Of course you do. There is something really wrong with you. For fucks sake, that's his mother, Aiden!" she shrieked gesturing at Jamie.

 The child started to cry.

 "Keep your voice down," Aiden hissed.

 "Don't tell me what to_"

 "D'you know what, Mum -shut up! Just shut the fuck up!" He took a quick step towards her and glared at her, and for the first time since her son entered her home Grace quietened down and shrunk away from him. "That bitch Sophia is the reason your son is dead. She sold him out," he snarled lowly, looming over her like today would be the day he repaid her for all of her wrongdoings.

 Jamie's cries became louder.

 Aiden blinked and backed away. He patted Jamie on the back and bounced him on his hip, "I'm sorry J. Sshhh, it's okay. It's okay."

 He looked back at his mother who stood still shrunken into herself, looking at her son like she had no idea who he was, wondering how she could have created such a big, angry thing. But that was just it; she didn't know Aiden. She never bothered to, and that was why that big, angry man stood before her.

 He sighed, "The car will be here to pick you up at eight." He walked out into the hall still trying to settle Jamie down.

 "Aiden!" she walked out after him.

 "What Grace?" he snapped looking down his nose at her.

  "...Be careful out there, okay." She bit her lip then went onto her tiptoes and planted an alien kiss on his cheek.

 Aiden stood stock still and blinked at her. It was the most affection they'd exchanged with each other in years, and he was unsure how to take it.

 Jamie stopped crying and for a few second the three of them stood in the hallway suspended in an uncomfortable silence that was filled with words unsaid.

 "I will. See you tomorrow." He straightened up and left.

 ***

 Thank you for reading, sugar lips 💖. What do you think of Aiden's mum? Let me know in the comments below.

#Fiction #running wilde