#I also have this with some red and white items. like red + cream/ivory.? I have a little pile and I think white and red can go good together | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tails-and-scales · 4 years

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The Lamia of Tails and Scales

Figured it was about time to get a proper master list up, especially because the amazing @dotchi13 and @novetteus commissioned the wonderful @calmchapsart for art of the bitties offered here which I am extraordinarily grateful for.

Nocturne

Nightmare lamia bitty

Venomous

Venom causes clotting in the blood that takes hold quick, venom is almost more like an ooze instead of liquid

12-18 inches long

6 inches ‘standing’

5-7 pounds

Has a very notable scale color, the top scales are a deep purple while the belly is a dark cyan, on the back of the lamia’s tail is a large, light purple crescent moon

Prefers to be around his owner and the select few he trusts

*Warning* This bitty is easily influenced by negativity and can corrupt, becoming feral if one is not careful. Handle with extreme care, especially if there is a Lumen bitty that is being mistreated or if you mistreat the Nocturne Bitty. Nocturne is much like Lumen in the way he gives off a slight negative aura in a manner like Nightmare, but having the brothers together is the easiest way to combat any issues

Feral Nocturne (Note that these are not offered if it can be helped)

Reacts violently when provoked

More likely to bite

Is easier to provoke without his twin close by

Secrets his venom through his scales and over his bones to give the goopy appearance

Can be ‘reverted’ from his feral form by time with his twin, must be left alone for a few days for the Lumen to calm and comfort

Will not easily trust after being soothed from his ‘feral state’

Scales will turn black with a violet Moon, and the underbelly will be a vibrant cyan

Has four tentacles on his back that he will use to constrict prey

Lumen

Dream lamia bitty

Nonvenomous

*Produced an antivenom to Nocturne’s venom

* 9-15 inches long

* 5 inches 'standing’

*4-6 pounds

*Has a notable deep golden scale color on his tail with a pale yellow belly, and depending on how the lamia is treated/the amount of negativity he has to 'combat’ some of his scales may darken to black. On his back is a very notable yellow-orange sun marking.

*He’s rather energetic and playful, enjoying being around Ink and Swap!Sans bitties. He does enjoy being around Nocturne due to the family bond between them.

*Warning* This bitty is a lot like Dream in the way of he does give off a positive aura, these bitties do try to help but are oft taken advantage of. Be careful if you plan to try and take advantage of them, as if they have a Nocturne nearby, the Nocturne will attack. They do not like being separated from the Nocturne they hatched with, and can be very despondent for a fair while, even with other bitties

NOTE: It is best to adopt these lamia together due to the venom/antivenom correlation. And if the are adopted separately, do try to keep in touch with the person who got the other sibling to arrange playdates, the lamia do not like being separated

Impurus

Shattered!Dream lamia bitty

Venomous

Venom is very similar to Nocturne, however it does not kill near as quick, it ends up being either nonfatal or a very painful death. His bite on other bitties can turn them feral (very similar to how Shattered!Dream corrupts others)

10-16 inches long

5 inches 'standing'

Weighs 4-8 pounds

The top scales have darkened to a dark yellow with black splotches, the sun marking not being grey instead of yellow, and the belly is a dark gold, bones are black and goopy

This bitty loves to tease and taunt, often being cruel to other bitties, it is recommended to only have this bitty and not have him around others.

*Warning* This bitty is recommended for a very patient, and experienced owner, keep him away from Nightmare bitties, and be cautious around other bitties.

Umbra

Nightmare lamia bitty (Shattered Dreams AU)

Venomous

Venom is just like a regular Nocturne bitty, however he rarely bites, as such the venom causes clotting in the blood that takes hold quick, venom is almost more like an ooze instead of liquid. Due to the Impurus’ nature, a Lumen’s antivenom would be what helps most if there is an accidental bite.

15-20 inches long

7 inches 'standing'

Weighs 7-10 pounds

The main scales are a near black purple, with small flecks of white scales, the purple crescent moon on his back is a more lilac hue, and his underbelly is violet with a black stripe down each side

This bitty is a good bitty with children, playing with them and reading books with them. Pair him with an Elisium bitty and you'll have a slightly worried lamia who is trying to make sure the smaller one is well looked after. Make sure to keep him as stress/any negative emotion free as it can affect him.

*Warning* This bitty is very protective of his family, and in turn that means he is protective of his owners and other bitties. The only time this bitty will bite is when his family is threatened. If he is kept around negative emotions, he can become 'corrupted' and violent

Elisium

Eden lamia bitty (Shattered Dreams AU)

This bitty’s ‘venom’ is actually a form of antivenom to the Impurus’ venom and can aid with the ‘feral/corruption’ of other bitties if they are bit by the other lamia.

6-10 inches

4 inch 'standing

Weights 5-7 pounds

The scales are a maroon with small yellow star marks speckling near where the scales meet bone, and the underbelly is a soft gold. His eyes are mismatched, one red, one green.

This bitty has a very innocent personality, and is oft with a childlike wonder. He tries to make many friends and gets along with (or tries to) any bitty or human. He greatly enjoys being around an Umbra due to the familial bond

*Warning* This bitty is very curious and can end up being under foot often, one needs to watch where they step and make sure this bitty does not take any serious falls. He is still a young lamia and is a bit fragile.

Ascella

Dreamswap Dream lamia bitty

Venomous(?)

This bitty's venom is strange as it acts more as a purification item than something to kill

9-15 inches

6 inches 'standing'

4-6 pounds

The scales are a bright gold with a cream underbelly, on his back there is a yellow orange sun pattern and cream hued feathers decorating the scales. There are times, when this bitty is well cared for and his magic is high, that he does have wings, and they are strong enough that the bitty is able to fly up to his owner's shoulder.

This bitty does not get along very well with Nightmare bitties, and has his own sense of justice. He does look out for other bitties and can be kind, granted he often behaves a bit tsundere about it and refuses to acknowledge said kindness.

*Warning* This bitty does not tolerate any kind of abuse or mishandling of himself or other bitties and will not hesitate to protect and take other bitties to a safe area. If this bitty is truly made a foe, it leads to a very dangerous lamia. We do our best to raise the clutches of Ascella and Nox together to at least keep them cordial with each other, and the ones that live as hatchmates are quite fond of each other and don’t mind being adopted out together.

Nox

Dreamswap Nightmare lamia bitty

Venomous

His venom is similar to other Nightmare lamia, but it is weaker. It causes the blood to clot up easier but does not cause clots due to being injected.

10-14 inches long

5 inches 'standing'

5-6 pounds

The scales of this lamia are a mix of violet and orchid with a near wine hued crescent on his back, and his underbelly is a gentle lavender.

This bitty is honestly a bit timid, often avoiding Ascella bitties due to the threat they pose to the Nox bitty. They do well in quiet environments and enjoy being around their owner. They prefer lower energy bitties if there are other bitties in the family, and they love either soft music or reading with their owners.

*Warning* Try to avoid overloading these lamias senses, as they are much more wary than the others. As long as they are kept away from Ascella bitties, they'll be safe and calm, otherwise they may try thrashing or biting to escape. We do our best to raise the clutches of Ascella and Nox together to at least keep them cordial with each other, and the ones that live as hatchmates are quite fond of each other and don’t mind being adopted out together.

Rever

Empireverse Dream Lamia

Produces the antivenom to Cauchemar

Weighs between 9 - 12 pounds

Standing height is 8 inches

Length: 16 - 22 inches

Ivory colored scales with a pale yellow underbelly.

There is a golden colored stripe down the left side of his back with a sun resting in the center of his back.

The marking on his back matches the one on his face.

Usually a very peaceful bitty, loves being surrounded by nature and animals. He may oft be found in a garden if given the chance.

Loves to teach others and gets along really well with upbeat or energetic bitties despite his peaceful nature, some examples being Swap Sans and Ink bitties.

Cauchemar

Empireverse Nightmare Lamia

Produces a neurotoxin venom

Weighs 12-15 pounds

Stands at 9 inches

Length is 18-24 inches

Ebony colored scales with an eggplant purple underbelly

There is a cyan stripe down his right side with a moon resting in the center of his back

Much less chaotic than the feral Nocturne, more calculating and strict, but also quite protective over his family if he deems something a threat.

Greatly enjoys working on difficult puzzles and reading by moonlight.

Gets along well with ‘bad’ bitties like Horrors, Killers, Murders, and Errors. He will try to make his own little ‘court’. I can definitely recommend Dotchi’s wonderful shop if you do want to get him his own little court.

Dreamtale was made by @jokublog

Dreamswap was made by @onebizarrekai

Shattered Dreams was made by @erroredart/@shattereddreamsau

Empireverse was made by @lunnar-chan

#Lamia masterlist #bitty bones #dream bitty #dream lamia #nightmare bitty #nightmare lamia #nocturne #lumen #nox #ascella #Elisium #impurus #umbra #Rever #cauchemar #bittybones

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irrelevantwriter · 5 years

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By The Light Of The Moon

Pairing: Negan x Witch!Female Reader/You

Rating: Explicit, NSFW

Warnings: Language, mutual masturbation, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, Negan getting seriously mind fucked, spooky tings (bc its Halloween and I’m in the spirit)

Word Count: 6.5K

Summary: Negan takes notice of a beautiful stranger at The Sanctuary. You’re willing to offer a lot more than he signed up for.

A/N: So, because I can’t possibly help myself, I’ve decided to do a take on the Hopper x Witch fic I did and do one for my OG Daddy Negan. This one is A LOT more in depth and long AF, but so worth it. This idea was perfect for Negan and I can’t wait to see what you guys think! Enjoy and share with your friends!

P.S.

Requests are still coming! This def got me in the headspace for Negan again. Be on the lookout. And if you’d liked to be tagged in any of my stories, holla at your girl.

*Masterlist in bio.

**********************

Negan swung Lucille at his side, deciding to bring her along on his trek through The Sanctuary’s marketplace. The air was crisp and smelled of pumpkin and apple spices. According to his timekeepers, it was the night before Halloween. And The Sanctuary was in full spirit.

Baked goods permeated the air while children rushed to put a costume together. Negan couldn’t help the smile that fell on his lips at the sights and smells. It felt good to be festive and he’d decided to stroll through his kingdom to take in all it had to offer.

Of course he did have an ulterior motive for such a visit. He was Negan after all. He never did anything without a reason. And his stroll had a purpose.

As if seemingly overnight, the whole place had become enchanted with a woman selling homemade goods in the market. She apparently made soaps, candles, and oil remedies, among other things. And they seemed to work, at least by the accounts of his people. It sounded like hippie shit to him. But even Simon had brought her up, talking nonstop about the fucking lotion she made him for his sore shoulder. The man seemed hypnotized...everyone did. And Negan came to find out just exactly what all the fuss was about.

People dropped to their knees as he moved through the crowd, but he waved them off. He was here on pleasure, not business. His dark eyes found a booth in the corner with a crowd surrounding it, the person in charge not visible through the shoppers. Negan made his way over, sure this was where he was headed.

A hushed silence filled the air as he strode up, effectively making his way to the front of the line. He smiled when his eyes caught the beauty behind the table. He understood why so many people were taken with you. You were stunning.

He bit his lip, his toothy grin on full display as he took you in. Beyond your obvious attractiveness, there was a magnetic pull, something he couldn’t quite explain. It was mystic and not solid, like a fog. And he could feel it calling to him.

“Well, what do we have here?” He bellowed, making the people nearby pause. He found he didn’t care to have an audience so he dismissed them, insinuating the booth was closed to everyone except him.

He observed you, trying to read your expressions. You didn’t seem at all perturbed by his actions. In fact, you seemed somewhat amused. A smile turned one corner of your lips and he found himself mirroring the gesture.

“So you’re the one who everyone’s been going on about?” He gestured with his free hand to your surroundings, appearing as if he was unimpressed by your reputation.

Truth was...he was intrigued. And mildly suspicious. Not much got by him at The Sanctuary, if anything. The fact that you’d gone under the radar and passed his keen eye peaked his interest.

“Guess so.” You replied simply, face still unmoving.

He grunted, a little disappointed at your lack of response.

He’d be the first to say what an arrogant, self-righteous asshole he was. Leading a community had made him a hardened man. People respected him. They feared him. And women were enamored with him. They practically threw themselves at his feet. Your blasé attitude made him falter. Yet he found himself inexplicably drawn to you...to your energy. Whatever the fuck that meant.

He picked up a bottle filled with thick ivory cream. The handwritten label said it was body lotion with hints of lavender and vanilla. He wasn’t usually into the fresh scents of body washes and lotions, but he had to admit that the shit smelled amazing.

“Your products are all the rage around here, doll.” He perused your table, picking up a random item here and there to scent. His fingers stopped on a drawstring bag with herbs, the label identifying it as a sleep aide.

“A lot of people feel that they work. Helps them get through the days a little easier.” You explained, following him down the table.

Negan nodded, lifting a lavender candle to his nose. The fucking thing smelled heavenly. “So I’ve heard.”

“You should take some.” You offered, gesturing to the bag of herbs he’d been eyeing moments before.

“For sleep? Why would I need that?” He questioned, almost offended you assumed he didn’t get quality rest.

“It’s the most popular. Not many of us get a good night’s rest these days. I imagine leading this place makes it difficult to fully relax.” You picked up the bag and held it out to him, a pleasant smile still present on your lips.

Negan studied you long and hard, uncaring if he made you uncomfortable. He didn’t appear to though. You stood facing him head on, eyes catching his in a captivating stare off.

“How long have you been here? At The Sanctuary.” He watched as you finally let your hand fall, giving up on passing the herbs to him.

“A couple of months.”

“Who brought you in?” He pressed, eyebrow arched and jaw clenched in an intimidating fashion.

“I don’t remember.”

Negan shook his head and pursed his lips, unhappy with your answer. “Sounds a little suspicious to me.”

He waited a beat to see if you’d react. You didn’t.

“What’s your name, doll?”

“Doll is fine.”

He chuckled, amused by your answer. “You’d be the first to say so.”

He sighed and straightened his back, standing to his full height. He could tell that there was something different about you, something enigmatic. He hadn’t figured out if it was good or bad. He felt the need to push you for answers, to learn every detail of your life, both past and present. But he could also feel a nagging in the back of his head, a nagging that was urging him to let it go.

He decided he would. For now. At least until he could fuck you. Which he planned to do soon.

“I’ll take the herbs and a candle, doll.”

***********************************************

Negan awoke with a start. His body was prickled with sweat, his limbs feeling like lead weights. He reached on his nightstand for his watch, taking note of the still black night outside his windows.

12:00 am.

It was Halloween.

And he’d only been asleep for a few hours.

He searched his memory, trying to piece together his evening. His mind felt oddly foggy and he had to concentrate hard on remembering.

He’d made it to his room after fucking Tanya’s red-headed brains out and then ate his dinner. Then, he’d gone over some notes with Simon for the meeting the next day and poured himself a glass of whiskey. He’d remembered the bag of herbs he’d bought from you and decided to give them a try. He’d followed your instructions and mixed them into a warm mug of water, making sure the liquid went from clear to a light yellow. He found that detail odd, but you’d assured him it was normal.

He drank it. The mixture had a surprisingly pleasant taste. And then he’d apparently passed out because his memory stopped there.

His mouth felt dry and he fumbled for a bottle of water he kept nearby. He drained its contents, wayward drops of water landing on his bare chest instead.

He wiped his mouth and the sweat from his brow, scanning his bedroom for the thing that woke him. Everything appeared to be in order. He stopped and listened, waiting to hear a noise or two. Nothing. All was quiet.

He was overcome with the sudden compulsion to seek you out. It startled him how much he wanted to do so. And while he knew the hour was late and he had no real reason for doing so, he did it anyway.

Negan walked the silent halls of The Sanctuary, somehow knowing exactly where to find you. He moved quickly, the urge to see your face now a desperate craving. Everyone was asleep. Not a soul was up or moving about. That fact was odd. The factory always stayed alive with some sort of activity, even in the dead of night.

That wasn’t the case tonight.

He made it to your closed door in minutes, the light coming from beneath signaling that you were still awake. His heart was hammering in his chest, his body suddenly having a strong reaction to your proximity. He felt off. He’d felt off since he woke up, but he couldn’t figure out what exactly was wrong. All he knew was that he had to see you.

He knocked softly, listening for movement beyond the wooden barrier. He heard a shuffle of feet and then the knob turned. Your figure was illuminated by the light at your back as you opened the door. A wave of lavender and rose scent hit him, instantly putting him in a state of relaxation. He hungrily took in your appearance. A white nightgown that stopped just above your knees adorned your frame. It was a thin cotton material, the fabric nearly see through. It was a mesmerizing sight.

“Hi, I uh…” He found himself at a loss for words. A true first. “I’m sorry to bother you so late, doll.” He scratched at the back of his neck, attempting to focus on your face and not your seemingly impeccable pair of tits.

“It’s okay.” You said softly, smiling up at him as you spoke.

You suddenly stepped away from the doorway and out of Negan’s line of vision. He stood there dumbfounded for a moment before you returned, only this time you had a long black knit cardigan on and flats on your feet. You made a move to step into the hallway with him and he backed up quickly to allow you to do so.

“What’re you doing?” He asked as you turned back to face him.

“Taking you somewhere.” You reached for his hand, pulling him with you down the hallway. Negan followed, though he was unaware of why he was doing so.

“Where? It’s the middle of the goddamn night.” He questioned, taking notice of how you moved with such ease through the maze of halls.

“Somewhere special.” You threw over your shoulder as you led him outside into the chilly October evening.

The sky was black, probably the blackest Negan had ever seen it. But the moon was full and it was illuminating everything. It cast a ghostly glow on the factory and the surrounding woods. A breeze swept through the trees, the remaining leaves falling off their limbs almost instantly. The night was soundless, just like The Sanctuary. It was unusual. Not even the low, decaying groans of the dead could be heard.

“Where’s my fucking guards?” He asked you, somehow knowing you would know the answer. He gestured to the lookout posts atop the fences, the empty spaces making him pause. You pulled against his hand, your flesh suddenly heating him from the inside out.

“Don’t worry. It’ll all be fine.” You soothed.

It worked. And he was back to following you beyond the fences.

The woods were dense and difficult to navigate, but you maneuvered through them like you’d been doing it for years. He let you lead him. His body and mind followed you, trusted you. He realized how bizarre and extremely out of character his behavior was, but he couldn’t put a stop to it. Nor did he want to.

The cabin was nestled deep into the woods, but close enough to The Sanctuary that Negan wondered how he’d missed it. It had clearly been here for some time, but appeared to still be kept up by someone. There was a soft glow of light from a window, a billow of smoke rising into the night from the chimney. It was both a welcoming and ominous sight.

They hadn’t encountered any of the dead throughout their journey. He hadn’t even heard an animal rustle in the trees. It was if they were they only two people alive. He found he didn’t mind that fact. It was obvious he was willing to follow you anywhere.

You opened the door of the cabin and ushered him inside. The intoxicating scents of lavender filled his nostrils, the sensation making his eyes roll into the back of his head. He suddenly felt buzzed, as if he’d downed several shots of whiskey. His senses felt dulled and heightened all at the same time. He was entranced by you, by this place.

Orange flames burned in the fireplace, illuminating the space. An old table with two chairs sat near a makeshift kitchen, herbs and flowers hanging from the window to dry out. A small sofa and a chair made up the living room next to the fire. A bookcase held rows and rows of thick, leather-bound books. The titles were too small for Negan to see from his spot near the door, but he could tell the spines were worn with time.

His attention was diverted to the back corner where a large bed sat. It was adorned in black sheets and a dark purple blanket. Black lace hung from the four-poster railings, surrounding the bed in a veil of darkness. Candles littered the surfaces of two nightstands, the wax falling downward onto the wood top to escape the heat of the flame.

“Here.” You appeared in front of him with a steaming cup of liquid. You’d removed your cardigan and flats, your shoulders bare and calling to him.

“What is it?” He asked, accepting the drink. He inspected it, but it looked unremarkable. He took an exploratory sip, the smell wafting up to him .

“Tea.” You answered, moving behind him to remove his leather jacket. He let you, as had become the pattern for the evening.

Your hands danced along his arms, inspecting his tattoos with curiosity. He remained still, taking small sips from the mug as you did so. He felt your touch run up his bicep and over his shoulders, caressing the chords in his neck as you explored. Your palm made contact with his bearded cheek and he nuzzled into the warmth.

“You’re very important, Negan.” You mused, moving a strand of out of place hair from his forehead.

“Of course I fucking am. I’m a leader.” He agreed, his smug attitude finally making a comeback.

You smiled at his response and took the mug from his hand. You placed it on the table behind you and moved back into his personal space. Your hands gripped at his white t-shirt, your body pressing into his.

“That’s not what I meant.” You whispered into his neck, lips grazing his flesh.

His body broke out into shivers at the touch of your lips. He could feel your body heat radiating from you, the thrum of your heartbeat echoing in his ears. He wondered if you could hear his too with the way it was pumping.

“You have a purpose. I want to show you what that purpose is.” You pressed your lips against his suddenly, your tongue demanding permission to explore him.

Negan gripped your hips in return, matching your ferocity with his own. You tasted as good as you looked and he couldn’t get enough. He affixed himself to you, pressing closer as you threaded your fingers through his hair. Your breasts pushed into him and he responded with a thrust of his hips into yours. You pulled your mouth from his, peppering his neck with sensual kisses and determined bites.

“My purpose to fuck you? Because that’s about to fucking happen, doll.” He gritted through clenched teeth as one of your hands brushed his fast-hardening cock. He hissed as you bit down particularly hard on his neck and then lapped at it with your tongue seconds later.

You reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling the fabric up and off in record speed. Negan threw his head back as you assaulted his chest with your mouth, your hands playing with the clasps of his pants. The roaring of extreme arousal was making itself known inside of him and he didn’t know how much longer he could hold off.

His hands ventured beneath your nightgown and up your bare thighs, colliding with the white scrap of lace that hugged you. Your skin felt smooth, unblemished; as if you hadn’t spent all these years fighting for your life like everyone else. Your aroma was calling to him, making his mouth water and his control wane. He palmed your ass, gripping your flesh with a needy hunger. You moaned into his ear at the action, seemingly pleased with his touch. The air was thick with sexual electricity and Negan knew he wasn’t going to be able to leave this cabin until he had you.

“The bed.” You ordered, your voice coming out low and raspy. It was sexy. Your desire for him so strong that it literally poured from your lips.

Negan steered you both towards the satin and lace fortress, the bed a beacon in a midnight thunderstorm. You stopped him once the back of your knees made contact with the mattress, your lips finally pulling away from his chest and neck. He was sure he had at least a dozen fucking hickeys littering his skin by now.

He waited as you stared up at him, his hands still clutching the globes of your ass. You surprised him by cradling his face in your hands, the moment suddenly becoming intimate. Your eyes held a distinct spark, your lips a knowing smile. It was if you knew something he didn’t…a secret.

“You’ve been through so much pain.” You stated softly, fingers caressing the crow’s feet near his eyes.

He looked down at you with a mixture of confusion and disbelief, unsure of where this was headed. He could see the conviction behind your eyes, as if you really could see the voyage he’d taken and the trauma he’d been through. It made his hair stand on end.

“I can fix that for you.” You stated calmly and confidently, as if you had all the answers to his questions.

He noticed for the first time that your nails were painted a deep red as you ran them across his kiss-swollen lips.

He smirked at your antics, feeling a break in the haze. “Fix me? Hate to break it to you, doll, but I’m a lost fucking cause. Have been for a while.” He teased with a wink.

He felt like himself again as he ran a calloused and scarred hand around to your lower stomach, grazing the waistband of your panties. You sucked in a breath when he traced your lips through the delicate fabric, feeling the moisture that had already begun to collect. His lust ratcheted up again at the touch of you and he rubbed himself against you in response. Your nipples were distinct peaks against the flimsy fabric of your nightgown and he yearned to wrap his lips around them and suckle like a newborn to its mother’s. He’d fucking live between your perfect breasts if you’d let him.

“I’m going to give you what you need, Negan. I’ll make you better.” You whispered as he took his turn to devour the flesh of your neck.

He smiled against you, entertained by your idea of pillow talk but not fully comprehending it. He didn’t give a shit what you said at this point. His dick was so fucking hard that he had to bury it inside you soon before he combusted.

“Well, since you’re offering…” He pulled back, eyes locked with yours as he pushed down the straps of your gown. “Let me see that glorious fucking body.”

You allowed him to move the fabric down your figure and over your hips, revealing yourself to him. He immediately attached himself to your tits, both mouth and hands working in tandem. Your hands pulled at his hair, keeping him mounted against you but shuddering away in sensitivity. Negan chased you with his lips, intent on marking you like you had him.

He reached a hand between your bodies, impatient with the pace. His gaze followed every curve and soft line of your body, still in awe of the perfection of your skin. It was flawless. You were flawless. A literal fantasy come to life.

Your hands were soon at his button, releasing the fabric from its hold and working it down his legs. He shed his boots quickly and stepped out of the garment, thankful he’d chosen to go commando. He watched you lick your lips at the sight of him and fuck if that didn’t make his balls tighten.

You sat down on the bed, positioning yourself so that he had a completely unobstructed view of the juncture between your thighs. He instinctually began to tug at himself while you touched yourself beneath your panties, your chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. He made it to you in two steps, a hand hooking your ankle and jerking you closer. He ripped the fabric away from your body, catching how soaked the material had gotten. You were fully nude now and practically glistening. He could almost see your pussy throb as he got onto his knees. He hovered there for a moment, taking in the scene. Your scent, your touch, hell, even the sound of your soaked channel. He savored it all.

“Negan, please…” You pleaded and damn did it feel fucking amazing to hear you call his name like that.

“You need me, doll?” He let a finger lazily play with your clit, enjoying the way you jumped at the contact.

“Yes, please…” You begged again, unashamed of your neediness. He liked that. He liked seeing you lose your composure. That shit was fueling him.

He relented and sucked harshly at your pulsing bud, his touch unforgiving. His lips kissed you while his tongue tasted you. He explored you, using his fingers to pry you open to his attack. Your thighs clenched around his head as your body arched off the bed. The candles reflected off your skin and he became awestruck by the image.

He fed on you, his appetite for you far from satiated. He welcomed your flavor on his tongue as he probed your opening, teeth nipping at your swollen lips. You yelped and jolted away, but he held you to him. He felt that drunk feeling again as he quite literally immersed himself in you.

“Don’t stop. I’m gonna cum.” You breathed out, head thrown back and hands struggling for purchase against the smooth sheets.

Negan had no intention of stopping. Instead, he doubled his efforts and ravaged you, seeing the prickle of pain flash across your features from his ruthlessness. You continued to hold his head to you as he attempted to drink every drop that poured from your lips.

“Oh, yes, yes, yes…” You chanted as your body rippled and convulsed with tremors. Negan caught every single one with his mouth, his eyes taking in the way you moaned and writhed. Your skin was slick with perspiration, your lungs rapidly taking in air as you slowly came down from your journey to space.

He stood, his whole body tense in untamable lust. He could feel the dribble of precum on his cock, the appendage begging for attention. He wedged himself between your thighs and submerged his cock in your overflowing dampness. He rutted against you, feeling you reach up to catch him in your folds. He dug his fingertips into your thighs as he let his cock nudge your abused clit. You winced at the oversensitivity.

“Fuck, I need to be inside this fucking pussy.” He growled, recognizing the tingle in his spine starting to form.

Negan didn’t wait for a response as he plunged inside of you, groaning at the instant surge of pleasure at finally being able to do so. He felt your heartbeat within your walls as it thrummed against his cock, squeezing him just right. It was as if you were made just for him. The way you hit every one of his nerves in the most delectable way possible made it seem as if you’d been sculpted for him, a genuine counterpart.

“Shit, that is one tight cunt.”

He moved slow and deep, treasuring the sensation of your body so effortlessly enveloping his. His hands were everywhere as your body became his playground. He held your tits, relishing the way they bounced to the rhythm of his hips. He grasped you throat and squeezed as you moaned for more. He took in the way your body so readily accepted his own, your pussy slickening him for his passage. It all felt fucking perfect. Perfect in a way he’d never experienced before.

“More…I need more.” You demanded, trying to reach for him.

Negan was happy to oblige and bent down to hover over your awaiting mouth. Small gasps escaped your throat as he continued to fuck you, the sound like music to his ears and pulsing dick.

“This what you wanted? This enough for you?” He grunted, angling his hips so that he could feel the natural barrier within you. He heard you whine and drag your nails down his back, the depth of his cock making you want to retreat.

“No, no…take it all, doll.” Negan tutted, forcing your body up the bed as he moved. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your teeth digging into his shoulder. The move sent a jolt through his system and he increased his speed. His hips slapped against your roughly, the loud smack of skin echoing throughout the room. He could feel his balls tightening and his limbs tingle. He wasn’t ready for it to end. He wasn’t ready to separate from your warmth just yet.

He straightened up, bringing you with him. Your body was pliable with his movements, letting him maneuver you how he saw fit. He lifted you into his arms, still impaled on him. He captured your mouth, walking to the head of the bed. He situated himself on the mattress, you still cradled in his arms. Without him having the leverage to thrust, you took it upon yourself to slide up and down on his engorged cock. He faltered at the motion, but recovered in time to position you in his lap.

“Ride me. Let that pussy take what she needs.” He nipped at your bottom lip as he encouraged you to move, slapping your ass in the process.

You didn’t hesitate. You wrapped your arms around his neck and bounced, chasing that ethereal high. Negan buried himself in your breasts, feeling that inebriated sensation start to strengthen. He gripped your hips, anchoring himself to something solid. He felt as if he might float away if he didn’t. He felt entirely too warm and the need to cum was more powerful than any other experience he’d had. His vision felt blurry, yet he could make you out perfectly. He could smell you and only you. Not the fire or the lavender anymore. His ears were attuned to your moans and whimpers, but silence lingered outside of that. He felt like he was in a vacuum of your essence, trapped but not wanting to escape.

“Yes, Negan…please cum.” Your words made him thrust up into you, eager to comply with your breathy request. The tell-tale signs were there. He was ready to let go.

Through the fog he belatedly realized he needed to pull out, not wanting to chance it. He readied himself to remove you from his lap when he felt you clamp down and hold him, your intent obvious.

“It’s okay. Do it. Fill me up.” You nibbled on his ear, tongue tracing his lobe as you massaged his cock with your walls. He went to protest, but stopped. The words died on his lips, his body now running the show. He only thought about you and how fucking magnificent you felt. He thought about how good it would feel to smear you in him. To see you leaking and dripping. The thoughts alone were enough to convince him that he should listen to you.

Your finger teased your clit as you rode him, urging him on. Negan gritted his teeth at the feel of your pussy spasming, your entire body ricocheting with the aftershocks. He surrendered to you and released, your pussy greedily taking from him as he tensed in orgasmic bliss. A hum of approval left your lips at the feel of him driving his seed into you, the warmth and stickiness coating you both.

“Fuck,” He cursed as he screwed his eyes shut. He felt like he’d been pumping for hours, the high lasting a lot longer than he’d anticipated. He felt overcome with exhaustion as he collapsed on the bed, your body still a place holder for his now flaccid cock. He looked up at you as you straddled him, a halo of candlelight encompassing you. He panted as he struggled to catch his breath while your nails dragged through his chest hair. You laid your head on his chest near his heart, your body rising in sync with his.

He was drained. Utterly and completely. He adjusted himself beneath you, feeling his cock slip out of you and land heavily between you. You rubbed yourself against him, his cum aiding the movements. His mind said no more, but his body was responding.

“Doll, this old man needs to rest. I think you broke my dick.” He groaned, feeling aches start to settle into his limbs.

You laughed, your body vibrating against his. “Doesn’t feel broken to me.” You quipped as you traced a finger over the twitching member.

He laughed, despite his fatigue and trailed a hand down your naked back. “You’re something else.”

“Good or bad?”

“Can’t decide yet. But my dick points to good.” He joked, liking the throaty laugh you released at his words. He could feel his eyes getting heavy and that distinct lethargy that came with sleep. He didn’t bother to move you from atop him. He liked your weight nuzzled against him, feeling the beat of your heart with his.

“Sleep.” You said into his chest as you placed a soft kiss near his ribs.

Negan nodded, though he was already halfway into his dreams by the time you spoke.

*******************************************

A loud knock jolted him from his slumber.

Negan sat straight up in his bed, eyes dancing around wildly in search of the intruder. He took in his bedroom skeptically, wondering how he’d gotten back.

Another knock sounded, followed by a call from the beyond the door.

“Boss? You in there?”

It was Simon. And he sounded strangely concerned.

Negan stood from his bed, groaning at the protests his sore limbs were giving him. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair and thanked whoever the fuck that he at least had clothes on.

He pulled open the door and came to face-to-face with a worried looking Simon. The man’s own remaining hair was somewhat tousled and his mustache looked uncharacteristically unkempt. He looked like he’d been running his hands through it all day, an action Negan knew he didn’t partake in unless he was nervous about something.

“What is it? What happened?” He demanded, knowing there was something he was missing by the look in his friend’s eye.

He waited as Simon seemed to take him in, appearing to be relieved by his presence. The whole thing was making Negan feel weird.

“You okay? We were worried about you.” The man finally admitted, hand back in his thick moustache.

Negan arched a brow in question. “Worried? Why?”

“Its past noon. You never sleep this late. We didn’t hear from you and got nervous something happened.” He explained, gaze still inspecting Negan closely.

Negan widened his eyes at Simon’s words, not believing what he was saying was true. He raced to his nightstand and grabbed his watch, feeling a sense of déjà vu. The timepiece read back 12:15. It was still working and didn’t appear to have stopped at any point during the night.

He looked back at Simon, perplexed by his unexplained tardiness. He was just about to question his friend more about it when he remembered the previous night. The memories came flooding in like a busted dam. He saw you in that damn nightgown. The cabin in the woods. You riding his dick like a fucking prized pony. It all soared to the surface and through the fog that still littered his mind and body.

“What the fuck happened?” He mumbled to himself as he rubbed at a particularly sore spot on his shoulder. Had to be where you fucking bit him.

“You good, Boss? Need anything?” Simon interrupted from his spot in the doorway.

Negan went to dismiss him, but thought better of it and nodded. “Yeah, find me that girl from the marketplace. The one with all the lotions and shit.”

He waited for a yes sir from his right hand man, but never got one. He met Simon’s confused gaze and went to describe you further when the Savior spoke up.

“What girl? I don’t know anyone like that.”

Negan sighed, trying hard not to take his mounting frustration out on his friend. “Yeah you do, shithead. You bought some lotion from her for your bum shoulder.”

At his blank stare, he continued.

“I spoke to her yesterday. You were fucking there. Struggling to flirt with Meredith at the table with all the shitty DVDs.” Negan explained, attempting to jog Simon’s memory. It didn’t seem to be working.

“We didn’t go to the market yesterday.”

“Yeah, we fucking did.”

“No. I was at The Kingdom yesterday while you went to the northeast outpost.”

Negan shook his head, unable to comprehend what Simon was saying. There was no way that was true. He remembered it as clear as day. He remembered you. Simon had to be wrong. And Negan was going to prove it to him.

“You sure you’re feeling okay?” Simon asked, that worry gaze back and aimed squarely on him.

Negan waved him away, searching his room for his boots, jacket, and Lucille. “Yeah, fine. I’ll be down in a minute.”

Simon hesitated, but he could see that Negan wanted to be alone so he complied.

Negan checked the calendar on his desk, his diligence when crossing off the days a daily ritual. He found the last day that was crossed out.

Halloween.

He wasn’t tripping fucking balls. He had his days right. Now he just had to find you.

**************************************

One month later…

Negan rubbed tiredly at his eyes, wishing he’d worn his reading glasses. He sat at his desk, studying the maps of each community who fell under his territory. It was late and he’d been staring at the goddamn things for hours, though the action was pointless. He wasn’t focused. Hadn’t been since that day a month ago.

He’d never found you.

Thirty days later and there still wasn’t any sign of you, your booth at the market, or your cabin in the woods. He’d had men out looking. Chasing a fucking ghost.

No one knew of you. No one had any recollection of you. Except for him. And it was fucking torture.

You were his elusive seductress, his enchantress. You were all he could think about. You dominated his thoughts, his dreams. Sometimes he felt as if he could still feel you beneath his fingertips. Hear the melodic tune of your pulse against his. A random breeze of lavender would sweep over him, carried by the wind. But you never materialized.

He knew he hadn’t made you up. He knew you weren’t some sort of fever dream. He’d had the marks on his skin to prove it. Scratches down his back, bites along his neck and chest, and the sore limbs from hours of fucking to prove it.

But the more days that passed, the more his memory failed him. His mental image of you faded over time, along with the bruises and scratches that littered his flesh. You were becoming lost in the everyday bustle and he didn’t know how to stop it. He had to give up searching for you, fearing his followers would start to think he was losing his fucking mind. His men already thought so. Simon practically had a straitjacket picked out for him.

All he could do was keep an eye out for you when he went beyond the fences. He searched everywhere, under the guise he was looking for supplies. It was pathetic really. He didn’t even know your fucking name.

His watch beeped from beside him, alerting him to the new hour.

12:00 am.

He decided to turn in for the night, done with tormenting himself. He stood up and stretched, hearing the satisfying pop of several joints as he did. He made his way to the window to take one last cursory glance to ensure everything was as it should be. He noticed something odd immediately. He felt like he did that night…wired but sluggish. It was a combination he could never forget.

Looking out into the night he realized how dark and empty the sky was, save for the new full moon that spotlighted the earth. Negan’s whole body went stiff as he searched for his guards. He couldn’t see anyone. It was dead silent.

A sudden warmth filled his body and a tingle started at the base of his toes. It was pleasant and started to move up each limb. He found himself succumbing to it, eyes rolling back the stronger it got. Suddenly and without warning, a crippling pain overtook his entire body. His bones felt like they were breaking and extending to unbearable lengths. His skin felt stretched and pulled tight, fighting to cover his expanding body. He yelled out in pain as his spine broke through his shirt and his legs jutted out of his pants. Long black fur soon covered every surface of him while his hands turned to oversized paws with jagged talons. His face felt like it was being seared off as it contorted into new features.

He collapsed to the floor on his knees, unable to take the agony. Simultaneously, his mind began to piece together the forgotten fragments. He saw you clearly once again as he relived your moments together. He saw your first conversation and the time at the cabin. He saw him worshipping your body over and over again throughout the night, your sweat-laced bodies slicking against each other. He saw your mind and the plans you had for him.

He saw everything.

“I can fix that for you.”

“I can give you what you need, Negan.”

“I’ll make you better.”

Your voice echoed in his ears, your true meaning now apparent. He felt a swell of testosterone rush through his veins, the appetite for blood suddenly all-consuming. He sniffed the air, smelling nothing but lavender. He growled, his hair standing on end as he felt you get nearer.

You were here and you’d come to collect.

He hunched on all fours, the pose feeling natural to him in this state. Unbridled lust mixed with frenzied rage, making his mouth salivate. His teeth were larger in size and sharper, his tongue running over them hungrily. The moon shone itself in his room and he instinctually howled. He felt a pull towards the window, outside the walls of the factory. He didn’t stop to think. He only acted. He rushed the window and burst through, scaling the wall as he made his way down to the ground. He landed on his hind legs, standing up straight to scent the air. Beyond the trees he could see a plume of smoke.

The cabin.

You were calling for him…waiting. And as he ran towards you, human nature now erased by animalistic instincts, he heard your final words to him from that night ring in his head.

“I’m going to give you what you’ve always wanted. You’ll be your true form. And I’ll be your true mate. By the light of the moon, you’ll fulfill your true fate.”

#negan x reader #negan x you #negan fanfiction #negan fic #negan twd #negan #negan fanfic

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doeeyeddarlingxo · 5 years

Text

Myriad Misadventures - Chapter 7

The Myriad Misadventures of a Midgardian Queen-In-Training - Chapter 7

AO3 | Previous | Next

Word Count: 1421

Pairing: Loki/Reader

Rating: T

Myriad Misadventures - Chapter 7

The palace is...well, it’s huge, not to mention beautiful, with walls made of pure white stone and dozens of windows framed in gold. It’s preceded by a large lawn and driveway, and circled by woods that seem to extend well past the limits of your eyesight. Everything is so bright and vivid, the needle-leaved trees scraping the cloudless, cerulean sky, blossoms of every color growing along the driveway and edging the castle itself.

It is an incredibly intimidating sight.

“Come on!” You feel a hand around your wrist, and before you know what’s going on, Sapphire is pulling you into a run. “You don’t want to let them get ahead, do you?”

You don’t really care either way, but you humor her, running until you’re a few feet to the left of Juliette and Li, both of whom throw lofty glances in your direction. Juliette’s hair, a deep, sunrise red, had caught your attention the moment you saw her on the train, but you hadn’t really gotten a good chance to look at Li before - she’s as beautiful as the others, if not more so. Her hair is so black, it has an almost purplish tint to it, contrasting magnificently against the bright, clear aqua of her eyes. She could legitimately pass for a porcelain doll, or a fairy. Even her gait matches - she seems to float, walking with delicate, pixie-like steps. It’s enchanting to watch, but when her eyes flicker back in your direction, you immediately turn your gaze on the white gravel of the ground.

As you place your foot on the first step, you are startled by a loud creak. You and the others watch in awe as the tall, twin doors swing open at a snail's pace, allowing you to take in the foyer little by little. It's still overwhelming - the ceiling is cathedral height, with another tapestry hung up on the emerald walls every few yards. The floors are partially covered by lush green carpeting, like a runway, with thin, shiny stripes of ivory on either side. In between the tapestries are wall lamps, with candelabras beneath - and is that a chandelier you see? Yes, yes it is. Squinting, you make out another one a little further down the hall.

Entering the palace makes you feel as though you have left behind the twentieth century entirely. This new world is impressively, impossibly grandiose, straight from the pages of a fairy tale. You have fallen out of the reality you thought you knew, and into a fantasy swathed in emerald and cream.

"Well, shit," Irina breathes from behind you. You're inclined to agree, and from the expressions on the other girls' faces, so are they.

From the end of the hall, you see...something. A grey line, growing closer and closer; as it approaches, you see that it’s mainly comprised of men in green-grey uniforms - guards? I think? A few yards before reaching you, it stops. The center figure steps out to approach. Heavier, but elegant, clad in a moss-green ball gown, with her waist drawn in (presumably) by a corset and emphasized by the swell of her skirt. As she sweeps forward, the velvet of her dress rustles.

“Good afternoon, girls.” She beams at each of you in turn. “My name is Lady Amara, and I will be your guide for the duration of your stay.” As she speaks, she makes some hand signal at the guards; at once, they all turn sharply, and head back to the end of the hall. One lingers, standing a few feet behind her. You notice, with no small amount of discomfort, that he’s staring at you. When you make eye contact, he licks his lips, and winks at you. You turn your gaze to the floor, suddenly uncomfortable. Lady Amara turns to him, and motions for him to step forward, which he does. “This is Captain Absidor Walden; he is the head guard. He will be going over some of the safety measures which are in place to ensure your security.”

“Good morning, ladies.” His words come out thin and throaty, more rasp than voice. His skin is tanned, his hair slightly longer than a buzz-cut, and although he’s far from ugly, you’re immediately put off by his bearing: he carries himself not like a high-ranking officer, or even a nobleman, but with the cruel arrogance of a slave owner. He looks each of you up and down as he speaks, and you notice again that he spends a little extra time appraising you, though this time you look away before he has a chance to make eye contact. “You all have been allowed one personal item; we will be collecting and checking those before you are escorted to your rooms. You have each been assigned a maid. In case of an emergency, each maid has been provided with a key to their contestant’s room. Upon arriving in your rooms, you will change into one of the outfits provided for you. Your clothes from home are to be discarded; your maid will help you with that. You will be allowed access to both email and ‘snail mail’ one day each week, but any packages containing anything other than a letter will be discarded immediately, a fact which we will inform your primary contacts of.”

Lady Amara nods. “Thank you.” The captain and his guards march back down the hallway, until they’re no more than specks in the distance. “Guards are stationed at each of the castle’s four exits, at the main gates, and at various points throughout the surrounding grounds, including the gardens, the stables, and the woods, which you’ll see later.” She pauses to give you all a tight-lipped smile, head tilted to the side. “Any questions?”

"So, what's Asgard like?"

"And of what concern is that to you?"

Her tone of voice is so sharp that Rosa actually takes a step backwards. "In the contract. It said the winner - "

" - and their family would be moved to Asgard. Yes. Relations between His Majesty and his family are somewhat...strained. Negotiations are currently taking place to alleviate the tension, hence his absence." She pauses to clear her throat. When she begins speaking again, her tone is considerably brighter. "Never fear, though! He is scheduled to return to the palace in seven days, which gives me just enough time to educate you on the behavior expected of you during your stay. For the next week, you will be trained in table etiquette, inter-realm politics, proper dress, etcetera. The king's arrival will likely be commenced with some sort of event, the details of which will be announced a few days prior to his return. Your lessons, however begin now."

"Now?" As in, now now?

She sighs, closing her eyes as though she were suffering from a headache. And that makes three people who I’ve managed to tick off in one day. Good job, (Y/N). Really solid work. “Yes, Lady…?”

“(Y/N).”

“Thank you.” She claps her hands together. “To begin with: breakfast will be served at eight o’clock each morning, dinner at five p.m. sharp. Lunch is to be taken at your leisure, though you're welcome to join me in the dining room at twelve thirty. You may want to keep your schedules relatively free once his majesty arrives, as there is no set rotation for how he will be dividing his time up amongst you.” Does that mean he picks the dates? Do we have the option to say no? “You will be shown to your rooms before dinner. This is the Ladies' Parlor; feel free to come here to read, compose letters to your families. Most importantly, we will congregate here each week to watch the weekly segment on television.

"You may notice a distinct lack of modern technology here; the television is a necessary exception, and will only be used to watch the weekly segment. You will also be allowed to contact your families once a week via electronic mail, as Captain Walden mentioned, but you will not be given any other access to the internet.” She looks down the corridor to your right. “Ah, just in time. You each have half an hour to get ready before dinner.

Eight girls, all dressed in plain white aprons atop ebony dresses, line up facing you, four on each side of Lady Amara. The one furthest left is the first one to speak. “Lady (Y/N)?”

“Yes?”

She smiles at you. “This way, please.”

#loki #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #loki x reader #loki/reader #reader insert #reader-insert #ao3 #fanfic #fanfiction #loki fic #doeeyeddarling #myriad misadventures #fish fork

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cucuxumusu · 6 years

Text

Magic Shop AU

The day had woken dark and gray, with great rolling black clouds covering the sky, and making the shadows disappear, the colors turn vivid, and the financial district of London seem even more depressing. Grimmjow hated the rain. He also hated London, too many people, and too much traffic. However, as one of the largest entrepreneurs in the country, having a seat in the city’s economic district was a necessity.

Today, however, everything seemed fucked up. On this magnificent rainy day his driver had called informing him he was sick and couldn’t make it to work, Nelliel, his secretary, had forgotten his coffee again, and the meeting that took weeks preparing had been a total and absolute disaster.

Finally Grimmjow, desperate and about to murder someone, had decided to go home and forget the day. The universe, of course, had had other plans, and like a last kick in the ass, the rain had begun to get even more intense than normal. Grimmjow unable to do more had needed to take refuge in one of the small businesses in the neighborhood.

“Antiques & Rarities” was a store that had always seemed to defy time. Covered in old and dark wood, the shop had a slightly more sophisticated touch inside than it had on the outside, but in general, it looked like the stores Queen Elizabeth was supposed to visit. Ancient and privileged, full or strange items the old nobility would love to own but that were mostly useless.

Grimmjow, now drenched to the bone and leaving a trail of water behind him, observed a grandfather clock with numbers carved in white ivory, a piano with bone keys and black lacquer, and different lamps and chandeliers of colored crystals. There were armchairs of different shapes, materials and sizes, there were books of yellowish pages, porcelain sets for tea, and paintings.

Thousands of paintings covering the walls.

Grimmjow walks past portraits, still lifes, and landscapes, between women and men, until he could not help but stop before the largest of all the paintings in the room.

The scene was simple, a young knight, covered with a medieval black armor from head to toe held an imposing sword in his hand, while his red cape felt from his shoulders, and brown eyes looked defiantly at the spectator. He seemed to be reading for battle, a maid was kneeling by his side and adjusting his knee protector, his helmet was off and in the floor at the other side.

The painting was nothing marbelous in itself. If Grimmjow had to guess, the lighting was poor, and the background none-existent, but the boy in itself was another different matter. The boy looked alive, as if the painter had taken all his effort in depicting him, but had forgotten or not cared about anything else.

His eyes looked at Grimmjow defiant, his brown irises intent, and focused, and gorgeous. His skin was soft looking, tanned and biteable, but it hide the dark promise of muscles and strength and would probably be covered by scars from the battles. His hair on the other hand was an impressive side of orange typical from the Scottish highlands, and it looked way too bright for the dark picture and his black old armour. He looked young, but those eyes also spoke of maturity and a knowledge of the dark side of the world. He was pretty, attractive even, a court boy posing for a picture, but the way he held that sword and that look on his eyes said he had seen fighting and battles before.

The contradictions amazed Grimmjow for a moment. How had the artist captured all that in a single picture?. It was a good picture, Grimmjow concluded at last. A nice one.

“Five hundred pounds, and you can stare at him for the rest of your life” someone said easily behind him.

Grimmjow turned slowly to face a strange blond man, wearing a green pijama like the one nurses used, and fucking sandals despite the cold weather. He was smiling at him from behind a fan, his eyes hidden under an even more stupid hat.

He was the weirdest person he had ever seen, and Grimmjow had traveled all around the world.

“Excuse me?” he asked the man.

“The painting, young man! This is a shop, you are supposed to buy stuff not stare at it for hours” the man said dramatically, turning away and walking towards the register box. “Five hundred and it’s yours”

Grimmjow frowned. It hadn’t been hours had it? Walking away from the canvas, he slowly glanced at the street where rain was still pouring down with an evil intent. He sighed. “I don’t want it” he explained to the owner.

“Too expensive?”The owner continued clicking on an old looking cash box “I guess I could lower it to four hundred, but that’s all I’m willing to go, a man has to live on something, right?” he continued, smiling sweetly and fakedly at him.

Grimmjow frowned again trying to understand so many words, with his tired and coffee-deprived mind. “The money ‘s not the problem”

The owner rose an eyebrow and looked at his sorry drenched suit form from head to toe. Grimmjow knew how he looked, blue hair, bulging muscles, that tattoo on his face…he probably looked more a thug or a mafia boss, than a businessman. A drenched and sorry thug who couldn’t even get an umbrella.

As if reaching that conclusion too, the strange owner of the shop snickered “You sure about that?”

And just like that, Grimmjow patience snapped, and his temper got fire.

Minutes later, he was walking home with a new huge painting of some medieval knight completely wrapped in waterproof plastic, while he walked in drenched clothes. It had suddenly stopped raining and the sky was clearing. His wallet however felt empty. He had paid two times the quantity the owner was asking for, just to prove a point. The owner had smiled sweetly again.

Grimmjow had realized way to late that he had been tricked.

The next time Grimmjow saw the painting was two weeks later.

The day had also been a shitty day. Rainy too. Ulquiorra had called him, and he had spent half the morning screaming at the other CEO about the fusion plan. Nnoitra had ignored a direct order from him, and he had fired the asshole at last. So finally, late at night, when he had arrived home, he had proceeded to get wasted.

Scottish whiskey, that Irish cream, and good old rum had been the beginning. When his suit had turned too uncomfortable he had ditched it on the floor of his huge apartment living room, and had wandered around the halls completely naked, and singing one of those songs from the radio before collapsing on the entrance’s floor.

It had been then where he had noticed the painting still wrapped in plastic next to the entrance of his home, and the bright idea of hanging it had appeared in his head. He had paid a thousand fucking pounds for the shit, at least he should enjoy it.

Finding a wall free enough so the huge painting could be hanged had been annoying, but he had decided finally for his minimalist and half empty bedroom. Trying to drive a nail into the wall while drunk however hadn’t been easy, but after some screams, curses and a long night alone at home, Grimmjow had managed to do it and had sat on the bed of his room to contemplate the strange knight again.

Angered eyes, serious lips, and black hard armour. He was indeed gorgeous, powerful and magnificent despite his age. He looked so authentic, that for a moment Grimmjow’s drunk mind had wondered who he could be? A warrior? A hero? He wondered for exactly five seconds, because, just as he was memorizing the perfect curve of a golden cheek, the knight had moved, and then proceded to shout at him.

“What the bloody hell took you so fucking long? I have been there for two weeks! Two fucking weeks staring at bubble plastic!” The knight on the painting, the painted knight, complained, his lips almost pouting cutely, but his eyes looking homicidal.

Grimmjow blinked slowly.

He then looked down at the can of beer by his feet. This was what? his six- seventh beer? He probably should stop with the alcohol.

“Oh gosh! And you are drunk and naked. Nice. Is this what had come out of society? Can’t you put on some garments at least, man? I don’t need to see all of you” the boy continued gesturing to Grimmjow’s whole being with a completely done face.

He was the only thing moving in the painting, his armor, his cape, his hair, it all flowed around him making him look even more regal, powerful and attractive. Grimmjow could get a hard on just by observing him move. However, the kneeling woman on the floor next to him was still kneeling, unmoving. The dark undefined background was still dark, as a frame stop in time.

It didn’t make sense.

“I’m…home alone” Grimmjow commented trying to defend himself from the knights whining “The suit was uncomfortable so I…took it off?”

The man on the painting looked at him as if he was the most disgusting thing on earth. Grimmjow said nothing. He was too drunk for this shit, so instead he leaned down, took the empty can of beer, and threw it at the annunciation.

The knight didn’t even flinch as the can bounced on the canvas where his head was, and flew back towards Grimmjow’s feet. They both stared at it. Then the knight signed as if Grimmjow was the stupidest man on earth.

Grimmjow frowned. Then he stood up.

“If you are done with this, I need you to help me” the knight continued as Grimmjow approached, dick out and drunk and all that “See, I was cursed, and I have bee trapped in this painting for several centuries, but if you help me I’m sure we…wait, what are you doing?”

Grimmjow took the canvas from the wall and lowered it to the floor. The boy was now blushing centimetres away from his face, their proximity borderline intimate, and the boy’s gorgeous eyes fixed on a certain part of his anatomy that was more awake than he wanted it to be.

However Grimmjow smirked, ignoring him, as his suspicious were finally confirmed.

The knight couldn’t move out of the painting.

Slowly, he turned the canvas so the knight was facing the wall, and stepped back. He could hear the knight complaining, shouts of rage, curses, even a few insults about his anatomy, but they were muffled by the wall and could be ignored.

So Grimmjow turned to the bed, climbed into it, and finally, collapsed.

#grimmichi #grimmjow jaegerjaquez #grimmjow #ichigo #bleach #i would probably write more?#dont know #maybe #im stressed nowadays #my writtings #drabble #Drabble

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hibiki-the-beast-archived · 5 years

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Questions to Hibiki from fans

Source (I used a translator and only arranged it a little so it makes more sense so it could be full of mistakes.)

- I'm going to ask you some really stupid questions. What would you like to look like if you were dressed as a woman? With what hairstyle What to wear Who do you want to show it to?

Sadako! [I can’t really understand the rest of the reply...xD]

- What do you think about wearing a dress? Can you wear a dress? Can you show it? I'm not sane? Wearing a dress? I think that it does not suit me even a little, so...

- What kind of girl does Hibiki like? I don't really like it... [I don't know what this is supposed to mean, if he doesn't like girls or if he just don't have a certain kind...I tend to say the latter. ;)] If anything, I tend to like people who appear more normal other than showy gals.

- Hibiki, which one are you, S or M? I don't know what to say, which one could it be? Maybe it's totally N! Neutral? It depends on the situation.

- Do you have any rules for living, Hibiki? My rule is...not to hurt people. This is a difficult game, so I don't know if I make it or not. Also, I think that I will not act like bending my core.

- How old are you? About 317 years old [Something with the name 'Saiba buru' is mentioned, but I don't know what it is...]

- Do you have any particular belongings? My favorite item is a ring that I got from my friend.

- Do you have a favorite movie? Favorite movies are Rockers, Rocky 1 & 2, Rambo 1, Prayer to the Dying, Young Gun 1 & 2, Clockwork Orange, Full Metal Jacket, Eraser Head, Elephant Man, Inland Empire, Skinny Man, Shining, Cujo, Pet Cemetery, It, Misery, Tommy Knockers, Carrie, Shawshank, Clash, Terminal, Poltergeist, Back to the Future, Goonies, Money Pit, Scanners, The Fly, Naked Lunch, Dead Spirit Harata 1 & 2, Darkman, Night of the Living Dead, Beetle Juice, Scissor Hands, Ed Wood, Sleepy Hollow, Big Fish, Charlie and Chocolate Factory, Sweeney Todd Devil Barber in Fleet Street Mad Max 1 & 2, Brain Dead, Satan's Sacrifice, Reservoir Dogs, Pulp Fiction, True Romance, Natural Bone Killers, Desperado, Sid & Nancy, Leon, Jailbreak King, We are not Angels, Taxi Regards Driver, Cape Fear, Untouchable, Good Fellows, Unforgiving, Perfect World, Gran Torino, Interview with Vampire, Seven, Joe Black, Fight Club, Snatch, Oceans 12, Elm Street Nightmare, Platoon, Die Hard, Six Sense, Sin City, Men's Aka ... !

- What is your favorite season? I like every season!

- Does Hibiki make up herself during the live performance? [The translation said 'herself'...well. xD] I make my own makeup.

- Will Hibiki give up if the opposite sex you love only sees you as a friend? I give up and I don't want to approach in particular (I think it depends on how much I like)

- What kind of personality do you often get along with? And what do you do if you fight? Do you often apologize from yourself? I will make friends with rock people and people who think of me properly. If it ’s a fight, if I ’m bad, I ’ll apologize right away and don’t pull it.

- Do you have any fetish? Mouth, hips and feet.

[By the way, it is nice how he ends the blog entry with 'A man who lives at night, Hibiki'. :D]

- What is Hibiki-san hiding in the fluffy hair!? Coin is hidden in my head, feel like a coin purse? [I don't really get what is this is supposed to mean, but the question was so cute. :D]

- Is Hibiki's day-to-day holiday sometimes returning to an ordinary man instead of rock and roll? Yes ... Actually, I'm always a normal single man.

- The hairstyle you want to do (or any color). The hairstyle I want to try is Mohawk! A beautiful mohawk like PUNK! ! ! But I know that my face doesn't look good ... what if I shave my eyebrows completely? ? ?

- What kind of hairstyle do you usually have at home? Is your hair tied? I want to know. I'm spending my life like a hippie in my house ...

- Where do you first look when you see a woman? First of all, the eyes.

- Please tell me your favorite artists! ★ Japanese music ★ thee michelle gun elephant KING BROTHERS BLANKEY JET CITY THE MODS ARB THE ROOSTERS TH eROCKERS The 50 revolutions eastern youth THE BLUE HEARTS maximum the Hormone SOB THE BACK HORN THE HIGH GRIP ← w --- And the sound source of hardcore illegal gatherings ---- participant LAUGHIN NOSE MOBS COBRA LIP CREAM G.I.S.M OUTO BAWS ZOUO BUCK-TICK Merry Go Round PIERROT ★ Western music ★ Arctic monkeys The vines Jet The Strokes The horrors The offspring The Smashing Pumpkins Nine Inch Nails Primus Red hot chili peppers KASABIAN The White Stripes Nirvana MUSE Radiohead System Of A Down Rage Against the Machine Limp Bizkit SlipKnoT Korn Linkin park Mudvayne Rob Zombie Soulfly Tool Pantera Megadeth RAMMSTEIN Bauhaus

- If you can bring only 3 CDs to an uninhabited island, what CD will you bring? I think I won't be able to listen to music on an uninhabited island ... Bring your guitar with you

- What is a girl's favorite gesture? A figure kicking a man's balls.

- Recommended diet method. Oil-free meal, exercise and calorie calculation? The quickest thing is to eat a meal that calculates the calorie intake, fasting for about 2 days, making the stomach smaller.

- What is the ideal way to spend a holiday Smoking cigarettes while looking at the seaside at seaside, smoking cigarettes to the feet ... I want to spend a good time instead of making a fuss.

- What kind of clothes do you usually wear? I don't know what suits me ... What kind of clothes will look good on me? ? Reverse question?

- What is your favorite and disliked food? Favorite food Ramen Salted mackerel Okonomiyaki Tan-SIO Tinjaolose Mabo tofu Spicy curry Natto tomato juice Beer ☆ dislike food Shiitake mushroom Vinegar Konjac Fukujinzuke Takuwan Sweet fried egg Teriyaki in general Grilled meat sauce sweet and sour pork Salad with fruits Dried grapes

- What is your favorite book? ? Favorite book ... I'm sorry ... Actually I don't read books I don't have much time and I'm afraid to make my eyes worse ...

- Hibiki uses perfume, right? I don't add perfume, but I'll add body mist! Victoria Secret This is an endless love guy from the Garden Collection. Perfume is not good because the smell is too tight.

- Do you like horror? Mr. Ramlin I like horror but there are a lot of hits! ! Especially for horror and action ... I thought horror was good Night of the Living Dead zombie Creep show Dead Spirits 1 and 2 (camera work and Bruce Campbell lovers w) Batarian (easy-to-understand development and class B atmosphere!) ring Magic sound Object X from planet Shining Satan's sacrifice Basket case Brain Dead I've seen a lot of other things ... a pattern full of CG that can wither ...

- In about 3 months, Halloween will be, do you have any costumes you want girls to wear? ? If there is a costume you want to wear, please tell me! Costumes that girls want to wear ... Leather face ... It ’s a joke. I want to do leather face ☆ After all a beautiful and erotic zombie style for girls! Or maybe the Adams family! !

- How does it look like in your room? It's a white wall, but I don't have any posters on it. There are a lot of watches that are only at school. The curtains are ivory and gentle colors! Others are single beds LCD TV (AQUOS / Kameyama brand w of the world) TV stand There is only a large dark brown table The kitchen has a refrigerator, an IH stove that I bought yesterday, and an abdominal muscle device. It is surprisingly simple.

- Favorite liquor: My favorite liquor is ... beer! ! There is nothing in particular Actually I don't drink anything other than beer I don't like alcohol Sweet sour liquor, shochu, sake, whiskey, vodka, brandy, etc.

- What is your favorite type of woman? There is no such type. By the way, there is not one female celebrity favorite since elementary school.

- Is there a cool position and design for women to put in a tattoo? Hibiki likes I think it ’s okay if it ’s right for the person ’s character, I think angels are cute! ! Like Natural Born Killers, the main character in the movie was carving next to the navel? ?

- Good evening, Hibiki-san, have you ever cried in public since you became an adult? Have you ever cried in front of a lover? Of course! ! People cry because they are serious Isn't the person who makes it stupid a person who doesn't know much about human pain? In my thoughts, is it embarrassing to cry when you want to cry?

- I like beer but how much can I drink? What happens if you get drunk? I don't think I lose my memory because I'm drunk ... As far as I can remember, I remember drinking about 5 cups of mugs at a tavern. After that, I'm drinking with a dull, so surely more ... If someone does not count it, it will remain a mystery!

#about

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betweensceneswriter · 7 years

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Second Wife-Chapter 17 : Married

Second Wife Table of Contents

Second Wife on AO3

Previously - Chapter 16 : Comfort She needed to go somewhere for comfort…

“John Robert MacLeod’s reputation among young women had been the subject of a good deal of talk among the men-at-arms at Leoch in his brief time there. A sly, good-looking slink of a man, handsome and lean-jawed—and the fact that he’d a wife and weans at home in Killiecrankie seemed to hamper him not at all.” (An Echo in the Bone, 676).

“Come, Marsali,” Jamie said. When Jenny had whispered in his ear a moment earlier, his eyebrows had raised and he nodded in response. “Time for you to choose your final birthday gift!”

With sparkling eyes, Marsali hopped up from her little pile of treasures on the floor, and she, Janet, and Joanie followed Jamie and Jenny up the stairs to the laird’s room.

Marsali and Joanie had never seen a room so fine, with dark wood furniture and beautiful drapes, as well as actual wallpaper in a lovely blue and ivory pattern. Balriggan only had painted rooms, and a few old tapestries. Wallpaper was something that royalty had in palaces.

Joanie was clinging to his hand, but Jamie, noting Marsali’s cautious steps and the look of wonder in her eyes, reached out to pat her on the shoulder. “Exactly how I felt as a young lad when I came into my ma and da’s room. Very fine, is it not?” Marsali nodded wordlessly in response. Though there were times she seemed very much like a woman, glimmers of the little girl were still left, and currently evident on her face.

Jenny and Jamie dragged a trunk out of the corner. “Now that ye are a young lady, Marsali, I wanted ye to have a choice of some grown-up lady clothing.” Jamie said, reaching down and opening it up.

Marsali fell on her knees in front of the trunk, joined quickly by Janet and Joanie. The trunk held bright bits of blue and yellow and red silk, as well as some darker colors, deep green and gray. “So extravagant!” Marsali said, hesitant to touch anything. “Much too fine for Balriggan. Maybe if I were to go to Edinburgh, or London…”

“I’m certain ye can find something that would suit you now,” Jamie said encouragingly.

Marsali looked overwhelmed.

“What about this?” Jenny asked, pulling something made of green wool out of the trunk. “A lovely thick, warm cloak would be something useable—even for your trip back, particularly if it rains.”

Smiling, Marsali ran her hand over the warm wool. “Indeed, Auntie. This would work nicely, though if I ever have a ball to go to, I would love to come and look at these dresses again!” She withdrew her hand from the glossy silks reluctantly.

“Ye can still look at and touch them, mo chridhe,” said Jamie. “They are lovely to see and feel.”

Marsali lifted each garment, then turned and handed them to wee Janet, who laid them out on the bed, where Joanie stroked the fine fabric and inspected the gathers and stays.

Jenny noticed Jamie clenching and releasing one hand as if it ached, and she sidled up close to him, putting her arm about his waist. He put his arm over her shoulder, then sighed and settled into her embrace, and continued to watch as the girls exclaimed over each new revelation.

Finally Marsali reached the bottom of the trunk. There were some fine white lacy underthings that made her blush slightly, so she simply pushed them aside to pull out the last item in the trunk.

The three girls gasped as Marsali drew out the dress. A beautiful taupe linen with silvery threads interwoven created a skirt which must have been made with yards and yards of fabric. The bodice was made of the same fabric, and the stomacher was of cream colored linen, embroidered with silvery thread in a pattern of acorns and leaves.

“Oh, Auntie Jenny, your wedding dress was so lovely!” gasped Joanie. “Like a fairy princess!”

“Wasna mine,” said Jenny, turning questioningly to Jamie.

“It belonged to my first wife,” Jamie said. “I was married once, before I married yer ma, Joanie and Marsali. Back before Culloden. A little before your ma married Hugh MacKenzie, her first husband.“

Joanie reached out a hand and barely brushed the intricate stitching. “Oh, Da, it was very fine. Were ye rich, then?”

“Just fortunate,” Jamie replied, smiling. “Ye remember Ned Gowan? He found it for me the day we were to be wed.”

“It’s beautiful,” Marsali murmured. “Was she lovely also?” After asking the question, she looked worriedly at Jamie, but he smiled distantly.

“Yes,” Jamie replied. “When I saw her, it was like the sun coming out from behind the clouds.” He smiled, his eyes focused beyond the walls of the room as if seeing a vision.

“Da, I dinna want to upset ye,” said Joanie, coming close and holding his hand. “But do ye mind saying what happened to her?”

Jamie’s eyes were watery as he looked at the dress. “It was long ago, Joanie, and it still hurts to think of her. Just know that I hope when ye lassies are wed, that ye find someone who loves ye as much as I loved her.”

“But Da, if it hurts ye,” Marsali looked worried, but she came to Jamie’s other hand, “do ye really want me to be wearing her fine things around?”

Jamie and Jenny met each other’s eyes. Jamie spoke slowly. “I canna live in the past. And if someone I love is wearing her things, it seems good and right.”

Marsali threw her arms around Jamie, burying her face in his shirt front. “I love ye, too, Daddy.”

The girls reverently laid the dresses back in the trunk, and as they did, Jamie’s eyes followed the dresses longingly. Jenny looked at him with concern.

He put his arm back around her shoulders, and leaning to her ear, said, “She is not here anymore. It’s time for me to focus on what is.”

“Oh, Jamie,” she said compassionately. There was little else she could say.

Laoghaire was sitting quietly by the fire when the little troop came downstairs, Marsali happily wearing the green cloak about her shoulders.

With the hubbub of dinner and gifts, no one had really noticed that Kitty had disappeared after dinner. They couldn’t tell you when she had come back in the house blushingly and beckoned Ian into the parlor, nor had they seen her pull a tall young man from the front door to the parlor by his hand. Few noticed that she had pushed him inside, and closed the door behind him, rocking excitedly up on her toes with her hands clasped behind her back, waiting.

It was just about the time that Jamie and Joan, Maggie and Paul were packing up their wee ones to head home that Kitty had burst from the parlor, pulling the aforementioned young man behind her by the hand, with Ian smilingly taking up the rear.

Entering the hall, Ian had clapped his hands for attention. Conversations had ceased, and eyes turned in his direction.

“Geordie has asked Kitty to marry him, and she has accepted!” he announced proudly.

The cheering and well wishes began almost before Ian announced that Kitty was engaged, and the crowd barely heard him say that he was happy to give them his blessing and welcome George to the family.

Just as few of them had noticed Kitty’s secretive behavior, few noticed Laoghaire after the announcement. She was pale-faced, a slight sad turn to her lips, and a wrinkle on her forehead.

Laoghaire had never been as giddy as Katherine Mary was to be getting married, holding onto her fiance’s hand with both of hers, gazing up at him with shining eyes.

Her memories were nothing like that at all.

☆☆☆☆☆

She had managed to slip in to see John Robert before heading to her own chamber for bed, she believed without being noticed. He had such a way with words—she had never felt so adored. She had to hurry him along and left most of her clothing in place—since she needed to get back to the room she shared with Mrs. Fitz and she didn’t want to look disheveled—but even a truncated experience had made her ecstatically lightheaded. She couldn’t wait until they could be married, and lay in their bed together, blissfully naked, able to take their time for words and caresses. Laoghaire knew her cheeks were flushed when she reached her bedchamber, but Mrs. Fitz already had the lights out and bade her to be quiet, as she was exhausted from the long day.

When Laoghaire came into the kitchen in the morning, she tried to get to work quickly. She didn’t want to draw attention to herself, and truly, she just kept thinking over and over of John Robert MacLeod and the last few days. Had she noticed how handsome he was when he spoke to her at the shinty match? She’d been blind, then, blinded by her childhood crush on Jamie. Certainly the man had his merits, but John Robert was in love with her.

In the previous week Laoghaire had been working on an apron for Mrs. Fitz. Wanting to maintain a good relationship with her grandmother, she’d chosen this morning to give it to her. Mrs. Fitz was delighted and marveled at Laoghaire’s even stitching and the perfect fit.

“It’s so lovely. I hate to dirty it,” Mrs. Fitz said.

Laoghaire was focused on helping her grandmother put on the apron, so she didn’t see Mistress Bea…Fraser approach.

“Claire, do ye see what my darling granddaughter here has stitched fer me?” Mrs. Fitz reveled excitedly. “Is it not the most beautiful thing ye’ve ever laid eyes on?”

This Claire looked nothing at all like the warm, friendly woman watching Gwyllyn the bard; though truly, that Claire had consumed at least two glasses of Colum’s Rhenish, Laoghaire thought.

When Claire started speaking, Laoghaire had felt the bile rise in her throat and her heart begin to pound. This was not going to be a friendly chat. Mrs. Fitz pulled the other kitchen maids Saffron and Fiona away, both of whom had started staring at Claire’s entrance.

It had been so long ago, all Laoghaire remembered was staring up at Claire as she scolded her, arched eyebrows and features giving her the bearing of some regal lady, thrusting the ill wish under Laoghaire’s nose and then throwing it to the side when Laoghaire denied it came from her.

She just stared at the woman, bitterness growing. But when Mistress Beauchamp said, “The truth is, he was never yours to begin with,” something deep in Laoghaire took over.

“That’s a lie,” she had said. “Jamie Fraser was and is mine. And ye did us both a wrong past bearing when ye stole him away.”

“You are mistaken, child,” said Mistress Beauchamp.

Laoghaire remembered the separate hollows in the sheets, and the stain-free bed. “My poor Jamie,” she said. “Trapped in a loveless marriage, forced to share his bed with a cold, English bitch. He must have to get himself swine drunk of a night before he can stand to plow yer field.”

Mistress Beauchamp had slapped her then, and threatened her to stay away from her and to stay away from her husband.

Her face still red and stinging, Laoghaire had tried to act nonchalant when she welcomed her gran and the other maids back into the kitchen. She had begun to peel potatoes when she overhead Saffron talking to Fiona as they mixed up the bannock dough. She kept herself low over the scraps bowl so they wouldn’t halt their conversation on her account.

“Did ye see Jamie and Mistress Fraser this morning? She looked well-ridden, to be sure,” giggled Saffron.

“Walkin’ a bit sore, was she now?” Fiona answered. The two maids giggled.

“Aye, that, and the flush on her face whenever she would look at him?” Saffron whistled.

“Did ye see the way he was lookin’ at her, though?” Fiona added. “Like he could devour her right then and there.”

“And he couldna keep his hands off her, neither,” Saffron giggled. “She got embarrassed and pushed him away, but I was certain I saw his hand pullin’ up her skirt under the table and him touchin’ her knee.”

“They were hungry for more than breakfast, ye ken?” The two maids dissolved in paroxysms of laughter, and Laoghaire glared in their direction.

Damn Geillis Duncan and her damn ill wish, Laoghaire thought to herself. Obviously the green-eyed witch had taken Laoghaire’s money and given her nothing in return.

She tried to keep John Robert at the forefront of her mind. Each time she recalled his words and the way he spoke to her, she was able to calm herself.

Saffron had seen her, and directed a question at her. “Now, Jamie was a favorite of yers, wasn’t he, Laoghaire?”

“He was, once,” Laoghaire responded haughtily. “But I have a new young man now.”

“Oooohh!” said Saffron, teasingly making eye contact with Fiona. “Tell me. What is the young man’s name?”

Laoghaire felt shy. Should she tell? John Robert was handsome, and he said he was a blacksmith in town, with his own shop. There was nothing to be ashamed of there. She lifted her chin. “John Robert MacLeod,” she said proudly.

She knew something was amiss when Saffron and Fiona exchanged distressed glances. “What?” she asked. “What?! Tell me.”

“Lass,” said Saffron, kindly. “John Robert MacLeod is married.”

“Married?” Laoghaire had repeated,

“And he has several children,” Fiona added.

“Several?” Laoghaire asked in disbelief, insisting, “Not the John Robert MacLeod I’m talking about.”

“Aye, John Robert MacLeod. Tall, brown hair, square jaw? He lives in town above his smithy, but he was here last night. We’ve all been warned about him, and I guess, here’s yer warning as well. Sometimes he doesna want to stay at home, so he finds some excuse to bring him up here. Must be looking for a castle lass to bed,” said Fiona.

“He’s a sweet talker, that ‘un,” Saffron added. “Best keep clear of him, lass. He will make ye feel like yer the only lass in the world, just so he can have yer maidenheid.”

Laoghaire felt nauseated and could barely keep her tears in until she was able to race to the privy, where she lost her breakfast and then sat and sobbed.

☆☆☆☆☆

That was the one time she had anticipated a wedding announcement, Laoghaire thought, looking sadly at the happy young couple. Hugh had asked her father for her hand, but there were no happy announcements, and by the time Simon MacKimmie had proposed, her da was gone.

She looked across the great room at Jamie. They were married now. Despite the Sassenach telling her that she’d wasted her money on that stupid ill wish and that she would never have Jamie, he was hers now. Hers, and the Sassenach was gone.

“Will ye come to bed, Jamie?” she asked, standing up. His eyes met hers with curious bewilderment. She was announcing her intention to bed him in front of the whole family? She could see the entire thought process parading across his face, from confusion to acceptance, to mild anticipation.

It was truly a shallow reason to take her husband to bed, Laoghaire thought. But when Jenny changed their sheets in the morrow, she would not see signs of a cold wife—separately wrinkled sheets, and a fresh white expanse.

Laoghaire would show that cold Sassenach bitch.

On to Chapter 18 : Not Gone The Sassenach was dead, but not gone.

#Jamie fraser #Laoghaire MacKenzie #CanonCompliant #Why did Jamie marry Laoghaire?#Why did their marriage fall apart?#Outlander fanfic #BetweenSceneswriter

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hiddlesfashion · 7 years

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For those of us not fortunate enough to see #RADAHamlet in person - VocalEyes has an audio described version of the play available. It doesn’t have audio from the actual actors but it does give a lot of information about the scenes and characters.

You can listen to the audio description here

or read the text below

Hamlet - Introduction

Welcome to this introduction to Hamlet by William Shakespeare, directed by Sir Kenneth Branagh in a co-production between the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art (RADA) and the Kenneth Branagh Theatre company.

The VocalEyes audio-described performance at the Jerwood Vanbrugh Theatre in the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art will be on Saturday September 16th. There will be a touch tour at a time to be confirmed. The introductory notes will start at

2.15 and the performance itself at 2.30. The production lasts for just under three hours, including one 15-minute interval. The live audio description will be given for VocalEyes by Veronika Hyks and Jane Brambley.

The following introduction includes information about Hamlet, descriptions of the set, characters and costumes. All VocalEyes show introductions are available as an audio mp3 file in the 'What's On' section. For access information for the Theatre, please click on the theatre name, on the ‘What’s On’ page.

In an interview with The Stage before the production opened, Kenneth Branagh said

‘I purposefully want the whole thing to be lean and clean….so the audience is invited to feel and concentrate with the characters, human to human.’

The resulting production is set in the present and drives forward swiftly, with the cast of 10 playing 17 parts with unwavering energy and focus.

Hamlet, played by Tom Hiddleston, sets the pace. He’s in his mid-thirties. His lean figure is dressed entirely in black, which highlights his pale face. His brown hair is slicked back off his brow, and his narrow chin is outlined by a small beard.

Hamlet exudes nervous energy, whether standing alert, every muscle tense, or at one point erupting into frustrated pacing. Only when alone does he seem to relax, often spotlit in dim surroundings as he shares his thoughts with us. We first meet him in black trousers with a fitted hip length jacket with a high collar, won with soft dark ankle boots.

As the story proceeds he rings the changes with a tee shirt and hoodie, both black.

His mother Queen Gertrude is played by Lolita Chakrabarti and has a regal bearing befitting her status. Tall and statuesque, she favours silky draped outfits that flatter her substantial figure. Gertrude first appears in a sleeveless dark mauve bodysuit with a scoop neck, draped top and wide trousers, with black stiletto heels. A gold brooch gleams at her left shoulder, and two broad strips of mauve material fall down from it and soften the outline of her costume, fluttering as she moves. Her black hair is worn in a neat bun at the nape of her neck, but two ringlets escape to frame her handsome face. Her lustrous dark skin sets off her earrings and the slim gold bracelets which encircle her wrists. Later she appears in a peppermint green evening dress of similar style, but with a long skirt flowing to her ankles. .

Her husband, King Claudius, played by Nicholas Farrell looks skinny and aged by comparison. His long face is florid and lined and he often has a guarded expression, his eyes observing everything while his expression stays neutral. His thinning grey hair is swept back off his face and his jaw is outlined by a narrow beard. Claudius is plainly dressed in a dark suit, white shirt, and narrow wine-coloured tie. He moves deliberately, as if very aware of his effect on others. .

His right-hand man is Polonius, a bustling counsellor given to gestures as he takes off into flights of verbiage. Slim and dapper in a blue suit, Polonius has a pale face, a shaved head and a little reddish beard in his master’s style. Polonius is played by Sean Foley – and the same actor plays the courtier Osric, stamping on in a ridiculous march, his blue suit matched by a small trilby hat, his head poked forward, his gestures flowery and extravagant as he relays a message from the King.

Polonius has two children. Laertes is the elder, and about the same age as Hamlet, but completely different in manner and appearance. He’s a bulky young man who stands out among the others for his relatively messy style – white tee-shirt, loose blue work shirt, jeans and suede shoes. Initially he’s relaxed and cheerful, like a man who doesn’t take life too seriously. Laertes has olive skin, bushy black hair and a small beard. He is played by Irfan Shamji. The same actor becomes the Player Queen when a troupe of travelling actors visit the court. He makes no attempt to wear female dress for this: instead he wears black trousers and grey hoodie, with a beanie hat adding an informal touch.

Laertes has a young sister, Ophelia. Her wide eyes and shy smile make her seem very young, no more than a schoolgirl as she hurries eagerly in with little steps. Her slight frame is clad in indigo cropped jeans, black flat slippers, and a black camisole with a lacy neck and sleeves. Her strawberry blonde hair is carefully plaited, and swings down her back in a thick rope, revealing an eager face, with flawless ivory skin. Later she appears in a neat white dress with a curiously institutional look. Ophelia is played by Kathryn Wilder.

Hamlet’s confidante and close companion is Horatia, a slender young woman who strides on boy-like, in a loose silky grey shirt over black skinny trousers and sturdy Cuban heeled boots. Her brown hair is cut with a fringe and falls in a sheet to her shoulders, framing an oval face with wide mouth and big expressive eyes. Horatia and Hamlet feed off each other’s energy as she meets him halfway in every exchange: there’s an almost electric connection between them as she raises her pale face to meet his eyes. Horatia is played by Caroline Martin.

As the story unfolds, two eager young women hover on the edge of the action. These are Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, spick and span in fashionable business wear and swift to scamper to do the King’s bidding. Guildenstern is tall with very blonde straight hair and alabaster skin, Rosencrantz petite and darker with her long brown hair in cornrows that frame her face and almost match her skin. Both sport office wear in black, white and grey – Guildenstern with a long black coat over white shirt and black trousers split to the knee, and Rosencrantz in a black and grey striped shirt over narrow dark trousers. Both favour very high heeled black shoes.

This duo also appear as soldiers, standing stiffly to attention in black shirts and belted trousers, with black baseball caps on their heads. Eleanor de Rohan, who plays Guildenstern, also appears as a priest in black robe and broad brimmed hat. Rozencrantz is played by Ayesha Antoine.

As the story unfolds, one character is hugely influential but rarely seen. This is the Ghost of Hamlet’s father, King Hamlet. First appearing in a swirling mist, he stands foursquare, appearing to fill the space – a tall imposing presence with ebony skin and white hair and narrow beard, he moves stiffly with the suggestion of a limp, his blazing eyes fixed on his son. Like his brother Claudius, King Hamlet is plainly dressed in dark suit and tie with a white shirt. He is played by Ansu Kabia.

The same actor plays the Player King, with no change of costume, but fluid and eloquent where the dead King Hamlet is stiff, and a cheery shirtsleeve Gravedigger who pops out of a grave-shaped trapdoor and then spends much of his time hidden in the grave, rapping and joking with the people above.

The story unfolds with a minimal set, its elements changed at a run by the cast and backstage crew. Initially the stage is almost bare and the auditorium dimly lit, with pools of light on the grey tip-up seats that surround the performance space in a horseshoe. An old upright piano stands alone in the middle of the light wooden floor, to be used in a brief introductory sequence.

When the lights rise, they reveal a tall back wall. The wall has two tall sash windows, one at each end, and a matching glass door in the centre, its expanse broken up into panes. The wall is duck egg blue, and the architraves are painted rich cream. Cream panelling covers the wall to hip height, and an elaborate cream cornice decorates the top. Two large framed portraits hang on the wall - one of King Hamlet, high on the left, and other, of King Claudius, at head height on the right.

A large wooden desk is placed in front of the wall, in the centre, a chair behind it. The setting is at once plush and anonymous, like a state room.

At the other end of the performance space, near the curve of the horseshoe of seats, the wooden floor is covered by a large white carpet, about 3 metres square. In the centre is the Danish Royal Crest – a golden shield with three blue lions rampant, their red tongues matched by the red infill of a golden crown above the crest. A dark grey border round the carpet sports Danish words in blood red capital letters Some are recognizably Danish, possibly mixed with English in places: KAN IKKE REBBE, DO MEN DODDEN, DERES NAVONE.

Against this background, scenes flow quickly from one to another. Exteriors are simply suggested by dappled light, and the castle battlements by swirling mist outside the windows. The addition of a white sofa and two grey chairs transform the carpeted area into a sitting room at one point. The carpet is swiftly removed or rolled out as required.

Just before the interval, the wall is lifted away, and a projected cloudy sky covers the space behind. From this point on, as the pace of the action increases, the story unfolds on a bare stage, with only one or two essential items – a cross of light on the desk creates a chapel, and a quilted throw and a scatter of blue and cream cushions turn the desk instantly into a bed.

Cast and Production credits

Hamlet is played by Tom Hiddleston

His mother Gertrude is Lolita Chakrabarti, and her husband Claudius is Nicholas Farrell

Polonius is Sean Foley who also plays Osric

Polonius’s son Laertes is played by Irfan Shamji, and his daughter Ophelia by Kathryn Wilder.

Horatia is Caroline Martin

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are played by Ayesha Antoine and Eleanor de Rohan

The Ghost of King Hamlet is played by Ansu Kabia.

Other parts are played by members of the cast.

The fight director is Bret Yount

The sound is designed by Paul Arditti, and the lighting by Paul Pyant.

The set and costumes are designed by James Cotterill

The director is Kenneth Branagh

Further Useful Information and Contact Details

If you are bringing a guide dog, please let us know when you book or by calling the Box Office between the hours of 11am and 5pm on 020 7908 4800. You can also email [email protected].

To contact VocalEyes, call us on 020 7375 1043. You can receive a copy of the free VocalEyes Newsletter with full details on all our work by calling us or by following the links on the VocalEyes accessible website. The Newsletter is available in print, Braille, on CD or via e-mail. The website address is www.vocaleyes.co.uk.

VocalEyes is a charity funded by Arts Council England.

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maternityeveningdresses65 · 5 years

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mirrahs-finest · 7 years

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Cadence

Dust as thick as snow wafted through the thin sunbeam that pierced between the heavy green curtains. Everywhere else was black. Bare flesh, no trace of deerskin, darted in and out of the light as he searched for a braided cord. He found it, and pulled.

Blinding sunlight flooded the room through large, double hung windows in an instant as the curtains yielded. The afternoon glow washed across a long wall of packed bookshelves, dark-wood chests, and what looked to be a large, glossy black coffin with knobs adjoined to its side. The latter dominated the middle of the room.

The knight turned his head back over his shoulder towards the lady in white, awaiting a response. He looked pensive, for a statue. His hair lit up with a golden glow, cast by the morning rays, but it did not dull the edges and lines that carved his stiff visage. She surveyed the forgotten place from the threshold of the door, looking on in silence at the ancient tools.

She approached the bookshelf directly across the doorway and ran her palms along the brown tips of paintbrushes. Dozens upon dozens lined the shelf in glass jars, each divided--what felt to her fingers--by stiffness of the bristles as well as by size.

The hairs softly hissed as she brushed her thumbs across them. Some were stained by color, others were worn down to the metal binding, but all of them carried a history of a thousand pictures in one form or another.

Marie pulled her hand away and let her eyes wander to each of the other odds and ends that littered shelves of the room. She found long tubes of oil paints--someone before had clearly favored red-- a whole host of inks and corresponding quills, and more than a few dark, smoky metal tins.

She could not help herself, her hands were immediately blackened as she picked up the final of the items to inspect. Aslatiel pursed his lips.

It was full to the brim with black charcoal. She picked a piece out, and it felt strange in the pads of her fingertips. They fit naturally, and her hand knew just how to grip it, but it still felt foreign to her. It was a glove she had long thought lost, found again. How long had it been since the first time she had felt this texture, she wondered?

The woman looked up at the knight. Finally, he released his grasp on the curtain’s drawstring. His brow and lips relaxed, somewhat, and he dragged his eyes from her greens to over her shoulder. Her attention followed.

To the back of the room, far from the oppressive gaze of the window’s morning sun, rested the easel. Fine white canvases rested alongside its right leg, hardly touched by damp air or harsh sunlight. She set aside the little metal box of dusty black, coated in her fingerprints, and walked over to it, drawn, slipping passed the coffin for now.

When she inspected the large canvas that was already hung in the easel’s grasp, she found nothing but a blank slate. She was not sure what she was expecting; he had already mentioned how long it had been since he last entered this place, and his forte was most certainly not in oil paints. Though, there must be some half truth somewhere, for what reason would a blank canvas be propped up, then?

He came closer so as to not have to yell across the rather large room.

“Well?”

There was only the one--albeit large--window, but the light cream walls aided it in illuminating the whole room. The knight took a few more steps, coming to rest by the coffin so as to not get between Marie and any of the artifacts.

“You have a fine museum,” she replied after a brief pause, dragging a finger through the dust on the easel like a ship through the seas.

She examined, again the glossy walls and exceptional tools, all things she had not expected to ever own herself, at least not here.

“Why did you take so long to show me this?”

She did not sound appreciative. Marie could not tell what his goal was; was this meant to be some kind of gift for her, meant to appease his own guilty heart? Or merely an exposition of amassed treasures--an old dragon looking for validation of his trove. Collections are meaningless without anyone to experience them.

“Truly, I had forgotten it even existed. My mind was occupied with other things,” he answered, without pause or hesitation. She had been with him for some of those frozen nights; only Aslatiel of Mirrah could make his being revolve solely around such a dark thing. He looked around the room as if, he too, were inspecting it for the first time.

“Perhaps it never stuck to me because I am simply not the sort of person to make use of any of this. My focuses and skills were elsewhere,” he continued. He seemed relaxed in that white linen shirt, his former apprehensions vanished.

She eyed the polished black piece of furniture that continued to make its weight known to the room.

“I thought you said you played?” she asked, catching his contradiction.

He paused his inspection of the room, and directed his azure back to her, his form framed by the window. The knight did not say anything, he merely looked confused.

“The piano,” she indicated, “Did you not tell me that you once played music?”

Aslatiel followed her gesture to the ebony he rested his elbows on. He took hold of one of the two nobs and lifted upwards, gently, revealing 88 black and ivory teeth that smiled up at him.

He looked back at her, but she did not yield. Worse; she seemed to be anticipating. His gaze fell back upon the teeth.

“...So I did,” he conceded. Slowly, the vichyssoise that was his memory churned and bubbled, letting the event rise to the surface. There was also a handsome demon, floating across like flotsam, but he did not dredge for it.

The knight sat down upon the cushioned seat beneath the maw, waiting for it to make the first move. When it didn’t, the man rolled up the flowing sleeves of his linen shirt, then made the attack.

A single string, low and lonely, rumbled as a hammer beneath the wood struck down upon it. It danced, reacting to the energy with an eager tone.

The knight closed the shutter that had protected the keys from dust all that time, satisfied.

The woman looked down upon him from the easel, canvas in hand, clearly not as pleased.

Disapproval rolled along his brow and lips for a moment, before he took a deep breath and spoke.

“Any requests?” he asked as he lifted the shutter once more.

He would turn it against her. Surely, she had heard a thousand tunes in Volgen, and many more on her travels. But could she name a single waltz, symphony, or even sonata? Perhaps some, but none Mirran.

He was a spiteful thing. Her own brow furrowed as she realized the rules of the game of which he was setting. She continued her motions of setting a new, smaller, canvas upon the rack while she thought.

“I would much prefer to hear something from you, Aslatiel. Surely, someone such as yourself would have made a piece or two?”

She watched as his visage went blank, and took the opportunity to browse through the selection of oil paints a second time while he readied himself.

Her challenge quickly became insurmountable.

“I’ve never composed before,” he loosed like a sigh. “I had always enjoyed just playing whatever I found in libraries.”

He was imagining the collections he once had free rein over. Dozens, if not hundreds, of the finest composers all at his fingertips. It was they who were the masters of their craft, and it was from them he had always drawn.

“I never had a need to write, myself.”

Her search had slowed, unaware how quickly she had cornered him. The brushes called out to her, but she was waiting.

Just as she was about to speak up, another note cut the silence.

Five more joined it as it sounded off again. They did not match, at least not all of them. One or two did not fit so neatly in the perfect chorus, but again he called them anyway.

Marie resumed looking through the brushes, selected three, then returned to her easel, uneasy, but content enough to listen. She could practically hear the rust falling from his worn hands and the strong forearms they were bound to, and yet he was not creating anything unpleasant. They were only chords, after all, little bundles and collections with no meaning without direction.

As she spread her choices of paint and dabbed the harrowed head of her largest brush into the white pigment, he gave the notes their orders.

Slowly, they flowed over one another, still drawn from the discordant collection, but they were earnest if nothing else. Occasionally, they stumbled and faltered, but he did not hasten to correct it. Instead, he just let them go. She was not convinced they were mistakes.

They trickled nearly one at a time through the air rich with sunlight, but come they did. Fingers rolled upwards; he had enough of the low notes, he wanted something brighter. The discordant chorus began its ascent, this time with melody and rhythm. It was something slow, but full. Aslatiel never did things partway.

Soon enough, he had remembered the peddles, which gave the steadily growing stream its weight and longevity. Some notes persisted as he went on to others; a stream was forming.

Aslatiel, himself, looked engrossed. She was almost certain he would not even notice if she flicked some of the green paint on her brush upon his face. He stared on at his fingers as they danced across the keys with the same look one may read a harrowing story with. She poked lightly at leaves.

A river had formed. It bent round wild corners and fell upon jagged rocks, but never slowed. Instead the notes hastened. 88 little hammers battering away at just as many strings, and Aslatiel made sure at least the majority of them were dancing at any given time. Marie could feel its deepest wells in the base of her chest, following along with the pace of her heartbeat.

Gradually, the one or two little notes that had rebelled against the rest lost their voice. They fell in with the rise and fall of the current, swept away by slow, but powerful, torrents.

The knight knew every key’s tone by heart. He recalled how many times he had requested his own instrument at home be re-tuned, insisting upon not a single note going without their voice. Eventually, he had taken up the job himself, dissatisfied with any other’s work. Once, these voices mattered to him more than anything else. And yet, he had never allowed them to speak on their own accord.

His fulfillment shown brightly on his face. There was so much color to be found in these black and white keys.

The woman wondered what story could possibly be playing in his mind. The wind up soldier could not have been daydreaming of wars long gone; there was no snow or ice in this melody, nor a drop of red to be found beneath the trills. The story was one of clouds, and grass, and tall trees that shaded well but let enough golden sunlight through to remind one that it was only the afternoon, and there was still the entire day left to play. The corners of her mouth pulled gently upwards as she pulled the brush across the canvas.

The river ebbed, slowly icing over with the end of the imagined symphony. So came a stream, then the brook. It occurred to him that without paper, he may never be able to play that exact piece the same way ever again, if at all. The brook came to a trickle, until all that remained were two little voices, in harmony with only each other.

Somehow, this realization did not bother him in the slightest. Slowly, he lifted his fingers from the board and began to stand.

“Hey!” she called, her tone awash with displeasure. She looked almost offended.

He froze and locked eyes with her mid-rise, hesitant to move even a single muscle.

“I was not finished,” she said, brush hovering inches from the canvas. Slowly, the knight sat back down at the piano’s seat.

Marie added two touches of blue with the smallest brush she had.

#art trade

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phamios · 7 years

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How to Buy Foundation Online: 5 Tips From a Makeup Artist

New Post has been published on https://nanacorner.com/buy-foundation-online-5-tips-makeup-artist/

How to Buy Foundation Online: 5 Tips From a Makeup Artist

Shopping online can be a little iffy sometimes. It’s hard to know exactly what you are buying until you receive it in the mail! But it’s so easy, convenient and time-saving, so the benefits almost always outweigh the risks (as long as you’re shopping somewhere reputable, that is). When it comes to one of our makeup staples, how do you find a foundation online that is perfect for you without testing it first? To help us out, Seattle-based makeup artist Kat St. John dishes on how to buy foundation online, giving us her best tips for successful shopping.

1. Figure out your skin tone.

The first step in picking a foundation is understanding your skin tone. This will help you pick a shade of foundation that is best suited for you. Start with figuring out if you are cool or warm toned. “To figure out if you are cool or warm toned, think about what neutral shades flatter you best,” says St. John. “If your skin, eyes and face look best in bright whites and stark black hues, you are cool toned. If you look better in ivory, off-whites, creams and brown/tan shades, you are warm.”

Pay attention to your hair and eye color. They can also help you decide what your tones are. “Often, folks who are ‘cool’ have blue, gray or green eye color with blonde, brown or black hair. ‘Warm’ folks typically have brown, amber or hazel eyes with strawberry, red, brown or black hair.”

Another way to identify your coloring is if you tan or burn when in the sun. “When you are out in the sun, does your skin turn a golden-brown, or does it burn and turn pink first? If you tan, you’re warm toned. If you are cool toned with fair skin, you tend to burn. Side note: Fair-skinned ‘cool’ girls will simply burn, while medium-skinned cool-toned girls will burn then tan.”

Related: Top Colors for Cool Skin Tones & Best Colors for Warm Skin Tones

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2. Determine the type of finished look you’re going for.

The next step is to identify what kind of look you want. “For example: A pin-up/rock-a-billy gal is more likely to go for a matte look,” says St. John, “while a more boho-chic gal would be piling on the blush and illuminator, almost teetering on ‘tin man.’ I love that look!”

3. Find your brand.

“What brand speaks to you?” says St. John. “Are you an artist or quirky and love sleek packaging to show off your product? Are you a vegan or cruelty-free type?” Kat suggests figuring out what is important for you to include (or not include) in your makeup. “We tend to surround ourselves with items that represent us and who we are. It sounds cheesy, but look for a brand that best represents you! Then you can start to narrow down the coverage nitty-gritty from there.”

4. Pick your formula and coverage.

“This is a pretty personal decision,” says St. John. “Oily-skin folks tend to stick with more of a matte finish and veer towards a powder foundation or pressed powder. They already have so much shine, and are not into ‘illuminating’ their skin.” For shine control, powder foundation or pressed powder is your answer.

If you have combination skin, Kat loves to use a cream foundation. “Cream is nice because you can build coverage or dilute the cream with a moisturizer to thin it out and make a tinted moisturizer for those drier days. My skin tends to be dry on my cheeks and a bit oily on the nose and cheekbones. This allows me to be flexible. I can have coverage on my face where I need it without drying out my skin.”

If you have dry skin, it’s all about hydration. “Use a tinted moisturizer, cream or liquid foundation. And remember to hydrate, hydrate, hydrate!” If you have dark marks on your skin from hyperpigmentation, acne scarring, etc., seek out full-coverage foundations to cover those troubled spots. Sheer coverage is perfect for adding tint, creating an even surface and providing a solid base for your other makeup products. If you have sensitive or acne-prone skin, reach for the mineral foundation options. While full coverage works great in the winter, mineral foundations are ideal for summer!

5. Read the reviews.

“Shopping online for anything is so hard for me,” says St. John. “I am a hands-on type of gal and am turned off by weird textures and smells.” She explains that everyone is different, but, regardless of your preference, you need to pay attention to reviews. “Read the reviews and make sure to filter out the ones where the person has nothing constructive to provide. Angry reviews or ones left with heightened emotions should be ignored. Some people are just grumpy.”

She says if you are still unsure after reading the reviews, to Google your favorite professional makeup artists. “Professional makeup artists like Lisa Eldridge and Wayne Goss are great resources for finding great makeup products.” She also cautions to “stay away from ‘influencers,’ as there is a distinct difference between a career artist and someone whose artistry is heavily influenced by the companies who support them.”

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cartel-photos-blog · 7 years

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8 Ball Pool Hack And Cheats

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