maenadist asked:


“You aliiiive in there Steve?”

  Always so fucking smug. One of these days Sice was going to punch her in her dumb face and make it well known she was more than capable. The two of them simply didn’t know how to play nice. In fact, nice probably wasn’t even in their vocabulary at all, replaced with another combination of syllables referring to blood and pain and whatever else so happened to seem relevant at the time.

  “No thanks t’ you.” She called back, the other sauntering in with that proud swagger before resting against the doorway, completely and utterly bare. The reaper cast her a glare, able to resist glancing over her impressive physique before slipping her head below the water and emerging  once more “told you, don’t go poppin up on missions damnit!” the nymph could care less for petty threats~ “maybe you should make yourself harder to find?”

  There was no reasoning with this one, not even bothering as she wandered over to crouch idly beside the reaper with a curious gaze. Initially, it elicited no reaction until a finger wiggled its way into the first hole, the snowy haired one snapping up stiff before the blonde barely dodged the swing aimed towards the side of her head “that hurt~?” she bared her canines in a smirk “No fuckin’ shit it’s a bullet hole you trashcan!”

  Sice was met with nothing but a low laugh, threatening to take her head off once more before her lips curved into the most childish pout she ever knew possible “Stop being difficult Steve. You can’t get those out on your own!” before there was even a chance for her to protest, Larxene had carefully wound her arms beneath the reapers own, helping her up and out as her brows knit together from the pain that crept over her aching limbs. 

Slender fingers would coil around the edge of the basin, slamming an elbow back into the intruders stomach with a content huff before a tight hold pinned her in place “do that again and I’ll make you stay still“ softly would the sensation of sparks creep up along her spine as a glare was aimed into the mirror, earning a light pat on her ass before that proud smirk crept back over those harsh features and she got to work. Larxene was surprisingly good at the whole ordeal but the reaper would never admit it aloud. She’d never hear the fucking end of it. Instead remaining static as a series of bindings were secured snugly to stop the bleeding

                             “what now.”
           “You’re like a bloody present wrapped up just for me.”
                      “Oh fuck off asshole.”  

   Sice was always cranky after a mission such as that, but maybe a small part of her didn’t entirely mind the company, even if she was an annoying piece of shit on her good days. It would do.

anonymous asked:

Du hast mal erzählt das Blair also von gossip Girl für dich perfekt ist und voll dein Vorbild und so nä?:) ich finde du siehst echt genauso aus wie sie nur mit blonden Haaren :)) so schön! Bist wie ihr doubel, dein Gesicht genau wie ihrs und auch wie du dich kleidest du schöne<333333

Jaaa sie ist mein Vorbild und ja ich finde sie so schön und ah so toll😍
Awwww Omg das ist glaub ich das süßeste und liebste was man mir sagen kann, danke danke danke!😍💕💕

Lionel Messi edit. Doubel tap and rate 1-10. New style. Shall I do more like this.

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Joan Lauder, The Cat Lady of Spitalfields (1924-2011)

ANGEL OF THE SHADOWS, The Life of the Cat Woman of Spitalfields

The women I have loved you could count upon the digits of one hand – my mother, her mother, our loyal companion Maureen McDonnell, the poet Patricia Doubell and the demented, incontinent Joan Lauder, the Cat Lady of Spitalfields who, in 1991, when I first spoke to her was already my heroine, a day-and-night-in-all-weathers Trojan, doggedly devoting herself to cats because human beings had for too long failed her. She looked at me with suspicion when I suggested we tape record a book. Only my bribe that half of any proceeds of publication would fall to her or her favoured charities and enable the purchase of extra tins of cat food persuaded her at least to humour me. I could swear I saw those azure eyes, set in that pretty face, dilate. I had entrapped her with the best of intentions as she, I was to learn, often entrapped, also with the best of intentions, the denizens of the feral world to have them spayed or neutered in the interests of control. But to the end, her end, I don’t think she ever trusted or respected me. I once found her surreptitiously laying down Whiskas in my hallway for my own newly-adopted cat which I named Joan in her honour. And she once spat the expletive ‘t***’ at me in a tone of total dismissal. To be called a foolish and obnoxious person was hardly comforting, given that I believe my own adage ‘in dementia veritas’ holds all too often true.

- Clive Murphy