#PENNY FULLER!!!

[clever-name-change]

I love listening to a song/album revival and thinking "huh, that's pretty good" and then listening to the original and collapsing while frothing at the mouth

[catboymoses]

This one isn't included in the off-Broadway A New Brain album, so I wanted to share what Chip's version sounded like!

[kwebtv]

George Washington II: The Forging of a Nation - CBS - September 21-22, 1986

Historical Drama (2 episodes)

Running Time: 190 minutes

Stars:

Barry Bostwick as George Washington – Commander-in-Chief of the Continental Army, and later first President of the United States

Patty Duke Astin as Martha Washington – Wife of George Washington

Jeffrey Jones as Thomas Jefferson

Richard Bekins as Alexander Hamilton

Penny Fuller as Eliza Powel

Eve Gordon as Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton

Marcia Cross as Anne Bingham

Guy Paul as James Madison

Norman Snow as Edmund Randolph

Robert Kelly as James Monroe

Lise Hilboldt as Maria Reynolds

Haviland Morris as Henrietta Liston

Daniel Davis as Patrick Henry

Richard Fancy as William Duer

Farnham Scott as Henry Knox

Nicholas Kepros as John Jay

[charmedgirly]

𝓛𝓮𝓸 𝓦𝔂𝓪𝓽𝓽

[emmynominees]

penny fuller as mary margaret mcmurphy in season four (a) of china beach

primetime emmy award nominee for outstanding guest actress in a drama series

[cinemaquiles]

Tem no youtube: "As Summers Die" (Num certo verão, de 1986)

[peppermintquartz]

Hello writers of Supernatural. I remember charlie. I remember charlie and the bathtub, you absolute fucks. I REMEMBER AND I WILL NEVER FORGET HOW STUPID AND POINTLESS IT WAS.

have you ever stopped being a fan of a work of media because of a major change of the plot/writing?

[ulrichgebert]

Als wir hier im Theater All About Eve anschauten, schrieb ich, daß ich mir wünschte, es würde mal jemand die Musicalfassung Applause spielen, oder wenigstens das Video restaurieren. Das ist jetzt nicht passiert, aber immerhin hat mal eine freundliche Person eine leidlich ordentliche (zumindest verglichen mit der ganz fürchterlichen, die wir bisher hatten) Kopie der Fernsehverfilmung auf Youtube gestellt. Es ist very 70es, mit herrlich eingängigen und groovigen Melodien von Annie-Komponist Charles Strouse und Lauren Bacall ist natürlich ganz fabelhaft. Wie schon bei Bette Davis hat man allerdings wieder Zweifel dran, daß das Stück mit Eve wirklich besser ist, und noch schöner wäre es wahrscheinlich mit Len Cariou statt seinem Ersatzmann Larry Hagman geworden. Aber wir wollen jetzt mal nicht quengeln, und womöglich restauriert es ja irgendwann doch noch jemand.....

[joannasteez]

the aftermath

pairing: tattooist!cm punk x reader warning: mentions of needles, and biting, and explicit descriptions and dialogue pertaining to sex. tattooist!punk (this warning is more for me cuz he makes me delusional sometimes) authors note: nothing really. just enjoy! if so, don't be afraid to let me know! inspired by @kill-the-artiste master class in ✨tension✨… please go read. RUN NOT WALK! word count: 3500 tagging: @333creolelady @harmshake @reebs-luvs-rhodes-and-wrestling @2-muchsauce

in for a penny of pain, in for a beauty by the pound

@ WARNING: all work is of quality but more importantly is done with respect to the bodies health and limits

the way your apartment window faces, you never get the sun till a ways after high noon. so no. this isn't your apartment. exhaustion playing in your legs. a good, sated, tired ache. like if you bend or extend too much too quick they'll cave in and collapse without warning. they'll remind you of how horrible it is, to make assumptions about a perceived strength. especially when it's so obvious that you aren't ready to leave the cool touch of his sheets. his. oh shit. because the bedroom in your apartment doesn't get much sun with the way it faces and it for damn sure isn't cream colored and littered with wood framed portraits. memory like a teasing trickle in of rain. little droplets collecting—his teeth grazing, the patient mischief of a wolf, sinking in to pull skin—till they ripple and pool together. a throb of something journeying to live between your thighs, swirling till it breaches skin again in an effect to make you shiver, to make you shift against the sheets because he,—"you can't stay still for shit can you?"—that's what he'd said. making rough impressions in your thick soft skin. holding and groaning and amused. buried amidst the pillow of your inner thighs, eager tongue dipping to lick against the desperate pulse of your clit. whimpers and moans and near shrill begging, and—oh God—your stomach swirls. embarrassment this deep exhale as your head falls in your hands. 

and for a second, the world plummets into something disgusting. a disturbing shade of gray. laughter breaking beyond the crack open of the bedroom door. because he could be laughing at you right? mulling over and recounting the events of the night with a buddy and having a go at making you miserable enough to delight in some fucked sort of amusement at the helpless way you moaned and teared for him. but thats not what it is. it's quiet chatter and early morning comedy. little hums of his early day coarse voice and a bold, earthy warmth. coffee. your mouth watering and the emptiness in your belly going about a great terrible violence as it growls and shudders. a hickory note of something twisting the air, the back of your throat dry, and seemingly—well...not seemingly, because that sort of implies some lack in surety. you'd made good, disgusting, honest, work of voicing just how much fun you were having. that much you remember, and fortunately, you remember everything. alcohol forgone for the sake of lucidity. because you know what he is. a buddy of yours just as clean and straightedged. 

in a fuller state of honesty, it'd be accurate to say it was all like form of reverence. an eagerness to please. anything if it meant him peeling your jeans off quickly. and yes, he'd done it. but it was more patient than you'd wanted. like he was reciprocating that reverence. studying and planning. 

his dresser draws are wooden, much like the rest of his decor. a polished mahogany that brings more warmth to the room. 

rolled up t-shirts sorted in no particular fashion, the fit of it snug as it falls over. 

at the corner foot of the dresser lays last nights underwear. a predetermined pick. simple, and black and lacy. nearly tattered to bits because his patience had eventually reached a max capacity before he dove headfirst into being a damn brute. 

underwear is a hot commodity when you ball on a budget. he owes you. 

you sift for something reasonable. a checkered pair of boxer briefs that fit more like boy-shorts, but it works. slipping your jeans over them. and his bathroom isn't so much huge but it is lived in. comfortable. the tiles, a sage green with minor cracks made more from age than from some man made disruption.

and thank God almighty. he's not the three-in-one type. a wash cloth and a toothbrush laying lonely along the bathroom counter, separate from the other things. you hum. going about a quick wash up. 

and whats that saying? it's only awkward if you make it awkward. because hell, there was nothing tricky or particularly delicate about fucking your tattooist right? you could do a small stint away. go cold turkey from your favorite past time. a silent walk of semi-shame and a few months till your next appointment would do the trick. enough time to forget such a destructive allure living with his words and the way he said—"you been waitin for this for a while huh? so pretty, lettin me touch you"—things. his every expression an accusation. exposing the unspoken things living behind just barely placid eyes. desires, fantasies and half baked plots for his attention.

the pain of a needle is no worser than this. cant be. cant be worser than the creak of the floors, announcing your entrance to the kitchen. his little chuckling smile forming less loose and more attentive as he drinks you in. an unabashed performance of observation that makes the skin crawl. a shiver really. green eyes cool, heavy, and exacting, like metal. like the prick of his needles. wandering with ease—your jean dressed legs, a clinging t-shirt that rides up some as you walk and the slow but sure appearance of indentations about your neck that indicate his penchant for tasting, biting —while stuck between a casual, early morning call and your performance of feigning indifference. 

he hums. a response to whoever is holding him over the phone. tongue slipping over his bottom lip before he's turning back to the stove.

coffee sits in a mug littered with dog breeds. the steam of it curling up thick. a plate half dressed next to it. just finished buttered toast and still hot eggs. his arm reaching over to drop bacon on it. teeth baring as he laughs into his call. flits of his eyes that motion for you to eat. stationing to lean against the long stretch of marble that makes up the kitchen island. a focused attention. assessing your quiet take to indulging in whatever this is. because he didn't need to make you breakfast, didn't need to brew you coffee and leave you comfortably tucked in the sheets. but then again, he'd more than generously put you to sleep. wore your nerves and bones down. rendered you to a bout of tears even. yeah. he owes you breakfast. your fork digging into the eggs. and a new pair of damn underwear. 

"yeah, i need you opening up shop for me today...", he gives. a sweet, feminine voice sighing deeply over the other end. loud and long enough to reach you. something in your stomach swirling odd and quite disgusting. sharp and twisted up. "...i'll be a little late, got caught up in something this morning...", the folding over of the words along his tongue giving your skin a chill. a ride of a shiver up your back. his eyes slipping over your face. a pale green leaving their edged, assessing, impressions. "...i owe you one...alright...", his thumb tapping the screen to end the call. 

the bacon is salty on the tongue. satisfies the nothingness on your palette. your fork poking dumbly. like you'll find brilliant words amidst the plate. a sick little smirk on his mouth. loving your inability to look at him without wavering. 

why in the absolute hell did you fuck this man? the fit of his boxer briefs odd under your jeans. poorly shaped to hips and thighs, the material not made to take that kind of stretch. 

"you owe me new underwear...", that declaration of it too feathered. not strong enough. not sure. his lips spreading more. joy taking his face up wholly. feeling it as he casts his eyes over you. "...i'll send a receipt or something...".

"noted. how do you like to take it?"

excuse me? your throat drying up. fingers clutching the fork tight. your belly flipping stupidly quick. too damn excitable. 

"what?"

the mug of coffee he'd poured for you in his hand. the sugar jar close by. spoon ready to be used for it's stirring purpose. an elation pouring from his cheeks that makes you want to curl in. "coffee". a slow, near patronizing reiteration. "how do you like to take your coffee". 

"oh...", breath a little caught in your throat. the unsettled frenzy under skin an oddity. because this very regular, slightly older, very good looking, self assured man, shouldn't have such an affect. "..um...a little sugar, a lot of cream". 

and he does it to perfection. listens and performs. giving short flits of his eyes to yours. stirring and assessing. an appraisal. your neck heating from the sensation of being examined. satisfaction brightening him up at such rough handy work made the night before. smug fucking asshole. that curling scrape of the spoon against coffee filled porcelain winding up your curiosities to a nagging degree. sensitivities under the skin too plain and forthright to ignore. too well suited actually. like they've taken up a comfortable residence after just one night of being made pliant. had others felt this way once upon a time? sat where you sit now? being made by themselves to snuff out the disgusting giddiness of some post-night spectacle. a green, rotten, world of a feeling in the pit of your stomach now. 

"do you—...", finding the phrasing, forming properly on the tongue, "...you usually get caught up in... things...like this?" 

a scoff but it's fully amused. his lips spreading, a chuckle slipping into words. "is that a 'do i regularly fuck my clients question', cause if so then no". the mug sliding along the marble island. coffee prepped pluming thick still. "you're the first. congrats". 

this fucking guy. "oh?"  that bite of irony in him, troubling the skin playfully, as if to lure you out from behind that disconcerting wall you've so diligently built, in an attempt to evade him. his eyes and that little smirk he feels the need to keep along his mouth. "i didn't realize you were some sort of prize". 

his head tilts, gaze slipping up and over and about. appraisal again. the look you give at the arrival of an object of affection, desire after some time. a satisfaction born from the restoration of a familiar, comfortable thing. your jaw shifting soft as you chew. lips pursing over the mug to sip tenderly. a drip of coffee falling off and away from your mouth. his pace quick as he plucks a napkin to hand you.

"i mean...", his body leaning in against the island. elbows pressing to the marble to bring him closer. his hair a little messy and untamed. "...i don't think so, but you were lettin a lot loose last night. little noises and such. i figured you were just so happy and satisfied...", grabbing his own mug to sip from. delighting in the silence, in the astonishment his teasing is leaving you to settle in. "...felt like you'd won something". 

your cheeks are warm. hot even. stomach suddenly full off of his domestic efforts of a hot breakfast. your fingers gingerly pushing the plate away towards him, but the pull and roll of your eyes speak of something a little more heated than some gingered, cautioned disposition. his cockiness doing awful work. irking your nerves and reeling you in just the same. and maybe it's your turn to appraise. to examine and assess. his early morning, kitchen attire very obviously calculated enough to bring about some dead-brained, teenaged, short circuiting. chest shirtless and his legs covered in mesh shorts. arms tatted and muscled. grays and dark brown hair like a fine patch work on his face. admirable things of course, but you've already, obviously, given yourself away in revealing how much of it you find appealing. he doesn't need more. 

an attempt to bruise should work. if not successful, at least give it a go right?

"you were alright", you shrug. chest hammering, near implosion. his eyes casting down, daring for an evasion. "i give it an A minus. there's always room for improvement". 

"ouch", he laughs. a wide, bright, light expression. dumping your finished plate into the sink. "if i knew i was getting tested on performance, i'd have strove for higher marks...". sipping from his mug again. a head shake to express disagreement. "...but some of the judgement here is a bit range-less...doesn't really grasp the full effect of my—"

"dick?"

you stiffen just after the leave of it. a thought never meant to be expelled but here you are, fighting the urge to curl in and hold your head. heart beating terribly hard. embarrassment rife. 

"...capabilities...but now i see where your heads at. i think this is grounds for some rescoring. you're impaired". 

"by what exactly?" 

he hums. that head tilt again. "you were a little eager last night, which, given how long you been wantin and schemin, is very understandable, but those good, true bits of judgement are from how well you can savor it right? you gotta stop and smell those roses". 

you scoff. "scheming is a reach". 

his eyes roll. pushing off the edge of the island. "an observation". shuffling back slightly to make a bodies worth of space. his hand motioning. "come here". 

"for what—"

"please", like he's sweetening the give of a request. an appeal. like he knows just the chord to strum to produce the work of some easier follow through. 

eyes softer but exacting. a clever lure in. like last night. like when he fit and slotted his mouth against yours and breathed deeply. fingers gentler and patient, pushing in to soothe the quake of your thighs. your body undone beneath him. performing a beautiful release with the song of all those little noises he couldn't help but to bring up now for his amusement. palms slipping between your legs then for more. to spread and curl. a dangerously steady feed in, swirling along the tender beginning of your pussy. toying and prodding, suckling your neck, and then a knuckle deep stroke that sorely excites already sensitive nerves. your legs pressing in to trap him to a stillness. his mouth at your ear. hot breaths, your skin shivering. a kiss to the shell of it before his delicate "please". that manner of request unfolding your legs easy. the simplicity of it forcing you to moan for him as he'd sought to take more from you.

your thighs press together hard, memory bursting till its coursing along every bit of skin. but you don't make to indulge him. testing the waters of this defiance. because he's obviously looking to stretch some authoritative muscle. "open, spread, be still", those the tender taste of his commands filling your mouth as he kissed you last night, and in your daze you complied swiftly. as eager as he'd said you did. the whole of him used to control. used to finely straddling lines of danger and succeeding well. what with his needles and their sharp, biting impressions. so no, you don't move, letting the thickness of the air settle deeper. playing at a naive rebellion done only by fragile little prey thought invincible. because this is it, isn't it? the thing that gets him going. sets his bones hot and fingers achy. 

it's a finger over licks of a fire, a push of the limit after already being burnt to a beautiful consumption. your brows pulling. hands palming your knees tight. "you bite". 

he smirks. bares teeth. steps calm to cover the distance. the patience of a wolf. "only upon request". 

his island chair is one that swivels. a short creak breaking as you turn to face him. laughing breathy, wry, shifting in place, searching for comfortability under the weight of his presence. his hard body slotting between your thighs. coffee on his tongue as he nears, mouth ghosting shy. his nose slipping at yours. a hard swallow in your throat as you feel him press in to wedge you against the chair and the island. "i never asked", a little docility to your voice. adverting your eyes, closing them, to refuse his own, another small performance. something refractory. his chest warm as you press forward into him. a hot hand running up along your back till its situating to cradle your nape. 

"you didn't oppose". 

his teeth sinking in to pull at your bottom lip. sharp enough for an abrupt wince. attempting to pry yourself from his grip, that palm at the base of your neck strong. corrective. short breaths huffing into his mouth as he kisses your lip. a light play at a remedy. the affection of it sweet and dotting enough that you rush in for more, much to his sudden displeasure. his throat humming, the confirmation of some long standing observation. the column of your neck warm from the run of his free thumb. that slip of a touch shivering you whole. hands gripping into the waist band of his shorts. knuckles aching. a terrible make at reprieve.

"being skittish is just a natural little condition of yours huh?" 

"no". your voice airy. feathered for him. 

"so just with me then?...", skimming his mouth at your cheek. a simple kiss to the apple of it. "...cause i can't really give you what you need when you're all excitable and eager like this...". another lingering kiss at the corner of your mouth. "...need some patience".

a near unbreathable daze forms about your head. eyes dim. the scent of him filling your nose till its blooming in your lungs. fingers curling and sweeping and releasing along his skin. at old tattoos and taut muscle. a pulse at the heart of your thighs that teeters your nerves on the verge of inconsolable. his fingers squeezing perfect at your neck. a purr of a moan in your mouth. "what else do i need?" 

his mouth slots for a full kiss, done up with breath and purpose. your palms holding firm at his waist for stability as he pulls you in. "a little direction". his tongue peaking to slip. a lazy lick at yours. your breath hitching at the wet curl of it. lips parting to receive. smirking as you whimper against him. "don't need you gettin distracted, then all of your attention gets eaten up by trivial little shit. you start making the real poor decisions then". 

"like pepsi logo tattoos...", you muse. "...and fucking your tattooist raw...", a languid, tongue filled kiss. air harsh through the nose to make up for the overtake of his mouth. the slipping noise of it lewd to the ears. makes your skin hot. hotter. urges erupting sure. a fragile hiss playing off your mouth, his teeth finding refuge over your lip again. a grunted moan hitting the air. his hands tucked under your knees, rushing to pull your thighs in, body at the edge of the island chair. you feed your tongue in again. eagerness unabated. "...you're not the first man with too many gray hairs trying to be my handler...", a snicker thats more like a scoff. a teasing tug at the waist band of his shorts again. making to release him but never getting to it. his mouth at your chin and your jaw, nipping and licking into your neck. "...i make your dick harder just a little more than all the others so now you want to manage me? make sure no one else is gettin in on this huh?..."

he digs into your leg. a harsh pinch that makes you jerk into him. "i'd only be offended if you didn't like me so much, didn't wanna fuck me so badly", his nose knocking into yours again. a bruising kiss by the firm pull of his lips. "something tells me you like a little correction...", a hand keeps your thigh cinched to him and the other releases your other leg to journey near the zipper of your jeans. "...being commended". 

his middle and ring fingers venture between. a faint circling where your jeans cover over the throb of your clit. the pace and patience of his touching and his mouth quaking your bones. irritated with an eagerness he seems to want to handle so insistently. 

his phone rings. 

you whine in protest. the slip away of him abrupt and emptying as he fishes for the phone. 

"relax", he muses. kissing the corner of your mouth. 

but he answers anyways. settles into the call so much till his brows pull. a focus that leads into that faithful disappointment of having to prioritize. green eyes casting over. taking stock of your face. his thumb soothing your lip, just where he'd bitten. 

the emptiness grows, occupying this shitty liminal space. and it only gets worse. the neediness he'd corralled snuffed out quick. something about "forgotten early appointments" and "taking you where you need to go". 

there are many valuable little notes to give to the self. an unwieldy feeling under the skin as you make to get your belongings. going about a terrible attempt of acting like he wasn't just about to give you a three-peat of last nights little fun. so close to feeling all of him just meticulously fed into you. 

the biggest note of all though. toughing your shoes on. annoyance playing unabashed. don't fuck your tattooist. 

[thechanelmuse]

Pink Anderson (1900-1974)

Pink Anderson was a historic figure whose music included Piedmont-style blues, folk music, ragtime, and traditional ballads. He was born in South Carolina and early on sang in the streets for pennies. He was self-taught as a guitarist and toured throughout the Southeast with a variety of medicine shows (including Dr. William R. Kerr's "cure all medicine") during 1915-1945, picking up work wherever he could. He was employed not only as a musician and a singer but as a dancer and comedian.

Anderson recorded four titles in 1928 but did not make another record until Harlem Street Spirituals in 1950 for Riverside. At that time he recorded such traditional folk material as “John Henry,’ ‘The Ship Titanic,” and “Wreck of the Old 97.” He continued to work at parties, street fairs, and medicine shows during the first half of the 1950s before retiring for a time due to ill health. But in 1961, the Bluesville label recorded three albums of unaccompanied performances by Anderson, documenting him in Spartanburg, South Carolina. The titles of the three records, Carolina Blues Man, Medicine Show Man, and Ballad & Folksinger, vol. 3, sum up Pink Anderson’s life well and are a large slice of the repertoire that he had performed during the previous 35 years.

Pink Anderson stayed active on a part-time basis up until the time of his death in 1974. His music represents the Carolina blues, and the tradition of the constantly traveling folk singer.

Source

Floyd Council (1911-1976)

Floyd Council was a blues singer and guitar slinger who played in the East Coast / Piedmont style. He didn’t record solo often, but he’s still said to have recorded 27 songs, many backing up the legendary Blind Boy Fuller.

Born in North Carolina, Floyd began his musical career on the streets of Chapel Hill in the 1920s, performing with two brothers, Leo and Thomas Strowd as “The Chapel Hillbillies.” He recorded twice for ARC at sessions with Blind Boy Fuller in the mid-thirties, all examples of the Piedmont style. He was sometimes promoted as ‘Dipper Boy Council’, and ‘The Devil’s Daddy-in-Law,’ but these were likely the invention of record companies, not genuine nicknames.

Council suffered a stroke in the late 1960s which partially paralyzed his throat muscles and slowed his motor skills, but did not significantly damage his cognitive abilities. Folklorist Peter B. Lowry attempted to record him one afternoon in 1970, but he never regained his singing or playing abilities. Accounts say that he remained “quite sharp in mind.” Council died in 1976 of a heart attack, after moving to Sanford, North Carolina.

Source

Pink Floyd

Pink Anderson and Floyd Council were both featured on a Blind Boy Fuller album called Country Blues: 1935-1940. The sleeve of that album caught the eye of Syd Barrett, the frontman for London band, The Tea Set. Barrett changed the band's name to Pink Floyd, and the rest is history.

Source

[cassiopeiacorvus]

Playchoices MCs - Part 11

Previous | Next

artist notes under the cut

Niobe Chase (TPA) | She puts James Bond to shame. I gave her a different stealth outfit because I'm tired of PB drowning female MCs in crop tops. There are other shirt types, thank you very much. Also scars and ✨muscles✨ because MCs deserve to be shredded too.

Gwyneira (GUIN) | If PB gives me a historical book, I will look up historical outfits and throw out every outfit PB gave me. It is a fact of life. Gwyneira's gown is a combination of Eleanor of Aquitaine's tomb effigy and some inspiration from 12th c. English queens. I went with 12th century fashion because that's when Guinevere is first mentioned in literature.

Fumie Ueno (KOD) | I cannot tell you the annoyance I felt after having lightly researched the Yakuza because I wanted to use the new Asian face in the book, given my MC a well though out Japanese name, only for me to open the book and see that her father's name is Beckham and her brother's name is Clyde. Her default name is Diamond. Make it make sense. I changed the gold to silver in her outfit because if goes better with her skin tone. I also gave her F!Trystan's snake earrings.

Maxine "Max" Thompson (GG) | Listen, I did the math. I'm declaring that Max's parents named her after Maxine Shaw (Attorney at Law) from Living Single. Max takes Type A personality to a whole new level and I love her for it.

Amika Fuller (RWB) | I was contractually obligated to put a red solo cup somewhere in Amika's portrait. I clearly decided to I wanted to practice rendering patterns for this set of MCs because I just noticed that 5/6 have a pattern somewhere on their clothes.

Cheyney Latimore (FCL) | Miss Steal-Your-Girl herself. Listen, she's messy, but she's my mess. The pins on her hiking bag are as follows: the flag for the state of Georgia (because I headcanon that the characters when to Clark Atlanta University instead of just Clark University), a pressed penny, the symbol of Uranus (it's a Sailor Moon reference), the lesbian pride flag, and the pin for Arches National Park.

[pennydoe]

would i get shot if i drew penny with tanner skin and fuller lips would i get publicly executed and burned 3 times like joan of arc

[pontevoix]

leorio presses back from the table, drains the dregs of one water glass full of chilled water, drains another glass of beer, & salutes with the swipe of two fingers against his temple. he’s crass when he excuses himself ( ‘ piss break, ‘ he explains & snorts when he watches kurapika’s brow furrow ). but he’s content — it's easy to treat reunions ( & farewells ) as celebration.

after he excuses himself, he stares at a shy piece of graffiti penciled against the bathroom tile, washes his hands, thinks to himself that he can’t place the feeling of foreboding that knuckles itself against his ribs.

a good con doesn't rely on strategy. a good con doesn't rely on value. instead, it relies of convincing people of value. it relies on a mix of expression that shows naivety glinting in the eye, that demonstrates the regret of missed opportunities. a good con doesn’t rely on strategy. it kicks a thrill that’s like familiarity, & it’s an easy source of pride that says look. this is something i have been good at. i still have it.

there’s good reason for it to be a source of pride, too. a good con means life. it means pocketing enough coin that a man can indulge in a fuller meal, that means he can buy shoes that won’t blister his feet the same way his had been.

it’s kind of funny that leorio has been so good at the cons. he’s prone to tossing honesty into conversation with the impulsiveness of a man who speaks with his mouth full, a man who forgets to filter himself & hide his passions. as a result, leorio does a poor job of disguising the fact that although he enjoys a good con, he had never wanted to learn how to play in the first place.

a good con doesn’t rely on strategy, but a good con does know when to quit while you’re ahead. when to quit taking so that you can bow out & watch the curtain close.

leorio thinks that he sees a little of that in kurapika — the preparations for an end. he thinks he recognizes it because he recognizes a good con, recognizes the performance required of a good con.

often, he’s governed by gut instinct. intuition swears that kurapika is too straight-laced to pull off a con, but intuition also tells him that kurapika is fraying. that they’re tying into performances & negotiating too much for the sake of revenge & making themselves unrecognizable.

leorio supposes that is a type of con. he thinks about it when he steps out of the bathroom. the door swings back & knocks him in the shoulder.

before he paves a path back to his table, he spots kurapika, dressed in a suit that makes him look colder than he is. he waves a hand too amicably towards a waiter as he offers his own payment for their shared meal.

leorio’s hands snake into his pant pockets. the fabric is wearing thin, & soon he'll have to check the pockets for holes. kurapika had already seen leorio cast down his card to order too much food that won't go to waste.

it's easy to treat reunions ( & farewells ) as celebration. he & kurapika are preparing to part ways again, so leorio over ordered. he always already over orders from restaurants, always delights too much in the luxury - eating he's used to bare cupboards. he is used to leaning too heavily on canned goods & dried goods & things that won't rot when the refrigerator starts to run warm. he's used to penny pinching & indulgences because it’s uncertain when the next time they'll come.

so he offered to pay for their meal, for their reunion ( & farewell ). it is celebration made into a gift. because leorio salutes indulging in what they have before their trains come & kurapika makes himself sparse.

but a good con does know when to quit while you’re ahead. when to quit taking so that you can bow out & watch the curtain close.

leorio thinks that he sees a little of that in kurapika. he settles at the table again & nudges his chair into position with the toe of his scuffed shoe ( a shoe that doesn’t blister ). his brow arches as he studies kurapika’s composure for too long before he shakes his head & spears a remaining bite of food onto a fork. they had shared two or three dishes together, & leorio doesn’t believe in wasting food.

@mindsafe asked : "--i wish you wouldn't look so unhappy" ( what's good mr. leorio )

i wish you wouldn’t look so unhappy, kurapika says. leorio nearly chokes on his food.

they have separate trains to catch in an hour, so he asks & keeps his voice neat. ‘ you can’t even accept one gift ? ‘

his mouth is full.

[shelikesorchids-archive]

Designs On You: Chapter One

City Life, Apple Pie Made Just Right

Pairing: Human AU Lestat de Lioncourt x Louis de Pointe du Lac

Summary: Lestat de Lioncourt leaves France for New Orleans to get away from his life and his demons. He falls in love with the city and buys a townhouse in the Quarter. But, what happens when he also falls in love with the contractor he hired to renovate his house?

Louis de Pointe du Lac is trying to find his way as a business owner after his father dies and leaves him the family contracting company. He takes a job from a French man new to town offering him a disgusting amount of money to renovate his townhouse. He knows he's hurting, but can he fix more than his house?

They both have demons, but can they tame them? Can Lestat really run from what he left behind in France? Can Louis be everything his family needs? Can they fill in the cracks in each other's hearts? We'll see when the paint dries.

Word Count: 2.5k

Author's Note: JUMPING INTO THE DEEP END HERE. We're starting from the end and working backwards! That's right! We'll get a happy ending, but how do they get it? Well, you'll see.

Big thanks and many smooches to @mythicaltzu for beta reading, editing, and being my cheerleader in DMs!

ENJOY!

Louis and Lestat had just celebrated their first anniversary as a married couple, and life was absolutely blissful. 

Louis had taken on the role of business owner full time, and no longer did any actual contracting work. He had an office, but he worked from home quite a bit, which made Lestat very happy. The house Lestat bought on a whim now felt like a home, and it was about to get fuller. They had started the process of adopting a child, and they had their first meeting with the social worker at the adoption agency today. Both of them dreamed of this life, but they never thought it would be possible until they met each other. They were nervous about becoming parents, but they were both buzzing with excitement. 

Lestat came downstairs freshly showered and dressed to find Louis sitting at the kitchen island drinking a cup of coffee, and a second cup waiting for him. Louis knew just how Lestat took his coffee, and it was those little things that made him fall deeper in love with him every day. Even though Louis was off work for their appointment today, he was still aimlessly scrolling through work emails on his phone. Lestat could feel the nerves radiating from him, and even though he was just as nervous, he knew he had to comfort Louis. 

He took a seat at the island next to Louis, took his hands in his, and quietly asked, “Penny for your thoughts, mon cher?” 

Louis turned to face his husband, and let out a long sigh before answering, “M’just nervous. Are we really ready for this?” 

“Oh, my beautiful Louis. I’m nervous too. We may not be ready for this, but I want to do it with you. Just think, mon cher, a beautiful little child to fill our home with joy and laughter. Doesn’t that sound lovely?

“It does. But there’s also sleep deprivation, dirty diapers, spit up, and all that.” 

Lestat barked out a laugh, which made Louis chuckle as well. He cupped Louis’s cheek with his hand and smiled, “I know, I know. But there’s no one I’d rather suffer through a newborn with than you.” 

Louis smiled and stood up from his seat at the kitchen island and wrapped his arms around Lestat’s neck. Lestat put his hands on Louis’s hips and pulled him closer so he could share a sweet kiss with him. Once they broke apart, Louis leaned down to rest his cheek against Lestat’s head, and Lestat hugged him tighter. They stayed in the embrace for a moment before Louis finally pulled away to say, “Well, we better get going. Don’t want to be late, do we?” 

—--------------------------------------------------------------

The two of them smiled brightly at each other before walking through the door of the adoption agency hand in hand. They checked in with the receptionist and before they could even take a seat, the social worker that had been working with them was coming out of her office to fetch them. Her name was Julia, and she was a very smiley young woman with her hair up in a messy bun, and comically large framed red eyeglasses. They had met briefly to drop off paperwork and they had spoken to her several times on the phone, but today was the day they were actually going to get the process in motion. 

Holy shit, they were going to be bringing a baby home soon. Hopefully, anyway. 

“Lestat! Louis! So wonderful to see you both,” she sing-songed as she shook their hands. “Well, if you’ll both just come with me to my office, we’ll get this show on the road! Follow me.” 

She led them into her small office, which was decorated with lots of band posters, pastel stuffed animals, and various vinyl figurines of superheroes. They took a seat in the chairs in front of her desk, and Lestat grabbed Louis’s hand, gently rubbing the back of it with his thumb to ease his husband’s nerves. This was really happening, and they were both a mess of emotions. 

“So, all of your paperwork looks great! We should be able to get this filed with the courts no problem and complete your family! How are y’all feeling about it?” 

Lestat and Louis glanced at each other before Lestat finally spoke. “Well, Julia, we’re incredibly nervous, but we’re both very excited. Both of us have dreamed of having a family, and we just want to thank you for helping us realize this dream.”

Julia laughed and blushed. “Oh I’m just doing my job! So, the next step is to find a baby! I realize this is a bit weird, going through prospects, but it is part of the process. Now, do the two of you have any-”

She was interrupted by a soft knock on her doorframe, and the three of them looked up to see another young woman holding a manila envelope in her hand. 

“So sorry to interrupt,” she said. “But, I have that paperwork on Baby Edwards at Oschner’s NICU. Her parents signed over all their parental rights, so she is officially in our care now.” 

Julia motioned for her to step into her office and she took the envelope from her as she thanked her. Lestat swallowed a lump in his throat at the thought of this tiny premature baby being abandoned by her parents. Louis could tell his husband was getting emotional, and he knew he wanted to know more about the baby in the envelope, so he gently squeezed his hand and gave him a nod to ask Julia about her. 

“What about baby Edwards? We’d like to know more about her,” he said as his voice cracked. 

“Oh, she’s new to us, and the world for that matter. She’s only 4 days old, but she was born at 30 weeks, so she’s currently in the neonatal intensive care unit at Oschner. Her parents hated to give her up, but they just didn’t have the financial resources available to take care of a premature baby, so they decided to give her up for adoption. I’ll let you look at some photos of her, but I must warn you: she’s on oxygen and she has a few tubes sticking out of her, but she’s doing great.” 

Julia handed Lestat the photos, and Louis scooted his chair closer so that he could get a closer look at them. Lestat’s breath hitched at the sight of this tiny baby that was connected to several lines and wires like Julia said, but at the same time, she was the most precious thing he had ever seen. His eyes started to well with tears, and Louis put his arm around him to hug him close as they both gazed at the photos of the tiny baby girl. They exchanged another glance, and they wordlessly decided that she was going to be their daughter. 

“Can we meet her?” Louis asked Julia as he continued to comfort his emotional husband. 

“Well, they are very strict about visitors in the NICU because the babies are so delicate, but I’ll make some phone calls and see what we can set up. I’m assuming this means you’re interested in adopting her?”

Lestat handed the photos back to her and wiped his eyes. “Yes, we would love to adopt her. I can’t believe someone would just abandon such a tiny helpless baby.” 

“It is hard to imagine that, but we really try not to judge here. They loved her enough to make sure she would be taken care of, so they made the very difficult choice to put her up for adoption.” 

“And we can take her home and love her, mon cher,” Louis interjected. 

Lestat gave him a watery smile, and squeezed his hand. Louis always knew just what to say to make him feel better. He wiped his eyes once again and told Julia, “You’re right, I suppose. So, when can we meet her?” 

—----------------------------------------------------

After three agonizing days of waiting, Lestat and Louis were finally in the NICU with Julia to meet their future daughter. A nurse guided them through washing their hands thoroughly before she led them to the incubator where the baby lay. Even though they had seen photos of her at the adoption agency, the mere sight of her before their very eyes took their breath away. Lestat gripped Louis by his waist as they inched closer toward her, fearing his knees might give out. 

“Oh, mon dieu. She’s even more precious than in the pictures,” he whispered. He bent down until he was eye level with her in the incubator, then turned to ask the nurse with tears in his eyes, “Can I touch her?” 

The nurse smiled as she replied, “You can, but be very careful not to jostle any of her lines.”

She opened the small door to the incubator and motioned to Lestat to come closer. He slowly put his hand inside and stroked her fuzzy little head with his fingertips. He was surprised by how soft her hair was, and she seemed to lean into his touch, which made the tears finally fall from his eyes. Louis bent down to join him and he whispered, “Hey baby girl. You wanna come home with us?” 

They stood there for several moments, taking turns gently stroking her hair or holding her tiny little hands until she started squirming and whimpering, which upset Lestat because she was clearly uncomfortable. The nurse came over to assure them that she was fine, but then caught them off guard by asking if they wanted to hold her. Both of them nodded vigorously, and the nurse rolled over a recliner for them to sit in so they could hold their baby. Louis let Lestat go first, and he was overcome with emotion yet again at being moments away from holding his daughter. 

“Unbutton your shirt,” the nurse told him. 

Lestat’s face quickly turned from amazed to confused. “What? Why?” he asked. 

“Skin to skin, or ‘kangaroo care’. It’s great for all babies, but especially premature ones. It promotes bonding, helps regulate their body temperature, and other things babies need. She’s also never been held, so you’ll be the first.” 

He felt like he might cry again, but he did as the nurse asked and unbuttoned his shirt to expose his chest. Louis couldn’t help but admire his husband’s pristine form as the nurse situated the baby on his bare chest and covered them with a blanket. She snuggled into his chest as he gently rocked her, and Lestat felt an overwhelming rush of love for this tiny baby in his arms. He made a silent promise to her, and to himself, that as long as he was around, she would know nothing but comfort, safety, and love. Louis kneeled down at the side of the chair and placed his hand over Lestat’s on her tiny back, stealing his husband’s lips for a chaste, loving kiss. 

Once they both broke the kiss, they gazed down at the now sleeping baby and knew their family was complete. 

“Claudia. Her name is Claudia,” Lestat whispered as he traced her cheek with his finger.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------

“Louis, mon cher, what are you doing?”

“Just taking a video of you doing the ‘hot new dad walk’. I wanna remember this forever, “ Louis replied as he walked behind him, recording him with his phone.

“Your daddy is incorrigible, my darling,” Lestat laughed as he walked down the hallway to the hospital exit, baby Claudia in tow, fast asleep in her carrier. 

All of the paperwork had been finalized, and she was officially theirs. More importantly, she was finally well enough for them to take her home. After weeks of visiting her in the NICU every day, she was finally breathing on her own, they were able to feed her with a bottle, and thanks to the nurses, they were comfortable with taking care of a newborn baby on their own. They got her safely buckled into the backseat of their shiny new SUV, and Louis sat in the backseat with her while Lestat drove them home. He didn’t care that people behind him were honking at him for going under the speed limit, he was going to get his precious cargo home safely, everyone else on the roads be damned. 

Once they were parked in the driveway of their townhouse, Louis carefully unbuckled her from the carrier and she fussed in protest of being woken up from her nap. Lestat couldn’t help but smile as he got her bags out of the car and watched Louis try to soothe their cranky baby girl. Their baby girl. He couldn’t believe he had a family of his own to love and care for.

“I know, sweetie, I know,” Louis crooned as she continued to fuss. 

“We’re home, ma cherie. Would you like to see your new home? You even have a room of your very own,” Lestat whispered to her before kissing her head. 

Louis gave Claudia the grand tour of the townhouse, starting with the courtyard in front, then continuing with the downstairs portion of their home. Lestat took the bags upstairs to put away her things from the hospital in her nursery, and he was taken aback at how beautiful it was. After they first met Claudia and decided to adopt her, Louis had spent quite a bit of time sequestered in the spare bedroom they decided would be her nursery, and Lestat was worried that he was having second thoughts about the adoption. A week later, he was pleasantly surprised when Louis showed him the new room with hand painted Azaleas and Magnolias on the wall, and the most beautiful baby furniture he had ever seen. He remembered breaking down in tears at the thought that this is where his daughter would grow up, in this gorgeous room her daddy designed just for her. 

He was soon pulled from his thoughts by Louis walking through the door, Claudia held tenderly in his arms as he told her, “And this your room, I hope you like it. I did this just for you.” 

Lestat crossed the room and took Claudia from Louis’s arms and propped her up against his shoulder so she could see the room. “Yes, your daddy made this beautiful room just for you ma cherie. He loves to make things beautiful. He made my life beautiful.” 

Louis had tears in his eyes as he gazed at the two loves of his life, his beautiful husband and his precious daughter. He came behind Lestat to wrap one arm around his waist, and the other around his arm holding Claudia. Here was his everything, his whole life, right here in his arms. He stole a quick kiss from Lestat as they stood there together holding Claudia, who was growing sleepy. They both laughed softly as she let out a yawn and buried her tiny face in the crook of his neck, and Lestat pressed a kiss to the top of her head, lingering there a moment to take in her sweet baby smell. 

“A nap sounds like a great idea, don’t you think, mon cher,” Lestat asked Louis. 

“Amazing idea. Let’s get all the sleep we can before the real fun starts.” 

[jonquilyst]

Ty all for the makeover suggestions!! I had a lot of fun making my own versions of the townies, which I have never done before.

As you can see their appearance is pretty faithful to their original. I consider my style to be a more realistic and enhanced version of the EA style. While it's not super obvious (aside from Baby Ariel), I did tweak their facial features and bodies a bit since frankly... EA can make their sims look pretty wacky.

Anyway, I hope you like them!! Full-body screenies and explanations for each townie are below the cut.

Nancy Landgraab (suggested by @plumbobpaparazzi)

I never really liked Nancy's OG look. I feel like she doesn't look classy enough for her status as head of the Landgraab family/company, so my goal for her was to really make her live up her to status. Her hairstyle pays homage to her sims 3 incarnation and frankly, I think she looks better with her hair up than down.

As for her facial features, her eyebrows her tweaked to be less janky-looking but still looking like she could fire you any time. They were also darkened because you cannot for the life of me see them in her OG look. Her nose, lips, and chest were also tweaked to look extra perfect/plump to really emphasize that she's had some procedures done 🤭 I also redid her makeup.

Maaike Haas (suggested by @micrathene-w)

Maaike is seriously an underrated sim and I wish they did her better. I started off by tweaking her facial features because they looked really janky (esp her eyes, I gave her a new preset entirely), so I softened them up and now she looks so much better (while retaining her overall OG look) I also widened her waist because it looked too narrow for her body shape.

I think EA wanted to go for an academia look for her, but the problem with that back when Get Together released was that there really wasn't a lot of academia-esque clothes. The blazer she wears made her look older and the skirt she had was frankly a little too long, so my goal with Maaike was to really give her that cute academia look. I think she turned out amazing and I like her a lot more because of it! I hope you think so too 💖

Baby Ariel (suggested by @akitasimblr)

My biggest problem with Baby Ariel is that the sim looks nothing like her, so she got the appearance biggest tweaks out of everyone. I did a total revamp for her so that Baby Ariel could look more like her real life self. Besides that, I updated her look so she could look more like her present self.

Catarina Lynx (suggested by @chaoticpixls)

I think my goal for our favorite cat-lover here was to make her less... tacky? I still wanted her to be recognizably herself; bouncy and obviously a cat-lover, but cuter and more put-together, if that makes any sense. I also wanted her to appear a bit younger.

I think the biggest sin EA did with the cats/dogs pack is not include a cat/dog beanie. This girl totally rocks it and although that brimmed cap she wore was cute, I think she looks a lot better with a hat that has makeshift cat ears (and not that hair that has the cat headband).

I also made her lipstick a lighter, because her OG shade is just way too dark for her. Sorry.

Knox Greenburg (suggested by @mustanoita)

Ok, my biggest question about how EA did Knox was why he looks so trashy for someone who is big about climate change, going green, recycling, etc. So my goal for Knox was to make him look less trashy and more outdoorsy. I also wanted to make him look younger because he just... looks really old lol. So I gave him a new eye preset, made his cheeks fuller, and gave him a slightly different hair color. I also gave him a new hairstyle that's similar to his OG to really give him that handsome flair because... honestly, EA did him dirty.

Penny Pizzazz (suggested by @ashubii)

Penny's OG look is alright by itself, but I don't think it works that well for Penny since she's meant to be a fashionista who knows what's trending. Also her earrings and shoes did not match with that dress at all. So I gave her a cute trendy outfit that still screams "classy." I also changed her hair because I never liked it and I HC her hair texture to be wavy/curly and not straight so I went with a curlier and more voluminous hairstyle with braids because Penny absolutely slays with braids.

[jackiequick]

I’ve haven’t seen you in a hot minute, gorgeous | Bradshaw ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw Fanfic ✨

Pairing: Rooster x JenPen

Summary: Walking into a bar came sometimes bring back old memories and sometimes old friends but also bring in something more.

Characters: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Jenny ‘JenPen’ Mitchell

-

Moving back to the North Island with her father, Pete Maverick Mitchell, wasn’t part of the plan for Junior Lieutenant’s early fall season but neither was it her father’s plan either. But here they are running around the place taking in the fresh water of beach close by, seeing the tender warm air and watching the crowds moving along the streets. Her father decided to head over to the bar earlier that afternoon as she decided to spend the day with Amber’s family nearby the beachside flooring of the Hard Deck. The friends haven’t seen each other since July due to the busyness that both deals with at home. Jen on her studies and trying to take her trials to become a pilot seriously while Amber worked alongside her father when she wasn’t cruising down the highway of the city.

The time flew by and both girls went their separate ways knowing they would see each other again that week. JenPen headed towards the bar dressed up in burgundy button down, jeans and a pair of high tops taking a seat in the front near all the drinks getting a good look at the place. Penny served her a drink saying, “It’s been a while since I’ve seen the Mitchell family.”

“I’m guessing you saw dad?” She replied taking a sip smiling, knowing her father still had feelings for her.

“Yeah, he said he will be coming over again later. His motorcycle needed extra attention.”

“Sounds like him…”

“Not happy to be back? Come on, Jen! You love this place, especially for the beaches at nighttime.”

“I know Penny! It’s just, it was, uh it was all so sudden being called back. I’ve haven’t been back here in years.”

“Maybe this time around you can have some more things to do and not get into trouble.”

Both laughed knowing it was tricky for a Mitchell to not getting into at least a bit of trouble. She stood up sipping her drink walking around the bar scene watching the wave of top of the class naval aviator surfing the place, damn was it getting fuller by the moment. Hell, she didn’t even notice her dad walking inside and taking a seat in front of Penny. The bar filled up with more aviators male and female all dressed in brown uniforms catching her eyes with smiles and waves. Some of them she recognized from stories and pictures frames on the walls, other she didn’t know at all. But there was one aviator she recognized from a mile away and a yelled from Phoenix, confirmed it. Bradshaw! God, did she swear she lost her breath at the sight of the man who used to be her world…still is.

She saw Phoenix catching up with Rooster as she even decked him with the stick used for pool, Jen snickered mentally thanking Natasha for that. She walked over to the woman a few year older than her and gave her a nudge saying, “Nix! It’s been a while!”

Natasha gasps dramatically and grinned pulling the younger girl into a hug shouting, “I’ve missed you! You joining us for this mission?”

“Hopefully so! They probably won’t let me fly but studying alongside you guys is a even better treat.”

“Nahhh girl you’ll sneak you up in that plane for mine for a joy ride!”

“We’ll have to distract that commanders and captains themselves before we try anything!”

Both girls kept gushing and screaming alongside the others who were drinking and talking. Until Bradley’s eyes catch onto the laughter from miles away, star struck at the younger Mitchell who he hasn’t seen in years and beautiful as ever, man did he regret leaving her behind after that huge fight at the house years ago about the parents pulling the pair back out of the navy field.

Tears were steaming that day and lungs gasping for air from all the shoutings done that night. His heart still beats heavy for her, she is his world, a piece of home. Hell Rooster was ready to call her his wife, since they were in the late years of high school if he thought about it, it’s pretty ironic because he told his mother when they were kids, he wanted to marry Jen and deep down still did.

He cleared his throat and half smiled, “Hey JenPen.”

She looked up from where she standing with Phoenix softly smiling, “Hey Roo..”

Tears formed in both of the two kids eyes and closed the gap, pulling each other into a very long awakening hug, still feeling hurt from the years of damage but they tried to put those away from behind them for now. The pair mumbling a few ‘I’ve missed you.’ They broke it off, as she went to grab another beer and he leaned against the wall. Until Hangman’s yelling was heard, “Bradshaw as I live in breathe and was that little Mitchell i just saw?!” JenPen laughed from the table.

Rooster just rolled his eyes, “Haven’t changed have you, Hangman?”

“Nope!” He said with a smile lining up to play pool with the others.

The 4 of them talked and challenged each other even bringing in the new aviators for the mission into the conversation. Neither of them noticed that Pete or Penny was watching them enjoying themselves with small smiles across they’re face. Rooster pulled her aside holding his sunglasses as her own sunglasses lay across her hair. He smiled down and said, “I’ve haven’t seen you in a lot minute, gorgeous.”

JenPen blushed smiling at the nicknames waving him off and replied, “Oh hush you! You look good, handsome.” Damn how much they look like they’re parents in that moment wearing jackets, shirts and sunglasses like they’re parents did back in Class of ‘86. The new generation of Mitchell and Bradshaw standing in front of each other with feelings still bruised but rising over the time of seeing each other. Cupid was still there in the air, waiting to take his shot towards them again and won’t take too long. Especially with the looks of love and admiration between the air.

“When was the last time we had a moment together like this?” He asked, missing the days they would run across the beach and play volleyball or just swimming together.

“2014? 2015 if I’m correct. Man, Roo the place has been more quiet lately without you around.” She explained, missing the late nights of them singing and screaming out lyrics to songs that played on the radio.

“Let’s fix that!”

“Oh, this is where the fun begins!”

Rooster smirked ran off to the unplugged the jukebox and JenPen fixed the pianos with a grin, the crowd gasps and murmured confused. While shouting happened, from someone who seemed to buy a round for everyone at the bar then kicked out by the fellow men in the bar. Rooster sat in front of the piano playing the keys with ease catching everyone’s catch as JenPen leaned against the piano watching the said crowd showering around them. Rooster started singing, ‘Great Balls Of Fire’ with so much passion and glee, soon enough everyone join in.

JenPen leaned in further towards the behind, eventually resting her arms around Rooster’s shoulders gently as the warmth and good vibes filled in the room. He leaned into her touch looking over at her, singing the next verse, “Kiss me baby!” She shrugged laying a gentle one onto his lips giggling as he gently kissed her back in full force as the crowd howling, teased and whispered. The kiss lasted a good few seconds, tasting the beer on their lips and the passion that run across them. He pulled away and continued singing, “Ooo that feels good baby! Hold me baby!”

Without a second to think, Rooster took JenPen’s hand guiding her to sit gently on his lap, as she leaned softly into his touch with a arm lazily wrapped above his shoulder. Nuzzled up close, warm and comfortable within another arms. They were in their own little world, smiling at each other, Rooster stealing a few playfully nudges to her side as JenPen laced a few kisses on his cheek, playing with his sunglasses humming the song.

The pair sang the next line with the crowd, “I wanna love you like a lover should! If I, were so kind, I’mma tell the world! That’s your mine, mine, mine!” Everyone kept singing, dancing and howling at the music Rooster played the keys with such grace as ease. Little did they know Pete Maverick Mitchell was standing right outside the bar with a clear view of the performance with shock and wave as memories flew back around, one even being of the times they played that song in the living room years ago.

So the song finally finished everyone cheering, clapping and shouting Rooster’s name in pure joyful smiles. Rooster smiled at everyone, standing up to take in the positive vibes and energetic smiles that bounced around the bar. JenPen laughed clapping in her seat as Phoenix, Payback, Bob and Fanboy smirked at the sight. Some people in the crowd even shouted, ‘Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!’ Or ‘Next around on me!’ And such as the night went. Damn was it good to be back!

Thank you for reading more stories coming soon! 🫶 Did you like it? What did you think about it?

Tags: @mandylove1000 @t-nd-rfoot @fanboygarcia @eagerforthesky @raphroseybeanpie @gaminggirlsstuff @topgun-imagines @gcthvile @happilycameron @rooster-84 @msrochelleromanofffelton @blackheart-beauty @novavida and etc