You could try and take us                                          But we’re the gladiators                          Everyone a rager                                   But secretly they’re saviors

i’m officially moving all my blogs from here to my multimuse >> drowniingdreams

i’m officially moving all my blogs from here to my multimuse >> drowniingdreams

i’m officially moving all my blogs from here to my multimuse >> drowniingdreams

i’m officially moving all my blogs from here to my multimuse >> drowniingdreams

i’m officially moving all my blogs from here to my multimuse >> drowniingdreams

i’m officially moving all my blogs from here to my multimuse >> drowniingdreams

i’m officially moving all my blogs from here to my multimuse >> drowniingdreams

i’m officially moving all my blogs from here to my multimuse >> drowniingdreams

                     You could try and take us                                          But we’re the gladiators                          Everyone a rager                                   But secretly they’re saviors

                  “Your brother was WRONG about you.                                  He said you were gentle,                         the MOST gentle person he knew.            You are not gentle. You have a ruthless heart.”                                        “Remember it.”

Master’s Pet

He gestured again to the clothes, then, trying to be as non-threatening as possible. “You can have those, if you’d like to wear fresh clothes. You don’t have to, I’m not at all ordering you to wear them. It’s just an option for you until I get to the shops, again,” he explained, offering her a smile. “I’ll probably try to go out tomorrow after work and pick you up a few things.”

He pulled out clothes and it didn’t take her long to figure out that he meant for her to wear them, even before he said it. She was more surprised by his apology, she hadn’t realised he’d noticed her jumping, she hadn’t exactly meant to, but raised voices were, understandably, a source of concern for the girl. She nodded her understanding of what he was saying, though. She wasn’t in trouble. Not yet. 

She looked at the clothes on the table, they were clean and they didn’t smell like the clinic, that had to be a bonus. “Thank you,” she said, voice soft as she stood up to retrieve them. They smelt like the rest of the apartment did, that was to say, they smelt like him, she hesitated before hedging her bets and ducking into the bedroom to change. She probably shouldn’t have, but she did have some small amount of modesty left. His shirt was much too big on her, more like a dress, really. A nice belt, she thought, would easily make it into one. She slid back out of the bedroom, old clothes clutched in her hands. 

“Yeah? Alright, good.” In a word full of incredibly horrifying stuff, Parrish prefers to focus on the good. Like Lydia and her heartwarming smile. The laugh that lights up the room and makes his stomach do flips. The way he loses his breath when she walks into the room. It’s safe to say that Parrish is smitten with Lydia Martin but he won’t yet voice it. “I can’t wait.”

I can’t wait, he says and he sounds so honest and caring that it’s hard to comprehend that anyone could feel like that about her. She understands it, sometimes, the appeal she holds for boys her own age, for teenagers with rampant hormones, but this is something else. She smiles and sneaks a quick kiss to his cheek as she stands up. “I’m afraid you’re just going to have to wait.”

“Ah, yeah, okay, I can do that.” Stuart gestured to his board, rolling it towards her. “You have decent balance, right? I think a few people would get on my case if I let you fall on your face.”

She slips her heels off- boarding in bare feet is less than ideal, but the high heels would have been impossible and laughs softly. “I think you’ll find I have excellent balance.” She raised a curious eyebrow. “I don’t think I know of anyone who would care that much about my face.”

     She’s driven, yes, she isn’t about to apologise for it, it’s the only reason she’s gotten to where she has, the constant, unwavering dedication to the job and to making everything better. Which is what she’s trying to do with the pressure-washer. She knows, of course, that the graffiti will be back almost instantly, but it’s the thought behind the action that really matters- the outward show of dedication to keeping a place clean, of taking pride in your work. And, yes, creating a new canvas every couple of weeks for fresh art might create a pleasant atmosphere of change and support. “I was thinking we could take pictures of the graffiti before we wash it off and set up a wall of art. So people don’t feel like their work is just being washed away for nothing. It memorialises it and it allows for new works.” It was a thought that had literally only just occurred to her, but he didn’t need to know that.

If by ‘gearing up’ she meant changing his clothes and doing a line of coke, sure. “Something like that,” he joked. For his somewhat nocturnal lifestyle, he’d seen Lydia around enough - between the park and around Peter - to know she had some kind of importance to her. Couldn’t truly figure out what it was, or why, but that never mattered much to Stiles. He stretched quickly and sat down to push everything left out in the open off the counter, and into his bag. Dark eyes turned back to the redhead again, one arm hung over the back of his chair as he sized her up carefully. “I still don’t know why you won’t work here… You’d probably make a hell of a lot more than some of the trashier girls in this place.”

Something like that. She wasn’t going to hazard a guess at what that meant. It felt like the kind of thing she might want to be able to deny knowing about later, so she didn’t press. Her eyes narrowed slightly at his words, head tipping for her eyes to flit over the rest of the backstage area, seeking out these so-called ‘trashy’ girls. She had no issue with stripping or strippers or anybody who chose to do the job, she just wouldn’t do it herself. She also wasn’t about to let him badmouth his coworkers. “Don’t call them trashy, it makes you sound bitter and do try and remember that not everyone who works here has a warm, comfortable home to go to after the show. There are a lot of people who would say the same thing about you just because you work here. As for why I don’t work here, it’s because I don’t want to. I have the luxury of that choice. Some people don’t.”