#rufussaville

[normaltothemax]

@rufussaville from this

She’s in a 7/11 when it happens.

Brightly coloured sunglasses cover her eyes, her very first Icee held in both hands—Alex helped her mix the different flavours, all in the same cup! Grinning, she takes a big drink. Much bigger than she should have, given the pain that explodes in her head. Art almost drops the cup in shock. Thankfully, Alex is quick enough to take it from her so that both her hands can grab at her head. Brain freeze, he explains, doing that thing with his face and his voice that means he’s laughing but doesn’t want anyone to know. It’ll go away soon. Happens when you have too much of something cold like that too quickly.

Art scowls and huffs, once her brain has unfrozen, that he should’ve warned her ahead of time. Alex’s eyes crinkle as he hands her back the Icee without a word. She eyes it dubiously, warily, before taking another (much smaller) sip through the plastic straw. When it doesn’t hurt like the first time, she hums, pleased. It’s good. Very good. Yes, she decides, Artemis Darth Vader likes Icees.

She’s about to take it with her to wander the aisles, to see what sorts of snacks she might want to try this time, when she sees Alex’s expression harden, staring at something behind her. Turning, she tilts her head curiously at the young man that appears to be watching them. Her.

“Hello,” she chirps. He doesn’t look like the kind of person that works at The Mountain. Doesn’t look like the type to try and take her from her Alex. But she also knows Alex doesn’t like taking any chances. His hand lands on her shoulder, and she knows he wants to lead her out, right now, and get as far away from this place as they can.

She pulls away from him—not far, just out from under his hand, still remaining within reach—ignoring his warning, “Art…” She knows she shouldn’t. That she should listen to Alex. Trust him to know what’s best—and she does! Of course she does! There’s just something about this man. Something that makes her think she should recognize him, even though she really, truly doesn’t. “I’ve been told it’s rude to stare. Unless you’re staring because you like my sunglasses. In which case, I can’t really blame you. They’re great, aren’t they?”

[rcxylancelct-mcrtcn]

@rufussaville | from here.

Roxy wasn’t scared, that much she was certain. Not with any of the guys that she shared this place with. Not even when she was alone with him. And why would she?

In hindsight, she probably shouldn’t have bothered to talk with him anyway. But here she was and here they are, in what seemed to be visible detestation. “Does it matter? You three are one and the same.” It really did make her wonder some why he wasn’t with them, considering she’d always seen them together.

The next of his words were then met with a roll of her eyes. Of course he’d take on such a tone... but he seemed less hostile than the other two, that much she noticed. Perhaps it really was a clique thing. “You know exactly what I meant,” she returned matter-of-factly. “Why do it to him anyway?”

[normaltothemax]

@rufussaville from here

She will never, ever admit it—although, realistically, he probably already knows—but Max is kind of glad she opened up about the kinds of books she enjoys. Random Coffee Shop Guy, aka Rufus, has surprisingly good (or terrible, depending on your viewpoint) taste. Leaning back against his headboard, she doesn’t bother trying to hide the way she’s smiling down at the words on his Kindle. Which, it’s no match for an actual, paper book, but it works well enough.

“Nah,” she scoffs, eyes never leaving the digital page. “You’re the only serial killer I like enough for that kind of thing. Why else would I let you lure me back to your hotel room?”

It takes several seconds for her to realize what she’s just said. When she does, she freezes, cheeks warming and eyes widening a fraction, though her gaze remains locked on the Kindle. Maybe he follows T-Rex rules. Maybe, if she’s very, very still and quiet, he’ll forget about her complete.

…Oh, who is she kidding?

Cautiously, she looks up at him, one finger held up, as if telling him to hold his horses. “Okay, hang on, I didn’t mean it like that.”

[normaltothemax]

200 Random Dialogue Prompts ❛ what are you smiling at? ❜ ( for max! :) )

“What?” She blinks and looks up, pink quickly spreading across her cheekbones, her eyes widening a fraction. “Nothing!” Max has always been a terrible liar, but she does it anyways. It’s one thing to enjoy trashy, bodice-ripper, romance novels. To lose herself in one of them in a cafe while drinking shitty five-dollar coffee. It’s another thing entirely to actually discuss said novel—and why she was apparently smiling in a way that actually attracted attention—with some random guy.

At least nothing particularly…spicy had been occurring on the pages. Just pure fluff and cheese. The bodyguard expressing his undying love to his charge without actually saying the words themselves.

“You don’t have to worry,” he said quietly, adjusting the cuff of his jacket like it mattered. “I’ve memorized every way in and out of this place, every face that doesn’t belong. Nothing’s getting past me.” He paused, then added, softer still, “Not when it comes to you.”

Absolutely swoon-worthy and Max loves every minute of it. That’s just a little embarrassing to have to explain to a guy. The book is held close to her chest, the cover hopefully hidden enough by her hands that he won’t know the exact sort of book she’s reading by sight alone.

“It’s just,” she stumbles over her words, “you know…book…”

Book.

Book.

What in the ever-loving fuck is wrong with her?

Eyes squeeze shut with a grimace and a groan, one hand coming up to hide her face instead of the cover. Her blush deepens. “Oh my god. Please ignore me. I swear I’m usually more articulate than that.”

@rufussaville (x)

[normaltothemax]

Send this little flower 🌸 to the friends whose writing you adore and whose presence makes your dash a happier place. Let's share a little love. 💖

[gravityslingshot]

Send this little flower 🌸 to the friends whose writing you adore and whose presence makes your dash a happier place. Let's share a little love. 💖

what happens if you send it to rufus

[normaltothemax]

All My Love sender remembers exactly how receiver takes their coffee. ( for max! :} )

She’s tired and hungover as fuck, so Rufus busting into the hotel room at ass-o’clock in the morning (or whatever time it actually is) all loud and cheerful is not appreciated. A half-hearted glare is thrown his way before she flops back down on the bed, pulling the covers over her head. That’s where she intends to stay for another eight hours or so.

Until she smells food.

And coffee.

One hand snakes out from beneath the blankets, grabbing at the air. “Coffee. Gimme,” she grumbles into her pillow. Caffeine might be the only thing to get her out of bed, at this point. It might be the only reason she currently has any will to live. “And quiet your mouth-siren. Please.”

@rufussaville (x)

[gravityslingshot]

@rufussaville / jimmy crystal

It smells of a newly born warmth, metals releasing, a sour splash of acid and grassy guts, and the free pluming of butcher shop blood.

Part of the mane lay dragged into its whole body. Bay hair spread across its skin, rounding the side of its belly and long stiffened legs. The huge horse lay on its side, cut open unevenly with a first incision through the underside of its belly and hacked away at parts of the ribs till its flesh sat open like the rim of a giant church bell. Within the wooden fence, the creature that raised its dripping muzzle from the baby bath of water now stared at the sun with eyes dead, showing its whites, sightless to its hanging-out insides, unwakable to some premonition of ill fate.

Tall and short boys and girls roar with laughter, shoving a half-clothed man inside it, trousers still caught in both his shoes. He folds inwardly, body, knees, and fists clenched as if they could keep clean of it all. The organs sag on him, pink, alabaster, bowels, godless genitalia by his head of hair. His brain that pulsed in a dull glass bowl thuds against its soundful lope, and he curls his head even inward, giving out a low moan, lurching away.

They stab and slice into him. Not with swords that could have been the King and Queen’s, but small knives and long poles with blunt pitchfork ends. A slow death, with moments of screaming agony so long that the man sitting on his chair right behind them slides off it to kneel on the grass for a better look.   

When it was all quiet, the man stood up. And if he was quiet, they were quiet.   

Tall and large, he turns to the last captive, with charming eyes that gazed past bright blonde locks, spreading thrill, novelty, lingering in this grand, spacious moment. And if he addresses this captive, this person should feel very special.

‘   Somebody loosed an arrow at me last night. That’s no’ good manners where I come from. And my Jimmies? They take that sort o’ thing very personal.   ‘  

‘   That didn’t happen to be you now, did it?   ‘