Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Chapter 1. The Beginning
Lillie's POV
"Fuckfuckfuck. Holy motherfucking hell slut FUCK!" I screamed as I threw my clothes on the ground of my dim room. I could not, whatsoever, find my Aviators. Or my finger-less leather gloves. Or even my fucking Docs, which are ALWAYS BY MY BED! What was I going to wear now? My fucking heroes were coming to town today and I couldn't find anything decent to wear. They were probably riding in on shining metal steeds of Drac killing fury right now! I hear a knock at my door interrupting my panic. Turning I see Black Radiation, or Roman Daemonivic, standing in my doorway. My best friend gazed down at me through MY Aviators with a wicked smirk plastered on his face.
"Hey Toxic? It'd be nice if you didn't tear you'r hair out right now, you know. They're coming today." He teased, knowing full damn well that is EXACTLY why my hair was being pulled out. I glared at my traitor sunglasses and, ever so slowly, stood up. This fucker has officially activated my bitch mode.
"Hand over my glasses Rade, and I promise your sweet little whore won't get hurt." I purr. Threatening his wanna-be killjoy girlfriend(Annie Sweely, or Cyanide Barbie, as I had dubbed her) was the one thing little Roman here wouldn't stand for. Exactly how I feel about my glasses, no matter how many times they've cheated on my face with his.
"Don't you touch her Renegade. Don't you fucking dare." His eyes narrowed, smirk fading. He runs his hand through his long, black hair, forcing me to notice it. And my gloves, the bastard. I mean, his hair is absolutely amazing, but really? He had to piss me off today of all days. I regain my bitchy attitude, mentally shaking images of less-than-sweet things out of my head.
"You want me to leave her alone? Then hand over the hostages. Unharmed." Usually, I would tackle him to the ground and pry my belongings from his rough, slender hands, but today I felt like staying bruise free. You know, Heroes coming and all. Or maybe a bruise or two would make me look tougher? Either way, I needed my belongings.
"Now, boy." I demanded. He answered with a grunt and removed my Aviators and gloves, revealing shocking, toxic blue eyes and tattooed knuckles. Handing me my things, his eyes travel downward-as always, gently burning my skin-,and he smirks.
"Clothe yourself, Toxic. We wouldn't want your idols to get the wrong impression now would we?" He advised. Confused I looked down to see the, however attractive, topless torso of a female teen. I hide my slight embarrassment with the best comeback my occupied mind could think of.
"If we're worrying about wrong impressions then why aren't you on a leash? Cant have them thinking you can actually think for yourself, now can we?" I say, referring to the tight boundaries Barbie has him tied up in. His lips turn into an annoyed frown as he grunts, or actually growls, his disapproval for the subject. I just smile and push him out the door. Turning around my mood escalates even higher as I spot the familiar toe of a certain blood red boot. I dig out my Docs, slip them on over my lightly ripped black skinnies, and continue with getting ready. After layer on a line of charcoal eyeliner, I pull on a black tank and my attach silver studded bracelets to my wrists. I've always had a thing for silver, never really liked gold. I remember telling Roman that if I ever married, my ring would be silver. He just laughed, smiled, and said he'd remember that. I think about all the days we had skipped school-before the wars-as I don my blood red leather jacket, and walk out into the cruel, open world.
This is a bit short too, sorry, and if there are any problems with it, again, please tell me. Her jacket is like the one at the top, only red http://www.enostyle.com/trend-womens-jacket-model-2011-by-victoria-secret/, and her boots are these 'lil cuties-http://www.red-shoes.org/wp-content/uploads/2011/08/Dr.-Martens-Military-Sytle-Red-Leather-Ankle-Boots.jpg. Well I'm off to bed to dream about ice cream and gummy bears or whatever, so g'nite y'all.--Toxic Renegade
"Fuckfuckfuck. Holy motherfucking hell slut FUCK!" I screamed as I threw my clothes on the ground of my dim room. I could not, whatsoever, find my Aviators. Or my finger-less leather gloves. Or even my fucking Docs, which are ALWAYS BY MY BED! What was I going to wear now? My fucking heroes were coming to town today and I couldn't find anything decent to wear. They were probably riding in on shining metal steeds of Drac killing fury right now! I hear a knock at my door interrupting my panic. Turning I see Black Radiation, or Roman Daemonivic, standing in my doorway. My best friend gazed down at me through MY Aviators with a wicked smirk plastered on his face.
"Hey Toxic? It'd be nice if you didn't tear you'r hair out right now, you know. They're coming today." He teased, knowing full damn well that is EXACTLY why my hair was being pulled out. I glared at my traitor sunglasses and, ever so slowly, stood up. This fucker has officially activated my bitch mode.
"Hand over my glasses Rade, and I promise your sweet little whore won't get hurt." I purr. Threatening his wanna-be killjoy girlfriend(Annie Sweely, or Cyanide Barbie, as I had dubbed her) was the one thing little Roman here wouldn't stand for. Exactly how I feel about my glasses, no matter how many times they've cheated on my face with his.
"Don't you touch her Renegade. Don't you fucking dare." His eyes narrowed, smirk fading. He runs his hand through his long, black hair, forcing me to notice it. And my gloves, the bastard. I mean, his hair is absolutely amazing, but really? He had to piss me off today of all days. I regain my bitchy attitude, mentally shaking images of less-than-sweet things out of my head.
"You want me to leave her alone? Then hand over the hostages. Unharmed." Usually, I would tackle him to the ground and pry my belongings from his rough, slender hands, but today I felt like staying bruise free. You know, Heroes coming and all. Or maybe a bruise or two would make me look tougher? Either way, I needed my belongings.
"Now, boy." I demanded. He answered with a grunt and removed my Aviators and gloves, revealing shocking, toxic blue eyes and tattooed knuckles. Handing me my things, his eyes travel downward-as always, gently burning my skin-,and he smirks.
"Clothe yourself, Toxic. We wouldn't want your idols to get the wrong impression now would we?" He advised. Confused I looked down to see the, however attractive, topless torso of a female teen. I hide my slight embarrassment with the best comeback my occupied mind could think of.
"If we're worrying about wrong impressions then why aren't you on a leash? Cant have them thinking you can actually think for yourself, now can we?" I say, referring to the tight boundaries Barbie has him tied up in. His lips turn into an annoyed frown as he grunts, or actually growls, his disapproval for the subject. I just smile and push him out the door. Turning around my mood escalates even higher as I spot the familiar toe of a certain blood red boot. I dig out my Docs, slip them on over my lightly ripped black skinnies, and continue with getting ready. After layer on a line of charcoal eyeliner, I pull on a black tank and my attach silver studded bracelets to my wrists. I've always had a thing for silver, never really liked gold. I remember telling Roman that if I ever married, my ring would be silver. He just laughed, smiled, and said he'd remember that. I think about all the days we had skipped school-before the wars-as I don my blood red leather jacket, and walk out into the cruel, open world.
This is a bit short too, sorry, and if there are any problems with it, again, please tell me. Her jacket is like the one at the top, only red http://www.enostyle.com/trend-womens-jacket-model-2011-by-victoria-secret/, and her boots are these 'lil cuties-http://www.red-shoes.org/wp-content/uploads/2011/08/Dr.-Martens-Military-Sytle-Red-Leather-Ankle-Boots.jpg. Well I'm off to bed to dream about ice cream and gummy bears or whatever, so g'nite y'all.--Toxic Renegade
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