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eerieindianaSo this is a (slightly serious) disclaimer. I think Nikki Cox is a beautiful lady. Not everyone shares my opinion. There's lots of very critical people out there writing think pieces about how surgery destroyed her career, or about how she's ugly, or this that and the third. I
don't agree with them and it's not my intention to write anything that may come across as rude or critical. But the fact remains that Nikki has had surgery and what am I, a mere Janet Donner fan, to do? I would describe Dash as short like Jason Marsden, and I would describe Marshall with long hair like Omri Katz. Should I opt out of describing Janet, or should I take the bull by the horns (so to speak) and include it in my writing? Well. Here's a piece specifically about that issue, condensed into a 666 Janet/Dash drabble. Enjoy.
“I used to think you were a bit of alright,” Dash said, leaning up against the door to the bathroom as Janet carefully used the wand from a frosted lipgloss across her bottom lip.
“A bit of alright? Are you fifty?” She asked, before sucking her swollen bottom lip into her mouth to transfer the excess lipgloss onto her top lip.
“Maybe,” Dash said, taking it in an unusually good fashion. In the mirror, he scratches his head with his left hand, so actually his right. It hardly matters, his hair is so unruly. Janet can’t recall ever seeing it tidy let alone brushed. Using the doe foot wand sideways, she painted the peaks of her top lip with a careful, practiced had. The microglitters reflect the light a pale blue, close to the color one might see if they put Blue Hawaiian over shaved ice, and the shaved ice was little pieces of glitter.
“Used to? If I recall, you haven’t been having any trouble sleeping with me.” She said, dragging her finger between her teeth to catch any stray glitters. Dash appeared just over her shoulder and compared to the volume of her hair he’s small. His new coat is not recently cleaned and smells like the underbrush and rotten leaves of the forest on their most recent venture to find specific mushrooms for Marshall’s DIY potions.
“Before you did all that stuff to it,” Dash said, waving one hand in a circle. Janet looked at herself again. “I always thought you could ‘a been a model.” Janet sucked her lips in again so that the gloss is evenly distributed between both her top and bottom lip. She slid her hand under the roughly little finger width strap that had slid down and pulled it back to her shoulder. She had forgone a bra with this outfit, being able to see a small amount of nipple was very in, and she has always been very fashion conscious. Dash isn't, he’s been wearing the same outfit (more or less) since she first met him in ’93 and if Marshall is anything close to a reliable source (he’s not) then he was wearing it before that too.
“All that stuff?”
“The lips. The fillers. The…Breasts.”
“That’s not my face.”
“You know what I mean.”
Janet looked down, she’d never had a complaint about her breasts. Neither had Dash if memory served. To her, they were a perfectly perky handful.
“If you had a problem I had presumed you might have told me before the foreplay.”
“I don’t have a problem with them. I was just saying. You used to look so natural.” Janet does not think that she looks as unnatural as Dash was implying. Her lips were a bit bigger and her cheeks were a bit tighter but there was nothing especially wrong with her. People were always so critical of women who changed their appearance with no real understanding or care as to why.
“Do have a problem with how I look?” She asked, looking at him, one penciled in eyebrow-raising up onto her forehead.
“Well, no,” Dash admitted, carefully in a tone that indicated that yeah, he did have a problem with how she looked. Janet took her time screwing the applicator into the tube, before setting it down on the table in front of them. The mirror had a series of lights around it that would be great for doing makeup if the ghost that infested their home would stop trying to communicate through it with morse code. “So long as you’re doing it for yourself, and what you think it beautiful.” That was a very un-Dash thing to say, Marshall must have put him up to it.
“I don’t want to be beautiful, Dash.”
“Then what do you want to be?”
“A nightmare. A force of fucking nature.” Dash catches her in a kiss by surprise, never mind that they’ve just tided up. He says nothing. He doesn’t have to.
.
don't agree with them and it's not my intention to write anything that may come across as rude or critical. But the fact remains that Nikki has had surgery and what am I, a mere Janet Donner fan, to do? I would describe Dash as short like Jason Marsden, and I would describe Marshall with long hair like Omri Katz. Should I opt out of describing Janet, or should I take the bull by the horns (so to speak) and include it in my writing? Well. Here's a piece specifically about that issue, condensed into a 666 Janet/Dash drabble. Enjoy.
“I used to think you were a bit of alright,” Dash said, leaning up against the door to the bathroom as Janet carefully used the wand from a frosted lipgloss across her bottom lip.
“A bit of alright? Are you fifty?” She asked, before sucking her swollen bottom lip into her mouth to transfer the excess lipgloss onto her top lip.
“Maybe,” Dash said, taking it in an unusually good fashion. In the mirror, he scratches his head with his left hand, so actually his right. It hardly matters, his hair is so unruly. Janet can’t recall ever seeing it tidy let alone brushed. Using the doe foot wand sideways, she painted the peaks of her top lip with a careful, practiced had. The microglitters reflect the light a pale blue, close to the color one might see if they put Blue Hawaiian over shaved ice, and the shaved ice was little pieces of glitter.
“Used to? If I recall, you haven’t been having any trouble sleeping with me.” She said, dragging her finger between her teeth to catch any stray glitters. Dash appeared just over her shoulder and compared to the volume of her hair he’s small. His new coat is not recently cleaned and smells like the underbrush and rotten leaves of the forest on their most recent venture to find specific mushrooms for Marshall’s DIY potions.
“Before you did all that stuff to it,” Dash said, waving one hand in a circle. Janet looked at herself again. “I always thought you could ‘a been a model.” Janet sucked her lips in again so that the gloss is evenly distributed between both her top and bottom lip. She slid her hand under the roughly little finger width strap that had slid down and pulled it back to her shoulder. She had forgone a bra with this outfit, being able to see a small amount of nipple was very in, and she has always been very fashion conscious. Dash isn't, he’s been wearing the same outfit (more or less) since she first met him in ’93 and if Marshall is anything close to a reliable source (he’s not) then he was wearing it before that too.
“All that stuff?”
“The lips. The fillers. The…Breasts.”
“That’s not my face.”
“You know what I mean.”
Janet looked down, she’d never had a complaint about her breasts. Neither had Dash if memory served. To her, they were a perfectly perky handful.
“If you had a problem I had presumed you might have told me before the foreplay.”
“I don’t have a problem with them. I was just saying. You used to look so natural.” Janet does not think that she looks as unnatural as Dash was implying. Her lips were a bit bigger and her cheeks were a bit tighter but there was nothing especially wrong with her. People were always so critical of women who changed their appearance with no real understanding or care as to why.
“Do have a problem with how I look?” She asked, looking at him, one penciled in eyebrow-raising up onto her forehead.
“Well, no,” Dash admitted, carefully in a tone that indicated that yeah, he did have a problem with how she looked. Janet took her time screwing the applicator into the tube, before setting it down on the table in front of them. The mirror had a series of lights around it that would be great for doing makeup if the ghost that infested their home would stop trying to communicate through it with morse code. “So long as you’re doing it for yourself, and what you think it beautiful.” That was a very un-Dash thing to say, Marshall must have put him up to it.
“I don’t want to be beautiful, Dash.”
“Then what do you want to be?”
“A nightmare. A force of fucking nature.” Dash catches her in a kiss by surprise, never mind that they’ve just tided up. He says nothing. He doesn’t have to.
.
