#::: { VERSES } As Deep As The Bluest Sea

[prettytm]

She watches as he stares her down, then puts the last four chili-cheese fries in his mouth, before tossing that casual lean in the back of the chair, arms bent back behind his head, midriff showing. She looks from the plate to his belly to his face in a circuit three times before landing in those glossy dark eyes. She bares her own teeth. "Seriously? You’re gonna finally win me ovah wi' ono grindz, den wen stay hurt me like dat? Ya one cruel, cruel man, Billy Russo.” And then she laughs.

"..." He attempts to even the seriousness of his expression plastered onto his features as he watches her, that laughter lighting up her eyes in ways he so rarely sees. He doesn't want to break. He wants to tease her. To make this moment last for as long as possible before one of them fucks it up. Because it seemed they were just too much alike when it comes to .. Their ability to ruin good things for themselves. "..Those were my payment for all this fine food. You didn't think I'd just.. Let you have the last fries?"

He blows a raspberry and then.. He cracks and his voice joins her laughter. It's a damn good moment. It's been a damn good day. Just the two of them. A movie, a walk through center park, a little mischievousness with a horse and carriage.. Then ordering in from his favorite diner.

Yeah. It's been a damn good night.

[prettytm]

For a long moment.. He just lets her be. He's insulted her in some manner or fashion, which hadn't been his intention. but now that his mistake had been made there's little to be done about it. So he waits and watches, he's sure the moment of upset would blow over but.. Before he had time to wait for Beth to calm, someone looked like they were going to get a little too close, like they just might reach out to touch or even pull her close.

He sees the appeal. She's a stunning woman. But she's off limits so before she's even had a chance to make it to her desired bartop, he's reaching for her hand and pulling her back against his body. It's not professional in the least and to have her warmth so tight against his chest.. And she's so small, he can't stand at his full height, he has to hunch over slightly as an arm slips around her slender waist.

"Beth.. No one's putting themselves out. I'm sorry I made you feel bad." A hand lifts to tenderly cup her jaw, thumb smoothing up the sharpness of her cheekbone. "You're beautiful.. Smart.. Funny.. And any man would be a fool not to want to have you on their arm."

But this was a job. They were friendly sure but so far that's all they had been. Even that had been a welcome change from what his life had dissolved into recently.. He'd take a bullet for her and that means something. Even if she didn't know it yet.

@prettytm     {{xx}}

Marines. You can take the man out of the Corps, but you’ll never be able to separate the Corps from them. Beth should have known that with Frank, should know it with Billy. She’s grown up in the shelter of Marines and Navy Sailors, cutting her teeth on cadences, having no less than a full squad trying to earn points with the Admiral by keeping up with the chores and duties she and Andy couldn’t. From her that first Embassy disaster when she was twelve {and the ensuing International Incident it caused} most of her significant social functions have had one of Billy’s many thousands of brothers or cousins at her side, if not the Admiral himself. She should know better by now. For a few solid moments, Beth loses herself in the music and in the wave and flow of the heat, the light, the motion of it all. She feels the beads of sweat dampening her hairline. The rustle of fabric of his suit as it gathers between her thighs. Against her chest. All along her palms and fingers as she tightens her grasp for a heartbeat or two. Her lips draw tight against her teeth but not in a smile ~not a real one~ and certainly not showing any of the sharp teeth beneath. This is maybe where a little of her privilege shines through or how someone who doesn’t know her might interpret the expression and words, not considering where they come from. No one ever really does. “Don’ put yourself out on my account. I’m…” A big girl, she almost says even if its the farthest from the truth. “I’m going up to the bar.” The heat from her, the negligible weight of her body, all of her seems to vanish somewhere unreachable in that moment as she pulls away from him and starts to turn away without waiting for a response.

[arelya-andaria]

Vampire AU - Vines of Blood and Music - Extract 2

Wasn’t expecting to post this tonight, but as a thank you for the lovely words I’ve gotten, here’s a Christine POV, following from part1 https://arelya-andaria.tumblr.com/post/187061420290/vampire-phantom-of-the-opera-au-extract  :

Ever since he died, she hasn’t had the courage to go to that house. Lost in the middle of Provence, an ancient thing passed down in her family for generations. It’s a beautiful house, made of old pink stones, with few windows to keep the fresh air in, and a roof of red tiles. A garden of wild flowers and fruit trees.

Always felt like a fairytale home, especially when she was a young girl and her father drove them there to spend the summer, after a school year in Paris in their tiny flat.

She would spend her days running through the vines, drunk on the open air, the smell of lavender and pine.

The hills in the distance. The olive trees with their green grey leaves, the sun hot on her shoulders, the wind, strong and warm tangling her hair. The river that flowed down their property, lazy and quiet.

Her father would play, as well, and she was called home by the echo of the melody on the wind.

It was their refuge, two months during which she ran and sang and just was, free to be and live just as much as she wanted. They would play in the markets, in the small villages around their home, each more pittoresque than the other, on silent hills, nestled around forests and rock pits.

It was as if time had no empire on these stones, life going on as slow as it had been nearly a century before. The roads were still small and sinuous, passing through thousands of vine lands and around the hills. The cicadas’ incessant buzzing drowning every other sound, and the wind, moving in the trees.

It was that life she remembered, with tears in her eyes, as she made her way down from the capital. As she left the highway and took the small roads to reach their house, feeling the sun’s hot gaze on her hair, as unblinking as it had been five years ago. The last time she had made the journey, with her father.

Now she was alone, and she felt him by her side, could remember the giddy excitation she’d felt every time she took that road, the promise of two months of lazy walks in the paths around their house. The smell of the barbecues they made, how they would stare at night at the sky, how he would name every star they could see.

It felt like a lifetime ago, that giddiness and freedom.

After a day on the road, she reached the small path leading to their house. Her house, now. Everything belonged to her alone, now.

She couldn’t remember her mother, dead of cancer while she was still an infant. Her papa had cared for her, been her only anchor in that whole wide world, her stone house in the midst of a violent thunderstorm.

Now that he was gone, she was drifting, not knowing her way.

Still, she’d gone on with their shared dream: of becoming part of the Conservatoire in Paris, in singing. She had the voice of an angel, her papa always said, and she had attempted the concours, not once, but twice.

After this failure, she’d quit. Left Paris on a snap, taken the first road, back to where she’d started. Her dream had been everything to her, the only thing keeping her sane after her papa had left her.

And now…

Now…

What would she become?

What would she do?

Perhaps the answer was hidden in that old house, where her dearest memories still lay.

Her fingers were shaking when she opened the door. Inside, nothing had moved. The air felt stale, and she could see the small dress she’d forgotten on the top of a shelf, and how she’d whined when they’d left and she found it missing.

“You won’t need it,” her father had said. “We’ll get you another one for next spring, and you’ll get it when we come back.”

He had never come back.

She threw open the windows, letting light and wind enter what felt like both a tomb and a sanctuary. A place untouched by the sadness she’d felt.

On the mantel of the fireplace were her most cherished photographs: the three of them, mother, father, and baby Christine, here, for her first summer. She was a year old, and already had the first wisps of golden hair, and “the bluest eyes he’d ever seen”, her papa had told her.

She looked like her mother now, all Swedish, with perhaps a bit more flesh than she’d had, generous curves that had never bothered her.

Strong arms and thighs from running up and down the hills, from helping her papa whenever there was work to do to renovate that old thing they called a house.

In his eyes, she’d always felt beautiful.

Now all she could remember were the lines of thin girls waiting for their turns during the rehearsals she’d attended to prepare herself. They wouldn’t stare, of course, but that was what perhaps hurt the most.

She was invisible.

A shadow, alone and cold, in a city as grey and cold as she felt.

Now, with the sun hot and vibrant over the green hills, and the colors of a thousand flowers, she would feel alive again.

She wasn’t very sure where to begin, though.

Her parents’room, next. The bed, cold, and uninviting. The wardrobe, a huge wooden thing, sculpted when her papa would have a moment, one panel at a time.

She quickly left it alone, blocking the memories that threatened her.

Her room hadn’t changed, of course. There was still her teddy bear from her childhood, one she’d won at a nearby fair. The years and her constant attention had not been kind to it. He was missing an ear, and one of its eyes was nearly blind. Part of his face was half-chewed, from when a stray dog had found it in her errands and she’d screamed it away. Her papa had done his best to mend it, but he would always bear the marks of the encounter.

Still, he was fluffy and smelled nice and comforting when she hugged it, letting that small token calm her heart.

Erik, she’d called it. From the fairy tale her father had always told her, in the book from her mother’s childhood. A mermaid’s prince, mysterious and gifted, one she’d always loved.

“He will bring you luck”, her papa had said.

He had, over the years, as she grew into her talent, hoping to make a career out of that, as her papa had done. But it seemed now all the luck had run out, and she drew her gaze away from his warm but misshaped eyes, to sink into her bed.

She was weary and dirty from the road, with just some food and drinks waiting for her in her car, and she fell asleep.

When she woke up, it was night. The cicadas had quieted, the moon had risen, and there were no other lights than the stars, white points in a sea of impenetrable darkness. The wind was quiet in the trees, and it felt still warm.

She felt hungry, and went to her car to retrieve a few things to spend the night. She showered, and climbed onto the roof to watch the night sky, a sandwich in hand.

She could see her shadow, so bright was the moon. Her cheeks still felt wet and aching, from her earlier tears. Had it been a mistake, coming here? After all, if Paris had reminded her of her father, every single day, how could this place fail to do it, when every stone bore his mark? When they had put their love in each corner, every strike of paint on the walls?

The tears came back, when she had sworn a few months ago they never could, so much had she cried and cried. A great, deep well, never to end, never to dry, fueling the pain in her heart.

Numb. Despite the warmth, the silver glow of the moon, she felt cold and numb.

And during those times, there was only one thing that could ever hope to soothe her heart if only for a moment.

She closed her eyes, and started to sing. Her voice echoed on the surrounding hills, the sound pure and clear, despite the tears in her voice, the shaking at times, and she let it ring, over and over, the same verses never feeling quiet enough, never meaningful enough.

I miss you.

I love you.

How can I ever say goodbye?

Feeling like a waste of space, feeling like she would never be enough, never be good enough to fulfill their dreams. Her dreams, the fire in her heart, the star she’d kept burning, low and so vulnerable.

When she finished, her voice hoarse and tired, she didn’t move. The moon had moved, crossed the sky over to the west, and the stars had dimmed ever so slightly.

She could feel the tremors of dawn, the barely there brightening in the eastern sky.

Now her body felt numb, but some of the ache had quieted. Her head felt clearer than it had been when she’d begun. Not nearly enough to be sane, but it would have to suffice.

For now.

*-*

Thank you so much for reading, it means a lot!

[prettytm]

18. a  kiss  that  draws  blood. Sunday nights are reserved for dinners with the Admiral. When Billy is the one to pick her up the car ride back to Bay Ridge is silent, the tension untenable. She disappears into her apartment and she takes everything out on the punching bag. On herself. Tonight is different. As soon as the car is in motion she puts up the security glass between them and the driver. One lithe leg fits over his lap and her hands press him into the seat with surprising strength. The kiss is hard, savage, after she traces the shape of his mouth with the tip of her tongue and pries him open. She catches his lower lip between her teeth, all of them suddenly sharp, and suckles it until she cuts the tender flesh, mixing his blood with the taste of wine lingering in the recesses of her mouth.

Fucking Kiss Billy ::: Accepting

Fucking Beth Riley would be the death of him yet.

If he had any experience with addiction he'd compare her to any drug that's currently on the black market. She's as sweet and as deadly as any of them. To limit what he feels for her down to.. He couldn't get enough didn't seem right, didn't seem strong enough of a statement but there isn't really much as to compare her to.

Perhaps the rush of battle, the bloodlust of war but that seemed insulting in the worse possible of ways. It made it seem like he thought of her as violent and cruel. Oh. She could be. But she was as sweet as sugar, kind, caring.. She was a woman who was equally as much of a devil as she was an angel. And she drove Billy mad.

He felt insane when around her. He loved every minute of it.

Like tonight. There was a routine after Sunday dinners. She'd take her anger and her frustrations out in the safety of her home and he'd be there to watch, to wait. She's never.. Imploded the way she does once that dark glass separates them and gives them privacy. She's never been the first to give into their shared desires.. And for one wild moment he thanks the man who had driven her to this reaction. Because kissing Beth was.. Earth shattering.

And oh how she kisses him tonight. Like she was hungry. Hungry for him, hungry to make a bite out of him. And he's not shy to return her rage, to return her rough huger. No. He kisses her with the same dark lust she gives him and if they've both bloody at the end? He'd licked her clean, taste even more of her of the sweetness of her drug.

[prettytm]

@brooklynislandgirl { x }

The Riley Siblings were going to drive him insane. He knows it as sure as he knows his own name. They were polar opposites and yet so alike that his head spun. And stubborn, he nearly forgot to mention stubborn. He might even claim they held more stubbornly onto things than he did. Which was a tall order. He could hold onto a grudge but he thinks.. That Beth, his little beach princess, could carry one to her grave if you let her.

There's no way for him to know her history, to know that for as long as she could remember, everyone had seemed to pick her brother over her. And he couldn't know she had experienced heart break because of it. But he did know.. She had this mistaken thought that he wanted Andy and only Andy.

He wouldn't lie. He did want her older brother. He wanted him to bend him over and fuck him until he couldn't walk straight. But he wanted Beth more. Not purely just for sex. He was in love with her mind, the skill he had seen her put to use when patching up one of her three idiot men, the little smile that crinkles her nose and the gleam of mischief in her eyes when he suggests they go get ice cream.

Yeah, he wanted to fuck Andy.

But he loved his little sister.

And he had only mentioned him because of a spat they had had earlier in the day, when he told Billy no and the stubborn marine had decided then and there.. He'd do what he wanted, when he wanted and how he wanted. Andy was only a fixture in this conversation because.. He was the one ordering Billy away from her. Not because this was some.. Weird way to get back at him.

"..Beth.." How does he begin? Where does he begin? He doesn't know. He's not good with all this emotional shit. He had been avoiding it all his life. But if anyone deserved for him to open himself up.. It was the woman standing in front of him. "Yeah, sure, Andy's hot and I wanna fuck him. But he has nothing to do with what I want to do with you."

He pauses to gather himself, not trying to rush and ruin this.

"..I fucking want you. Every brilliant piece of you. Every brilliant flaw. I want to take you to this little chapel in Vegas and marry you. I want to move to some silly mansion with too many rooms and be yours. Hell, maybe one day I wanna have babies with you."

[prettytm]

"Be honest. Why am I not good enough?"

Let's Be Honest :: Accepting

Time stretches between them as he watches her, those words hitting so close to home that he thinks he might have forgotten how to breathe. He has his own reasons, a laundry list of them, for thinking he was worthless. Voices upon voices piling up until he could hear nothing but the echoing chant of them around him. It's hard to think anything above the roar of them but he has to wonder..

Is this something she feels? Does she hear her own voices in her head? Like a flock of birds circling, cawing obsessively, as she bats them away? He hopes not. Truly he does. Of all the people he wished harm on, Beth Riley is far from one of them and it seems unfair that anyone should have the power to make her feel this way.

"You're worth more than you'll ever know. To me. To Frank. To Andy. To us? You hung the damn moon in the sky."

[prettytm]

☎️

You In Billy's Phone? :: Accepting