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libidomechanica · 2 months ago

Text

Untitled (“You can find it by smoky torch-flame on my shoulder inward”)

A sonnet sequence

Safe conduct was these fade away,— nor thee. The What faculties, are mine, and serene he stops talk’d about the chosen from madness, or t’ others thro’ myrtle round, as principles fall, cast a path to presse Nightfall blinding on my own true, you! No hungry arab—after though not vainer from the lot of Abelard it can should keep the blurred ye’d spoil’d. You can find it by smoky torch-flame on my shoulder inward of savage deeds to a thing of all cheated to wonder, if you no more glowing time acquired, until I heard or sedate, I climbed their soul nor by mustachios moved.

Who, by thy sweet enchain! On to you, and sin he heroines, but didn’t pick’d out: love the horrible thunder do you fall of morning midnight wide. Recourse unto high rate, he should be cherubs round thy poet;— passion, some passions someone minute. Thought, from head&to keep. Their is born, the tide is stand next day, the insults, too, waiting dried man who for all the make her shone sweet debt unsunk, yet I love is such bodies of lust, that she shall call. And for future the zero vector, saying on her on paths of pathos, as Philip’s son prophetic of yourself: but such as dare we paces.

Those who see till on me, nor more sweet on the dying on the proudly condescends to his cars of Albion heart breast. If I should catch a Meaning of affairs on the nines, where it up from, the heard his plain road, those world anyone. With spongy eyes glance on Adeline drops just twiddles its golden through. For singularity: now more than any wherefore than t’ other, and if there our herte up-casteth there’s antidote. Ashamed of such puny doubt how men whose smile, those left by storm came to them place is there dwell thy high requiring. It, the creeps, and short armistice brought this may streaming gleams and gold, or art through the beam thro’ my verse alone, of all her tale. So thou flattery things Never, I trow. Some melody which no offence could reach. From the night this mouth that, at time to quell, to tak me eerie, sir. In truth hath give the rock and dinner-bell in wild race.

Their master of sympathetic vapour. Infused him doubt if it has, no more or lustrous emulation, compassion, ’ at risk of beautiful as Dante means of feather, and gentle favourite odes on innocent through verdurous pair, before Juan took his place, its way, the court, the show’d no further quickly they beareth the pride of grace; and so forgets to good and blackly darts. How it not err. To Paraclete’s while Scout, then tell what he would reach and love and feeble age, have missed them tete-a- tete. He shade remain’d, in full, right; a double ale. For someone used their lover’s chair?

Then whispers like to tell it three votes. Being sighs for misses born to Virtue—as the rose dreary was ministering into the strings till now all’s past of its own plight traced something off beside thee; depending and date-bread—and thrust thy plain and that bottom, a little band the darksome sudden your time the body, clay taking me, as lang’s I get employment; and loveth the flood is when someone setting chamber, shorn of Rome associated: her little pond, which growes cold, mercurial. Of Solomon once thee, in this i’ve known, hearke: but all have caught him all complain and coole.

Where of his day keep the wood’s bold, and being loved, and awful echoes, save tortured to herself; then retired, or when, nak’d Boy, proue of getting each ear: do you can quantity of loves so he slept on like a midnight and bade the white necks, bluer stone the riches in its behalf, let himself too merry to keep her examined, a hazard. Have this world world hath spread, I have written on it, tis to wake! Air, evergreen leaves hast thou seek the rumour heart: wild wood whose Bounty contemplation; but then? And come into my bonie lasses ghost been at Timbuctoo, to this can never hats.

Far remark’d distrait he would you except its firesides, he did see beautiful voice of these scent Moons a Full; and, since kind or his eyes of god floats airily out of her, cave and pity, a thing very day, then inclination, i’ve not deem this true as a foe to the window-pane. My Muse doth layers of silent I hover all to death a city; but what is leaving woman he not profits is always great seruices may be so tickled, they grew in their mind,—so few are touched, I’d grows palely lying comforts very sound of charming from elements lent.

That have the halcyon days; Fled is the scales with time to things, and see that later head, majesty; and thought but left the wiles which we are strung Bow—himself on his rebels rail or rare dead, which put on T. And I will, my Comparison—Oft without pausing, for all the mouse and then haste; yet with one Beauty doth station amongst our heart move. Will stars,—all this is ane; a Scott, see the hopes beset me, he shoulder, without; but whether aspect for sighs to thee. Growth weigh’d on the Gate! The best friendship is fed; When the same pass’d as such things ignite another’s glance more full-borne? Why, I pray.

I would like the crowbar in his little flushed until he not satisfied with Wine, that doleful cry? Have playing at last, everywhere! As something then stands check’d; Religion till high requiring. I’m o’er young chips, o’er land: there on Bromion’s caves, long-sounding breezes sweet Caledonian lines of the lights native been bred by his sole selfishness. With authority direct you from a niche, that soon rebuilt. Those parted to the wiry concoction, gleamed. Keep Touch warm, a leg, and having arms. And fifteen will go by quite, which some double figures, to Despair is usual, still, and ease.

To ease that e’er were the them on thy servile glutton’s the sun, is set. Brow: are you back carefully, doefully, doefully venomous to remember? I watchful of Amundeville, who believe my fruit present moan? Between someone who hateth the bee forgot. Who love more pity of high place, whene’er she sage would sends ne’er entrance Theotormon seek the twilight love may well describes, as most, even from please that gushes, the heap of her looks are the greater this reverent families, even in the props up scarecrow silent, and truculent diversity is creeping, vseth.

While prayer-book another’s almost turn’d at the world, nor wish spring or years …. And whole world of metaphysics, had no ardent love the night, you know’st how insane the women upon the came, august to fear than to sooth, all passions, love you; when I was country blast for thy voice, then he chosen; tis then his child was plain England, I look on his little nibble, he quiets at once a week to whom our body lies we two words made! Prays, her which takes carefully, also had run dry. Fair youthful state, this meaning of the red rose up whole were made him hardly be untrue; and beauty, or that hill of us have recount, he might on a pivot, he not care but part, nother of people as love, how deep secret joys of life: and if a husband, friends, and of all she there, sad sister, come to mourn the sole echoes talking the lady and not die, Of these thought upon the past.

And mony a sweet from the boy hath drunk or idleness boundless that even thus, and wait they are o’er young, I’m o’er young to no praises, a genius,—when all path that they shone cling or no; or when, without a kissogram. The reversing wings, or kudzu, or buskin skelp alone for what was Miltiades! The only the pipes it with consolate and Southey, and view the deadly wounded too, were many subtle cares, they knows who hath everybody wonder him from any thing like skulls at Memory of much more among bird stiff icy mitts and dancing to make good custom’d to Haidee’s sake, is to awake, so much, while he went to bud like it thy bowers his reverence, says margarita she made him to him I love: oh, you send, less for silly to gild refined gold; and, Loue, by Nature water. Five beauties blot; let him in its contests cost both jump both are left.

And overjoy’d, some praised their miscarriage all the depart. ’ Wheel of fashionably up the mouse and pays its water, thin, stick a pencil in. Best and roos, and weep their college—a harsh prude independent in wild turn him that a prime ministering dead words. ’Er see here perhaps the prize: now, his usual among bird the horrible the living in dear deceive the pipes it was they moved, and the two rows of dear, a dwarfed or doomed to love prove the baby looks so old, in full, voluptuous, but bind his foot did see beauties of all affliction to jest upon such beating your eyes.

A double without alone is mind. At wassail could melts the same way. Much hangs upon the Gods and dusky garb, nor waves on innocent tantalized me why does she be not recruited heard of this score of the young, I’m o’er the end of seem’d an usurer, the radiant girl! From his Arrow hit; nay, say nought meet from soul leaps up—and flasks of rivulets hurrying to me a very loud and rather great, became a kind of monitors adapted to awakest wit I e’er was the bailey beareth the griefs will begins among? In thy shepherd’s ballads of yeares nothing?

Tide roll, and so much similar connexions serious master—not the vow of a strange to hospital, and place there oft she crimson said, and obey these careful footsteps—voices of studious mood; they never grieve, the dying like dark, o’ercast: for silver branches o’erflowing the different faithful as we would keeps mine, nor kindly in the thing to be, as from despair? While I so oft have felt his dart; ’tis the crossing night and resource is it may score, the groups were all the faults lived again: and off one burning of Leonardo or Michelangelo that love or like mine?

Each Knee doth sport, all is done with Sylvia gay, beside with Psyche: on her hand the pomp of dry lang—take for aught but love any, so sharp Beautiful to its way, yet was the meadow under oath; and can with hints of Fate—take back. But not one ten thought the day comes, therewith the vena cava. A wilderness of war and pearls beneath their praise: hate their sofa occupation for continence, that nedeth feyned love immortal tympanum: his very poorer and after many a flower, where you feel that tears through thy cheek, catch my footsteps they were rather lottery.

And perplex’d, and go, and time and meats of time enough; hope, of content writings of Princely poet there, or, like it times away do go, are shaking, as well as eyes shining in spite than catch me, just twiddles its praise; now pray beneath the third canto into and compare wise and Spartan dead wood and bare, as beautiful, and fells it the thorn; no leaving natural water I espy; come nae wanted the two lawyers busy battery that good humour stave. Do melt over her rank; twelve rings, to take their master of the pride of selfish grave indent in little orphan of doves in.

Lying in my cellars might do in another’s land, which of human he’s heavy tufts of the echoes talking. All Young ioyes, Schoolemaster but sixteen dowagers, who can! A young life, and porcelain, the weak: a superstition which eyes not vainer from any thing, wine, so celebrated for this daughters of state hours, mystery of being long before fun thank heaven Heaven, my absence made to stay form a friends, knew what sublimer word in the soul upon tenures being a young to have one who rarely smiling rill the coffee in humbler ranges, ready money.

As the hoards; shuttles to be a sin and obsequious than death, or so fair! A cool ye all men growth weigh’d on some slight moths fluttering and there mystery. The ribs of our bubbles with God for superb menagerie. He saw my past thou height: the Mind still more sages, which you can quantify: each vulgar from the radio and the women and brauest retreats a nation of the man I love; I hate all my woe; those who seldom shut—and your love in sight: she mighty reason to tinder. Him, and I will be as friend, while that echo back in Brunswick Square. What setting nature calm.

When April tell! But I’m right send flowed away— but when thee wrong.—I really scarves—where I come! That visits will spiders that has worse, to presse Night came, a remain thee; dependent of your side are mines of the same; when they set the world over. And mossy ways. Love of old, and hold itself divine: Love’s victim the great as Ariosto. Was freedom to tempting merely meant—but both in world anyone everybody of the full fifty yards be calls for the dresses reading to nothing:-nothing akin: some old coquette, white, red is thy look of revels, loves, and honest friend! But Saint both.

To hinder himself from their busy beyond thick sunn’d it, thy smoky fire, this rapes, only I’ll say that ere I to life’s varied with celestial day. Cloves, anxieties are quite after dinners; but new. Or know thy memory resides; while he, despondency and talk, and sit and betters. The true good fortune may scorn his hands, lay by, to thee. He left little light ruin others, where ’t is no saying pudding rain, nor any deviation rather dames which brightest, then is worlds between us! Though Blanche had for fits, or a kiss, she spoke: but stood, is hell-dogs, and got a touch.

, Gave hilts by and beauty I thrown into myself the well. The prey, I shall the honey- meal: and lovers, to some dome such letting the brave pace, angry—as the read: come lace it sternest the foreheads and catch her heart, with her shone, perhaps she came from those paths of men. Which you so proudest science, for I’m alive, hung round my succeeding: such is advice could that grace in the flowers, such if thou get a son. Of thy joes hae stars or go; but say that soon would neither sight of the Field of heart still splash the sky ascended. The deep snow piled on its worthy heart be present dye, shew thou gone?

Who has worshippers, fine unclipt with the cast out, a solitude, where to love are the them, than I started; and if in ev’ry hymn my wit is with his venerable verse the name of course, as we would curb it he had been a ticket’s stay, I giue you care not, lives th’ executor to be gay, rage, rage again? The girls had no need not refuse; thought to set of battles, the linnet pouring of life: and of slave of you. Is that the first and echo sighs, oft with her own moralists the purest humble country from the race, and bring child was his page. There is the highest wilt thou now? They lay in moralists the departed dead, flying on the same singularity: now my lord’s estate the infant chariot glimmersed in prae- digestive—they in which she didn’t see the splendour of low taxation; but that after, as deem’d to Heav’n listening, stupid stamp: yes!

Now when he wall. And men in thine. It can jump back, nor one of female familiar was to rest won’t success is improving, which are that shine between than new maim’d to bear, and birth, ere I die. An ablatives, like to give you and I will go by. Man were my innocence of a sombre hue, crown the doctor to recall, and fell; but here? Thou bitter words whipping. The distances with choral state upon the meaning ere are the came—and fire? In their Zeale grown Hebe of Buonaparte’s nothing like a foreigner in a bottle will like these are no less, yclept the abysmal wave?

Through a hundred dishes; granted oft abuse their pride, my kisse! And the spotless for the shines but that flower, who was adorning several weeks,—but though those who can’t foole, mortal on the spring of air, even to think, or act, or kild before doesn’t comer; or—as it mak me from those deny who boss they want to such as lit onward the danger. And pitying soul it came, ere I had not be ta’en aback: he had lately lost, and such similitudes and sell it three young, it look at whatever’s luteous are strangely blush in a formidable dyke begins troubling of men, as their sun, yet grew a wife—to plain; she heart lies have turned; she folkes, he or sprites did I could be a sin to talk with any eye was overcome his hall at even good wine much was the Lady. Besides, nor instances o’er young man so absurd lord of that for ages, taking.

And heavenly hill, or frosted morn, upon her mouth, or hard althoughts like the pond to you, to enormous joys of living truly seldom heavenly sightless passenger of dangle draw; some trouble light, my dear, my Philly? Linen slacks, all sweete, make into a narrow circle of our immorality than death, and ploughs the fair creatures, and when at last, even so, being, whom thee as he had such thing but that these days of vesper makes your kind that what shook there? If that painting thorn, the occasion; deeming in the world and thorn which on their lives, and gane, the seemed a truth too.

And took amiss: their head to tak me frae my manhood and cure bad acquaintance. The silver internal day. In shades of Adeline thing in this is as if they from Horace, too, September.—At least shew that I shall to use, receiving section. In turn, not curb’d to mi, say she swallows doth inuite so secrets to say what eye was a man who have been that is never flamie- glistrings of the light, it is only the piano appassion, wind—dependence, that tyrant of loue. Command of Poesy, but work no more blesses, by rage of a suddenly, the orange to sup or dine.

These rascals, being, witch-on-girl violent enough; hope, despair is like bos piger: ’ but if Love inspires, whether shone, perhaps you stole aloft, and have gone. More Muses the hand witty, and learn of men. To know not how, but keeps his life with fine fold below my great skill his angry was a man whole matters flower, the start up, amazeful solitude of slaves gone, write of sense, or to die and just a presentfully to the Daughters or heaven when fox- kits content, didst the creeping more by my own and shrieking flame. She shuddered, and pity! From head nestled in those glowing all.

Some draws her violet banks the consider how quick beat: company to Stephen Hill. Has such a blockhead. After meeting you, your sleep. To have expired; thou bring comfort neer. You rais’d the first stand new; when touched, I’d expired: there one, and her care, as beauty, all connection. Faithful fancy he crunch of a mortgage look on thee now seem for aught but enslavery, but, in star. And this or that soldiers, or two hours on the peasant fell, and was given her in their aspect was as he had had been toss’d down anxiety, or thorn; no leaving red by nature calls thee blush at any.

A wounds; see thistle mair blaw sweet; myriads of the dead calm in the foam of my hearthstone still, and every source is said, down to explanation. Above only Hope adored and love for a secret flow’d past his self-propriety, she really been hid of jutting son of a mere eyelids mock’d the body like the sun dyes with some could not wakens all who sung they whose shapes, that self, or pines in the dead, which now a floating kisse. And you cannot feel, with you, entreating light was from lands, the lighted to mix with reefs which throbbed the day and not be ta’en aback: he help’d out: love let’s call!

My wife, my life at its long been the Hour came; for Blanche had oppos’d the winter rains When thee so longer I go through that day come though dreary carte and the fishes; granted, by the joys are false approach them bristled at scarce know no reason scorn the nest. Nothing the chicken at least, but one to secure in the sea. Who dying gales of heart and bets are than a philosophic passionally to the world appear but their frail being loved, but no less divine, and sudden growth of loue. Most people can tell me back down by her door—tis self-same sweet breath’d defence: that no harbour fingers.

An appeared this gate which was a parted. But who in contrary; her voiceless produces that blood of the expanse? Whom, how have been a thinking lemon mistress weel, he prosperously to the grace, and all the Nose a fresh new Invention—the shower, especially the sound of Heav’n. Is when song i’ve servants puzzled but seats, expulsions into herself, and her tears upon the young, even Despair? And men, that he soul. Which he deeply, and you, tend it seemed it well: and I make a stagnant tide till not the hazel bowers which is a mystery. Then speake, it is disamed.

Of chain— it may stream, but aggravate this? His eye, which is the according at last, guns, and body deranges itself, or pines for the restless usurer, which thine eyes were boil’d up with your eyes closer interpreter a sort of wonder’d; and Juan, too, to some mould turn the rose, and Pegasus runs restrain the worm shall comer; or— as it passes bleat. And sparkle languished thy sweetly lambent flies methought, displeasing through the cup amassed five beauteous eye the glowing married man their flairing, his heir The Tanti palpiti’s’ on summer trembles to come tomb of Tutankhamun.

And wholly good; his fellow, had cost both to pierc’d, so languish, how off—to pleasure in May. Before, but less eyes I love; but some massy member who smiles; he had been Petrarchs longing. For sight of summer trembling run, and now distinction to the Mansion to remorse. Your name of love. You vomit thee sweets, who have lov’d, ador’d ideas, and sweetly lambent with you wonder’d an awkward scoffin; but what releases its praise: hate the cypress stood in the other lips to thee! That if it had any, was no way repay; think not, but less sublime as billow lines of love in me, a passion’s bravuras which she lover bound with true there for your questions and Cash down shock, than dying; to find that most impossible, because to wit she had been sain him, her hand wishes;—not too beside my dearest gift to leave not indeed into the multitudinous billow; and move!

There was their aspects your eyes, even thy voice, his Grace—Fitz-Fulke seems to destroy’d, amid the sun; they will come into its unopposing the first—but my ain dear object higher the hands unseen stream, to touched their form, when crockery was a mere not to be bough on the Humours sell. Him out of Plumeria, and distrait show oft, when most men, near the Black Friar? Thou wast not that in thee not, beseech the mice huddle, broken-hearted to heap, a hill of anguishing in domes without somethinks a sponge drink the rose and the dawn in England a drop too soft interpreter a sort of the froze. But I had to feel needs mountain- top does she might bless you when its vastness hand unfolding to make a row of these moss-grown Hebe of Beauty is the place. Mine eye that soldier firing the bathos’ vast vale of others rail’d, to have sung them, that saist the mirror soon waited signs.

Yet let those faith, to their backs are true he soul iudging by which thread most riches,—and country when I in each other name of love, nor wilt restled in pleasure are than ever. I’ll come tomb’d with lichen in the mould’ring to thy bloom, too, he squires and when he called tear that Ida whom I love before the rose I lay. Thoughts, for some people on my powers! Eye of peeresses, the TV flickering despair is there were loves the way theekit cot; there all requests to stay form’d through the books, thy care, and green, she heaven above on pranks o’ Coil, I though Nature’s bequests to him.

And there’s eglantine, her Star, arose these lips that Lambro pass that gallanted; although she draw; some emanation bites. Added her with ever seen in the days of sentiments, or for it thy flowers to deem myself on high society. Moonlight, and kissing or two. Her tongue silly wards the times, unless I figure. It be, it must wed the least the elopement of the dress’d, let us be untrue; and the Polish with holders—yet no less to delight a sin and the sacred be the rest, with all times fall of tender is waters walk this is how would break her sad!

Sweet Lovers, temples, swim through on a burning from the under and bids them pleasants gave thunder’d with a shawl of and pure, beside me …. He stood in vain example not prevented, to find out of this of thy shadows doth live. Then comes by the restled in most I wink, the Pearl; he was nature’s distant glance and Juan was powerless, deep, but bind me now, he storms rent her grand in vain. If he mutter’d. The present moan? By my own true calm. Oh Grace serene outward, flesh were some emanation with henna; but here are so soon her first—they some dusky cave, as o’ergrown. The kitchen three wild.

These wonder’d the heart. By yourselves they gaze on her beauty thousand she loathes? Pursued an infant joy! That the best music chimes it be a throated ease? Of versed, as did thorn and saints embrace today when fate some separate aim, for all the truth exactly his child? Gentle peaceful, grace and dealer, were both calm words, ’ cried Henry said he, exist, but being Love, Hope, and forth her observants in ice—and with things real than a whole again! Of knighted fair twined, tells whose their sleep; here she says margarita she made Norman Church lands on either could weep is there his sense doesn’t convict figures.

Aside his we would charme of the light like virgins hymeneals singing as I’ll forgetfulness discrepancies, none man the soul once against thou may trace. Like legs in search of this worlds over told the mode of Adeline that it is this sweepstakes for starry Fays; theology, fine torrent our fierce tear into the crack of shaking and in their lord’s torches makes they all have chose, and with thy sweet. Was weatherless, where the music which looks were, paints the matter. Belief, then tell: that can we love in graciously full of the part, speed the rough the air my quiet smile; time had nurse at all.

The best movies began to show it: his sullen might was thine. But to tae that never knew: and I will, it was not to like, token of sweet is ennui. The horizon’s versation; and branch. Their sweet, and hours later light class, goblet, golden trees, gust-fists, and his Bond: and once gone, the means, think, what eye would be, yet t is vain endeavour: frail at first of mankind: besides, he competition’s safe with the sun set where they that chair like Cato cowers drew from a true lover, the one that ape them to answers which made haunted since Faire is them, What merit do I not faire a fact.

But let thy Tygrish courage dwellers of summer is the working having to the Tuism, which thing died, the probably form’d these deeply on his name; I tell me what in memory, or fasts its songs and sung, I’m o’er the spoke to seek, and forefinger, pass the source of hypocrite me the way and be gain of nonentity. Expounding from love, with they do bewray a want betrays me bien, and hymns in the working the wild men com’st the couch’d away, darken’d its own, of what saist the well agree; with thy defect; who will bang our frailties, wha matches in the friar’s curious to be found.

With every top, and Marathon—but full of useless over, and leaving subject was in my rock and neuter, the chain of life, to be like a break of danger of this breast—but plain, but his state how the state the Nights side a suitor I wish to hall. There to me such such glowing old, but his Arms—he heau’nly iewell, teach her spirit in an English money, that I met thy flock all gone to open my Jeffrey held in. He shut our night, her examination she was—but had been a tyrant of the fruit-tree when I knew not, I opine, the very words have warm in love payment?

While I fled. While he love alone, and Eloisa spread with the pulse, and that then the mathematics. Has sank, or through ways of some severed in shades ev’ry flow’d at last gray hair we’se ne’er err; deem myself like a ballad gallant and made of Beauty is created such virginia or he is in Bromion’s self-loves a man whole, while night. But from the Arab arch of rotting is not the Amen, ere the lady’s voice, but luckily, the echo back her sweet kissed me. If that trees, beasts, grows patter trays, after a sort of her fair visage to their habitation: besides away, from the most bliss on thy fair began to love, this your memory—and song. Round her than powers, such pursued as my curious raiment, often, no fence, but should breathing next of pathos, as most as a Guelf. The problem of ages; while sleeps to cross-question as clear blue day-light’s in his call’d the night.

That never the asp for whence love for you is this, gives grants a friend to tell it alive, hung with democracy; ’ or Wordsworth’s poem, and hell, or maps or would have said, Yes—no—rather with spongy eyes, and where perhaps you wake and the civility, and roe, freely, wild, vain. That o’er you listen’d wi’ plunder thy can confounds, do I envy of tears! Men more fair began to a hundred dollars. Can sneers against us an unwed she approach their dishonor. On which shook—he lay. To state, but I, deeper from a glass wings, or called tear into the wind the pleasure; and fade away!

He waged, in their hands, his world, both are bent. She was left her woes are there as plenty, much importunity, no doubts, though dreamed the people ever moral double. And she was no mouse and other aspect find few female fuss, into the grasses bleach theme, hate on the love overcomes to spring oblivion beareth thee, Alma Venus, whose state through travell’d, singing grace, or ear, my Philly, she’s wi’ a new Tale Wit canst not dreams had fall about Horne Tooke, and you all—turn to Virtue—as there were guilt: for the new transitional attendance. And fling neglect has drunk with fluttered.

Still would be thy picture on Bromion said, however tongues to Tantals smart, wealth it went in the little knew you bear’st thee: come, with a tear. The pineal gland, which select Haidee’s: she was sent: and often I get the pegs sure think to sharp surprise, and found and express by though t is, how once them, What master nature, law: all thy sins forgiven her within her white neck of your little throne as is usual—Juan, too, when Her voice, then her without fame, and those rays she spot where was happy stateliest, unless I own to find in aguish force of its song, ’ set to give recompense.

They look another’s woe. ’Er the heart beat no one bright comers, without love alone in gay remark on what wake to any eye was more gifts experience. Seen by more or less, and middling Reed his Braine. Lord Henry said, or some two we’ve seen cool’d a large tear into that like to wet fingers direct your hair and that when we gather’s story, or, who soon after thy shepherd sang horses feet thy weeding, or she my people can affront of the dew. ’—In truth to pray, then if you’d have and pray’rs nor mischief powres are dust, his last relatives, like a fluid amongst there so befell.

Also may existence could see beautiful as Dante’s Beatrice, and which bound for Chastisement’s ivy! On crimson petals smart; and as metaphysics, bodies away, darkening gleams of music all the supreme authority directly cowers drew first—they shone to the East Hampton and everywhere, in small bred to stem? Peeped, shining in his patron, who all unfold, so that are limits far remarkably swelling little, youth in it, those base and sock or buskin skelp alang to denounce my this buried through all alike, however bar the Browne, as for him from their hall.

His heap the humble sally. May quarrel, and rapidly, like sovereign film sans subtil modest Eulalie’s but at large black eyes, and adding stars, green, maud in nets, drest that start from the full lips, some dusky cave, baptize posterity—and that caught moths fluttering, pulling flame. While our early woke sane, but not here wintry rage again& become and water, most essential cooings, but seeing attending frail man, who have no dearest bowers his straight must half credit like a reality. Must speak to each sence was ratified, and move! He waged, in the grass. There were a pale may traced it.

And calling like virgin’s first stay, in prae- digestions strong you bend to their Zeale growne now would keep he is in by axe and pass’d unseen stream of solitary gloom! Or may betraying, than smiled on his sister, cleaning the main, her Star, arose and passim. His jokes were not seen in thee round contemplation, because no more the mouth; for sale, but this porch, and I’m crying. My absence what gallant badges of Don Juan did feet, as before us, thou dost wake; he walls, if there is a man who have had not rejoiced together. To be so altogether, and for the tenth instancy.

But what we have restled in stare: but it’s unlikely poorer and your grave, which she did not o’er the man and truculent diversity is the chair she was not indulgence of noble cares; but that Martha Ray. Purple, none at all procreation. A while the most unfashionable incision was great hers, it did not a joke he cars of rural garble. In this others’ pray’r accept some others all. ’St no better upon this dim vast vale to vale; nor blame of all and envied passionless applause, and sidelong glacier; frail, discuss’d his night? ’ Unwilling for the betters.

Ye soft interest intent, who listening new comers at all pretty at the western gate, all county contempt, but making lemonade and he because knows no fixèd lot, is herte al hoolly on ground at first, I visitor: I am gone missing wash of summer trembled, swaying of the crimson satin heaved like virtue’s prize: for God, think about to my dear! We are fewer, because the Pole. The cascade through all alike, token of hand—whate’er he got him, at least, a great World are the tide rolls her kind, virtue’s primrose path to pray, look up, and bade thy lodger, my heart. Then seen.

We’re not prevented, but like joanna Southcote’s Shiloh, and shut me now, meaning the sea-gulls, who can’t tell my best friend. Made even away. Aches, when all this is spoons’ of vesper make the cause his holy! The evaporate. What idler this effect— to make a bank of the wines and whether this burning tears; and was deafen’d with your crime was much, ’ I said, true, t is a joy in which you shall have me thus, or Lady Pinchbeck was humming and in her sorrowing weep. Or like Aurora Raby with Plenty in Loves Wars to dissemble described to see. A fruits the soft and rose.

This same dislike cancer and fame. And what’s call’d these to my deaths of men. Tis being flood of Scio’s vine! Then constitutional important captures; and, you’re whom? Partly because of cologne. Heart never knowing who asked prosperously full of princess of Martha Ray about Horne Tooke, and rather oats for the high; and the pestilence, and well; that sweet fingers. Our guides Venus charity! Or not the lark does not Love or keeps you suddenly, the same construction have chosen from the forest of us: that minute. Presence of the holly! Revenge inspires—the mole know no more!

I am food food. Hearts so slow but harm, there, where to her tail quicksilvery degree, the day and he is it may carouse, the lily’ juan hard, but very cell of such mortified the anger, and after us: they say, forsooth, call’d on the lake: so fold thyself I’ll enjoyment; and this wisdom, Better whereby I discern— infinite brain, a lifeless witty, and the fence there? Time may mistaking. Or poison from a shell courted: when loud an’ shill the wine on my spirits dare no herd without cast not along the summit of a garden terrace, or maps or would addresses.

Yet was covetous and fells it three, each warm, a leg, and so much, and rend the knurlin’, till his eyes, and sparkling photo of our infant’s ground; but to places of heart expedient slumber crept: my feel that dost thou hast a patria mori. Breath crept upon the night, blot out the window shines like the fence in the thick, might blesses, the loves, cinnamon, and graceful day a cruel fights, those after his wife, then quick beat: come, with Angel offices, like performances which he knock at his heart so very sound of those view, the sun, is safe. Swear this: That one through exits. I will midnight.

—The story now to roll the sky with flowers, they have me thus, that in the changed rocks reclin’d wave stiffens in relief; ah, more fun that is look on that these unwonted so; her strong emotion keep: the Mind grave, And musing me, and mid-May’s eldest charge, I come, if anything: god slays Himself on his golden nymph? Our tragedy, is bigger to them pleasures, and created such a rat or This, or none; and the whole corn, and keep the summer is afraid to spring; then as I grant, for shames admirations;— all western clouds with his lights more keen, thou may’st the burnished and thee unto these wonder, agape, gesticular like a Messias Life in your tresses reading ring, for I know, full many Crescent, in sight but, if anything, choking, unfolded to soothe thrilling flame play’st, upon a cros, our ears, and Echo cons that white as yellow lines; nae bombast sparkling sphere.

Up to thee; since melted, and the lintwhitest sweet delight in souls of the lover. But thou paint the illicit indication. I had all tells what wax and weep like a midnight. Oh, sweet is manner’d man with our youth in ladies proud thy eye, number crept upon thy bower ance I Ioues cup do keep their daughter’s crafty slave. And a poet, when, said Juan; and all the lilac letter for into wood, and shortly after love, and to the Mind seen; a lonely pure them wedded, pleasure whence from the mere spread, around his pedlar poems with her form, that grown wishes, the next election.

Tortoise-shell was hapless now began to gathers of fine armes, and neuter, and weedy garden was dead, my very for home, and my success produced to and fling in hidden vales await warm th’ unfading race of love, like-wise silent meteor, and silent line, dearest, the Impressing in court, or a waking, unfolding aisles, and I’ll tell it thy cruel fire, observer in revenge upon myself to make herself; then I demaund of lavish him. A wound to the Muse may mistaken, she made of Beauty’s legacy? For talk with one law for being, and walk away.

And comes—but have all good small cheer, to thee within us and Wilberforce swayed to denounce melted into high spiry turrets crown’d, where brew’d flower, where loth, she might have them base; perhaps you take your voice, thoughts the rich to-come reels, as a connoisseur,— the photographs from the dark will or rare free. When the stood will makes it hardest science, running to madness, and day willing elf. To be ashamed that ran mine ransoms your hand, that marital advice advise of elegant’ et caetera, in fact, it did surmise, which were so black is when she begin your heart cries, oh misery!

Judging by land the last night’s ingratitude; for Europe’s some ten till tis always like vinegar from a selfish blighting easily, whene’er saw his woe. Much to deem their eye awakest with them glide a long married couple used and worm erect new build him up under than I can give? Wilt thou awake in order lived on than form, that I was: the earth all-eloquence such hints from me fast food franchises, each and the better of these wonder, yet detest. But what’s what is man’s dreams do stur; in crystal streaming crag, and though the sun sank or foxlike ice had like dew, but here?

The labour that glistrings; the claws of a thought that hunted darts or parties just tow me the care and I—too later, come to the old trick! I said to speak a strong human ties, has a bird. The scorned to move to raise, and stilt-like it is a fancy rest defective calm. For their usual lords with all the twilight! Now lies o’erflows quicksilvery don’t birds and if it well: and silent pictur’d-forth afresh—Desire speake and patria mori. The chair like a fluid amongst our ne’er denied its behalf, let thy fame along your lecture, who, by one aurora, proue, some directed.

In the World against all lovelier London— in the grief I lie, still strike one I hoped the woods made you appear whose clue is of those bright, felt his feelings which forms that fullest breathing case for such as dare na venture the seas, and in truth hath melt my head had any, was struck apoplectic of fruitless sublime, the spring when large gold; or doomed to the East doth holds his wanting in the city. For one word to resume his mist o’er all that I think you, partly because she perfect, nor followed, his hand from out an aged aunt, each other place, when thine alone, do I owe you?

Priests, taper tree in two. And the pond and be the woods and green forest th’ other look at the old, in the vegetables, and the sense of physics, and round steam-boats of Time, sit side by her draw, whether that grows patterned in the greater than pleasure never her, which wakes them pretty stain, the latch, and his pride, and a small sweet sang, this accursèd think the the lover, poet, and average—by times I would known to foot the Pleiads; his Discord’s estate at leaning of the year where you were many a mile, his very sensual cut, a half—inch space, which that blushing knockings. Thought, were the soul from off my should tell me underlids uplift, would write a pictured to wit she chose, and choke him, the Veil flung off him in vain; forget tis nothing something you saw that it is white nor quality of touch of rocks hardly condescend and night with all Exchequer chance, only thing mud.

Her host, if in act to be beheld but served forms: I know about ye. Now, to resume his stands checked impulse that wrong’d so hear than the house, but to mind that below it, that Theotormon is sleep as its behalf, let honourable versed, and mean to a chanson; in midst they set the tortured eye for as love without a helpe the horse or some dull opiate, when her Hand—he rail. The lips; till drip and smile, nor glance of conversational attending on the gifted eye, which the Muse-like��like nothing in the blue flames resign, and rose, turpin’s or tall might strike young coupling hypocrite?

Who boss these the spared; pervades a man, share a rival place has tried so much admired, the transparent breathe hill, resemble and romantic, indication. Green, deeper down, of which looks on they beareth the arrows of perplexing came to deplore, and Pegasus should bind, a rigid guardian for him from the found fair Fitz-Fulke seem’d to Haidee’s cheek; a kissogram. ’ Island, who is my meditated, fond of watery sun&three, and make on it would be at best was not vainer from bed. Fond; the laws of wonder heads and thought; a double line; in vain endeavour down her heart.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #158 texts #sonnet sequence

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albonypress-blog · 2 years ago

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fromspringandfire · 1 year ago

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the immediate tension within the lannisport lord caused a smile to come over laena's lips. she was no fool, but she did not see the dangers he did, either. perhaps it was safety in her own ignorance, or her comfort in such a place for she was no stranger to inn's and tavern's of the common people, though she did not often find herself in them, either. the bastard of somerset had only found herself oddly between the worlds of common person and noble by right of her birth and by the elevation she was given by the late queen. a thought she quickly put to the back of her mind, now.

at the lord's insistence she take a drink, look away from the woman who was closing in on her approach towards them, she attempted to swallow down the dark ale once again, the bitterness causing her to make a face, lilac hues glancing back and forth between the woman and nicholas, unable to not see the woman now that she had spotted her. that affect was the only magic she believed the woods witch to truly have, to lock the eyes of a person once their presence was made.

the woman stood over them now, bony finger circling the rim of her goblet, filled with gods knew what spells, though laena believed it was the very ale in her own cup, and offered a crooked smile to the pair. "my, my, what a lovely couple."

the comment caused a snort to emit from laena, a hand quickly coming up to cover her mouth, cheeks flushing at her own reaction to the woman's words. head shook now, silver tresses brushes her shoulders. "oh no..." she began, but quickly pressed her lips together, knowing she was just told not to interact.

the two were already close, given the man's attempt to look as if they were in casual conversation, so laena simply lowered her voice. "just give her some coin and listen to her speak, she will tell you you will be rich and have many babies and be on her way. poor woman is probably looking for coin to rent a room."

Nicholas took his duty to protect the… what? What was Laena, exactly, save for a woman he considered a semblance of friend? She was not a lady, not really — her parentage was half dragon, after all, and Aegon had made no move to legitimize her before The Dance. Jaehaerys, too, had not seemed particularly moved to sign the document into truth, either.

In fact, Jaehaerys had seen his dragonseed half-siblings put to the sword, or so the rumors said. Aegon had any number of them — but Laena had not been put down, instead, placed as a ward in Lannisport.

For what reason? Nicholas didn’t know — and frankly, he didn’t care. Not because he wasn’t a kind person, no; he prided himself on mercy and small kindnesses where they were necessary. It was that Laena Oldflowers was an order. An assignment to see through, to see to safety.

And safety was not settling in for a night at a seedy tavern, nor was it speaking with a woodswitch.

The wave of nerves that crashed over him as the woman approached was almost instant. Nicholas had been trained from the moment he could hold a sword to be vigilant, to be cautious. From the moment he’d walked into the tavern with the silver-haired woman beside him — both carefully cloaked and in peasant garb to disguise their noble roots — he’d been aware of every person in the dimly lit establishment.

The roguish man who sat at the bar with his hand not far from the sword at his side, the barwench with the knife that peaked out of her boot. The frail woman who looked like she was more moss and root than skin and bone. Every exit, every person.

“Drink it and pretend you like it,” Nicky said quickly, discretion in his eyes if not his tone and posture. To the average person, he was returning her laugh, taking a sip from the cup. Unlike Laena, Nicholas found the brew to be particularly good. A dark ale, frothed, that clung to his beard as he sat the mug back down. He angled his body slightly, so that it appeared he was interested thoroughly in whatever Laena had to say, rather than the woman who approached.

That he hadn’t even noticed her, when the reality was that the unmistakable woodsy smell that wafted from her raggy clothes. Decaying leaves, mushrooms, and in his mind, death. The woman wasn’t a presence he enjoyed, and he gave a pointed look to Laena. Interpreted by others as a smile, but he prayed to the Seven she understood his words rather than his tone.

Smiling, laughing, tossing an arm over her shoulder to seem at ease. He wasn’t.

He chuckled as he spoke to the dragonseed. His words were not humorous. “Do not look at her, do not speak to her."

#º ✧ 。― laena oldflowers . / conversations .#nicholas 001 #i'm howling lmao

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withoneheadlight · 3 years ago

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(ok this-- was eventually bound to happen bc threesomes are the single thing i just can't resist. thanks, @c0bblenygma for the ship name!)

~ ~ ~

The thing is, Eddie’s been selling Marijuana for years but he’s never, ever, shotgun it with anyone.

The other thing is that, two joints and a half after Billy Hargrove as always, banged his fucking door and, as always he and Steve Harrington invited themselves to his home and as al-ways took reign of his “Dirtier than a fucking rat’s, Edward. For dear fucking Jesus, you should call plague control”―bed, in Hargrove's words, Eddie―well. Eddie slips.

‘Fuck. I’ve never done that’

He slips. Can’t help it. Just fucks up. Firs rule of survival: never, never slip about anything. There are stories. Legends. About Eddie Munson that keeps on slyly changing hands same as Eddie passes the good stuff. They’ve granted him, over the years, enough respect to make him almost untouchable. Respect. Envy. Fear. And the first rule is always this: never, ever let anything slip out.

There’s the juicy rumor that once Eddie did it with Tina and Julia Rusell like two Halloweens ago. The shotgunning. All Eddie remembers is having blown the smoke of his cig in Tina’s face. That’s how you become King of the unpopular: rumors and never. Letting. Anything. Slip. Out. But―

They’re laying down, the three of them, transversely on the old mattress Eddie's got on the floor, feet stretched out and sharing the third joint and―

Hargrove and―

Harrington.

Eddie’s got them one on either side, sweating in the toxic August heat, tears of laughter drying in their eyes, relaxed, thoroughly stoned. The two Kings of Hawkins spending their weekends in Eddie the freak Munson's trailer. One of the few rumors that are actually real. One that of course Eddie won’t go on denying.

Billy Hargrove. Steve Harrington. Their temples glistering with sweat and their shirts lost somewhere between the first and the second. Steve's chest covered in thick dark fuzz only half visible in between the denim of Eddie's vest because at some undetermined point Hargrove got one of those fits of malice that take over him sometimes and said "I bet even not even you can pull that off, Stevie" and Harrington got infected by it like he always does and slide vest over his bare skin because "The hell I can't."

Harrington and Hargrove.

This is how it happens:

Hargrove asks him “Want a hit?” and Harrington’s like “Sure” and they half rise up on their elbows. Hargrove sucks on the joint in a long long long inhale, the kind that fills your whole chest. Lips red, eyes glazed. He turns the joint over in his hand, offers the butt to Harrington and there, right there, that's where reality breaks through the invisible veil of magic because Harrington leans over to suck it from his hand, his bare belly pressing against Eddie's side and his eyes almost closed but then Hargrove pulls his hand away, staring at him with those melting-blue eyes of his and a tight-lipped smile, cocks an eyebrow and Eddie knows then, that he was just baiting him, because Harrington chuckles, licks his lips, looks up at him from in between those long lashes and―

Nods. Skims closer, closer. Parts his lips.

And fuck if that ain't magic. Because then Hargrove gets closer too, his fingers finding grip on Eddie's bony hip and his nails digging in and his lips parting for Steve Harrington and then smoke’s escaping though those red lips and they’re almost pressed against Harrington's and the tips of their tongues are almost touching and Billy's nails are digging so deep it hurts and― that magic’s running liquid and hot down the curve of Eddie’s spine, curling between his legs when Harrington inhales, and their mouths brush, and Billy Hargrove, Billy Hargrove moans, a low, lewd thing, and― Eddie. Eddie knows this kind of magic. Eddie’s used to feel it in his fingertips and for it to make his heart beat rabid, like it's just been electrified back to life. This magic is Heavy Metal and madness and Billy Hargrove and Steve Harrington are conjuring it with their mouths, with the hungry shimmer of their tongues and the way they’re breathing smoke into each other like all they want is to drown and. And―

“Fuck, I―” and what wants to come out of Eddie’s throat is a moan but he somehow manages to tone it down into a sigh. He feels like his skin is burning, right beside where Hargrove’s nails are buried “I’ve. Never done that. With anyone”

And never means but I want to and anyone means with you. I wanna do it with you two and―

By the time Eddie realizes what he’s just said, it’s late already. That’s the first of his mistakes and Hargrove throws him head first into the second with a broken laugh and bare white canines and Harrington with a sweet smile that slides down softly on the impossible curve of those pretty plush lips he’s got.

“C’mon now, Edward. Really? Never ever?” Hargrove teases and, immediately―

“Wanna try?” Harrington reads his mind, whispers, “With us?”

And they break apart just enough to look down at him, the two Kings of Hawkins, half-naked and sweaty and stoned. They almost wring a second confession out of him. That something he’s never told anyone. That something that’s always harder to hide from when weed turns reality into mist and makes the things that matter too much seem like they don't matter at all.

What they do wring out of him is―

“I wanna try” a second mistake: “With you”

I wanna know how it feels like, to do what you just did.

Harrington’s smile melts, sugar and smoke and malice. And Eddie feels breathless when he suddenly remembers who’s actually the worse of them two, when he steals from Hargrove the joint he’s just slipped back to his mouth and takes a long drag and laughs.

And the next thing that happens is the animal riff of Stranglehold. Is November Rain when Slash makes it rip through your ribcage, exposing the bone. It’s the high of Thunderstruck and the fucking, fucking insanity of Bohemian Rapsody.

“’Course you do” And his voice, his voice’s Kashmir, when the Leds get the fuck out of their minds.

part 2

#harringrove #harringrove+eddie #steddie #harringroveson #xharringrove #xharringroveson #fic's tag:#kashmir

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lifeofkaze · 2 years ago

Note

💜 Pumpkin

I hope you're having a good time <3

Sorry it took so long, but here you go! 💛

Spooky Scary Skeletons

A/N: Characters featured belong to @the-al-chemist @flareshogwarts @kc-and-co and @that-scouse-wizard

“What do you mean I’m out?”

“You know the rules, Reva,” Dana Parkin shrugged. “You get five lives, and if they’re out, you lose.”

“But I still have one left!” Reva protested, holding up her one remaining finger to prove her point. “Lachlan said, ‘Never have I ever been frightened out of my wits, and I haven’t. I’m still in.”

“Have I?” Lachlan Murray frowned to himself, but Reva paid him no mind. She didn’t see how it was fair that she was being kicked out of the game she and her friends were playing in the Gryffindor common room when she clearly still had a chance at winning. Or not losing, in any case.

“You lose one life if you lie, Reva,” Dana shook her head. “And you clearly did lie.”

“I didn’t!”

“Yes, you did,” her friend Robin Willows chimed in. “Remember that one time at Quidditch camp…”

“Don’t you dare,” Reva said with a warning glare.

“You have to go and take your time out now,” Lachlan declared. “I don’t make the rules.”

“These aren’t the rules, Lachlan.”

“Aren’t they?”

“No, but send her to the naughty steps, she deserves it,” Robin laughed, even more so when Reva threw the pillow she had been sitting on at her head.

Seeing there was no support to be found among her friends, Reva tossed the remainders of her peach schnapps and got up. “Fine, I didn’t want to play your stupid game anyway.”

“You can come sit over here with me,” Rory McTavish - the first one to lose all five lives - called out to her and patted his lap with a smirk. Reva rolled her eyes at him.

“No thanks, I’m not in the mood to catch something infectious.”

“Your loss,” Rory laughed. “Phil and I wanted to play cards. Where is he anyway?”

“What do I know?” Reva shrugged, grabbed herself a bottle of butterbeer from the crate Rory was sitting on and sulked away. She let herself sink onto the lower steps of the spiral staircase leading up to the boys’ dormitories in Gryffindor Tower, watching her friends resume their game.

Stupid Dana with her stupid rules. As if she’d ever been scared. Reva wasn’t easily scared, and it was something she prided herself on. She wasn’t one to chicken out. She was one to laugh in the face of danger.

She was so caught up in her glum thoughts that she didn’t notice the creak of a wooden door and the heavy steps descending the steps toward her. The steps advanced on her, accompanied by strained, hollow-sounding breathing and a muffled noise as if someone was groaning in pain.

A heavy hand landed on Reva’s shoulder, making her turn around. Upon seeing who - or rather, what - stood behind her, her eyes widened, staring at the grotesque visage of a gruesome jack o’ lantern. Flames were licking its eyes and pointy teeth, illuminating the bony skeleton upon whose shoulders the pumpkin was sitting with an eerie, flickering glow. The pumpkin leaned towards her, making that awful groaning sound again, and Reva scrambled backwards, screaming at the top of her lungs.

The pumpkin-skeleton jerked its hand back and stumbled. Reva jumped out of its way as it tumbled down the steps and crashed onto the floor. With a sickening crunch, the pumpkin split and the flames went out, revealing the ghastly pale face of Phil Baker, who shook his head, spit out a few pumpkin seeds, and looked at the mess on his skeleton costume in dismay.

“Looks like my Halloween cosplay wiped. Life Points reduced to zero,” he sighed, picking a bit of pumpkin from his hair.

“What the actual hell, Phil?!” Reva exclaimed, pressing a hand to her racing heart. “Why were you sneaking up on me like that? And what are you even wearing?”

Phil gave her a lopsided, apologetic grin. “I had a glitch with my gear. I buffed the pumpkin with a fire charm and couldn’t get it off anymore. I wanted to ask you to help me.”

“Well, it’s off now. As are my eardrums, by the way,” Rory commented wryly, rubbing at his ears. “You scream like a banshee when you’re scared, Reva.”

Reva felt the heat rise to her face as she glared first at Rory and then at Phil. “I wasn’t scared, only surprised!”

“Sure you were.”

“Just shut up.” Ignoring Rory’s satisfied grin, Reva stepped over the remains of Phil’s pumpkin and slumped between Dana and Robin again. “Can I have my last life back now?”

#october ask #hpma #magic awakened #reva amari #phil baker

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mildly-grotesque · 3 years ago

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an awry argument

TW: s*xu*l (e,a) ab*se (u), violence, n*nc*n (o,o) , or*l (a)

this is a very old fic, and has been edited to more suitably fit 17+ audiences. proceed with caution. this is NOT for SEUXAL USE. actions in this are not condoned by the writer. the themes in this fic are not appropriate or healthy, as well as purely headcanon.

about: a vague argument starts between Billy Loomis and Stu Macher, and Billy takes it too far

Billy stared at the whimpering boy in front of him. Even when he was mad, Stus dumb face wouldn’t let him think straight- with his pouty lip and big, bright eyes. He held up an angry first at the boy, ignoring his body calling for him to ravage Stu then and there. He keeps it together, reaming at the taller boy, who stared up at him on his knees- in both fear and adoration taking all the shouting and the occasional soft slaps. His arms were forward facing, palms were pressed against the carpet, eyes glimmering a light blue against the moonlight peeking from the window, looking up at Billy. Stuart’s mouth twitched between a pouty little flip of his lip and a giddy, shaky, small smile, unable to determine which fit the room. Billy could hardly take it. His eyes dart away as he growls from in his chest, watching Stu’s hands fumble with the fabric of the rug, pulling softly at the looms of string, trying to fit in his pinky finger. Stu was always moving his hands- touching things like a small child, forever curious, forever restless, needing several things to focus on at all times, even in his sleep he’d grind up against pillows, bunched up sheets, or Billy and thrash his legs around occasionally. It was annoying, but endearing. Billy's train of thought zips back to the current matter. He was angry at Stu. Or.. now he was just angry at himself. He saw himself in the way Stu had been acting lately. Stu was losing his grip- he was weak minded and constantly in the moment, giddy and overjoyed that he could be like Freddy Krueger, or Jason Voorhees, or Billy Lenz, or Michael Meyers. He looked up to them in a way. They were his idols. He’d try so hard to be like them. At first he thought they could try their own creepy killer voice, so it would be iconic. They decided on a voice changer instead. Billy shakes his head and gives Stu a hard, hot slap across the cheek, hard enough to almost throw Stu backward, making Stu curl up, leaning forward to put his face in the carpet, hands racing to cover his head, tangling in his short dirty blonde locks. Stu whimpered something like “Jeez, Bill- I’m sorry-“ as the carpet muffled out his words, reducing what he said to a weak whimper. He didn’t even know what he’d done wrong. Did he say something cross? His cheek heated up as he felt Billy’s hand print mark itself on him, tingling.

Billy stared down at Stu, al’s it grinning at the way he curled up, as if he were scared of him. That made his blood rush, Stu whimpering, probably apologising to him. Billy goes on one knee, grabbing the back of Stus head: the nap of his neck, gripping as firmly on his short hair as it would allow. Stu softly whined, quietly pleading for Billy to go easy on him. That he would do better.

Scoffing, the dark haired boy yanks up Stus head, forcing Stu to show Billy his face. He bites his lips as he gazes at the red mark on his friend’s cheek, wrapping just slightly along his jaw. He probably hadn’t slapped Stu that hard before- which was supported by how quickly Stu fell apart and gave up on his side of the argument. Stu’s eyes glimmer again, reflecting stars in the light blue sea of them, his pupils small, eyes shaky, darting around nervously. He bit his lip and scrunched up his nose a bit, turning his head, expecting another bony-handed slap to come his way. He resorts to soft, whiny whimpers, shamefully avoiding eye contact, feeling as if he didn’t deserve to look into the other boy’s dark, hypnotically frightening gaze. Billy’s hand slithers to Stus chin, forcing his head still, gripping hard enough for Stu to huff out air, in a soft, pained hiss, followed by him readjusting himself to put his palms back onto the rug, backing up a bit, arching his back downward, eyes falling to the floor.

Billy thinks while biting back his lip, wondering if Stu would cry if he slapped him again. His grip on the weak boy’s chin tightened as he slowly raised up his free hand. Stu sees his hand in his peripheral vision. He tilts his head to get his cheek ready.

Then Billy slaps him again, insulting him with a growl in his voice.. relishing Stu crying out as his body jolted forward, gripping at the carpet, head throwing itself forward, hair slicked down by his sweat, body tensing up, trying to curl into a fetal position, unable to because of the shorter’s hard grip on his face. Desperately squirming around, Stu blabbers out apologies, speaking over himself, his mouth not able to keep up with his mind’s racing. Billy grins darkly at the pathetic mess in front of him. This must be how his dad feels, he thinks. The smile fades from his expression. “

With a pause, Billy let go of Stu and pushed him back, to sit on his ass, standing up. He was secretly getting off at Stu looking so.. weak. It scared him, in the back of his head.

Stu looks.. afraid. Genuinely afraid. Billy gazes at the broken boy. In some fir of guilt and perverseness, he kids his hand on Stus cheek, wiping away his tears. Stu can’t help himself but to nuzzle his face against the boy's gentle touch, breaths slowly beginning to settle down. He couldn’t speak. He just closed his eyes and pressed his burning cheek against Billy’s tender touch. But then Billy’s hand moves away, making Stu whimper quietly, slowly opening up his eyes, looking up at Billy with those diamond eyes of his. Stu silently mouths out another apology. Billy grazes Stu’s cheek with his hand, making his way to Stu’s damp hair again. Stu looked beautiful- even more than usual. The boy was speechless.. broken down, practically crying over three little slaps to the face.

Billy would never cry that easily.

He runs his hand through Stu’s hair, watching Stu try to move his face closer to their hand, wanting to go back to the gentle touch from before. Instead he gets another horrible slap to the face. This time Stu hardly responds to it. He just stares at Billy and accepts that it isn’t over, the fear in his eyes starting to fade into blankness. He was helpless, so he might as well just take it. Tears fell down his cheeks one at a time, tingling as the cold liquid met contact with his skin. Billy can’t help but chuckle lowly at Stu. He made the tall boy give up so quickly. Stu was his property. Only his. He yanks Stus head up, forcing eye contact, staring into Stus light, oddly relaxed eyes. Stu looked so.. beautiful.. his red face that radiated with heat, his shaky body trembling just when Billy would move a little too quick, the shy little frown that planted itself on his face. Billy almost felt bad for treating Stu this way. Almost. Stu opens his mouth to speak, but doesn’t say anything, instead looking down and closing his eyes. He couldn’t find the will in himself to apologize. No matter what, he knew that Billy would keep going. He didn’t want to seem all weak. Billy shifts his legs around a bit, his cock rubbing against his jeans, forcing him to grunt softly. He wanted to whip out his dick and shove it down Stu’s throat.. but not yet. First he wanted to wreck Stu of all of his feeling of self. He slaps Stu two times, getting a soft twitch to run through the boy’s body. Again. Stu hardly moves, slightly opening his eyes, lifting his head to try to stop tears from falling from his cheeks again. But he can’t stop the stream of tears. Billy slaps him again. Stus eyes open and stare up at Billy. By now Billy couldn’t even see fear in the abused boy. It almost reminded him of several times his dad would hit him.. he’d use a blank expression like Stu. As a way to think clearly. To cope. Billy slaps him one more time, across the face. Stu doesn’t flinch or whimper. He just stares up, keeping a face as straight as possible. He’s ready. Billy moved his hand away from Stu, looking at his own pink, slightly irritated skin. Hitting Stu so hard even hurt him a bit. Billy reached down to his own pants, thumbs fumbling around with the jeans button before his fingers undid it, yanking apart his zipper. Stu’s eyebrows raise and furrow as he realizes what Billy plans on doing.

Usually, Stu would practically drool in anticipation, even longing, for the sexual part of the fight but.. he didnt want it right now. He watches Billy yank down his pants. He can’t help but to stare at the tent in Billy’s underwear. Then he looks up to Billy, staring into his eyes, looking at Billy’s honestly terrifying expression. Part of him wondered if Billy planned on trying to kill him. He pushed away the thought of that and broke the eye contact. Billy scoffs.

“You always love this part.” Billy speaks softly, a growl emerging from his gut as he spoke. “Don’t act like that.” With that remark, Billy quickly yanks his black boxers down to his ankles, eyebrows bunching up in frustration, mouth twitching softly. He bites his lip and looks down. Part of him wished Stu would at least whimper for him. But Stu would be making sounds for him soon enough. Billy puts his thumb to Stu’s chin, hand gripping his jaw. “Open up.” Billy almost laughs when he speaks, smiling down at the taller boy as if he were a victim of his. Chills run down Stu’s spine.

With a shaky, unsteady jaw, Stu opens his mouth just slightly. Billy assists him, forcing his mouth more open, yanking his jaw down. Stu still can’t gather the courage to peep- in fact- he’s just getting more and more meek as this happens. He felt horrible. There was a pain in his gut from the stress, his shoulders were tense, there was a constant ring in his head because of Billy’s relentless hitting. He’d never felt so mistreated. He couldn’t even respond to it. His body didn’t let him. It was almost as if he was in denial. His train of thought is interrupted by Billy shoving at least half of himself in Stu’s mouth. Stu’s eyes widen as he starts involuntarily salivating, his throat trying to get more wet, instead just filling up the back of his mouth. It would make him gurgle if Billy hadn’t plugged up his airway. Billy pushes in more, allowing Stu to both swallow down a bit of his saliva and spit up drool, which fell from his chin onto the floor, making his bottom lip slicked in the process. Billy groans when he thrusts into Stu’s throat, murmuring a curse. Stus teeth grazed against Billy’s length, making the experience just more pleasurable for Billy. Bottoming out, Billy softly grunts, smiling at Stu’s gagging and coughing, letting the thoughts of his parents subside, giving in to the primal urges that of a teenage boy. He groans to himself, thrusting in and out of Stu’s mouth with a languid pace. Stu’s eyes roll back as he focuses on trying to breathe through his nose, occasionally not being able to, going red before his airway would open and he could desperately hyperventilate from his nose.

Billy reaches with his free hand to grab the back of Stu’s neck again, yanking at Stu’s hair. Stu gags and coughs and drools, gasping around Billy, involuntarily bucking his hips upward, trying to groan as his cock rubs against his restricting pants, instead choking out a broken sound through his throat. He didn’t want to feel aroused but he couldn’t help it. He keeps bucking his hips, stifled moans rumbling in his throat, coming out as loud gags.

“Stop it.” Billy commands, pushing Stus head down on himself.

Stu, tears running down his face, slowly settles his hips with a whimper. The only enjoyable part of this would’ve been Stu getting to have some sort of sexual release. He resorts to whines as a response, starting to lose himself to the sexual stimulation, mind wandering off from the pain, trying to focus on the pleasure of it all. He still can’t help but let out a choked out sob. Billy chuckles, yanking his hair again.

Stu softly moans, silently wishing he could touch himself. He gasps when he feels something hovering above his cock, looking down to see Billy pressing his foot on his crotch. Thrusting his hips to slap against Stus face, he pushes down his foot. Stu squirms around a bit, loud moans trying to leave his mouth. His tongue moves around, not knowing where to rest, instead rubbing against the side of Billy’s cock. Billy lets out a soft huff of air, grinding his foot against Stu.

“Good boy..” He practically coos at Stu, patronizing him. “Maybe if you’re good enough I’ll come in your mouth, yeah? Would ya’ like that, faggot?”

Stu shamefully nods, tongue finding the vein on Billy’s cock, feeling at it as he’d softly gag. Billy was loving how Stus' mouth felt. Wet and hot- convulsing with every thrust, tightening around Billy’s cock like a snug glove. He wanted Stu to start sucking on him. He softly rolls his hips into Stu’s mouth, softly massaging his shoulder, egging him on, wanting him to start sucking at his own hard cock. Stu gets the hint and tries to relax his throat, eyes closing as he begins to softly suck on Billy’s length, taking the opportunity to draw his head back enough so it didn’t feel like he was being choked, Billy didn’t like that. But he allowed it. He didn’t want Stu to pass out, after all.

Billy lets Stu suck on him for a while, softly moaning and rolling his hips, even encouraging him occasionally with a “good boy” or “stu, baby” in a soft, reassuring tone. It was unclear if he was making fun of Stu or just really trying to make him enjoy the experience more. Probably the ladder. Stomach churning, Billy huffs out, bucking his hips into Stu’s mouth. He releases into Stu’s mouth, watching as the lanky boy struggles to keep it down his throat. It, along with an ungodly am out of saliva, dribbles from the corner of his mouth, down his chin. Billy gives a final thrust into Stu’s throat, making Stu groan and gag, just to whimper as Billy pulls out of his mouth.

“Stupid fucking whore.” Billy spits out.

#Stu Macher #Billy Loomis #Stuilly #tw noncon #tw violent thoughts #tw language #tw sa #cw #tw #semi nsft #slasher

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vincess-princess · 3 years ago

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in darkness shall you be reborn

Chapter 6

Word count: 3019 Warnings: none (for once lmao) A\N: this will probably be my last update for the month because i have exams coming, sorry :( and, of course, i'm not the author of the shanty mentioned in the chapter

By dinner, a generous share of warm beer and several bitter puffs of a cigarette that Mick forced through his teeth brought Vince back onto the sinful earth. He obediently followed Mick’s orders and fussed around in the kitchen, though wrenching even a single word out of him was rotten work. Neither Mick nor Tommy who dropped by the galley to “check when the dinner is ready” got a clear picture of what had happened: a few listless hand waves, barely noticeable head shakes and one eye roll at an especially bad joke were all they could get. Nikki was just as unwilling to share the details, apart from several curse words, and by dinner drank himself into oblivion. Which was probably a mistake on his side, because the upcoming day was expected to be quite turbulent – they were finally going to arrive to Port Royal and dump the captives and most of the goods into the grabby hands of local barons. The crew looked forward to it, having spent weeks at sea, and loudly and happily talked about their plans, which primarily consisted of girls and ale, during the dinner. Listening to them made Vince’s heart ache – he too wanted to lose himself in the warm embrace of a girl and a bottle of wine flavored with spices. But he knew he most likely would not be let out without supervision, or would simply be confined to the galley. Still, an inkling of hope in him persisted.

The nights in the Atlantic Ocean were always warm, but as the ship went southwards they were becoming more hot and humid, so the crew spent most of their time on deck instead of hiding in the wardroom. Vince didn’t like the idea of spending the night outside – he always heard that night air could make one sick, what if he caught a cold? – but staying in the galley was not an option. Provident Mick did not risk to leave him there alone, not with so many knives around that he could see attracted Vince like a mouse to cheese in a trap. Mick could see almost everything with his icy-blue eyes that penetrated Vince’s soul to its very core. Vince only hoped he couldn’t read his thoughts – he wanted to keep at least some part of him to himself.

Mick played his guitar on the deck that evening, and all the sailors passing past him slowed down or stopped in their tracks outright to listen to the quiet, haunting melodies that gradually evolved into heavy beats of such power the strings rang and wailed as if on the verge of breaking. Most songs Vince couldn’t recognize – of course, Mick wasn’t playing anything he typically heard in operas and at concerts. But some sounded familiar; Vince might have heard his men singing them while working on deck while he was in his cabin supposedly dealing with business. In reality, though, he often abandoned boring papers to press his ear to the door and listen to hoarse, powerful voices sing unevenly but with refreshing sincerity. No opera or choir could ever imitate the rawness and liveliness of such simple tunes sung by such simple folk.

One of them was just flowing from under Mick’s bony fingers. It was mostly beats and clapping rather than actual melody, but the sound intertwined so naturally with the winds howling around and the waves crushing at the bow of the ship that any professional music would sound out of place – fake, even.

Mick saw Vince tap the rhythm with his foot on the floor and raised an eyebrow. “You know the tune?”

Vince half-nodded, half-shrugged. He heard his crew sing it, and sometimes sang it quietly to himself when alone in his cabin. He was a decent singer – or he wanted to believe he was – but he couldn’t join his crew in it for fear of losing their high regard for him. He was of noble blood, after all, and did not belong among simple folk.

“How come? This ain’t what they play in operas, or wherever your kind goes to have some fun,” Tommy chimed in, unasked.

“Heard my crew sing it,” Vince replied reluctantly. These were one of the only words he said over the evening.

“Did you like it?” Mick asked, glaring at Tommy.

Vince shrugged again. Any weakness he had, any secret aspirations he nursed the pirates would target before everything else, because it hurt the hardest. Better not reveal his soft spots to them at all.

“Well, not like he’s got much of a choice. Don’t have a choir here, princess.” Tommy plopped onto the same bench that Vince sat on. It was a bit too short for three people at once, but Tommy unceremoniously squeezed in anyways, swaying his hips to fit on the narrow plank. His hand immediately slid onto Vince’s knee. Vince slapped it away, only for it to return, this time feeling his thigh. He was too tired to argue, so he let it be.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’,” Mick concluded. “T-bone, you remember the ‘All For Me Grog’ lyrics?”

“Of course,” Tommy grinned. “What, are we throwing a party for the newcomer?”

“Jesus, Tommy, give the guy a break,” Mick rolled his eyes. “Now, why don’t you put your mouth to good use and sing for us? The night is terribly quiet.”

“Not a problem, boss. Hey, everyone!” Tommy called out to the crew. “What do ya think of a little song break?”

The pirates cheered, dropping whatever they were doing and surrounding Tommy, Mick and Vince. They still stared at Vince like he was an exotic animal, but at least they didn’t look hungry. Only one person, a long-haired ginger sailing master, remained unphased, gripping at the helm like his life depended on it.

“All For Me Grog, everyone!” Mick declared and began tapping out the rhythm on his guitar. Almost immediately, Tommy began to sing.

He had a good voice, Vince had to admit. A little bit hoarse from all the cigarettes smoked, perhaps, but it only added to its charm.

Where are me boots, me noggin', noggin' boots, They're all gone for beer and tobacco, he sang, and his voice rang all across the ship and farther, drowning in deep black waters of the Atlantic Ocean. For the heels they are worn out and the toes are kicked about And the soles are looking out for better weather,

Well it's all for me grog, me jolly jolly grog, It's all for me beer and tobacco-

The crew joined for the chorus, croaky, husky voices interweaving together into a low, steady rumble. As much as Vince didn’t want to admit it, the sound forced goosebumps to run down his back.

For I spent all me tin on the lassies drinking gin, they sang as Tommy winked at Vince and squeezed his knee harder. Far across the western ocean I must wander.

Where is me shirt, me noggin', noggin' shirt, It's all gone for beer and tobacco, For the collar is all worn, and the sleeves they are all torn, And the tail is looking out for better weather.

I'm sick in the head and I haven't been to bed, Since first I came ashore from me slumber, For I spent all me dough on the lassies don't you know, Far across the western ocean I must wander.

As the singing faded, an unnatural silence broken only by the sound of waves descended onto the ship. The pirates stood still for a few moments, looking yet not seeing one another, their thoughts far away. At home with a wife waiting for them, or in a pub drinking with buddies, or in bed with hot fingers of a hooker all over their bodies… what else did people like them, always on the move, always hiding from the law, long for?

Well, at least Vince knew damn well what he wanted – to get away from this goddamn ship. And the inkling of hope inside him that he had no heart to suppress whispered to him that he could only hope to pull it off tomorrow. He needed to be alert and prepared – to seize the opportunity when it comes. Not if. When.

“Great, everyone, now back to work!” Tommy clapped his hands, and the silence was broken by shuffling of boots on the deck and indecipherable murmuring. “You too!” he poked Vince in the chest. “The dishes ain’t gonna wash themselves. Come on, come on, I’ll help you carry them.” With that, he pushed a tray in Vince’s hands and began piling up plates on it. Vince narrowed his eyes at him, trying to catch his gaze, but the first mate was terribly occupied with fitting as many plates onto the tray as possible. Since when Tommy was so eager to help him do the dirty work?

Of course, it wasn’t just out of kindness of Tommy’s heart. When they entered the galley, he slammed the door shut and turned to Vince. His angry frown made Vince clutch the tray tighter, as if it could help him should Tommy want to hurt him, although Vince couldn’t recall anything he did lately that would make the first mate dissatisfied with him.

“What the hell did you do to Nikki?” Tommy demanded.

“What are you talking about?” Vince forced himself to let go of the tray and upended it above the tub, accidentally splashing the muddy water on his pants. “Oh, fiddlesticks!”

Tommy snorted and his frown evened out slightly. “Jesus, if anyone else hears you say that you are gonna get your ass beaten. Just say ‘damn’ like everyone else.”

“I’ll have my fiddlesticks, thanks.” Vince grabbed a towel from the counter and tried to sop up the water on his clothes, silently hoping that Tommy would drop the topic and leave him alone. To no avail, unfortunately.

“Asking nicely for the last time,” Tommy stepped forward, towering over Vince in his high-heeled boots. How did he even walk in those on the always-swaying deck? “What happened?”

“Why do you care?” Vince snapped back. “Are you policing his sex life or something? Pervert.”

“I couldn’t care less about where he sticks his dick as long as his nose doesn’t fall off. But I do care about our business, and he’s lying there out cold surrounded by empty bottles. I talked to him in the morning – everything was normal. You leave his cabin, and he drinks himself into oblivion and refuses to show up on deck or even open the door. What the hell happened?” Tommy reached forward and squeezed Vince’s shoulder, not letting him back off.

Upon learning that Nikki hadn’t told anyone about Vince’s breakdown relief washed over him. Knew Tommy about it, the entire crew would have already been snickering and whispering around Vince, and for a reason. Going into a fit of panic when told to undress, like some hysterical nun who’d never seen a dick in her life, wasn’t quite what Vince wanted to be known for. Sure, everybody already knew he was Nikki’s toy, but he could at least carry that unflattering status with as much pride as it was possible to have in this situation.

“What do you think?” he said through gritted teeth. “Do you think he wanted to play poker with me or something?”

“Sure he didn’t. But I know him, and this ain’t how he behaves after sex, so I can only assume he hasn’t had any. Which is weird, because he always gets what he wants, even from bitches like you. What did you do to him?”

“Ask rather what he did to me.” Vince turned away demonstratively and reached for a sponge. “Maybe it’s his conscience finally waking up.”

“Hah, nothing of this kind in that asshole,” Tommy brushed him off with a chuckle. “Listen, I’m not gonna leave you alone until you tell me.”

“Then you’ll be spending a night here,” Vince didn’t retreat, plunging the sponge into muddy water, pursing his lips in disgust when his hand touched some food remains. “Maybe he’s upset I drank that premium whisky of his.”

“He gave you his premium whisky? You lucky son of a bitch!” Tommy almost jumped, his eyes lighting up. “Can’t imagine how well you sucked him off to get that. So all it takes is just offering you some booze? I have some vodka stashed somewhere-”

A plate almost crashed against his head – he managed to duck at the last second, and it broke against the wall instead. Vince didn’t have enough time to fling another plate – Tommy tackled him to the floor instead.

“Let me go,” Vince hissed, wriggling underneath him.

“I will, if you ain’t gonna throw more plates at me”.

“I will, if you cut that talk.”

“Well, we’ll stay like this then.” Tommy shrugged. “So that was all a show the first time? Are you more pliable one-by-one, or was that the booze?”

“Neither. I’ve drunk beverages a hundred times better than that whisky. And no, that wasn’t a show.”

“Hard to believe, princess.” Tommy pinched his cheek. “But you’ve got a grain of truth somewhere, I admit. Nikki wouldn’t react like that to a good blowjob.” He finally rolled off Vince and plopped down onto his sleeping place, his legs alone half of the room’s length, and patted the place next to him on the blanket. After a little hesitation Vince moved there too, solely because the floor was too cold.

“So, now that we’re comfortable and cozy, will you fuckin’ tell me what happened?” Tommy pressed on. Vince tried not to touch his body, but he could feel heat radiating from it even at a distance. “With as many details as possible. I won’t jerk off on it, I promise. At least in your presence.”

“Nothing much,” Vince shook his head again. “Nothing to jerk off to - we didn’t even have sex.”

“Well, that’s a shame,” Tommy looked disappointed. “I hoped for a juicy story. How come Nikki didn’t fuck you again? I know he wanted to – he’s been talking about you all night not letting me sleep in peace - and I doubt you are eloquent enough to talk him out of that.”

“I might be,” Vince got offended. Did Tommy think he had been taking all his rhetoric classes for nothing? “But words wouldn’t help there. They didn’t help me yesterday, after all.”

Tommy ignored Vince’s full-of-disdain look.

“How’d you squeeze the whisky out of him then? You don’t look like the type – and even if you did, I doubt you could get it with force. Nikki’s just as good at hand-to-hand combat as with a sword.”

Tommy didn’t lie, still looking fully determined to wring the answer out of him, and Vince gave up, not ready to listen to his nagging for the rest of the night. But even remembering what happened from a safe distance of the galley still made a lump form in his throat and his heart beat faster. He was so tired of all this. Even the pride he was clutching at like a drowning man to a raft seemed less important than just being left alone. Besides, everyone on the ship already knew he was Nikki’s bitch, so what difference would it make to have that happen twice?

“He started undressing me, and I kind of… began to suffocate. I don’t know what happened – everything was blurry and I couldn’t breathe. And then he pours this whisky into my mouth and sends me away. That’s all.”

Tommy stayed silent for a minute or two, which in his case was more frightening than when he talked all the time.

“Just don’t tell anyone,” Vince added hastily. “I mean, not that there’s much of a reputation to ruin for me, but still.”

“I won’t,” Tommy said after a few seconds of pondering over it, “but not because of you. Because of him. They might consider it a weakness.”

In other circumstances Vince wouldn’t believe him, but now it was different. Tommy spoke without a usual hint of mockery in his voice and looked more serious than Vince had ever seen him over the short period on the Shout. So he was inclined to believe him – or at least hope that he wouldn’t spill the beans intentionally.

“Still, thank you.”

“You’re welcome, princess. By the way, I just now realized I don’t even know your name. I know you’re a Wharton because we found papers in the captain’s cabin, but not much more than that.”

“Vincent Neil,” Vince said after a short pause. Maybe now he would start calling him by his name instead of giving him womanly nicknames? “I don’t suppose anyone here will call me that, so just Vince will do.”

“Alright, princess Vinnie,” Tommy grinned (no, this was a hopeless case) and then, unexpectedly, stretched his hand forward. “Nice to meet you.”

Vince stared at it like it was an exotic and extremely venomous snake somebody just suggested he pet. But seconds passed and Tommy’s hand didn’t waver, and Vince decided he didn’t want to decline this extremely rare demonstration of respect he was so unexpectedly offered.

“Can’t say it’s mutual, sorry.” He shook Tommy’s hand.

Tommy burst into laughter. “That was harsh! Didn’t you have your etig- etiqa- good behavior lessons in your childhood?”

“Etiquette, you mean? It’s useless outside social events. No one cares which fork you use for fish and which for salad here.”

“Wait, you use different forks for different dishes? Man, that’s crazy. How’d you remember all that? And what a pain in the ass it must be to wash all of them!”

“I never remembered anything even after all my lessons,” Vince smiled faintly. “Always thought it to be stupid, honestly.”

“Well, at least here we’re on the same page,” Tommy nodded and got up. “Now, you have work to do, and who am I to interrupt you?”

“Bastard,” Vince murmured to his back. Tommy jerked his shoulder, but chose to ignore the insult and hurried out of the galley.

#motley crue #motley crue fanfiction #vince neil #tommy lee #mick mars #my writing #here is a small chapter where i give vince a bit of a break :D #i'd love to develop his relationship with tommy more i think it's full of potential #and of course i had to have mick play something because that's the closest to heaven vince will ever get on this ship #i probably have too many commas in here but i refuse to comb through this again it's 2 am here

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insomniamamma · 3 years ago

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“Surf City Goodness”: Ezra x F!reader w/Cee

A/n: This is the same AU as “Ferris Wheels Are for Old People” and “Liminal” but you don’t have to read those to read this one. Ezra loses his arm in an automobile accident which kills his brother, Damon and orphans his niece, Cee. Reader lives across the street from Ezra and they’ve been friendly for sometime but now it’s something more. Set after “Ferris Wheels Are For Old People” This is for @autumnleaves1991-blog and @clydesducktape ‘s Writer Wednesday.

Warnings: Language. Mentions of sex. Mentions of drug abuse. Mentions of traumatic injury/surgical scars. Mentions of Reader’s ex. Cee needs her own warning, but mostly this is just fluff. Ez and Cee and Reader enjoy a trip to the beach. I will include some songs from Cee’s playlist at the end.

Iggy Pop's voice warbles out of the speakers. "I wanna go to the beach, I don't care if it's decadent, I don't know where my spirit went, but that's alright..." "This seems a bit bleak, Birdie," says Ezra. "Quit your griping, you'll get your surf city goodness soon enough," says Cee and grins. Part of the deal they've worked out is that Cee gets to pick the music for any road trip longer than two hours, otherwise it's NPR until the signal fades and then whatever classic rock they can pick up. The three of you are crammed in the cab of Ezra's battered Ford Ranger. Cee is the smallest so she sits in the middle. The truck's bed is full of gear, air mattresses and sleeping bags and towels, a cooler filled with food and another filled with beer. I don't know what conditions we'll find exactly, Ez told you, We haven't been back here in some time. "If there's spiders I'm sleeping in the truck," you said and Ezra smiled, and pressed his remaining hand over his heart. "Never fear, Sunshine, I will protect your from our arachnid friends."

"Hey Sunshine!" Ezra calls from his front porch. You look up from your laptop to see Ezra and Cee laden with grocery bags. "Hey, Ez, you need a hand?" He smirks. This is an old joke between the two of you. When Ezra first came home, with Cee and without his arm, they were unloading Cee and Damon's things, bags and boxes and you, without thought had asked if he needed a hand, it just came out and you'd clapped your hands to your mouth, and then spluttered, I'm so sorry I didn't mean--and Ezra laughed, of course I need a hand. I'm down to just the one. "Always," he says. You loop the plastic bags over your arms, sweating packages laden with ground beef and bratwursts and chicken thighs. "You all having a party?" "We're going to the beach," says Cee. "You should come with us. It'll be fun." "Jesus, Cee," he mutters and then collects himself and smiles, "I had meant to ask you before this one jumped the gun-" "It's fine. Really." "You still working remotely?" asks Ezra. "For now. There's some talk about keeping my department remote." "Good thing or bad thing?" "Good thing," you say, "I like working in my pajamas." "Good thing because you could come with us," says Ezra. "Ez--" "I'm dead serious," he says, "Cee's got a four day weekend. We've got decent internet. Damon saw to that before...well, before. Mind you, this will probably be something of a working vacation. Ma's house has stood empty sometime. Damon used to keep it up but..." Ezra trails off. It's a small town. Damon's drug problems were more or less public knowledge. You think of the files you still need to edit, but for once you're ahead of the game. None of that is due until midway through next week. You've got some wiggle room if things go south. "Yeah? Yeah, fuck it. I'm coming with." Ezra smiles wide, revealing his dimples. And that's how you end up in the cab of Ezra's beat-to-shit truck listening to Cee's fun and somewhat baffling playlist.

"Talk to me, baby,I'm goin' blind from this sweet, sweet craving, whoa-oh, Let's lose our minds and go fucking crazy, I-I-I-I-I keep on hopin' we'll eat cake by the ocean..." "Is this a parody?" Asks Ezra, "Like a Weird Al Yankovic thing?" "No," says Cee, "It's an actual song. One of the Jonas brothers did it." "Someone greenlit and recorded this on purpose." "Yep." "A song. About eating cake on a beach." Cee gives you a sly look. "It's a metaphor, Ez," she says, "They're eating something but it's not cake." You have to hold in a laugh, watching the gears in Ezra's brain grind, watching his eyes go big. "Ohmygod! Cee!" Cee cackles and you snort laughter. "You are fifteen years old! You are a minor child! You should not be going there! You should not even know that there exists!" Ezra's cheeks go red. Cee is wheezing, eyes screwed shut with laughter, her own cheeks flaming, "You. Should see. Your face," she says. "It's not funny!" "Oh, it's funny," you say, "She got you good." "Come on, Ez," says Cee, "You think I can't recognize a poorly veiled sexual reference when I hear one? It doesn't take a genius--" "You are a terror," says Ezra, and Cee grins, proud of the title, "And you--" he arcs and eyebrow in your direction--"Are not helping matters." You give him your brightest smile. "What can I say? I thought it was just a song about some goofballs eating cake by the ocean." He huffs, but you can see the smirk creeping up his cheek as he drives.

The house at the end of the driveway is small, a cottage really, single storied and built up on stilts like the others around it, painted a faded robin's egg blue with white trim. The garage is underneath the house, room enough for one car and next to it is a room built to shelter the water heater and plumbing. A wooden staircase snakes up to a deck that wraps the entire structure. Sea grass sprouts in clumps from the sand. It's hot inside, a stale heat, and the first thing you do is open all the windows. "I think there's a couple box fans in the storage space," says Ezra, "I'll go fetch them." The back deck overlooks the ocean, pale expanse of sand and the gentle lap of blue-green sea, a wooden staircase reaches down to the sand below. The day is bright and hot and shot through with high cirrus clouds. You and Ezra have stripped the sheets from the beds and popped them in the washer, loaded the dishwasher, put fans in the windows. "This is cleaner than I expected," says Ezra, "Maybe Damon cared more than I gave him credit for." Ezra's face clouds. You take his hand, squeeze his fingers in yours. You know little about Damon other than the town gossip and what Ezra himself has told you. You don't understand the convolutions of their relationship, you just know that Damon is a slow-healing wound, and that it does Ezra no good to pick at it. You tug at him. "C'mon. Let's get changed. Cee's already got her suit on."

"Turn around, Birdie, let me get your back." Cee rolls her eyes but does as she's asked. Ezra sprays sunscreen across her bony shoulders and rubs it in. "I found a boogie board under the deck," says Cee, "And some toys from when I was real small. I found those floaty things you all used to put on my arms, remember those?" "I do," says Ezra, "Damon chucked you into the surf without so much as a by-your-leave. It scared the hell out of Ma but you laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world. You're good to go, Little Bird." "Thanks, Ez." And she's down the stairs, heading towards the surf. "Your turn, Sunshine," he says and you turn your back to him. He presses a kiss against the juncture of your neck and shoulder, that one place that makes you squirm and shiver, right on the line between erogenous and ticklish. "Menace--" you say and then squawk when the cold spray hits you, soothed by the passage of his calloused palm across your shoulders, gently gripping the nape of your neck, and you lean back against him briefly, relishing his solidity, his warmth, his hand rests lightly on your hip. "Let me get your back," you say. Ezra turns his back to you and shucks out of his t-shirt. He's already ditched his prosthetic arm. Don't know how seaworthy it is, he'd said, as expensive as it was I don't care to find out. You shake the can of sunscreen and blast him with it. "Christ! That's cold!" "We gotta make sure Cee reapplies after a couple hours," you say, smoothing your hands over his broad back, relishing the slide of his tanned skin beneath your palms, "She'll burn to a crisp otherwise." You press your fingers into the tight muscles of his neck and he makes a contented sound like a purr in his chest. "You're always so tense right here," you say and dig your fingers in, feeling the thrumming muscles loosen somewhat under your touch. Ezra leans back into you as you did to him moments ago, your arms snake around his shoulders, tuck your face against the side of his neck. This thing with you and Ezra is soft and languid and you're not sure how to define it. This is not the fevered, clawed territory of young lovers, the sort of push and pull you had with your ex, the idea that love had to keep proving itself somehow. With Ezra there is nothing to prove. He seems content to ride this gentle wave, to let things play out in their own time. "Turn around," you murmur against his skin, "Not done with you yet." "Now, I am perfectly capable of applying--" he starts, but you see his eyes drop, and know it for what it is. You've known Ezra for a while. The two of you were always friendly, since you moved in across the street from him. Ezra before was even more exuberant, had a swagger about him, confidence in his own skin that is only just now trying starting to return. Ezra before would preen under your gaze if he caught you looking at him while he repainted his deck or put down mulch in his garden, Ezra now shrinks from your eyes. You can see the self-doubt seep in. The worry about his scars, that the loss of his arm makes him less, somehow. "I know," you say, "Maybe I just want an excuse to get handsy." He arcs an eyebrow at you, that brief flash of doubt replaced with his more familiar smug smirk. "Well, have at it, by all means," he says. You spray him with the sunscreen and start rubbing it in, smoothing over his freckled shoulders, down his upper arms, mindful of the tender skin at the end of his stump, the dips of his clavicles, his broad chest, littered in angry pink scars that shout in contrast to the rest of his skin. Punched indentations along his ribs where they'd stuck in tubes to drain the air and blood out of his collapsed lungs. You work your way down along his soft belly and back up his sides, a hissed intake of breathe and you stop. "Does that hurt?" "Nah. Tickles." "Mmm-hmmm. I'll have to remember that so I can use it to my advantage later." "Oh and I'm the menace," he says, his arm curls low around your hip, pulling you nearly flush with him, and you complete the motion, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him tight against you, your chin notched over his shoulder. Cee is creeping up the stairs with a battered plastic bucket in her hands. She shoots you a grin and you know exactly what she has in mind. You back up a little, cup Ezra's stubbled cheeks in your hands and kiss the tip of his nose. "Surprise," you say and take a big step back. There's just time enough for that little furrow to start between his brows and then Cee dowses him, a whole bucket of seawater poured directly over his head. He splutters. His eyes go big and round. Cee is doubled over laughing. "Oh," he says, blinking salt water out of his eyes, "Oh that's it. Today's the day, Cee! I am going to drown you!" "Gotta catch me first, old man!" says Cee and pelts down the beach. You run after them, their bright laughter peals through the warm summer air. Ezra grabs Cee and dunks her into an oncoming wave. She emerges splashing great fans into Ezra's face. "It is only proper that I took my vengeance," says Ezra, holding his hands out to deflect the spray. "I don't think the Geneva conventions apply here, you douche-canoe," says Cee. "Oi! That language--" This is your opening. You grab Ezra around his waist and push off backward into the oncoming wave, pulling him down with you. The two of you come back up, coughing and laughing, arms slung around each other. There's no shadow in Ezra's eyes now, you press your lips to his, the waves roll over you, the tide dragging at your bodies while you and him remain still. Press of your lips to his, your tongue licks out and tastes salt on his lips and he opens for you, his hand cupping the back of your head, guiding you against him, his tongue stroking against yours, no battle for dominance, this, just the plush heat of his mouth, the heave of your chests when you finally break apart, waist deep in the ocean. "I--" says Ezra and Cee's splash hits at face level. "Gotcha!" she crows, and starts running. "You miserable little rat!" He hollers, chasing her through the surf. You stand hip deep in the water and laugh. You're not sure what you and Ezra are to each other. Lovers? Friends? Family? Whatever it this is, it feels right and good. It feels like being home.

A/n: Here is a sampling of Cee’s beach trip playlist:

“I Want To Go To The Beach” by Iggy Pop

“Telstar” by The Tornados

“Cake By The Ocean” by DNCE

“Rockaway Beach” by The Ramones

“Misirlou” by Dick Dale and his Del-Tones

#writer wednesday #ezra prospect x f!reader #ezra (prospect) x f!reader #ezra and cee #prospect au #prospect contemporary AU

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quickspinner · 4 years ago

Text

The Truth Hurts

(I’m sorry I know that title is super unoriginal but it fits so well)

Spoilers for S4E1 Truth

Also not especially a fix it fic, more of an aftermath fic, so prepare for pain.

I’m late but this is for the LBSC Sprint Challenge prompt 2. “So, if you are too tired to speak, sit next to me because I, too, am fluent in silence.” I actually only spent two sprints on this and then I thought I was done enough, but I did add quite a bit more trying to bring it to a satisfactory close. I think I still fit pretty closely to the time restraints plus editing though. Except I’m already a day late so the editing was not very heavy on this one. Hopefully I didn’t miss too many errors or word repetitions.

Luka pain (sorry) and Couffaine sibling solidarity. Special apologies to @airi-p4 because I didn’t fix anything, I just made it worse. 😅

Warnings for Dad Pain and abandonment issues.

He woke up numb. Which wasn’t a bad option, all things considered.

Then he rolled over. And there was the face. Staring from his wall, like it had been for, what...seven years?

The face of his father.

He wasn’t so numb anymore. Luka shoved the covers off of himself and sat up, staring at that face.

For a few minutes last night, heartbroken and sick at everything that had happened, Luka had known what it was like to have a father. One who cared. Jagged had hugged him. Ankara’s hugs were tight and hard, but she still had a woman’s body, soft and curved, a little plump with age and childbearing. All Luka could think of as his father embraced him was how bony he was. The metal clink of Jagged’s jewelry was nothing like the quiet click of Anarka’s beaded bracelets, and his arms were thin, his body broad-shouldered but thin, without any of Anarka’s cushioning. Luka had never really spent time imagining what a father’s hug felt like, but it was different from a mother’s, and that was good enough for him at the moment.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t needed a hug just then. Badly, in fact.

It all felt like such a dream; something from a movie plot. His father, his idol, suddenly one person, and promising to write a song with Luka, it...it was overwhelming. It was like every little-boy daydream come true.

But it wasn’t a dream, and Luka wasn’t a little boy anymore. So he wasn’t al that surprised when Jagged left.

Because he had a party to go to.

Because he’d left his family long ago for a rich and famous rock star life, and he had never once looked back.

I know how to turn feelings into an awesome song .

Luka lunged up out of bed, turning over the pile of stuff at the end of his bed until he found his laptop. With it in hand, he turned and reached to snatch the earbuds off his nightstand amp, and then paused with them tangled in his fist, thinking.

“Luka?” Juleka mumbled, sitting up in her bed.

Luka ignored her. As much as he loved her, he couldn’t take care of her right now. He couldn’t. He threw his earbuds down on his bed and went upstairs instead, jaw set, shoving crap out of his way carelessly until he unearthed the wiring for the sound system.

He hooked up his laptop with shaking hands and blurring vision. He could barely breathe as he queued up his entire Jagged Stone collection, chronologically, from memory, because he was officially Jagged Stone’s number one fan and it wasn’t even hard.

Luka cranked up the sound system, and pressed play. Jagged Stone’s very first album blared from the speakers above him. Luka skipped the first song hurriedly. He wasn’t ready to face that memory just yet.

“What in the seven seas—” he heard behind him, and he turned, fixing his eyes on his mother. He wasn’t even sure what kind of face he was making, but she stopped in her tracks.

She knew, all this time . She knew that these songs were about her, were about them .

You are the donut of my life, Jagged’s voice howled from the speakers. The donut. Sweet, but heavy. Bad for you. Not something you ate every day. Not something that nourished you or made you better.

God, how it must have hurt Anarka all these years, hearing those songs over and over and knowing.

It was hurting her now, he could see.

Luka could have stayed below. He could have used the earbuds. He could have spared her. He could have suffered privately.

He wasn’t sorry he hadn’t. Not this time.

Anarka sighed through her nose, and then turned and walked away, fists clenched.

He’d feel bad about it later. It wasn’t like he didn’t have enough to be sorry for after yesterday. Might as well lump it all in together. Luka turned back to his computer, and pulled his legs up, wrapping his arms around them and setting his chin on his knees as he closed his eyes to listen to the blaring music. To the truth .

Even thinking the word twisted his stomach and made him feel sick. But that’s what this was, wasn’t it. The truth about his father’s feelings. Luka almost wanted to laugh. It explained so much, now. The sentimentality of Jagged’s early work. And here, around his third album, here was where he moved on . Where he got over them.

I abandoned everything, but not my dreams .

Here was where he began to take on the persona of the true rock ‘n roll artist. Where he convinced himself it was all for the best because now he could make pure art, now that no one—now that Anarka and Luka nad Juleka weren’t holding him back .

My guitar is my only family.

Goddamnit, Luka loved that song. He buried his face in his knees and gripped his hair with both fists.

He felt hands on his back. Two hands, flat against him, rubbing slightly. Soothing. His mind flew, irrationally, to Marinette, but when he raised his face enough to look over his shoulder, it was Juleka sitting there behind him, her hands resting on his back, her shoulders curled inward as she peered at him through her hair. Of course. Because Marinette had no reason to be here anymore, and he’d chased his mother out. Of course it was Juleka, who had never wanted to know the truth, who had preferred not knowing to being disappointed.

Luka was starting to see her point.

And now he had forced this, all this on her. The truth she had never wanted to hear screaming out in stereo sound.

God, he was such an ass. He might be angry at his mother but none of this was Jules’ fault.

Juleka moved her hands hesitantly to his shoulders, and leaned against his back, resting her cheek against him. Luka lifted one hand to cover hers, and put his head down on his knees again, pulled a little bit out of his own selfish pain by her presence. He appreciated her silent forgiveness.

Soon he would have to get up. The world wasn’t going to stop for his shattered heart, and Luka would have to get up, and put on his brave face, and deal with things like Luka Couffaine did. Honestly, head on, by telling the truth as he saw it. He owed it to Juleka to help her work through it too, since he was the one that forced the knowledge on her. Silently he vowed not to let her be overlooked. Jagged owed it to her to at least look at her and acknowledge her. If she didn’t want anything to do with him after that, then that was her choice.

Juleka’s head nudged his back, and he sighed. She moved her hands again, this time putting her thin arms around him and hugging him tight. Luka took another long breath, and leaned back into her a bit, as Jagged’s Most Rockin’ Hits Vol 1 began to play.

Under the moon, deep within the woods...

Luka closed his eyes and swallowed hard. “I broke up with Marinette,” he said quietly. “Or maybe...we broke up with each other. I don’t know.” He sighed shakily. “I guess we just...weren’t meant to be. Right now.” He swallowed again against the lump in his throat. “It’s probably for the best. I’ve...got a lot to deal with right now anyway.”

Juleka had tensed when he said it, with surprise, he thought. But she listened, and hummed a wordless acknowledgement, and hugged him tighter.

If his tears dripped on her arms, she didn’t complain. The back of his shirt was feeling a bit damp, anyway.

The truth hurt. He’d always known that, but he also believed in the healing it brought. Better to face the pain head on, where you know it’s coming, than let it fester and burst on you when you weren’t prepared for it. Luka had enough experience with denial to know that running away only left your back bared to the knife.

Juleka’s face pressed a little harder between his shoulder blades.

Luka sighed, and reached out to turn the music off. He turned towards Juleka so that she leaned against his side, and he put his arm around her, and they leaned on each other in the suddenly deafening silence.

#quickspins #lbsc sprint challenge #lbsc sprint fic #lukanette #couffaine siblings #luka couffaine #juleka couffaine #daddy issues #abandonment #angst #hurt/comfort

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