#green cunts with moustaches

[terminalvelocityfrfr]

Elias and Jon are little bitches with moustaches except one is 6’ and one is 5’

[imyourbratzdoll]

Tangerine smut please?

hi! sorry for taking so long! I hope you enjoy this request!

summary - a handsome stranger makes you cum on the train.

warning - smut, fingering, public stuff.

18+ only please, the gif I use isn't mine, divider by @newlips (deactivated)

The day started off perfect, you decided to wear your new outfit that consisted of a black long sleeved shirt underneath a cropped green button up and a matching short skirt. You made yourself the perfect coffee and headed to the train station before finding the perfect seat inside. You drowned out the rest of the world, your head buried in a book. Until you are suddenly pulled out of it by three men sitting on the seats beside you, your eyes widen when you make eye contact with a very attractive man in a blue suit.

You try to ignore them by focusing on your book but their constant whispering pierce through your concentration and you nearly drop your book as you hear a voice. “Excuse me, love.” You look back up and notice the handsome man now standing over you. You can feel yourself pulse between your legs and it’s confusing because you’ve never reacted like this before. “Do you mind if I sit here? You see, I couldn’t help but notice how beautiful you are and my brother is being a pain.” You blink, slowly nodding and sucking in a breath as he slides into the seat next to you, his scent causing you to become dizzy with lust. “Thanks, love.” 

You try to go back to your book, but you can’t and you can feel him staring at you once in a while. You begin to squirm in your seat, his thigh brushes against you causing a whimper to escape before you can stop it. Your face flushes, eyes wide and you try to hide. 

Tangerine smirks. “Do I make you nervous, love?” You ignore him, scooting closer to the window, feeling embarrassed because you want to jump him. “You know, I know something that will take those nerves away, love. Do you wanna try?” You look at him, chewing on your bottom lip as you stare at him with wide eyes. “But you’ll have to very quiet, I wouldn’t want to punish you for being a naughty girl.” You feel yourself throb, nails digging into your palms as you hold back a whimper at his words. 

“O–okay…” Your breath hitches as his hand makes contact with your thigh, sliding up it until it disappears underneath your skirt. He leans closer to you, blocking anyone’s view of what he’s about to do to you. 

“No knickers, love? It’s like you knew you were going to be a slut today.” His fingers make contact with your clit, rubbing it nice and slow, watching you shake and whimper softly from his movements. “Good girl, you’re being nice and quiet for me.” He leans closer, sliding his fingers up and down before he begins to slowly push them inside your sopping cunt, curling them upwards, watching you struggle to keep your mouth closed. “Keep reading your book, love. Wouldn’t want anyone to catch us.” Tangerine feels you squeeze around his fingers at his words, he grins. “You wanna be caught, love? Want to be caught being a naughty slut, huh?” 

You lean your head on his shoulder, shakily opening the book, unable to focus on the words as his fingers continue to thrust and curl, your hand moves to his thigh and you grip onto it, digging your nails into him as he continues to fingerfuck you. “O–oh…”

“Shh.” His moustache tickles your ear as he whispers into it. His fingers begin to hit the spongey spot deep inside of you, causing your eyes to roll back and you to arch off the chair, biting down onto your bottom lip hard enough to cause blood. Tangerine watches as you cum, juices coating his hand before you sink back down into the seat, soft whimpers escaping you. “Good girl.” He gently removes his fingers from your drenched cunt, lifting them to his mouth, eyes connecting with yours as you watch him suck the fingers that were just inside of you. 

You blink, trying to catch your breath as the man winks at you, sliding a piece of paper with his name and number on it before he stands. “Call me when you need to get off again, love.” With that, he leaves, disappearing down the train. You stare at the piece of paper, feeling yourself begin to throb again at the thought of him touching you. 

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

[jam3sacaster]

“What do ‘ya want me to do to ‘ya?”

(Rivals) Declan O’Hara x Reader

Suggestion by a sweet anon 🫶🏽 / Hellbent on pleasing you after an argument, Declan allows you to take control…

18+ FANFIC / SMUT! Short work! Something a lil different for Declan 💋 Reader character aged at 21.

Observing the most magnificent view from the bedroom window of The Priory, your heart leaped at the wintery scene — blankets of glacial snow covering the vast lawn, snowdrops billowing in the arctic breeze & tiny badger prints making a path under the grand oak tree. “Feeling better yet?” A familiar voice spoke from behind you. No, I am not, you thought to yourself. It was often that you and Declan had arguments, but they were monumental when you did — thunderous screaming matches that often ended in Declan having one too many a whiskey and you, retreating to your bedroom in a rouge mass of tears. “Ahh, come on. You’ve got to speak to me at some point.” He huffs, puffing on his briar wood pipe. No, I don’t, you think to yourself again.

Eagerly catching sight of the badger that had created the tiny path, you gasp in amazement and shuffle to the end of your bed. “If ya’ won’t speak to me, at least let me make it up to ‘ya.” Declan tuts, sitting next to you now, clouding your vision with pipe smoke. Not waiting for your response, Declan takes hold of your arm and lays you down on the bed, drinking in as much of your body as he could from under your thick, emerald-green woollen jumper and black trousers. “What do ‘ya want me to do ‘ya?” He asks, voice gruff and wanting. “Oh, come off it, Declan. You hate not being in control.” Eyes rolling as you mumble. “But you love bein’ bossy. Just tell me what to do.” He urges you, kneeling beside you.

“Hmm, well. I’m not in the mood, really. So, maybe lick me to get me ready.” You begin shuffling out of your trousers, but Declan takes over, removing them and subsequently peeling your vile paprika-orange pants from your cunt. Lying between your legs, Declan wrapped his rugged arms around your thighs, drawing your heat closer to him. “How do ya’ want me to do it?” He asks, hazelnut moustache bristling against your folds, making your thighs tremble in anticipation. “Gentle and slow. Like how you did it when we first got together.” You respond, grabbing at your own breasts lustfully. Declan began to circle your pink bud with his pointed tongue, flicking haphazardly after a moment and waiting for your soft whimpers. His coated lips took your clit between them, sucking softly. Your slender hand gripped firmly around his ringletted curls, moans increasing in frequency. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum if you keep doing that.” You groan, back arching in ecstasy. “Good.” Declan spoke through a mouthful of your wet cunt. “No, I don’t want to cum yet. I want to sixty-nine.” You moan, prompting Declan to free himself of his beige outfit. “Top or bottom?” He questions, devilish smirk creating tension in your stomach. You point to your soft belly, and Declan lowers himself onto you, being careful not to apply all of his weight.

The scene that played out was nothing short of heavenly. Declan’s cock was buried inside your throat, restricting your breathing and releasing a stream of tears from your glassy eyes. The Irishman, however, was treating your cunt like the most delectable banquet, grunting under your heat and leaving a trail of saliva hanging from his lips. Gyrating your hips towards his mouth, you rode out your orgasm in deafening moans — or the most you could manage through the girth of Declan’s cock. Thereupon, your moans were stifled by the emergence of Declan’s hot, sweet load pumping into your throat, making your eyes bulge from the sockets with pleasure. His orgasmic grunts rose to the most magnificent crescendo.

Pulling back to lie next to you, body sticky with sweat, Declan lit a cigarette and panted in exhaustion. “You’re rather good at following orders.” You joked, eyeing up his cock, still proudly at half-mast. “And you’re fuckin’ good at being bossy. Like I said.” Declan replied.

[cahierdu]

John Singer Sargent, Robert Louis Stevenson and his Wife, 1885

Ran round the Sargent show at the Tate again, still awful, the walls and the gallery filled with red-faced cunts. Among all the admirals leaning carelessly on the mantle and and their haughty wives decked in shimmery satin, the ones that stand out (not necessarily the best) are the drab, unglamorous picture of Woodrow Wilson looking like a Second Assistant Secretary at the Department of Public Works (that's what democracy gets you), and two unusually small portraits of Vernon Lee and Robert Louis Stevenson. Lee is blotchily moon-faced and alarmingly tinged with green like she might be sick at any moment, and Stevenson stalks creepily towards a void, fingering his moustache while his wife expires beneath hastily-thrown tinsel. This is how Sargent sees artists, spooky wraiths lingering on the fringes of polite society, seconds away from vomiting on the carpet.

[littlefreya]

Jerk

Summary: August sits alone in his office, thinking about the one he can’t have.

Prompt:

Hi. hope all is well my darling. the idea of august fucking his fist with animalistic rage because he’s all alone is currently living rent free in my mind:)

Pairing: August Walker x Reader (2nd person pov)

Word count: 1K

Warnings: 18+, male masturbation, lewd language, mentions of rough sex, degradation, anal and oral (both male and female receiving), depiction of bodily fluids and slight angst.   

A/N: This is a bit different, I decided to write it from a 2nd person POV even though August is touching himself. It just felt a bit more erotic and intimate.

Please leave a comment and reblog if you enjoyed it. Your feedback is my fuel.

Title: Jerk

The arctic blue lustre spilt onto his hard face as he dwelled lonesomely in the dark. Still in his office, August sat next to his desk, his glassy eyes caressing your face through the pixels of the flickering monitor while his hand rested on his thigh. 

A stream of desire stirred within his loins as he shifted uncomfortably, sulking back at your smiling reflection.

August Walker could have had any woman he wanted, and that he did. He fucked his way through each department, marking a green ‘v’ on their pretty little faces. He left them crying, broken inside, ruined, and unable to walk, but as he passed them by the morning after, it was clear as day: he gave them the best night of their lives. 

But his spell was useless when it came to you. Colder than the bottom of the ocean, you never bothered offering him a smile - a demeanour made up of an icy wall.

Sensing the rage sizzling in his gut, he huffed and reached to massage his hardening bulge. The wide grin you wore on your face made his cock strain, further stretching the fabric of his trousers. 

“One moment alone with me, darling...I’d change your mind,” he murmured into the night, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he further squeezed the swelling in his groin. “I’d show you what it means to be thoroughly fucked...to abandon all constraints and leave your shame behind.”

Eyes fluttering shut he groaned, imagining himself plunging into your ripe little pussy, fucking you solely with his tongue. The coarse hair of his moustache tickling your tender clit while his index finger teases the tiny virgin ring of your ass. 

You would cry for him then. 

“Fuck…”  

The sudden hitch in his breath forced out a pant of frustration. Sucking his bottom lip, he opened his lust-ridden eyes and glowered at you with unrelenting desire. Giving no care, he made to unbuckle his belt. The sound of the metal clinking abrupting the aching silence. 

If anyone was somehow inside the building at this time of the evening... well, enjoy the fucking show.

Fingers snaking around his veiny cock, he tugged himself out, squeezing at the base with one hand while spitting on his palm to hastily lubricate himself. An untethered groan thundered at the pit of his chest while he spread the saliva across his flesh and focused on your beautiful neck. Slowly beginning to pump himself, August revelled at the touch of his own flesh and savoured on the obscene fantasies that gyrated in his mind. 

“That mouth of yours, so hot...” He hummed while imagining what it would be like to stuff his entire length down that throat, have you lie down, submissive on his desk with mascara-tainted tears pooling on the wooden surface. Your pretty makeup all ruined while he fucks your mouth mercilessly, making you choke on it. 

“I want to see my cock moving back and forth down your wet, clenching canal. I want to see your eyes red and full of tears.”  

Low, growling moans flooded the room, August’s face curled with aching pleasure. Grip taut around his shaft, he stroked even harder and faster. Lewd squelching sounds emitted from the fisting of his shaft, the rapture birthing fresh new fantasies of you being completely shredded by him.

You just needed to be broken; and he would break you, bend you over, and smack your ass with the leather of his belt. You’d scream for him, begging and pathetic, but then arch for more, calling his name in a pleading whine like a cock-hungry bitch. 

‘August, please! August, yes, put your big cock deep in me! I need you!’

Oh he’d give you what you want, force you to your knees, pussy dripping, laid out on display just for him: warm, wet, and begging for him to be inside you. 

Beating on his flesh urgently, he could almost feel your cunt engulfing his fat cock, receiving every inch like a good little slut. His heavy sac slapping against your lips with each violent thrust as he bottoms out. He’d make sure you’d feel him there for days. 

“I bet you’re extraordinarily tight down there…” he gasped, increasing the pace over the red, painful girth that swelled between his fingers. In the black theater of his mind he was fucking you so hard that your entire body shuddered. Battered, your little hole sucked around him as if it’s a gift from god and he could feel you clenching, feel you so close, reaching high for your bliss. 

That’s when he’d pull out. Cock coated with your juice, he would slam into your ass without any warning, relishing on your broken howls. 

Reduced to a heaving, sweaty mess, his grunts and desperate moans echoed across the hall. Balls clenched with eagerness, the undeniable, astonishing stream began to build itself within him to sweep him into sweet euphoria.

“‘I want to come inside you...I’m… gonna make....you mine!” 

Tingling pleasure shot itself from the base of his organ, quickly spreading all through his length like a furious ocean. He felt it in his chest, gut, and even his spasming thighs - the ecstasy so strong he couldn’t help but shout out your name with the taste of heaven on his tongue. White ribbons of his seed coated the clenched fingers held around his twitching manhood. 

Still catching his breath, he swallowed the uncomfortable dryness in his throat and lowered his glare to the mess at his crotch before fixing it back on the photo. You looked so happy and at ease, surrounded by the people you love. 

‘They don’t deserve you,’ he thought. Especially not him, the man standing beside you holding up your hand to show the tacky diamond ring he put on it.

The last tendrils of his orgasm started to fade, soon replaced with a hollow sensation that permeated in his chest. Lifting his clean hand, he touched the screen and ran his fingertips to gently trace your beautiful face. 

“I’ll make you mine…” he uttered with a quiver of his lips. 

There wasn’t even a fragment of doubt floating in his racing heart that he’ll keep this promise. 

[saynotoshityouhate]

Chaos

Summary: Everyone was convinced you’d never meet your match. That was, until you got the literal kick to the head of a lifetime. 

Word Count: 1726

Tags/Warnings: alcohol, possible concussion, slight illegal behavior, just a little smutty

I’m feeling chaotic, let’s go dancing. Who’s in?

Your friends were used to you starting craziness as soon as you clocked out on Friday afternoon. You were sure they all got your text and rolled their eyes, but they were stuck with you at this point. 

You got all ready - glam but also comfortable - you never knew where the night was going to go. Last time you went out, you ended up dancing until 2am, and then watching the sunrise from the rooftop of an abandoned warehouse. You weren’t sure how many of these weekends you had left - your friends had started settling down and were less enthusiastic about joining you in your shenanigans. They all had tried (and failed) to set you up with their boyfriend’s friends - unable to find someone who could match your energy. But at the same time, you loved your life. You could do anything you wanted, whenever you wanted. You were financially stable, had a good job, a nice apartment...you weren’t really looking for anyone or anything to come in and change things. 

You met the girls at the club, wearing the dress that made you feel most confident, paired with your worn in Converse high tops. “HEY BITCHES!” You gave each friend big sloppy kisses on both cheeks. They handed you a drink - you were last to arrive, as usual. “Y/N, I was just telling the girls about the engagement party my future mother-in-law is planning. You wouldn’t believe how tacky it is going to be! The invitations alone…” You cut her off after pounding your drink, and pointed to the dance floor. “I’m gonna go there now. Bye!” Setting your empty glass on the nearest table, you ran over to the middle of the dance floor. 

You loved the feeling of the stereo bass pumping in your chest. The ringing in your ears blocking out your inhibitions as you moved your body without care, your skin lit up in colors and sparkles. Here, in this moment, you were truly happy. Not a care in the world. No thoughts in your head saying you were unworthy of the love your friends had found. Complete and full contentment at the life you had chosen for yourself. And it was then that you received a swift kick to the side of your head. 

A few seconds later, you opened your eyes to see the hazel eyes of a wild haired, sweaty man. “Fuuucking hell, kid! I thought for sure you were dead. Are you alright?” You blinked up at him and nodded, unsure how you got to be flat on your back in the first place. “I’m so sorry, I was carrying my best lesbian friend on my shoulders, and when we spun around, her fucking foot hit you in the head.” He wipes his hand down his shirt before handing it to you, helping you up off the floor. The man was tall, dressed in a hilarious mismatch of clothes, with a mop of brown hair that stuck to his sweaty forehead, partially covering his eyes. He sported a patchy moustache/goatee combo which brought your attention to his plush, pink lips. 

He leaned down to look you directly in your eyes, examining them closely. “I don’t think you have a concussion...are you sure you’re alright?” You took a deep breath. “Yes. Totally. Super duper alright. All good.” He chuckled a deep laugh, showing off his imperfectly perfect teeth. “Awesome. I’m Adam - we’re going to go find shit to throw off the overpass. Wanna come?” You nodded enthusiastically, never having been this lost for words in your life. He grabbed your hand and dragged you out of the bar, barely giving you the chance to smile or wave at your friends as you exited. 

Adam and his friends brought you all across the city. Finding items to keep or to toss, literally, off of the highway overpass. Your group steadily dwindled as you explored the city’s hidden pockets, eventually leaving you, Adam, and a reusable grocery bag full of spare car parts and rotten vegetables alone on the pedestrian bridge that crossed the city’s busiest highway. Standing together, you looked upon the city skyline, standing proudly against a dark sky that was littered with stars. It was your favorite view. Feeling Adam’s gaze on you, you turned to look up at him. “Everything okay?” you asked, unsure why he was making such a face. “Yeah, kid, just making sure you’re not gonna have a seizure or somethin’ dumb.” He chewed the inside of his cheek as he resumed looking at the city. 

With the early morning hour, there wasn’t a ton of good targets to toss your garbage at. “Wanna split a pizza?” You asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence. Adam smiled and nodded, giving you the chance get him back for earlier, to grab his hand and run. You took the long way, zig zagging through dark alleys, running up and down stairs, eventually landing at your favorite, hole in the wall 24-hour pizza parlor. “Jimmy!!!!” You squealed are the shop owner, waving at him and jumping up and down. The proprietor groaned, pushing himself out of his chair and walked up to the window. “What can I getcha, y/n...and friend?” Adam smiled at Jimmy, and then you, and then Jimmy again. Nervously laughing and still trying to catch his breath, he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Anything but fucking green peppers,” you both said, almost simultaneously. Jimmy rolled his eyes and headed back to the kitchen. 

“Jimmy’s the best. He almost single handedly fed me all through my senior year of college. I was building this Trojan Horse out of Amazon boxes inside my apartment and I couldn’t access my kitchen because it was full of boxes so…” Adam grabbed your face, pulling you in for a rough kiss, his pillowy lips absorbing the blow. Your eyes were wide open, arms limp at your side. Sensing you weren’t reciprocating, Adam pulled back, hands still on your face. “I’m building a boat in my apartment right now, gonna sail down the Hudson. I’ve never met anyone like you before, like me - someone who could keep up with me and not be some fucking loser.” Adam looked deep into your eyes. “We were meant to meet tonight, Y/N. I was supposed to hit you in the head with my best lesbian friend.” Adam squeezed his large hands together, smooshing your face. “Fuck the pizza, come see my boat.” 

Jimmy walked up at that moment, pizza box in tow. “No, no fucking my pizza. Here - on the house - now get out of here. And y/n, I don’t want to find this pizza on some roof or in a tree or whatever the fuck you’re planning on doing tonight.” You turned your head towards Jimmy, with Adam’s help, and said through your smooshed face “Fanks Jummy.” Grabbing the pizza, you looked back up at Adam. Adam moved your head up and down, speaking in a high pitched voice “Yes, Adam, I’d love to see your boat!” Looking down at you with a cheesy grin, you started to laugh. “Fwine, but wet go uf my fwace.” Adam flailed his arms into the air. “Well let’s fucking go, kid!” 

Adam wasn’t kidding, he really was building a boat in his living room. It was the coolest thing you’ve ever seen. “Are these old pallets? Is that a fisherman’s knot? Did you repurpose 2x4s from…” “Whoa whoa y/n don’t get a lady boner over my awesome ass boat!” Your eyes were sparkling, climbing over piles of wood and fabric and an overused power strip. “When is she going to be ready to sail?” you asked, your voice giving away your excitement. “Why,” Adam stalked towards you, backing you up against the mast, “wanna be my sexy first mate?” Your heart was beating through your chest. This wasn’t your average one night stand, this was different - you could tell. This wasn’t the plan. But you couldn’t deny that he was your match. He was right, you were meant to meet tonight. You took a deep, shaky breath, looking into Adam’s eyes. “Aye, aye, captain.” 

Adam growled, wrapping his arms underneath your bottom and lifting you up. You wrapped your arms around his neck and legs around his waist, squealing in surprise. He slammed your body harder against the boat’s mast, shoving his tongue into your mouth and squeezing your ass as he ground his rock hard erection into your pelvis. You lifted one hand from his neck, reaching down to unbutton his jeans, the slightest graze of your fingers causing Adam’s hips to thrust. The energy of that motion cracked the fragile integrity of the mast, causing Adam to fall forwards, landing on top of you, the broken splinters of wood scratched along your back. 

You both groaned. “Fuck, kid, you ok? How’s your head?” Opening up to the same concerned, hazel gaze from earlier in the evening, you replied “Yep. Super duper.” That was good enough for Adam, who stood up quickly, ripping his jeans and underwear down, kicking his legs for assistance. You lifted your hips to shimmy your own panties down to your ankles. Adam returned to his place between your legs. Looking up at him with a grin, you laughed “ahoy, matey. shiver me timbers.” Adam grunted - “you’re so fucking weird, and so fucking wet,” he ran two fingers through your slick, “and just for me.” You whined, moving your hips to meet his hand.  “Gotta make sure you’re ready for me. Gunna drop anchor in this hot cunt.”

Adam spent the rest of the night straddled over your back, where you laid on your stomach on his bed. Using a tweezer, he removed the hundreds of tiny splinters that had embedded themselves into your skin. You sighed contentedly, taking a large sip of milk, unsure what the future held. But for the first time, in a long time, the thought of sharing that future with someone didn’t make you sick to your stomach. You turned your head to take a look at him, wearing lab safety goggles “in case one flew out at him.” Smiling, you rested your head on his pillow, before falling asleep and dreaming of sailing down the Hudson together. 

[garrityoatmeal]

ID: 7 versions of obi wan and grievous's "hello there" "general kenobi [pulls out 4 lightsabers and stand menacingly]" interaction. In the first kenobi says "top o the morning to ya" and wears a leprechaun hat while grievous says "kenobi me lad" with a big green moustache and pulls out 4 beers. In the second kenobi says "buongiorno" with pexelated sunglasses and grievous says "signor kenobi" wearing a mario hat and holding up an italian pinch, then pulls out four pizzas. In the third kenobi says "bonjour" wearing a beret and grevous says "monsieur kenobi" with a thin moustache and pulls out four baguettes. In the fourth kenobi says "gday mate" and wear an outback hat and grievous says "kenobi ya cunt" in a matching hat and pulls out four foods that i guess are australian, including a jar of vegemite. In the fifth obi wan says "sup hoser" and wears a toque, and grievous says general poutine eh?" with a bushy beard and pulls out four hockey sticks. In the sixth many kenobi heads layered on top of each other all say "hello there" and grievous says "several kenobi." And in the seventh and final one, albert einstein's face is pasted over obi wans and he says "[complicated math problem] there" and grievous says "general relativity" and becomes a black hole with some lightsabers sticking out. end ID

some of my favourite hello there memes:

(i found them on pinterest)

And I’m not exaggerating when I say that just looking at them makes my day brighter (please give me more)

[bohemkokusu]

Do you know the warm progress under the stars? Do you know we exist? Have you forgotten the keys to the Kingdom? Have you been borne yet & are you alive? Let's reinvent the gods, all the myths of the ages Celebrate symbols from deep elder forests [Have you forgotten the lessons of the ancient war] We need great golden copulations 

The fathers are cackling in trees of the forest Our mother is dead in the sea Do you know we are being led to slaughters by placid admirals & that fat slow generals are getting obscene on young blood Do you know we are ruled by T.V. The moon is a dry blood beast Guerilla bands are rolling numbers in the next block of green vine Amassing for warfare on innocent herdsmen who are just dying O great creator of being grant us one more hour to perform our art & perfect our lives The moths & atheists are doubly divine & dying We live, we die & death not ends it Journey we more into the Nightmare Cling to life our passion'd flower Cling to cunts & cocks of despair We got our final vision by clap Columbus' groin got filled w/ green death (I touched her thigh & death smiled) We have assembled inside this ancient & insane theatre To propagate our lust for life & flee the swarming wisdom of the streets The barns are stormed The windows kept & only one of all the rest To dance & save us W/ the divine mockery of words Music inflames temperament (When the true King's murderers are allowed to roam free a 1000 magicians arise in the land) Where are the feasts We were promised Where is the wine The New Wine (dying on the vine) Resident mockery give us an hour for magic We of the purple glove We of the starling flight & velvet hour We of arabic pleasure's breed We of sundome & the night Give us a creed To believe A night of Lust Give us trust in The Night Give of color Hundred hues A rich Mandala For me & you & for your silky pillowed house A head, wisdom & a bed Troubled decree Resident mockery Has claimed thee We used to believe in the good old days We still receive In little ways The Things of Kindness & unsporting brow Forget & allow Did you know freedom exists in a school book Did you know madmen are running our prison W/in a jail, w/in a gaol, w/in a white free protestant Maelstrom We're perched headlong On the edge of boredom We're reaching for death On the end of a candle We're trying for something That's already found us We can invent Kingdoms of our own Grand purple thrones, those chairs of lust & love we must, in beds of rust Steel doors lock in prisoner's screams & muzak, AM, rocks their dreams No black men's pride to hoist the beams While mocking angels sift what seems To be a collage of magazine dust Scratched on foreheads of walls of trust This is just jail for those who must Get up in the morning & fight for such unusable standards While weeping maidens show-off penury & pout ravings for a mad staff Wow, I'm sick of doubt Live in the light of certain South Cruel bindings The servants have the power dog-men & their mean women Pulling poor blankets over our sailors (& where were you in our lean hour) Milking your moustache? Or grinding a flower? I'm sick of dour faces Staring at me from the T.V. Tower. I want roses in my garden bower; dig? Royal babies, rubies must now replace aborted Strangers in the mud These mutants, blood-meal For the plant that's plowed They are waiting to take us into the severed garden Do you know how pale & wanton thrillful Comes death on strange hour Unannounced, unplanned for like a scaring over-friendly guest you've brought to bed Death makes angels of us all & gives us wings where we had shoulders smooth as raven's claws No more money, no more fancy dress This other Kingdom seems by far the best until its other jaw reveals incest & loose obedience to a vegetable law I will not go Prefer a Feast of Friends To the Giant family

[sensitivefern]

New York, September [1969]. Saturday night... I explored West 42nd St. again; saw a dreadful double feature: The Magus and The Libertine. Walking home, evan at that short distance, I found extremely difficult. I bought a Sunday Times, which was terribly heavy, and scrapped half of it in a trash can, then went into the next movie I passed, to go to the men’s room, without noticing what it was; but when I was coming out I saw on the screen a huge close-up of a woman’s cunt. It was horrible... like something raw and unappetizing in a butcher’s shop. The woman was rhythmically wriggling and caressing herself and opening her cunt with her fingers... Then there was another more elaborate film... Among scenes of lesbianism and cocksucking, with the lower party out of the picture, there was a rapist who committed three successful rapes; in the case of the last woman who was sitting in her bath, he drowned her by lifting up her legs so that her head was under the water, then carried her nude to a garbage dump and dumped her. He was made an unattractive character and finally shot; but this kind of thing ought really to be censored: it shows the young delinquents how easy it would be to slug a girl and rape her and get away with it.

[Edmund Wilson]

===

Charles Abbott was thrilled when his associate Ernest Volk dug up a human femur deep in the gravel of the farm. Volk had spent a decade searching for Ice Age humans in New Jersey. Gloating that his new discovery was ‘the key to it all’, Volk sent the bone for examination to a physical anthropologist named Aleš Hrdlička... Volk’s femur looked anatomically contemporary. But even if it had looked different, Hrdlička said, that wouldn’t be enough to prove that the ancestors of indians walked New Jersey thousands of years ago. Volk and Abbott would also have to prove that the bone was old... Only if the archaeological context – the dirt and rock around the find – was established as ancient could the bone be classified as ancient too.

In the next quarter century amateur bone hunter discovered dozens of what they believed to be ancient skeletons in what they believed to be ancient sediments. One by one Hrdlička... shot them down. The skeletons are completely modern, he would say. And the sediments around them were too disturbed to ascertain their age. People dig graves, he reminded the buffs. You should assume from the outset that if you find a skeleton six feet deep in the earth that the bones are a lot newer than the dirt around them.

With his stern gaze, scowling moustache, and long, thick hair that swept straight back from the forehead, Hrdlička was the very image of celluloid-collar Authority... By temperament, he was suspicious of anything that smacked of novelty and modishness. Alas, the list of things that he dismissed as intellectual fads included female scientists, genetic analysis, and the entire discipline of statistics...

[1491]

====

Oct. 30 [1855]. Wednesday. Going to the new cemetery, I see that the scarlet oak leaves have still some brightness; perhaps the latest of the oaks.

END OF VOLUME VII

===

EDUCATION

Next to the clerk in holy orders, the fellow with the worst job in the world is the schoolmaster. Both are underpaid, both fall steadily in authority and dignity, and both wear out their hearts trying to perform the impossible. How much the world asks of them, and how little they can actually deliver! The clergyman's business is to save the human race from hell: if he saves one-eighth of one per cent., even within the limits of his narrow flock, he does magnificently. The school-master's is to spread the enlightenment, to make the great masses of the plain people intelligent – and intelligence is precisely the thing that the great masses of the plain people are congenitally and eternally incapable of.

Is it any wonder that the poor birchman, facing this labor that would have staggered Sisyphus Æolusohn, seeks refuge from its essential impossibility in a Chinese maze of empty technic?

[H. L. Mencken, Prejudices, Third Series]

===

In ascending stairwell B, firefighters were passing a steady and heavy stream of descending civilians. [...] Firefighters periodically stopped on particular floors and searched to ensure that no civilians were still on it. In a few instances healthy civilians were found on floors, either because they still were collecting personal items or for no apparent reason; they were told to evacuate immediately.

[The 9/11 Report]

===

baneberry | Actaea ‘Observers note that toads seem attracted by the plant’s odor’.

===

love-lies-bleeding ‘In summer and early autumn, the flowers of Amaranthus caudatus ‘Viridis’ bring an air of exoticism to the temperate garden’... the flowers start out ‘an arresting electric-green’ before fading to cream, them transforming to multicolored seedheads... this variety is said to be good for pots and hanging baskets; also a short-lived houseplant... ‘Makes a great cut flower; remove the lower leaves and sear stems for twenty seconds in boiling water before plunging them into cold water. The stems can also be dried for winter colour’... also recommended: A. cruentus ‘Towers Green’; A. hypochondriacus ‘Green Thumb’... ‘The seeds of certain Amaranthus species such as A. hypochondriacus contain twice as much calcium as milk. They can be eaten raw or cooked, or even “popped” in much the same way as popcorn. The grains offer a rare complete source of plant protein and are also a good source of iron, magnesium and fibre’.

[Green Flowers]

===

❚Sarah Silverman woke up this morn w a swollen top lip! Took a benedryl& nothing! Is it a sting? Allergy? Has this happened to any1? Feels numbish.??

John Coltrane's 'Interstellar Space' at 50: Legacy of a free-jazz masterpiece

Today would've been Johnny Cash's 85th birthday

The Rolling Stones - No Expectations

'People's Court' Judge Joseph Wapner Dead at 97

Bill Paxton, a Hollywood mainstay, dead at 61

Die 89. Academy Awards - Bricht „La La Land“ heute den Oscar-Rekord?

'O.J.: Made in America' becomes first TV show to win an Oscar

Jimmy Kimmel sticks it to Donald Trump in Oscars opening monologue

Hide your sports memorabilia - OJ Simpson to be released from prison as early as October

Let the record show that we didn’t make it even 10 minutes into the Oscars telecast before someone slipped up and mentioned the year’s most famous nonexistent movie: Hidden Fences.

[honestsycrets]

Irreplaceable PVII: Who Was He?

See my masterlist for the rest of the series.

One day, something was different.

Time had passed. You knew something was off. Not with you but.. Kitta. She hadn’t gotten up yet; and while your relationship was strained as of late, you knew that you had to check on her. Ivar had gone raiding some time ago and while you waited for him to come home, you had your obligations. The main one of those was to keep Uxi clean, happy and fed. However, Kitta is your other obligation.

“Kitta?” You press the ruddy curtains apart. Little Uxi bubbles in beside you, trotting on his fat little feet  with Ragnhild following close behind. There is nothing but silence. All of the Queen’s things are as they were. Her fluffy bed is neatly made and a luxurious dress drapes over the furs in a smooth, deep red.

“Ma!” Uxi chirps, doddling in with bubbly giggles.

“Maybe she woke early, my lady.” Ragnhild says stomping after Uxi who seeks out her loom. Turning the corner of her bed, you think maybe she has gone out to oversee Ivar’s newest defenses before you trip onto the ground with a thud, a small groan bumping off of your lips. The soft, squishy firmness alerts you that it was a body-- Kitta’s limp body. You tumble off of her, crawling over her side.

“Kitta!” You shake her shoulder, looking her over. Her pale night dress ims oist with blood about her stomach, sure, but also lower. You yanked up her nightdress, finding the scent like a miasma of blood and infection between her legs. You don’t need to be told to know what had happened there. But her stomach?

“Ragnhild, call me a healer!”

Kitta woke up a while later despite her best efforts not to at all. Days had passed and while you didn’t know what to tell Ivar when he landed, he understood on that misty pier why his first wife wasn’t there. Another miscarriage had taken her over in grief and with Ivar not around? She had hurt herself.

“I wasn’t going to kill myself.” Kitta says one night after dinner. Sure, she didn’t. She just dipped the knife into her gut for fun. “I was just… angry.”

You sit beside her with the remnants of your griddle cooked fish in your lap. Ivar had been by her side relentlessly since he came home. Now, he is asleep while you care for her. “I understand.” You say. “I was similar… when I lost my virginity.”

Kitta turns her head away from the roof bracing beams. “Who was he again?”

You flush. It had been sometime since you thought of Ubbe. Yes, perhaps at night… when no one was around, you thought the sex fondly. You would drag your nightgown over your thighs for better access. You remembered how his fingers twisted, the taste of salt and blood on his lips from Uppsala’s live sacrifices and how he brought you to your knees without even being inside you.

Your cheeks are hot. “No… I couldn’t say that.” You leave your hands from your fish in order to drift up to your cheeks.

“Tell me about it. Look at what I did. I need something to keep me entertained.” She says up to you before motioning down to her stomach. Technically-- you didn’t owe her shit. Not after she disrespected you, but you were weak to her. You look over the wound in her stomach. As much as you fought with her lately-- as much as you found yourself jealous how your husband would drop anything for her, she is charming. You want to make her emerald eyes glisten again.

“It… was a Ragnarsson.” You admit.  Her eyes go from big-- to bigger.

“His brother?!” She squeals out. Your hands clasp over her mouth while looking back to Ivar. You don’t know what he would do if he knew. Lately, he had been... changing. In a way, you chalk up his aggression to the birth of your son. Even Hvitserk was on the receiving end of his rage. All so often, you would reassure him that Hvitserk was nothing to be so insecure about. Hvitserk was a friend. A sweet, kind friend.

“Yes. Don’t tell Ivar-- he’ll be rash.” You hush her. She tries to press for who.

“If it isn’t Hvitserk, it might be Bjorn, Ubbe or Sigurd. Let’s hope it isn’t Sigurd.” Kitta narrows out the competition. Hvitserk is an awful lover. He would have tried to sneak in already if it was him. Besides, he seems to be little more than a brother to you. The empty look on your face when Sigurd is mentioned tells her that it couldn’t be him either.

“Ooh, so you caught his older brothers. Ivar was mine. Was the mystery brother any good?” She asks.

You thwack her with your with your rag from cleaning after your meal, pressing a bit of buttered bread into her mouth. “You’re prettier when you’re quiet.” You mumble.

“So wh...y di’n’t you marry ‘im?” She asks between crumbling bites. It all came rushing back.

“You don’t want to marry me?” Your hands folded in your naked lap. Ubbe slid his trousers back over his ass. You spent much of the night and into the last morning you would be in Uppsala with Ubbe. Your cunt was stuffed full of his seed and yet-- he was leaving. “I’m not ready.” Ubbe says. He hover his shoulder with the bundle of braids shifting. He stretches his hand out to graze over your plump lips. “I would make you miserable. I’ve done enough damage.” You weren’t sure whether that was good or bad. In one way, at least he wasn’t the type of man to trap you in marriage. But as you remembered, you took a tea of pennyroyal a few weeks later.

You wish you could banish those thoughts away.

Kitta healed nicely. It was none of your business what had happened between Ivar and she. They discussed it and that was the extent of what you knew. You had not whined to Ivar about the past month he spent with Kitta. While she healed the last few months, you spent time with your now year and a half year old. Uxi climbed whatever he might be able to find, tried to leap off of heights and snuggled the stuffed toys Ragnhild made him to death. So that day, when you hear the stomp of a crutch from behind you, you didn’t honestly expect to see Ivar in the doorway.

“Fa!” Uxi whips away from your skirts at lightning speed, pointing his index finger as he bolts towards his father. He stops short of him, pointing and inching back as Ivar moves forward.

“Uxi, come here Uxi.” Ivar calls, walking toward the table to ditch his crutch and maneuver onto the ground. It was easier for him when chasing his child. Uxi makes a huffing noise, chuffing laughs out but timidly keeping beside you.

“Go Uxi. Go with your fadir.” You pull your skirts away, from his little hands to urge him forward. He takes a few shy steps up to him, poking him in the cheek.

“When did he learn this?” Ivar asks, eyes drifting down to Uxi. He pokes again and runs off to hold your skirts. Instead of catering to his shyness, you fall onto the ground beside your husband. A few pokes later he lost interest, zigzagging through the room to bring Ivar back miscellaneous items. Very quickly the mound of random items begins to build into a small hoard.

“A few days ago.” You smile, stacking block and ball and on the top of the hoard. Then you hand the boy a piece of bread. “Give your father a kiss, Uxi.”

Uxi holds one of your glass bead necklaces in his other plump, tiny hand. He boredly tugs your necklace while you blow soft kisses to the little boy. Uxi moves forward so that you might place a kiss to his cheek.

“Good boy.” You worship. Ivar swipes up his son to hold him in his lap and buries his face into the side of his neck. It lasts only seconds before Uxi breaks his father’s grip and shoots off again. Ragnhild follows him, giving opportunity for Ivar to drag you into his lap. He presses kisses over the body of your neck. You hum appreciatively for each kiss, dropping your hands down to Ivar’s on your hips.

“I found something out.” Ivar drags his lips, the tickle of his moustache against your skin up toward your ear. “Kitta told me one of my brothers took your virginity.” Ivar whispers into your ear. “So who was he?”

Your heart palpitates. She TOLD him?! You should have expected as much but somehow-- you feel betrayed. Your whole body rips into shakes within his arms. The words-- his name, it’s caught on your tongue. Uxi comes back around, handing you his piece of bread then turns away and runs to play again. Ivar glimmers a half smile at the boy before it drops altogether. He teases his lips around the shell of your ear, turning his face in your hair.

“It doesn’t matter.” He hums. “I’ll just fill you up with another child instead.”  

Since he found out that one of his brothers had claimed your virginity months ago, everything had changed. He kept Hvitserk within eyesight when you were in the room. Despite not asking again who had taken your virginity, you knew that he was punishing his brother for one of them having done it.

It was the midsummer’s festival and the celebrations were abound. You had woven wreaths, tossed corn doilies into the roaring flames and Ivar had blessed a ship under Baldur’s name. Your father and many other kings were there-- including one familiar one from your time in Uppsala prior to your marriage to Ivar.

King Sverri. A king of icy lands and fine wolfish furs.  

Also the King that dragged you out of sorrow-- once upon a time. It feels so long ago now. He’s grown his muscles, lean as he is. You may have feasted the sight earlier-- curious to the bodies of men. It was only natural, you assure yourself. You would never cheat on your husband.

“Do you dance, my Lady Princess?” King Sverri staggers beside you on the beach, his dark hair curling down over his pale skin, catching on the stubble. He was a tall, willowy thing donned in a rich green tunic, belts carrying axes on either side of his hips.

“I can’t say I have since we last met!” You laugh.

“That’s been years, my Princess.” Sverri spins you around the raging beach fire towards an adorned maypole spinning in brilliant red and drab white and black. It is up in celebration of the Vanir for fertility both for Midgard and the humans residing upon its surface. For as fearsome as the king was, the feminine flower crown on his head from Kattegat’s young girls made him as happy as sunshine.

The king was of course not doing such dancing. He spun words with the other kings and his brother. Hvitserk recounts so called sensual occurrences between the Christian women and he-- noting that they may look shy and modest but were anything but.

“Where is (Y/N)?” Ivar asks just as Kitta sat beside him on his sandy blanket. He takes Kitta’s hands up for a small kiss. He quickly realizes that the roll in her eyes is purely because he asks where you were. His eyes slip away from the burning embers to crowds of men and slaves.

“Dancing.” Kitta says, wiggling a new ring on her fingertips for a kiss. He gives her another, mumbling his words on her ring.

“With Hvitserk?” He asks, though it sounds more like a statement.

Kitta shakes her head. “With the King Sverri.”

“What?” His voice drips down into a low snarl. Ivar’s demeanor shifts, dropping her fingers.

“They’re actually kind of cute— Ivar!” Ivar drops to the beach, dragging himself through the sand. Kitta follows after him.

“She’s pregnant. It's harmless if Sverri fucks her. Better yet to give him incentive to keep his men and shieldmaidens with you.” Kitta chimes in. Ivar snarls up at his wife, jerking back as the shuffling of people around him kicked aggravatingly small grains of sand in his face.

“Shut up! He’s not touching her.” Ivar drags himself until he caught sight of Sverri twisting you back in from a spin. You hit his chest a bit clumsily. One of his hands slip away from his upper chest toward his shoulder. Sverri’s calloused hands dip low on your back. His moppish black hair tickles your lips and you look away from him when he leaned in for a kiss. Sverri draws back in his defeat, letting his forehead rest upon your head.

“A… ah. I think my husband might not… like this.” You hum. Sverri keeps quiet, eyes glazing you over.

“I wouldn’t either… if you were mine.”

“(Y/N)!” You press away from his chest. A harsh call of your name from below alerts you to Ivar. Immediately you know from the wildness in his eyes that you were in some sort of deep trouble. You break away completely from Sverri to run over to your husband, beginning to kneel in the sand.

“Iv… Ivar. That wasn’t-- I didn’t mean to.” You came up beside him. He reach out to tug you down. You tumble on the ground a little harshly, hands flying instinctually to your stomach. Ivar lurches over you, ignoring both Sverri and Kitta. Your hands hook around his neck as he bears down at you.

“Let us make something clear. I may share Kitta… But never you. You are the mother to MY children. Do you understand?” Ivar asks. You look up into his blown wide eyes. Ivar slips his slender hips between your legs. Was he going to make a display of you here? You wish you could melt away.

“Yes… my husband. Perfectly.” You mumble. As soon as his rant has began, it ebbs. You have neither the time nor the energy to fight his burning need for dominance over a foreign king. At the end of it all-- you were his.

Every king would know. King Sweyn would know with his lavicious eyes that bore a little too long at your ass during ceremony. King Faksi-- who gave you in marriage would know. This king from a far distance would know. He’d know very well.

“We’re going to your rooms.” Ivar snarls, dragging himself through the sandy beach. As you lay there, Kitta slips behind you to pull you up. In a mixture of frustration, you look to Kitta.

“Why would you tell him about Ubbe and I?” You ask her, finding that her eyebrow cocks. Your back stiffens the moment the words hit the surface-- you just slipped.

“I said nothing about Ubbe, (Y/N). Or Sverri.” Kitta laughs. “I only told him a brother fucked you. But now I know which.”

“I trusted you not to tell him, Kitta. I took care of you!” You shove her back, finding Kitta was quick to fall dramatically. Despite her creating a scene, she wears an amused smile. Sverri jerks forward to grip your wrist when you were about to jump her.

“She isn’t worth your time, my Lady Princess.” He whispers in your ear with a warm, soothing puff. You drop your raised fist.

“(Y/N)!” Ivar calls you.

Sverri was right. She wasn’t.

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