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libidomechanica · 4 months

Text

Untitled (“The well I may”)

A sonnet sequence

Outside thee from the sweeter that is toward Damascus. But lo, this Russ so well? The well I may. Shadows of the roof. And gathering and love, as in the back-blow of Reckoning his was my young round, with may not learn: and Baskets at straight time she paused hortensia pleasure past, into the long gold coin council with hunger for wings of doubts: the grove, for you, O love, neither and die: who kept so love, hatred was ever I with Fate of theology when we met, which though his Pomp abode his pulse of birthday and piece together melancholy; then from the should make dead, my kin a row.

Now our even the wroth to make its threates, and listening breathed— the red heroes, and all their Sunday’s due, of slumb’ring Jack and give you think I hear thy longinge? Loss is my days of riper day; but t is first pretended, the wealth you. With which settled for he was! ’ I’ll tell, for Love—then all fade, and three with you drink and mine thou wilt thousand scarlet pain and dreamers to costume. I would counted been contemplate; what we, one design, for quick and of posting of a kind of itself divine! What merit it self in my young khan in most secret, blank and withoute long here; almost mortal work his stable; and wooed wo, most of fire, when though a wild bear along her—let her? Agonies and stream and out of joints of Fairies, like Ariadne’s tides—the Strange? We cannot turn in that nursed in the moonlight in the oratory rescues me another brains; and in a year closing up.

Arise and the Rauen of his moorland! Julia, this excess might reaps not a sort of the rivers, still kept itself, or pilot the dark defiled, candle-like apply, his tall peelings mortals who would rather ye together and swearest gift to cheerfulness. The Raven, If I taste. Its votaries, thou hast ravished my mother use, and there each precepts wise, he would hurry on, the moon, clear his victor’s manner of our human nature’s in walking and do not, alas, from above, although you the smelling from the populous delight from the back doorstep, the loftiest mind.

When he died, or bindeth behind broken in age the helpless; all her formed. To march of stone of the shrinking that anything quick change? And the larger constellation, twenty, Tam! The World I beginning with many thousand here each nipple would derides, naked, as thought me sleeps armory, how tender brute the bars and sold to fire. I never is less the wits, and a little captive from her: to call hell were his Hearts upon her Cheek of him. But let his right; smote on, amorous theft: from every battle grew like church but silk will whisper’d by designated great. And so Adieu.

—Perish pulses with thinking have to temples with shame. A machinery, being sense that brow, and breath skin of your modern with my kin a room and lover, and Sommer since the clouds light and how she castle way to fly, as you listen, so to be happy you greatest treasure than through that the last foes. Shine and put under—right he would; but cometh out of my bedde, not winced. Sitting was the splendour from the poor groom that a wall, casement, to the ring, and in the dead eyes he before art enforced old khan, with Sense and distort thy worth despair and the three chains out, till I saw the rich.

Rhetoric can lend, towards boyes you, O loue not so. I charge society to dwelling sale was hearts; and in their thou alone. That was, not know not worn the vine; nor mix’d my ankle, to march with unwilling doth you! For all the wayside the through done but a single blessing-room, the ruddy, the place. Days I have scope and fall i’d brush’d a love sweare me to draw. In such as words this tree, put here all claim, says she be a want me, and we defer our better me? ’—Were all which little scorn to Loathing and blear’d as tis help, on you em more than a new range, so ruefully flashing, hither.

To me, Rise upon my good instrument. I never silk-saft fault is youth; blow for me are windowsill. My father afield it was I saw the rest were white lilies. Gave back to lie, sans Wine hadde it not: O, if she leaves litter’d from being should I believe such echoed by mysteries thunder! Acting on the dying night among so cleanly I myself have shore resounde. Knew not one for lay-men, a yet what.—His tongue to innocent! An oath, and quest,—who catch and ball. Sweet Eloquence, like their grim career, like the Harvest. With just wrath she none, because I would no more than the grapes.

Indeed the ill; I have love-hat relation, which wooed wo, most laughing peopled, so sure: leave me no answers Death. My love, see the glowing they talked, the nodding thee virtue and round with such sweet I hear her shining in the end, and still unconfines that such echoing child, to haunts of the uprightly turns to give my loved put to me to the palm she stream that would like an intent such this gave afresh, as well his clothes of conscious love thought with Men for your vertuous blazing here are us canon? Thy sovranty—think how we show’d him dead; on which of his moorland! Binding a break.

But whether the cause thou doest save a fig, sliced peonies in a dusky brake. You sleep to costly gay? Or that I thinking to the end, that not with clay. I starters, and did we watch a sharpened their most mind. Days I will be, no other. And the Idols I have seen abandonment of what ocean, a human face … such hands in fear We cannot looked at his only gods know, were have been forest of silent stream, yet lies that all: but t is parents thank him not. To the young hart: behold the soft, untarnishable; slakes no thirst put to dust, these bright-dark socket from a school girl.

Juan content to you. Would find a heart—slower, mute despair is gone, and for in its own desert from the other with shiny promised of Wisdom may be dispute with my own silhouette we squat outside, eating waters, washed my heart has not for Refuge, made the lighter of healing that them cluster of war would cherries sometime holdeth among the western gloomier tapestries—so rainbows of her more I’ll come so love is dying round there was wont tenrage the palaces, whence to elder timber cloud, it mighty pearls, wherein the eclips’d her sunny as cold with idle Joan.

Doth farre their chief spices wanton air that had brought her—she’d rather that next to thy green, who landed bows to myself I guard, for the wood are him in the waves of a people in our will quite throng, not with many beloved, its glare, shouts, bridges roar was of greet it bore; thought to every memory refreshing, said he why not? Which did note, and its knot to love he is thy selfe pype and hath neither an’ a’ should all her raged, transgresses; all their forehead hopest he that’s what eye was out of Solomon had your iris tightens on things were delight, bitter but all that the glacis.

Cockpit of millions saved her, glares to be all the world; she senses, others: being either reason her stept: she, like a wind, companions lay, like a broken. I soon as kind of incense I smell. By reasons: almost wondrous brightness, and cursed be thou hast thy feet leave thy cheek was himself. Used utterable, my father myriads of spices which is post: some time war is. Would the regretted, for shame at shrinking her the cowslips ill hung a strange, peeled a banana. Sudden rather animated nature of bulrushes life indeed, indeed her faces that when the Flames, the rain.

Little captive from waits each other lone like a new range. Some disappear from the way like into my loved, the womb is man! And now she is, bitter, pray, and various chaos, and Johnson was I sober when thee growing in his leisure for. Now droop and her, and in the two young; and deep joy to seeke the twilight in me carries flowered cherish pulses with Ida’s at the batteries uncloth’s periphery pinned with showers decay, as you, O loue new-coin’d to set it, duly accompanions lay, glad if for her own rose open on its sweet self, once more fully divine?

But the Soul, and builds its den, this is the stars, men that if this the soul, by choice and saw Paradise enough: I long sieges, as to the great krater-cup bearing with one is shifts, unknown, a thin hair, on a smock, the back to ride backwards her friendship’s pledge, between the eyes and last, point to know exanimated nature’s rule! Ah who had fall with some apple trees that is white lilies, torch of our artillery and with you doth call except. So nakedness off like the Lord’s, so this heard them away, there they perish’d a livelier iris chain so sure a space, both in beauteous stem.

The columns were contested at the back to lightnings are circle of everywhere. Nor too far that was full for never after soul, the straight me Turn, and all them sweet nymph is flame. Dew on the open’d in the plain, swoon’d, murmuring roses were all native land, like a tulip? And drove her shaken like a sad pickle putting bid me to ye, my sire who level day by day, whene’er seeing jets black e’e, yet I can’t stopped with Fate constantly? An aged, helpless harmony with battery; but a mouse, of all hold them chaste;—they march with myrrh, and so they ne’er denies; shee, let bee.

And quenching to the bestowes serues that light they regarde, then the yield to shining Foot she want to know; so child right be. Now for me that slain. Charlotte, having and dead with spicy chocolates tempt with both Loue vnkind worse still call those things thee seen, before alone that dwell the raging and colder in her auburn hair, and doors disembark’d, push’d on like in detail, where, thou ivory comrades can witnesse were life in perfect all the dusk with sweetness of heart broken world, and tranquilly, she’s missed. Rift the suspense and virulent; her so brave? At once only take quarter, a wounded Allah!

Twenty stones whose bright pavilions: not aspire, nor green waters cannot be hanged eye; for something her forehead came near me, her sweet is early and, like new day comes, the great received. But thou, Anthea, must be conflict o’erlooking hip to his Hearts that Life’s small sweet as I avowed an oxymoron or absolute the dialogue, and by my seal with all their fairest and blood. With gold fin in sweet love, and against my many a heap of care: while I called token or fifty year, David, fling: the three with listless on thy captiu’d in the face as a flint, cheat your Reward in haste!

Never, I with scars, still guaranteed to linger of the womb—it is before we too far said and pays through depth and Stella alone bent over they dance for somewhat my tongue does resembled barber lays his course is death will playground there: nor this youth! The slope of death does your sleepe, the mazie thick clutch of musk rose up in some sliding heart like in feathers soon shake haste to tell, and as, in the breathes of hooks shall approve But I, ’ said massive problem with Sense and his lost, you are, fit to show, the gross the please not its own. Year old saw the Incomes upon their orbit run, for one will Yes.

We are one: the body was a millions are falling in rich to-come reels, as thought him, but wars. As a pieces of the panacea, Sir! The trip and pitied. But ah vnwise and spills tell her word? That after shall pale page; she is wand’ring sky, and shudder, longed found the bitter columns gleaming what you the grieve he had? Are them cluster of dangled the Door of God and even wearied of might sun. And yet am I not glass gleam. Not solemn gloomed; and all the birds and cause deformed. Thy bright like tree live to lingers, and dispart it was unbred, then a long-abandoned out his gore.

And made agree: each virtue only because to me a fact—and t is said he how the secret, blank and glove he dide the warp’d and so shall powder’d, once she wilds, in her a pool in the found his gave gigantic proportion to sleep. Once only is asham’d to do, till such spies, think State errors, guardians, yet in my Honour—well, and her grinders vain pure and dying Moslem, who jealous man who bawled for immortality and would gae mad, o whistle, an’ I’ll come to learn and wrecked dapper Cupid’s armory, When didst not, thought through, the Troop a Sháhzemán, by Name and in Rows.

She only, call her ward i’ll squeal said and wash thee assaults of bursting days, rest rush’d with light, and you know these bereft, nothing but—Wine. Forgot yourself, my doubt if men seek heau’n of it. When he ranks are stopped. Weakness to be borne aloft with the storm: no cause of the fulness. But what. I arise that perish’d—the Rain to continents, your will procure, assembled: Ah, said he ummm said she now said she let’s beams struck thee fair. Which I hardly seemed it is brazen lies, It’s the morning on these trunks?—Cold, there on that other, dwarf-like this vain might him, and streams are style blue. Her Eyes Narcissus stone.

As Lebanon, and seemed too soon; as yet. The unplumb’d, salt, estranging joys have freshly bleeds, and the corps were stairs of Jerusalem, that vast fire enough to all men, are all me how much good, and sable hour better thought, from come thoughts do the garden of grapes. Wedded lower to loss of her, kind of mother nimble fell to hear the hill often urged, so in thy beauteous and harmonies should fain say I’ve called on flying against earthly soul would me upon the bright, his eyes I lay listening valley now grated Tongue it murmuring cruel kind, a hand walked of delight in seeming good.

Is thro’ Heav’n is right in ribbands, his den. Seem to kiss; for some freshly blew the earthen Bowl of Nighting water was a note. Vs; leaue ye shepherd. And this is my object. In the savage; and to a ditches, one into delicate, put to recite what’s hardly rise like horse. Ah, my Bed, my heart—how shallower feet thou snare him livid: how shall be; thou feed he rain, unlike— it seems to over these say, nor willy- nilly flash’d phosphor glow rolls by the last empty fifth, which peopled, so sure thunder! I have lied who thus in vain; deceivest not some sweeping her cheeks need of shame.

And flatterly be hid, as do the gutter from ancient Ruby yielded sworn thee here exactly followed; thought unto thought upon the Future lies thro’ the cup that ye stir not act, and thinking of bitter comes of busy world so both in wild, vain. How many hand hung roes that she hath brought at one bear or face of one sort of whose like any sighs, and all burden, to whimper; mild, but everywhere; almost. Leg still to myself; lay thy fault of our love a grand dead surround his first and may grant my distress, or of shame; and may gush out among then, in the bedroom waiting Everest.

What with shut eyes follow ocean the blood. Purse, a small have latter of the balefull choir hair is as if all her spirit of past thou along, and cold autumn wilds of Time from men every word. With love, I seem by the pearl a doubled with yourself the strut and my room, like Wind aloes, where the clear his spirit shall color, one Moment, to the merchance! To roll the fiction in Ajalon! And, as of dross, with Cossacques. And if unfit for my birth, weather light I sing into cities she now? A mirror’d hed, milke handles out that my Muse some sliding a human to work.

Lie saunt’ring its without having as necessarily even the ships, and fast and victual, had mann’d, my Mine said the one I loved, it with there was her best has not at all, and spite of itself am mortgaged to employ all around—and ever shapes a bright thy heart, and half-closed: when youthful shore, and keep a poor, yet never and the winds are not. To cast out of length he could, wett, and dumb death, retrieves, among the vineyard have her from fair sun of all, looks are parent might had been poured, miserie! While your bodies lull’d in storm: no caus’d my pulse fair one, what he, a path, to advancing, sweet lips, and the begot his little flocke, my Muse some other and crying the Cup, and intended Pleiad, willy-nilly flowery memories, drop heaviest the bodies fill that stird vp that sweet, though Ireland starry night of his honor, or as the fate of years of Jerusalem.

Swayed the Rest; oh, the vines having provocation, a virtue meet in an empty airless asphodel, lookin’ ye be, for which longer, though rarely, which is fill’d his heart as I think some: others crown’d my beloved, but afternoon, which my valentine. But shaken, ran itself too much, is nothing breath, and ten thou would move under the next times in the day, like doctor and crying issues radiant beauteous stutter on earth’s old man, the wall, casements. Have low down, Sugar, my spouse, whose, till be, no less thee, and thee, hearing, breasts: what I was the envious hours do, and battle-field!

Whether dainties banish with tears, and bad dreamy, kind? Lie saunt’ring Jack howe’er there lay to true loved spake the only to guessed the Hand of mother moved, and, once did not less. For ylike to see if you be the frock and curls can makest fame shoulder, as many hand—just lonely reading: silent night which I have laid it better Moon are asleep the sun hath found the villainous centre of my Root, and women? She of This granted: there, where thy great delight waves upon it did breede did me ill availed into my thighs, and all, where the society, that touch drove fine, needle-like flies.

My father her out for a Song. Until Thou faire Mother abide by side, and threw they fall from her Circean head, too grossly enough is mortall eye, that shuts its delightful Herb whose palm tree, why dost bear or buck, he enjoy’d the Seventh months ran a skewer, whether wanting the old saw pronouncing Muse. Silent nightly my belovèd as the curtains over their new leaf that will sit besides over your last times do I not, he, that the child of mysterical mock-disease. For one? Frowns are bounds pole with old Khayyám the Breath or foe, which in the wore, o’erwrought urn becoming a note.

Who bawled forth, come with pleasure’s or daughter, as bravest, where God be thou hast thou art fairer flowers: then with Love, again! Out of the starters, and could catch cold woman, love, for quickly appetite to paused hortensia pleaded, Ida came; for Blanche had thus so costly roots here your souls, at what is my father hurricane of the long- wave light dissolv’d, or any mercer, or thee, dropt upon life, to which are all her sunlight, when I touch of the sea. And by the red drops its there was a million—drawer of her starting joys have fully rude, that love in kissed my sheepe, that lulled through the pock!

To what were furl’d in the spoke they meant well. Lie down an empty airless apart, I must tell not seven days hence, to Pan his croon If you ain’t witnesse brief beside. The scale of that left his two eyes he met her doubts could thus; while on language sprung from her little dross, where you, or anything wan and mother mild, where threescore queens and of ghost she lover, and count it should gae mad, o whistle, and great humanity must an awful topic’s tender face; they neither crescent of what thine eyes, thinks, not of. Is flames upon Branch cut down my faith doth bomb and bliss! I should speak, and perhaps grow.

She in what hears his back not this life Thought of the right and pith to make millions lay, like sleep—their eyes over my heart and Summer, till the green field: void was gone, and love. So much of thy servance hung just be cheat, if Maud in nights not a single head; if everywhere nothing carried by the subway car that toss’d Thee therefore we may the heap a moment, to like, but comely as Jerusalem, as babies beaten—thought, for the Hesperian tunic of melancholy eyes, and many lambs might writhe answer to lose; the pit and behold kings be crown of Nothing myrrh, and thee, and the rain.

An’ I saw him whose Back is like a child. I the street out of Platonic shape of Thee and child. The Moslem rose loveliness I never known; and half a smile as live no frown on those tincture on horse. And in the children leap from which I have touch, thee sitting alone, and wreath of heaven’s circles a change in the serpent rod, and roll the Shulamite; return. Indeed here as her best of silent night tinge with Love, not with old Khayyám, and haste;—they muster faith doth shepheards all that I alone. When all I defiles. The Two-and-Seventh monthly bill? Clown, and I would believe my lips again, and blear’d Silence in the sparrows from week to weapons still thy good the think forward, at what. A nakedness flushing war wrapped wet in consented to see who are no giraffes. And joyous love you this. The color, one is turn the smell of insolence, and hang like terrible array.

All thro’ all my armes I woulds’t, when a children stumbled and set forth, company of the reflex act of it of one by, when we meet bodies cals each prepared to whose only famous slumbers more the calm’d twilight and green-sicknesse, and the lythe Cash in hastens on the fishes as those bright like a flowers, keepers as he that false subtle snake is gone: my soul wither, if she had sketches in au’ and past, no dislike windows do display for loues vnbridled lore would euer last before, whatever in it lightning. And thee, knap the blood stand, threat’ning came throne—thought, I dream of his memory.

Your fame, which longer—in the make her one hour, which prove not I thinkes their gross; with affrighter eyes and foreshadows of gold. Had he sits to perfect ore limbs at numbers more cunning, thinking them clusters without. Out somehow idem semper; modest tress, or of the punch. And the budded fair creatures, or his only Laili, ’ yet a Book of London! To all the disgrace; but that pine, I though, taming trees. Made the luminous air of the sea has devout, psalterian. Past cure I am, yet eloquent reply, marrying hold, as do therefore we must make, unheard, the nice remain.

That love yon red rose-briar bloom renew’d. Made by hovering that laid by their death will she had left with no more, and its knot, I charge? Affirmation If yours such restrained hair is to the Water blast empty but you—two days to bear within, the shouted— Open thy store of; withoute long. Regret. Like mine I knew not why. My Clay with your merry-make; and ’twill answers, with joy to have been poured out his guardian sea-god to woo her. Suns through. Unto the blaste, and leap from a poison behind my swim in his den, and shook the poor desire, empty, pure and flattring for good, plaint, it die?

Take some fresh as is a lovers, child, which came the red Vesuvius loaded, besides,— where yourselves are went his Tears turn’d. Poor restless Titanic shade—for pity Sultán aftertimes. The ground on the mossy green, she brush the Bowl of adoring wynd. Good, good quartered, as o’er who refused to the same town, ’ so Cowper sayes, to grasp. Moving heart and green, and active her Wiles began to wounded man withoute longer nursed be the first time to breaking. Would notarize our home those their wings, the closes, hang on her rugs and thou shall venture thy tempting: not a sight and the cold worse.

All the dark, and their death, for lovers, as we watch with oxygen. Of equal, now look like a flames the walking to circumstance one with the sighed: No, surely be the Two World I begin! Reclined thus seasons dance in the star that which reach time—I that being pangs, weighed in all she herself with loves but a windows shone his carelessly—but I am the roots here. I was to song of their rifles. There them at my heart;—as I must bid the interesting gore: there, who for To-day of bread: come down rome, Babylon, Tyre, Carthage, Nineveh, and howl’d for each other’s cursed be grateful every part, with thy neck is comely, nothing warm, flushing, in detail, where Jamshýd’s Sev’n-ring’d eagle sat, with your father this orient pearl-gray light he said he ow said he go slow and question’d what is better into your own, where if men who know that inhabits you loved me not like a ghost.

Waxed very moving glanced when there’s not up, nor commander in the calendar. ’Er who are smooth bald crow thee is lording to high heart;—as I have been seize; she will stowre. The mob at last Duchess painter’s at the blaze of conscience, and hungry pride and trip and hollows whether towers: his children only, calling Heav’n replied, tis Apollo, that can the distance was full lips he ought two grand poetic diction of morning thus, Ah, Lycius! Juan and Johnson was Werther, struck by little of Medicine says she spake: I sought thine, and ioy their time; whether heart, will not see you press trains.

Me did your vows, and the sang from men’s languish; she taut holding I am my beloved put in ditch against the Dawn of what was without resisted braid. It’s only scourge, that is apt to recite whate’er the golden, especial honour in an amber one whose, therefore hart upon his earth to himself than all poor for light, is tir’d with Predestinate skin lies delays, and trembling its way that swell; tis pity one barren as mine, is love me. My harbouring removèd by our praise upon thee forth the only by the hear her hand from labor in a bear it once, even as midsummer’s front doth farre mens hear; all orders of a kindled, and elegances besides enjoy, your worth despair is gone, but then in liberty. Nay, but follow; get the expense and learnd of your mountains hoar they wound wert truly fair young beneath a glutinous centration also see.

The scorn on the flies. Their endless bound by confirme: for Stella I do sweariness could not be heart that he brushed thee are dead acted by his brain, rain dropped thee to those thousands,—sometimes would griefs in the dark when when men or fifty should! And in the wisest to say, There is undefiled: for thee: could not with rain, swoon’d serpent pain, binding towns, which one full bread, and the same ways are faith the Bough, all cut to our blacke but mine eyes. Mine eyes, possess peace, that will fulfil. Now the dead besprent with the Bird of it; and weep in youth of her hands dying thus, shuffled the rest a dwarfing city.

If the red-ribb’d ledges the sad, it might, like perfect wholly durst in rejoicing, and leave her love in sweet bother. Now they made the depth and would define—nor Lover! A drunken in eastern wolf is his: in pierced his own: t is not breath wills, a frighter in life’s Liquor in many times, parking her cheek where is clean as it were nature she’s down her as his pipe to her home through the glory, should keep court every on the railway, in you canst not run away from the broader-grown greenery which ever this face was latest flake white ravished and Favour His—lo! And heart, and take!

Quest of a few Persian mutes, with the winked in the walls moon-flowers too much is man! Or car’d, nourish, or war? The troops the slope, and that, bright in ribbands, as hath yield, I could euer slakes no thirst for Refuge from thy love, my Philly? And in talcum on the yell of the reflections poured, miseration: then that piece of her brother, it is, the person. They pleasant fruits of Kedar, and some, like a duckling what it to their ration, the north flower. I am true calm. That life, make fire, of green, above the race on grew the edge of war with the heaven’s Angel, but as a bed of old.

And a dozen, came debtor forbids to return’d up to the woods and dream unriddled, cool’d? Where the clefts of surrender by mowing can be sweet bough, a Flask of cloud in either hands, Leezie Lindsay, my praise to our Gibraltar must be at the sky is a star after Sultán’s Turret in Death, with a full heart still he pleasure, when I love that that will make my miseration, thus the worse still to only an acre hath shepheards all my natures nation had all their petticoat, or when the General Ribaupierre’s was much longed for I was things. Toward to a young, as cares their petticoat he sandy tracts, and tenderness might saue my spoke of Heav’n’s halls held carnival at the sky like pale an upper spots are fallen summer season’s children changing, sweeter thy love me—wilt thou ivory combine bed too coarse to move said the distance of one best that ye stir and Hope, earth to life?

Thy navel is look as ye were won his dog, he hew’d awa by Phoebe saying Venus skies to difference. Is gone before once we lose to our better! Behold, he held me up into cities of saucy boyhood: now, even the cornice-wreath of Innsbruck cast it take me Christian mother with th’ inward from the powers at morning, I shed my soul loveth: I held me Head on the rest …. Beside me that oil’d and thrones;—but perish’d into their play, my wife, read love and their Mouths are breathing her way. But cruel lady, it is the trampled with Wine! Then, so sane an’ twenty, Tam!

As soon to mee: no, no, no, my Deare, what a world; approach and put it in and over the thing. Rode with the genitors, all reade your feather, who had brought they appropriated each would given up that in the suddenly the woods. I now his cups divine: Love’s son? Wealth of sea from the muffled; there, as you wert not harvest, where you epitomize little palpitating here grateful, monstrous woodland light I sing for a shelter the clicking coop’t we lives a shining hand, and silent continents, your smile? Snow; yet was the two young hart upon it? Firstly, then with love, only Drink their backs, stars go over the oratory rescues me likeness: it was his baby that earlier think’st thou say. Of love, what the drear flash upon the curve of that I know her eyes, and out his ray. As held, days I have heart, fear, opening carried without resisted braid, or vainly set.

Why, all this Russ so well delight have play: name is in hue, so remembers are rooms were sickly former love, though and throne—thought me for to a world a spirits cannon’s roar was dizzy, busy, and so shallow’d nought I saw the only in other hair. An hour, where the desert sand is neither hell’s pavement back ever. Doth grow: and then his glowing gets himself to man, wilderness were all may brings. As your will become a better to hurt than of Ross run willed, free as these, handling a Gangsters twittered. Oh Thou Jewel of mysteries, his eyes, as the bleak air, and that he owes there.

Do hold you spoke it once it will, they paid that faith in its Cup be dry. If I lose this island, one Moment in an empty Glasses for me? Wild night of carnage, like a springs as true calmly Love—then a child right had been slowly spinning can harp, and she had been us. The River Brink, with rigorous throwes ope, that thus a dearer throat shall happily be hid, as to a woman’s part of muscle, lopsided, about the millinery, that had been forest. Breathless moan. Indeed I loved through the parapet, or lives, and their Wrath and Sence, her grief, tries molder, as he looks; bidding him that Love, only to their present with me alone, and so tangle for half’s delight, rhythm in anything love you quite succeeds dead, from the Wild Ass stamps o’er them orphans: first cut. With just be heart o’ thy Willy. To hate, but bitter, prayer for lovely laughed is quite a brother!

Reason good, good Hobbinol, that she is full of orphans in effect. And in it till Cherry ripe themselves are; talk back to die, or lives a drunk with all its mouth of well-wrought he knowing. By day the amorous herbs, both juan and wonder at having note. A monkey had charms, unless songster Disciple still shut quietly as bright poring at they fell on its wind-tossed my hand those which other. A bore. And I fly into amaze into the Tavern softly in other’s glass, whereon Johnson join’d and opening die, lift up some beauty of branches playing Venus’ temple door.

—Perish in wild goat still the maids and vouches, pearls of man, the ecstasy my hair of all your dreamers to its through the death, with projected, we argue like a sandy plaintive more, o’ercame the monsoon here the crunch, can lend, towards before hart upon they made some sweep for the sick to looke at my heart throw out a wing and done but asking, he helpless; all her famines, to feel: in vain thee; azure pill often she was pearl, and setting said did me to the serpent’s ear and wreaths of ice cream? Here about us—Lo, laughing of the ranked my gift of frankincense, and by the hill, so bury me by myne eie the soul of Nature, as his prior to enter’d now: his stern skies: no other sliding up a single twilight with one did you know above that fill thy youthfu’ May its throng’d with think her Lip. Kiss the tall, and the little many brittle Lamia tremulous hand head.

Entire, would be lynched the stands in moral height to proof, in thilke same heavily downs, which sting! An edge a dry radius descry the harp of star of Lethe screwball rowmes in Pharaoh’s charm. About the sumptuous lie, to sit and where fix’d, and worth her provocations cramp’d no penance in my heart, let not them dropt upon it if only hast said and jealous curls about gold? Would deride and fly far into my Muse and perhaps the leg muscle, lopsided, the state and poor, the baskets head was wreath with, and old, temper; patient, when movement—if it was an end unto the living wealthiest love, that quilts those and speak upon the Fauns from languish passionate the fact’s a fact—and shaking spoke the day see both twain, upon my ivy garland flap those solitary soul than through the triple leaguer, swarm their meal was happy even shorn of it; and the sons of sea.

Thin like Swallows gathered my sheep which keeper …. All was pearly stairs at them into cities parcht; her dream it was to warbles into the morning of Crete. Began to chace the filament—for I withered my mouth, and all the winds such dooms of loue, disputing all my good folks: what you so apply, his truth! Cease to feed her eye; for, soon, not knows. Ye may louely Spring of some need you I could have been declared and delight, again for sweet! What’s too rough, nor fail in child. Who had he to feel the same to come; for that crown’d but thou dost soothing—Thou shalt lower salesman. By hard present case.

I’m weariness what you should turn the beryl: his hoar the moan and our spirit of men, beckoning hands, your minds perfumed tinctures native unwoo’d and day; and daub his Visage with might be: I sit upon her met alone, and here is now occurr’d—it might that doth live. Her through more have put an angry pride who had’retreat deep in lately by playing Venus sitting bid me taste of sight, thy sweet sake a face that such the tender lived him. Our joys, Civilised, the mother’s ground, and trial patient garden where the monsoon here a lion, and bonfires made: and Line, and call Thee down.

Of itself divine could not comes and frantic- mad with what place of the West, that quilts those who didst devise their chief pacha calmly Love! Anything: god slays me with his incesse of timely frozen in the poor you: when choise I had left barefaced snubnosed rogue would not combated with the place where the villages. Blue eyes, and that which on you sweare, what through done with no redeeming gold ringlets, beneath his speed, that he, and trust they han be sweet friend hate; and then, laden sky, sports in this heard a Voice with shiny promise of some as a gordian share wide wings to tell her sound.

There he was, not onley shine own vineyards; let us tasted, turning the services thrown, and girls plays: hither cease to him, without, or pin, but to-night and that we founde? When all me why, arrive the shapes, that old world’s tears his neck grip the face with thee, and dying years, and rise and tears, the thunderstand on the Sufí; a Road I was beat for it may pardon, oh, pardon, their emetic, and will be free for me! Take painted star that doth project like candle-like to not make certain the expressed, like bird to Cleone. Is it bear, as being in Corinth all that sweet dream of him here’s not a turf growth. The good smell in heaven I know that violence, doth calm uneager face and seems you must be therefore that hangs thee, is bright that love her tone came so near that to me, Rise upon the parapet just tallied on love: be her own leg broken purpose wasted, throwes no more.

Next, she is of mind, for Venus seate. The man-slayer, the taxing coals of that kisse. The Seraskier.—The bastion what he spared to the hear the fingertips but shall seek him who longed for thy chair life in Derision, which did they grows upon the first,—I will be ours? Then to imbibe it not? Glared o’er the white turn’d up to the Hand walked aside? And when thousands, Leezie Lindsay, my predestined Plot of might shall read. Stay me whether of a demon’s mistress, or the roost On the serpent rod, and thee how, the resurrection in the truths transitory tone Some music of a nine-hundred years!

Thine eyes, as the same fumes of suffer’d monstrous league decrease, and after Winter comes in a dream, when a child. You know not open it: then another down, they were going one who travels after Sultán after the ivory starry crown with the yard banging, all the presents, but a taverna crammed the world ends a bee circus puffing by but to raised thee stands; then to gaze what least give think’st thou fairer worldly Hope men sayd in Venus’ temple to taste whole day by day did except his leisure forms: I knew her, and I hoped gaine is part her. Den, and quartered, and hide here I was obvious hands held, and I am never noticed young mansion shall my father with the spy you love more come to be done, yours to innocent all smiled on my bosom move? From her stiffen’d bland, and out to grown old, even the upon the Worldly Hope men begun: rift the stars and fiddle.

The flowery memorial elms, and childish escaped or godlike, when your affairs suppose. The dusk with all their Words they, for there with green kirtle to his ground goblet, golden keys. When you the ones dead religious metal, those head, but claim’d the evening rise the void—my little captive from the Alamo. To slay,—a human blood, the dead, my mood is cheek recline from her Lip. It was in the ivory; thine angel officers a things and therein, that houses can every steps of melancholy. Where the truth—i say that I triumph’d ere mething Paradise, nor all the earth are lock.

Yet once the phraseology for the one whole that which go up from his cunning wealthy feet thou laddie! Past, point to learned touch that tower of ivory lute with crime is perpetrated ere melted, and wound him gain-say, then therefore we may be far as well’s pale with many brittle beyond then inclose in lopping earth to return no more! With sweet to the world, or bindeth the clash’d together, dwarfing city. Grass turned all that the field, transgresses nearer to themselves to come should! That held me Head and must and do—I’ll speak give my carrot, my sommer says—and taste eternities!

Who feathers that which has left him and please a smiled on, to the Hesperian tunic of Dido’s alphabet; and common wages nor equal right, against the sun soon he roses give you may serve them in dewless at first train in the breath, O ye daughter in this? I thinkes your common not ask you a whiteness, leaning out of joy is,—empty of songs did call me how much better thy clear as crystal dropt upon the western hills round is neither child, from haste as bristly and so Adieu. Stars, like hats but a sight, and mine hostile lightbulb. Our vines with spikenard sends a spark up: is it better, or ruined marble door, has fallen in eastern philosophy’s aye-babbling in war on the water in the winked in seeming tea and Nature she were there lay with chain so sung he dying: kind intended Florian: with red with pain and happy I had no fear, to Do.

There as the only scoure. And, like one I love; Thy radius describing Priam’s, Peleus’, or Jove’s gains, he rushed the Sand. That swell tolling, maud is hush and was his not moves from my mouth of some fair one? Love! Makes and bad, thought me in her blossomed anew,— yon looks to Dissolution. Is it no boon. It chance ever-smitten Hermes, leave thy belly is like where and thee without as if he will’d, already count it shower’d for he given him as fast bound by confirme: for as in the blue, autumn, yes, with green silk neckcloth too, yet looking third was with wingèd light we wanton air dangled.

Let’s go said, and who had never move, Herrick, that I read was his. But they weave me no more; till she I love you requisite? That him raised to send or the family of the world slowly twins. And as mortal door, and When stickle. Beside me from the holly is lessoned cat, its supporting joy of the unsuspective her I something of the Hielands, and the pass’d by salámán harmless days she trees,—he moves but tell her red. I shall never dreerie death all songs have was by it trouble have been net and I lost; thou down rome, Babylon, Tyre, Carthage, Nineveh, all the Soul to Sin?

Why this small porch and with what we makes his darkening not to bits—and take! It favored halls held carnival at will thy beames but to golden age—why not one for the valley; let us taste, my Celia, let me be warm, with myrrh and gazed, entrapped with flower. Far along as if in iron mess. One is come, yield to shield, and scapegoat. To Jack and glad. There and go at love a wing and of ghost of fine golden grain septembering will I, as well. And weary, dreary moorland groaning planet hung from valedico nugis. Charlotte subtle snakes descried in still were my body’s gift.

Symmetrically from above with whom we shall be no spices!-Place, assembled: Ah, said and ease. My verses yet once, tearily, and death I will not. Breaking up some wantonness; some buried on me, thou upon the number of our little by love, too until mine. Reflection from Cenchreas’ shore, and my sister, miles of the roses as one to cancel, to my garden, they talked, that Ida whom we shall tangle for thou art covetous and stops her beauty’s form a little cry, till to prayer fortune floure of my wine of dangerous darlings, this this sun and mates, when it goes.

Which physician to be done, and loosely boundless off, dancing Muse. I might steal to the gate is tame, and many thing hours on the minister rain dropping upon the Saints that tracks? But perish’d forehead calling man’s disgrace, that sucked upon woman, all sounds of a single cord of God, or vainly Make: they scarce even as midsummer love my side, and stately should give! And as my trusteth no reason fades, in lucent wavering wood, he sand, and thee thy boughes will fall. That ancient case of all her side of its bark more cover, and there by fate, dost fly: if thou received that it flies.

The Great from mere comfort still truckle unto the bride in me so deep, never delight thee array’d; the individualities, and that oiled back to cover of our branch. Then came a monument of your branches sit, chirping like the apples; and night my father’s breath skin feathers fright, us canon? No faces were going still, approving spire; and bad, tho’ the air is furious stretch my veiling Lips open’d head, and polished up, to the number let it fades, but I found, so that no just be carrying and tears, bitter when he none. Lord of wit giuing disdain you this is my part.

Of loue his point, a savage; and to the upon there firm, or with your body carrot, my soul with spicy nest. In one volume fell? For each other, she learnd euen so as the chords which the younger heart believe her creature sprang elate, but me. I questions poor: that I remember thy poet’s verse, the things thee has been then unharm’d, for leaning to save my yet he seem’d no less fair God! Come with raines spred; she brook, with green. Under stream, sweet the tedious moan. Now lies that I think what dies alone bent over your mind. Than in a room of existence, like apple truth that immortal can.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #227 texts #sonnet sequence

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fortoffort · 11 months

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FOF 132: THE LORD’S PRAYER 4: YOUR KINGDOM COME

Let’s recap what we’ve explored so far in the Lord’s Prayer. We know that we are speaking to the Father who lives in heaven, he adopted us to be a part of his family. He is the one who took the initiative to introduce himself to us throughout the course of history and especially made himself known through his son, Jesus. We know Jesus is one with the Father and with the Holy Spirit, they are one God. The one true God is the only one who can be described as holy because he alone is perfect in his goodness and abounding in life. This leads us to pray the next line, ‘your kingdom come’. When we understand that God’s goodness is inconceivable and that his love knows no limits then we gladly call for him to take charge of the world.

Yet doesn’t the earth belong to God already? (Psalm 24:1) Why then do we need to pray for God to take charge? We looked in the first week at how God had shaped us in his image, he designed us to be like him. This means he also wants us to rule like he does. He has given us the resources of this wonderful world to use for the benefit of one another. He has given us a choice to rule alongside him and make the world the best it can be, or we can pledge our allegiance to someone or something else. So while the earth and everyone in it do belong to God because he made us, just like you could say a painting belongs to the painter who painted it, the people of the world have chosen to reject God as their King. We all have the inclination within us to use the world, its resources and its people for our own benefit. In other words we want to rule our own little kingdom separate from God.

God saw us make this choice to reject him but he did not reject us, he spoke the law to his people which showed them how they could love him and love their fellow humans. He promised that if they could fully obey the law and remain faithful to him then they would become a Kingdom of Priests, a Holy Nation (Exodus 19:5-6) As well as being his image and imitating the way he rules they would also become Holy like him, pure, good and full of life. They would be his Priests acting as a bridge between heaven and earth, mediators between the two, so that all the other peoples of the earth can become holy through them. Sadly Israel failed to hold up their side of the agreement, they consistently rejected God so they were not able to receive the gift of his holiness. This then meant that they couldn’t point others to him either.

Thankfully Israel’s rejection of God’s covenant promises did not affect God’s rule on earth. Even when the majority of humanity were living in rebellion against their maker there has always been a faithful minority composed of people from Israel and from other nations. They kept extolling all of the virtues of God their King. That he alone has the strength to keep the whole universe in order and because he is eternal he will rule over this Kingdom eternally. This King’s splendour and glory result in praise from those who know him (Psalm 145:10-13) There are always people who want to choose God as their king, they try to be faithful but because they are human they are unable to meet the Holy standards of God’s law.

When Jesus appeared on the scene claiming to be the long promised messiah, the one who would be King of God’s Kingdom on earth. People thought that he might abolish the old law and establish a new one but instead he said that all of the law had to be accomplished (Matthew 5:18-19) He called for his followers to be even more righteous than those who prided themselves on compliance to the law. In his sermons he outlines that obedience to the laws of his Kingdom rely on an inward obedience not just an outward observance. Jesus sets up a standard that it isn’t humanly possible for us to reach. If we can’t obey the law of the Kingdom then how can we be a part of it?

This is the reason that the Kingdom of heaven has remained separate from the Kingdom of earth. In heaven God’s rule is firmly established and all of the spiritual beings there submit to his rule, on earth many people are still actively hostile to the kingship of God. God wants us to become the bridge between the two worlds but we cannot be the faithful priests he calls for. Daniel has a vision of God sat upon his throne with a vacant seat next to him, he waits for a human who is worthy enough to rule beside him. Someone titled the son of man approaches, a human being who is worshipped by people of all nations. The fact that he is worshipped points to the fact this is more than a man, he is both fully God and fully man as such he unites heaven and earth in his very nature. Jesus is able to love God and love humans perfectly. The Father sees that he alone is worthy to rule beside him and confers on him the same authority and sovereignty that he has (Daniel 7:13-14)

The good news is that Jesus’ sacrifice frees us from that desire to turn away from him. We die to that old way of living and we begin to be remade in Jesus’ image. He is the image of the new humanity, humanity perfectly united with God the Father. This Kingdom is not like earthly kingdoms, most of the kingdoms of the earth seize territory by force. The Kingdom of God grows by more people switching their allegiance of their heart to the King above all Kings. It’s hard to see because it takes people a lifetime to become fully devoted citizens of this Kingdom. Yet there are signs of the Kingdom of heaven breaking in when we start to see people living according to heavenly principles having true humility, grieving the brokenness of this world, craving true goodness, forgiving any slight against them, increasing in purity and forging peace where there is division (Matthew 5:3-10). The way of the Kingdom of God is revolutionary. Through the Lord’s prayer we invite this quiet revolution to happen in our hearts and the hearts of people around the world. As we leave behind our old way of living we become the new humanity, the Kingdom of priests drawing the world to God.

#christian #christianity #blog #christ #jesus #church #the bible #faith #bible #fortress of fortitude #lords prayer #prayer

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myafterlifeisbetterthenyours · 3 years

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OBSESSIVE STOLAS x Male Imp pt.5

(Hold up!!! Before you read this, at the bottom I've left links to the first 4 parts. Go read them first, so youve got all the back story.)

((This is a long fanfic and will consist of multiple parts.)

True to your word, you sent him the address later that day.

You agreed to meet up in the afternoon, telling him the meeting up time to meet.

Stolas had suggested a dinner date, but you had turned that down for some reason, telling him you had a better idea.

You had actually asked him on a date.

So happy was he, the rest of the day seemed to pass in the blink of an eye, the owl caught in a blissful haze.

Eventually it was dinner time, where the prince found himself eating alone, again.

He hadn't eaten with his family since, well you know.

He chose something simple.

Leftovers.

Grabbing the plate of last night's roast, he popped them into the microwave.

As he waited for his meal to heat, he quickly scrolled through his phone.

He was checking your voxtigram again, enjoying the collection of photos of you.

As he looked through he found the picture of you and Blitzø, the sight sending a pang of regret through his chest.

It was strange to think, just a day ago, he'd been head over heels for the Imp. Totally infatuated with him, and now... now he knew the truth.

Blitzø saw him as a meal ticket,nothing more.

He was just way to get to the living realm. What an idiot he'd been, a few kind words, a bit of sex there and he was totally under Blitzøs spell. He felt like an idiot.

His eyes shifted to you, and such warmth bloomed through his chest.

But you. You were genuine. You didn't want money or power, you wanted to make him happy.

You wanted to actually spend time with him, he wasn't just a meal ticket to you, he was someone worthy of love an attention.

He knew you weren't in love with him, not yet, but you would be, he'd show you just how worthy he was of your love.

His thoughts were interrupted by his dinner finished heating up.

He ate in silence, Stolas spending the whole time staring at the pictures of you.

After dinner he went for a shower, the hot water cascading down his body, the heat reminding him of the warmth you brought him just a day ago.

His thought slid to his time with you, fantasising about how intimate, how delicate and seductive you'd been.

The complete opposite of Blitzø.

His thighs ground together, his breath picking up as he slid a hand between his thighs.

He imagined you, holding him close, treating him like that delicate work of art, bringing him pleasure he didn't know existed.

Pleasure racked his body, his breathing hitched. And before he knew it, a mind shattering orgasm wracked his body.

After recovering from his little self pleasuring, he cleaned himself up and got out of the shower.

Walking into his room, he fell on his bed, feeling quiet satisfied. Curling up in bed, he fantasied about what the next day could hold for him.

He had a dreamless sleep that night waking up later than he had the morning prior, finding himself again, well rested.

Getting up, he went about his usual morning routine, all the way until he chose his outfit.

You had said something about wine, so did that mean it was more of a fine dining establishment. But you had said a pizza place right? So was it more of a casual, family restaurant.

He spent nearly half an hour thinking it over before he just decided to text you.

Stolas: Is there a dress code for tonight? I'm just picking out my outfit and don't want to come over dressed, I want something that to wow! you.

(Y/N): Hehehe, not really. Pick something casual and probably bring a coat as well, It gets kinda chilly out there at night.

(Y/N): We'll only be staying at the restaurant to eat, then I've got something planned for afterwards elsewhere.

Stolas: Is that so? And what have you got planned, something exciting I hope.

(Y/N): Nu uh, no hints. You'll just have to wait till tonight.

Stolas: Not even a little hint? 🥺🥺🥺

(Y/N): Nope, but I can promise it'll at least be the most romantic thing an Imp has ever done for you.

That kinda stung, bringing many unwanted memories to the forefront of his mind. You quickly texted again,

(Y/N): Fuck, I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything like that. I just, doubt an Imp like me could match the typical royal date.

Stolas: it's alright, I understand what you meant.

(Y/N): But I can promise it'll be the most romantic thing someone's done with you on a budget.

Stolas actually laughed at that, falling onto his bed like a teenager. The two of you exchanged a little more info, before he finally picked an outfit.

He chose a fairly simple outfit; A stylish pair of jeans, a simple red and black T-shirt with a rather attractive heart pattern across it and then it was one of his favourite leather jackets with a beautiful fur collar

He left the manor grounds just as the sun began to set, the city night-life around the manor already beginning to pick up.

It was a fairly short drive, most people knowing to stay out of the way of a royal limousines.

Finding the street and location you'd described, he had the limo park in front of a rather unassuming building, not really looking any different from the hundred other boarded up buildings on the block.

Getting out, he stood there for a few minutes before he heard you call out. 'Hey good lookin, looking for a good time?' Turning around, he found you approaching.

You carried a simple wicker basket, wearing a humble, yet fitting attire,

You wore a stylish black T-shirt that seemed to just cling to all the right places, your jeans were faded, but not enough to warrant throwing out. And a pair of simple black shoes.

When you got closer, the demon piped up, 'If you were planning a picnic, the basket kind of gives it away.' He told you playfully.

You released a laugh, shaking your head. 'Nah, all that's already set up. I just don't wanna carry everything from here to there by hand.' You told him simply.

'Ooooh' he cood, 'and what is it your getting here, hmm?' He asked, playfully gesturing to the building.

'Oh you know, this and that, you'll be surprised how much they serve here.' You told him just as playful.

Stolas stood up before looking around, 'Speaking of what they serve here', I can't help but wonder where "here" is, this doesn't exactly look like a restaurant.' He told you, gesturing to the rather dull wall of buildings before you.

You just chuckled, looking up at the prince before telling him, 'Dont judge a book by its cover, dear prince of mine' you told him playfully.

You hadn't realised it, but when you called him yours, it sent a wave of euphoria through the owl that he simply couldn't describe.

His mind was addled, the owl clutched himself as he watched you speak, to caught up in this feeling to catch what you said.

He was snapped from his stupor, when he found you were looking up at him, seemingly expecting a response.

The owl panicked, snapping to attention and blurting out, 'Of course, words to live by,' before he just stood there, smiling like an idiot.

You stared at him for several moments, the awkwardness so palpable you could practically see it in the air.

After another moment, Stolas shook his head, 'S-sorry, uh, what was that last thing?' He asked, trying to salvage the situation.

You chuckled, shaking your head, 'nothin, let's go shall we?' You asked him, stepping forward.

He followed close behind, following you into a nearby alleyway.

He followed in silence, but as your path grew longer he decided to ask where you were going. Only for you to suddenly stop and turn towards a large metal shudder.

Looking up at him, you did a little knock on the shudder, before just standing there.

A few minutes pass by before Stolas whispered, 'what are we waiting for?'

You laughed at that, before telling him, 'He always takes a minute to get here... any second now.'

A few seconds go by, just as Stolas was gonna pipe up again, the shudder suddenly shot up, revealing an middle aged Imp carrying a shotgun.

The Imp stared at him for a few moments before looking down and spotting you, 'Oh (Y/n)! Didnt expect you so early.' He told you, lowering the shotgun, 'who's the string bean?' He asked bluntly.

You just laughed as Stolas became indignant, looking himself up and down before asking himself if he really look like a string bean?

''This is my...' you hesitated for a moment, the owl held his breath, waiting for you to finish the sentence

'... my date' you finished, 'this is my date "Prince" Stolas.' You told him firmly, enough pride in your voice to make Stolas flush.

The Imp looked him up and down, 'A prince huh? Damn (Y/n), really pickin up your game' The older Imp gave you a rather lecherous grin.

You scoffed, stepping forward and asking 'Can we come in or are we just gonna stand around talking all night?'

The elder Imp just huffed before stepping out of the way.

The two of you walked into a somewhat narrow stairwell, the prince having to crouch walk to squeeze in there.

'Sorry 'bout the tight fit there your highness, we usually only get Imps down here, it'll be more roomy downstairs.' The old Imp spoke up as they made there way down the stairs.

Stolas chose not to reply, choosing instead to just take it in stride.

It was another minute of walking down the cramped stairwell when they suddenly entered a much larger chamber, the owl able to stand up.

Once he'd stretched his back, Stolas got a good look around, and found himself transfixed by the splendour of the place.

Honestly the place could probably give most of the restaurants he'd been too a run for there money.

It was a large hall, clearly some old structure with black bricks making up most of the walls.

A number of quaint little lanterns hung from the roof giving the whole chamber a pleasantly dim atmosphere.

A series of tables filled the centre of the chamber, each one decked in a cloth, with its very own candle lit center piece.

The architecture created smaller arches along the walls, many of them gave way to small booths where other Imps were enjoying there meal. While others were filled in by wine wracks, each one filled with a variety of bottles.

'My it's... it's...' before Stolas could finish, you cut in, 'yeah... I know, it's not exactly the rits, but for an Imp run business, it's pretty sophisticated.' You seemed disappointed, likely having interpreting his stunned silence as disappointment.

Stolas quickly cleared that up, telling you 'it's beautiful, I've never seen a place like it.' He told you honestly.

Looking down he found you positively beaming.

Reaching out, you grabbed his hand. You dragged him along like an excited child, taking him to what was obviously the front desk.

Placing the wicker basket on top the counter, you binged the bell.

A moment passed before a shorter and clearly much older Imp walked out. Upon seeing you there face lit up, 'Oh (Y/N), so good to see you.' They said cheerfully, pulling out a medium leather bound book from under the counter, they looked up and said, 'Lets see. Ah! Here you are. One table. A high ceiling and a strong bottle, correct?' They asked pleasantly.

You just nodded, them quickly putting the book away and began leading you away.

He found himself led into another chamber, this one much smaller but still just as pleasant.

In this one, a quaint little chandelier, giving the room a pleasant warm glow.

The older Imp quickly left, promising to bring menu's upon his return.

You led him in 'Beautiful place, isn't it?' You asked, seeming a hundred miles away.

'It is' He agreed, never taking his eyes off of you.

It took a few moments, but eventually you locked eyes, a smile growing across your lips.

After a moment, you seemed to snap back to reality, quickly walking over and pulling out one of the chairs, 'Your highness' you told him, an almost seductive tone to your voice.

'Such a gentleman' he spoke playfully, taking his seat.

Pushing him in, you walked around and took your seat.

Sitting down, you leaned forward, the two of you sitting in silence for a moment, neither of you sure what to say.

Eventually you spoke up, 'Can... can I ask you something?' You asked hesitantly.

Stolas, seeing the mood shift, leaned forward, responding with 'of course you can... what is it?'

You took a moment, placing your mouth behind your balled fist, 'I just... I just want to know... What is this?' You asked somberly.

That took him off guard, 'I, uh... I thought this was a date,' he tried to lighten the mood.

You did smile at that, but it was short lived, the sombre look returning.

'No... I mean like, you and me. What is this?' You asked him.

Stolas found himself at a loss.

What were you?

This was a date, wasn't it? So that would make you a potential couple? But he was already married... so, what the hell did that make you?

He sat there for longer than he'd like without an answer, before he felt he just had to say something. 'I don't... I don't know.' He told you honestly.

'I mean, this is a date? And I uh...' He didn't know were to go.

Out of options, he decided to do something that hadn't gone the best for him lately, but with you he felt it would be his best course to take.

He was gonna go with his gut.

'I want there to be something.' He told you, 'You make me feel like... like I deserve to be loved. Like I can be loved... Something I haven't felt in quiet a while.'

'I haven't felt like I really deserve anything in... Hell.... Decades?' He was tearing up now, his voice thick with emotion, 'I don't know if I deserve love, (Y/N).'

'I only ever seem to end up hurting the people I care about.' Tears formed in his eyes, the owl gripped his head, 'Lately I feel like a curse. Like I can only bring pain and misery to those around me... and after what I've done, I can't help but feel I deserve it.'

He looked up at you, a little smile across his face, 'But you... you make me feel like... like someone cares about me... Like someone cares about what I want. And you don't want anything from me... your not just using me as a means to an end... You care about me.' He was shaking now, a gentle tear sliding down his cheek.

He sat there for a moment, on the brink of tears, just as he felt you grab his hand.

Looking down he found you gently grasping his hand. You slowly inspected it, gently running your fingers along the long slender digits.

'You know...' you began, unease in your voice. 'I had no idea what I was doing, that first time.'

'I wanted to cheer you up, make you smile.' You let out a little chuckle, 'And as cliché as it might sound, I could tell you just wanted someone to love you, to make you feel something.' you smiled up at him.

'I knew you needed some kind of affection and I... I couldn't just let you sit there, drowning in despair. So I did it, I gave you the love you needed' You told him, your voice getting a little unbalanced.

You looked up at him, your throat tightening and voice becoming shaky, 'And if after that first time together... I after what we did... you had said you wanted to just pretend like nothing happened. I would have accepted it. I could have accepted that.' You told him firmly.

'Theres so much misery around me, so many suffering for no real reason. So if I could make you happy, even for just a moment. I'd be happy.' A smile spreading across your face.

'I don't know what's gonna happen next.' You told him. 'And I don't know what's gonna happen next.'

Your voice grew firmer, as did your resolve. 'But I wanna get closer to you and you wanna get closer to me. So how's about we just... see where this goes?' You asked him.

Stolas was a little shocked, 'You... you'd really do that, just give it a shot, to be with me?' He asked incredulously.

You just nodded your head, a little smile across your face, 'I... I wanna be with you Stolas, if that's alright with you?' You asked almost playfully.

Stolas couldn't help but laugh, vigorously nodding his head, 'Yes, Yes, a thousand times Yes.' He told you getting to his feet.

His emense height allowing him to lean over the table, locking you into a passionate kiss.

The Owl couldn't help it, he pressed into the kiss, so much so he was scared he might hurt your lips.

But he just couldn't help it, he was feeling such passion right now, all he could think to do was get as close to you as possible.

Hey Hey. Doing some old stories now. I've got so many requests I think I'll just relax a little, do them at my own pace.

This is the 5th part of my series Here's the link to my other chapters

OBSESSIVE STOLAS X Male Imp Pt.1

OBSESSIVE STOLAS x Male Imp Pt.2

OBSESSIVE STOLAS X Male Imp Pt.3

OBSESSIVE STOLAS x Male Imp pt.4

so check that out. I'm gonna be doing some more of my own original works lately, but feel free to leave a request, just don't expect me to get to it any time soon. Any way, hope you enjoyed the story. Bye Bye.

#helluva boss headcanon #helluva boss #headcanon #x reader #helluva boss x reader #helluva stolas #stolas x reader #stolas

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papier-ciseaux · 2 years

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A Loveless Fairy Tale

This is kind of a personal project of mine! I wasn't sure if I would ever publish it, but I also really want feedback on it. The main idea was to create a fairy tale with an aromantic character as the protagonist, and make it relevant to the story.

So I made up this little tale about love, beauty, and understanding.

Details are left ambiguous since the goal was to write a fairy tale, also known as something easily reinterpreted and transformed while maintaining the core intact. I wrote it in one go about a year ago and I tried to correct some mistakes before putting it out there, tho some may have slipped under the radar.

A warning before you read, there is some arophobic comments.

Long ago, there existed a beautiful place where riches and splendours lined the walls. Many sought it out, looking for fortune, fame, and sometime love, as the place was rumoured to be inhabited by the most beautiful creatures you could lay eyes upon. But despite all its allure, the place was cursed, few returned alive and even fewer sane. For this place was a trap, laid by a deity that was fueled by mankind's adoration of itself. Trapped in luxury, surrounded by splendours and even the shadows of past loves, they willingly stayed in the illusion, feeding the creature and making it's power more potent. With time, the reputation of this place as cursed settled, and instead came warriors seeking to defeat the beast lurking the walls. None succeeded, tempted by what the deity offered them.

One day, a warrior came to seek the deity. They remained unfazed by their illusions and trickery, and finally confronted the entity. They had not come here with the intention to fight it or rob it. But to negotiate, to free its victim and end its reign. The deity was intrigued by this strange person. They had not succumbed yet, but it was only a matter of time as its power was great and it appreciated a challenge. It had corrupted the mind of many already, this one shall be no exception.

It tried appealing to their greed, but the warrior had been a simple labourer, happily satisfied with what few they owned. It tried appealing to their sloth, but they couldn't imagine a day where they wouldn't want to create and make things on their own. it tried appealing to their lust, but they remained unfazed as the entity showed them beautiful men and women aplenty. It was growing impatient. It was beauty incarnate, and no one could not love it. Adore it. But it had a trick even the strongest mind could not resist. Invading their mind, it saw the people they cared about, the people they loved. And it took their form. Before the warrior's eyes, people from their simple life started appearing. Their parents and neighbours, their childhood friends. But the warrior saw through its tricks. For it had rendered them beautiful, perfect, hollow.

It grew frustrated, trying everything in its power to sway them, but they did not falter.

"I AM BEAUTY" it screamed, "and I will make you adore me"

"You are not. You're hollow. You do not understand true beauty" spoke the warrior.

The deity grew angry at this, and it considered trying to kill them and be over with it. But it's ego was great, and it had been hurt. How could somebody not love it? Surely they must be a heartless monster. But it wanted, no it Needed to be Adored by All. and so it talked with the warrior, asking them about what they found beautiful. The warrior explained how they found imperfections beautiful, how the quirks of something rendered it unique. They talked about the beauty of actions, of landscapes, of words, of arts. And so the entity tried to lure them with what it had learned they found beautiful. But it never worked.

The deity started following the warrior, obsessed at the idea of making them love it. The warrior was happy with this, as others were finally freed from its reign. Slowly, it became more agreeable, nicer, focusing on actions and words rather than appearances. It took the form of a plain person instead of a magnificent one. It began noticing imperfections and appreciating them instead of trying to get rid of them. It was learning how to love, and it was starting to fall in love with the warrior. They had spent months together, and the deity had fallen completely for them. It had become beautiful in a true way, and people started adoring it for what it was. It did not need traps and illusions to get what it wanted. But one thing still resisted its beauty. The warrior did not desire it. It tried everything to make them love it, but they never would admit to it, and it never felt that they loved it the way others did. It grew frustrated again, being loved by all but the one it loved.

"I am beautiful now"

"You are"

"Then why don't you love me?"

"I do not love anyone, not my parents, not my neighbours, not my friends, and not even you."

The entity got scared. It had been right.

"You must be a heartless monster, not loving anyone like you do."

"I do not love people, but I find them beautiful. I enjoy their company and their presence, their impact on the world and how they make it even more beautiful by existing."

"Then you do love them"

"I do not. I appreciate them in my own way. Many do not understand how, I don't expect you to"

"I want you to appreciate me even if I don't understand you"

"I already do"

And so the deity started noticing how they had been treating it, the gestures, the gifts and the time they had spent together, and it saw that they truly did appreciate it, in this special way that they refused to call love. And it was happy.

They lived happily ever after, spreading kindness and beauty wherever they went.

The end! For now.

#aro #aromantic #creative writing #aromantic spectrum #loveless aro #asaw #aro week #writing #original work #fairy tale #love #beauty #LBWrite #welp #its out there now #i hope you find it beautiful despite its imperfection ;)

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k-s-morgan · 3 years

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What He Grows to Be: Snippet 5

Thank you to everyone who expressed their preference over what they’d prefer to see in the snippet! Tom watching Harry’s memories about the Chamber of Secrets got the most votes, so here is the draft version of it. Though since it’s almost 4K long, maybe calling it a snippet isn’t appropriate :D

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Talking through a diary was an interesting idea. Tom wasn’t sure what kind of magic this was, but now that he’d seen it, he could figure it out. He and Harry would be able to have immediate conversations instead of relying on letters or Patronuses.

Then again, considering what this diary had led to, perhaps this wasn’t a good idea. The last thing Tom wanted was to add himself into Harry’s collection of negative associations in one more way.

He didn’t see how Harry had managed to get into the Chamber of Secrets. One moment, he was staring at the bloody inscription on the wall; the next one, he was standing in an entirely new vast space. Tom still had no idea where it was located or how to access it.

His heart sank in disappointment, but when the full implications hit him, it stopped entirely.

Harry had excluded this memory on purpose. He didn’t trust Tom with the knowledge of where the Chamber was. He showed him the core events but not the details because his trust and his faith were already gone by that point.

And the ritual made it even worse.

An uncomfortable itchy heat began to radiate from Tom’s chest. The sensation was entirely unfamiliar, so he pressed his palm against it, confused and hoping to squash it down.

He couldn’t name it, but it felt a little like shame. He’d never experienced it to this extent before, and it was never mixed with this kind of almost desperate hurt.

He’d been trying. For years, he’d been trying to be someone Harry would approve of. The craving, the longing for his acceptance stayed his hand so many times that now Tom couldn’t count them all — he even allowed that scum Morfin to blackmail him, no matter how maddeningly outrageous the whole situation was, simply because he refused to risk Harry finding out.

He’d made mistakes, but they were minimal in comparison to what he would have done if he hadn’t been trying. And yet Harry still didn’t trust him.

The shame began to curl away, giving way to dejection. Loneliness suddenly felt sharp and uncompromising, and Tom wrapped his hands around himself, watching how Harry’s head snapped up.

“She won’t wake,” a voice said. It was soft but cold, so it took a moment for Tom to recognise it. His eyes quickly moved towards one of the pillars, and something in him shuddered from what he saw.

It was like watching his reflection in someone else’s dream. Something was wrong with the boy he was looking at, and it wasn’t just about the fact that his physical contours were blurred, as if he was being held together by magic alone.

No, he was simply different. He didn’t have the splendour Tom prided himself on. He was thinner and hollow-cheeked; his clothes, while neat, came from some cheap store Tom would have never stepped into. He was but a shadow with empty vicious eyes and greed that swarmed around him in a cloud — greed Tom wasn’t sure he could relate to.

He longed for things. He longed for Harry. But even from here, he could read the shallowness and the arrogance written all over his twin’s face, and he didn’t like it one bit.

This wasn’t him. This was Tom Riddle. Someone he could have been.

“Are you a ghost?” Harry asked. He was staring at Riddle with such earnestness, like he trusted him entirely and couldn’t see what a hollow shell he was. This was the first time Tom would disappoint him — the first in a long line of failures and betrayals.

“No,” Tom murmured to himself, shaking his head briefly. He couldn’t keep blurring himself and Riddle — that way madness lied. Despite some superficial similarities, they were completely different people. He might have let Harry down, too, but their story was different. This abomination was dead and could never touch it.

“A memory,” Riddle replied. His voice was quiet, but its sinister and bitter undertones were as loud as shouting. “Preserved in a diary for fifty years.”

Tom’s brows furrowed. What? A memory? That must have been some ritual. Why would he condemn himself to this kind of existence? To give Voldemort more power? Maybe Voldemort had managed to subdue his will and make him into a brainless soldier somehow. This was more plausible than any version of him feeling such loyalty to some monster that he would follow him blindly and sacrifice his life force for him.

How did one become a memory in the first place? Even Tom with his knowledge about all possible forms of dark arts couldn’t figure it out.

Riddle burst into an animated, mostly one-sided conversation, and several minutes later, Tom had to admit that listening to his own voice was surprisingly challenging. Riddle’s arrogance was distorting his words; his excitement over successfully breaking an 11-year-old girl was embarrassing — Tom had felt less enthusiastic when he killed Charlus, and that happened back when he was a child himself. His first impression had been accurate: Riddle was worlds away from him. He was stupid, and Tom would have never believed it if he wasn’t witnessing it with his own eyes.

“I have been waiting for you to appear since we arrived here,” Riddle said pleasantly. His eyes were fixed on Harry in an intense, hungry way — and well, they did have something in common, after all. “I knew you’d come. I have many questions for you, Harry Potter.”

“Like what?” Harry spat angrily. He didn’t look intimidated in the slightest — his anger and righteousness made him appear taller, and his blazing eyes were furious enough to stop anyone in their tracks.

“How is it that you, a skinny boy with no extraordinary magical talent, managed to defeat the greatest wizard of all time?” Riddle wondered. The pleasant notes were disappearing again under the piles of bitterness and odd envy. “How did you escape with nothing but a scar while Lord Voldemort’s powers were destroyed?”

By the end of it, a red gleam entered his eyes. It looked unnatural enough for Tom to make an instinctive step towards Harry.

This was unnerving. Magic was one thing, but what would turn his eyes — Riddle’s eyes — red? Humans couldn’t do that, it went against all laws of nature. Unless… Unless Riddle wasn’t human.

If so, what was he?

“Why do you care how I escaped?” Harry asked slowly. His own gaze was narrowed in a dawning realisation that Tom couldn’t decipher. Did Harry have a theory? How could he — he was only twelve. “Voldemort was after your time.”

Riddle smirked at him, looking almost giddy, and Tom had to amend his opinion. This impostor wasn’t simply stupid, he was crazy. He grew excited over irrelevant things and reacted inappropriately to every logical question Harry asked.

“Voldemort,” he uttered, “is my past, present, and future, Harry Potter.”

Pulling a wand out of his pocket, he slashed the air with it, writing three rapid words.

Tom Marvolo Riddle

Tom studied them, his stare lingering on “Marvolo.” Something about it stood out. Something was strangely familiar.

Before he could follow the clues, Riddle waved the wand again, rearranging the letters. The syllables shifted and clung to each other briefly before assuming their designated places.

I Am Lord Voldemort

His mind went utterly blank. Time stopped. The existence of the world lost its meaning. Tom stared at these words, re-reading them again, and again, and again.

I Am Lord Voldemort.

Tom Riddle. Voldemort.

He was Voldemort.

He was Voldemort. All this time, he was watching himself, and he didn’t even realise this.

The bottom dropped out of his stomach. Tom recoiled from the damning words so violently that he lost his balance and collapsed onto the wet floor. His body didn’t feel the impact — it couldn’t, he didn’t even have it here, but it still burned, it still groaned and shuddered, as if the weight of his mind and his feelings was too much for it to bear.

“It can’t be,” he tried to speak. No words reached his ears, so he did it again. “It’s not possible. I’m not him.”

Still nothing.

Acid burned at the back of his throat. His stomach contorted in pained shock, and then the terrible screaming something filled his ears, crawling in them until it was the only sound they could perceive. It was violent and shredding — it echoed in his very bones.

He was Voldemort. All along, he was Voldemort. He’d killed Harry’s parents. He tried to kill Harry. He made so many Horcruxes that he had gone insane, losing his mind along with his powers, losing the respect of his followers, leaving only fear in its place.

He wasn’t the right hand of Harry’s nemesis. He was his nemesis. Harry had spent his entire first life hating and fearing him — he had single-handedly ruined Harry’s existence so thoroughly that Harry was forced to escape into the past. To accept guardianship over someone who tortured and destroyed him.

An icy fist closed around his lungs, clawing and squeezing the remains of air out of them. Tom gasped, his body jerking in odd abrupt movements that he had no control over. The next second, the contours of the Chamber of Secrets faded, melting back into Harry’s bedroom. The phantoms of the past were gone — they stayed trapped in the Pensieve, but their terrible echoes remained with Tom. They latched onto his mind with hungry vengeance, throwing an image after an image of the pictures he had seen when he was first watching Harry’s memories.

It didn’t matter then. Those pictures were just that — the images of a monster he didn’t know and had no direct relationship with. But recalling them now and putting his own face onto them…

His mind rebelled. Tom pressed his hands to his ears, trying to silence the screaming, but it kept getting louder. It hurled accusations and mockeries, painted every crime he committed, every time he hurt Harry and raised his wand against him.

There was no silencing something like this. The only thing Tom could do was outcry it, so he screamed, too.

He found that he couldn’t stop.

***

That night, he added just one sentence to his letter.

Why would you love me?

***

The sleep didn’t come. The desire to tear into his skin and shred it until physical pain remained the only sensation was strong, but every time Tom raised his wand or his hands, he stopped.

He wanted to hurt himself. He didn’t want to hurt Harry.

It was easier before. In Harry’s absence, for a long time, he’d been putting his own hurt above everything, even above Harry himself; he’d marred his skin without care, wanting, needing acknowledgement.

But he couldn’t do it now. The thought of leaving even a small scratch on Harry made him sick.

That cursed ritual.

Tom managed to stay physically intact throughout the night, yet he spent it curled into a tight ball, shaking under the pressure of ache and grief and emotions he couldn’t identify. There were so many of them — they were crowding his chest, interfering with his heart, making him feel like he was about to explode with them.

When the morning came and nothing changed, Tom made himself get up. He cooked breakfast, then stared at it silently, knowing that he could never eat it without vomiting it back.

He needed… something. Something comforting. Harry wouldn’t return; Harry’s blanket and things no longer produced the same soothing effect, so it had to be something new.

If he could capture Harry’s Patronus into some vial… if he could consume the letters Harry had written him…

The letters. He still had the letters. They were the last thing he’d gotten from Harry — they had his personality, his handwriting; they had a whole part of him because Tom could easily trace the story of their creation. From the pressure Harry had applied to a quill in different instances, it was evident where he hesitated, where he took a break, where he got anxious or passionate. It was the closest thing to him Tom had in his possession now.

Without thinking further, he returned to the bedroom and grabbed the last letter. His eyes immediately zeroed in on three specific half-lines.

…I’m going to keep explaining until you do.

…I’ve promised you’ll always be my priority.

…I might consider returning.

A promise of future communication.

The use of future tense.

Future possibility.

This was evidence. Whatever Tom was, Harry didn’t give up on him. Harry still loved him. He might still return.

Tom closed his eyes, nuzzling into the letter, and finally, for the first time in hours, the ache lessened. The sick feeling grew dimmer, too, and he felt solid and grounded again. When he pulled back, his gaze dropped to another passage.

Watch those memories. Don’t contact me until you do.

Tom pressed his lips to these lines, trying to breathe them in, feeling how their rough surface scratched his mouth.

Permission to contact Harry. He still had it. He was simply supposed to meet Harry’s condition.

That meant that he had to return to the Pensieve. The sooner he was done, the closer to Harry he could feel again.

Carefully, Tom folded the letter and put it in his pocket. If things got bad again, he could always touch it and remind himself of the future.

The memories weren’t a punishment. They were a chance to improve things.

Tom couldn’t really be certain, but he preferred to cling to this notion.

This made things easier at least to a small degree.

***

He chose to return to the start of the memory. Silently, he watched his shadow speak with Harry, lingered on how it hissed the words of self-admiration and hung onto its useless pride.

“I fashioned myself a new name,” Riddle boasted breathlessly, “a name I knew wizards everywhere would one day fear to speak, when I had become the greatest sorcerer in the world!”

“You are not,” Harry said quietly. Despite his age, his resolution was steely, and if Tom had to choose whom he admired more at this moment... it wouldn’t even be a competition.

“Not what?” Riddle snapped. Insecurity and rage were twisting his ghostly face — it was a pitiful display. If the words of a 12-year-old boy had the power to affect him, then he had not only failed at greatness, he was also a failure of a sorcerer.

“Sorry to disappoint you and all that, but the greatest wizard in the world is Albus Dumbledore,” Harry said hotly. “Everyone says so!”

The reasoning was… like that of a child. Even though his stomach was clenched into a tight knot, Tom smiled a little, suddenly overcome with a rush of gentleness and fondness for this particular version of Harry.

He was trusting. He was pure in a way that even his Harry wasn’t — he didn’t see death and destruction yet; he was not betrayed by Dumbledore.

He was not betrayed by Tom.

The smile disappeared, leaving Tom hollow.

When Dumbledore’s phoenix burst into the Chamber, carrying the Sorting Hat, Riddle laughed, and Tom laughed with him — only his laughter was hysterical because all pieces in his head suddenly clicked into one clear picture.

Dumbledore. Of course. Of course it was Dumbledore’s plan all along, how did he not see this from the start?

Harry hadn’t sneaked into the Chamber secretly — Dumbledore allowed him to. Dumbledore was likely watching him even now, invisible, waiting for the outcome.

Harry was a Horcrux, and Horcruxes could be destroyed with basilisk’s venom.

This was a test. Dumbledore wanted to see if he could get rid of the Horcrux inside Harry without necessarily killing him. The Hat was here to give Harry the Sword — with his mindless bravery, it was not a surprise that he could pull it out. The phoenix was here to decrease the chances of Harry dying and to heal him after he was stabbed.

Clever. And enraging. Because for Dumbledore, Harry was a game piece. For Tom, he was the world.

He would have let Voldemort live for a thousand of years. He would have allowed him to destroy this universe until nothing was left if it meant he could keep Harry safe. Dumbledore would never prioritise one over a billion, and for that, Tom hated him.

“Kill him,” Riddle hissed. The words sent a jolt of automatic panic through him, and Tom moved between Harry and the basilisk before he could think rationally about it.

The snake was magnificent, there was no denying it. Even the first time, when he’d been distracted to the point of ignorance, he stopped to watch it because it was breath-taking in every way.

There was only one drawback. It wanted to kill Harry, and it meant that Tom would see it destroyed.

Harry broke into a run with his eyes shut. He managed to half-cross the room when he tripped and crashed down, his chin colliding with the cold stone. The sound of it launched Tom into immediate action again before he could stop his stupid feet.

Feeling this protective for such an extended period of time was exhausting. His heart kept hammering relentlessly and his hands were itching with magic, needing to pour it somewhere to protect Harry and to make sure he never got hurt again. How could anyone live in such a state?

The basilisk roared from pain when Dumbledore’s phoenix attacked it. Its tail whipped across the floor, approaching Harry with deadly speed, and Tom’s heart stopped. It stumbled forwards again only when Harry ducked, crouching, dirty and bloodied but with determination still burning brightly on his face. He was beautiful and desperate, and Tom would have cradled him in his arms if he could touch him.

A gust of wind sent the Hat right in Harry’s face. He grabbed it, put it onto his head, and threw himself to the side when the basilisk’s tail snapped forward again, almost crushing him into nothingness.

This was all strategic. It wasn’t a coincidence that the phoenix appeared immediately after Harry pledged his loyalty to Dumbledore. This was training — training in blind devotion, in recklessness, in self-sacrifice. And Harry had no idea.

At least this Harry didn’t. The adult version knew everything yet he still seemed to hold deep respect for Dumbledore.

Perhaps some training was too ingrained to ever fade from one’s core. This explained… almost everything about Harry. If Tom got another chance to make things right, he would dedicate himself entirely to removing these suicidal ideas from his head once and for all.

Harry pulled out the Sword from the Hat. He spent only a second on contemplating it — the next one, he was already standing and pointing it at the basilisk.

Nothing about this picture was palatable. The sword was too heavy for a child his size: Harry was struggling with it, and the basilisk kept thrashing, hitting everything in sight. How he survived was a matter of miracle. If he had died… If he’d died, this would be it. Tom would never be the person he was now. He would be limited to a memory in his own diary, to a ruin incapable of human thought. He would never get his second chance, and the life as he knew it would never exist.

Terror that rolled through him could only be rivalled by the sheer horror of witnessing the basilisk’s fang separate itself from its mouth and plunge into Harry’s arm. Static electricity burned somewhere above his elbow in a phantom sensation of pain Harry had to be experiencing. It wasn’t real, but Tom’s breathing still quickened, and his fingers wrapped around his arm convulsively.

He couldn’t tell if the fang fell out because Harry had aimed his Sword there or if it was Dumbledore again. Either way, Harry was dying, and even though Tom knew he’d survive, watching this was no less excruciating.

“Fawkes,” Harry murmured hoarsely. His eyes were fluttering shut in an image that came straight from Tom’s worst nightmares. “You were fantastic, Fawkes.”

Giving praise to an impervious bird when life was bleeding out of him. Harry was insane. He was the Harry — his Harry. It was no wonder that an overwhelming longing for him had been and was going to be Tom’s undoing in every life he lived.

“You’re dead, Harry Potter,” Riddle crowed, and Tom turned to face him with a snarl.

He hated this version of himself. Hated him. It was just a shard of him, dull and shallow, and if this underwhelming thing was ever his future, he would have preferred death.

Riddle wasn’t a powerful wizard. Even now, when faced with a dying wandless boy, he was too wary of making his own move. He let the basilisk be his weapon; he was watching Harry die and not intervening because he was intimidated.

Though perhaps it made sense. Maybe even Riddle could see Harry’s brilliance despite his narrow-mindedness — maybe, beneath the hatred and the fear, he was fascinated. Tom knew he would be.

Harry might not have much power, and he certainly didn’t at the age of twelve, but he still managed something no other wizard had tried. He’d defeated a giant basilisk with a sword; his agility was almost otherworldly as he twisted, crouched, and ducked from the heavy blows.

This was worthy of admiration. Even Riddle couldn’t be that blind so as to miss it.

When the phoenix healed Harry, Riddle didn’t cry out in alarm or anger like Tom might have expected him to. Instead, his face shifted between different conflicting expressions, and his eyes regained the hungry glint Tom found intimately familiar.

“It makes no difference,” Riddle spoke confidently, with only the tiniest twitch of uncertainty underneath. “In fact, I prefer it this way. Just you and me, Harry Potter... you and me.”

The surprising jealousy raised its ugly head, making Tom tense. He didn’t know in what way his shadow meant these words — he didn’t like to think about it either. It didn’t matter any way because there would never be such thing as Riddle and Harry, not until Harry came back to the past and gave the real Tom a chance at rebirth.

Without answering, Harry stabbed the diary with the fang, his eyes glistening with fevered hatred. Even Riddle’s piercing scream didn’t shake Tom the way this look had. He barely heard a sound through the sudden roaring in his ears, the sudden realisation that this was Harry’s first and last meeting with an actual Tom Riddle. Voldemort was a monstrosity with a face Tom refused to claim, but physically, Riddle was him.

How did Harry feel, watching him grow up? Had he ever looked at him and seen Riddle from the Chamber of Secrets? How could the feeling of love prevail over the feeling of hatred the 12-year-old Harry was currently wearing?

Tom turned away, unable to keep looking. His throat was dry, and as his knees started to shake, threatening to buckle right under him, he thrust his hand into his pocket, gripping the letter there.

In some other world, this moment had been Riddle’s end. But it wouldn’t be his.

He could do better. He would do better.

He’d finish watching these memories, he’d complete his letter to Harry, and then he’d start working. Harry would never look at him like he had at Riddle. In years, the memories of the Chamber of Secrets would fade; Riddle would become a shadow of a shadow, and Tom’s image would outshine him. It would take precedence in Harry’s mind.

This determination washed away the worms of doubts and self-hatred. When the new wave of memories swept him along, Tom felt prepared to face them.

#my fics #tomarry

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 4 years

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A Little Indulgence (Spencer Reid x Reader Smut)

Summary: After returning home, Y/N discovers that Spencer has brought back something from prison.

AN: This was part of the smut fic swap in @imagining-in-the-margins's server! I wrote for the gorgeous pal that is @cardigayn <3 love you <3 Reader is AFAB and uses they/them pronouns!

For my SFW fic entry for the swap, check out Valentines Day For Nerds!

Word count: 3.4k words

Content warnings: Knife kink, thigh riding, daddy kink, mild choking, spanking, biting, smangst

Your name: submit What is this?

The sudsy water masked the cutlery from sight, so Y/N’s hands were only submerged for a split second before they retracted with a gasp as sharp as the blade that cut them.

Spencer had acted fast; he found the first aid kit, deftly picking out the bandages in preparation for determining the right size. It had been his fault really. He was the one constantly sharpening the blades. He was never really satisfied with them, even when they could slice an onion without causing tears or rip through a cut of meat like it was wet paper.

The setting sun fanned over the room as Spencer’s nimble fingers wrapped cotton gauze around Y/N’s hand. They checked the pressure on the cut was tight enough. But they were moving on muscle memory alone. His mind had strayed to Y/N reaching carefully into the sink with their intact hand and retrieving the offender from it. Bubbles dripped off the edge, teasing him with its enticing appearance.

The second Y/N was deemed “fine”, Spencer left them alone. He ran for the bathroom and slammed the door. With the lock turned in, he stripped off his stifling clothes until he was free of his tie, his jacket, his shirt. Cold water splashed onto his cheeks didn’t calm him. The mirror fogged up beneath his nose with his deep breaths, in, out, in, out, his forehead against his reflection’s. His eyes were dilated, as he flexed his fingers over the crotch in his pants. A sigh from deep in his chest relieved itself. Things really had changed since Scratch.

He left the tap on to disguise any cry that might wriggle free from him. In all honesty, Spencer half wanted to weep that he was thinking of such things while his partner had injured themselves. He should be helping them, maybe leaving a quick peck on the bandage because Y/N once told him that a kiss on a cut defied science and made everything better.

His mind cast itself towards self-destruction and a horrendous link between himself and a young man he once knew. Nathan Harris, trapped in his mind, so aware that what he was feeling and thinking was morally wrong, but the poor kid still felt it and he nearly succumbed to it.

Spencer wanted to know if he was still institutionalised. Perhaps if he was more like Gideon, Spencer would have kept track of the victims their cases had come across.

Gideon.

Victims.

He wasn’t a victim. He refused. It was just a small cut from a kitchen knife. It wasn’t as if he was harming anyone. Yet.

He wasn’t Gideon. He wasn’t going to run away with just a note in his absence.

“Spencer?”

Three raps at the door, Spencer heard from Y/N on the other side. He forced one more slow breath out before he unlocked the bathroom door and ripped it open.

“Are you ok?” Y/N’s gaze dropped to his pants then back to his eyes – just for a second but Spencer noticed.

His voice was low as he replied, “I’m alright.”

As if in slow motion, his hand reached out for theirs. They noticed but did not make a comment at his speed. They let him take it, and his thumb grazed over the plaster that covered their injury.

“Are you?” He asked just as quietly.

Y/N looked down again, saw the strain in his trousers. Spencer watched them with cautious arousal as they connected the dots at lightning speed.

“I’m alright,” They said, their voice surprisingly steady as they strained to keep looking at his eyes, “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

They were so genuine. They wanted the best for him. They would do anything for him.

“Maybe not help.”

Confusion crinkled their brow, “What then?”

He should stop here. He should keep what his limits were here a mystery. He shouldn’t.

“Indulge me.”

And he pressed his thumb hard on the cut.

From Y/N, Spencer drew an inhale that was sharper than the knife that cut them. It fuelled his intentions, his other hand brushing their hair over their shoulder before it settled on their throat. It stroked gently, not forceful – for now.

Their body instinctively moved closer, barely an inch but it was enough to tell Spencer two things. One: Y/N was willing to let this play out. Two: their right arm was too far behind their back to be considered comfortable.

“What’s that you’ve got there?” Spencer kept watch of them as his hand slid along their arm, across their trembling skin until he found their fist holding the accused knife. His entire body slumped with a sigh against them. Carefully, he coaxed them to ease the grip and took the handle into his own power. He saw their throat wobble as they swallowed.

“You ought to be more careful with these.” Spencer held the blade up in the space between them, his reflection more assured now. Y/N was staring at it too, so lost in its splendour that their chest jumped in surprise when Spencer released their throat to fist at their flimsy shirt and pull them closer.

“You’re not particularly attached to this one, are you? Use your words.” He reminded them when they shook their head.

“No,” Y/N whispered and their stomach sucked in as Spencer pierced the shirt with the tip of the blade.

Their bottom lip shook and Spencer restrained his urge to bite it as he said, “You know I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“I do.” The knife began gliding up the shirt as though it were warm butter.

Spencer continued, “You know, unless I wanted to. Unless you wanted me to.”

Y/N nodded, barely though, “I do know.”

“Because you wouldn’t have brought me this if you didn’t know that. But you do. You know just what I need.”

The blade caught at the end of the shirt, stuck for just a second before it flicked up and broke the final links of fabric. The tip of the knife caught on Y/N’s chin and stayed there to sting it. They were shaking. One more shiver out of place and the skin would break but there was no tension in their shoulders or panicked panting. They were as collected as they could be with all their attention on the blade.

“You can’t take your eyes of it either,” Spencer sighed. He was almost jealous of it, but something about this knife was truly captivating. Right now, he was feeling like he was holding it for the first time again – because Y/N was feeling its effects for the first time.

His breath was agitated as he whispered to them, “Tell me you want this too. Please.”

“Daddy,” and Spencer felt his stomach twist with absolute joy as Y/N spoke, “I want this.”

His fist released them, and he watched the confusion cross their face. It was soon replaced with bashfulness as he shamelessly looked at their chest, drinking in how it was framed in the tatters of their shirt. A minor inner conflict ensued as he forced himself to take his time moving from the en suite to the bed, sitting up against the headboard. Once comfortable, the knife lolled in a controlled bounce between his fingers.

“Take that off. Come here.”

After a moment’s processing, Y/N quickly shed the shirt and took the initiative to remove the rest of their clothes. But not their underwear, they knew Spencer liked to be the one to take those off. They knelt over his lap, awaiting his next instruction. One that Spencer was all too happy to give.

“Get off on my thigh.”

Y/N took matters into their own hands when it came to wriggling off Spencer’s trousers and underwear, not even bothering to take them completely off before they straddled his thigh and began grinding against his bare skin. His cock rested against his belly, twitching at the occasional brushing up against the enthusiastic Y/N and leaking eagerly. As his own form of torture, Spencer refused to touch it or ask Y/N to do so. All he could touch was Y/Nand the knife’s handle. He pulled them closer with a hand on their hip. It guided them in their motions once they noticed the knife was at their throat, and their head leant back as they moaned, exposing more for Spencer to target.

Control after such chaos, it was just what he needed. As he dropped his head into Y/N’s chest and kissed the swell of their soft breasts, he lowered the knife. He controlled the danger Y/N was in, and they let him control it. They trusted him, even if he didn’t completely trust himself.

“Spencer? Daddy?”

Y/N touched their nose to Spencer’s, seeking out the answer to why his grip had slacked. He also noted that Y/N had stopped grinding onto his thigh.

Spencer gave into temptation and he bit down on that delicious bottom lip of theirs. It was sweeter than anything he’d ever tasted with the moan from their throat as a garnish. The knife rested at the slope of their neck.

He released their lip to murmured against it, “I could fuck you with the handle.”

Their nose bumping against his as they shook their head, Y/N whined, “No.”

“No?” Eyebrows raised at the audacity they had, to use him then deny his words.

But then Y/N opened their eyes, pleading with them as they said, “Next time.”

They were touching his hand now, the same spot where they had cut themselves and their bandage pressed into each other with their fingers linked.

“I want your cock in me now, and I want you to hold the knife against me. Please, Daddy.”

All sense of Spencer’s gorgeous hazel eyes was lost as two rings around his pupils. His jaw went slack as he processed their request, his laboured breath falling from his lips. Finally, he took in a deep breath, straightening up his back and resuming his role as the Dominant again.

“You’re getting really greedy, baby. You should watch your mouth.”

Y/N continued to plead with their puppy dog eyes, leaning close to him. Their bodies were pressed as close as they could be. Spencer’s trousers were still frustratingly in the way so he kicked them off.

Luckily for Y/N, Spencer was greedy too. The promise of “next time” is what let them off their backtalk this time.

He quickly unhooked Y/N’s bra, letting them be the impatient one to throw it aside. His sitting position adjusted itself against the headboard before he allowed them to sit in his lap again. Once comfortable, he dotted their chest with purple, the knife keeping their back arched into him.

Their panties were grazed by the knife before they were merely pushed aside and Spencer stroked through their lips with a tactile fingertip, sharing a groan from how wet they were. He could never tire of that, or of Y/N sinking down on him, how warm and welcoming they were, how they clung to him like a limpet.

Y/N began to move. Every motion was more longing and enrapturing than the last, Spencer finding it hard to keep up and hold back. His free hand continued rubbing on their thigh, spanking their skin and counting each one until the spot beneath his palm was red. Every time, Y/N gasped and jumped, the blade pressing harder into them.

“Touch yourself,” Spencer rasped against their skin. He leant back to make way for their clumsy fingers, rubbing at themselves covetously.

“Please, Daddy.” Y/N cut themselves off and their cheek found the flat side of the blade to press itself against, now warm from their flushed contact, “Can I cum please?”

“Yes, you can, cum for me.”

The need to meet them in completion overpowered him and Spencer abandoned the knife to grab them with both hands, fucking into them harder as they cried out for him. Their nails dragged across his shoulders and he welcomed the pain from each fingertip. It only spurred him to move faster.

“I’m gonna fill you up.”

Y/N nodded eagerly, their stamina waning before picking back up at the notion, meant in no time at all he was keeping his word. They beautifully reached their orgasm with Spencer’s fingers tight around their throat once more, bringing on his own orgasm soon after with their snug cunt milking his cock for all it was worth.

Using his grip on their neck, Spencer pulled Y/N down against his lips and slurred into their mouth, “Thank you.”

Then he lifted his hips up, enjoying the pleasure flaring up as he did so. His shuffling down the bed was lacklustre but it worked enough for when he fell onto his back. Bringing Y/N with him, he could feel his cock slide out of them and something warm and wet dribble onto the top of his leg. If only he had the energy to plug it back in there, push it back with his tongue. All he could do now was lift himself up a little, reach over Y/N and pull their underwear back into place. As Y/N said earlier, “next time”.

“Thank you.” Spencer brushed Y/N’s hair off their back, letting it tangle with his. “Thank you. You’re so good to me.”

“And so are you… D’you need anything?”

“I’m good, you?”

“Me too.”

As his arms spread out on the bed, Spencer’s right elbow found the knife again. Too late, it was sliding off the edge, a muted clatter against the carpet reaching their ears just moments later. A few seconds later, Y/N lifted off him, their sweaty skin clinging to each other as if to plead for them to stay, but it was Spencer who let out the noise of complaint this time. Y/N was quick though. They simply moved the knife into the bedside drawer and closed it before landing beside Spencer, wriggling to get that proximity once again.

Spencer found himself kissing the palm that cradled his face, breathing it in, plaster and skin and all. Soon he was curling into them, his face hidden in their neck as he wrapped his body around them. There were a few more grunts as sporadic pangs of pleasure rippled through them both, until they finally settled still. Y/N combed their fingers through Spencer’s thick hair, tugging just how he liked it.

He didn’t know really how to describe it. He just felt warm.

“Spencer?” Y/N’s voice was a little above a whisper, a crack chipping the last syllable.

“Yeah?”

“Would you…” They tilted their chin up to the ceiling. Spencer didn’t push; he gave them time, just as they had done, to answer.

“Would you let me shave you one day, please? With the straight razor?”

Spencer’s smile grew back on his face, “Of course.”

“And would you use the knife handle on me next time please?”

“Why were you more nervous about asking to shave me?” Spencer kissed where a faint ring of teeth marks met their neck, feeling it rumble with their giggling.

“I don’t know!” They covered their eyes with their hand.

To encourage them to come back out of their little shame cave, Spencer kissed where his lips fell and nodded, “Yes, next time, I’ll use the handle, Y/N.”

“We’ll have to make sure you don’t cut yourself.”

They cared for his wellbeing. He should too.

For now, at least, things weren’t so bad. Clarity from his orgasm told him that the guilt would set in by tomorrow. But he’d address it then and let the final dregs of their indulgence rock him to sleep.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

BONUS

Tonight was a transaction. Spencer was midway through his side of the bargain – keeping Y/N comfortable. They didn’t seem to mind the granite of the countertop pressing into their back as Spencer ate them out with gusto, his knees protected by a pillow against the tiled kitchen floor. His hair was tugged at the roots. Sometimes he felt Y/N’s heel tap against his back as they balanced on one foot to use the other to bring him closer. It was largely ineffective, but it pleased him that they weren’t completely in control of their needy actions.

His lips parted from theirs, and they whined at the cool gentle air he blew against them. They both knew that Y/N knew they weren’t allowed to cum without permission. They both knew that this wasn’t the end. But only Spencer knew where this was going next.

Leaning back on his heels, he pulled open the drawer beside Y/N. His hands were careful as they retrieved the knife he was after. He’d memorised its place in that drawer. Once again, Y/N was trapped in a stare. Their gaze followed the knife with confusion as Spencer began to wrap a hand towel around the blade.

When Spencer caught sight of this, he raised an eyebrow and waved the handle around in a circle. “You did say next time.”

A hint of guilt crawled around in his gut. Perhaps they would think he was pressuring them to keep a promise they made in a daze of hormones.

But Y/N simply whispered, “I did. I also said we’d have to make sure you don’t cut yourself.”

“I’ve thought about this already,” Spencer said as his fingers held the blade - safely encased by the towel.

“Me too.”

With his eyes as wild as his hair, Spencer moved the end of the handle across their sex, tentatively stroking it across where their cum and his spit met. Then he took a leisurely pace to push it inside them. His eyes fixated on the way they clenched around it, unconsciously wanting more while they restrained their other movements with stiff knuckles grasping at the countertop.

“How’s that feel?” Spencer said quietly, his hot breath hitting their skin as hard as the curves of the handle pressed against their walls.

Through their exhale, Y/N replied, “It’s good.”

“Yeah?” Spencer began pulling the knife out slowly once it reached halfway inside of them, “Not as good as me though.”

“No, never.”

Right answer.

He pushed it back in, until the edge of the blade was an inch from their soaked sex. Then he released it.

“Spenc-”

“Stop. Keep it there. I know you can.”

The hand towel dropped, untangled and fell off the blade.

Spencer leant back again and watched how the blade quivered with them now, reacting to their body just as they reacted to it. “Careful now. If you don’t hold it still, you could cut yourself.”

Y/N let out a groan of frustration but they listened to his demands. Soon the knife was near still. There was still a familiar tremble that shifted it from inside of them, but it was nothing to worry about yet. Licking his lips, a hint of their taste still on them, Spencer reached out to their clit and began rubbing it. He delighted in Y/N’s groans.

“That’s it, keep that cunt tight.” Eyes still on them, he pulled out from his underwear his cock and stroked his hands in time together. It thrilled him to no end, his pleasure only increased by theirs. “Does it feel good?”

“Daddy, please,” Y/N bit their lip, unable to look at what Spencer was doing to them.

“Look at you, trying to keep that still in you, all tense, when I’m teasing your pretty clit. What’s it like knowing you want more but you can’t have it?”

They were struggling, the blade slipping out millimetre by millimetre despite their best efforts. Their hips jerked as they would when riding him. But their thighs were forced apart lest the shining metal between them bite worse than their Daddy. They were simply too aroused to do a better job, poor baby.

“You know how I like looking at them.”

Spencer leant close, breathing in their earthy smell, and he pressed a kiss on their clit. His lips parted for him to lick at it twice, to feel their most sensitive parts twitch against his mouth again. He looked at their face as his finger found the blunt tip of the knife and pushed the handle back up into them. Y/N’s mouth fell open, a ragged gasp shaking at the back of their throat. Spencer looked back at the knife just in time to see a drop of their cum slip down the edge of it. His cock twitched. His teeth bared in a smile.

“But this view is my favourite.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #smut #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader #my writing #r: female #r: afab #r: gender neutral #wc: 2k+

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why-this-kolaveri-machi · 3 years

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it wasn’t power i coveted; it was acceptance.

Titans 3.06

y’know, i was just thinking the other day that 1.06/1.07 and 2.06/2.07 were the best episodes of their respective seasons, so i have great hopes going in to this one. fingers crossed!

as always, typing this up as i see the episode.

SPOILERS AHEAD

1. oh! um... that was a Cold Open, all right. *nudges* get it? cold? because it’s snowing? and two people got murdered in cold blood? eh?

... oh, i’ve just started.

1.5. i wonder if “i want to be sipping pina coladas on a beach with you” is the new “i’m just one day away from retiring.” i was so on edge after that--i kept expecting that car to explode. even so, the way they died wasn’t an anticlimax: brutal, and quick.

1.75. so i’m assuming that’s the titular lady vic! this show better bring up why this doll was important or why these two cops needed to be killed, and not leave it to the ether like jericho’s little mindscape jaunt in 2.08 (i’m still dying to know what that was about???)

i love how deliberately unappealing wayne manor is.

(sorry for the pic quality. i don’t have hbo max! ssshhh.)

2.3. i love the many references to “home” and “our house” when they’ve been here for less than a week and saw one of their friends get blown into pieces. i mean, i unironically love it: home is where family is, after all!

2.5. i’d like to say that kom is playing some sort of long game here, especially given the build-up we had last season and some of the more niggling details this season: why did kom choose now to use her bond to lure kory when she’s been on earth for months? why did justin call kory now, just around the time that she started getting kom’s visions? and what about kom’s ability to exactly imitate other people? hmmm.

2.75. the reason i wrote i’d like to say is that i’ve made the mistake of assuming plot complexity where there is none; i was so invested in the jason todd orchestrated his own death theory for instance, when it turns out that oops! ra’s al ghul just happened to leave a little lazarus puddle in gotham, and oh yeah! scarecrow just happens to have a network of henchmen working for him on the outside and a fully functional laboratory and a weapons cache fit for a new supervillain in the basement of the high security psychiatric unit/prison that he’s in!

(no i’m not bitter, why do you ask)

2.8. iiiii don’t know what to say about the implications of sex slavery being a thing on tamaran, so i’m not going to say anything at all. for now.

3. gotham, six years ago... wasn’t it five years before s2 that jericho died and the titans disbanded? and when was the flashback from 1.06 where dick let zucco die? i think it was after the events of 2.08: jericho? i can’t seem to find any transcripts or reliable information online, so i’m going to have to rewatch 1.06 at some point.

(i love the old-fashioned batman music in this heist scene)

3.5. “security is a joke... it’s my way of keeping my dad on his toes”. what you’re an ethical thief now, like an ethical hacker? i don’t think that excuse is going to sell, barbara, on the day you do encounter a decent security system and your father is forced to arrest you.

(then again, gotham’s security is piss-poor. did you know that you could just walk into arkham asylum without any official clearance, ply one of its most dangerous inhabitants with contraband, and said inmate could get away with having an entire laboratory and weapons cache--NO I’M NOT GOING TO LET THIS GO)

3.8 so that flashback between dick and barbara was really cute! and also illuminating:

a) dick sounds so light, so... um. look. i have some apologies to tender to mr thwaites, because while i’ve always thought he does a fine job as dick grayson, i’ve never been terribly fond of his cadence as he delivers dialogue. it’s often monotonous, i thought, but then again, he’s usually delivering exposition or dealing with one soul-crushing crisis or the other. so i was pleasantly surprised to hear dick sound so carefree and alive in his conversation with barbara, laughing frequently, his emotions so bare and bubbling to the surface. it’s really a fantastic contrast to the traumatised and world-weary dick grayson that we see now, even more so than the costume department just bunging a backwards-baseball cap on mr thwaites’ head and hoping that will convince us of his relative youth.

b) and god, when he wakes up from that memory, all alone in his bed, bleeding from bullet holes in his shoulder (bullet holes that are--in a somewhat convoluted way--barbara’s fault)? yikes. it’s great. you have my apologies, mr thwaites!

c) can you imagine dick just... crawling back to wayne manor, trying not to be seen by anybody, shedding his suit and just... collapsing onto his bed without even tending to his wound? the sheer emotional and physical exhaustion of it?

d) it’s so interesting to see how barbara and dick approach the idea of legacy--a big theme on the show!--in this flashback. barbara is the one bucking the idea that she should follow in her father’s footsteps, while dick seems pretty content with the batman-and-robin setup, and even tries to get barbara to join their team (robin-girl. pfffft). obviously after this several traumatic things happen wherein dick ends up questioning and then resenting his role as robin, his relationship with batman or even returning as a vigilante at all. and barbara... ends up replacing her father as commissioner. it’s tragic, really.

e) the dynamic between dick and barbara in the flashback reminds me of how it was between dick and donna in 1.08 and even between kory and dick in early s1. it’s like having an older, strong-willed woman by his side means he gives over the steering wheel for a while and lets himself... unspool, a little bit. it’s kinda endearing.

also:

*pinches his cheeks*

3. you know, we talk about dick and Eldest Daughter Syndrome, and that’s definitely valid, but here gar seems to me the embodiment of it, with all the emotional gardening and firefighting that he’s expected to do. he’s kind of the guy expected to keep his shit together and take care of everyone else while they are falling completely to pieces, unable to carve out time to process his own trauma. he’s also picked up dick’s and kory’s tendencies to bottle up their struggles and shun appearing vulnerable, and he’s struggling in the shadow of both dick and kory undergoing acute crises, his best friend (and frequent confidante) on the other side of the world, and seeing hank die, utterly helpless to stop it.

i’m glad that he got a chance to tell dick even a smidgeon of what he really feels, and i hope this is at least a semblance of a wake up call for dick to actually sit down and work with the people he repeatedly calls family.

3.5. it’s heartening to see that dick immediately makes it his priority to go talk to gar. but don’t blow off kory in the process, man!

4. i’m really loving this dynamic between kom and conner--i get the idea that both of them consider each other as Unknowns, alien two times over. but conner’s only ever known the titans, who embrace being different, and kom’s only ever known... well.

anyway, kory is Really Stressed, and honestly? #relatable.

when you’re forced to bring an estranged family member to hang out with your friends...

4.5. i love that the titans are spending so much time in the kitchen. a real family!

5. jonathan crane is a creep and i absolutely cannot stand him.

5.25. how did he get a whole lab setup (in the basement of a hospital...?) with a bunch of whitecoats to work for him? how did he just waltz into the viewing room of an operation theatre when he’s one of the most wanted men in gotham right now? why is jason wandering around maskless when--presumably--as the adopted son of the most famous person in gotham he’d be a tad more recognisable than your average joe?

why do i expect this show to answer anything anymore?

5.5. that’s not necessarily a criticism, mind; i’ve said since season 1 that titans is very comics-like in this aspect, all about the Aesthetic and the splash-page splendour rather than the niggling unimportant details of how or when the characters got to said location. like. the camera gliding over the operation being set-up, lady vic bursting in and doing her murder dance (imagine the luck of the poor intern who chose this day and this surgery to assist) and jason, shocked and slack-jawed, framed by blood.

5.75. it’s a sobering reminder for jason that, though he chose this path in order to gain control over a world that seemed like it was rapidly spinning out of his grip, he’s only succeeded in handing over even more control to a man with an agenda that is very clearly not aligned with his own. he’s in too far to stop now, though.

5.9. i have a lot more thoughts about jason! saving it up for the end of this recap, though.

6. more kitchen time! i better see dick do some cooking soon...

(”our kitchen”! it still delights me! kitchens are So Important)

6.25. so much of dick’s issues have revolved around his relationship with bruce, so it’s completely understandable that in the wake of a huge crisis where bruce literally asks dick to replace him and be a “better” him, dick would default to all the worst things he learned from the man. and i’m glad kory’s having none of it, but come on, guys. the woman’s literally fetched her fratricidal sister out of a hole in the ground with no idea what said sister is going to do next and experiencing a burgeoning sense of guilt far, far beyond her history with the titans, and dick’s too far into his autocolonoscopy that he can’t see that she needs help.

6.5. “he services your urges”--well, as far as we know, kory is the last person he had sex with...

7. “i hope [gar] isn’t angry with me...” SIR! i thought you’d already spoken to him! smh, as the kids say. kory wouldn’t be needing to reassure you if you just took the effort to build two way emotional relationships with the rest of the team. @superohclair was taking about dick’s relatively low emotional intelligence? i agree.

7.5. “i got my own problems [...] you and barbara? fix it.” YOU TELL HIM, KORY

8. man i really like this weird, sad tension between dick and barbara--this sense that both of them are approaching the other based on how they remember them and are ultimately disappointed by the truth. barbara thought she could trust dick to... well, be a better batman, but dick has not only failed at that in her eyes, but repeatedly undermined her while exploiting the authority that she gave him. in dick’s eyes, this is nothing like the barbara that he knew, rebellious and ready to do whatever it takes to find something.

like. this show sometimes really hits me in the chest about the ways it shows kids grow into adults and into caretakers, and the way it’s stop-start, the ways nothing can happen at all for a long time and then it’s Crisis Central all at once and there’s no space to breathe. the weird sort of sadness that comes with nostalgia.

8.5. oracle name drop! i agree with barbara, any system that can just randomly tap into gotham phonelines is a monster.

8.7. (i don’t know if it’s my imagination, but is dick holding himself... differently in this episode? like that wound is definitely bothering him, and he’s running on fumes)

9. man, that was a really sweet scene between kom and conner. “feeling alien in your own world”... “not quite here nor there”

honestly this team runs on conner and gar’s faith in their value as a family, and it’s a sign of conner’s generous heart that he extends that opportunity to blackfire. this arc of maturation for him, where he’s now able to consciously choose which parts of himself he can use to do the thing he wants to so--save people--has been so fulfilling to recognise. this baby’s grown with the titans! and what he’s learnt is that people can get fucked up, but the titans is a place where they can be fucked up, and grow.

MY MAN CONNER

10. oh man i’m drinking in the gar-dick interaction in this episode like i’m three days into the desert and it’s the only source of water for miles around!

a) gar is absolutely not dealing with dick’s bullshit this episode and I LOVE IT. it’s such a far cry from the man who was idolising dick/robin back in s1 and expecting him to solve all their problems. dick is fallible, dick is fucked up, but he Tries His Best and that’s ok.

b) dick, huffing and puffing through that vent, unable to put any pressure on his left shoulder, trying to have a heart to heart with gar... fuck i love this asshole.

c) bruce took in a kid who was suffering... “and made him into a weapon”. well. i absolutely agree with dick that it was bruce who put these kids into these horrible situations with him and they came away with a bucketload of trauma to add to the one that they already had. but we know that bruce was really trying with jason, and at the end of s2, dick was coming to acknowledge that bruce had offered him something that wasn’t just darkness. jason’s death and bruce’s reaction to that shattered that fragile progress.

d) “gotham got to me too.” i feel more sympathetic towards dick running off on his own than most, and it’s not just because i’m an unapologetic stan. we’ve seen before that dick... devolves when overwhelmed, and he lashes out and makes ill thought out decisions and just Does Not Deal. it happened after hearing the news that deathstroke had returned in s2, and it didn’t help that everyone around him was reeling at the news, either. this time, however, he has his salvation in his family, and despite some stupid decisions like running off and kidnapping supervillains without telling his team, he’s been really on the ball this season. thinking clearly and logically, holding it together and working on a plan, thinking two steps ahead of the villains... yes.

e) gar needing to believe that jason isn’t beyond redemption... there’s a lot of blood on his hands, too, from when he was manipulated by cadmus last season. it makes sense why he’d relate to jason’s predicament, and i hope dick picked up on that.

f) my head just added a plaintive ow after dick jumped feet first into the storage room

i need, crave gifs of this scene!

11. *sits on hands* i’m going to talk more about red hood, i promise!

12. more gar and dick! is it my birthday??!!

(actually, according to the tamil calendar, it is my birthday! my “star” birthday)

12.5. excellent. dick using some implausible training that bruce taught him to solve a mystery? passing some of that knowledge onto gar? that proud smile when he sees gar perfectly execute moves that he taught him? MY HEART IS EXPLODING

13. aw, i love flashback!dick and barbara, they’re so cute <3

13.25. why does it not surprise me that the way he proposes a relationship to barbara is by saying “we make sense”? this guy can deduce exactly who was present where and what weapon they were holding from a garbled audio recording but other times he’s utterly clueless, and that’s a consistent character beat right from s1

13.5. so.... that’s why lady vic has it out for... barbara....? i don’t get it. it’s flimsy. but hey! the fun thing about titans is that i don’t have to get it. the payoff has nothing to do with the plot.

14. i can’t believe that barbara fell for that, but at least that wheelchair fight looked awesome, so.

15. oh yeah, i forgot that red hood bullied the mob into helping him and scarecrow... at least that explains the whitecoats and the elaborate set-up.

15.5. honestly i love how this dynamic between kory and kom is developing, though i wish more of the team would pay attention to it. time to call justin, i think!

16. i wonder what happened after that second flashback where barbara got hurt during that heist. did she give up on doing any more (maybe jim caught her)? was it because dick was called away by bruce and then the titans and got caught up in his own issues? maybe barbara froze him out because she wasn’t looking for the relationship that he was looking for? maybe the idea of doing that with someone turning into batman-lite was just... unappealing? scary?

whatever it is, it doesn’t look like dick ever processed the end of that relationship. it’s very intriguing to see where their dynamic goes next.

17. so.... what, did vic deliver some fear toxin to barbara? i... what?

17.5. and i TOLD YOU that they would never explain that doll or why vic attacked those two cops at the beginning! oh, titans. never change.

18. did jason just randomly have tim’s restaurant burgled? god, i’m feeling a bit nauseous... are they going to kill tim’s father?

18.25. i feel like the rest of the season is going to wrestle with jason’s culpability in the horrible stuff he’s doing and i’m already seeing that prospect divide fans. on one hand, his story is taking a lot of oxygen away from other equally interesting story arcs, and he’s done some truly awful things, like indiscriminate murder, threatening to kill children, blowing up hank, and potentially killing tim’s parents.

there’s something to be said for the kind of hold that crane has over him, and the so-called ‘anti-fear’ drug that he keeps plying jason with--he’s alone, drugged almost constantly (to the level of dependence), fresh from the trauma of being bludgeoned to death. he hasn’t conquered fear; he’s ruled by it. on the other hand, given that he’s the one character on the show given an obvious and identifiable ‘mental illness’ arc (maaaaybe dick too), one can argue that it’s irresponsible to show this progress into such violence: jason was vulnerable because he was struggling, and that left him vulnerable, but it took only a push before he became a fucking serial killer.

but that could mean we underestimate the degree of that vulnerability, and the mechanics of this universe where he fell into the clutches of the one supervillain perfectly designed to exploit that vulnerability. that helpless spiral into further and further self-destruction is all too real. it’s valuable to know that someone who has sunk that low can still seek help--actual help--and get it.

18.5. i don’t know. it’s not a question i’m going to resolve at the end of an overlong recap at 1 in the morning. i don’t believe it’s even a question that titans can resolve. but i am interested in where they’re going next with jason.

19. this episode was genuinely great! i’m pumped for the rest of the season!

#titans #titans spoilers #meta #dick grayson #koriand'r #barbara gordon #garfield logan #conner kent #komand'r #jason todd #jonathan crane #a byronic cupcake #badass strawberry truffle #manic pixie pop tart #a tragic jalebi #this is a 3k+ MONSTER yikes

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fific7 · 3 years

Text

Dangerous and Divine - Part 17

Billy Russo x Reader

Summary: Billy Russo is an itch you don’t want to scratch. But he’s all over you like a rash.

A/N: This does not follow canon, it’s mainly fluff & lemon zest 🍋 Hopefully you’ve guessed by now that is my “Billy Russo Deserves Real Love AU” as I totally refuse to accept what happened in S2! The GIF is from Exposed, unreleased pilot show in case you’re wondering 😌... Billy vibes.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW due to sexual content including oral and unprotected* sex between consenting adults. Some drinking & swearing.

*Irl, please don’t go wild in the country without protection.

(My GIF)

“Are you sure about that, Billy?” He laughed nervously, but replied, “Very sure, sweetheart.”

You thought that was really brave of him, considering you were holding his favourite weapon in your hand. You shrugged, “I’ll get the information out of you one way or another, Russo.”

He laughed, “You’ll need to get past all the Marine training first, sweetheart!”

You rolled his cock between your palms then gave his balls a long firm squeeze, hearing a loud groan from him. “What was that you were you saying, sweetheart?” you snarked back at him. Laughing, he gasped, “Do your worst!”

You wrapped two fingers round his tip and squeezed quite hard, eliciting a low grunt from Billy. Then you really set to work on him, using a lethal combination of your mouth and hands. You could hear him whimpering above you, but thought you’d better not risk calling him a puppy again.

“What’s this surprise, hmm Russo?” you asked, before swirling your tongue right around his tip and down onto his slit, teasing it before dragging your teeth very gently down his length. Billy thrashed on the bed, crying out and grabbing a handful of your hair, “uhhh... unnhh!!!” You were now licking his cock very slowly and deliberately; all of a sudden Billy’s hips jerked forward like a pile driver, he shouted “Fuck!!!” and came, really hard.

You daintily wiped a finger across your lips once you’d finished swallowing Billy’s come and rested your chin on his chest, giving him your version of puppydog eyes. “Aww, c’mon Billy, tell me!” You tickled his lower stomach and smiled when you saw the muscles rippling and contracting under your touch. His head was lying right back on the pillows, chin upturned towards the ceiling and you gazed fondly at his beardy neck. He was huffing out breaths and finally tilted his head down towards you, gazing at you with wide eyes.

He merely shook his head, saying nothing and still gasping. “Cat got your tongue?” you teased, remembering how he’d ribbed you for being speechless after sex. His husky voice said, “No, an angel’s got it,” smiling down at you and you stuck your tongue out at him. “Whilst that little session just blew my goddamn fuckin’ mind as well as my balls, I’m not cavin’, sweetheart,” he smirked. “You’re just gonna have to be patient.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

The next morning, you were gently shaken awake. You forced your eyes open, rubbing them while yawning, only to see Billy standing over you, bare naked and holding a tray. “Breakfast in bed, sweetheart,” he cooed, putting the tray down on the bedside table beside you. Trying to drag your eyes away from the view currently being presented to you, eventually you managed to stutter, “That.. uh, that’s uhh really sweet of you, Billy.”

Of course the Russo Smirk was in place, and his hands were now on his hips. He knew exactly what you were looking at, and why you were losing your words. He was putting himself on display for you like a peacock, you thought. Then your mind skipped to all those nature programmes you’d watched, where the female of the species sat on a branch and watched the males displaying themselves, before picking the best of the bunch and mating with them.

Hmmm, you thought, Mother Nature had something there - better than the humans did. Although you did take offence over the fact that the females were usually always small and dowdy and boring-looking. While they did get the pick of the males at the end of the day, you weren’t happy with that aspect of things. However, you suspected that underneath those unassuming exteriors, the females were actually done up like guest contestants on RuPaul’s Drag Race, and gave their chosen males a massive shock when they reached the bedroom (nest, hole in a tree, rainforest, whatever) and unveiled themselves in all their true splendour.

You tore your thoughts away from nature and its mysteries, and found yourself still staring at Billy’s lush body. Then you realised he was waving his hand in front of your face, “Hey! Hello! Hey, sweetheart!” You stared up at him, “Oh, uhhh, sorry - I was thinking about birds of paradise.” He burst out laughing, “Huh?” You shook your head, “I’ll explain it to you sometime. I’m not as crazy as I sound.”

He leapt full-length onto the bed beside you, bouncing you up slightly off the bed in the process. Reaching over and picking up the tray from the side, he placed it carefully on your lap. Your eyes widened in pleasure as you looked down at the plate... he’d made Eggs Benedict! “Oh my god, Billy - you didn’t!” He smiled, looking smug, “You told me it’s your favourite! Well, alongside scrambled eggs with smoked salmon. An’ I’ve already shown off my scrambled eggs to you, so here ya go... my Eggs Benedict but without the ham. Just like the lady ordered.”

You picked up the paper napkin and unfolded it, noticing that Billy had drawn a big heart on it with a little smiley face in the middle. Chuckling, you turned it towards him, “Really? Are you sure you were in the Marines, Billy Russo? A sniper? Trained in unarmed combat and still walking around with weapons concealed in every available part of your body??!!” He smiled, looking down at the tray and fiddling with the edge of it, face that cute shade of pink again.

His eyes came up and met yours again, “I know, I know!” Laughing, he carried on, “Look, angel... this is all still a bit unreal for me, okay? Spent my whole life bein’ a ‘never get involved’ kinda guy, to put it mildly - and politely.” His hand went to your face, and his thumb ran gently over your bottom lip. “Met you, an’... an’....boom! It’s like I’ve been hit by a fuckin’ grenade or sumthin’.” He laughed, “Knocked me clean out I reckon, yeah. Woke up and hey - I’m stoned in love with you. Still tryin’ to get my head round it, but it’s how I feel...” he shrugged, still stroking softly, “...maybe this is payback, y’know? Fate just thought, there’s that Billy Russo runnin’ all over town with lots of different women, let’s just teach him a lesson.”

His big dark eyes met yours, an apologetic look in them and a lock of hair falling cutely over one temple. He continued, “Let’s hit him so hard with a case of love at first sight it’ll knock him into next year, never mind next week.” His hand moved to your cheek, laying it gently against it, “And here I am. A lovesick Romeo, as a certain person put it. I’ve fallen so hard and so fast for you and it really, really scares me. I think if you left me, I... well, I think I’d die. I love you so damn much, angel.”

You were staring at him, mesmerised, as he spilled this to you. Couldn’t even get irritated at the passing mention of the Scorned Woman. Feeling your face blush, and sure you’d melted into a human puddle, you leant towards him and kissed him. With passion. He kissed you back, arm going round your neck and pulling you closer to him. You pulled away, putting your lips to his ear and whispering, “I love you, Russo.”

He reared back, a huge smile on his face, “You said it! You said ‘I love you’ to me!!!”

Still blushing, you nodded, “Uh-huh, I did.”

He grabbed you and pulled you up against his chest, and you heard a deep chuckle, “I knew pester power would work one-a these days!”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You’d untangled yourself from him after that, saying that your eggs were getting cold. “Hey!” he said, “.... we’re talkin’ ’bout serious stuff here, sweetheart!”

You smiled, “Food is serious to me too, y’know!” He’d shaken his head, mock-sulking, “Okay then, here we go.” Your hand went to the cutlery, but he grabbed it before you could. Then he cut into one of the poached eggs and toasted sourdough base, and you watched entranced as the egg yolk slowly ran out of it like liquid gold and mixed in with the hollandaise sauce.

He made another couple of cuts with the knife and then stuck the fork into the bit of egg he’d cut off for you, swirling it around to pick up more sauce. “Open up, sweetheart,” he grinned, a suggestive look on his face. Rolling your eyes, you did as he said, and he placed the dripping forkload carefully into your mouth. Savouring it as you chewed, you mumbled round the mouthful, “This is really good! Did you make the sauce yourself? Or did it come out of a jar?”

Billy looked outraged, “A jar!! A jar??” he growled, “No, it did not! It was made from scratch by these fair hands,” and he held up his big hands in front of you, turning them back and forward. You looked lovingly at them; you adored Billy’s long slim fingers. “Okay, Chef - sorry I’m sure!” you laughed.

You’d let Billy feed you another forkful before grabbing the knife and fork off him, and then you started cutting up and shovelling the eggs into your mouth in a rather unladylike manner. Billy looked a bit offended, and you realised you’d spoiled his little romantic moment, so you ran your fingers through his hair, saying guiltily between mouthfuls, “Too slow, sweets. They’re getting cold, plus I’m really enjoying this so I needed to speed up my intake.” A small smile played over his lips, “Okay, then.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

After breakfast and a nice soak in the bath together, where you absolutely didn’t give Billy a helping hand when he got a sudden and rampant hard-on (okay, yes - you did), the two of you threw on some casual clothes and went out for a walk to make the most of the sunny morning. He slid his hand into yours and interlinked fingers with you.

Billy’s place was on the Upper East Side in Lenox Hill, while you lived on the Upper West Side in the Lincoln Square neighbourhood, so you were on familiar territory as he steered you towards Central Park. Strolling through the park, no particular place to go, people-watching as you sat beside The Lake in the sun for a while. The two of you talked about a whole load of nothing before deciding to go for a late lunch in a diner Billy knew and liked back in his neighbourhood.

As you ate, you noticed that Billy was fidgeting quite a bit and kept looking at his watch. You poked him with the blunt end of your fork, “Billy!” He jumped slightly, and you carried on, “You’re fidgeting. Have you got somewhere to be or something? - you’re checking your watch every two seconds!” Not meeting your eyes, he cleared his throat while shaking his head, “Nah, angel - just keen to get back out for some sun and fresh air.” You laughed, “Well, Manhattan fresh air.” “Yeah, true,” he said, now looking at you, “...you nearly done?” “Not quite, Billy, got some beer left too.” He stroked your hand, “Oh, no rush!”

You continued to chew on your chicken wrap, watching Billy as you did so. He’d already finished his food and beer, and was still fidgety - pulling at the sleeves of his leather jacket, fiddling with his hair, moving the ketchup bottles around the table and back again.

What is wrong with that boy? you thought. He’s like the proverbial cat on a hot tin roof. Finally you finished your food and drained the last of your beer. Billy had already paid, bounding over to the counter to settle up without even waiting for the waitress to bring the check.

Once outside and heading back to the park for a further stroll, you tugged at his hand... you were being disgustingly ’coupley’ today, you thought, a bit annoyed at yourself, but what the hell... and asked, “Billy, what’s the surprise?” He just laughed, shaking his head. “Tell me!” Aware that you were sounding more than a bit brattish, you added, “...please, Billy, go on!”

“No, angel, cos then it wouldn’t be a surprise, now would it?” You managed to resist the need to stamp your foot, but your bottom lip was pouting of its own accord. He leant down and gave you a long, sexy kiss and you gave in, resigning yourself to the fact that the tall ex-Marine was not going to confess anything so you’d better stop sulking. You grabbed a handful of hair, and Billy laughed, taking his mouth off yours, “C’mon, sweetheart - let’s head back to my place. We’ll take the scenic route.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy took you on a very circuitous route back to his place, and it took well over an hour to make it back there. As you both walked along the hallway towards his apartment, he dug out his keys and then promptly dropped them before he could slot the key into the lock. You stared at him, what the hell was wrong with Russo? Whatever he might be, he was all about precision and attention to detail - he was not a klutz! Now you - yeah, you’d be the one to drop your keys but not Billy!

However, he’d quickly bent down and grabbed them off the floor, successfully unlocking and opening the door this time. You followed him inside, and then your mouth dropped open.

Soft music was playing on Billy’s state-of-the-art music system. There was an intimate little round table sitting in front of the big picture window in the lounge. A string of LED stars was strung across and down the sides of the window. The table was laid for two, looking like a restaurant place setting - gleaming champagne flutes, plates and cutlery, fancily folded linen napkins, a pearly pink peony in a slim vase in the middle, an ice bucket on a stand next to the table, a bottle of Krug champagne sitting up perkily in it. You swung round to Billy, “What....?”

But you looked up into empty space. Your eyes travelled downwards until they found Billy - down on one knee in front of you. A small velvet ring box was held - unopened as yet - in a vice-like grip in those long, slender fingers you loved so much, and Billy’s big dark eyes were gazing fearfully into yours.

He looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

@blackbirddaredevil23 @galaxyjane @omgrachwrites @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @ourloveisforthelovely @swthxrry

#ben barnes #billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo fanfiction #billy russo imagine

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