Sharp Right, Swerve LeftYou won't think it at first.Sharp Right, Swerve Left by TheTerrorOfTheDeep
It starts with his charm. It starts when you comment on his stupid hat and he smirks more than smiles and asks you if you'd like to share your opinion on another one of his hats some time. Somehow that smirk comes out less condescending than it should be and more like he doesn’t know how to smile easy.
The way he turns his body to face you instead of pretending to hear you might make you feel a little special, but you only give a half smile and tilt your chin back enough to invite him forward.
By the time you're on the splintering back steps a few weeks later, you might have a suspicion he'd be a bit more trouble than you have any business asking for. So when he tells you he's trying to fuck the girl moving in next door, that's relief you feel flicker in your chest.
The cigarette he spots you tastes like it was rolled for you even if you only smoke to have something to do when everyone else steps out. You remember to ask what brand he smokes for t
Indulgence, BrutalityI am sacrilege. I am talons and fury.Indulgence, Brutality by TheTerrorOfTheDeep
Savagery with your heartbeat between my teeth.
Scars are not enough.
I will not be an ache in your knee when rain is coming
Or smooth bumps of skin healed over.
I am brain damage and blindness.
Wrist deep in your guts and battery acid in your veins.
There is something sensual about vehicular arson
And spit and blood from the corner of your lips.
You will wish you had not survived.
I may not be missed when I’m gone,
But I will never be forgotten.
this is about forgettingThis is the thing about forgetting:
Words I Wish ExistedIn French, they don't say "I miss you." They say, tu me manques, which translates roughly to "you are missing from me." That seems right. This seems far more true. Because missing something is far different than having something missing from you. When something is missing from you it means that it is a part of you that makes you tick. I've always had trouble with the English language, there are so many words that should exist. There should be a word for when you love someone but you hate them at the same time, when you can't get them out of your system and so you suffer constantly through small talk because if their words are all you can have, you will take them. Maybe something in German, the German language sounds like suffering. There should be a word for when you think about someone constantly because you are trying so hard not to think of them, because the active desire to unthink someone makes you think of them more.
for all intensive purposesi am accused of being
LW: (title page - epigraph)"Camus said that the only true function of man, born into an absurd world, is to live, be aware of one's life, one's revolt, one's freedom. He said that if the only solution to the human dilemma is death, then we are on the wrong road. The right track is the one that leads to life, to sunlight. One cannot unceasingly suffer from the cold. […] The track he followed led into the sunlight in being that one devoted to making with our frail powers and our absurd material, something which had not existed in life until we made it."- William Faulkner
Bee's Pre-SmutHis hand warmed her skin as he gently stroked the soft skin on the inside of her thigh. Her body tingled when his fingers danced across the material of her panties. She wiggled her bottom to reveal a bit more flesh. She watched his eyes flash down at her movement. The smirk was all the approval she needed.
Behind Blue EyesShe lay on her bed, unable to even get out of it and walk around her own home. Having had visitors most of the day, she was grateful for the peace and quiet her empty room gave her.
edgea bundle of nerves and feelings
You're Beautiful, But I'll Make BreakfastAlice swayed her body to the side and slithered off Paddy, pulling the sheet along with her. He watched her head fall back onto the pillow next to him. Her twisted brown hair covering her face slightly. Rolling onto his side, Paddy's hand swept the hair from her face. He let the backs of his fingers brush against her cheek while his other hand gripped her waist and yanked her body closer to his own. “You're beautiful.” His voice was barely a whisper with just a hint of an Irish accent. Everyone in his family had it. They teased that it was the only thing they had left from the old country.