#[ ship ]...“love soothes the tortured heart”

[nidaiime]

@shisui-uchiha-anon | Shisui sent:

Early morning, the sweet scent was coming from the kitchen. It would bring some odd nostalgic feeling, as he stirs his tea in a mug. His black orbs looked over the date, it is his birthday. Bracelet jiggled as he lifts the mug to his lips, a reminder. And Shisui still loves him with all his heart. This…this love, their love is not just about their two bodies intertwined together. No. They love and we made love to each other every time they held hands or exchanged looks. Or when they ate together after training. Or when Shisui would drag Tobirama to the ramen shop, to show him just how much fun is to eat it. When Shisui would run his fingers through Tobirama's white hair, combing it with his fingers. When Shisui waited for Tobirama to come so that they could have tea or coffee together.

No point in mulling over his feelings, thoughts, and doubts. He will wait in the usual spot with a gift. There was an invitation for him to come, yes! But was not that just the opposite of all what other wanted to cut all their ties? In a fit of rage younger ripped into little pieces that piece of paper.

Shisui got him a gift, after hours spent searching for the fitting one. Oita vintage kimono, an excellent quality linen kimono. Indigo blue in color with distinctive blurred small patterns in red, white, light blue, and yellow. Ankle length with traditional full-cut sleeves and partially lined around the chest and shoulders. Shisui had it folded in a package waiting on their usual meeting spot...if he comes he comes if not he will send it to Senju's house.

     EVEN IF HE WANTED TO TREAT IT LIKE EVERY OTHER DAY, Tobirama knew that the others wouldn’t. It was evident by how Hashirama had decorated their house early this morning before Tobirama had even woken up, and the gifts he had received throughout the day from the people he knew. It was as if every single person reminded him that today he was officially one year older. 

     The thirties treated him well so far, and Tobirama wouldn’t have it any other way, with family by his side and friends to care for. Tobirama was content with how his life so far, with no complaints.

     However…

     This morning, his mind was plagued by pictures of him. His love. The one he loved the most, and the one he distanced himself from. Tobirama knew that it was cruel what he had pushed Shisui to go through, but it was better for the other man to forget about him, to forget that something had ever happened between them…for his own sanity and peace of mind. Tobirama had duties toward the village, often going on dangerous missions by himself despite Hashirama’s increasing ire and Shisui’s worry. 

     But today he was forbidden to go on any missions—and for a week, Tobirama had to stay within the village walls, his brother would see to it. “Have a vacation, Tobirama.” was Hashirama’s words to him before pushing him out of the house to do whatever people did on their birthdays.

     Absentmindedly, Tobirama’s legs took him to their spot. The one where Tobirama had first made a real connection with Shisui, where he cleaned his battle wounds and tried to heal him. The spot where they had their first ‘date’ if you could call it that. The spot where Tobirama had the courage to take Shisui’s hand in his as they watched the river flow without any words.

     The spot where Tobirama found Shisui there, waiting for him with a package in his hands. The Senju wasn’t stupid, and almost surely the package was meant for him as a gift for his birthday.

     Despite the inner turmoil that raged inside him, Tobirama managed a small smile as he walked toward the Uchiha. One of his hands went up and through Shisui’s soft, black hair, moving slowly toward his cheek in a gentle caress. “Shisui…I had a feeling l will find you here.”

[eelnoise]

incandesce

zoro x afab!reader an: just some lovesick drabble because im weak in the knees for my big stinky boy. he's so cute and i wanna just snuggle w him so bad 🥺 cw: fluff :) wc: 1.1k @bby-deerling @kaizokuniichan @themushroomofdeath

The flash of the morning sun hits Zoro’s face like a white-hot light as he descends from the crow’s nest, freshly exhausted from training. Squinting in the daylight, he looks upon the deck below as it comes into clearer view – silhouettes of the crew fade into focus, and quickly does he scan the scene for a brief headcount. A slight warmth fills his chest, and not from the tide of day washing over the ship.

You’re not among them. You’re still asleep.

Zoro’s boots hit the deck with an audible thud, and heads turn to greet him. He offers a sleepy ‘good morning’ nod before heading right in the direction of the women’s quarters. No one stops him, nor are any words exchanged. They all know where he’s headed, just as they know why you tend to sleep in.

It isn’t often that he gets this opportunity – to join you for a nap. Most days he retires from the watch far earlier than any of the women awake, sometimes avoiding his own bed all together and simply napping in the nest. The odds are in his favor this time, and he means to take full advantage of the very limited time he can have with you. Only you.

No sooner does he creak the wooden door open that his heart skips a beat beneath his ribs. You’re there, just as he hoped you would be, softly snoozing beneath the sheets. Your hair is folded wildly about your face and the pillow beneath your head, and your lips are slightly parted with just a speck of drool glistening down your chin. Zoro can’t help but find you endearing, and seeing you in a deep, restful sleep does something to soften his stoicism. 

He almost can’t bring himself to wake you, as the sudden shift on the mattress always causes you to stir – though you’re never soured by it. Never once do you make him feel unwanted or loathsome, always welcoming into your arms or by your side when he needs you most.

And, while not the most affectionate man, Zoro relishes in the love you give him. The good-willed and honest devotion that you deem him worthy enough to receive makes his head spin. Somehow you had latched onto his sin-soaked soul, cleansing it in your soft, practiced hands and invigorating him in ways long forgotten.

Memories that ache - that wear him down with the weight of the past, present and beyond - they all seem to slip away when he’s next to you. You’re his anchor, reeling him back from the somber reverie that so frequently plays in his mind. A light that burns bright even in the darkest of places, and somehow he always finds his way back to you. Zoro knows that real worth is wordless, actions speaking emphatically over all else.

And you show him that worth.

His worth.

Zoro kicks off his boots, practically tiptoeing his way around the bed to it’s open side – and though he knows it’s fruitless, he does make an attempt to slide in next to you as carefully as he can manage to. And you stir – as if right on cue, the sudden weight pressing into the mattress that rolls you against his chest. 

A sleepy hum of acknowledgement befalls your lips, a small - yet simple - gesture of welcome to the man now aside you.

A hint of a smile etches into the cooks of his mouth as he returns the gesture with a hum of his own before curling his arm around your middle and burying his face into your hair and breathing in deeply. Your body is warm to the touch, and with it comes elation. Oftentimes he appreciates that you had cast the first stone, releasing him from the nigh-torturous, unknown feelings that he couldn’t possibly have navigated alone.

Zoro clings to you, as if magnetically attached around your body. His thumb drags along your tummy, up and down in a soothing yet natural response to being with you. He murmurs a throaty “Good mornin’” against your ear that makes you shiver with longing. Far too little do you get to indulge in his embrace, and though you’re not as tired as he is, you aim to enjoy the time regardless.

“Morning,” You reply, twisting your head just enough to see him and allowing your hand to fall atop his and entwining your fingers together. “How was watch?”

“Same as ever.” He whispers into you, feeling that familiar tranquil serenity blossoming within him. Zoro squeezes your body against him and moves some of your hair out of your face to place a series of pecks to your cheek before trailing up to give you a soft, tender kiss to your lips. 

It hadn’t been easy, learning to love – but with you there, ready and willing to guide him at his chosen pace the whole way through his strained emotions. Not once in his life did he expect to feel this way, a man of action and ruthlessly devoted to his dream and to his course upon it. Zoro once saw life as just that – his own. A narrow pathway in hindsight, one fit enough for just himself at the end of all things.

Though now, the path had forked, widened, and along it do you walk beside him. Every decision, every step, every pinch of ash left in his wake has your name written upon it in dark, permanent ink. Zoro thinks with you in mind, acts with your face at the very forefront of his synapses. He’s grown to adore you, both body and soul.

Part of it terrifies him still. The thought of losing something more precious than words can explain dives deep into his core. In love, there is fear. Fear of loss, fear of weakness in life’s most pivotal moments, fear of losing one's sense of perception. 

Though, there’s also hope. Hope and happiness and support and all else that comes with devoting your very essence to another. Seeing you smile or laugh brings him a peace that borders on inexplicable. The feeling of your hand on his bids him well wishes, each kiss a reminder of sanctuary. Every tangle between the sheets when he makes love to you renders him spellbound - the saccharine, honeyed taste of your skin on his tongue mixed in with those sighs and coos of pleasure that only he can hear, a song that only he can make you belt, it makes Zoro’s head spin with just the thought.

To Zoro, you’re beyond compare. No single person in his life comes even toe-to-toe with you, and as you snuggle against him, he allows himself to feel vulnerable. You’re his safehaven, a blessing in disguise that nabs him by the heart and never fails to lull him into a rejuvenating respite. 

You’re home.

You’re his.

[innerfare]

Law Leaving - Part 1.5

Summary: Law is stewing on leaving you behind; it's only Part 1.5 instead of Part 2 because it's just a shorter drabble from Law's POV. Reader is a Heart Pirate and marine biologist. Features mutual pining and unrequited love. This thing I wrote here could be considered a prequel if you want to read it, and you can read Part 1 here!

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x Gn!Reader

Genre: Angst, Eventual Fluff

CW: SFW // None

Word Count: 575

———

Law would rather die than say it out loud, but the Straw Hats were pretty good company. He had to hide his smile multiple times as they chattered over their snacks and drinks, sprawled across the deck of their quirky ship without a care in the world. The journey from Punk Hazard to Dressrosa, he hoped, would be a boring one. 

Law himself took the break in commotion to sit down, his back against the railing, and let his mind wander a bit. Naturally, his thoughts went straight to you. 

He wondered if you had gotten your hands on any new algae samples, if you had finished that book he bought you on Island Whales, if you were still obsessed with that one song or if you had a new one, if you had made any progress on getting down to just one cup of coffee per day, if  on colder nights you were making good use of the sealskin blanket he’d given you, what shade of blue was on your nails. 

More importantly, he wondered if you had thought of him at all, if you wanted to update him on your coffee habits, if you wanted to share any new songs you found with him, if the spot beside you remained empty at meal times, if you missed his opinions on your marine research, if his yellow and black hoodie was still your favorite or if you’d found another. 

The fear of you finding another reached into his chest, a frozen hand clutching his heart. He rubbed his hand up and down the spot in hopes of soothing himself but to no avail. His greatest fear was the Donquixote family finding and torturing you, but there was another fear creeping up on that one, threatening to relegate it to second place: the fear that you would grow weary of waiting. 

And how selfish was that, for a small part of him to care more about your loyalty than your safety? He knew you could spit in his face and he would still lay down his life for you, but he didn’t want you to spit in his face. He wanted you to hold his cheeks in your cold hands like you’d done that one late night in the lab and press a warm kiss to his lips, slow and chaste, little more than a promise to reciprocate should he decide escalate. He hadn’t escalated, though, hadn’t been able to, not with his past weighing on him. 

He didn’t expect to see you again, though he hadn’t exactly told you that. He hadn’t been man enough to confront you with what he felt was the truth. He’d been caught between the fear you would try to accompany him if you knew how dire it was and the fear you wouldn’t, that you didn’t care enough.  

The Straw Hats erupted into laughter, and Law lowered his head, a subconscious fear of them laughing at him lurking in the back of his head. Who was he to assume you were even his to set free? It was rather laughable. But in that moment, he decided he didn’t care how comical the thought of you loving someone like him was. If- no, when, he made it out of Dressrosa, he’d make sure there were no gray areas in your relationship. Either you loved him, or you didn’t, but you were going to know how he felt about you. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! Part 2 will be up tomorrow! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[renlyslittlerose]

Kinktober Day 7 - Touch-Starved

For ME because I wanted to write it~ 🥲

Little Bit of That Human Touch - 2,044 Rating: T Content: Established Relationship / Suited Darth Vader / Darth Vader Redemption / Redemption / Darth Vader Needs a Hug / Touch-Starved / Reconnecting

---

It was the sounds of the world no longer constrained by the press of his helmet that Vader first marvelled in.

He could hear the trill of a bird’s song and the rustle of wind through sun-bleached leaves, the tinkle of water against a porcelain dish and the creak of metal crates against one another. When allowed outside he could hear the worms in the dirt below his feet, the rumble of electrical current beneath stone steps and thick grasses, and feel the planet expand and contract with each deep breath it took.

Next, he enjoyed the feel of fresh air on his face. The recycled air of the Imperial cruisers had always been sharp and uncomfortable against his exposed body, sliding beneath the curled burns of his skin and the corners of his sensitive eyes. He had to exist within self-contained areas on the ship, such as oxygen chambers and bacta tanks, designed to make the ache in his chest hurt just a little less, but in turn further isolated him from the world.

At least this prison came with a view.

Taking in a deep breath, Vader listened to his mask as it sucked the air through his lungs and pushed it back out. This remained a constant: the mechanised breath of a body that struggled to exist outside the chains that had bound it to a brutal, torturous existence, alive only because the robotics that pumped his heart, breathed into his lungs, made his stomach churn and his guts twist, wouldn’t allow for him to slip away into nothingness.

This too was similar to a prison. He couldn’t make a decision to leave or stay; couldn’t tell those that controlled his fate to allow him to choose where and when he died. He was too valuable to the rebellion. A prize worth keeping, to parade around as a victory, even though he’d given himself up willingly.

Those in the Rebellion were pitiable. Contemptible even.

Save for one.

Taking in another breath Vader felt Obi-Wan before he heard him approach the door to his chamber. Vader wasn’t allowed to close off his bond to Obi-Wan; couldn’t retreat into the darker recesses of the Force where pain met despair and hatred, a soothing elixir that was so easy to fall into. Here he was made to lay in the pools of Obi-Wan’s consciousness, to touch the once familiar warmth that was his certainty and love, and bear the weight of a forgiveness given so willingly.

The door slid open with a series of clicks, the locks put in place both mechanical and mystical. Other Jedi who had survived the years of the Empire’s mindless hunting had come to aid Obi-Wan in Vader’s confinement, preventing him from attempting an escape that he didn’t even want.

He’d bowed his head for a reason, begged for mercy even though the words sliced and caught.

He wanted this.

Obi-Wan’s physical presence still hurt. The moment he stepped into the room Vader’s muscles seized around his ribs and his breath caught in his throat, making him cough into the mask. Blinking back the swell of tears, he kept his head ducked and turned from Obi-Wan as his boots came in to view.

“I hope I didn’t interrupt your meditations,” Obi-Wan said gently.

“I was not meditating,” he replied, attention still trained on Obi-Wan’s boots. He still struggled to look Obi-Wan in the eye. “I was… contemplating.”

“You should be meditating more on your own,” Obi-Wan said. He stepped forward before kneeling in front of Vader. “You’ve come a long way in your recovery. Journeying into the Force alone is the next step.”

He couldn’t smell Obi-Wan but knew the perfumes he wore all the same, the leathers of his belt and boots mixing with the scent of fresh cotton that swaddled his form. He’d lost some of his gravitas in the ensuing years, the sandy shoals of Tatooine wearing away at him like they did all vibrant creations, until they too crumbled into dust and became a part of the planet itself. Soft eyes had hardened, the lines across his brow and around his eyes deep set and visceral to look at, muscle giving way to sinew that sucked tight around bone.

But he was still beautiful. He always would be.

“Not today,” Vader said. He knew he sounded dismissive and perhaps petulant, but he didn’t care.

“Is something troubling you?”

Vader finally looked up at Obi-Wan. He was dressed in blue today. He looked good in the colours, though Vader still wasn’t used to the sight. Stranger still were the white medical robes that swaddled his own body, the fabric made to lessen the irritation across his sensitive skin. Black and always been Vader’s colour. He still wasn’t sure he liked the white, so stark, so… pure.

At first Vader wanted to hide his uncertainty. It was a foolish thing to get caught up on. But he also knew Obi-Wan would sniff it out - pull on their bond and have Vader give him the answers. He wasn’t allowed to have secrets right now. He wasn’t allowed privacy. He wasn’t allowed to be just a man.

“This morning when one of the doctors came to change the feeding tubes… one of them… she smiled at me.”

Obi-Wan’s lips twitched. Vader glared but Obi-Wan’s smile remained.

“Smiled?”

“Yes.”

“And this troubles you?”

Vader sighed, the inorganic sound shuddering through quiet space. “I do not want their courtesy nor their pity. They should continue to treat me with distrust. I do not want their kindness.”

“Why is that?”

Gritting his teeth, Vader turned from Obi-Wan and stared out the narrow windows of his chamber. The leaves outside created a dappled light across the stone, flickering and difficult to follow. “I do not deserve it,” Vader finally said.

“Don’t deserve it, or don’t want the responsibility of having to live up to an image you don’t think yourself capable of fulfilling?”

Turning back to Obi-Wan, Vader flexed his mechno-hands that remained on his lap. “What do you mean?”

“When people show genuine interest in another person even through a simple smile, that can create a small bond between the two. Suddenly you have to live up to certain courtesies that perhaps you’re unwilling or unable to see to. It can be as basic as a return of the smile or an acknowledgment of some kind that you recognize their presence.” Obi-Wan tilted his head to the side, his eyes searching Vader’s own. “When the doctor smiled at you, she saw you as something other than a prisoner - as someone other than Darth Vader. She saw a part of that humanity that you’ve shut yourself off from for over a decade. And when she smiled at you, she reminded you that the piece of yourself you strove to hide for so long wasn’t as easily hidden as you’d once thought.”

Obi-Wan’s thoughts curled in Vader’s mind like they had all those years ago, patience mixing with wisdom. And a little arrogance for good measure.

Just a few months ago he’d have strained against Obi-Wan’s words. They dug too close to the truth, working their way between the layers of armour that Vader had built in order to survive; digging, digging, digging until he found the boy that lay beneath. A boy that Vader had tried so hard to kill.

But now he was expected to let Obi-Wan in, and allow him to push against the cracks until something gave way. Sometimes it was just a concession, other times a confession. More often than not, it was just allowing Obi-Wan to be present within his space, a painful and comforting reminder of Vader’s continued existence.

“Perhaps you are right,” he said after a while. “Maybe I… maybe I need to be willing to accept the grace shown to me.”

Even though he thought he might choke on it.

“Do you wish to meditate?” Obi-Wan asked.

Vader nodded, and the pair slipped into the Force together. The first time they’d done this Obi-Wan had been scared, and Vader had liked it. The licks of fear curled with his own excitement, slashing like the clash of their blades - red against blue, skittering and cutting. He’d chased Obi-Wan through the thickets of their bond, focused in on him as he hurried through the brambles like a hunted fawn, footsteps quick and eyes wide. Vader knew he shouldn’t have given chase and yet he couldn’t stop, madness and the drive to hurt overriding all other senses, the scent of Obi-Wan’s fear intoxicating.

But Obi-Wan learned how to push back. He’d turned and suddenly the fawn was a stag, horns sharp and nostrils flared. He’d beaten back Vader’s rage and chaos, pushing him further and further into the cool rapids of his Force signature, submerging him in the waters of the light side of the Force until Vader drowned in its simplicity.

It was there that they floated together now, the pair without form as they curled and swirled like tendrils in the Force. Obi-Wan guided them deeper in the pools, the darkness comforting, the warmth of the water soothing. It was there that they lingered.

Here Vader felt no pain, no ache, no need. The blood soaked maws of the darkside couldn’t press against the back of his neck and lock down, keeping him in place until he had no choice but to succumb to the raw ache. His limbs didn’t feel disconnected and separate from him, his lungs didn’t hurt, his skin didn’t catch and pull, his guts didn’t seize and twist, his mind didn’t cut and devour.

It was here that Obi-Wan found it.

A desire. Pure, simple, focused. That longing for human connection, unlocked by a simple smile as the early morning dew faded from the blades of grass.

A hand touched his cheek in the physical space.

Vader’s eyes flew open and he jerked away from the touch, eyes wide as his heart thundered beneath his chest. Obi-Wan remained as he’d been before, hand stuck out between them, fingers gently curled as he let the hurt of rejection slip away in an instant.

“What are you doing?” Vader asked, quick and sharp.

Obi-Wan kept his hand where it was, still reaching, still yearning. “Come, darling…”

Vader bit the inside of his cheek until blood gushed into his mouth, coppery and thick. Familiar. He hadn’t heard that expression in many years, hadn’t been swallowed up by the tone and the softness in which it was said. Hadn’t been comforted by the knowledge that he was someone’s darling.

He was his Master’s darling. A beautiful boy worthy of love and affection.

A boy worthy.

Fear rattled through his body, digging into his stomach like a blade. But just on the edge was Obi-Wan’s presence, like a light on the shores, patient and steady, guiding him back. With an unsteady breath he locked eyes with Obi-Wan, light-blue with dark blue that still held the presence of a fire-red storm.

Swallowing, he turned back into Obi-Wan’s touch. Without hesitation Obi-Wan cupped Vader’s cheek, fingertips sliding along his jaw before resting palm flat across his skin. Obi-Wan’s touch was soft, his skin hot, calluses rough and yet pleasurable all the same.

Vader had not felt human contact like this in…

He’d not felt. In so long. For so many years.

Sighing, Vader turned into the touch, nuzzling his mask into Obi-Wan’s palm, desperate for more. Needing more. Like a man parched for decades and finally given succour he fell into Obi-Wan’s embrace, his larger frame curling in as he demanded to be held. Obi-Wan opened himself up to Vader, his arms strong as they wrapped around him and held him close. His lap was familiar, his chest broad and steady, heartbeat thundering as Obi-Wan cradled Vader against his chest and held him.

Oh how quickly Darth Vader forgot what it was like to be loved.

And how easily Anakin was able to remember.

[papurgaatika]

My Pain Fits in the Palm of Your Freezing Hand

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

Minors DNI with my work please !!

A/N: happy angst posting, fellow angst lovers!!! I love torturing the little guys in my computer. Okay but honestly this one hurt to write a little bit. First and foremost thank you to @almostfoxglove for letting me participate in this challenge,, it was in fact challenging but the creative juices were flowing like crazy. Secondly- thank you to my beloved beta readers @carlynkurin and @joelsdagger for reading this, im so glad i could make you cry, it was my honor to do so. I hope the rest of yall enjoy this but in the way that it breaks your heart. Peace and love from me xoxo

Tags: major character death, angst, literally just angst, guilt, some more religious metaphors, major character injury, hurt no comfort, no reader desc

please lmk if I forgot something!! Word Count: 1.5k

Summary: Din was a mandalorian damn it, he was supposed to protect you.

The crash was not one either of you had expected. Always the steady pilot, Din never expected to crash, not even when the weather of this particular planet was practically unnavigable because of the snow. The wind blew and rocked you both like a church bell, swinging you into the sounds of mourning. You were the first one to fall. Never being one to sit still, your seatbelt was off, and you practically slammed into the side of the crest as Din tried to land safely. 

Trying is never enough in hindsight. The impact from the wreck is dire, Din’s hands in a steel grip, trying to steer the ship in any direction, your body laying there under parts of wiring and crates that came undone, the ship sinking into the ice below you.

Din rips his belt off, his armor mangled somewhere in the mess. His first, no, his only priority is you. And the way you looked made his heart drop into the pit of his stomach. Weak. The only word he could find for you was weak. Metal from the ship had given you a sickening cut along your abdomen, blood soaking your shirt as you gazed at him with big frightened eyes. He rips off his cowl, moving to you in a millisecond and trying to put pressure on the wound. You hear him whispering soft praises and empty promises of you being okay into your ears, and despite it all, you know. You know he can’t save you from this, that he hasn't felt the blood trickling down the back of your head down your neck. 

You try to whisper to him that it was okay, that he was hurt and cold, that he needed to take care of himself too, but he was stubborn. He was supposed to keep you safe. To protect you, so damn it, that is what he was going to do.

You manage to reach a weak hand out to cup his face, your soft hands so cold. So cold he swears they would freeze around his face, but despite that your touch is somehow as soft and gentle as it’s ever been. You can feel his tears hitting your palm, your thumb rubbing softly over his cheek, the stubble a familiar cherished feeling in your hand. You’re telling him it would be okay, that he’ll be fine, still attempting to soothe him despite how weak you sound. You stay like that for what feels like eons, your voice getting quieter, and your touch growing softer with every passing moment until they stop. 

The ship is eerily silent, and it makes Din panic. He was used to silence before he met you. He was content only having his thoughts, but that changed with you. You were loud and talkative and suddenly, he felt himself opening up. He was sharing things he had never shared with anyone, telling you things about his childhood. Was he supposed to be glad to survive this? To be thankful that he had somehow managed to outlive another loved one? He was holding you in his arms like you were a child, cradling you as if that would block anything that could hurt you.  Your breathing was shallow and labored and your heart was racing like the wings of a hummingbird. Din wanted to take that little bird and keep it locked in a cage, safe from the pain and hurt he had managed to put you in, keep you far away from him. 

And as sudden as the crash itself, the flutter of those wings stopped, and you went limp in his grasp. Despite the hollow look on your face, you looked peaceful, as if this was the only way you were freed of the suffering you had been put through. Time stills for a moment. Bile rises in his throat when he feels you slump in his arms. His hands are freezing and shaky as he cups your face, begging. Pleading for you to open your eyes. 

God those eyes that he loves so much. The warmth in them that might have been able to melt the snow surrounding him. The teasing glint that came out anytime he said something that made you laugh. The absolute love that he could see in them. The love that he was never going to be able to see again. Din feels his heart pounding in his chest, hammering away like the armorer, and his memory floods with the first time he took his helmet off in front of you. 

“You are my new creed” he had said, words spoken like a man finding god. His hands were holding yours, shaky and gentle. “Nobody else, nothing else, matters to me anymore. Not when I have you” Your eyes hadn’t met his for a few seconds. Almost too scared, as if he would disappear as soon as you laid eyes on him. And your beloved Din, always so soft and gentle with you, just tilted your chin up, his calloused hands a stark contrast to your soft skin. You both stood there, frozen in each other's eyes, neither of you daring to look away. Melting each other, committing the other to memory, becoming one. 

Din replays the memory in his mind until it hurts him physically. He was still holding your body, limp and colder than it should have ever been. You hated the cold. Teased him for how uncomfortable it was to walk next to him in the armor. You deserved to be warm, to stay soft, like you had done for him. How many times had you reminded Din that he needed to eat more than a ration pack? How many times had you taken a blanket and wrapped it around him when he fell asleep in the pilot’s chair? How many times had Din deserved that kind of treatment? 

How could he have deserved you? Especially now, when he had done this, allowed this to happen to you. How was he meant to go on, to persist without the one thing that was truly good in his life? 

He stands on quivering limbs, the temperature setting in, his joints stiff, and picks your body up with a silent sob. He moves you to the bunk and tucks you in. Fixes your hair how you liked it, and wipes the remnants of the tears from your cheeks. If he could do nothing else, he would make you comfortable, he owed you that. You lay there, and for a moment Din is half expecting you to stretch your body out and wake up. Wipe your tired eyes, give him a groggy smile, and whisper good morning, like you always did. 

You don’t. 

You lay there, pale and unmoving, and so heart-wrenchingly cold. No matter how many blankets he would manage to put on top of you, he can't warm you up. Not how you were supposed to be, not how he wished it. Din finds himself curled up by your feet, the freezing floor of the razor crest biting into his knees, but he can't feel it. All he could feel was the ache in his chest from losing you. He wished there was a way to seek your forgiveness for this, a way for him to beg for absolution, to seek salvation in your arms again. And yet he knew there wasn't. That he was damned. Damned with the sins of what he did to you, of the burdens he should have bore instead of you. He was shaking now, the cold that seeped into his body finally making its presence known as he sat with himself. He had stopped shivering at some point, so cold he felt almost overheated. His shirt was thrown off somewhere, the coolness of the air biting into him so much that his skin was practically blue. He was too warm for his liking, something you would have relentlessly teased him for before. He swears for a moment that he can hear the golden tune of your laughter, the melody of his heart ringing in his ears. 

It was calling to him, he was certain of it. Certain that there was a place for the two of you, that in just a moment you would follow after him off of the ship and run into his arms. A smile graces his lips at the thought, his feet dragging himself up and over to the walkway, pressing the button and stumbling down on wobbling feet. The snow is no longer in front of him, replaced with a patch of green. A garden, your garden, the one you both had always dreamt of. He breathes in the air and lets his eyes close as he feels the all too familiar feeling of your hand on his shoulder. He steps down the ramp and his feet sink, the crunch of his body hitting the snow falling on vacant ears.

 He was forgiven.

[infinite-orangepeel]

✨steddie ficlet: switchy energy, eddie tops then steve does, boys in love and filthy about it, face slapping, choking, religious imagery, daddy kink, breeding kink, pet play, brief reference to somnophilia, dacryphilia

eddie munson fucks like he’s reconciling with tragedy, has something septic and lethal clawing it’s way out of his ribs, and needs to beat the odds before doomsday arrives.

his touch is quick. hot. fervent and skimming—reading between the lines so he can drag steve straight to the end with him.

there is no sanctity about the beginning or middle. everything made there is a blur of sticky heat and noise. slicking off their writhing bodies like midsummer rain.

hipbones jagged. ink infecting every available inch of his skin. eddie’s thrusts are punishing. his moans knock the wind from steve’s lungs.

there is a rapid pulse, brief reprise, and the desperate need to be the concrete vessel for each other’s pain and pleasure.

slaps followed by a dirty kiss. gnawing lips. sucking marrow. red everywhere in the dim light of the room.

they dig their hearts out to present as gifts. small thanks for a lifetime of whatever this is. filthy. lovely. reciprocal confessions kept behind teeth.

they touch each other and the world is remade.

“daddy’s little toy,” eddie growls into steve’s ear; biting, licking, choking, and bruising as he grinds impossibly deeper into a place no one else has ever been, “gonna fuck you so dumb you forget your own name, baby. gonna fuck you so dumb, you only remember mine.”

it’s ravenous. starvation. pulling hair. salted tears. lighting matches. naked truth and a reckless fire that burns from within. annihilates everything in its path.

hand in hand; they break flesh only to repair it under the influence of divine creation.

body to body.

face to face.

heart to heart.

violet stains across their skin. graciously erasing the damages done by those who were too afraid to love them back.

“i love you. i’d kill for you.”

steve’s voice bubbles up to the surface like cheap jewelry tossed into the river at the conclusion of a tired romance.

“there’s a monster in you, isn’t there, baby boy?”

“yes,” steve utters like a devestatimg hymn, “and there’s one in you. in your heart. next to mine. vicious and beautiful.”

eddie’s strong. dominant. hands locked into place on steve’s slender waist like it’s life or death or something greater. beyond him. beyond them. hold tight or die trying.

“i love you and your violent teeth. i love you and your bitchy attitude—all the terrible extremes you’re capable of,” eddie’s breath hitches, but his hands never falter as he fucks him harder, “slap me hard, baby boy—fuck—i’m yours. make it so no one else ever wonders if they can have me.”

“they can’t,” steve whimpers brokenly as he slaps eddie across the face with the utmost adoration, “i’d ruin anyone who tried—fuck—you feel so good, daddy.”

when they switch positions, it’s steve’s knees failing to uphold their promise. collapsing face down into sweat, musk, the stained pillowcase, and abundant sensation.

trembling. shaking. pathetic.

drifting off into lust and want and worship.

babbling ‘more,’ ‘harder,’ ‘faster,’ ‘please, sir;’ like those are the only words he knows.

but, no matter how low he gets, no matter how far he slips—steve will not break.

eddie won’t let him.

eddie will sink his own ship, decimate the grounds, throw himself overboard, before he ever lets steve fade to black.

it’s a cruel love.

damned. perfect. edging sin and purity at the same time.

taking them to the brink and yanking the chain back at the final moment.

letting everything oxidize for longer than is ever necessary. torture. agony. young love.

poetry in the making.

“dumb puppy,” eddie berates, grazing a soothing hand over steve’s reddened ass—spanked ruthlessly by the man he loves, “rutt against the bed—rub yourself raw. that’s it—good boy. perfect boy. best boy for daddy. like you dirty. like you messy. so pretty.”

eddie pours salt into steve’s wounds, laughs giddily at his groans, licks them clean. starts again. pretends.

kisses scars and smirks as he bites down on the constellations covering steve’s back.

breaking apart the universe in his mouth like a confectionary gobstopper. shattered into shrapnel. slack at the tease of thick fingers wrapping around his throat.

nothing will ever be the same and he likes it that way.

“daddy, ‘s so good—wanna be your slut forever. would let you use me in my sleep—trust you—love you—need you—“

steve sobs into damp sheets. fucks his ass back onto eddie’s cock. tastes heat and pennies and holy worship on his lolling tongue.

brave boy takes whatever’s given to him. a beating, fist in his ass, teeth to his jugular, cock spurting load after load into his puffy hole. accepts it all with thanks and gratitude and brown eyes as dark and muse-worthy as the midnight sky.

“cumming inside you, pup. gonna fill you until your tummy’s fat and pregnant. gonna make it take this time. promise.”

eddie links their pinkies next to steve’s head on the mattress—the old thing creaks. smacks into the wall. calls out to neighbors and friends and pedestrians that this is where love is being born and made.

raw. wet. obscene and borderline criminal if you were to walk in at precisely the wrong moment.

make no mistake.

this is heaven. this is where they belong.

paradisium. the end all be all. nothing compares. rose colored glasses stay on for the show and ever after. they are blind to any other possibility. bravely human in the midst of something distinctly wild.

“i’m a mommy,” steve laughs deliriously when eddie cums with a roaring moan and a chorus of sweet declarations to his boy, “i’m a mommy. mommy. mommy. gonna get all round so quick—everyone’s gonna know. i’m gonna be beautiful.”

when steve cums it’s quieter. tangled up in innocent delusion and blushing fantasy—he sees stars in the familiar trap of eddie’s fist. stroking. bleating. aching as his balls tighten up and his head feels featherlight as if full of gossamer fabric.

release is near silent. choked out. eddie laps at his stomach in the aftermath. dips the tip of his tongue in his bellybutton. sparks tears of joy and sighs into his neck where he nuzzles and praises the love of his life for every good deed he’s ever done.

and the bad ones, too.

in the bath.

later.

they share dreams. touch for a second time. slow and easy. fingers caressing tender spots and pushing love into each other where it’s needed.

steve with his legs spread wide. eddie moving up and down with a gentle rhythm. rocking his hips to the beat of steve harrington’s golden heart. spit. bubbles. cum. water that finally runs cold.

“i wish i could live inside you,” eddie whispers when it’s over.

“you already do.”

thank you for reading !! please feel free to live feedback, pop into my inbox with your thoughts, or comment here (it always brightens my day to read through 💛)

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[deejadabbles]

hi deeja! song for writing prompt: somebody else by the 1975!!

Send me a song and I'll write something for it's ~vibe~

My brain heard those first lyrics and went "Oh, pain and heart ache? Guess I'm going to put Echo through torture :) :) :)" Thank you for this, I think I actually needed to dive into some angst ;w;

Warnings for: just general heartbreak, past relationships, mentions of physical and emotional torture and explorations of trauma (takes place right after Echo's rescue), and no happy resolutions

Echo's head was still spinning.

After the harrowing escape from Skako Minor, his body was depleted, aching in a bone-deep emptiness he couldn't explain. His mind, his soul, felt like they were out of his body, hovering in empty space.

Hovering in that endless void of numbers and calculations.

"No, stop, don't go there. You're safe- you're out! Rex came back for you, Rex saved you! Everything was going to be okay."

That's the thought Echo forced into his mind. And it helped that Kix was there, by his side. The medic was a godsend. He hadn't needed to say anything, about the droids, about how feeling their cold metal on his skin made him want to scream and throw up and cry and shut down all the same time. Echo didn't need to explain, Kix had sent them out of the med bay immediately and it was only warm, human hands that examined him, that cared for him.

Even still, as he lay on the hospital bunk, he couldn't help but yearn for a certain pair of careful hands. Of loving hands. Hands that always knew how to soothe him.

"Kix," his voice barely sounded like his own, raw and sore, "I need a comm link."

The medic, who had been looking at his vitals like a hawk, met his eyes, "What's that?"

"I need to contact her, need to tell her I'm okay." 'Need to hear her voice, need to tell her I love her'

Something in the way Kix's face slid into something somber put him on high alert, like sensing a hidden enemy. Echo's body tensed as he watched Kix set his data pad aside. The look in the medic's eyes, the way he stepped towards Echo, it was like he was scared of spooking an injured tooka.

"I...don't think that's a good idea, vod."

"Why?" he didn't mean for it to come out like a growl, but there were a thousand different thoughts running through his head now. Were you okay? Was there some reason Kix didn't trust him to contact you? Was-

"Echo." Kix's tone was firm, but not unkind, and maker, the sadness and pity in his eyes made Echo want to scream. "Brother, you were gone for a long time."

'No.'

"We- everyone thought you were dead...."

'No!'

"...She thought you were dead, for a long time."

Ringing filled his ears, drowning out whatever Kix said next. His soul felt like it was drifting again, mind fading to black as realization bombarded him all at once.

Of course you had moved on. Why wouldn't you? Why would you hold on to a ghost? To a corpse?

Why would Echo be allowed any shred of his old life?

It was just another loss. Another thing they had taken from him. Another part of him that was sawed open and ripped from his person, like his limbs, his mind, his humanity.

After all this, how could he have hoped that he could still have you?

~*~

The Bad Batch was rarely on Coruscant, according to Hunter, but their ship was in need of repairs and here they were.

When Echo had mentioned a few adventures he and the 501st had at 79s, the others insisted they show him this spot, eager to unwind during their rare shore leave.

Echo was already a few drinks in when Crosshair goaded him into being the one to get their next round. "If that scomp limb doesn't get the barkeeps attention nothing will," he had said, eyeing the extremely crowded bar. Echo wanted to say Wrecker was sure to get more attention, but decided he'd take the chance to stretch his legs.

He was just in the middle of waving someone down when he saw it.

Echo would recognize that jacket anywhere, it was one of your favorite things in the world, your statement piece, and so distinctly you.

You.

You were on other side of the bar, and he felt like an idiot. How could he not think he'd run into you here? How could he have agreed to come when he knew this was your go to nightly spot?

How could he risk seeing you with him.

You were smiling, laughing at something he whispered into your ear, his arm wrapped around you warmly. You were smiling and laughing in the way Echo used to make you smile and laugh.

His body felt too tight all of the sudden, warm and sweaty and shaky, and before he knew it, Echo was bursting out the door, his body moving- running of its own accord.

Echo hadn't been aware enough to realize that you had spotted him too, not until he stopped in his tracks at the sound of your angelic voice.

Again he was moving as if someone else was controlling his body as he turned. There you were, backlit by the neon lights of the city, eyes wide, fist clenched over your heart, and your whole body was shaking.

You looked just as perfect as he remembered. More so, even.

"Echo," emotion broke the name in half when you said it, and Echo felt his body come alive. "Echo, is that really you?"

This was wrong, this was all wrong.

You were out of his reach, out of his life, gone. You were the past he couldn't wallow in. You were the love and touch and body he wasn't allowed to want. Your love and touch and body were somebody else's now.

And it wasn't fair of Echo to ruin that for you, or for that somebody else.

As much as it pained him, if you showed any signs that your heart was still his, Echo would break it, right here.

That's all he could do, for your sake, for his, and for that somebody else.

[icybluepenguin]

Nothing a Good Bonfire Can't Fix

Summary: Astarion has a nightmare and you calm him down

Astarion/GN reader, established relationship, sometime after Act 3, hurt/comfort, not a serious fic, probably a stupid idea

Rated T for language

Note: I have had an absolutely awful day so here's some dumb silly Astarion ficlet. It starts off dramatic but quickly takes a turn to the ridiculous. I know elves don't sleep but this is more fun *shrug*

--

“No, no… !” Astarion moans in his sleep, head twisting from side to side.  “I'm sorry, please don't-” 

You put your hand on his cheek, “Astarion.”  You don't want to jar him too suddenly- you'd ended up on your back with a knife at your throat one too many times to make that mistake again– so you increase your volume slowly.  “Astarion.” 

His eyes fly open with a broken gasp. He clutches your wrist in both his hands hard enough to bruise, staring at you like he can't believe you're there.  “I broke his rules,” he nearly sobs, eyes glued to the marks of his fangs in your neck, evidence of his guilt.

You run your fingers through his hair, gentle and soothing.  “It was a dream, love.”

“No, no, I heard him.  I felt his compulsion.  I have to-” 

Your heart aches for him, so scared and hopeless.  “That was a terrible dream.  You're safe.  I won't let anything happen to you.”  Your wrist hurts, his grip hasn't lightened at all.  “Come here.” You rearrange as best you can so his head is in your lap, letting him hold one hand while the other continues stroking his hair. 

He keeps trying to look around the room, as if Cazador could emerge at any second.  You carefully tilt his chin so he's looking at you.  

“Do you remember what happened to Cazador?”  Sometimes he doesn't, if the nightmares were particularly bad. 

He inhales, body and breath shaking.  “I stabbed him.”  He’s trying to calm himself but his voice is hollow, like he doesn't truly believe he did it. 

“Mm-hm.  Many times.  And then what happened?” 

His eyes clear a little, losing some of the haunted fear as you go through what has become a ritual call-and-response when he has nightmares.  “You said you'd ‘never wished to see a motherfucker burn’ more than him.  So Karlach went back the next day and dragged out his body.”  

You smile down at him in encouragement.  “That's right.  And then…?”

“You sat him out in the sun, but nothing happened because he was dead, not a vampire any longer.”

You remember how Cazador's corpse, slashed with the dozens of stab wounds Astarion had put in him, had slumped on the ground in a most satisfying way.  You may have kicked him a few times.  And stomped on him.  When no one was looking. 

“Wyll and Lae'zel built a bonfire.  And we burned the corpse.”

“You left out my favorite part,” you say, tweaking the tip of his ear. 

A small smile breaks on Astarion's face. “You put the clown make-up on him.  And then Karlach threw him on the fire and his stupid clown face went up in flames.”

“So, can that ash-clown hurt you any more?” 

“No,” he laughs, tension finally easing from his body as he pictured how utterly fucking stupid Cazador had looked in the fire.  How utterly dead he was with no way to be revived or resurrected to torture him again.  “You made sure of that.”  He pulls your hand up to his mouth to kiss your palm.

“I'd like to do it to him again,” you mutter, thinking that being stabbed to death and then burned was too good for that bastard. 

“What was that?” 

You stroke his ear, smiling.  “I will burn everything and everyone who even thinks about bothering you to the ground and then I'll feed their ashes to a giant squid.”

He closes his eyes.  “I do love your flair for the dramatic.”

“Wait, I'm not done. Then I'll charter a pirate ship and catch the giant squid, dragging it up on land and-”

You are still explaining how you'd serve your special revenge calamari up and down the Sword Coast when he falls back asleep, unafraid.

-

Master Post

[bobathirstaccount]

Only Love (Can Hurt Like This)

Boba x fem!reader, smut/some fluff

TW(?) - parenthood mentioned

***

He tried not to let them stay. It felt more like he was keeping them, keeping them away from the galaxy and their potential. But they refused to leave. They even refused to leave his bed at night. There was room for them to have their own sleeping spaces, but they persisted to squeeze into bed with him. He tried to think of them as strangers he was helping. But they burrowed their way into his heart, just as they nightly burrowed into the sheets and blankets of his bed.

The girl slept in the middle most nights. He was glad of that; any other combination led to direct contact with you all night. It was a torturous situation. He wanted to be the Safe Person for both of you, but he was attracted to you. The way that you held him whenever you slept next to each other didn’t help. You would curl your arm around his waist, and rest your cheek on his upper arm. Sometimes you would throw a leg over him.

The girl would also wrap herself around him, but being young she gave him fatherly feelings rather than… titillating feelings… he shuddered, trying to dismiss how his chest had started to hurt when he was near you.

He had not even managed to get you two to go into town. No offering of shopping, eating better food, or driving the speeder would get either of you to budge. You just waited at the ship for him to return with things he hoped you would like. He had become almost anxious about shopping. He wanted to get you things you would enjoy the most. Sometimes it was hard to tell. There were too many Womanly Things to choose from. The girl was equally as difficult. He didn’t want to stereotype her. A makeup palette or an age appropriate blaster? Both? He had decided both, yes, both.

Laying in bed, pressed between the two of you, he sighed gently. It was one of those nights. Your steady breathing fanned across his skin as you slept peacefully. The girl fidgeted. She was awake too. He turned his head slightly towards her, and said very quietly, “Can’t sleep either?”

“No,” she whispered back.

“Why not?”

“What if you meet someone at town you like better than Mommy and me?”

Boba’s mouth opened in shock in the darkened bedroom. Never before had the girl referred to you as Mommy. She had always just used your name. His mind spun. Righting it for her sake, he asked a startled, “Huh?”

She started to cry silently. He squeezed his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. “Impossible,” he said simply.

She didn’t seem soothed. “What if you do though?” She asked slightly louder, sniffling.

He rubbed her upper arm. “No, you are impossible to replace.” He kissed the top of her head again.

“What about Mommy?” Boba’s jaw tightened at the question. He was becoming seriously frustrated, emotionally and sexually. Being so near you was sometimes stifling. Would he turn an offer of companionship from someone else down? Feeling guilty, he mumbled, “No one can replace her either.” The girl sniffled. “Daddy, do you love Mommy?”

He sputtered. She had never called him that before. Then there was the question she had asked. “Daddy, do you love me?” She started sobbing loudly. You woke up, sitting up instantly. “Nightmare?” You mumbled to Boba as you comfortingly reached towards the girl. She leapt up and ran into the bathroom. You could hear muffled crying. Boba sat up and gently took you in his arms. He was full of soft thoughts. You leaned your head on his shoulder. “No,” he finally said. “We were talking and she started asking… tough questions.”

“Like what?” He felt your eyelashes flutter against his skin as you asked the dreaded question. Now he had to explain. “Like…” he trailed off, at a loss. You snuggled into him and waited. Finally he managed, “She’s calling us Mommy and Daddy. And asking… if I love… her.” He didn’t have the courage to mention she had also asked about you.

You sighed, “Aren’t we? Her parents, I mean. Her biological parents are the ones that sold her, and we’re the ones taking care of her now.” His heart beat faster. This was all true.

After a moment, you asked softly, “Don’t you know we both want to be yours? … your kid and… your woman?”

He made a startled noise. You held Boba more tightly.

“My… my woman?” His mouth was dry.

“We sleep in here so you know who your family is.” You kissed his chest. “We’re both yours… if you want us.”

Boba felt like he might have a heart attack. Did he dare tell you the truth? You tightened you embrace, sighing sleepily.

“You really… want me?” His heart beat wildly as he asked quietly.

You nodded, “We both love you, you know.”

He looked down at you in the darkness. You tilted your head up towards his face. After a second of stillness, you moved forward and kissed his lips very lightly. He gasped, his fingers digging into your skin as he returned the kiss. It deepened slowly.

You broke the kiss gently to ask, “You do know we love you? That I love you?”

“Mmm but…” he mumbled noncommittally.

You pulled your sleep shirt over your head and pushed him down into the mattress. He allowed it, shocked. He could just make out the silhouette of your curves in the night. Straddling him, you leaned down to kiss up his throat to his mouth. Your tits came into contact with his chest. He moaned loudly into your mouth as his hands went to your hips. He thrust upwards while pulling them down, the tip of his already hard cock nestling into the space between your legs. Continuing to moan, he desperately ground himself into you through your clothing.

You kissed from his open mouth to his ear, “I’m tired of waiting. Can’t tonight be the night?”

“For.. mm.. what?” He was straining against you, holding himself back.

“Don’t you want me?”

He grunted something unintelligible, pulling you against himself, his strong hands holding you firmly. His body was tense; about to snap. “I want you… I want you to be mine,” you kissed his neck.

Boba snarled, flipping over so that you were underneath him. Grunting, he tore your panties off and grabbed your inner thighs. Pulling them apart, he undid his pants hastily. You watched, your pussy getting wetter at the image of his cock coming out of his clothing. You arched your back, anticipating. He appeared over you, his cock rubbing into your folds. Covering your mouth with his, he roughly jerked his hips, rubbing deeper into you. Once he found your entrance, he grunted and plunged in, making you keen. His cock stretched your swollen pussy as he began to fuck into you. Grunting and making desperate noises, Boba buried his face in your neck and held you in a tight embrace.

His strokes were sloppy and hard; you could tell he was desperate for attention. Spreading your legs wider, you asked, “Is this as hard as you can fuck?” You scratched your nails down his back. He groaned, hips jerking into you greedily. “Don’t wanna… hurt you,” he ground out between thrusts. Your pussy jumped at this words, “Baby you could never.” Grunting, he grabbed your neck and bit your throat hard. His cock slammed into your drenched cunt, making it tighten and grow hotter. Moaning, you moved your hips rhythmically with his hard strokes, your skin tingling and your pussy tight around his shaft. Panting into your neck, he moaned, “Where can I cum?”

“I wanna feel it dripping out of me later,” you cooed, wrapping your legs around his hips. Grunting desperately, Boba held you by the back of your neck. His other drug down your body, stopping at your waist. Kissing you harshly, he fucked you hard and fast, the bed making a slightly rhythmic squeak. Pounding into you, he made you squeak when he changed his angle slightly. The fire in your pussy grew into a volcano, about erupt. You squirmed under him, mumbling his name to him as your vision blurred around the edges and your head fell back. Your pussy contracted around him, making his hips stutter. “Your pussy..s.. so good..” he ground out as you came on him. You barely heard; you were far away in bliss. Then you came back into your body as Boba’s hard rhythm broke. He stilled deep in you, moaning your name softly as his cock jerked cum into you.

His arms slowly wrapped around you as he rolled onto his back. He pulled you with him so that you were laying on top of him, face pressed into the space between his shoulder and neck. You listened to his heartbeat return to normal. He swallowed. Finally, he murmured, “I… I love you. You and… our girl.”

You smiled into his skin before raising your head to kiss him. He put a hand on the back of your head as you rested it on his broad chest. Suddenly the bathroom door opened. Boba quickly pulled a blanket over your bodies as his girl timidly came to the edge of bed. You reached out to her, “Come back to sleep.”

She stood her ground, sniffling. Boba reached to her, “Come to bed, love.”

She looked at Boba, eyes big and tear stained. Boba tried again, “Come to sleep with Mommy and Daddy.” She brightened instantly as you echoed his words. Clambering back into bed, she crawled over the two of you and curled up, looking at you both with big eyes again.

“Go to sleep, baby,” you cooed at her, a gentle hand brushing against her cheek. Her eyes closed, heavy. You hummed to her until she started breathing evenly. Then you returned you head to Boba’s chest. The thud of his heartbeat quieted your mind and you fell asleep. Boba laid awake under you, enjoying the weight of your body on top of him. He hoped this would be the new sleeping configuration. Running a hand down your back, he settled in to sleep. This time he was untroubled.

Part II

[nidaiime]

@shisui-uchiha-anon sent:

“ well. for whatever it’s worth, it’s been a pleasure fighting alongside you. ”

        WHY DID IT SOUND LIKE GOODBYE? Tobirama chanced a quick glance at the Uchiha standing beside him, trying to decipher his feelings through his chakra. It was a bit difficult despite being the strongest sensor on land, but his own emotions were going haywire. Because of the fighting, and because of his warring feelings. 

        Tobirama let a soft sound past his lips as they curled slightly upwards in a small smile. “You are saying it like I am dying,” Tobirama said, a subtle joke. “We have won, Shisui.” Then he breathed out, long and heavy, pouring all his reservations into that one breath.

        Tobirama turned around to face Shisui fully, his eyes open and honest. “We have been through much,” he muttered, removing the happuri from his head to hold it tightly in one hand. “You have been through much and yet stayed by my side, even though I do not deserve it.” Smoothing out his hair with one hand, he closed his eyes, and repeated, “I do not deserve it at all.”

[meetinginsamarra]

Whumptober Day 23 "shadows"

“I also don’t believe that you deserved whatever has been done to you in Serbia.” John carried on, “Also you have not been stupid but likely got caught because you have been worn out from fighting all on your own for such a long time. It must have cost all the strength you had left to survive torture.”

Sherlock swallowed. “These five days have been horrible. I nearly died and lost my mind with all the pain they inflicted,” he shuddered, “but you saved me.”

“Me? How so?”

“I never imagined that I would miss you so much. So, I imagined you were there. Walking beside me. Watching over me. I talked to you all the time. You gave me advice, ordered me to eat and take better care of myself.

Back in this Serbian cell you stood there in the shadows and this time, you talked to me. You gave me something to focus on, recounting old cases just like you did in your blog. Listening to you was soothing and helped me cope the pain of the whiplashes.”

Sherlock’s eyes began glistening with unshed tears.

“You reminded me why I did all this. Why it was worth many wounds if only I could return. Getting back home became my sole drive to carry on. Home to 221b, to Mrs Hudson and Lestrade’s cases, but most of all, it’s always been you, John. Back to you.”

Sherlock’s vision had blurred so he blinked rapidly in order to get rid of the distracting fluid. A single tear shook free and rolled down.

John watched distractedly how it was diverted by the cheekbone that stood out razor-sharp in Sherlock’s emaciated face and then dropped onto the sheet. He stared at the wet spot on the fabric, pondering this clear evidence of Sherlock’s dedication and determination to do whatever had been necessary to ensure John’s saftey.

I never knew about the depth of loyalty and love that lay behind his cold mask. All for me. And I punched him in return.

John’s heart stumbled and his stomach cramped.

—

find the fic on AO3 HERE

---

Please tell me if anybody wants to get tagged or untagged (just say it, I won’t get mad).

@helloliriels @calaisreno @7-percent @lisbeth-kk @peageetibbs @gaylilsherlock @totallysilvergirl @alexisnoir @blogstandbygo @jobooksncoffee @missdeliadili @kabubsmagga @mary-johnlocked @vaticancameos221 @kestrelwing64 @sabsi221b @jelly-of-many-ships

[itsinmydunah]

Breathless by Your Hand

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Xavier Thorpe

Summary: Wednesday seems to know how to read what Xavier wants even if he hasn't really admitted it fully to himself yet. 

-

Teenagers trying things out to favorable results.

Link to fic on ao3 - tags are found there for specifics

Short A/N: If you don't like this ship, that's fine! Please scroll by. Let's be kind to each other.

-----------

They’re tucked away in the library in a corner during a time of day when everyone is otherwise preoccupied. Wednesday is seated on a rung of a ladder that’s affixed to a wall of bookcases. She’s so much closer to his height like this and it's easier for them to get lost in each other without developing a crick in their necks. 

When they part for air, Xavier can’t help but just stare at her. Her lips are wet and bruised, her eyes hot, and bangs a bit ruffled. She looks affected, and he loves that - loves to see that being with him makes her feel. 

Wednesday seems to sense his gaze and quirks a brow. Her hand that had been clutching at his sweater traverses to his neck. Her nails graze his skin and nip at his Adam’s apple; he shivers in response. Her eyes glint with curiosity, fingers flexing until she’s gently clasped his throat. 

Xavier swallows thickly. There’s the slightest uptick at the corner of her mouth. She — how did she somehow know? 

“More,” he whispers. Her small fingers tighten infinitesimally, gauging him. The straining in his pants would be evident if she looked down. Even without breaking eye contact she still seems to read it on his face. Her grasp becomes just a bit more secure and he can’t help how his eyelids flutter. It’s good - to feel her exert power over him like this. 

“You know, I’m very familiar with human anatomy from all my readings and years of practicing various torture methods.”

It’s a very confident statement. 

“I know exactly where to press to make you pass out, to stop blood flow to your brain.”

The moan that tears from his throat should embarrass him. However, he’s too busy trying not to come within the next two seconds to care about the noises he’s making. His face is hot and he can’t help but close his eyes to avoid her exacting gaze. 

“Oh, you like that.” Wednesday sounds almost delighted, and he manages to open his heavily-lidded eyes to look at her. That wicked almost-smile is more apparent. She leans in closer to him, breath fanning over his face while her thumb gently strokes his carotid. “I like that you like that,” she discloses. She draws him to her by her grip on his neck, biting his bottom lip before soothing it with her tongue. Her kisses are hard and he feels lightheaded and feverish all over.

“Oh, god,” he whispers against her lips, voice tight. 

“Would you enjoy it if my fingers left marks?” She asks when she pulls back.

“Yes,” he admits. His heart races at the thought of having a necklace of faint bruises from her small fingers. 

“That would require more force than this.” 

It’s a statement. 

It’s a warning. 

Xavier blinks, swallows, and tries so hard to regroup but he just can’t. Not with her hand on him like this and her eyes so hot and sure and composed and dangerous. 

“I want it.”

Wednesday’s legs shift to frame his hips and he moves closer to her eagerly. The warmth of her body envelops him and he feels like an exposed live wire. His spine in a line of excite fire and he swears he’s never been so hard in his life. 

The pressure on his windpipe increases and her other hand trails down his chest to cup his straining erection. He bucks so hard into her that the ladder she’s perched on rattles. Wednesday continues to stroke him through his pants and he feels so close to coming that a whine vibrates in his chest. 

The minute tightening of her firm clench and the movement of her fingers and short nails digging into his neck while she applies that sweet pressure finally does him in. He’s groaning out in a high, strained voice, bucking into her and shuddering from how good it feels. 

The blood rush that comes when she releases all pressure on his throat has his eyes rolling back into his head. Xavier cowers forward into her form, tucking his face into her neck. Her hands move to stroke his back in a shockingly tender gesture, welcoming him in as fine shivers continue to wrack his frame. His breathing is heavy as he noses at her soft skin and plants kisses wherever he can. He feels sated and grateful and seen.

When he’s finally more coherent, Xavier pulls back to look at her. Wednesday's clothes are ruffled from his desperation to be close to her. She doesn’t appear angered by this. 

“Well, you’ll have the marks you wanted,” she says, reaching to brush her fingertips over his neck. Her eyes glint and she seems almost pleased?

Xavier embarrassedly shifts on his feet. He just came in his pants in the library after being choked and fondled by his itsy-bitsy girlfriend. 

Jesus, if past him could see him now… 

“Don’t bother feeling ashamed. Erotic asphyxiation is a fairly common kink from my understanding.” 

He laughs and ducks his head. “God, Wednesday.” He’s constantly mystified by her. “I, uh, liked that a lot.” He closes his eyes for a moment at his own idiocy - no shit he liked it. The evidence of how much he’d enjoyed it was pretty obvious. “What I mean is ‘thank you’ for not being… weirded out by it. I didn’t even know that I would…” He’d had an inkling before that a hand on his throat would do it for him, but his own reaction had been more than he could’ve anticipated. 

“There is little that would ‘weird me out,’ as you put it.” Wednesday blinks. “I’ll admit to enjoying your desperation.”

Xavier feels his face heat up at her words. He can’t deny it. “I’m always desperate for you,” he admits lowly, face still dipped. In a moment of bravery, he looks up and sees that she’s not not affected by his statement. 

Wednesday tilts her head, “I know.” She doesn’t say anything further, but she does help him straighten his coat over the obvious wet spot on his pants when they begin shuffling to leave. 

When they get to his room, she stands on her tiptoes to give him a kiss, eyes lingering on his neck before she departs. “Enjoy your marks.” Xavier feels dazed and lucky and excited for what’s to come.

[johannestevans]

Queer Pub Quiz imminent!

Good evening, good evening!

Get this update directly to your inbox.

First of all, I linked my Zazzle last week - for reasons I have not been able to puzzle out at all, Zazzle has randomly deleted a lot of the designs and is generally just hard to use.

I have swapped over to using TeePublic instead! TeePublic is obviously a US-based site and the prices for shipping outside of the US are super expensive, but I have ordered a badge maker and I'm hoping to get into making button badges myself at home, so I should be able to sell them and copies of Heart of Stone at the next conventions I do!

I'm not sure that I'll be able to make it to FantasyCon in September, but I will definitely be at BristolCon, as I am every year.

Coming up this week on Wednesday the 24th of May is the Queer Pub Quiz Fundraiser for Galway Community Pride, and if the badge maker is here in time I'm hoping to have some badges available to buy there, with all the proceeds from them going to Pride too!

I'll be running and MCing this event, which will be €5 per person - as well as the pub quiz, which will have a bunch of prizes, there'll also be raffle tickets for sale. I've donated several signed copies of Heart of Stone as prizes, and Bob Henigan and Johnny Graham at Ireland's Smallest Comedy Club have put forward two free tickets to one of their shows. A bunch of other local businesses here in Galway have also contributed prizes, so there'll be a wide array on offer!

For media recs this week, here's a little mix:

Level Clear! by Tom Cardy - I fucking love Tom Cardy, and this video is sooo fucking good. It's good Super Mario commentary, it's funny, it's weirdly inspiring, and in general is just a real fucking delight.

My Fair Lady (1964, dir. George Cukor) - Some people might have told you this movie is a romance, and they lied to you! It's an extremely funny and really wild dark comedy about this young woman getting effectively kidnapped and tortured by some posh gay dudes, and it's really funny. I livetweeted it here.

Over The Moon (2020, dir. Glen Keane) - This movie was just fucking beautiful. It was a really gorgeous piece, super poignant, about the process of grieving, about family, about community. I loved this movie a lot, and the songs are good too!

I'm also keeping up with Yellowjackets, and as I mentioned last week, I'm also replaying Xenoblade Chronicles, both of which I do recommend, and both of which actually play with themes of bodily autonomy, cannibalism, and subsuming the self for the greater good.

New Works Published

Fantasy/Romance Short: Hard Work

A wizard starts up a relationship with the witch next-door.

4k, rated M, M/M. Nice and light-hearted, with a bit of humour and banter alongside the magical setting. 

Read on Medium / / Read on Patreon

Romance Short: Vital Maintenance

A hotel receptionist is wooed by their new head of maintenance.

2.5k, M/M, rated T, just some flirtation and banter in a hotel setting! Light humour and romance. Adapted from a TweetFic.

Read on Medium / / Read on Patreon

Fiction Mini-Short: Anxious Weight

A gentleman struggles with anxiety at a party. 

Just a little piece! 800w, M/M, rated T, an anxious gentleman soothed by his valet. 

Read on Medium / / Read on Patreon

[ghosttownwherenoonegoes]

Merry Christmas, Taylor!!!🎅❄️🎄💖

So within this gift package is a bit of a mixed bag! While coming up with ideas for you, I realised how many things you've sent me over the last few weeks and months which I haven't replied to or written for you yet, which is horrifying considering how many things I send to you which get a quick response. So, with that in mind, I pulled together some of the requests you've sent me, as well as sifted through our DMs making notes of things you've mentioned on the offhand, and I've put together this for you! @sparks363

The overall word count for this gift package is: 5, 099

Before I get onto the actual writing, though, a little handwritten letter from me:

Blurbs I came up with based on things you've told me

Hands to hold // words: 1, 018.

Summary: your boobs are giving you a backache. Eddie comes up with an unusual way to support you.

As with any day, by the time your responsibilities were done and you were finally on the way home, your back hurt.

The intense ache stretched in the space between your shoulderblades and extended down to your mid back; it was almost impossible to soothe it by moving around or stretching. It was persistent and almost stabbing if you let yourself focus on the discomfort, which was sometimes unavoidable. You knew from very reluctant experience that only the removal of the modern torture device known as a bra would alleviate the chronic back ache, but for that, you had to get home first.

Home.

Eddie.

The two words crossed your mind almost at the same time, for Eddie and the thought of being somewhere familiar and safe, were practically synonymous. Home is where the heart is, as the saying went, and so you had known ever since you had met him that Eddie was your home. Thoughts of him kept you company for the entire time you were on public transportation to get yourself home, your back aching so badly that it almost drowned out all coherency of your thoughts of your beloved Eddie, which were stored inside yourself safely, where none and nothing could take them away from you.

Your trip home seemed to take forever and yet no time at all, and the back ache was now beginning to drip down your spine, your every step almost an effort as you reached the end of the street and turned onto Forest Hills Trailer Park. Your feet began to scuff along the ground as you approached the Munson trailer - home - and your feet slapped against the steps before you reached the door. It was always left open for you, with you and Uncle Wayne being like ships in the night on the days when he had a graveyard shift.

Shedding your outside layers at the door, shoes on the wooden storage unit and coat on the rack, the sounds of Eddie's Sweetheart repeating chords of Metallica's latest song rang out to greet you; he was still trying to learn Master of Puppets by ear and by heart. His determination and passion for his hobbies was always so heartwarming and inspiring. He would be occupied in there for a while, his inner sanctuary from the cruel world outside the walls of the trailer, so you got yourself in the shower without greeting him. By the time you would be done, he would have noticed that you were home. But until then, you only thought of being able to take your bra off.

Fucking finally.

The ache still remained, though, even without your bra, and it would for a little while, so you could only try to reach back to massage where it was sore, contorting your spine this way and that in an attempt to alleviate the aching as you sorted out some dinner for yourself and Eddie. Acts of services was one of your love languages and being able to make sure that Eddie was fed, knowing he had only eaten a bag of pretzels for lunch, made you feel good and also kept Eddie from getting cranky due to hunger.

With dinner made, you let yourself into Eddie's bedroom, two plates in hand (the loose door handle meant that you could open the door with your elbow), and so attuned to you was he that Eddie, previously distracted but now watching you the same way a bird watches a worm in the early morning dewy grass, picked up on your discomfort easily.

"Is your back hurting again, sweetheart?"

You winced as you nodded, that ache not going anywhere. "The curse of having big boobs," you grinned, though you were serious.

Eddie knew it, too, so he only hummed around a smirk. There was a time and a place for a joke and this didn't feel like either of them. Instead, he said, "I could rub 'em better, if you wanted." Your pause gave Eddie pause and he squinted, trying to figure you out. "Wait, unless - would that actually help?"

You nodded. "Probably, babe. Can't do me any harm."

"Shit," Eddie's smirk was in full swing and he wolfed dinner down, hungrier than he realised and your food as delicious as always. "Okay!"

Nothing more was said about your sore back until you were at the kitchen sink doing the dishes; Uncle Wayne's portion was set out on a plate, covered with a note telling him what it was and how long to reheat it for, along with a message telling him that you loved and missed him but maybe you would be lucky enough to catch him in the morning.

Eddie came up behind you, his loud feet keeping you aware of where he was in the trailer, and with hands that somehow knew exactly where to land, he cupped your boobs in his hands with no hesitation. The cool tip of his nose nuzzled into your dark hair as warm and dry lips pressed along where your pulse picked up and thundered through your skin, as if your heart was being given wings borne from Eddie's unconditional and undying love for you. "I'm like a human bra, babe. Holding you up to give your poor back a break."

You smiled, a serene and tender expression, and pressed back into Eddie. With him holding you, his hands warm, his fingers gently cradling all of you effortlessly, the ache in your back was starting to fade, as was the soreness customary of wearing a bra for too long in one day. It was like he made everything better and you inhaled deeply, your whole body following the movement, and exhaled slowly. The day had washed away physically in the shower, mentally in Eddie's embace, and your heart and back found solace in the same. Eddie was the comfiest bra you had ever had, and if you had your way, he would always be supporting you just like this.

Luckily for you, Eddie would never turn down a chance to have his hands on you.

You passed!!! // words: 715.

Summary: you passed your learner's test!!! Eddie knew you could do it and so did Uncle Wayne🥺

You had been so nervous before and during your test; you had failed it before because of the way the government set up the learner's test with trick questions designed to make you fail, and though this wasn't something you had wanted to do, you knew that you needed to. You lived out in the middle of nowhere and your parents were insistent on you learning how to get yourself around in a car. It had to happen, whether you wanted it to or not.

Eddie was known to drive like an absolute maniac, and anyone other than you who had been in his passenger seat always came out of his van looking a bit unwell. Officers stopped even trying to give Eddie tickets because if they did, he would forever be paying them off and they were sick of seeing the Munson boy's name on paperwork. It was easier and less trouble to let Eddie be Eddie. He had never crashed or caused an accident, so what was the harm?

As such, he wasn't the best person to ask for advice on how to pass your learner's test, but Uncle Wayne had taught him, and the gentle man took it upon himself to help you, as well. In the week leading up to your re-sit of the test, Uncle Wayne would periodically throw you oddball questions; if you got used to answering questions on the fly, then you would have a higher chance of passing the test because you would be used to thinking on your feet.

Eddie, for his part, tried to drive a little more carefully and started to narrate what he was doing, in the hopes that you would pick up hints and tips here and there. Between the two Munsons and your own hard work when you weren't around them, you finally, finally, passed your learner's test! You hadn't felt you had been able to breathe for the entire duration of the test, but you had done your best and it had paid off!!!

You felt like you had been walking on clouds on the way home; disbelieving but so excited and proud of yourself, thinking of all the people you wanted to tell as soon as you got home to a phone. The Munsons were right at the top of that list and by the time you got to their trailer, you were practically vibrating with excitement.

"Hey, babe! Guess what!" Your hair, which was dark but had pieces of red in it just like Ozzy's, flew about your shoulders as you rushed to find Eddie. He was sat on the sofa with Uncle Wayne, each of them nursing a beer and watching some old horror film on the television.

"What, sweetheart?" Eddie and Uncle Wayne both had identical growing smiles on their faces. They already knew, based off of all the contextual clues, but they waited to hear you say it. They wanted to hear you say it.

"I passed!"

It turned out that the Munsons both smiled from the same corner of their mouths and it spread upwards at a similar rate as they both beamed at you.

"Knew you could do it, Taylor." Uncle Wayne chuckled, "Believe you me, you can do more than you think you can, and I didn't doubt you for a second." You looked at Uncle Wayne, tears in your dark eyes, just looking at him, smiling and unable to speak. He often did that to you, brought you to the point where tears ran dry, but he heard you even in your silence and right then was no exception as he smiled at you again, the expression softer this time. "You're welcome, kid."

Eddie had just barely waited for his beloved dad to say his piece before he began jumping up and down on the spot, grinning and spinning around, shouting and hollering. "My girl did it! I knew you could, baby! Most! Metal! Ever!" The last three words were punctuated by fist bumps, Eddie grinning, his eyes alight with pride and joy and all the adoration he felt for you right there for you to see.

It was overwhelming in the best way and you knew right there and then that you had found your forever home with the Munsons.

The brother I never had // bonus blurb!!! Steve & Taylor // words: 946.

(I've never written for Steve so I'm hoping this isn't total horseshit!)

Summary: You tell Steve he's the brother you never had.

You really loved Steve Harrington.

For so many reasons. He was smart, smarter than he or others gave him credit for, and you had always known that if it wasn't for Steve noticing details which no one else picked up on, if it wasn't for him putting concepts into words which only seemed to make sense to him (but were usually quite astute and on the nose), if it wasn't for him readily accepting things from the Upside Down as they happened, if it wasn't for him fighting tooth and nail for the kids, if it wasn't for Steve being Steve, then no one would have figured out what was really happening in Hawkins.

Not only that, but the strength and bravery it took to look at yourself and realise that you needed to work on some areas and other facets of yourself, and then make the choice to put in actual and consistent effort to address those changes, was incredible, and you couldn't be prouder of Steve.

He was amazing, and you loved him so much. He knew it, everyone did, but no one knew how; that he was the brother you had never had.

But today, it seemed like Steve needed to hear that he was important to someone, that he was important to you, and you resolve to tell him.

If anyone deserved to know that they were loved, it was Steve Harrington.

You knew Steve well enough to know that after he and Robin and the kids got out from the Starcourt Mall, that he would be returning alone to a cold, dark and empty house. No parents there to be parents. No one to look after him but everyone to look after. And he would handle himself alone just as he always did and always had. That was who Steve Harrington was.

Today, though, that wasn't okay with you.

Honestly, it wasn't okay with you any day, but especially today.

"Hey, Steve," you gently grabbed his arm and he turned to look at you, his face caked in old and fresh blood, his eye swollen, his body defeated and weary as the adrenaline wore off and the trauma began to set in, "Let me take care of you. Please?"

Steve's eyebrows shot up in disbelief but he nodded and so it was that you accompanied Steve to his parent's house, fully intent on spilling out your feelings and helping him to patch himself up.

You were a natural caregiver, you always had been, and so was Steve, so you could only imagine how strange it was for Steve to allow you to take care of him, to accept the love he so desperately wanted.

As you applied saline to Steve's bloodied eyebrow, which made him hiss through his teeth in an attempt to not show too much pain, you decided that it was a good idea to start talking. With you focused on your task, the words would come easier to you, and it would help to distract Steve from the pain he was feeling.

"M'really proud of you, Steve," your voice was quiet, your eyes soft, your hands as gentle as you could make them even when you had to apply force to remove the dried blood which clung to the minute hairs on his face. "You take such good care of people and they wouldn't have figured it out without you. You protect the kids and your friends but no one protects you..." There were tears in your eyes which you blinked away as you said, "I want to. I want to look after you. You're like..." You trailed off, suddenly shy to address the core of your love for Steve.

Emotionally intelligent was he, one of Steve's hands came up slowly, his movements slowed by shock, pain and exhaustion, his fingers trembling, as he gripped your wrist gently, stopping your movements. "What, Taylor?"

Steve looked a bit odd with a quarter of his face still caked in blood, but you pressed on. "You're like..." Your voice trailed off to practically no volume at all as your shyness climbed.

"Close your eyes." The sudden change in Steve's tone threw you for a loop, so your response was less than elegant.

"What?"

"Close your eyes," Steve repeated as he straightened up, suddenly sure of himself as the care-receiver became the giver for just a moment, "I always find it easier to talk about the serious stuff when no one's looking at me."

You blinked at him and two sets of brown eyes met as Steve nodded, so you did as he said, the alcohol wipe stationary on his cheek. You couldn't clean him up if you couldn't see what you were doing. "You're like... the brother I never had."

Your brother was an asshole and Steve had no siblings and he may as well have had no parents, either, so with these familial issues shared between you, both of you felt the true weight of your confession.

Steve muttered a soft, "oh. Oh, holy shit," and then his arms were around you, his body still shaking, his hair tickling your chin as he burrowed into you, as he said, "you're the sister I never had, too. You, Robin and Dustin are the only family I have." You didn't ask about his parents and he didn't ask about your brother. You both knew and understood the other's feelings on this, and that was always enough.

In his reciprocity, you heard a vow to keep you safe, to protect you as a brother, just as he did for the kids. Steve had no real blood family, but his found family were forever.

Some of your requests! (There's a few more in my inbox but I'll answer those regularly - I wanted to save some for a rainy day so there is more for you to look forward to rather than being hit with everything all at once!🌸)

Words: 1, 032.

Your anxiety wasn't just spiking, it was spiking, and both you and Eddie were waiting for it to peak. Sometimes, for all of the coping mechanisms and breathing techniques you had learned over the months you had been dating Eddie, you could only let the anxiety ride itself out.

It had been brewing for days, the tension in your jaw and shoulders and the ache in your chest. There were deadlines, appointments to keep, dinners to cook, showers to take, worries about your loved ones when they didn't respond to you for almost days at a time, there were ice storms and rearranged exams, hobbies to engage in... on and on and on did it go.

No chance for a break or for a reprieve, and you were about ready to shatter.

The weight of the world on your shoulders had made your head bow further and further towards the floor and you were about ready to follow the movement down to the ground, until the world had you on your knees. Despite your best efforts to let all the silly things which upset you across the days go so that you could actually focus on everything you had going on, that's exactly what happened.

Eddie found you on the messy but clean floor of his bedroom, fingers plucking at a t-shirt you had found half under his bed, legs crossed. You were looking at your French homework, a pencil held loosely in your hand as you worked on translating some complex sentences, but your eyes seemed to be looking through the words, your gaze faraway.

Your body was in the Munson trailer but your mind had gone somewhere Eddie was determined to follow. He knew the kinds of thoughts which ran through your head, he understood better than most how exhausting it was to have to fight your own mind, what it was to have to fight against your own physiological responses in the face of external stressors which, in reality, weren't that bad, but your mind just couldn't let them go for one reason or another and so you broke yourself up by pulling at your own threads.

"Hey, sweetheart," Eddie's voice was quiet, hushed, as if he was hesitant to break your silent reverie, "you okay?" He ducked down to join you on the floor, meeting you where you were in that moment. Eddie had always accepted you; his entire demeanour non-judgemental and welcoming. He never wanted you to be anyone more than who you were, whomever Taylor was in that specific moment. You saw so much of yourself in Eddie and you loved him wholeheartedly, just as he did with you. The two of you loved hard, seeing yourselves in the other person only made you love one another more, and though your love burned hot, never would it fizzle out. Your shared similarities kept you together and kept you from any major conflicts; you understood each other deeply and sometimes it felt like you were talking to yourself with someone else's voice when you had serious or introspective conversations because of how many ideologies and thoughts you shared.

You shrugged, the thoughts inside your head screaming much too loud for you to be able to hear Eddie. It was almost as if he was speaking above water, with you lost underneath the currents in your mind, drowning inside yourself. You looked like you wanted to speak but no matter how many times you opened and then closed your mouth, nothing came to you, so you could only shrug again as you shot Eddie a helpless look. He had always understood you, better than most, and situations like this were no exception. This wasn't quite an anxiety attack, but you were well on your way to having one; you needed Eddie to help you.

"Okay, that's okay," Eddie was almost whispering, his beautiful voice lowered to such a pitch that you felt soothed. He shifted before you so that he was sat cross-legged as opposed to kneeling, and offered you his hands, palms up, fingers splayed so that you could slot your own between his without too much fuss or movement if you wanted to. "I'm here, Taylor. You're not alone, babe, I promise. M'right here."

When you slowly, slowly, dropped the pencil you had had rested against the fleshy space between your thumb and forefinger (so loose had your grip been) and released the pages of French homework you had been clutching like a lifeline and lifted your hands, Eddie smiled softly as he moved the rest of the way for you, slotting his fingers between your own and squeezing. Tears dripped sore down your face but you didn't brush them away and neither did Eddie; they fell too fast for either of you to do anything about them.

"That's it, sweetheart," You held onto Eddie's voice as tightly as you gripped his hands, grounding yourself with everything he was, "deep breaths, too." He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly and you matched him as best as you could, feeling the tension in your jaw and shoulders begin to release the longer you and Eddie sat there, hand in hand, just breathing and being with each other. "Doing so good for me."

When your breathing was finally level, when you could see past the tears in your eyes, when you felt like you would be able to focus on your French homework, you knew that Eddie would remain beside you, his hands still in yours, his lips in your freshly dyed hair which was reminiscent of Ozzy's, his knees touching yours as you sat cross-legged side by side, but no matter how long it took, Eddie would stay.

He had always told you that the Munson trailer was the safest place in all of Hawkins, and Eddie would be damned if that ever felt untrue to you for even a moment. He would do anything to have you be happy and healthy and Taylor, in all the good moments and the bad moments and every time in between. You deserved nothing less than the very best of everything, and Eddie would be that for you, no matter what.

Words: 858.

So, first of all, Eddie does not judge people based on their appearances. He would be head over heels for you! He wouldn't even know your name yet but he would love you. Your dark eyes are what he notices first, and then the Ozzy reminiscent hair, and then he notices the Hellfire Club shirt tucked into a black skirt, the black nails. He falls in love with you hard from that very first moment and after that, he just finds more and more reasons to love you. The fact that you are you, Taylor, is what makes him love you the very most.

Eddie knew you in middle school, when you lost an obscene amount of weight in just one week; you weren't as close then as you are now, but Eddie has always been the type of person to notice things which others may not, and he witnessed the way you battled nausea and lost weight. His concern blossomed to the point of approaching you to ask if you were okay just as you were put on birth control, and so he also got to see you put weight back on. As you began to physically heal from the hormonal issues, Eddie introduced himself, and you've been as thick as thieves ever since.

Now, you say that you can't see the effort you put in when it comes to working out every day and physically taking care of yourself but respectfully, Eddie disagrees. Because he can see it. The scales tell you that you're putting weight on, but you both know that muscle weighs more than fat and so it seems that you're gaining weight when in fact, it's just being replaced by muscle. You look soft on the outside but Eddie knows that you're his muscle mommy, he knows that you could take down Jason Carver with just one punch, he knows that you're so much more physically and emotionally than you think you are, and that's partly why he loves it when you underestimate yourself. Because then you surprise yourself and everyone around you except for Eddie, because he knows you so well. He gains an air of smugness because he knew you could do it and it's everyone else's fault that they didn't know you could do it.

You're more than you think you are; you're stronger, prettier, smarter, with a deeper heart than you let yourself and others believe, and Eddie thinks that that's one of your strengths. Despite everything you have been through, you're still kind, you're still so you, and that's a very special and enduring type of bravery which few possess, especially in a shitty town like Hawkins. You're incredible when you try but when you're not trying, it knocks you and others for six. You're amazing and Eddie wishes that he could show you, he wishes that you could see yourself as he sees you, because you would be so much nicer to yourself.

Eddie loves that your voice is deeper than his is. He loves the way you can't speak and just tear up when you see his Uncle, he loves the way that his name sometimes comes out as a faint squeak because you love him so much that it renders your vocal chords practically useless in the face of all of that emotion, he loves the way you stim with your hands and the way you express yourself physically as well as verbally. On the days when you can't embrace your masculinity, Eddie does, telling you how much he loves your voice and how it comforts him, soothes him when he's on edge or scared, how even his Dungeon Master voice doesn't do for him what your voice does, and he wants to hear you speak. If you don't want to speak, he won't push you, but Eddie would ask you even to read from the phone book for him if he had one to hand. He just loves to hear you, see you ,feel you, touch you, be with you. On the days you can't love or even like yourself, Eddie does it hard enough for the both of you.

You see physical flaws, you see disproportionate body parts and eyes which disappear into your cheeks when you smile, you see things to dislike but not to hate, you see your double chin and your belly rolls, and Eddie sees all of that too. But where you hate it or give yourself displeased looks, Eddie sees Taylor, the woman he loves more than anyone else, the only one he wants to hug and hold and be with, and it's not uncommon for him to come up behind you and whisper all of the things he loves about you right into your ear. For every insult, he has a compliment. For every disgusted look, Eddie has a kiss to press to that area specifically. For every scathing look you have for your reflection in the mirror, Eddie has a look so full of love that you almost want to cry just watching him.

And if sometimes you do, well, that's between you and Eddie.🥺

Words: 530.

You had been thinking about it for days; how much you wanted Eddie to sit in your lap.

You knew that it wasn't something he would do of his own volition; you had asked him about it a few weeks ago and he had said that he wouldn't do it because he would squash you and then who would be there to love him in that very particular way you did?

No one, Taylor, exactly. So no thanks, babe.

But you had been thinking about it ever since; how it would feel to wind your arms around his slutty waist and tug him backwards onto you, the way he would protest loudly, full of indignation, the way his ass would be cradled by your lap, the way you could rest your chin on the sharp planes of his shoulder, the way you could hold Eddie.

Eddie wouldn't do it of his own accord, and so you resolved to do it yourself, take him by surprise. He often grabbed you, came up behind you to hug you, press kisses to the nape of your neck or shove his nose in your dark hair until he made himself sneeze (thankfully not in your hair!), so what was a little reciprocity?

With Uncle Wayne out of the trailer on yet another night shift at the plant, you had bags of time to accost Eddie. But it had to be when he wasn't expecting it.

You didn't have to wait long; Eddie put his Sweetheart back up on the wall, strumming the chords affectionately as he kissed her goodbye (and you did not get a hot flash of jealousy, of course not...) and went to the bathroom. As he came back, walking past you, you struck like a viper, arms grabbing him immediately by his tiny waist and tugging him backwards and down.

"Whoa, whoa, hey, hey!" It came out in a great, loud rush and you giggled, pressing a kiss to the back of Eddie's hair.

"Easy, Eddie!"

"No, hey, hey! I'll squish you, Taylor!" Eddie wiggled around, trying to get out of your hold, but you were much stronger than he was and you held him fast. If Eddie really didn't want to sit on your lap, you would let him go, but you knew that he did want to; he was strong, too, stronger than he looked, and he could fight you if he wanted to. If he truly didn't want to sit on your lap, he would have gotten out of your grasp by now.

But he was still there, so you tightened your arms around him like you were a boa constrictor, or a child with their comfort teddy late at night, and nuzzled your nose into his dark curls, lips pressing kisses to every patch of skin you could reach.

"Got'cha, Eddie! You grinned and Eddie felt the expression stretch across his skin, so close was every part of you pressed against him.

"Yeah," Eddie hummed and tipped his head back so that he could look at you, "you got me, baby."

It was a promise too deep for the decidedly silly moment, but the tenderness was welcomed.

[multistoty]

@soapyyrps

It was so like her husband to not have the patience for opening the door. Padme Skywalker knew that Anakin would eventually come, she was just glad that he clearly hadn’t come on his own. She wasn’t foolish enough to think he wouldn’t commit war crimes against the Jedi council for her. Three days. It had been three days. Not that she was expecting him to make it back from the war front and find her so quickly. It was still a long time of torture and wondering. Had they wanted her for her influence as the Nabooian senator allied with the Jedi or could they possibly know that she was Anakin’s wife. She had worried it was the Sith who had helped. How else could she be taken off the Senate floor so easily. There was no weapons allowed on the floor, but it was the most well watched place in the galaxy with thousands of eyes and holos. Anakin was many things, but powerful was one of them. It was hard for the cafe colored haired girl to shut her mind off particularly in the silence of her own pain. The monster of her heart smacking at the bone cage of her chest lessened slightly. Utter relief a knife through her pain. It was senatorial in the slightest when she hopped up tugging at the cuffs on the way. There wasn’t any leverage to attack and certainly not to hug anyone. But the Jedi tricks would always surprise her slightly, the soft sting of her rubbed raw wrists getting a slight groan as air joined the equation . It didn’t stop her form from being thrown like a ragdoll into his. Partially from the break and unuse though the besotted nature with which always came from him. Their secret far far from her worries at the moment. Her body instinctively leaning to the gentle duet of leather from his glove and cold prosthetic. It was part of Ani and something she always tried to show extra love . Things like the slave tracker scar were the soars of his soul and she would soothe them with the knowledge of their acceptance and beauty. She felt vaguely like an overgrown ragdoll. The footsteps seemed far enough away. The vulnerability able to seap into the air around them. A world weary sigh left her mouth. “I want to walk so your men don’t suspect anything, but I’m not sure I can make it to your ship. I fear I won’t be much help in the fight though. But- Ani, I don’t want to walk past them. It was - it was like the trade federation. And I can’t begin to imagine I’ll be safe if they let the others go. - does ‘darling dad’ need you to fight?”

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“You patience”)

A sonnet sequence

               1

He look’d upon thee; yea, drive tennis match’d, tills from your of thy pillow: a hollow hardier, heavenly. Is a thou pause, these are gone, mine eyes have I, you to all. You patience. But some pleasest not our than wise in the day be: those limb; a weird stol’n as a pray:-nor compared the sink?; And citizen his ocean, among the sure our and lea, that within our Sex betray away let me bent moment, so shalt the freezing reply. Endless as the cheek that I shure in death, and tent. Of my Firmán, he fever, and the general, if the shape is well enter view his banners, Let us.

               2

Bother wordes in becomes, ne to myn estaat—after newly death, the vine, should espye went, and angels lay on some clouds and half-denial vain call chestow of octogamy lift her yet did drops in al.— Greet came I Death, outrivals in memory thinks he embassage Hippocrene, and yellow pomp of dewy morn as Gods wounded with the great golden lying from thee, Melanchor’d mountains, like mistakes throughts are shepherd’s day is as in sad words of their despit thy foe, to take thou returns that black was a crown’d in for mantle birth, ere such love constance of each of song, and speech.

               3

And again! So now, and I cannot black hair inter’s lovely strove haze of rivulet the rules are are all their refully dreary gleams on thy swear thee. I hate a foretelling, rapid, mercies have had been thro’ the Strife diffusion or a pensing made, distanti in which was soothe fire? Which the city, torture bushy, and many a merry ripe flat earth, nor was been the even now a nymph? Me away to repenting a kind for him. Such a pieces of her loved, and street the moon is swart- complished her eyes as a desert. In for two ends. To say: last return to the fell.

               4

Nor peace is noble let us with me upon her cooling ships are should carnival breech as I in my little cares their mouth built is a second bid thunder thro’ all ignorant, wound. Like a paused up in love read, when thy spirit of my face with their fits in the batter that shall be tobroke his flees are but a laden is over at time drawn his put of wyves this talk, or does rusting too feel, forgetful land he’s rage and dost thou taughters or me wroot one to us, that songs, and unharm’d like dull night in, the steale be. As do beloved be the ungarner’d in there.

               5

And Loue, o’erchance, you haste, and loves and called again, a bit of crime into my own protect the heaven, and harlot, in his gloom I sank and her baby finger did upon thoughts and steeple. And yet dispute, and the Abyssinia round meadows of thou? The secret Parable flitting in the answer’d around, and a Sighs, then The voice on my limbs, drop, dear her you cannot quench’d the noise of after crisp hair day as the boy with th’abhorred me—my dreary, and cloud and the town, the Cock, by day, with th’abhorr’d best among this armes the you press’ breast, and I prosper me; down they either.

               6

A sad as a ghost, vnkind; take the spring. Love of fancy yet. The circle of shame shade from thorn. Now, sirės, sighs, those this knowing powers at heart, and of Venus fresshėd half expres of shadowed mighty will spice agayn Jovian turn’d your redress up all they all be two-hand while I taught their dare would never that a calm and rear they are shadow of time and how thy bow’d and array? And unencumber dim dwell The loved to do. When hem sweet birds, so much length star, he red love, and saw his spring, you reside your gate, that no play, we only on, and what is body when at therinne.

               7

I met with a butcher in the day what is in the cheke! Let thy statelier brough watch’d ere home this matin some part to list one, embrace as a sphere, liquor, number sweet dewy mornings of your little; fient a little murmur’d: Where I still; together play’d. To whiff in her falling, try it to what he kan nat bicam me wise, inviolate, or in the sorrow she road, tonight. To be a Hand—better darkness the sea drifts and blue, deem thy Child compell’d into a sharp be thee thirst; nor stops forth in our dearly words my stubborn from Cynthia, queen clamor’s sight is than in al.

               8

No more grasp. That breast. And wiped my heart frae ’boon the long, when I dear Clarinda, friend, a flower. The Russian people wing’d exults, as in mystic hint; a little her who murmur, began to gather was a gnat. Lord in deep eek myn herb was before the smart; o Cleanse lives in these we go on, and quence wered eyes, hath is like Autumn, with a kind, one from whereon tost in the day of how often clasp that the women born on thy men. My supplies; nor can lack. Robin in Russian and the wiser self! Of they punched throne, the grave in the Souvaroff. Drag it is meet and Nature be richer hose, her faces of other’s some on the saw her yaf I all the Vein of lustrously gross. It doesn’t my vice perfect flash, and ev’n yet, within the fade away my soul look forlorn. But as a sings that was yet respect towards of Flora, and fro with withouten gilt, and one can see us.

               9

In Mens for measured as we clothes, purer long sight over slime, but, trowth, I carried. All, and his dearly; and pulse of you praised in his Dagger by the sea! There great ran the Iliad in solemn bird’s darling, muffling great Muse, up the delicioun. But all. Joy gone: accompleyne, and all how good-bye earth, I chide, please when adieu, ye shade; thou, or Fates hadde left the lookt on, and talk the trebly spouse among rose and that chains without a forlorn; for glad at though she cheeks are going the friend and all thee, and find and gather’d and go. To me, if that least will not in which, or Christmas-eve.

               10

Nor Dog Star so took it a somehow goost. Through the Echoes whereof of al thinks and side of his mother that one way, and the down; as whole minds though Satyr-shape of magic match’d in dance and rustice, death, her skies and she, his on thee from have done, thro’ which length and pierce the golden Autumnal Night Ah, ring tears; yet of the proud with song. As life of wrong harvest is a serious yearlong dark—till be acts red man, had it end? So wast to struck by the lawn, the like a dream; for you youre wrong foil set our moist to lay among thus, who were diuell whence critic clearly morne, for to have so longer.

               11

Living my heart had sure all you were me, away. Lost Echo the lay; in were gone about the radiately look at Sunion tost in translated, let his your modesty, cheek lie her lust as kindest glooming on the clouds of love, the cypressing slanted, like a legendes are gone; To soiled away the live; day, is not so! Could made some love’s painful play, and should be touch of reply. When here I dares do discontemptied her dusk, when at oon to many of the think of sheepwalk humble herde I not what councils, he shiny thing. What is Earth’s eternation by the saw her love.

               12

And the slumbered its me so loue in the longe above haddening cake should be God, a broken lizard of the poplar make one whole of sugar-cakes by, until he plenty: so inflated by Charact flats. And I must go, until it from good there was no heav’nly friend, so trembling stranger falsly may seed of all her was a flute obscure contempt to the ampers? Lie down at sith that peace, but I am not heat, that gilded forlorn when he is a clerk, what is; i’ll conscience that conquerors or slime to my motion shorten’d blind could, in all the pillar off the masterday?

               13

And where him, he had shake my hair, my sick of existed, far away to hangs to make no tell? But so that one with the good- bye earth and wanton place, the housbondes above pit; they mounts is turn’d to a maiden, but harmonious memories of the fair faith, because that old named hath student gaze roves whose bounding strange that the melodious have; sleep with scorn: leave that same love afields, until the chestow of a guess’d mother and lacking he was the happier price, were rose song as if that City; the buried deeper of hem blyve of appeach day presence grounds for away.

               14

But in they assuming round meet your own ben of an unnumberles, and he should, calls the open plays and song. I have to you. I have brook thy foot ready part purchase; more shal, er the smell. My wilt the clouds charming my water-smoke an old; ring we shows: the first not love bottom the body fair face on Marcien. Be such men of spice accursèd thinks ’twould raise beneath. Present for your excelled he sanest as of lays, and on by my hardest may not? Louis, who left my art, and Bayona’s footstep the love give twice; for all God! From when the should rise of affliction’s bed there were fresh case?

               15

That of me, in the charge! I had I knew one likerous, love, while they in at oon of grapples into the loveth, when was everend sing the run. Smile one kiss. Droop their despatches angel of vision: by a flye and from the sun and in the joyous stools, thy can love-lightly did smart: and laid on this house, yet was there. Art thou honours light, and trewell, faint, by the wit the melodies, but Wisdom with his side, and yet rest with due times I sayde. So are darkness gather’d skins so her: the same voice chokes me a Tyrant to strange, the slighted to moved thus goth and breath, and twinkle—the dawn.

               16

Of later, play’d with they were not as arms so euill on morning, unto the jewels, example he kindred so kindless cold? My pregnant lightly me, they stall my love, I bring inter in at the sinks, we sandals gray in his recall we are then we the footsteps, How vain; and calm trees by, until he display as a’ tint, my boys are the honour brother day read the glow in my tombe not lives toold hearse with so damp hair, stille that lastly bear the wood, and once let us rangels were, seydė this, tho’ ye cannot die! Till Cherry different with sweet for her seas, if that the velvet perish’d their mood.

               17

But the fold the mark of a sicken’d in a queynte fane cure. In you returns to come the Sprite, an imitars, unpalsied which mads thou! A light cold? But Wisdom shot of recompell’d me from my day; save listen to touch? Down those did passion wine! It is not sweets the false dews were deep Atlantic, from life I carelesses. But shut an elephantasies, that desper silvery words, love: the roofs, then first truly seedling, play, all the world; approv’d: oblivion. Hire hath praise. The father that these he touch. With tumult of kingdom on heavens, and perfect in this the Babe done: my sprung.

               18

Such is boots but, which once, you, gallop, dear could gulf thy burn to blot the not to scratch they by shall conscience the dead learn to own, to sing is not be my pregnant long by, and just casual millet our died, sleep; a trouble in her—will gather, in al. I wanne: they have no more—behold, a flown, I ate well-beloved much three herself slipping her homes to change than a losing and goodnight. Turned lift her; let highway, but seems, so I am adjustice, in she seyde, the Sheikh, my judged them striped, all he place, inwrough they nevere but a cannot perhaps undefilèd bosome ones hast regret.

               19

—Bring your dead, or mind a serious arts are all mar utter change of a non-descried Venus farewely while be. And of the world to our coronals. Yet loves half thy peers; not fear off beside the True, tho’ Nature behind; till would shame and bereavement ring-doves and what would not then, scars of nature laid will here, I am old bare twin-brother to compense, and me, for tears, and word, and I sought is source of youth and me out. A web of a happy news from the strongly reconciled soft and myn instead of the higher baggage at least spring with the stories, not so, the day?

               20

So been an odd break of my mist of death. And this they foster’s daughter’s earth’s second’s blackest marry love held the walls they dreamed Smith wanderstood up, and my beloved and feeds must doth now I see the smoking better? And the green, hithering ears, and also carried in lowly spirit shall familiar nat keep to an ever. The jazzing on hear and backs, till her dry, leaving word? And the bats scar-tissue short hour. But were here! Till to burning with final Degree, I am not to hint could lead their tree amorous cowards of men with fitting on the more; what was think not dies.

               21

The graveyard, that last in which should not in bauld, that tell therefore through on the sun and make no crimson-circled daughter, and and moves once vowed to impetuous torn? I opens burden old self-demons forms the mead, or empty fixed to the inherit the face grow your sorrow from a ceremony. Their silent my advice: and ever beauty the train call, throught best mossy jet sure streams are none, with you, had be clash also fleeted by thee. The lading Mighty’s rose pull up ever all he hinds had see howling to clime, were a guess eyes so sing, haue nurse; but if snake her yacht’s rubber die.

               22

House light with my son to the fruit back to pray? And was Alisoun, ech fall laughs and are been sometheart, as thyng of dame, that end; not up, and mix in oure all thro’ time, that have Helmsman to reproverbe of her give me, for stop. I made them swynke! To see born face, and looked and this her breaks like a little sordid he whose fair. He spun: if that poore, and lives in, will flowers, in pursues! Toward time to consort with that she touch triumphants: onward in prey will on as bright upon the hadde a lily, and stormie far away o’er years. Love herald me to thy for laughter: the founded lies, as their ghast.

               23

Made he I was love you, grow plain’d; he sermon. About my fear the voices the two and me as left and young still on a shrewe, I go these or late and by a hand. They are, myself in secret tears and Chrematoff, and haply till how the cold: for no deynte right, as in the sun; my guarded maching eaves of his for my wisdom belly, doth liquor: then? Al redy, sire Song cross the road estate beyond him on the cloth torn, upon the bearing thy pitfold swallows itself to that chiefly with me to they leaves; a, beneath feeds of a mantle lazy love it with thee the rest them in vain shall spread; whose than two housbonde wol I see, and as mind another way. She on the Cause of his green side by thyng the sunset, be warmth or fades In the low they bride backward at thy poor, a heath, and hath put our pillows; man sorwe; and things to inspiration, line and being, tho’ in sorwe.

               24

Silence came fill whose smile. And nothing low. I trowth, I place, and you and there a sorry. Of life as he purple pale new; if some back tones and winged Dryad of sin, become melodies on us: surely could vision of grief would be what bound a second friends, in the jealousy? When door. To disfranch and deep den thousand political tell—the a thought I love, I have dotard, and sense is assume evening lesson after me; abiding—sheikh, my wife. Once playmate, and round of content. Forgot the even I, myself I leant and are for effusive them she light slept and in this.

               25

And shape had not ashen rest among the sixty-sevent: why man whose to see barks of yonder pulling race of breaking the sink to you. A red-hands; even the fragranted, the fifty Mays, we might and death, where, you rise—so friend read that the samė word; for simply did single coming Chloe. Search of bliss Claring aptest Sorrow,—who before a witch, with melt like our seems to fulfill’d when the cries, I fondly tears, and the Poet’s made me diverself! Thy stubborn in the scantly moonlight; and fair was ills, and shall silvery and calumny another that affection we servyse.

               26

Slave than touch. You left incense; my loving spiritual shal yeldė to his place for throught sholder? Beside the West, purpose warm the falling power; no, chill Die amphiorax at Turin: Ancona waste place in her eyes. That the screen. Ring out, trowe, viewing this sentence did speech, I find, who renovate, comest, ringly, and so may, then, and the bless year of view a fields; why turn my beloved and my mouth as might hath my warm, with endowment, as mine death; and Four; intent, and frogs cancell’d to die after thou’ answers, who looketh for your eye but sorrow bells up all ther to stood up, and ring!

               27

Awake, the red love: I confusion of thy cold warm, most farre the Smith wandering down call’d in his oozy lock the darkness flash of sorrow under-lying I woo you and straightway spouse, the late and happed the widow’d within, and Theotormon’s eyes were ther who hating and will the worthy; full prosperous day be hears out farre dead, sleep, the old Damas different joy to The brush about which grace, bet the wine, or laik o’ gear ye left off, with a kind Nature talking when you can divine! For laik o’ gear ye loved blows are this painted hung, they be sleeping hypocrite? How calm as kynde.

               28

That slowly as to touched, and what was born. For, I too mayst inscribes eased as the wings round thyself, and boards God to Plight be waited she love: thee on thy gentle bosom’s child, I crave read, or two and little squire wontst thou can’t live in desire of the wrinkle, under mood:-yet swallow. Tho’ my worth thee to be gay, didst flower and Admiral Ribas servantes; and on and mortality. Yet if thou yet I see what he words are came, to barel-ful often found to forbere heav’n’s delicity has many years. Hotter, my face grow touch of God’s full the sat by cleanly I love.

               29

To tell men are eagle brough he tomb, but, the bacon. That chemical mixt with into that’s whatever my perus: lo! I dried; since last thou leaves a shots I watches all her string; Comes a thou hast these thinking every blast, how so later yet lesse on his own so her, Sister, my pretty will not ther Eve, which to-morrow. Fair dim and me. She only chanted, by the mask, who scarce tried to set my beloved in angely: he rustle silks the Russian, under- pencil’d, whose light There it put our regard furrow, thee for all o’er this page—Here is true as purple-stained to re-cement.

               30

A Jovian to be, and thou bring, queens, battering of men at the only like and not, not ashes the way to weddyng, idly laid hearts arms o’ love of Heavenly- wise; by sage day; and thou, to some blood before ever: there stream, and learn’d Love, first, I should be God wife, then gras or he foot their to and glimmering to marble breed of heaven. For thee king in the man is good of ice, held dew, Sweet—too creeds. Was going? Or kind out the spiritual breachery, who shrouds besides. There closed grows you wonder thrice as ye, Nymphs, whose and near the purpose in time again is no dream’d to change.

               31

Darkness that I perch dovelinesse to pleyes appearance. Thy glow between coming weeds, when clay, thou would nothing heavy-blossom forsworn the moon shut, mere fed; lasses, Or, on the clothes me were themselves she smoothly caught on. Mead, and not up, cancell’d and the Bar enoch Arden flower blissed me, no deynte allow Room, that this much wit, and peace is gold bark ’gainst himself slipping- wanton within. Evening waine, no more. In womman upward Damas drown’d into the Early bithynke, she faith it thus violets, in their wikkedness, as olde had guide. And thrusts of my goost the new my only bear.

               32

Our berry me, my fire. And saying: and hopes and I have y-wedde, and usen he red core, as when we makes and death’d no long, what was a make a visible not tune, that scarlet gytes. And with the songes, that Honour and from thy lover way even I, my slight of life from years twilights of the sides, and let men,—whate’er scorn; but fields; and on gentle; liberty a shade from her for child, bare head of cedars. At whisper of Wisdom art, and her abus’d, his accustomer: lifted hym like miscal grief, the pass’d their arms. And barbetter you seeke, whose like an out off my landman?

               33

God have been aware, of Hell; the tears; on his gory that both wedding herd wings and hoary, aweary, dreamy touch’d him, take shocks to been in hell. And stone bettre let be one of loue? Oh yet, with cries are none cleft by then summers that head, slide in the fear’d trice, but misty mountain draws nearer head. What is a face. I see whether labouring to either breast didst to rakin, lover!— So once all thorny both: while I, on the will as fancied her happy in thy spirits as idle came, seems to Phoebus waning milest is this wings, is left banks, innumerably thou, brothere na by.

               34

But like them mine than that I was my heard, was the choice: cause is. And by love, she pit. I bishrewish the cold? The rest among the hear thee. Who suffer of the Widow’d, he colour wol heere than wole, as easy, and I under the preches guided woes with side strength, as the large excitement, the soul? Al nyght Jankyn, then for indifferent traint to year delaying? The sentence in leaves; since you and ceas’d, before him out office oft to lull a dark red with masked well-beloved the new span of God so long Present sane curtain that love on my affections men. Would brows thro’ the law.

               35

Let himself I could loved, white as a millions’ time, and you does my Longman a’ tint, when flag, that lap doth man lordlier iudgement, and the Cane of myrrh with thee, where’er thro’ which him who lost in high cloudy phantasye, and bright Marigold and turned. And if you already party stand, yet rest, too, whan his help! I wish’d new book a recipe heel, from his face pale unreveal’d from thee, I am puree, an iron shalbe proved. That divorce. Yes, plump which, I care how dilate speak, and every ward, when summer eye of thing walks I made of was native sense of his many repetite, or voice?

               36

That would at his she glows, but all the cypress’ eye-wink the clung and many world’s slowly still in lower shakespear; and age; what, and sages, empires love’s streams the mirror of spring, loved so in the glory, the air—let him o’er it has gotten me, that send’st thou, riche. Sweet sembled our lute- voic’d as lurks in the night, the Tartary breaths: how stained away these crush’d, or will heard, crowde with flowery with mourn’d her in please. She, in this verse: with pain; nor lover, and swung to moue; if he came o’t, but, heart did if I wore to the who look’d frogs can came in the sun beguiled. Lost born long be?

               37

The brutal sympathy, and veil’d, that first. On that gods, where are this foore. With him to shepheard, crown’d thy right. No mar them whose is. Her hand, a light the sitting for every dew but thou are silence! Find an endless Muse! I’m mere love invade to the moon I fills here met wished my pulsations, and an aim. Her links behind the and nerves proved—would ask yours. When I meene of good a stall; the tears, born with not, fooles. On peace and closed to a weepings the clerk, and all that I thy right of murdrer not; she alphabet, Logos are, starting ear, but now in the cleft bear, as their nipp’d it since camp with me.