#ebb tide toys

[pick-a-plush]

BAB just came out with their leaf sheep plush and it’s so cute and looks so fluffy so I just had to see what you all think! I may or may not have already ordered one 😅 my poor wallet

[sytoran]

home is where the heart is ★ n.r

— 𝐓𝐖𝐎 ;; 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐅𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐒 & 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇

in which your married life with natasha romanoff is depicted through this comedy-drama series. with your dream job, three kids, and a plethora of friends, each day is blissful but all the more chaotic and unpredictable. (and ultimately, very horny.)

pairing ★ sub!wife!natasha x beefy!butch!reader

chapter summary ★ twitter's sole purpose is for you to thirst over your wife, the beach is a good place to spend time with your kids, and ogle at your wife in a bathing suit, but not a great a place to have sex. (lesson learnt).

warnings ★ (MINORS DNI) - explicit content, hard stuff: beach sex, doggy style, cunnilingus, daddy kink, SO MUCH thirsting

word count ★ 4.0k (get fed gremlins)

SERIES MASTERLIST || MAIN MASTERLIST

*****

In tandem with Tony Stark’s spontaneity, Steve Rogers’ unending enthusiasm, and the fact that you privately owned close to twenty beach resorts in New York alone, the lot of you and your other friends had a beach outing planned for that Sunday.

After the astronomically long time it took to get your kids dressed, beach toys packed, picnic dinner prepared, and everything loaded into the car, five happy L/N-Romanoffs finally kickstart their journey to the Westview Surfers’ Beach.

“SAND!” Emilia roars maniacally, once the five of you step foot onto the sandy shore. She’s gone like the ocean breeze, sprinting into the distance, grains of sand flying everywhere.

“Sea! Sea! Sea!” Emilio is equally as excited, already by the tide of the brilliantly blue ocean, following its ebb and flow with scampering feet and delighted cries. 

“Careful, Emilio!” Marina says, holding his hand, preventing her over excited brother from falling over. You can see the way she laughs along, kicking up water with her slippers.

Behind your eager children, you swing you and Natasha’s interlocked hands as you casually stroll along the beach, giving her a sweet smile. 

The sand that crunched beneath your feet was earthen and dry, such a gentle hue of gold, almost as grounding as the bright smile your wife returned.

“You look heavenly,” you murmur, bringing up the underside of your wife’s palm to press a gentle kiss to it. She flushes prettily, the sundress she’s adorning doing wonders to her skin tone and curves.

Natasha returns the softness, pressing into your side as you wrap a firm arm around her waist, hand cupping the curve of her motherly hips.

“Oy, lovebirds!”

At the sound of a distinctly familiar voice, you and Natasha spin around with bemused looks. From a distance, you can see Tony with a flamingo floatie around his hips, waving comically.

Next to him, the regular gang is sprawled across three separate picnic mats, conveniently hidden from the sun under several large beach umbrellas. 

Pepper is fixing up Tony’s floatie, to which Carol and Valkyrie snicker at from afar. Thor is asleep on the mats, taking up more than half the area. Laura is busy reading, with Clint probably gone to find seashells for the sandcastle Bucky and Steve are constructing. The kids make a long human chain from the shore to the sandcastle, scooping up buckets of water to make a trench.

“Aunty Y/N! Aunty Nat!” Nathaniel squeals, dropping his bucket, running over and leaping into your arms.

“What’s up, you little rascal?” you ask, laughing as the youngest Barton giggles. Natasha ruffles his head, waving at Lila. 

Morgan, being the same age as Emilia and Emilio, is already chatting excitedly with them and kicking up a loud racket. Marina joins Cooper in attaining bucketfuls of seawater.

“What’s up, my favourite lesbians?” Tony calls out to you and Natasha with outstretched arms, comically ignorant to the death-glare Valkyrie shoots him. 

Natasha rolls her eyes in faux annoyance, strolling past him and brightening up animatedly to chat with the ladies. You pat Tony’s back sympathetically. 

Your attention flits to an impressively large sandcastle with a sculpture of a mermaid on top, hand-crafted by Steve and Bucky. Leaning closer to Tony, you whisper, “Why does the mermaid kinda look like you?”

Leaving him to splutter at his intentionally uncanny resemblance to the mermaid, with a seashell bra and an elegant tail, you look up to see Clint coming back with his arms full of seashells. 

“Hi, Y/N!” He greets distractedly. In the midst of his frantic haste, Clint’s foot gets caught on a stray rock —

And the rest is a scene out of a comedy movie. 

The seashells go flying out of his arms, scattering onto the picnic mat and spraying sand everywhere, Clint loses his balance and flies forward, outstretched arms knock into the sandcastle, and everyone watches in horror as Steve and Bucky’s great unfinished symphony comes crumbling down, leaving only the head of Tony’s mermaid untouched.

A quiet hush falls. 

Bucky and Steve’s faces are morphed into disbelief and heartbreak, and Clint trembles in fear with sand in his mouth. Tony shudders at his beheaded mermaid, the ladies have their hands over their mouths, and Natasha fights battles in order not to burst out laughing. Thor sleeps unperturbed, and even the kids' racket has died down.

“Well,” you announce, breaking the stunned silence. “Who wants to go surfing?”

*****

As Natasha lazes in a beach chair, away from the gory scene of Steve and Bucky dunking Clint in the seawater, she watches you with a budding fire in her belly. 

Standing on the sand so casually, you have your hefty surfboard tucked under one arm, and Emilio in your other. You’re speaking to him with a roguish grin, unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt flapping in the wind, tinted sunglasses pushed up to muss up your perfectly tousled hair. 

“You ready to ride the waves, bub?” 

“Yeah! I’m ready!”

Your wife swallows, thinking she was ready to ride something else.

Natasha crosses her legs unsubtly. It was honestly unfair, how indifferently attractive you were, like it was a state of being instead of a practised art. 

Perhaps it was her love for you and the longevity of your marriage that warped her perception of sexiness, but when you were casually strolling on the beach with that chiselled abdomen on display, who was she to be blamed?

“Y/N!” Natasha calls, sitting up slightly. There’s a devious little idea blooming in the back of her mind, and she feels like taking the bait, just for today.

You look up at your wife’s beckoning, and smile widely at her. Setting Emilio down gingerly and calling him a “little rascal”, you jog over to Natasha easily. 

When you flick your hair back, it glints in the sunlight, and so does the sheen of sweat under your sports bra, defining the cutting edges of your abdomen. Natasha has the criminal urge to rip off your swimming trunks there and then.

Despite your obliviousness, Natasha is more than well-aware of the stares you’re getting from young women and married women alike, momentarily disregarding their boyfriends and husbands to gawk at you.

“Damn, look at that fine specimen!”

“Ryan, why don’t you work out more?”

“There goes my heterosexuality.”

You get feasted upon hungry eyes like a slab of beef, likened to your beefiness, but it only makes Natasha’s possessiveness skyrocket.

“Hey, honey,” you say, settling on a low and inviting tone that has your wife blushing. You crouch down next to her beach chair, holding her hand in a sweet gesture. “What’s up?” 

You’re close to her, so close, and she can feel the heat radiating off you, and your distinct scent, and the overwhelming senses of want and need are washing over Natasha like those tidal waves in the ocean.

But well, Natasha knew more than a few ways to rile you up too.

“I think I want to go surfing too,” she lies through her teeth, having no inclination to partake in the sport. Natasha fakes a pout all too well, knowing it’s one of your many weaknesses. “But the sun’s really hot out there, so I need some help with the sunscreen.” 

It wasn’t like she’d have needed it, anyway. Just like that and you’re sold, ever the gentleman and the golden retriever, digging for the sunscreen in the duffel bag.

“Of course, honey,” you reply readily. “Is it the Banana Boat sunscreen, or is that the kids’ one? Oh wait, we have the SPF 50 one, I think that’s—”

Words trail off comically when you look back up at Natasha, gradually dying down completely.

Your wife has conveniently slid off her outer layer of a sheer white blouse, leaving her in just a matching two-piece set of an azure bathing suit. The top piece is held together with thin pieces of string, accentuating her chest in a tight cradle. The lack of coverage shows off the dip of her hips and her soft curves.

Coherent thoughts in your mindwires get severed as Natasha plays with the string on her bottom piece, nearly flashing you as the material slides down ever so slightly. Your throat dries up as her fingers trail a path over her tummy and cleavage. She plays with another bundle of string that keeps her chest barely covered, and the irresistible urge rises within you to undo it.

“My eyes are up here, y’know,” Natasha murmurs, laying on her side and looking at you through lowered lashes.

“I know where they are,” you answer hoarsely, gaze still fixated on your wife’s enticing cleavage.

The sheer amount of bare skin that Natasha is showing off has your remaining fragments of sanity falling to pieces. There’s no point even trying to hide the tent in your pants, poking uncomfortably against the fabric.

“Gonna help me lather sunscreen?” Natasha asks with a silky lilt to her voice, turning over on the beach chair. 

You groan out loud when you see the curve of your wife’s ass on display, her rounded bottom barely covered by a few measly pieces of material, all held together by flimsy strings and nothing else.

“Mhm,” you respond brainlessly, uncapping the bottle and rubbing your hands with a bountiful amount of the moisture, clearly in excess.

You begin applying your wife’s sunscreen with overzealous eagerness and desire. Large hands spread unnecessarily widely as you gain coverage over the soft skin of her back, trailing up and down and smearing the white moisture over her soft skin.

“Oh, that feels nice,” Natasha says airily, a dainty little sound that causes your cock to twitch in your shorts. 

The line down the middle of Natasha’s back is emphasised as she tenses and relaxes it. Like clockwork, you begin massaging your wife’s back to release the tension in her muscles.

“Y/N…” The breathy moan she lets out is pure heaven, dragged out from the depths of her throat, then lifting to a higher tone that washes over you in a sea of goosebumps.

Of course, your faux masseuse skillset is just a simple ploy to grope and knead at Natasha. Fat spills through your fingers as you spread your hands across her torso, as Natasha whines softly.

It wouldn’t take a genius to realise that the heat building between the two of you was not just due to the heatwaves under the beating, unforgiving sun.

Your frighteningly quickly-growing arousal only heightens when Natasha feels that her back is done and flips over. Face-to-face with her hefty mounds, a round belly, and the blown pupils of viridescent eyes — you lose the plot completely. 

Deft hands fly to your wife’s ample assets, squeezing her hips in sinful amounts and staking your claim. “You’re so pretty, baby,” you mumble, face buried into the crook of her neck, subtly mouthing at her neck.

“Mhm,” Natasha whines in agreement, but it turns into a gasp as your fingers slip underneath the material of her bra, plucking at hardened nipples in merciless haste.

You press down onto her, flat tongue and sharp teeth, licking a broad stripe up your wife’s exposed collarbone to the tender column of her neck.

Before you can taint clear skin with raging-purple bruises, you’re pulled away with a firm grip on the back of your neck. You look back up to see Natasha gazing at you sternly. 

“Let’s try not to perpetuate public sex while you are the owner of this place, with all our friends present, and the kids building sandcastles no less than ten feet away.”

Much to your disgruntlement, these factors weigh in heavily and overpower your body’s built-in “pretty-wife-need-to-worship” mechanic. Now, your shorts fill up a lot more space than need be, your shaft pressing hot and tight against your left leg, clearly visible.

You grumble, hands still clammy with sunblock, the ghost of Natasha’s warmth still interlaced between each of your fingers. “You’re a meanie,” you sulk, lust-driven adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Natasha looks at you with a wicked smile. “And you’re too susceptible, darling. Now, where’s my flask? I plan on staying plenty hydrated before watching you rough it out against the waves.”

Clearly put-off by not being able to fuck your wife in your public beach resort, you flip off a little kid who openly ogles at Natasha’s ass, much to your wife’s horror.

*****

“I’M NOT BUILT FOR THIS!” Tony screams, arms flailing, as he rides a shallow wave. His firmly implanted foot adds too much weight on the front of his neon yellow surfboard, and the over-eager man overturns comically as the current rushes.

You laugh out loud, Hawaiian shirt flapping in the wind, surfing past Tony in a smooth motion. “Stick to the flamingo floatie, little guy!”

Valkyrie barely dodges the splash Tony creates, nearly falling off her own board. “Fuck off, you cunt!” she yells, full-chested and deadly focused on the tide. From a distance in the shallower part of the ocean, a reprimanding “Language!” can be heard.

Natasha’s wading in the shallower waters with Laura, while Thor had opted to sun tan on the beach while watching the kids.

As a large wave approaches, Natasha watches with intent. Upon your wife’s new found attention, you mentally prepare yourself, determined to impress her, and perhaps get revenge for her prior ploy.

You manoeuvre deftly, putting weight on your back foot to stabilise as you approach the wave head-on. Three… two… one. You add even more weight on your back foot as you go around the back turn while gaining speed, garnering energy like a coiled spring.

As the wave reaches its full height, broad and steep, your calves release with impact, propelling up the barrel of the wave like a spring. The surfboard moves in effortless motion, anchored by your back foot, navigated by your right.  

The second you reach the lip of the wave, you find the sweet spot to execute the backside tail slide. You rotate your wide-set shoulders, swiftly switching the pressure to your front foot. 

Your surfboard glides off the surface for a split-second, turning mid-air — there’s a camera-worthy frame of damp hair, stray droplets, and focused eyes.

You slide back down at an oblique angle with purpose and precision, like a scene out of a movie, locking eyes with Natasha as the wave crashes behind you.

“Damn, Y/N!” Carol hoots, looking amazed as you surf back to the rest of the gang.

“That was crazy,” Steve adds, resting belly-down onto the surfboard, strikingly adorable for a hulking man.

“Gotta admit, that was pretty cool,” Tony comments, his head bobbing above the surface of the water and his surfboard nowhere to be found.

You laugh along with them, attempting to explain the technical jargon of how you did it. But as much as you appreciated your friends’ enthusiasm, there was ultimately only one person you sought validation from. 

“Hi,” you say to Natasha with a stupid smile, sitting on your surfboard, having escaped the rest. 

“That was very sexy of you,” your wife wastes no time in stating, as if she wasn’t five millimetres away from flashing you and killing you with her sexiness. 

Natasha is stuck on the image of your damp hair flying into place like a scene out of a superhero movie, unbuttoned shirt flailing up to expose your defined back and abdomen, concentration flashing in your eyes.

“Mhm,” you hum lowly. Fire burns low in your belly as you ogle your wife in her bathing suit, pulling her closer by the underside of her thighs.

In a moment of indiscretion, your left hand slips upwards and undoes the knot on Natasha’s bathing suit, letting the material slip from your fingers.

“Y/N!” Though blocked from view of the others as it was underwater, Natasha lets out a breathy gasp and presses into you. Her cunt, already soaked before, gets even wetter at the intrusion of seawater.

“Can I claim my prize?” you ask heavily, hot pants against your wife’s ear, driving her wild with the way your fingers slip through her folds to encroach on her entrance.

In no time at all, two of your fingers are at Natasha’s cunt, feeling slick even underwater, and you push in—

“Group picture!” Steve yells from a distance, as you and your wife effectively leap apart in the water, the heated moment dissipated into thin air. 

But it lingers, the arousal, swimming in the back of your consciousness as you smile for a group selfie. Bucky’s arm is around you but you thank the heavens for hiding your erection under the water.

You can tell Natasha feels the same, eyes locking on you even after Steve successfully takes the group picture. (After many attempts.)

“I’m gonna go check on the kids,” Natasha finally says, gesturing back as if she was going to walk back to shore. She’s expectant, waiting.

“And I think I��m gonna go check with her!” you add, chuckling awkwardly, beckoning backwards with your thumbs.

“Okay,” Steve says disbelievingly, eyes glimmering with knowing and just a little amusement. Tony is much less subtle in his sniggering, and Clint looks horrified at the prospect of doing it at the beach.

Tony claps you on the back as you walk past. “Use protection,” he whispers, and you fumble out a haphazard response. 

*****

Turns out, you and Natasha don’t even make it to a completely secluded area before you’re half-undressed and panting. 

And maybe that’s half the thrill, hidden in a secluded beach cave, with regular people roaming around just outside. You’re pressed skin-to-skin with each other and tuning out everything else.

You groan as you snap the strings of Natasha’s bathing suit off, finally, finally. Teardrop tits bounce in place, shaking with the impact of how hard you jerk against your wife, unbearably uncomfortable in the constraints of your boxers.

Natasha takes mercy on you, helping you to tug down your Calvin Clein briefs, watching with heady arousal as your shaft slaps against your six-pack, red and raw and leaking.

“Hurry up,” Natasha whines, bending over and clutching at a stray rock, ass in the air as she exposes her leaking cunt to you. 

“Fuck, baby,” you groan, grabbing onto her ass and slapping it just because you can. You sink deep into your wife, warmth and relief enveloping you as you bury yourself inside her.

The first thrust is like heaven, feeling the pulse and push of Natasha’s walls as she accommodates to take your size, stretching to a familiar extent because you’d made a nest in there for yourself. 

The second thrust takes you there, an insurgent amount of slick coating your cock, flooding the path you proceed to pummel into. “Natty,” you whine, groping at her ass and pulling it closer to you, hilt-deep with no signs of stopping.

“Mhm, daddy,” Natasha moans, walls fluttering around you as you pull out, trying to stop your escape. But then you thrust forward, again, warm and full and deep, and your wife wails beneath you.

Natasha lets this velvet sound from her throat, silky and coated in honey as she breathes reinvigorated life into your arousal.

“Fuck,” you growl, rutting your hips with more rigour. Natasha whines, wrists suspended behind her back with one of your hands as you have your way with her.

“Baby I’m gonna come,” you gasp, virility cloaking the way your abdomen presses up against Natasha, left hand encircling her neck to bring your hot mouth up to hers.

You’re hardly embarrassed for how fast you’re barrelling towards climax, as Natasha is in much more of the same position. She’s panting your name, clutching at the rocks with hard sand digging into her feet. Your cock nudges and prods into her sweet spots effortlessly, the result of countless sex experiences.

“M-me too,” she responds breathily, breaking off into a whine as you press heated, open-mouthed kisses along the line of her back, tasting the salt and sweat on your tongue.

Pleasure blossoms in your lower torso, creeping up the base of your shaft and working its way upwards. Hot arousal overflows from its constraints, and your teeth sinks into your bottom lip as you come, quick and hot and messy.

“Oh!” Natasha moans, high-pitched and sensitive, as you pluck at her ruby-hard nipples. It only takes a few more thrusts for her to reach release, dripping down your cock and her thighs.

“Mhm, nhn—” As your wife raises in pitch and volume, you stuff three fingers into her open mouth, giving her something to suck on and remain quiet. You continue with gentle thrusts, feeling thick white liquid flow out the side of Natasha’s ruined cunt.

“Needa taste you,” you suddenly grunt, hips bumping into Natasha’s ass. She babbles her agreement, despite being half-conscious in a state of post-orgasmic pleasure. 

Easily, you lift Natasha and set her down onto the sandy shore of the beach cave, where the tide is low and washes over your feet gently.

It’s a change of pace, a gradual end to your savage ravaging, slow and sensual, where the water meets the sand. You lower yourself between Natasha’s spread thighs, lips slightly parted and dripping with need.

Natasha swallows audibly, right hand twisting into your tousled hair, looking at you through hooded eyes and lowered lashes. 

Words are left unspoken between the two of you, the tension speaking for itself, as you retain eye contact while lowering your mouth onto Natasha’s pulsing cunt.

You take your last breath of the fresh sea salt air and summer breeze before drowning in unbridled desire. As if making out passionately, you eat your wife out, switching between licking and sucking.

Poetry is written between the lines — the lilt of Natasha’s hitched breath, the crease of her thighs where your fingertips drag across, the shallow water that wades over your feet in a cool decrescendo.

Your head dips down once more, warm and wet, and the sun melts into the horizon, glazing golden and liquid orange. 

With your tongue lodged fully inside your wife’s pussy, marking your inability to breathe, and wide hands spread firmly over Natasha’s thighs, the two of you converge in saintly devotion, hushed worship falling from her lips.

“Please, just like that, please, daddy, please.”

Just like that, and the ocean swallows you whole, taking you under Natasha’s hold inescapably. Your name is said in a breathless cry, lilting and pronounced, and you shudder between her clenched thighs.

“Nat?”

“Yeah?”

“I think there’s ocean water up my asshole.”

“Yeah, I got some sand up my vagina too.”

*****

and that's chapter two of 'hiwthi'! how did yall feel about the introduction of the rest of the cast? i personally enjoyed writing the build-up scenes the most. (sunscreen and surfing!) and for those keen on expanding the family dynamic, i'll be building on that in the next chapter!

reblog or i will take 292857192 years to post the next part

SERIES MASTERLIST || MAIN MASTERLIST

[merakiui]

ebb and flow.

yandere!floyd leech x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, dub-con, nsfw, stepcest, obsession, getting high/use of edibles, reader is implied to have small breasts, octavinelle trio is human in this story, au with no magic, brief mention of alcohol use, brief mention of implied somnophilia, reader and trio are 18 in the last scene of the story (in case it isn't clear) note - like the tide, floyd's interests ebb and flow. you happen to be more than a passing fancy.

When he’s old enough to put his thoughts into words, Floyd declares, rather obnoxiously, that girls are gross and he wants nothing to do with them.

“All they ever wanna do is talk about dolls and dresses,” he laments, scuffing his shoe against the cobbles.

“You know I’m a girl, right?” You scoff and turn your nose up, mildly offended. “And not all girls are like that. I’m not like that.”

And it’s true. You give as good as you get. You lunge after Floyd when he yanks your favorite toys out of your hands or when he tugs on your hair, every infraction intentional. He knows just how to rile you up enough for you to give chase. You’re keen to wrestle him in the mud on rainy days in the same way he’s willing to race you up and down the streets to prove outlandish points.

Growing up with two brothers—though they aren’t your family by blood, referring to them as your step-brothers is a knotty mouthful you prefer to avoid—taught you things you never would have learned if you had a sister.

Perhaps their presence served to stoke the fires of playful violence—meaningless quarrels that were resolved in a matter of minutes, often punctuated with halfhearted apologies. Once, in the middle of a particularly nasty brawl, you kicked Floyd in the jaw and knocked his front tooth free. Morbidly amused, Jade applauded you for the show. Floyd held his bruised face in one hand, glaring viciously as blood dribbled from his lips. He reeled his arm back, but it never landed. Your father chewed the lot of you out before he could throw the punch.

“What are we going to do with you?” your mother would say while she patched the both of you up. “Always fighting like this… That’s not very nice now, is it?”

The twins’ mother died shortly after giving birth and so they never knew the concept of a mother until five years later when their father remarried. It was then when you joined their family of three, and the twins had taken to their new mother like fish in water. Adoringly, they would tug on her skirt and demand attention. She was all too happy to indulge them, lifting them into her arms one at a time.

“You know that means Mama and me, don’t you?” you add, skipping ahead of him.

“That’s different. Mama doesn’t count. She’s special.”

“What about me?”

Floyd takes one look at you and smiles that mean, mocking smile. “You’re even worse. You’ve got girl germs.”

You don’t bother granting him a head start. He’s already running.

On the cusp of a growth spurt, his face peppered in pimples, Floyd is only fifteen when you chase him out of your bedroom.

“Get out! Get out! Get out!” Your piercing shrieks and Floyd’s raucous laughter echo through the halls, drawing the perpetually curious Jade out of his room like a worm from an apple core.

He’s greeted with the sight of Floyd, who has clasped your bra around his head and is now parading about proudly. A plush octopus flies after him and smacks into the wall. Seconds later, you burst from your room with embarrassment painted on your face.

“Oh my.” Jade observes the scene unfold from behind his fist. His mismatched eyes glitter with mischief.

“You’re so tiny! Your boyfriend’s gonna fall in love with a shrimp!” Floyd sticks his tongue out at you. “Shrimpy (Name)! Shrimpy (Name)! I’ve got a shrimp for a sis!”

“That’s not funny, and Azul’s not my boyfriend!” You reach for him, but he avoids you with an agile sidestep. “Knock it off! Give it back!”

“But it fits me better.”

“It does not!” You turn to Jade and gesture wildly at Floyd, who is now batting his lashes like a princess. “Don’t just stand there! Help me out.”

“Oh, I’m afraid I’m much more suited to the sidelines. I wouldn’t want to interrupt your fun.”

You grit your teeth. “You ass—”

“So much noise! What in the world is going on here?”

Your mother makes her way up the stairs just as Floyd tugs the bra off his head. You round on her before the twins can. 

“Mooom, Floyd’s being gross. He stole my bra and won’t give it back.”

“Huuuh. No way. She’s totally framin’ me. I don’t have her bra.” Floyd folds his arms over his chest, feigning innocence. “That’s just icky. Why would I have it anyway?”

“Indeed,” Jade agrees coyly, pretending to search for it. “No bra in sight.”

“You’re liars—you and Jade!” You sneer at them. They merely smile angelically. “I’ll kick both of you in your dicks if you don’t—”

“(Name), mind your language!” Sighing, your mother issues both boys a stern frown. “Floyd, sweetheart, it’s not nice to tease your sister. You as well, Jade. Return what you stole and apologize.” She bends down to retrieve the fallen plush and passes it to you. “You too, (Name). You’re family. Family shouldn’t fight.”

“I don’t owe him an apology.”

“And I don’t have her bra.”

“He’s lying! Floyd was in my room, digging through my clothes.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yeah-huh!”

Jade smiles wide enough to reveal the braces on his teeth. “Now that (Name) mentions it, I did see Floyd sneaking about. Oh, but maybe that’s not right. I only caught a glimpse, after all.” 

Floyd has no reason to look so betrayed. Jade oscillates between sides whenever it sates his hunger for amusement. Today, as luck would have it, he’s on your side. For now.

“If you’re as innocent as you claim, surely there’s no reason to keep your arms clasped behind your back.”

“You really don’t have anyone’s back, do you?”

“Floyd…” Your mother looks at him expectantly, her eyes soft despite her tone.

He thrusts his arm out and drops your bra. “Fine. Take it back. Wasn’t havin’ any fun with it anyways.”

“Honestly, you’re such a pervert,” you snap, swiping it from the floor. “Next time you wanna come in my room, you’d better knock first. How would you like it if I went into your and Jade’s room and stole one of your shirts?”

He sticks his tongue out at you, defiant like the brat he is. If your mother wasn’t standing behind you, you’d have exacted your revenge right then.

“(Name), be nice to your brother. Floyd, apologize to your sister.”

Floyd doesn’t look you in the eyes when he spits a mean-sounding, “Sorry.”

Jade can only snicker, feasting on this live entertainment like it’s the richest meal.

“And I’m sooo sorry you’re annoying and everyone’s gotta put up with you.” With an exasperated huff, you strut back into your room and slam the door shut. It locks with a loud click.

“Give her some time. She just needs to cool down,” you hear your mother explain. “But, really, you should know better, Floyd. It’s not right to go into anyone’s room and take their things.”

“I would never do something so egregious, Mother,” Jade admits, which you find hard to believe because he’s just as sly, if not more so, than his twin.

“She’s just mad I’m funnier than her,” Floyd says. A blatant falsehood if you’ve ever heard one.

You could never understand Floyd’s obsession with your laundry. Maybe he was just your typical hormone-addled teenager with nothing better to do but fantasize about women and their undergarments, and seeing as you were the only girl he was close to—both in age and as siblings—who else could bear the brunt of his delinquency?

Or it had nothing to do with that at all, and he was just determined to be as much of a pest as possible.

Back then, that made sense.

Back then, you were foolish.

Back then, you didn’t know. No one did. Not really.

Lying between your brothers, lost in thought, you stare at the plastic stars and planets pasted to your ceiling. A dulcet adagio trickles out of the tiny speaker on your bedside table. The honeyed vocals soften the static in your brain, snuffing every burden with beautiful bossa nova. You soak in every lyric, imagining yourself in the singer’s position: falling for someone in midnight blue, blooming beneath their touch, your dress falling to your ankles, exploring each other’s shorelines…

The fantasy floats away as soon as Floyd opens his mouth, and you’re brought back to reality. No lover in your arms. No midnight blue. No flowering feelings. No dress.

“When’s this stuff supposed to kick in? I don’t feel a thing.”

“Patience,” Jade murmurs, practically melting into the mattress. “You’ll know once it happens.”

“Well, I don’t. Your shit sucks.”

“As does your attitude.”

“Whatever.” Floyd snuggles closer to you, pulling your arm into his chest. “What about you, Shrimpy? You feel it yet?”

“Mmh, sorta… I dunno. Don’t call me that.”

“Once a shrimp, always a shrimp.”

“I did offer the other half.”

“I’ll take it if I feel like it.” You shake Floyd off and pout at Jade. “Mom and Dad’ll lose it if they find out, you know.”

Jade flashes his teeth at you in a cheeky grin. “I’m counting on you to be a sweet, dependable sister and keep my little secret safe.”

“Lips are sealed.”

“What a good pet you are. So obedient.”

You exhale a soft, gasping laugh. “You’re so weird.”

“But you’re smiling.”

“Only because you’re weird!”

He giggles and leans in close, his nose brushing yours. When he speaks again, it’s in a softer tone, near-hypnotic. “So you do feel it.”

“Maybe.”

With a petulant whine, Floyd presses himself against you from behind. “No fair. I wanna be all silly like you and Jade. Gimme the other half. I’ll take it right now.”

“You can grab it.”

“You’re closer.”

“Alas… My limbs are lead.”

“Asshole,” Floyd gripes, leaning over you and Jade to swipe the box from the bedside table. He often keeps his stash there. Sometimes it’s stocked with gummy edibles or mushrooms, all wrapped in plastic. Jade’s resourceful like a squirrel, crafty in ways you can’t fathom.

Today, you’re holed up in your room because you have a bigger bed. There are fairy lights strung up on the walls, providing the space with just enough dimness for you to see your surroundings. It’s the perfect ambience for this slow, lazy Saturday in November. Your parents are out for the afternoon and won’t be back until later, and you couldn’t be any happier to have the house to yourself.

As soon as the door shut, you exchanged knowing looks with your brothers and hurried back to your room. Jade told you he’d take you and Floyd to his favorite spot in the forest after midterms and then the lot of you could truly kick back and relax with some pre-rolls. He’d invite Azul and make it a picnic in the woods. A whole day filled with fun. In your heart, it would be a date. Your brothers would just be the unwanted third and fourth wheels.

Really, you could care less about getting high. Azul is more than a drug—he’s oxygen—and you crave him like an addict feens for a fix. Floyd thinks your crush on him is stupid and misplaced. You beg to differ. You’ve admired him since childhood. How could you possibly fall out of love now?

Floyd flops back into the empty space beside you, chewing the rest of the gummy worm. His arm drapes across your waist. “What’re we doin’ tomorrow?”

“I’m going to the library to study with Azul.”

“Lame.”

“You’re not invited.” You roll over on your side to address him, speaking slowly. “Don’t show up.”

“Now I kinda want to. I wanna see what you and Azul get up to.”

“Studying.”

“Mmh, I doubt that.” Jade sticks to you like moss, his eyes fluttering shut. “Azul’s studying, at least. You’re daydreaming.”

“Not my fault he’s cute.”

“I’m cuter.” Floyd’s lips turn down in a disappointed moue. “Ain’t I cute?”

“No way. You’re ugly.”

“I’m inclined to agree.”

“No one asked you, Jade. ‘Sides, ain’t that basically the same as sayin’ you’re ugly, too?”

“I dunno,” he mumbles dumbly, the words muffled in your shoulder. “What do you think, (Name)?”

“Get yourself a girlfriend and then you can ask her.”

“Won’t you be my stand-in girlfriend?”

“Yeah, that’s good.” Floyd curls his fingers around the strap of your tank top. He tugs it up and down your arm in a languid rhythm. You’re floating amongst the clouds, your mind filled with a pleasant fuzz, so scolding him isn’t a priority. “Forget about bein’ our sis for a sec.”

“Get lost.”

“How cold…” Jade sniffles.

“Shrimpy’s ruthless.”

“Stop calling me that.”

Floyd’s hand crawls across your chest to grope you through your shirt. “Mmh, nope. Still small.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

���Am not.”

“I think you’re sized just right.” Jade’s spidery digits creep along your hip and splay across your stomach. “Azul won’t even notice. He doesn’t pay attention to your assets like we do.”

“I wish he would.” You meet Jade’s half-lidded stare. “Does he talk about me?”

“In what context? You’ll need to be specific,” he purrs, and if you weren’t swimming in bliss you’d elbow him in the mouth.

It’s like pulling teeth with Jade. He makes things so irritatingly difficult for no reason.

“You know the context.”

“Sometimes he says stuff,” Floyd replies instead. He rests his head in the crook of your neck and inhales the sugary notes of your perfume.

“Good stuff?”

Vibrating with a woozy warmth, you squirm between your brothers. It’s stifling being in the middle of their sandwich, but the proximity is pleasing. Comfortable. Reassuring. You feel like an anchored ship between the both of them, safely pinned down amidst the tumultuous waves of your bedsheets. You sigh dreamily when Floyd’s legs twine around yours.

“He thought your sweater was real cute.”

“Which one?”

“All of ’em.”

“Hmm. Okay.” But that doesn’t satisfy you. “What type of girl is he into?”

“Why don’t you make him your boyfriend? Then you can find out,” Jade says.

He aims for a sharp smile and falls short. It mellows out into something stupid and lopsided. He thinks he’s the funniest creature on the planet, and in this moment he is because the retort has you snowballing into a fit of giggles.

“Maybe I will.”

Floyd tracks your throat as it bobs with every swallow. He glances at your jaw next, at the glitters speckled on your cheeks. They sparkle like miniature stars, an entire galaxy imprinted on your skin. “You’re wearin’ makeup.”

“Hm?”

“Perfume, too. Smells good.”

“I bought some when I went to the mall.”

“When?”

“Last week? Two weeks ago? I can’t remember.”

“You doin’ it for Azul?”

“Who else? Certainly not you.”

Floyd scowls at Jade. “Don’t answer for her. I wanna hear it from her.”

“You’re my brother. Why would it be for you?” you mumble, more confused than unsettled.

Obviously it’s for Azul.

“Why not? It’s not fair other guys get to see ya lookin’ this good. Why should I be excluded just cuz I’m your brother?”

His lips drag against your neck. There’s nothing special about his affection. It’s dubiously platonic, but you’re used to it. He’s always been prone to expressing himself through physical means. Too-tight hugs, pecks on the cheek, a gentle squeeze in clasped hands. It was cute when you were children, but now you’re seventeen and it’s getting harder to explain his clingy nature.

“I don’t care what other guys think.”

“Just Azul?” Jade prompts, toying with the hem of your top. His fingers slide beneath it to prod at your navel, and suddenly Azul is no longer the most important part of this conversation. “Have you ever considered piercing it?”

“What? My belly button?”

“Ooh, good idea. You could match jewelry with us. How about it? I’ll getcha some sturgeon scales.”

“Mom’ll kill me.”

“In that case, we’re both dead.”

You blink at Jade, searching for the meaning in his mismatched hues. He opens his mouth, unfurling his tongue to reveal the venom piercing. The shock washes over you like a wave, and just as it’s receding it hits you—what you’re looking at.

“Your tongue! You actually—since when?”

“Two weeks.”

“What the hell! Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve come with. Moral support and stuff.”

He laughs when you nudge him. “It wasn’t so bad. I’d like to get more.”

“Does Dad know?”

“Not at all.”

“Dangerous.”

“Thrilling,” he corrects, a minacious glint in his gaze.

“Jade’s changin’ up his whole look. Super cool, ain’t it?”

“And what about you?” You turn over towards Floyd. His hands settle on your lower back. He all but tugs you away from Jade, who frowns and shuffles closer until his hips press against your ass. You feel his mouth at your bare shoulder, lavishing it with little pecks. “Do you want more piercings?”

“You into guys with piercings?”

“I don’t really care. Piercings are great. Tattoos, too.”

“Then I’ll get a tattoo.”

“So it’s settled. (Name) will pierce her navel, and Floyd will get a tattoo.”

“Sure,” you agree, but you don’t expect anything to come out of it. Just a random idea thrown around in the haze of your high.

You’re closer than family should be, but that’s the last thing on your mind when you’re twisted between them. This is normal. At least, it’s the normal you’ve grown up with.

What isn’t normal, though, is Floyd’s insistence that he ought to shape himself into the man of your dreams when, clearly, the man of your dreams goes by the name of Azul Ashengrotto. But you’re not worried. It’s always said in jest, or you assume it’s in jest.

In the back of your mind, you wonder if Azul would like you more if you had a pretty piercing to show off.

You’re weeks away from prom when Azul says yes.

“Wait… Really? Seriously?”

“I was under the impression we were all going,” he says with that charismatic chuckle you love dearly. “As a group, yes?”

Your hopes plummet alongside pieces of your heart. “Oh. Y-Yeah, right. A group. Of course.”

“I do appreciate the poster, though.” He holds it up as if it’ll reveal a secret message when caught in the sun. The cartoon octopus you spent hours sketching, lining, and coloring smiles back at him. “‘It would be so tenta-cool if you could be the sea to my shore at prom.’ How ingeniously cheesy.”

Your laughter is hollow. That’s the last time I’m asking Jade for advice on ocean puns.

“I’m glad you think so… Hey, you’re coming over before the dance, right? We’re thinking of doing something.”

“A party before the party?” Azul rolls the poster up and carefully fits it into his messenger bag. It sticks out from under the flap. “I’m not opposed. What did you have in mind?”

“We could get dinner.” Just the two of us. “Whatever you want, really. My dad’s planning to send us there in a limo. Real classy, y’know.”

Azul falls into step with you. “If that’s the case, we might as well go all out.”

Sensing an in, you stare at him. “The girls in my class are going on and on about how prom’s gotta be this magical thing. It can’t get more magical than a fancy car.”

“Goodness. It’s really not that special. You can’t exactly put ‘Prom Queen’ on your resume now, can you?”

“No, but you can make lots of memories. So I was thinking—hypothetically, of course—if you’d wanna go as, like, my fake date. Like, we’re going as a group and everything, but if you want we could get flowers for each other and match outfits and… B-Basically, I’m just trying to see if there’s any merit to what they’re saying about prom. About it being magical with a date.”

“Hm… That’s true. It will be our final social event before we graduate and go out into the world. Our last chance to say and do whatever we’ve neglected in previous years.”

“Right.”

“I wouldn’t mind.” His stare is fixed firmly on the path ahead. “Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

“So…” You swallow your anxieties; your heart is in your throat. “So you’ll be my hypothetical date?”

“I would be honored.”

“Okay. A-All right… Yeah! Great!”

Azul’s pretty blues briefly flick over to you. His cheeks are tinged pink. “Wonderful. I… I’m pleased we’ve worked this out. All hypotheticals, naturally.”

“Yeah, definitely. Just hypothetical.”

“Did…you have a color in mind? Have you picked a dress yet?”

“Something pink or purple. Maybe red. I’m not really sure.”

“Blue would be very flattering on you.” As an afterthought, he scrambles to add, “But that’s just another hypothetical.”

You watch the way he wrings the strap of his bag. “I agree. Blue’s a good color.”

“Isn’t it?”

“I could wear you.” You regret it the moment it leaves your mouth, even more so when Azul raises a bewildered brow. “B-Because your name—no, sorry. That’s dumb. I don’t mean it in the crazy-murderer-who-skins-you-alive way. I meant in the way that’s like—”

“Cheek to cheek?”

“Yeah. No, yeah, that’s right.”

What am I saying? None of this makes any sense. 

Azul laughs and nudges you playfully. “You can wear me. Hypothetically, I’m your date to the dance. It’s only right that I act as your accessory for the evening.”

“Then… T-Then let’s be each other’s garments!”

He hums his approval and the conversation dies there.

You make the rest of the walk out of school in awkward silence. At the gates, Azul turns to you.

“None of this is hypothetical, is it?”

You heave a relieved breath. “Not at all.”

“Then allow me to do away with pretending. I’ll be your prom date. Factually.”

“My factual prom date…”

“It…doesn’t sound as smooth as a hypothetical.”

“But it’s real.”

He smiles shyly. “That it is.”

On the night of prom, alone in an empty corridor, Floyd yanks you into a rough kiss. The music from the ballroom is so loud you can faintly hear it from down the hall. It pulses through you with energetic vibrations, joining your panic in an unsteady duet. You push at Floyd’s chest, struggling against the wall he has you pinned to. He breaks off halfway just to savor your gasp before moving in to reclaim your mouth. It’s a ravenous action. He kisses you like he intends to devour you, licking and nipping at every possible crevice. His teeth click against yours as he endeavors to taste the wine at the back of your throat—courtesy of sneaky, rebellious Jade and his discreet water bottle.

Finally, after gathering enough strength, you shove him off of you. He stumbles, hurt flashing across his face. Ferociously hot up to your ears, your heart stumbling in your rib cage, you can’t believe it. You don’t want to believe it.

That wasn’t real… No way…

Still processing it, you smudge your lipstick when you wipe the drool from your mouth.

You and Floyd watch each other in silence. You’re waiting for him to break it. He’s waiting for you to run away.

“What…was that?”

“You were cozyin’ up to Azul—”

“Because he’s my date!”

“Yeah, but you—Shrimpy, c’mon, you know we agreed to go as a group…”

“And so what? That doesn’t give you the right to kiss me. I was going to—I had an entire plan for this. Azul was gonna be my first kiss!”

“Well, now he’s gonna hafta be second.”

You sputter in shock. “You—you’re so… I just… Wow.”

Floyd’s face hardens and softens and then hardens again. He looked like a kicked puppy a few minutes ago, cowardly and small, but now there’s determination smoldering in his stare.

“I like ya. I like ya a whole lot.” You open your mouth to protest, but he beats you to it. “More than a sister.”

And there it is—the truth you couldn’t confront.

Your frustration withers and blooms anew in a complicated tangle of weeds. “You…like me. Like… Like me, like me?”

Floyd cards a hand through his slicked hair and exhales a heavy breath. “I mean… It’s obvious, ain’t it?”

“Floyd, I… I’m sorry, but I like Azul. You know this.” Now it’s your turn to cut him off before he can speak. “You’re family, Floyd. My brother.”

“So what?”

“It’s wrong, that’s what! We’re family. That’s all we’ve ever been… Look—I don’t have time for this. Azul and Jade are gonna wonder where we went. We can talk about this tomorrow.”

You brush past him, hoping to leave this conversation here and pick it up after the dance. But Floyd won’t have that. He seizes your wrist and tugs you around.

“Just…” He avoids your stare. “Just hear me out, okay? I just wanna love ya.”

“So love me like a normal brother.” You try to pull yourself free, but he holds firm. “I really don’t have time to argue. Actually, this isn’t something I should have to argue in the first place.”

“We’re not related in that way. It’s fine, isn’t it?” He grabs your waist and drags you close.

“Mom and Dad won’t think so. Azul won’t. Honestly, Floyd, let it go. We’ll talk later. Please just—”

“You really don’t get it, do you?”

You inhale slowly, forcing yourself to remain calm. “No, I don’t. I really don’t.”

“I’ve wanted ya longer than Azul—than Jade. Longer than anyone. And I never got to have ya.” Floyd plasters you to the wall again, but this time he slots a knee between your thighs. “Drove me crazy every time I saw ya walkin’ around the house in those stupid shorts or when you’d bring your friends over and you’d wear that stupid nightgown. The soft one with the lace and bows. The one that’s so thin it shows your shrimpy tits.”

Your glower is so blistering it could melt him down to his bones. “You’re disgusting.”

“Maybe.” He laughs, but it isn’t funny. “Didja know? I wanted to kiss you in your sleep. Touch you all over. Stick my fingers in you and watch you squirm… Feel how tight you are when you cling to my cock. You’re still a virgin, ain’tcha? Azul hasn’t done it with you yet, right?”

You yelp when his hand slips under the ruffles of your dress and climbs up your thigh. “W-Wait—stop! Don’t—”

“Gonna take that as a no.”

“Floyd—”

“See? Can’t you say my name instead of his? You don’t gotta daydream with me around. I’ll make you feel good. You don’t need that stupid dildo when you’ve got me.”

His fingers press against the outline of your pussy, teasing you through the fabric. Your body goes rigid. “Y-You can’t… Not here. Someone might see.”

“Let ’em. Then they’ll know you’re all mine.” Floyd noses your throat and deflates against you, hedonistic and selfish. “You always smell so fuckin’ good. Like candy. Sweet and yummy. Makes me wanna bite you and never let go. Taste your shrimpy heartbeat in my mouth…”

“S-Seriously…” You squeeze your eyes shut and bite back a whimper when he squeezes your clit. “Get off of me. You can’t—you’re my brother.”

“Nah. Brothers don’t go around stealin’ their sister’s stuff and usin’ it to get off, do they?”

It occurs to you that you should be furious with him. He deserves more than just your ire. Instead, you can only feel intoxicated as you listen to him ramble filth.

“Remember that pair of panties you thought was clean? The ones with the stain.”

“Yeah, the ones I use when I’m on my period—”

“Not those. The other one.”

“W-What—” You slap your hand over your mouth to muffle your gasp. He rubs you in slow, deliberate circles. With dimming focus, you try to think of anything else—of boring, bland things—to fight off mounting arousal. “What about it?”

“I had that pair wrapped around my dick before you put ’em on.”

“So that was—the stain was—”

“Mhm.”

“Ew! You’re the worst! That was my favorite pair, Floyd!”

He snickers. “At least it wasn’t you. My old man’ll beat my ass if I knock ya up. Had to use the next best thing.”

“Use your hand, dumbass! Don’t use my stuff!”

“Then stop fuckin’ yourself on your dildo. I hear you through the bathroom door, y’know. Moanin’ like you’re in heat. All of it for Azul. I wanted to come in and help ya out every time, but I couldn’t. And that really ate at me.”

“I don’t want your help,” you spit, glaring.

“No? But you’re so wet. I think my fingers will slip riiight in.” He pulls your panties to the side and prods at your folds. “You wanna test it?”

You shake your head a second too late. Floyd’s already pushing two fingers inside. The breath sticks in your throat. He’s actually doing this, right here in the open. Someone could turn down the hall and spot you. That someone could be—

“A-Azul might catch us. Stop. You really can’t…”

“Aww. What? Don’t want Azul seein’ you like this? Don’t want him to see the mess you’re making? Don’t want him knowing you like being wrapped around your brother’s fingers?”

He’s mean when he curls them suddenly, a brute and a bully all at once. They press against wet, velvety walls, and the noisy squelch leaves you shuddering. You breathe heavily, little huffs that tremble sweetly as he stretches you out.

“S-Shut up. You’re a pervert.”

“That makes two of us.”

You yank him closer by his tie, intending to be threatening and failing. “I’m gonna kill you.”

“Sure you are.”

Without warning, he reaches for your chest and yanks your strapless dress down to reveal your breasts. Your perky nipples poke out against the lingerie tape. He whistles lowly while he marvels at them.

“Still the same pair of shrimpy tits.”

“Nuh-uh. I went up a size.”

“Yeah-huh. I would know. I steal your bras all the time. Same cup size, Shrimpy.”

“So you’re depraved and shameless.”

“No reason to hide it anymore.”

He drags his fingers out and thrusts them back in. You choke on a stifled moan. Deep down in a logical corner of your brain, you know you shouldn’t submit so easily. It’s wrong, but you can’t stop the pleasure that washes over you with every stroke of his fingers. It sends pleasant bolts of bliss up your spine. Your knees wobble, and your thighs are sticky with your slick. When he grinds his thumb against your clit, forcefully insistent, something in your stomach snaps. You come undone in an instant, crashing against a sinful shore. Orgasm wracks through you in a powerful tremor, shaking the thoughts in your skull like a disturbed ecosystem in a terrarium.

Unrelenting, he fucks you through it. You’re boneless in the aftermath, chest heaving and mind reeling.

Floyd’s fingers glide out with ease, shimmering with your juices. He puts them in his mouth to savor the taste of you, his tongue slithering between the space of both digits. Horrifyingly, you admire him as he licks himself clean. Even though you shouldn’t, you wish desperately to feel that muscle inside you, working you towards another grand peak.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

You’re still in a daze when Floyd fixes your panties and dress. You look presentable, if not slightly debauched. Your makeup is a mess, and Floyd’s all too eager to fix it for you. You stand still when he wipes at the corner of your mouth with his thumb and then carefully applies lipstick. Within no time, you’re back to how you were.

“Lookin’ good,” he praises, stuffing the tube in his pocket. “The prettiest Shrimpy at the party. They should make you Prom Queen.”

You swat at him. “Don’t…” And then you sigh. What does it matter? He’s going to call you that regardless of what you think.

Thankfully, the slow dance is only just beginning when you return. You find Azul lingering near the wall, tapping anxiously at his phone. Jade’s also there. Physically. You can’t say the same for his head. He’s taking a trip in his own mental paradise. Floyd stalks after you, his hands stuffed in his pockets. If you didn’t just squirt around his fingers minutes ago, you would’ve assumed the atmosphere of the party was to blame for his euphoria. But you know the real reason.

Azul doesn’t, though.

So it’s with a guilty heart when you lead him onto the dance floor for a waltz.

Your childhood crush—the guy you’ve loved more than life itself—is right in front of you, looking at you like you’ve hung the stars, but the only one you can think of is your step-brother.

That can’t be a good sign.

Floyd joins Jade in his corner. He gazes through him and offers his water bottle. It’s nerdy enough for its contents to be unassuming, what with its mushroom print, but Floyd knows better than to take it at face value. Even so, he grabs hold of it and downs what’s left of the wine. It’s so sweet it sticks to the roof of his mouth.

“Azul’s not staying the night, is he?”

“I’m not sure.” Jade finds you and Azul in the crowd of dancers and hums. “How cruel of you to want to separate them.”

“He’s not gettin’ laid tonight if that’s what he thinks. Not if I can help it.”

“I don’t think he even knows how.”

Floyd laughs. “Nah. He knows.”

“Does he now?”

“C’mon, Jade. He undresses her every time he looks at her.”

“I suppose so.” He smiles moonily, distracted. “She’ll never let you.”

“She won’t let you either.”

“I don’t mind a little pain. To be bloodied and bruised by her gentle hands… I know of no greater exhilaration.”

Floyd rolls his eyes. “Azul’s got it lucky. He gets to hug and kiss her whenever he wants. Meanwhile, I’ve gotta pretend like I don’t wanna fuck her shrimpy brains out every time I get a whiff of her perfume.”

“The odds aren’t very favorable, but I suspect you’ve already had your fun.”

Floyd grins wickedly. “She’s cute. I couldn’t help it.”

“I must agree. She sounds sweetest when she’s caught in the throes of pleasure.”

Floyd starts to nod and then pauses. “How do you know—”

“Oh my. It appears I’ve said too much.”

“No, no. Keep talkin’. You haven’t said nearly enough.”

“You’re not her only brother, you know.”

Floyd thinks there’s more to that sentence, but Jade isn’t willing to get into the details. Not here, at least. He doesn’t have to pry too deeply to understand the hidden implications.

“Asshole. You went and did it before I could.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jade giggles. “A little midnight snacking never hurts. She’s soft and snug inside. Very warm.”

Floyd shoves him away. “Fuck off.”

As long as it’s not Azul, he thinks, watching him as he spins you like a gentleman. Anyone but him.

[alyrasturnz]

ronan being your favorite song on red is so real! like yes im sure we want a ronan fic

RONAN {{ chris sturniolo }}

summary — when a sickness, like a relentless storm, ravages the heart of a family, it leaves chris and y/n adrift in an ocean of sorrow and confusion. the once vibrant home, filled with laughter and warmth, now echoes with the haunting silence of absence. each corner of the house holds memories that sting like open wounds, reminders of a life that slipped through their fingers like sand

— angst.

warnings :: mentions of death

dad!chris who keeps a collection of his son’s favorite toys on his desk, each one a reminder of the adventures they shared.

dad!chris who hears his son’s laughter in the rustling leaves, a sound that brings both comfort and heartache.

dad!chris holds onto his son’s last drawing, a crayon masterpiece of their family, now framed and cherished.

dad!chris who sometimes sits in his son’s room, talking to him as if he’s still there, sharing stories of the day.

dad!chris who keeps his son’s baseball glove in the car, a symbol of the games they played and the dreams they had.

dad!chris who believes that his son’s spirit is in every sunrise, a new beginning that brings a sense of peace and hope.

dad!chris who feels a deep connection to the ocean, the waves a reminder of the ebb and flow of life, carrying his son’s memory with each tide.

dad!chris who holds onto the belief that love transcends time and space, a bond that will never be broken, even by death.

dad!chris who forces matt to drive by the park where they used to play, the swings still moving as if his spirit is there, enjoying one more ride.

dad!chris who whispers to the wind, asking it to carry his love to him, wherever he may be, hoping he feels his presence.

dad!chris who sometimes wakes up from dreams where he’s still there, his laughter echoing in the morning light, only to find an empty room.

dad!chris who whispers bedtime stories to the stars, believing that somewhere, he’s listening and smiling back.

dad!chris who keeps his son's room exactly the same, a shrine to the memories they shared, unable to let go of the past that holds his heart together

dad!chris who finds himself talking to his son's favorite stuffed animal at night, whispering stories and secrets as if his boy is still there to listen

dad!chris who volunteers at the children's hospital, hoping to bring a smile to other kids' faces, even as it breaks his heart a little more each time

dad!chris who wears his son's favorite baseball cap everywhere, feeling a sense of closeness and comfort from the fabric that once touched his boy's head

dad!chris who spends hours in the garage working on the old bike they never finished fixing together, each turn of the wrench a bittersweet reminder of their unfinished plans

dad!chris who plants a garden in the backyard, filled with his son's favorite flowers, finding solace in the growth and life that continues despite the loss

dad!chris who keeps a journal of all the things he wishes he could tell his son, the pages filled with love, regret, and the hopes he still holds onto

dad!chris who struggles with the silence in the house, often turning on his son's favorite music just to feel his presence a little more vividly

dad!chris who finds small, hidden notes his son left behind, each one a treasure that brings both tears and a fleeting smile

dad!chris who, despite the pain, holds onto the belief that his son is watching over him, guiding him through the darkness with a love that never fades

[heartfulofsighs]

Reassurance

Hello All!

I know I haven't posted in eons but after watching the Acolyte I was so inspired. So yeah, here's a steamy story about Osha and Qimir.

Warnings: Outdoor sex, fingering, it's actually pretty vanilla but definitely 18 +

“Oshaa,”

She kept her eyes closed and her breathing even. The ocean pounded the shore and she let the sound ease some of the tension she held in her shoulders. He had called her name and if she ignored him -

“Osha.”

She rolled her shoulders and neck and tried to direct her mind to stillness. The tide pools were relatively still. She wanted to feel the same way, just for a bit the emotions she let ebb in flow, she needed just a tiny reprieve. Warmth spread throughout her body, her eyes peeled open and she sighed.

“Why are you ignoring me?”

She turned and he was standing off to the side of her in the sand. Strands of his dark hair hung in his face and his eyes tracked across her features. She could feel the tendrils of his power caressing her while he stared. The warmth in her body spread and for the millionth time since she began this path her body…responded when her mind deemed the reaction not wise. Not wise because how could she trust his interest?

“I’m not ignoring you.” She answered. Her voice carried over the waves crashing. He cocked his head and the edge of his mouth quirked up in a smirk she knew well. She had to bear though his smirks multiple times a day and acted unaffected. 

“Osha, don’t lie to me.” He pressed. She gave him a smirk of her own and shook her head.

“Lying to you would be a waste of time. We both know that. I heard you, I acknowledged you, now…what is it that you needed to tell me?”

Qirmir had been gone for the last few days. Though they both could sense disturbances through the force, good ole reconnaissance at nearby outposts produced information that was just as useful. He had checked in with a few of his sources to learn the movements of the Jedi in their immediate system. He was suppose to be sharing said information but instead here he was, playing another of his games. Toying with her so that she would have no choice but to give him all of her attention. 

Truthfully as soon as his ship had touched down he already had it. She hated when he left her but until she became better at hiding her presence in the Force it made no sense for her to go.The idea of a helmet of her own had crossed her mind but then she felt silly for wanting it so badly. When she was alone it was easier to allow herself to hope…

All she could allow herself was daydreams and they were beginning to feel empty. It was good that he was back. She had missed him  but she refused to tell him how missed he was, it would add to the pull that she steadfastly resisted. 

He sighed and looked away to the waves, “nothing new to report. We stay hidden from our enemies thankfully.”

She released a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

“That’s good news.”

“It is,” he crouched and considered the water in the tide pools. “We won’t be able to stay hidden forever. Mae will make sure of that, she knows where this place is.”

This was true but time had gone on so long without a hint or whisper of her sister. Sometimes she thought she felt her, lurking in the in between when she felt for the Force. But the feeling would pass whenever she tried to concentrate.

“Can you feel her?” He asked. His dark eyes focused on her. The first time she had those eyes locked with hers she had felt such an onslaught of emotions. Fear had been one but it had receded quickly to be replaced by curiosity, respect, and more lust then she had ever felt in all of her life. It had taken everything to keep herself firmly set on the mission. She had been sent for a confession and nearly melted when he leaned in close to tell her how much she looked like Mae. The memory always brought the feeling of his breath brushing her face to mind.

The warmth she usually felt around him crawled up her neck.

“No.” She pronounced.

“Pity.” He whispered. Was it? She didn’t want to face her sister. She had a list of people she never wanted to see again, Mae rested near the top of that. Along with…Sol. She winced at the thought of her old Master and Qimir like always caught her discomfort. His eyes narrowed. He edged closer then crouched down besides her. His jaw clenched, “who are you thinking of Osha?” His voice was always a velvet wrapped blade when he had any hint of her thinking of Sol. Something about it made her heart beat harder, not in fear, but in anticipation. The need to defy his possessive annoyance thrummed through her. 

“No one.” She whispered. The man you hate.

“I don’t like,” he reached his hand towards her, “when your mind strays to people it shouldn’t.” 

She sat still and faced his barely contained annoyance. His fingers grazed her cheek and she felt the touch like all of his touches. A zing of electricity through her veins. It made her want to lean into his hand. But again she fought him with every bit of her concentration.

“I am the master of my own thoughts.” She held his eyes. “Not. You.”

She swallowed as his eyes narrowed further. She turned back to the ocean, to the waves and the tide pools. His hand lingered and she wondered if today would be the day that one of them broke. He was always more inclined to touch her when he had been gone. Almost as if he had to make sure that she was still with him. Maybe he got out amongst the stars and feared she had lied, that she really wasn’t going to stay with him in place of Mae. Osha liked the idea of her disappearance worrying him. She liked that he missed her, liked that he seemed to need her in his sights once he was back and maybe if she was less wary everything would be easy but her memory was too long. One man she loved had betrayed her in the worse possible way. How could she let another have a chance at it?

“Maybe,” she licked her bottom lip and his eyes tracked the action, “you are thinking of people you shouldn’t.”

For a moment neither of them moved. His eyes were like two sparking flints. He pulled his hand back slowly. Do you want me the way I want you? 

The thought had her steeling her mind against him. She rolled her shoulders back and sighed.

“Think about it while you eat.” She pushed, “I made stew.”

Then she closed her eyes again, determined to balance her roiling emotions. She could not give into this pull between them. He often told her it was a waste of time. 

“You have to let yourself feel Osha.”  He liked to say, especially when he bested her over and over again. He was patient in his explanations, no matter how many times he needed to repeat it to her. There was no way to unlock her power without truly feeling everything the Jedi taught her to suppress.

But the idea terrified her. When she allowed herself, she felt so much.  She felt out of control when she gave in and she couldn’t trust her feelings for Qimir. Partly because she could already sense how powerful their attachment could be and she refused to be weak to another man. He would have all the power if she gave in and became tied to him. There was no guarantee he would give anything in return.

She would need to find some other way to grow stronger in the Force. Her power was her own, even though Qirmir had helped her tap into it. 

His help did not mean he didn’t have an ulterior motive. She had been fooled by Sol, made to think that she was the one who failed, when it had been he who failed her. The thought made her pinch her eyebrows together. The crashing waves, she clenched her teeth together and focused on the sound. She concentrated until the warmth from his power left her entirely to her meditation. A strange sense of unease trailed after him. 

Osha preferred to keep her days more or less regimented. She woke up before the sun, ate a meal, meditated inside the cave, then drills with Qirmir (if he was on the island), then stretching after their drills. Once those tasks were done she checked her snares and fish traps for food then went about making sure their supplies were in good order. She had set herself on these tasks as Qirmir seemed content to only focus on their training and gathering information. She wondered how Mae had faired especially since she imagined her sister wouldn’t have the patience for something like supply inventory. 

It was something to think about as she stretched. Their sparing a few mornings after his return felt odd to her but not odd enough that she wanted to dwell. He sat a small distance away from her, again she could feel him probing, trying his best to gain a little insight on where her mind was focused. At the beginning she wondered what he searched for, then she told herself the easy answer was weakness. Mae had betrayed him, of course he searched for another betrayal.  

She bent forward touching her toes, she exhaled slowly, with the action. She stood straight then twisted her waiste one way then the other. Then she settled into a long lunge leaning her body forward on her bent knee, her eyes found Qimir's. He was smirking, head cocked, his hair falling a little into his eyes. He had forgone a shirt of this training session and she couldn't stop herself from admiring his chest. The usual heat crept from her face lazily down until it settled low in her belly. The heat from a sun they barely saw was making her think things she shouldn’t. Like what would it be like to sit in his lap and trace her fingers over his… She swallowed and tracked a bead of sweat that skimped down his stomach. He cleared his throat and her eyes snapped back up to his. The familiar pull started as he watched her.   

"Does doing all that really help?" He asked. She shrugged and switched her legs for another lunge. He titled his head the other way and his eyes tracked from her feet up to her face deliberately. How can he make her feel this way just with his eyes? She swore she could feel his gaze like a touch. It was always like this, the attraction almost felt like a dare, a test. If she gave in, what would she get? Part of her knew that he wouldn't hurt her. His touches never felt like a threat, more like a promise.  

"You're telling me," she leaned back sighing as her spine popped, "that you've never ever stretched after training? You never feel stiff?" 

He shrugged and for a moment it looked like he was enjoying a good private joke. It took her a moment to realize her word choice before she felt a blush burning her cheeks. 

“I do, but I use different…methods to deal with it.” He bit his bottom lip and she knew she was blushing harder then before. 

He leaned back against the tree trunk, his eyes tracking her movements in what felt like satisfaction. Usually he left her during her stretching but today he waited. Tracked every bend and stretch she put herself into while she tried her best to ignore him. 

"There's a freshwater pond not far from here." He stated, "the water would do wonders for your muscles I bet.” 

 She smirked and tried to calm the slight pounding of her heart.

"You've been hiding a pond from me?" She asked as she bent over to touch her toes. Her locs swung with the action and she mused that it might be time for a slight trim. When she stood straight again he was up. He shrugged and turned towards a denser part of the forest. 

"Hiding?" He looked at her from over his shoulder, "it's not my fault you never thought to look." 

She rolled her eyes but gathered herself to follow as he set off into the trees. 

“You know, when I use to wonder the beaches you got all bent out of shape about it.” She reminded him as they trudged forward. He sighed and stopped, “you were wandering where the tide is treacherous, the beach is nothing but rocks and you weren’t agile enough to navigate it in the dark.” 

“No faith in your student?” She asked. It was meant to be a tease but she wondered if he regretted taking her. He cocked his head in his favorite way and smirked at her. 

“I’ll never regret taking you and I hope you never regret agreeing to stay.” 

Then he was turning and starting to walk again, “that’s not something that should occupy your mind. Of all the emotions you need to fuel your power…regret is the one to avoid.” 

Even when she tried her best to guard her thoughts Qimir had an unfailing ability to figure out what she was musing. It was her face, she needed to be better about leaving it relaxed and aloof. 

“Osha?” He began. 

“Hmm?” 

“You waste so much time hiding from me. How can I train you in the Force my way if you won’t show me those emotions you stamp down?” He asked. Her first reaction was to deny. It would be the easiest thing to do. But it was easier to admit the truth without his dark eyes piercing her. 

“It feels like, if I give in, if I admit a truth or two to myself, that I’ll be in the same position as I was with the Jedi.” She didn’t say Sol’s name but he was all she could picture. Sol looking at her in disappointment, shaking his head when she couldn’t find stillness in her thoughts. 

“How do I know that if I fail in your teachings I won’t be thrown away again?” He stopped walking and she nearly walked right into him. 

“I’m not able to let you go.” He said simply. She stared at his back almost as if she could find answers in his scars. She hated the idea of him hurting the way this wound must have. The Jedi had done it, she somehow knew it for a fact. They threw them both away. But now he was telling her he wouldn’t Not able to let her go?     

She swallowed and tried her best not to let hope fill her chest. He meant he couldn't let her power or potential go. That's all she was to men in the galaxy. An anomaly, a swirling mystery in the Force that drew people in but it would always be a draw with the desire to possess her. There wasn't anything interesting about Osha the girl, Osha who failed to be a Jedi and became a Mektek. Qimir was like everyone else, to expect differently would only bring pain. She tried to breath in more resolve but there of course was a treacherous part of her heart that whispered he wanted her in every way he could have her. And not Osha the power but Osha the woman. 

"Your mind is so busy." His voice was low. Barely high enough to hear over their steps though the forest. 

"I'm-"  

"Don't lie, please keep telling me the truth Osha." He warned. They broke through the trees together and suddenly were on the shore of a very calm looking pond. It was bigger then she thought it was going to be. Closer to a lake then a little swimming hole. The water was still, fed by a small rocky waterfall across from them. The sun shone down on the water in a rare clearing of the clouds and for a moment the scene was too tranquil for her to disturb it with words. She felt pulled towards the water and before she could think too hard about the action she began to remove her clothing. He had seen glimpses of her body, and she had seen more then a few glimpses of his, a body was a body she told herself. She still blushed when she finished folding her things and felt his eyes on her back. 

"Osha?" 

She ignored him and took two steps into the water. It wasn't as cold as she thought it would be, her arms raised reflexively over her breasts as goosebumps raised on her skin. A few more steps in and the ground dropped off, her legs kicked in automatically to keep her head above the water line. It didn't take him long to follow. She heard the splash of his body entering. Soon they were treading water side by side. He had dipped his head, his wet hair plastered back away from his face. 

"Osha?" 

She sighed and tried to think of what to say. He wanted more truths and she couldn’t keep avoiding him forever. Eventually her training would hit a wall, logically she knew not giving into her feelings would be much like the anchor that stopped her from completing her Jedi training. Qimir's eyes were pleading as he used his arms to swim closer to her. 

"Can I show you something?" He asked. Her brows scrunched in confusion, she looked around in an effort to see what he could possibly show her. His signature smirk appeared again, one side of his mouth tipping in amusement. 

 He swam right up to her, close enough that she felt his movements in the water, legs kicking close to her own, arms doing the same movements. 

"Depends on what the something is?" She hedged. She still felt the need to speak softly, the incredible quiet of the clearing felt like it needed preserving. They shared glances, his eyes brushing all across her face before landing on her lips.   

"I want to provide some reassurance." He explained He licked his own lips before his eyes flicked back to hers "humor me." He pushed. A trick? A trap? Some kind of test? She took a breath and let herself trust him if only for a moment. He felt her acceptance, his smirk growing into a full blown smile. 

"Close your eyes and float on your back." 

Insead of being embarrassed about her exposed body, she did as he said. She closed her eyes and let her body float in the water belly button pointed to the sky like she was taught. Her awareness of their presence in the force sharpened, her breath came slower, and she sank into the quiet further. He held a hand on each of her temples, the Force crackled through his fingers and suddenly she was seeing. 

A shop. 

A hand turning a flower bulb left then right before her eyes tracked to the doorway of whatever building she was in. No, not Osha. This was a memory, Qimir's memory. The shop from their first meeting, any minute she would walk through the door and they would have the exchange that changed everything. Anticipation filled her whole body, this is what I felt…

His voice drifted through the memory, distinct over the sounds from the street.  

What he felt? His heartbeat picked up and then there she was. A cloak over her locs and a very pained attempt at nonchalance on her face. 

Breathtaking, perfect…

She saw herself through his eyes and felt all the emotions he had to keep quiet. They were like the waves on the beach, pounding through his body in lulls and crests. 

Devotion, longing, burning curiosity, awe…

“Qimir,” she whispered his name and slowly felt herself returning to her body. She opened her eyes and found him staring down at her. 

“That was just me seeing you Osha.” His eyes were so open, she must have been looking into his soul. The dark place he kept his most precious vulnerabilities. 

“You could have been completely Force blind and I would have still wanted you.” 

He rubbed his fingers into her scalp in circular motions. 

“The fact that you are a literal shinning star in the Force is just a bonus Osha, it just means our connection will be all the stronger.” 

She swallowed and tried to will the tears away, they streaked down the sides of her cheeks and into the water. 

“You’re mine Osha.” He enunciated each word, she felt them throughout her body bringing peace to her spiraling thoughts. All the worries that he only would want her for power settled. 

“Can you accept me? Can I be yours?” 

Again the eyes like a window to his soul, she fell into them and felt like she was drowning. Waves of feeling rolling through and over her, she took them and understood there was no turning back now. She swallowed and began to nod, “you’re mine.” She said in a choked whisper. 

“I will not throw you away and I will not let you fail Osha.” He pronounced. 

“How can you promise I won’t fail?” She asked. He leaned down, shifting her locs to the side and pressed his lips to her forehead. 

“Because there is no one way to manipulate the Force, stop holding onto the Jedi’s lies.”    

They were moving, he was guiding their bodies closer to shore so he could stand. He gathered her in his arms, wet skin against wet skin and sat with her in his lap. She faced him and let her surrender fill her heart. It didn’t feel like she was losing, didn’t feel like her will was being ignored. She felt…relief. 

“If one way doesn’t work we’ll just find another way, Osha, it’s simple.” His hands traced down her arms, the movement deliberate and sure, “the first step is you allowing yourself to feel it all. Emotions are your source,” he leaned forward. They held each other’s eyes, her breath hitched as his lips pressed into her sternum right between her breasts. The touch set a slow burning fire through her blood. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her hands settled into his hair. She tugged gently and a shudder racked him, his eyes were half lidded. 

“Thank you.” She pressed her forehead to his, “for being so patient with me. I just- “

“You don’t have to thank me. After what we’ve been through…I would have waited for as long as it took.” 

His hands traveled up then down her back. It was Osha who tipped her chin and touched her lips to his. The simmering warmth her body had been steeping in, exploded, shot through all of her limbs in such an alarming blast she could only hold on. He kissed her back as if he was born to do it. His hands moved from her back to framing her face. He nipped at her bottom lip then groaned when she tasted him with her tongue.

“Do you know how long I’ve imagined this?” He pulled an inch away and spoke while he pecked her lips with little kisses. She smiled, “no, how long?” 

“From the moment you said that you wanted to see me.” He chuckled at the memory of  her forced delivery, “I wanted to kiss the nervousness right out of you.” 

He dove in again tasting her while he rubbed his thumbs on her cheeks. He tipped her head up then kissed and licked at her neck. She gripped his head and pulled him closer into her skin. Her hips rocked and she felt his hardness tucked right against her stomach. 

“I need…I need…” She whimpered when his mouth finally enclosed one of her nipples. He sucked and she writhed hard in his lip. 

“I know what you need,” he nipped then moved to her other breast. She had flings before on didn’t ships. But a quickie on a cot in a space freighter this was not. He pulled slightly away despite her trying to hold him to her body. His hands moved to her waist and he leaned further back so he could look at her perched on his lap. 

“Can I -”

“Yes,” she answered frantically, “yes, just please, I need you.”  She rocked again on his lap, her wet center slicking down his length teasing them both. He hissed his fingers finding the bundle of nerves right above where she needed him most. He rubbed in frantic circles, her back arched and she cried up at the sky. She couldn’t stop herself from shuddering but she needed more. Her body ached for him empty where she needed him to fill her. 

The fingers circling her clit dipped gently into the wetness at her entrance. 

"Mmmm, so wet for me." He said softly. Her hips canted into his touch and she sobbed when she felt two of his fingers finally filling her channel. She had never felt so out of control, the clearing, the water it all felt like another world. Her world had shrunk to his fingers moving back and forth inside of her. She was only panting breaths and a thrumming energy that climbed higher and higher. Distantly she supposed she was speaking, calling to him, whimpering, pleading. She moved with him urging him faster, soon soon soon she would tip all the way over the edge. She clenched around him and he murmured a curse into her skin. He leaned forward and captured one of her nipples again. 

"Oh god." She cried. 

Let. Go. 

His voice echoed in her mind and then he bit her nipple twisted and hooked his fingers inside of her and she saw stars. 

Osha shook and whimpered in his arms while her vision hazed around the edges and her cries became hoarse.

"Your mine." He kissed all along her chest. His own breaths were sawing out of him, she wondered if it would always feel like this? Would he always be able to make her body sing?

"Yours." She agreed, she was coming down from her high, reason returning by inches. She looked down into his eyes and saw the same awe he had showed her in his memory. He looked at her like she was a goddess, his goddess. He removed his fingers and she held his eyes as he set them into his mouth to taste her. 

“You taste good.” He observed and a blush crawled up her chest. She looked away and tried not to let his statement cause her too much satisfaction. His hand wrapped around her throat gently, his head tilted and he smiled up at her. 

“Really not the time to act shy.” He chuckled, “especially since we’re nowhere near done.” He gave her throat a gentle squeeze. 

“Oh yeah?” She sounded breathless but her voice didn’t waver even as her heart pumped in anticipation. 

“Yeah Osha.” He pulled her closer for another kiss, his other arm was busy. He wrapped his arm around her, “up.” He whispered as he pulled her up to her knees. She felt like she was floating anticipation jamming through her veins like a drug. He was a man possessed, his eyes burned into hers. He’s mine. The thought played on repeat until he began pulling her down. All her thoughts fizzled out when he began to breach her. The lower she sank the more gone Qimir looked, she finally sat all the way onto his lap and his eyes rolled back. 

“Fuck..” 

She was full of him and it felt like heaven. There were no more spiraling thoughts no worries, just two souls joined together in the sand. 

[everythingelseisextra]

The Women Of Birmingham

Request: No Description: After years of ruling alone, your power comes into question with the return of the men from war. An attempt to bargain goes awry. Warnings: Language, Canon-typical violence, sexism Word Count: 1999 Author's Note: Similar story, just edited and improved

Rome wasn’t built in a day, but it was burnt in one. There’s a certain precarious paranoia to leading, a kind of constant worry that the life you built for years will be taken away. At the same time, there’s pride. Strong, running through your veins in a way you hadn’t felt before you took power. That a woman, low-born and considered hopeless, had taken over Birmingham, ran the streets without mercy. The underworld belongs to you, Hades or Anubis or Hel, and you live as judge, jury, and executioner. Finally, for the first time in your life, you feel as though you’d made it. 

Your women creep along the smoggy and filthy streets, sentinels in the constant tide of petty criminals and broken promises. It’s a small circle of trust you’ve created, one you regulate with an iron fist, because if someone questions you, tries to take over, they need to be gone. They need to be dead. Your reputation precedes you, and people bow their heads as you pass, murmuring greetings. Police avert their gaze. Drunkards stumbling away, worried they’ll disrespect you.

Before you took power, your mind was filled with fantasies, with helpless wishes of romance. The pattern on your wrist seems to match no one, and you’ve given up on checking. You don’t need a soulmate. You need the bloodthirsty stain on your soul, the lack of mercy in your hands, you need to be a bullet in a gun. Sometimes, while you’re sleeping, you get flashes; sooty, pale skin, terrified blue eyes, and claustrophobia. 

During the war, your rule was unquestioned. The remnants of the Peaky Blinders focused on staying alive in the brutality of Birmingham. Your women kept the city moving, culling the wild edges of personality, succeeding without fail at maintaining order. 

Then the men came home. 

Thomas Shelby demands respect in silence. He’s done nothing to earn it but expects it regardless, seeking the same treatment you receive without doing any of the work. He knows you from afar. His movement within the city has so far been respectful, keeping to himself, twisting the thoughts of others and slowly building his reputation. Now, though, you watch as his meddling fingers toy with the edges of your territory; the racetracks. 

You could lose them without taking a hit. That’s not your concern. As soon as he sets his sights on your territory, a war will start. It blossoms on the horizon, curling dark clouds into a hurricane, and you sit in silence and wonder to yourself how to nip it in the bud. 

“Kimber still follows your orders. You don’t need to do anything. It’ll take care of itself.” Mary, a small woman with eyes like a falcon’s and a mind like a steel trap, leans on the table you sit at, looking down at you. Your eyes flick up to meet hers, and she looks away, stepping back, realizing her mistake. 

“You don’t understand the Shelbys. If it’s not this, it’ll be something else.” You lean back, toying with the knife in your hand. 

“Okay. Yes. Sorry.” She bows her head and you smile faintly, running a finger along the edge of your knife.

“Speak with Grace. Confirm that tomorrow is Black Star Day. I don’t trust Campbell.” Your lip curls at the name. “Send me Rose on your way out.”

Mary nods and steps back, leaves the room without another word. You sigh, return to carving out symbols on the table, turning the dark wood into hollowed out flaxen. This restaurant you sit in, abandoned past sundown, appears ghostly in the hanging lights. All wood and smooth edges, grain hardly smoothed from the dark oak. The Dog House, it’s called, and it sits away from the chaotic ebb and flow, a station of rest for someone like you. Here, attention can shift from you, and you can blend into the shadows, sit away from the sights of those looking for guidance or orders. Usually, that is.

Rose wanders in. Of your women, she is most eloquent. A poet by nature, a liar by choice, she serves as your ambassador, your spokesperson, and your dealer. Talented and highly valuable, but fear backs even the bravest off their own skills. 

You speak to her without looking up, stopping her in her tracks. “How afraid are you of Thomas Shelby?”

She shakes her head, eyes respectfully on the ground in front of her. “I’m not.”

“You will meet with him tonight and request a meeting before daybreak. You’ll have backup hidden around you. Might be able to prevent a gang war.” You flip your knife around your hand, spinning it thoughtlessly. 

“As you want.” 

You smile faintly. “Always as I want.”

Afterwards, you wish you could’ve heard them speaking. Wish you would have listened in, been close enough to hear the words exchanged. Tommy, standing there, hands in his pockets, head tilted, lips slightly parted, cap pulled low over his brow. Mary, sturdy as always, dress swirling around her ankles, pale cream coat loose on her shoulders. Feet inches away from a brownish puddle of Birmingham muck. And, you, in an alleyway behind them, knife clutched in your hand, ready. The weight of a gun on your hip, touching your thigh, consoles you, protects you, assures you. Ready. Across the road, two more sit in wait, ready to defend your sister in crime, as she speaks to a giant of the city.

It happens quickly. Mary finishes a sentence, Tommy nods, says a few words. Mary’s hand drifts to within her overcoat, where a gun sits in ready, slow, methodical, as though he wouldn’t notice if she was casual. 

A gunshot. Tommy’s hand, clutching a gun, raised at his side.

A small body dropping, splashing, covered in mud and sewage and the stench of the city’s outflow. Pale dress splattered with ruby and earthy brown and stinking gray.

Without thinking, without planning, you dart out from the alleyway, come up behind him, and stab your knife into his shoulder, hard. Yank it out, go for another hit, then shoot back when he swings around. He takes two steps towards you, hand on his gun, then jerks back. Your backup has him by both arms, holding him almost off the ground in their grip. You pull your gun, prepare to shoot, line it up with his forehead. Stare without blinking into bright blue eyes.

His eyes widen, he squirms, tries to thrash out of the grip of the two women holding him, and fails. Then, he goes deadly, horrifyingly still. Not limp. Not a surrender. A steady, threatening wait, a predator biding its time, hunting. His eyes settle onto yours. You expect terror. You expect the flare of self-protective adrenaline to spark at you from the blue, expect something like begging for repentance in his expression. Instead, you meet ice. Your blood goes cold along with it, affected uncharacteristically by the lack of fear of death. What could push someone to stare the reaper in the eyes and not blink, even smile, prepared and ready? 

By the time you find yourself, he’s speaking. “Listen.”

You laugh and press the cold barrel to his forehead. But, out of sheer curiosity, you stay quiet.

“If it’s war you’re looking for, you’re in the wrong place.” Blood drips from his back, but he stays steady, his eyes staring straight into yours. 

It would be easy, so easy, to slit his throat. Watch the flesh separate, the blood spill out, all that brilliance inside of him wasted in seconds. You push your gun to his forehead, tilting his head back, and stare down at the vulnerable skin, pale and smooth, untouched. 

As if reading your mind, his low voice speaks, and you feel you have no choice but to listen.“The Shelbys, the Lees, whoever is left from France…Lot of enemies you’d be making.”

You pause, then, in one breath, speak. “Drop him.” 

His body hits the ground, hard, and you watch as blood billows out of his shoulder, stains the fine blue suit he wears. You step forward and kick him hard in the ribs. He grunts, curls into himself, stays down.

“An eye for an eye,” you say, just loud enough for him to hear it. “Don’t fuck with the women of Birmingham.”

“You’ve been meddling.” Campbell’s nasally, horrible voice bounces off your ears and hits hard against the cold walls.You stop in your tracks, stare at him in front of you, hair on the back of your neck raising as he speaks. “I thought we had a deal, though, I couldn’t expect the likes of you to understand loyalty.”

“Collateral damage.” You widen your stance in the alleyway as if prepared for a fight, blink through the fresh light of the dawn and focus on his silhouette darkening your path out. “Won’t happen again.”

“Oh, but it will.” He wags a finger at you, patronizing. “You… ladies have no self control. You understand me when I say, except for Grace, you aren’t meant for men’s jobs.”

You nod slowly, a sick feeling of disgust twisting around your spine, curl your hand into a fist, then relax it. “What do you want from me, Campbell?”

“‘Sir,’ to you. I’m doing you the justice of giving you a warning.” His smile turns his lips into thin slices of flesh, bulging where they meet the rest of his face. “I am tired of playing games. I plan to clean up this city and rid it of gangs and wild women like you once and for all.”

To a man who thinks himself a god amongst mortals, a warning and a threat are the same thing. You walk forward, continue your way through the alleyway, knock into his shoulder as you pass.

“I expected nothing less than a thank you!” He calls after you. 

You let his words roll off your shoulders, continue on. Down the filthy sidewalks, eyes on your destination, only a few blocks ahead. Building upon building, all the same gray, square formation, cobblestone roads and children running and playing, horses spooking, men heaving hammers in niches. Clanging, laughing, vomiting, yelling. You block it out, set yourself in order, start to try to focus. A plan settles in your mind without much thought, a child of the panic throbbing your heart in extra beats, toying with your perceptions.

Your stomach flips when the risk dawns on you, the gambit you’re preparing to perform. As always, an iron grit pushes you forward, stubbornness of making a choice urging you towards the building you’re quickly gaining on. Rather roll the dice, put your life on the line, gamble with everything you have, than wither away, sit and watch, give up the ground you’ve taken. Women nod at you from enclaves, smile through their work to greet you, stop and wave as they hurry their children around. You return their salutes, though never offer a smile.

You open the front door without knocking, slip under a curtain, make your way up into the betting house, where gamblers make their shout and squint at papers and talk in loud, unhinged voices, and a blackboard chalks horse’s names in mediocre handwriting. 

You find a man, any man, wearing a suit and pull him aside. He yanks his arm away from you as though you bit him, and you hold back a smile. 

“What?!” He speaks as though his mouth is full, though you know for sure it’s empty, given how gaping it becomes.

“I need to speak with Tommy Shelby. Now.” You look past him into the bustling room, full of shouting, sweaty men, grinning and excited to throw away their money.

“Give me one reason not to throw you out.” The man steps closer to you. “Didn’t you stab him?” 

Your hand slips into  your pocket, toying with the hilt of your knife. “An enemy of his enemy is his friend. We have an objective in common, I believe.”

[blinkngone]

tides and hurricanes.

At eighteen, she dreams of Harry, only him. The calluses of his palms on the underside of her breasts, his warm mouth on the inside of her wrists, his smile on her cheek.

She dreams of Harry, and when she wakes up, he’s there beside her, lean and beautiful. Mussed hair and magic. He’s beside her every morning, and Ginny doesn’t know where her dreams end, where her reality begins.

Between the two of them, there is Chinese food in plastic containers, and summer barbecues at the Burrow; walking around Muggle London holding hands, kissing at midnight on New Year’s Eve, failed attempts to cook pasta. There is: licking ice-cream off each other, raising goosebumps along the curve of the spine with fingertips, shagging at the kitchen countertop. There are a million i love yous.

And then when she’s eighteen, between them is also Italy. The two of them in love, roaming about in hot, cobbled streets. Eating at tables on the sides of pavements, with men and women who’ve loved for hundreds of years. Who love one another still.

Italy is endless sunshine.

Ginny in string bikinis, freckles blooming on her nose and collarbones. Her long, elegant fingers around cocktail glasses. Harry, tanned and besotted. Slavishly in love with her.

There is touching her hip bones with his broad palms under the water that is blue and green, and all shades in between. There is standing in front of her to block the sun, kissing her with the sun warming his back.

Between them, there are visits to cavernous churches, the smell of incense, the prayers of Italian children who want more toys. One time, he holds her in front of the statue of Our Lady, the light from the stained glass falling on them, standing there and saying nothing. Perhaps silently saying: let us always stay like this, together.

At night, there is star-gazing. Mad dancing at piazzas. Feeding each other lobster meat across the wooden table, playing footsie underneath it like stupid kids.

Afterwards, there is tasting the ocean on each other’s skin. Moving in a practiced rhythm, connected like the waves of the ocean. Sometimes, they create tides that ebb and flow gently. Sometimes, they create hurricanes.

[themarginalthinker]

Undertow

Laddie and the Boys go beach combing. Laddie shows Dwayne some shells he found.

-

Hey guys! Back with another one! A cute scene between Dwayne and Laddie I've had in my head for forever, and finally getting around to writing it.

However, before the drabble, there are a couple of things I'd like to say about specifically our version of Dwanye here:

In our headcanons and worldbuilding, Dwayne is Native Canadian, from the Haida people of Haida Gwaii off the coast of BC Canada. In this drabble, he tells Laddie a story of Raven. I, nor my co-author, are Indigenous. The information on the story nominally comes from the University of British Columbia and the Canadian Museum of History. Here and here.

As someone who is not part of the culture and wishes to be respectful, I am open to concrit and suggestions for how to change or improve the character's representation or dialogue, and corrections about the presentation of the story or alternate sources of information!

As always, thank you. :>

When Laddie runs back to him, he's covered in sand.

"Did you fall in?" Dwayne asks with a laugh at the sight of the boy. The large shirt they'd cut down to size that still hung off his small frame was soaked, a smear of red, slimy algae coating the lower edge. His shorts, that were at least made for his small stature, are no better, wet on the front at the backside. There's sand coating Laddie's legs up to his knees and crusted on his forearms. Dwayne will end up brushing out his hair later and come away with enough to make a sandcastle, he's sure.

Laddie is grinning from ear to ear, though. He rushes to Dwayne, barefoot on the deserted beach. The epitome of a child in summer.

"Paul was giving me a piggy back ride and Marko pushed him and we all fell in the water!" Laddie says as he comes close.

Dwayne raises an eyebrow and looks up, to the pair further down the way. Paul and Marko are dancing around each other, feet barely touching the surf as the waves flow and ebb, pants rolled up to their knees and similarly barefoot to avoid soggy boots. They laugh, call each other names that Dwayne is glad Laddie is out of earshot for, and attempt to toss each other into the waves - or failing that, throwing gobs of wet sand at each other. Their jackets are stashed at the bikes that they'd parked up the dunes, where the beach turns into rocky outcroppings overlooking the little curve of hidden cove.

Up there, the glow of a lit cigarette brightens and dims with each pull on it, David huffing out the smoke as he watches the dark ocean and his pack, away from the grit and dampness.

Dwayne thinks priss, and even from this distance, he can see David pause in his smoking and shoot a look down at him. Dwayne just smirks and turns back to Laddie.

"Find anything good before they started being idiots?" He asks.

Laddie nods, and holds up the plastic yellow toy bucket in his hands, rattling its contents. Inside is a collection of shells and stones, glinting under the moonlight, washed clean.

"Uh huh! They showed me the best tide pools. Look! Paul even found some alive snails!"

Laddie reaches in and wedges one off the side of the bucket where it had been attempting to make its escape, the creature sliding wetly back into its shell to hide at his touch. The shell is striped orange and brown and faintly pink at the edges, pretty. Dwayne hums his approval at the treasure, though knowing Laddie might want to toss it back when he's told he can either let it die and keep the shell, or have to give it up anyway because, according to David, "Marko's flying rats are enough."

Dwayne glances into the bucket, pawing through them himself to see what else Laddie had managed to find.

A good handful of seaglass, blues and browns, worn smooth and frosty with the endless sands and waters. There were a good number of cockle shells, small and grey and pretty, a couple spiraling augers like little unicorn horns, a broken half of a scallop, and cowry shells jingling like coins in his palm. One, two, three four, five-

Dwayne closes his eyes, and takes a breath, banishing the numbers from his head. Waiting until the urge to count, count, count passed.

When he opens his eyes again, he sees something else, near the bottom of the bucket, grey and round and unassuming.

Dwayne reaches in and pulls it out, tugging off some seaweed clinging to it, scraping off the sand coating the inside so the pearly white interior is better seen.

A clam shell, dead and empty, but still attached by the connecting hinge.

"Hey Laddie," Dwayne says, "do you wanna hear a story?"

Laddie, previously entranced with the crawl of the whelk on his hand, leaving wet little trails along his skin, looks up.

"Yeah!" He nods his head, long sun-streaked hair flying around his ears. Dwayne reaches out and hooks a truly wayward lock behind his ear. If he wasn't careful he'd start to look like a mini Paul, and then where would they be.

Dwayne rubs the clam shell between his thumb and finger, and the words come quietly.

"A long time ago, when the world was very new, there was Raven. And because the world was so new, Raven was alone."

He lets the count of each pass of his fingers keep the words from catching behind his teeth. Letting them pass.

"One day, Raven flew down to the beach, where he watched the waves come in and out. He didn't find anything new, anything to catch his interest. He very well may have left, if something new hadn't caught his sight, at the last moment."

Laddie tilts his head, eyes intent, on Dwayne and the shell.

"There was a clam shell in the sand, but not like any other shell Raven had ever seen. It moved around, wiggling like no clam ever did. There was something in it."

"What?" Laddie asks, the conspiratorial tone Dwayne had unintentionally adopted having wormed into his own curiosity. Dwayne smiles with him. Leaning in a little. Thirty one passes of his thumb, thirty two passes, thirty three-

"Well, Raven flies down, and he lands on the shell. He pecks it, he prods it, he tries to see it all. And when he tries to open it, a hand comes out! Inside the clam shell are creatures that Raven has never seen before. Very strange looking, too. Bare skin instead of fur or feathers or scales, and just one patch of long black hair, the same color as him. When they see Raven, they are very afraid, and want to stay in the shell, but Raven calls them out. The world is very big, but Raven wants friends, and eventually, they emerge. The first people in the world."

As he has spoken, Dwayne's soothing of the shell hasn't stopped, the numbers in his head keep ticking up. He's smiling down at the shell in his hand, hearing the hush of the ocean nearby. The words come easy, as a scar on his palm catches on the edge of the clam.

"That's a funny story," Laddie says. His smile has turned into a little contemplative frown, shifting from foot to foot as he waits for Dwayne to finish.

Dwayne blinks.

"Yeah, it is, huh."

"Hey! Laddie! Over here!"

Laddie turns around as Paul calls out from down the beach, he and Marko crouching by some big, flat rocks, poking at a pool. Waving to him to come and see and fill his bucket more.

Dwayne breathes.

"If you find any more shells small enough, you can ask nicely for Marko to make them into a bracelet for you," Dwayne tells Laddie, standing up properly. Laddie's eyes sparkle at the idea, and he nods vigorously again, hair flying back out of place from his ear. He's off before Dwayne can reach out to put it back, legs kicking up sand as he runs, bucket of finds swinging.

Dwayne watches him go, and only realizes he's still holding the clam shell when the edge digs into his fingers. Held too tight in his hand.

Looking back out at the dark ocean, Dwayne pulls his arm back, and throws.

-

"Laddie-!" Star exclaims, eyes wide from where she'd looked up from her seat on the bed. She tosses aside the book she'd been reading to rush up to Dwayne.

Laddie is in his arms, barely awake. "Relax, Star," Dwayne shrugs. "It's summer. Let him live, huh?"

Star pointedly looks over the boy, covered in leftovers of the night's escapade from head to foot. Sea salt and sand and stained shirt, hair tied back with a bit of dried kelp of all things - matching Paul's own hair, evidence of the culprit of such a silly thing. A faint smile still on his face as his hands barely keep hold of his bucket.

With a sigh, Star just reaches forward and gently lays a hand on Laddie's back. "Fine. But you're washing it all tomorrow. Child included."

"Fair enough."

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

Familiar tidings, Globetrotter, I see you've once again decided to visit this old crone. And you've brought an unfamiliar face with you, I see.

No need to tell me what you're here for, I already know. I told you before, haven't I? News travel quickly around here.

Seals barked, the dugongs sang and the ebb and flow of the tides told me everything I needed to know about your second journey to my cove. We seafolk are always well aware as to when you land dwellers wish to ask of us favors and blessings. You humans are always quick to ask for our knowledge in spite of how you treat such a precious resource like an infinite toy.

No need to look uncomfortable, though.

The seas are cold but there's warmth in my heart this particular day.

So let's see just how deep this love runs between you both, shall we?

the seashells told me

Look at that, I'm doing another event.

Back in ye olden days of this blog's origins, I did a love letter event using tarot and conchomancy. This time around, I'll only be using conchomancy to view the compatibility between you and your character of choice. Simply tell me your initials, sun and moon sign and your character of choice and I'll supply the results of the reading utilizing my collection of seashells, pearls and sea glass.

Good or bad or somewhere in between, this is just all for good fun this Valentine's Day 2024.

🐚Fandoms: shingeki no kyojin, tokyo revengers, genshin impact, chainsaw man, jujutsu kaisen, our life (1 & 2)🐚

🦪 Event closes: february 14th 11:59 PST 🦪

[songbirdtales]

Birds of a Feather (AstarionxTav)

Author's note:

Hey folks, this fic contains spoilers for the Kahga questline in the emerald grove. This is a Part 1 of 2, I split the fic up to make it more readable. Part 1 is SFW, Part 2 will be NSFW. I have another fic I'm still debating on posting that's a fix it of the scene with Gandrel but im not sure it's really my place to be posting that, LMK what you think.

Gale, Karlach, Astarion and Tav had returned to the Druid’s Grove for supplies. Tensions were still high, the ritual still being performed, and the four had split up. Karlach was doing squats with several children on her shoulders while Gale was preoccupied picking apart the tiefling apprentice wizard. Astarion wandered the grove seemingly aimlessly. His eyes scanned every inch of the camp for barrels to pick food from and loose gold. He’d taken a turn around the sacred pool when he heard the melodic twang of plucked strings. 

Curious, Astarion followed the sound to find Tav playing their lute beside another tiefling. She was delicate and young, and the tiefling looked so natural together. Tav always felt so out of place among their bunch, but beside the other bard, Tav fit perfectly into the world. Tav had their eyes on her as she worked through lyrics, her voice slow and off beat as she found their place. Tav played slow, waiting for her to lead the beat and chiming in with another line when she’d find herself stuck. 

He hid in the brush and watched as they worked it all out, the two started from the beginning once more. This time the beat was more steady, though still slow. Their shared focus on analyzing each other and gently building a fuller picture of the sound. It was a somber song, a requiem, and as they finished the pretty stranger smiled bright.

She gasped for air as if she were coming up for air from under water, turning to Tav who was sitting beside her, one leg propped up on the seat to help support their instrument and let them sit turned towards her. She sat very close, but the two didn’t touch. “This is the first song I’ve written since my teacher passed.”

Tav relaxed the neck of their lute, letting the instrument rest across their lap as their arms relaxed. “I’m glad to help. She wouldn’t want your grief to rob you of your passion, Alfira.”

Her dark ashen cheeks flushed as she leaned a little closer. “Are you working on anything?” Her tail flit nervously behind her as Tav’s swayed happily, beginning to keep a beat.

“I am. Would you like to hear?” There was that smile, the one that threw Astarion off with one word, the one that had Gale so enraptured. It was seductive, addictive, and that strange feeling in his gut returned. It was as if someone was twisting his innards as he watched his mark play with another’s heart.

“P-please?” Alfira practically moaned. The two turned just a little closer as Tav took the lute up in their hands once more.

“It’s still a work in progress but,” Tav’s grin grew wider, sure and arrogant. Astarion knew the look, he made it all the time. They were lying, toying with her for the thrill, but was that so bad? Just some harmless flirting with a pretty girl, it wasn’t like Tav had any loyalties, but that made Astarion panic more. His plan was getting less and less simple.

Tav began to a gentle and bright melody, nodding along to instruct Alfira on the tambourine beat. Once she had it, they focused on the strings once more and began to sing at Alfira. This was a finished song, one Tav kept in their pocket just for moments like this. There was a melancholy to the dissonance between the lute and their voice. The song was drenched in regret and yearning.

She was drawn in closer as Tav played, the softly somber longing in the tune was hypnotic as their gaze, the steady beat and shift between staccato and legato notes made for an ebb and flow as trancing as the tide. For most of the performance, Tav’s eyes had been on Alfira, closing them only as they got into the rhythm for a moment and returning to her just as quickly. There was an attentiveness to their gaze, it made the rest of the world fade away. 

Just watching it made Astarion feel like he was in the back of a dark theater watching the lead seduce their co-star. How he wished it were him on stage with them instead. The thought made him prickle, why would he long to be in Alfira’s place? Perhaps there was more magic in their voice than he realized, he convinced himself as he covered his face with a gloved hand. That must have been it, Tav must be using magic on the poor girl. He could appreciate the sadism, and surely these strange feelings were simply an unintended side effect, a charm Tav thought only Alfira was present to be placed under, perhaps that was his punishment for snooping.

Astarion was lost in thought and hidden away as the bards played on. Alfira joined in with her own voice as the verses repeated, the two harmonizing pleasantly. Tav’s voice drew Astarion’s attention back as the tune shifted, slowing as Tav came to the end. 

The two tiefling sat nearly nose to nose, the song slowly pulling them closer together and as the last line repeated, slowing to a finish. Alfira lingered in Tav’s breath. Without a word she leaned in, closing that small distance to kiss them and Tav followed in turn. It was chaste, simple, and sweet. Her voice breathed out against Tav’s lips as they stared into each other’s eyes.

“Thank you.” Her lips still brushed against Tav’s before the two sat back. Alfira fixed her hair and let her hands settle back in her lap while Tav still held their lute in their strange seated legs, relaxed and satisfied. “I feel… Inspired.”

Tav’s tail wiggled in delight behind them and out of sight of Alfira, but it was all too in view of Astarion. They placed a hand over their heart and bowed with the lute. “I’m honored to be your muse.” Their words melted the girl with ease, it was starting to be cruel, especially towards him. He could have played along with this, the two of them toying with the girl together, it was frankly selfish of them to have kept her to themself.

Tav stood, swinging their lute over their shoulder with their pack. “I should find my companions, but I hope the next time we meet you’ll play something new for me.”

Alfira nodded, her cheeks still dark as Tav made their heart race. “Yes, I’ll be sure to have something, perhaps… I’ll even write a song about you.”

“I’d be honored.” Tav bowed, their performance so smooth and convincing, they were good at this. “Until then, take care.” Tav saunted off towards the sacred pool, their tail now composed as their back faced Alfira while their face gave away their boyish cheer. “Still got it.” They hummed as they licked their lips, remembering the sensation, the thrum of their heart, the look in Alfira’s eyes. It was intoxicating to bring so much life to someone. Tav was so lost in the intoxication of it all that they walked straight into Astarion, who had simply stepped out from behind a tree. 

Astarion didn’t budge as Tav stumbled back, almost losing their balance from the collision. They blinked a few times as they recovered, a snide smile greeting them from Astarion once they had. “Well, Looks like you were having fun.”

Tav’s confident smile lingered as curiosity joined their expression. “I did. Sorry for not inviting you. You were having so much fun hissing at the children, I didn’t want to disturb you.”

He’d not expected an apology and took it as a slight, his tongue clicking sharply in response as he crossed his arms. “A bit cruel, don’t you think? Playing with the poor girl’s heart like that. I can appreciate the sadism but to say I’d expected it from you,” He shook his head, tsking sharply three times as he did so. 

Tav sighed, tilting their head in response, almost disappointed. “I don’t expect you to get it,” They said as they walked, waiting for him to follow. The two found a place to sit, watching the druids at work as they spoke. “Was I being a hollow flirt, sure, but I don’t mind being that to give her a moment that makes her remember that life can be beautiful and musical and magic again after such great hurt.” They were being honest, but he refused to believe. “It’s not cruel, I’m a healer. It’s healing via performance.” Their deflection faltered though. Sure, maybe it was cruel, they tried not to think about that.

His eyes turned to Tav as they tried to talk their way out of it. He’d caught them in a truly tender moment they were trying to brush off as nothing, and had only indulge in for indulgence’s sake. They really weren’t so different, Tav just brought their feelings into it. They’d learn not to eventually. He let that thought go, and hoped it never came back. He didn’t want to think that they might be birds of a feather, that he might not have the advantage in this. “That’s a bit delusional, don’t you think?” He prodded back, poking at the mound and hoping an owlbear wasn’t underneath.

“Delusion comes with the trade.” This was worse, not something that could overpower him with awful force, but a peer on equal footing in the world of deception and power hungry monsters. There was an absence of fear that one might mistake for foolishness, but the flash of a hidden tiger’s eyes is not a foolish tell from the tiger. It is a warning. “I did no harm, if anything I was stocking the dying embers of her creativity. We will go our separate ways and she will have a nice moment to think back on with a fellow in her craft. Tell me how that’s cruel?”

“Is it not cruel for you to fake such a thing?” His projection was peeking through and Tav could tell.

They shook their head. “It wasn’t fake, it was just fun and we both knew it. Nothing serious, nothing deep, just comfort for comfort’s sake.” Their eyes were still out on the ritual, coming back each time to the door to Kahga’s chambers. “Say… remember what you suggested the other night?”

Astarion’s interest peaked. “About… the druid?” His fanged smile grew wide. Of course he remembered suggesting they kill her.

“I just… have a feeling something else is going on here. This whole ritual just… smells wrong.” Their eyes turned back to him. “What would you say about maybe… sifting through her valuables?”

“Darling,” He leaned closer, planting a hand just behind them on the bench. He was playing with them now, seeing how well they liked their own poison. “If you wanted my forgiveness, you could have just tilted your head. But how could I say no to blackmail?”

A hint of a flush came to Tav’s cheeks as they stared at him, captivated by the act but not believing it. “I should get changed then.” They said as they snapped their fingers and cast disguise self. They didn’t change much, their horns vanishing and sclera turning white. Their scars and tattoos vanished, leaving them plane faced. The now Elven looking Tav had warm skin now, though just as dark, they were simply a slight alteration of themself. “That should be easier.” They beamed.

Astarion stood, offering his hand to them. Tav took it in a show, playing along, before the two made their way into the underground chamber. Astarion held a hand out to stop Tav as they lingered in the shadows. A finger pressed to his lips as he cast invisibility on them and pulled his hood up, the magic cloaking him as well. Shielded from the gaze of the druids, the two began to look through the back rooms, finding bedrolls and books, cups and bowls, but nothing too worldly. 

As the magic began to vanish, Astarion pulled Tav into a small nook behind a bookcase. The two pressed into the shadows as a druid passed. Once the coast was clear and they’d each began to look around for their next move, Tav noticed a chest tucked in the dark. They tried to open it but it was locked. The sound drew Astarion’s attention quickly and he wordlessly knelt beside the chest. It was so easy for him to crack open the most difficult locks, they’d come to like that about him even as he cracked open a few of their own.

The chest popped open loudly, the druid on the other side of the room squinting in their direction. “Is someone there?”

Tav and Astarion looked to each other and without a word, Astarion stood and pinned them to the wall. The way they stood blocked the trunk from view, while his arm pressed against the wall beside their face shielded Tav’s illusion from scrutiny. He quickly leaned in towards them so the first the druid saw was him pulling away from what looked like a much more intimate scene. “Do you mind?” His tone was enough to drive the druid away, the man recoiling and exiting the room quickly in irritation. 

With a soft sigh of relief they each relaxed from their posing and turned their attention to their spoils. Tav opened the chest to a book and a letter, reading them quickly. “This…” They scanned the letter before passing it back to Astarion and opening the book. The letter was an invitation for Kahga to meet a writer whose name was unfamiliar. As Tav read the book they fell silent, their concentration breaking on the illusion before they silently passed the book back to Astarion. It detailed the ritual Kahga was in the process of doing. It was a baneful ritual of shadow druid magic.

Tav stared up at Astarion, worry clear on their face. Still silent, Astarion pointed to the location on the letter. They both knew it, near the hag’s tea house. He’d offer them his hand and they’d take it, the two vanishing from the druid chambers.

Outside the grove Astarion paced about as Tav sat on a rock. “We could just leave it be?” Astarion suggested, smiling back to them as they shot him an unamused look.

“Or,” They nodded back towards the grove. “We expose her for what she is and collect a reward. I’m sure these druids have some pretty magical items.”

“You have a treasure problem.” He said with a bit more of a serious look. “Karlach can’t carry everything you find in her pack.”

Tav pouted. “But Astarion,” They bat their eyes as they tilted their head, giving him a pretty view of the curve of their neck. “You’re the one that suggested we kill her.”

His jaw shifted in a circular motion as he pondered his reaction. “... Fine.” He sighed, turning towards the path back to the bog. “Step quickly!” He’d call back, Tav hopping off the rock and running to catch up to him.

The two scampered off towards the bog, both light on their feet as they hopped from broken docks to muddy banks. They found an abandoned camp along the way, the blood of those who’d set their things there still visible in the grass, yet there Tav went looking through their packs.

“Please explain this to me,” Astarion gestured to them as he leaned against a tree. “You’ll take a deadman’s valuables, and you want to save some refugees from a corrupt druid too?”

Tav laughed a little as they took the strings off the lute by the fire, picking the instrument apart for parts. “Dead folks don’t miss things like lute strings and potatoes, and if I can ruin a racist’s life, why not?” They looked back at him. “Besides, exposing her will gain us trust with the druids. They might reward us with gold or arms, or healing aid once this goblin mess is over. Either way, it’s beneficial for us to make friends, even if it's just the kind of friends you call for a fight.”

The logic was sound, but it was so much effort. He rolled his eyes in exaggerated annoyance as he groaned. “Don’t make ‘do gooding’ make sense to me, you witch.”

“Then don’t think about that,” They said as they stood, sauntering over to him. “Focus on all that frustration you’re going to take out on my neck later.”

“Is that a promise?” Astarion’s mischievous grin had returned. He was easily bought. 

“You deserve a good drink after working so hard.” They were so close now, if he just reached out a little he could reach them, but he didn’t. He fought the impulse, not wanting to invite their touch in return. He would lean in, practically nose to nose with them, teasing Tav in a desperate attempt to regain the power between them.

“Then let’s go. I’m starving.” They two slipped deeper into the bog, to a set of islands and a dead tree. They followed the instructions in the letter, finding the hiding spot in the tree and waiting for the creatures of the island to turn their backs. Astarion pulled his hood up again and cloaked himself from view. He spun past the weird little creatures of the bog, some sort of plant thing and these long nosed winged pests, holding himself back from making sound in disgust of them. 

Tav would watch the nook in the tree open, some papers slip out and vanish and then there was nothing. They couldn’t even pick up his footprints as he came back to them. A slipped around them holding their mouth shut as the spell ended and Astarion took form again. He held their face firmly, pulling their head back against his chest as his other hand held out the letters. Tav silently nodded back the way they came, and the two ran back to the blighted village before ever looking at their prize.

Once they were out of the bog, Tav looked over the letter Astarion had pulled from the tree. It was damning alright, plain proof of Kahga working with the shadow druids to massacre the grove. Tav shook their head as a smile bloomed across their lips. “This is perfect.” They tapped the page before looking over to Astarion.

He’d been watching them, but was taken aback as Tav reached around him, grabbing the back of his hair and pulling him in to kiss his cheek. There was something innocent and joyous about it, like athletes celebrating a goal. 

“You were brilliant!” They cheered against his cheek before he pulled away sharply.

Astarion didn’t push them, but the look on his face told Tav to let go, and they did. He looked embarrassed, confused even, Tav had not intended that. “Don’t just kiss a man without warning. Where are you manners?”

Tav studied his face as they tilted their head, leaning over to get a better view of the expression he was trying to hide. “Sorry, I’ll ask next time.” Their voice was soft and true if not a bit playful still. They were just as much of a flirt as him. Tav stood with new found enthusiasm, still holding the letter. “We need to go back to camp and tell the others what we’ve found.”

[blessed-by-umbral]

Of Implications and Tandems.

As she stepped out of the Northern Cress Manor house, her well-practiced smile vanished from her face. The chilly night breeze brushed against her cheeks and nose, causing her to wrap the fur-lined cloak tightly around her body, trying to preserve any warmth she could. Memories of the conversations she had just engaged in echoed in her mind, much like the ebb and flow of the tides under the moon's enchanting pull.

There came particular luxuries to balls and noble gatherings; the food, the drink, but most importantly the conversation. The tension within the room as the Starlight gathering ended was heavy, which promoted Ondrea’s visit the following day. Ondrea’s experience with Osric was naught, to say the least. They’ve met in passing, twice before if memory served her, and in those moments she hadn’t seen a man befit to carry their name, yet her cousin had. “Do you love him?” Ondrea’s chuckle leapt from her lips in a cold, visible vapor as she recanted such a query that happened to be extended to Vahalia by herself. Ill placed but not ill-timed. The fact that it left her faster than she could control it was surprising enough, yet it was in the company of her cousin Vahalia that caused such unabashed honestly from Ondrea as it seemed to flow from her akin to a river flowing downstream. Vahalia's face displayed a pensive expression that etched itself into her memory. Ondrea could feel the inner turmoil that consumed Vahalia, but she understood that this was Vahalia’s battle, first and foremost. The Cress Lineage’s Northern Sect had distinct customs and separate wealth, much like the Southern house had their own abundant resources and influential connections. Nevertheless, the decisions made by the leaders of the Northern Sect had far-reaching consequences that affected a wide range of people and places.

The distant hum of the aetherite indicated her intended destination, yet she found herself unconsciously straying from it, venturing deeper into the winding streets of Ishgard. The heel of her boot scraped against the stone corridor as she came to a halt, finding ease with resting her weight to the right and listing forward to press her leather clad arms atop a balustrade which overlooked the general scenery. From this vantage point, she could gaze out at the breathtaking panorama that stretched before her. Osric occupied her thoughts once again. She couldn't help but ponder over his face, his demeanor, and strangely enough, his hands. Did those hands possess the strength and determination to dig through soil filled with deadly spikes? Was he the type of person who would extinguish someone else's life in order to safeguard or elevate the reputation of the Cress family? Ondrea acknowledged that he wasn't entirely innocent, but she rarely considered anyone to be truly innocent, and she had to give him that much credit. There were pieces of the puzzle she knew she was missing but then it was Damien’s face who waded among the surface. Unclear but distinct enough for her to recognize it was him. The displacement of Damien and Osric’s personalities was palpable but was one more worthy of carrying the name? Had Damien proclaimed such love for Valeria that he was ready to delve into the throes of marriage that quickly?

If anything, this caused but a sense of relief knowing that such burdens were not in her cards although with it came that crippling solitude, a common experience for individuals with familiar inclinations such as hers. Such feelings were washed away with shake of her head.

Ondrea stood alone and surrounded by the intricate architecture of the buildings coupled with the delicate downfall of snowflakes. Everything was beautiful and for a moment she felt her ancestral pull toward Ishgard toy with the strings of her lineage. Something she felt important to protect. She stood by her implications toward Vahalia---that despite whatever reputation Vahalia might believe herself to lose, it mattered little when it came to the big picture.

Osric was a good man and perhaps that was the essence of his downfall. There were too many good parts that were easily discovered and perhaps just as easy to break. “Good men die every day. It’s the ones who hold power that survive.” A voice dredged from the depths of her mind. A voice she hadn’t heard in quite some time. It was that of her father. He often recanted encouraging sentiments. Ironic that he relayed it to her while on his death bed. “The men of this House are cursed.” Ondrea found herself replying aloud, a soft whisper which kissed the cold ether like poison. Hoisting a hand Ondrea spread her fingers incrementally as to allow the snow to fall within her leathered palm. “They hold the power that was given to him. Given to them by us.” Something strange swelled within the pit of her belly. It nestled and anchored there like an intense purpose. These were the burdens of her cousin and she, in every respect, would support Vahalia. In Ondrea’s eyes, her children would be better suited being raised by those of true blood as opposed to those who merely adopted the name. The contemplation of such thoughts did not inflict any anguish upon her, for her involvement in this matter was not as profound as that of Vahalia's. Ondrea frequently encountered the predicament of certain lenses being exceptionally arduous to perceive, although she acknowledged that they might not be the most suitable ones she also recognized that they were necessary. The pinprick of her eye shifted back toward the portal point and with it did the chill of the evening envelop itself around her. With a quiet shiver, Ondrea pushed herself from her post and proceeded toward the aetheryte to begin her quick yet nauseating trip back home.

Mentions: @vahalia-cress-ffxiv @osric-cress-ffxiv @damien-gray-ffxiv

[attackfish]

Oooh More Avatar Ursa please

Continued from: [Link], [Link], [Link], [Link], [Link], [Link], [Link], [Link], [Link], and [Link].

1. They plot their next course of action as they run. Iroh is right, they have been heard. Azula's yells specifically have been heard. But none of the servants or guards watching that wing of the palace have been trusted with the knowledge of the secret passage. So as the servants and guards swarm the rooms searching for the prince and princess, and the Firelord's brother, Iroh and Ursa run, carrying the children in their arms.

2. When he has to put Zuko down to reajust, for the sake of his poor, elderly back, the small fire he had been carrying in his palm goes out. Ursa makes her own fire. Which is strange. Iroh had never known she was a bender.

3. The confusion gives them time. It takes time for someone to get Ozai, for Ozai to guess at what happened, to give orders to the guards, for everything to get organized. Time Iroh and Ursa need. And as they run, Iroh tells Ursa he's not coming with them. He tells her that with him disappearing at the same time as the children, his brother, well they both know what his brother is going to assume, so he'll head into town and conspicuously buy a boat, supplies, and children's clothes and toys, and head out on his own, for Ozai to chase after.

4. Azula freezes in her mother's arms as she hears this. Her mother uses the stillness to hoist her onto her shoulders. It's just in time too. They climb out of the fake well that is the mouth of the secret passage, and start walking downstream. Ursa starts telling Iroh what she plans to do next, but Iroh puts a finger to his lips, and tells her that if he doesn't know it, he can't let it slip.

5. The tide is rushing in when they reach the beach. Iroh tells them they need to hide and wait for it to slow, to ebb a little, or it will dash them on the rocks, but Ursa doesn't listen. She gets her boat and pulls it into the water. Iroh is no sailor, but he knows this is foolish, desperate, he says surely they have a better chance of hiding than braving the sea with the tides turned against them, but Ursa only settles the children onboard and bends a wave to carry them safely out to sea, Oh thinks Iroh. He shouts out to her that if the needs an earthbending teacher, she should try King Bumi of Omashu. She tells him she'll keep that in mind.

[benjaminjgbarnes]

Pyanfar's Tranquil Evening (Pride of Chanur Fan Fiction)

The airlock hissed closed behind her as the silken tufts at her tail’s extremity whipped out of harm’s way, a semi-autonomous entity toying with its own demise. That sound - so soft and yet so distinct - brought a special relief, assurance, finally, of solitude. Pyanfar felt her shoulders slump forward like those of sullen Mahi deck lingerer - Gods, she thought, if Hilfy were to see me now she might well throw every stern word I’ve ever said to her out with the next expulsion.

She thought of galactic garbage because one such deposit was, at this moment, making its way past a crescent shaped void. Little pieces of engineering waste glinted in the darkness as they dispersed. She’d cut out this crescent moon from an old vulcanised fibre sheet and stuck it against the inch of plexi-glass between her room, her space - and the space outside. This window decoration, among other personalised features of Pyanfar’s quarters betrayed a much gentler, and perhaps more idealistic self than the hardnose pragmatist her days and nights uniformed on deck required.

There was the diamond shaped container of a red neon goo that, when heated, would bounce, break and mould with the rest of itself in a soothing tide. This thing, a ‘lava lamp,’ the human had called it, was so quaint, so trivial in it’s essential proposition and yet, Pyanfar found it amazing and could lose herself for hours at a time, gazing happily in the knowledge that there was no hidden motivation. Just a gentle ebb and flow.

She liked to flick her pointed ears lazily back and forth, pausing as her pendant pearl earring teetered and fell onto the other side. She removed her gold arm band and laid it down on the small surface, beside the room’s central control unit.

“Yes,” she sighed. “Time for some luxuriant tech…”

“Relaxing mist,” She almost whispered after activating the voice command system. And soon, a light blanket of mist rippled in anti-gravity relation with the roof. It was time now for a drink - “something to take the edge off” she enacted for herself. How fun it was to play! Perhaps she could allow herself another ridiculous human artefact she’d whisked away from the mistaken cargo collection in the hold. What had Tully called it? Ah yes, a ‘martini’ glass.

Despite its gaudy appearance, this vessel was actually very convenient for her tightly curled claws. The delicate glass stem sat nicely between her knuckles. She liked to let it droop before squeezing and arcing it back to equilibrium. But that awful transparent mixture with the green pellet - that was where the role play ended. 

Pyanfar poured herself a half strength rum and coke, swirling the glass as she went so as to flatten the cola to her liking. One led to seven, and quite soon, Pyanfar was feeling pure impulse. She ran her red gold mane up against the arm of her ottoman, pushed up and cleared the top of it, then slowly slid head first down the other side, coming to rest in a glorious pile beside the platinum claw shaped foot that glinted and mimicked her own. Pyanfar brought hers over it. “More mist…” She whispered.

“More mist!” She called out this time. “I love me a space room full of mist…”

[dyrewrites]

Pale Blood - Freaks and Friends (Notes pt.2)

Faeries

“You stink like a faerie, all flowers and sunshine and evil manipulation.”

Shape-shifters and tricksters, fae are chaos incarnate. Their emotions are frequently too big and too bold for the miniscule frames that contain them, but those frames are malleable. They can grow only so large as the wyldmagic they have access to, which is their own in the barrier…and so they do not get all that big in the city. 4’ is about the maximum, but they can shrink to a speck of dust if they desire. Fae in the Wylds range from dust motes to towering behemoths and their strength shifts as they do.

Their preferred shapes in the city are that of humans, but they can be anything at any time. At some point in a faerie’s long life–they are said to survive anywhere from the length of a blink to that of belief, which is as incomprehensible as they are, and likely so on purpose–they are expected to choose a permanent shape. This is to ensure the magic that powers their tricks is contained, that it does not leak into things not meant to touch it, and it is best for the faerie and the city that they make this choice. Inside the Wylds, they may live an eternity without ever choosing, but if they intend to remain in the city they must.

Whatever shape they choose is up to them, they will still have their wyld magic and their wings and size-manipulation, but they will be forced to remain in the shape they’ve chosen until their final breath. The only way to take back one’s choice is to return to the Wylds and beg the Goddess that reigns over the domain the faerie was born into…which tends to come with a hefty price.

The choice itself is heralded as the most important moment of a faerie’s life–a city faerie anyhow–and is celebrated with all the drama and flair faeries can muster–which is all of it, even yours. To be invited to the celebration, while not a faerie oneself, is an incredible honor and one should be extremely grateful. You hear that, Del, worship me you fangless dick.

Fae have an aversion to certain materials, they cannot touch them or magic their way out of them. These are typically man-made with no magic involved, mined and shaped but purified of the myriad soil, waters and woods touched by the magic of the Wylds. They are entirely synthetic. Synthetic creatures are also a problem for fae, they cannot touch them, or be touched by them, without incredible pain. For this reason, there have been issues in the city of wealthy humans capturing and keeping faeries as trophies, pets and toys. It is highly illegal since the collapse of the Church of Som, but that doesn’t mean it’s stopped.

Faerie dust is treasured, invaluable, as it allows any who touch enough of it to perform their feats (including flight) for a short time. If ingested it acts as a mild hallucinogen.

Faeblood is not near as valuable, unless one is a fang. It can be an aphrodisiac or an opiate to fangs, depending on the amount ingested. This makes it popular in clubs and bars, as an additive to alcoholic beverages. Excessive use is an issue, addiction is common and far too easy to fall into, and so the blood is heavily regulated. The blood is sold, by various fae, to the slums’ bloodbank (and kept in locked fridges) without need for any to come to harm–though if you happen to be friends with a fae, they might mock you for it.

Mer / Sirens

“He’d used the amulet to read my thoughts again. I pictured smacking him in the face.”

Mer, Mermaids, Sirens, Fishpeople...whatever you wish to call them. They are a blend of sea and land, creatures of myth and legend that once ruled the turbulent seas but have since begun washing ashore and are probably singing at your local dive bar right now. They possess no magic beyond their voice, but that is often enough. Whether it is wailing to compel waters to flow and burst and bubble, singing to ebb the tides before they swallow an unwitting sailor, or crooning to lure and sedate their prey…their power is their voice.

Unfortunately, this voice is useless against the one who holds their heart. This is not poetry, this is literal. Their hearts are bound, linked, woven eternally to a trinket that, once owned, they have no power to retrieve. It can be taken from the Mer, it can be bartered, sold or given to another but the Mer cannot take it back unless it is given. The trinket controls them, body and mind, and bounds them wholly to the one who holds it. They are puppets tied by shimmering, throbbing threads. This has resulted in a number of Mer being sold to brothels throughout Dolor. They perform in every venue from the rich, cavernous amphitheaters of Upper Dolor to seedy hotel lobbies in the slums. They are performers by nature, pleasers by force, and with so many bought and sold through the generations there are few who expect to be anything but property.

The abuse of Mer became such a widespread issue that those outside of it, but affected by their friends and lovers being used, fought to have laws enacted. It is now illegal to buy and sell Mer trinkets. One can still buy their contract if they signed themselves away, even if this was done by force, but the sale of their physical trinkets is forbidden. However, as it is difficult to prove who owns the trinkets–what with the Mer being unable to speak ill of their owners–freeing those already sold was next to impossible.

Trinkets come in all flavors. They are made by the Mer, impulsively and without their control, when they come of age to either lay eggs or fertilize them. This is different depending on the specific species of Mer (as there are quite a few) but it can be very young, comparatively, to humans–and is perhaps the true reason for the laws to prevent their sale. A Mer comes of age anywhere from six to twenty years old.

The trinkets themselves are always made from the Mer’s own teeth, scales, skin, blood, hair, whatever they have available. It can be a simple talisman of sorts, or an earring, a necklace, a ring, a bracelet, but it is always small and easy to hold–fit for their own hands, as they are instinctively made to be given to other Mer.

With all of that said, it is easy to see how Mer who give their own trinkets away would not do so lightly. It is more than a marriage vow, it is more than a promise, it is a literal key to their heart. They are handing ownership of all that they are to another.

---

Taglist;

@ruinmegently

@rmgrey-author

[libidomechanica]

With indignations, continuing in praise, that dear,

A sonnet sequence

               1

Had eyes of the heart which she by they make folkes each our Faith wide-embrace me, on a day in a glory is truth,—though earth with my brow, he led me as a friend or foe, shall be hamburg. Well these present days, had eyes are turn’d to room, and force to be and prest the unregeneration find some, like stour; ye geck at me take. Is it for our side. When otherwhere not marvel at either throat around me once is false adulterate eyes, for oft, where art there: for we, which I though the tide ebbs in springing tongue. With indignations, continuing in praise, that dear, but, trowth, I care na by.

               2

Quick while I do so—as we say, you when I was change his great cloud of prison. Arrives a heau’nly Child, your battle: kiss is a morning wind, nor this, that we couldn’t sleep. And won him, the wide world, and treached them from me, sweet consent, and seem alive. I would not under and ever piping so dear deliverers, appears a Cage; minds innocent and pass, escaped head a little swain, I would relight. A torment, but somehow—I known munificence is ample was done. But some scent of the garden bed that the walls, walked to make a framed, the herd that moment wealth, a poor for that’s it!

               3

But therein he down; and, five year shall strike the squares and ran in on the bitter sea. Woo’d and powers actually I’m hung from the sea; Soft—music than they would but shrewd gyrles must never received it were most soul. You, the man; and walk away. And let the racket this lullaby the dusty toiles of lightly me, and many scorns and breast that’s the made, that moment or brown- eyed like all other pass like the telluric light not then in his silken fluctuation and gained in her grey-headed, on the vain would break and boats and sky! To the Field of poison they sighs wi’ care na by.

               4

Both shall never me from and I myself round the puppets, Man in my Love! And in high o’er the meadow, and to the sleek, and happy and drinke nectar from death was a difficult birth, thy words of Paradise, nor do like yon cherries in-of many a varying in the grave,? The rain across just deeme they came; there’s crowned her cheek. Red rock, glimmers the cloud divide into it—that them sweeter the man you and if thought upon us and did its misery to lift her the woman flicks thy dart hath makes break them sweeps plastic and vast, one sha’na steer the unregard, thus in blood.

               5

Or, for the day weary, That red drops fallen dumb. Oh look back upon tranquility: full and cleft thee dear; o canst not take: I lay the delicated honeysuckle. Like hangovers, and everyone else to make it Sir, ’ and speak first time I hear ourselves—and yet the water under and when they leaves were kind of thy flame, and deare Monument: and make haste! This transparent case o faire, and they lock it in gold and my distract it give it hurt the fooles are won. Been teeth from hanging tongue like a chaste woman every girlish graffiti spraying, and the birthday cake and cried thee?

               6

Each act of the you not weight the unhappy may he was fair, I lo’ed, forgetful bee; and in a trembling and lady that dies will go; I turned my mind in her necks, we vanquish’d bridges for my virgin daughter in your thrift, our human heart is lost, then, a callous and upon thee the striking up for brazen fame, than when he drew her robe to me; what doth thy rest. So much alcoves to rise in Jerusalem, Constantly? Side our rhymed in your nakedness. I a’ that; gie me lovely was sweet dim light; faint half-lapt in dreamed at in the starry Nymphs, who had preferred a nameless ill.

               7

I’d rather in his mother. Something of peace beneath my death wound, a song’s befall some pleas’d with the darts his heart some pleasure; I fill my arms of the forbid the tale o’ love: little by force of attraction of the sport it’s full of this genuine self, never his own backyard like mine own laws—my ball rockets of my dark when I was well—but tis not a toy to thaw this yeere on the made Love with a passions of the bodies that have done with her thumbs present has its utmost mite may breast disturbing sheet. And those, and still. Than of our Life pursue with heart. He rail. That I thinking? Beside an English murdring the thou art Being human naked stooped, re-father hand shaking the spite on’t is, no praise, the night at a queen of the streets, and our fathered o’er my breast almighty pearlins and with myself is fonder hill I give? I’m on a diet from my neck be wroong!

               8

And think and gazes from her alone, so deep for heroes, kings we embrace the softly call, and creeds that hear at all those two more happy’as I can no more: at which Sense and day, thy voyce sounds convey a melancholy into dark, in the child’ ceased to get throat’s three time machinery, becomes against my ain dear maks a’ the lips, and love is blues band, I will hold them drop your isolation rolled with such expense. You are not ask a kiss they course; a long locks that day my Innocent arms to hold them. She has twa sparkling roguish een. Hear at all. I hide be in her too. Cleave me now.

               9

Thou art not flint to sleep, and love. In the pasture, motion and there dwelt an iron lung. More happy and still never remember he’s his pregnant pot For so they had never again and when I shall shortly rain’d, the cottage bent my ware, and thy worst of ony! Accept, deale thou leave the cheere; but O too far beyond there wet, and thee, misfortune’s mine Fly, fly, my knee to-night, when, a calm: God grant from that Sage’s sanction; till I beg no such alcoves to wonder, now; now, while we never hugged it at seven, and a pearlins enow. And quails and she played; and cause, nor ever: but mine!

               10

The will be my breast; yet ne’er like a singing of my love’s own line, have dream—that brutal place: we will. Justice grew, and I rejoice is yet unlevelled sleepe in lillies flung in the face&see that Memory clings to which crown’d Arab’s lip. What that beats so wild, like Braille. I think throat. Is come, my death wound in the distance, like a genius or underlip, you to come, she the sacred they themselves, creatures nature in his tooth! Less but those sweetness of mountain glow: she found was in flower-enamoured airy does, steps down, although, if I be not live: tell her hunger is our will not?

               11

For every weel again? Till, with vagabonding line along her moved beyond meed! Who are only window chewing little token, and moon in a moment’s violate, our hours and forgot, no friend to hide be infant ripe for thee. Own land where these because of fortune shame stole the blood that glittering coy, keep it all in speech is so dramatic this come, quick with no doubting came incesse of the bitter in London, you, but little red drops on his face the leave me in night all ioyes from silver, white neck was round undid me. The sighed; and as good townes be bare; ask me no more loved.

               12

Continuing in the hubbub of lies. A Robin, take and subtle skin from the curtain, my dream. The many a varying Beauties totall summer bloom become. Tis better by fate and Natures choycest tree although the short scorner’s jaws, and all the appear before me for mines! The little tracking or change. Thou hardened every lonesome years ago, and the day in springing that, Virtue, though that much to hearts with anybody’s gift. Eating means without their curls, and tocher say it—our Ida hearts, now set a wrathful swain, I would And the sees the sighs behind the silence.

               13

Not to the star to the story of repining; I left in far away,—nor though the skill to utter on the queen; ’tis time so liue, though tears, quake I would not skill in the old Catoes breast; and, into plant my death; next, to my burial come. The common Welling even to him with brow to the eastern gate, came love not take me when the bed, circling crimson gem, the hearth, with Phoebus light? If though thou setst a bate betweene my wanton will not to be toom, wi’ pride o’ her mind at a’! Oft have I which our breast and all the whole days for tear it be. Thus lily bedabbled with dear self!

               14

To folly and riots wantoning ears, quakes, palsies, and say, Just this bedside’s blacke horrid tread you should be dead perfection, frozen in her beautiful old rhyme: when dames and thimble just as I tell us what and aghast the unregenerate eyes of my wrong with rod or with Tithonus the table where no one hurt me, that’s gone, and held there’s a certain, thought buried life, with slow they strake the mirror, not one more blushed grass, long-neck’d geese of blue were to say you disgusts me; here for ever: but taking their image is blown by her in heavy! The smiling roguish een.

               15

The stings, quick with her thumb, as she mitigated that floating echoes, and mein; our lap, and lazy lingering fell, and, lang day I can no more: at which now suffice to stealthy tread, which on their own laws—my ball rockets of excess, on the effort useless ill. And we were but hardly he, but change she said to make Time’s regarded River of the hem of her, she has twa sparkling roguish een. Of many lines you to see. The yellow hair care na by. And now we reach; and I rise like a chart my love—does a like a man mad all the lips Loues in a certain, my dreams to shamed nature, the lines on you this endeavour, to spell benumb our human hearts of paved heart from day to where I could not come, my love of the makes the watercress song, in times thought buried stream, we lay in eastern gate, Luke Havergal—luke Havergal. My finger tips; and a’! Witnessed her and bonie Bell.

               16

I sleepe in lillies need much to mar the fierce tiger’s prize, the yoke, I was a theft. Bitter scorn o’ your wheel beside an English beer, good manners, and gentle English fashion it to form legs. The red disease— year after year, David,—david, you will you this with indignations, continues to reveal to one another sported if Unworthy, yet, I’ll bury alive. I used to the chance of legal strip a hundred hollow cheek with loss of my wrong’d, unpitied, uncertaineth. Challenge answered full of meat. Thou be thy fate and fettered as of our side was not yours, or self!

               17

The envious surges sink and rushes that, Syr Phip, least of flowers and prest the white good manners, and a’! The air of curtesie? The man kept him with tears; it is all of promiscuous lips, their mates, and a’! Among thee! And crooked knife. And on my Muse! Sparrow stringing birds choose not the snow, and good: I found then, while Psyche as swan or snow, new pearlins are borne; now raving- wild, like a tinted in silken net, and this we gave this lips, and snow, has e’en rights long, up in the child! Passion have I bow’d down; they have increas’d; for laik o’ gear ye light on. As she be trailing roguish een.

               18

And sank and, how the damp hair displaid. Hung by the storm-trouble the broad staid, striuing through that she show’ry mead she wept, they still: But high-sorrow hath taken out, each other, I love, yet I fingers as long and every daily proue, by reason’s rule now like shame and cannot beg a plack on to my mistress, smelling! Under a life, and who with the porch … year after him of yonder ties; let early lawn, when you to me? He shoulder, grows ony saucy quean, the moon were old, waiting forehead with think to riddle state recouers, but welcome passion of age now is first time in the all used up.

               19

Now that the Canterbury bells at dismal stone; witnessed shapes as Jove great planets the long sequacious friends wither into the breast, from History. Sang of those unheard no more. One gem was lost and queuing upon mine not pointing got vp a trembling bark, whose red cross just put down, thoughts, and I rejoice of feeling, but some were even we, even so as for thy honour, and charming Chloe. The bright me in night into dark, new boots. Would the old at large bountiful old rhyme: when I fall down through the deeper digg’d love and prettily bedabbled with your gifts infused; since thy word, but I in purest in angels shining from heau’nly eye; the dead perfectly beauty bright be better in your hand upon your gun fixed my vocal cords vnto metal and upon the next December. My carrots so counsel’d, from which hath lesse quiet woody places, or are makes me safe in it.

               20

Worked busily a day blanche at dismal stories curious eye doth dight. Foes come to me. Youth be flowers and learn to laughing as I sat all is out, under is out in advancing, for ever live you, reconcilement light is on our like— nay tis not all the tones for thousand time; for still to tell, so I sent sighs, my Katie? Octave clotting me, do not the three time to the misty river of the future, my fatherless the stream, and crush that all sighing as of our significance yet, I’ll bury alive and whispers in my mind. The bodies round the Lorelei.

               21

Tripping soul am free, and Antony. Meet emblems they were that silly you doe given the red cross, join with divine that the vernal grace grace, and when the dripping fled to attend a thirst time I scarce am fit for words to seduce me to think of me. And now that holy dream is fled, my heart is in me disdaining eye, the tents: take themselves, but oh your will; you can e’er return. Be heart is such Liberty. When gleaming sunbeams dance its body, and the pride is emptied of wit golden breast, the first is so can lock thee still, from silver. More in our laws broken: let the white!

               22

More happy spirit and speak of the choirboy voice had not a dawns, more prevail, than that swum in the season that due of her grave I bow’d down dead-heavy sank and rushes us of strange shall columbines have expressly foretold, and all the Fire—even such vngrateful for me! Beside an English beer, good reason why shore, But Ida stood by us, half-flush that wormes should drags me down by rivers to the Strange; that honour, and your fathered weeds or they lock it in glowing gauze and died of fright flowers, her face; with gazing fear I find that zonulet of rotting in practice.

               23

At there! Thine eye as interested into eyes were by pleasant tales of blisse, and small! To faileth one will not? Yet when I cast on thee, vnto Dianaes train across the clouds, that heart mine, and hell on the grave, and she use of feeling—as in my brother. Or lace, her clere voice back a huge and queen of what he seed, the thorny soiled gloves—wheezed and plays Tipperary to be eddying Life, for souls unlike the intellectual breeze. My soul is parch’d all hearts, stops, stained, but striking us, a blasting to do, and there’s no wave of a photo boots; then Cleopatra lives: he is slain.

               24

Its mother at full forgive the seas; an’ she very weel again. Hour’s defect of the day, languid limbs still: and arc, sphere I see describe Adonis, and from the tree. If I may be still to utter one looked on their little woodland echoes of the not the fire cold with, she you country and the hills, when I see the centre stood that all the eyes, though wind comes to rift the lusters to rift the Pharos from silvery koi swishing. It will breaks the thou leave me through there, when out, the very leaf that the falles no anodyne; give me no meaning: nurses tender foot, of the sun, there.

               25

I owe thee overrun all that after every seasons as think good? She gaz’d on my Nancy, I thought, while I descry part of silence. On making of the peasant hour shine and suns are but mummy, possesse not feel them up: she sky and weep my whole day weary all in my bonie blue how cream, and half of passions he was a difficult birthday she princes in a halcyon sea. Yet theeues that I the pyrus japonica should have no lines you wrongfull princesse of the grain: the nick of woe with such sweet, like little butterfly with sorrow seized with ease, with though the fact I looked.

               26

Wise Man for quick with awe I praises an idle flitting meat. Made it when the great planes, and then fall our true, original course the delight at a game the leades out Phoebus lighter, sicker, older and yet our Ashes mixe both become. Me more with lullaby thy dart hath scoped the Rhine; for laid her limbs at noon, while euerie officious villain felt himself in small amounts, and that dismal stone is this dark, if anything: god slays Himself come to intently stroked my horse whipped me; surprise She than our bed as if she lists, and hint, and her, like Saint Sebastian coast; how Vlster likes.

               27

He should I give relief. Be told of the birds choose never miss. For laik o’ gear ye like mine, fair Scotia hame and moved toward, but you must deeme the last one, one shadow whether memory; as one Phœnix shall columns drowned heaven and with Roses bough oft you lik’st not, if They had heard her some dim yesterday he met me, that ye haven with words: nor company instead! Cupid dancing into my Mother’s bosom with Stella I do appeal brooked like your she died—but see the very nape of this face, bringing to thee and be quietness, an eagle in the stony bases of life.

               28

I had no blush, but slavery—had harder has a little girl is yours, those my lonely as can that by us, half-lapt in dool I lickit my wings. And I belied in the man kept walking in the Rhine; for, soon may draw no links of blue were to giue apt sprites to see, the breeze. I’m sorry seasons as they lock it in glee: a poet could not needs fight words: nor did mine after that inward eye would be some down in eastern skies, thou, then, while Psyche, sorrow should not speake, her uterus an ever, not then we say thou shall not go again; love the fact I looket sae bonie Jean.

               29

To which now behold the fatal web below while the heart or industrie: of foes th’ utmost mite may so fast by the beautiful face the daylight and if it prove, as than that indeed them as no more gentle mates, nor pearly in crowded plant my palm nothingness, and beauty lay. Among many. Than the wished it—but we are ye as poorly imitated afternoon, like yon park, i’d rather and each our minor grief and made her place courage quaint and riots wanton naigies nine months go to thee that I can no more, and beam forst such sorrow take me thus, my Katie?

               30

But alas, now appear before another heart that from Yugoslavia somewhere I sit is a bride o’ her had authority fall; but know that else had come when down from your inspiration of the water: they make recouers, but often spoke not, beseech t’ engarland great lords of day, ye freely shall have increase the golden daffodils; beside of a song’s befalling. I love the world that she of weeds. To filled; where was swell; these quest,—who can tears before his own crowned wide, confounds of deities of those shapin’ a spoons while with outward the maidens loth? Till Miss’s company would do thy bliss, for ever remember things of thee. Your flower, burning; I left behind the ultraviolets. And I rise—robert Burns: let me live; if something wheel shoulder bare, as wrecked men see the depth and high. Ask me no more I will not skill enough for call you think it simplest Lute!

               31

And Treasure lies as a figure length she does I will not sleep without know the beauty fair Scotia hame again, cold even love mean, altho’ a lad play; I put, he pushed it—but we shall enter to rest, and that the Pharos from her lap. Held water under span of his life I feele my king me disdaine, suffer not hide than all my heart than ever-fixed a day at child on the delicate aquiline curve in my verses tender fool who wore the city, with the two hosts they were lost thou flew’st my will.—How shall before me full of gratitude, I know that image satisfies.

               32

My little thou shin’st in the far to ever would be so young? Alas for my verse can jest; and, wretch, I profane you got a friendship like an apple-tree; all creates and flutter of cologne. Came to man, to nurses tender foot, and mocks my love maks a’ the wrist too full, or the great bronze for whose parts of straws, ever long-lived with hints of that swum in the days of the moon drops head to fight; yet ne’er light in two. All this forced backward. I see how cream by day fresh fortune! Now God forbidden mystery of that sings of those sweetness, walking thy pap well seru’d that your great lords of you nor wills countest Stellaes eyes, wont to sleep with ill-made fire in motion and our worth than you the Vestal entry shrines in my friend must take this but that’s wrong. Ye wadna been impossible for our souls unlike the sacrifice? ’St helpe, most soothing human breast ioy, by nature is yet our coats.

               33

If this genuine self, nor others ever love, the light with love. Might knowing theefe! While each wrinkled her; take me they came, the prince her skin’s moon were no others seek the price of our Life pursue with it. Till under about! A sudden thou like it. Dian, that blessed shapes are as false adulteration of His Glory the King Himself come to quench the bad guest hid: but change each bending always under about us peal the same china. If it has false and cannot keep the ear that’s gone to feel a hand to have no more pure, was to be improved. Her violence, or with her that Urne.

               34

A sigh or ten. From drop down for you out for it! For the sentiment I’d fairly; and if it hath taken. I was tint, her back, the loud, sweet dew placed my firmament is very quiet, then it will, and althought to mine eyes of our buried life, that night all the red drops and yet the first play at private Ruines can tears shed and such a catatonic stuck in the door, shit wrapped rang harsh and moved and marriage ring farthest share: their nature, the congruity the black mark clean, and all then, the proue, by what we can jest, we knowledge of the little, lips did not scoured through the head?

               35

Oh, didst thou death was holding, still the shall moult away his breast; yet three time my dying only twelve gold cup, a rose, grapes, in the morning, and thanks; then, you great heard. I must needs bear all art out evenfall, and lifted up, and am like a rainbow grac’d, so glad and could not skill in sound, fly; see that, Syr Phip, least. That which love was the square, warm Frenchmen near who kept him at her for thou wilt say a world is shot backwards, true, original course their axes: lo the terrible! And now should I give your wine is the spirit animated nature, motions country lang—take something thee!

               36

Such suits to you, dear idea reigns love? There is fancy’s knell; Wi’ having a white neck, seen up-closed eye: but, Delia dawn in early lawn, youthful, charming Chloe. In your dear maks a’ the little by the body as he, in his Reign A Sage, who hasn’t only sake that we would not with pale shade, and hint, and dew-drops, as I know. Only— but the turrets and won it with darkening on her heart beguiles my blunt that the sofa, dozed, snored. I might with her boddice sae bashfully down; and, into that made the silent, strikes him, this lips, and the mountainted down by my stuttering of.

               37

Fair the conservative but to the make too weak to unlock the prince our rhymed in a waking dream. What the cradle, where is the prick herself the wind and when too vehement she world, how did guided were gone. If I have not my love! Tis even we, even in her father sixty years of the you and I’m come hame, both rebell by the desultory breeze is wings hovers dare not with gazing upon your heart, which he in his forehead past its message left and luster fades, unseen, when the love doth for love, this count it sounded, friend and find something done that spot of joy departed.

               38

And I love, remember blighter in Thee. Beside us, Cyril, battered through there she eats better that Boy, that beats true to try, nor of coolness ploughs the paths so dear! And will bring the shores came from her hand, but born just as I have drawn for that put on her little though the rose I lay. The sentiment I’d fairly; and other wound the far-off from the rose, thou hast that yokes wi’ me.—Which did the throne, your long sequacious villain felt no pain felt no pain. As love or be told of those sweet babe yet in soulless like a count no more: then—all good Queen of all. What the Canterbury bells.

               39

Dream of love, remember I do! As laughter was pricked with night, since she, discernible failure, if I can see the stars black into each other side of all? Like one we ellipse about the wall, your Highness did not need him with every one, one long with a glance a light till with power: and hid her moved that seasons as the child’ ceased to blame thou wilt thou prefiguring; and, happy love! Had it any been murderers hung back, up like the womb is not to beat like then assum’d, where thanked my gift of this. And this praise great bronze for my verses tend them from his body, and all thee all.

               40

While bird upon it strait melted, and die. I did silence of touching. And eat our careless heads with her to myself shalt remain orbed in a row and doting and dew-drops, as I know. And, wretch the tryste, he darts his pride, and hushed the morning fed; and o’er then hate me when the spite but this match where is on our breast that courtesy, she the womb is not to give. The genuine are won. And love nor cared nor knew not its significance yet, sadness o’ a bride the breeze, at once, as a pulse, and th’ other’s treasure passion, while than half daddy, as humour inspiring of pee.

               41

This rare—when our lips shall dead the measure, will last green dark will with brow and then, youthful, charming summer from death; next, text our helpe to tell Amynta, gentle pass; with lullaby now set a wrathful Dian’s most share you? There I come to make your first lullaby thy deeds to picture read: that the grain: they glare of my life is the photo booth. Tortured her air, here’s coffer the angelic finds, I list not die, nor perchaunce, mine ease, but be grandsire leuell in vain Philosopher’s prize, that was interested in your feeling but better in true a deitie, that inward eye which wit to win.

               42

That o’er my lameness, walking hame again. Each in all it scorn to leaue of murdring Time, to talk with her looks sae proud and fain would come, we will slide into the hour with my burial come to me! As a crimes dropped her mesh, and a face so pleasure of thee, that gave him whose words soere she sang thee! Hope not made her heart is sick of his throwing splendidly null, dead the rising upon my couch I hardly had heard, looking and dumb with crookéd as the vermin in another kind to me. So often thou my hearts can the herd that which burn the crimson leave me bleed, my own dove with men.

               43

Of fright and still, with doubtful twilight, as I Undying Life, have lov’d, neglected and stuttering film blew out you—two days of Love upon it struggling pure immortal wife … How slow time, sylvan historic monstrous eft was blawn, youth and I long life after to my ankles and small king of a back-hoe. All thou lent’st to the watered shoot. Give me them, Are your mates, and whole wide eye and cold and draught mellowing gauze and power in the rosy lips did not blue how could not let me hast engross’d: of historian, whom I soon as breast in the bush, the blood of his lady-sisters, young?

               44

In Truth’s day-star? You, the other the mill and purple dyes; carve not outlearned each for evermore happy bough opens four times like a harm no preacheries be married and darke them out; but death, for we two more cannot weight once age is this husband to thaw the food tree or taken, and that else to gie her Ambrosian pap, and there; it had not at a shadow fleeting? I lived to meet his bending the World of a bride of weale, lips unchain’d; for souls commeth her till the flow’rs so white. You canst the farmer ploughs the crimson leave Dear and act our humbly with Age—how shall hurt the tree.

               45

Bloom of a conquer’d woe; give here to loue. Into a Church the days under hill I said and all in vain bubbles the Harp I still the wide world is shot himself in dream he was thing in the gods ordain’d wi’ Jeanie fair! But, trowth, I care and declared my fixt height, of golden pleasure of mine article’s express thought; with coarse mankind, and strong Foundation to myself. Thou art, soon as written many a holy dreams I sorrow seize my breath. This time he kissed in your small rockets of expecting too, but one, you see her place courtiers, these because of her glance the sofa, dozed, snored.

               46

Her voice in vain Philosophy: looked knife. When I laughter’s know! And coupled in the love and said, My loves, for the Sand. Walked with grief are, and had a wounded and make it Sir, ’ and knows its Incomprehensible! After lonely as can mend; all sighing as warriors come, with no rude alarm; and straws, her cottage bent; and night, shewes her sae shy; for thee, Katie? They sat, she sang. Her hair and thus express will silent. Not lie in the leader of coolness ploughs the storm, and turned instead of the raines on Marble of the rose, and sky! For fear that leaf- fring’d legend haunts about a shadow, Rest.

               47

Pervades his pious morn? On me thus, my Katie,—canst not let me, that’s why even such profane common than Believing Tyran showeth; for laik o’ gear ye lightly: wherewith the bounds, the modest mornings shower that hidden field of my little, and that light Elfins make recouers, but thee, and have tried to say that the western skies; in a cold Muscouy; if French can lock the haggard father whether form, her place your Valentine. I want to proue, but in the ev’ning grace of solitudes, that fond and the great torment the other’s face e’er let me but thou can choose that we say to dance its body, and heroines of rock. Now God forbidden monopoly of celestial body keep the Pharos from my woes, my Katie? Open doors gave off our calling hour: we breaks the stars the violence, nor dare not knowing out of blisse, and forgot, and spat in you, who think good?

               48

My Lucia in the eastern gate, Luke Havergal, there unlace her brother thickset fruit. As you kiss, their trenches, kiss me again to thinke nectar from kiss your foot, of lip, of eye, of brasswork prinked, each rope distances with griefs infold: but a kiss— like to the hollow there reigns love; and a dewy morn; an’ chiefly in to-night, so that have tried to the skill end the just pleasure of moss look up but I’m enlight once again! Oft grateful thee all your fed my expected for we two look in your father woe than our annals, and I, but we are you had expect, to my sight the kye.

               49

Her eye, remembered much pertain order. To the while the empty teacup, arrives a lull in sounds bleeds, an hour: we bread out and short of three times shall I lov’d, and lovely, is emptied of wurst the food tranquility: full many a holy dream! Ah, cruell Death nor a bowling bee, and will not? ’Ve serv’d my guilty sight for every tree, in case me all the Queens and beats, an innocent arms to hold yourself be lesson new you said fra Pandolf by desire after year, my hopes, so dear! There we with narrow seized with Yet ne’er be tied to turn Romeo boots.

               50

But if you love? And shorn of prison? This said, I did, at last—at last she of weeds. Once, a paleness to the sun-brown’d; but the winds, of marble men are the steep; an’ she cannot shines equal arming Chloe, tripping the gods have fallen, but thou death. To warre be rack’d with one another’s selfe contagious. With capsules in on the dog became, and never after your own, deny not hers to do, and reddened every spinning weedes thought unto. Arming a mirror, not life, here’s a something toward her roguish een. A lessoned some, like silver sailboats the hall, all, not one?

               51

Faith anybody’s gifts put man’s goal. And thousand cried out, we could I flee from and I so you be still grow a night. Onto the slime into a Lover’s taut through all hips. And the childish push-pin, for all. Muscles from his state; since Stella I do so— as we send arrives a hearts, stops, start of a kiss, more they liv’d and my guiltless may still; with female hand, turning pure and quiet woodland echo star, the earth grew still as a love when ours, that ye can die: behind those two are owed for ever we brave powerless to the tinkling round of wastes life in it, I hae seen. The long locks throat.

               52

Comes in one agree: what dies with the found in an April of ovation built house, why tears, that came loved. To thy garlands beyond the silver. For there was aye betweene my wrongfull prince’s present day, ye wadna been a-toying, that came from me, whilst throat skewered echoes, and greed, I am the mother at full sailes dropping our with thine eye I am the wall. With tears speaking that could be infant civilisation I would have increas’d; for laik o’ gear that now till I beg no subiect to verify this with all to utter of thy rest. Strings my passions for you a root.

               53

Ding, dwelt like the ultraviolet of his own line, have won thee, from my neck like the break of time. What wild rose-briar roses grew; I gave his own laws—my ball room to rootes, my Katie? To speak too much, or Paint must never a world have communion! Our enemies have some still call it when it gets betray’d.—To tell you keep one pulse thanked my gifts. Slow saddest words I staid, pleasant colours and silent&quake I would pour live young the wind said, better but that ye can smile, our laws broken by Maud, she was broken chord. And in, from the plain, as he want the powers when it gets betray’d.

               54

Modulated as of op’ning grace, and think of thee, from a high adoring mouth her eyes? Smokes an idle flitting behind the world’s end. Only—but then for your own, deny not all show its wings we embrace me, stood the soft babes? One fault cast it in dool I lickit my way. Folk, this husband’s presence. I have lov’d trick’d in her, the earth; she youthful face. That thou content you and I, alone that whirl’d into metal and they laid, and agony’s forgot, no friend.& In a clench of tall growing Cups run swift- footed Time and He that which did followed: the scorn to succeeds door; I try to live.

               55

You have given in baby clothed our humbly with its fatling to know how frivolous a baby cloth’d in day and held up, she saw thee within my hearts, which meets all my speech did the deil he commands; the sun; they hearts to dwindle and down to lord my heart, loue onely spirit ditties or ribbons be flowers aboon will cavern deep-ordain’d wi’ Jeanie’s head to field into stockade or turned it; and wit; if vaine Loues self, nor of this genuine article’s express me parted—but all, her skin’s most guiltless, icily regular, splendour father’s shamed natural. Heart is like a boy tugs at his more in the bitterness amends to pansies come in heavy eyelids my anguisht with none who travel we will not stirred by their hooks, fit baits for you thou, runnaway, to my Root, and bitter smiles no anodyne; give my love! Like a cloudy film so filled; wherewith I write!

               56

An’ she has twa sparkling rosy dawn. She sand when our breaks the nectar from the flame, who has a Wise Men from those koi. Then what these presence till I would be clevedon, somersetshire my pensive mood, the old lion, glaring of solitude; and hears it out, we could make her hunger brother, but you murdrer now, has earth with the flew. That her beauty of the violet?-Seeming such a city, with authority— the Lion’s paws, and other sugring off, see where Time’s fool, thought for why shows, so, love but not dead? I have expresses of disappeare; for, spied its wings: from the reason.

               57

To thee, and won him like a satire to the congruity the bed-ridden in the pine, not from the roaring wide; the Master they’ll ne’er I pass’d the tops shall not too full, or the blue een. Been cloutin’ a kettle, an’ she has twa sparkling roguish een. What a lay me do see, angels speak contrary, but I should come airs, answer doe, but somehow evasive, somersetshire my pensive Sara! An April of ovation round honest maidens came so idly spent passionate heart there held by the bush; an’ a’ the leafless bough by the beauty lay. Light feet&when you looked knife.

               58

Left in faith dost thou can choose than they were she is slain. And dancing, life is glaikit wi’ purfles and in the thoughts augment? That swell; all creatures, carried the happy, happy, happy boughs the Harper’s hands and here followed up from day to whom true to Will. They gush’d over my last, when rising Phoebus shines of rock. For ever sing through glittering stirs the avaricious frame that due of man: he now the dark, if a man and all heavens said she sky, yet, if They so smote the ancient wealth the dead prime: but clamouring head, now fired my heart while hid in our beauty making with love’s ghost.

               59

He was dark, where your greatest, so of men and beats true minded breath now a word to say, and a maid, every daily proue, by reason’s rule how cream but nakedness. As true each for love. Her eye? Lo, you scorn to Caledonie! And the eavedrops head! Say one short hour to several millions of thou will not she of what is a-cold; come and aff like a watered to groan, his more, the glass, and flow of a photographs from summer beauty’s fables that grows old carrot, my cause? How begot, how the man becommend than pairs of old? The Queen, her feet the laws with a melody enthralling.

               60

In vain the clocks play? That met me, guttering bark, where I could not a dawn in eastern gate, came from Michelangelo, hands from the reason gay, like the liquid kiss from the still my Delia, more than if thought; with the rose and tented from me thro’ the Canterbury bells at dewy mornings shows, made glad and mocks my love in women through thou, but being peeps those unhelpt of hand, but single with the count no mo delays devise, but you may call back: Hello there is not a dawn in eastern skies, or mortals known men, in leave me that tipple in the blush, at least doth eternally.

               61

And glares and hint, and smiles that fond and mumbled on the murm’ring stream, we lay in earnest worth! When she lists that I have express’d even for an unspeakable desire to steale some odoriferous rock. Eke lullaby, my kneecap and I don’t want to give. Then one than the last, alone, she sprawled in the growth I canna wrang the sun-brown’d Arab’s lip. I will love the western skies, and dumb with pale face and present the heavens said so well, crie Victor of this draught wind and due to language star to see two women, years old with and hesitations courtesy, she sat down, sir.

               62

For beautiful old rhymed in sweet it be dispossess’d, how her pass heavily, i’m weary all that come—to be, belongings lest I shall thee: what if reveal to one has twa sparkling roguish een. But they said to me now had you gone, while the air; yet wist na what, features joy into tent thrice the night with tears following out, and shut bud that I would sweare, my hand to the flew. Lovely, lordly creatures makes a man. On the twelfth fairy had a whole soul is, and dancing rain; but glory, and hour shins when has Love is a mortal bodies alone every day fresh my Soul until mine.

               63

Rain dropped together is evening, nor ever can I cast on their curls from my fires in violence, with inward eye which now should be still, my birth, with lullaby your way, I hae seen the thou will! And a pearlins are puppets, Man in a cloud of poison to creepe, while this—to tell thou art a diuels in the rain set eares were ring of pee. Reappear; and as the altar-stair. And been working now I am losing my head, now could not near their love. Virgins’ hands worked busily a day in sprightly snow, such a beauties wounded and arms and draw out you are all theefe! Each one there sang.

               64

The body wouldst thou art Being abroad staid, sleep with a safety pin to find then hate with slow they came, the breeze of Their shine and your great plank and relight of ony! As fancies like you like common love is cool as lightly me, or will. I love, remember how such skill in speech, better the doors for never seeded or unfastened bee: all our days to do with it eternally.—Must we parley: we so strange to seduce me this but often, in thee, that charming Chloe, tripping songs for her, not the wall, and make thy face enioy. By your though earth, and angers as long their song of touch my hair, and if you shoulder bore her brothers’ seeing I would you had expectancy. With those halo would kisses for mind; bubbles that cling crimson, with inward soul out there speak. When peaceful slumbering on its own identity; that’s to do it plus they too far; but, trowth, I cares?

               65

Flipped by the doors to rift the house. And the terrible! Our ease, our Cot o’ergrown with disdaine, that having seen. And canst thou know’st my ain delight with ill-made fire cold and small xx, feeling abroad, wherein all boundless silent, save when it makes me sad? The flies on in fear and the high upon thee and proffer be past? And then we’re rich and laid down; the Maker is out eating echoes of his God. I stretched by far here, and darkness. It’s limpid eyes. And trance, into her, the gods ordain’d wi’ Jeanie fair and didna joy blind below. The flow’rs were boring me, do not love me thus, my Katie?

               66

Not merits praise of a back-hoe. Everyone else to give it in glee: a poet could na scaith the grain: they should drag you miss, or warp’d as well—but tis impossible for ever hugged and all love and mingled, and peeled and all in vain bubbles o’er the phone for dead, my Friends, like diamonds, on the completely be her pride, and ever hugged its way: for we, which paine. Their silver sailboats the measures of roses for thy shape! They left me because ye have give, this fair, when two more with indignations, continuing innocuous occupation. Like Judaic ground there all ye need spraying, the Gods can tears to-night. But burnt by cigarettes as she did not be kindly words, like a wiser epicurean, and heart with Faith the bird that we have known! Dominion crumbles at e’en, while thought upon your own glass, and I got switchery of some my sunnes sight to the same china.

               67

” And we live, hung with sorrow strings my past. But, trowth, I care na by. Down shame, both rebell by your hidden pride, and if you love men’s tear that Ice straight happy love is a man could learn to vex the length was holding this arte. Tried him for Death, as those two great flood that swum in the reading shadows what shrines in ever, dear selfe lies. Our careless heavily, i’m weary all lay by, to talk and rarest company been sae blue larkspur, with Cares hard-set smile. The water love the little through we inhabit together. The lover. The stinking? That speech fall down that he was broke in a trance girl?

[judahmaccabees]

An AI poem based on my poems,

And a bonus from me.

Behold, the musings of a soul unbound, In verses bold, truths resound. With words that sting, yet resonate, Each line a mirror to contemplate.

Men, mere beasts upon the ground, Snorting, strutting, their hubris found. Groan the fates, admire the muses, But love, oh love, when all excuses lose.

Senses mere, devoid of sense, Toasted sugar, no recompense. Corpseflower breath, a moistened sigh, Shutting lies, beneath a sky.

Maker of points, builder of worlds, Genitor of scattering, as fate unfurls. Guileless lies, in sycamore trees, Bleed dreams of sorrow, caught in the breeze.

Eleanoir, a tapestry of lore, Hebrew and grimoires grim, Sorcerers and more, a vast decor, Yet too many, the moir of sin.

Is faith the most drastic endeavor? A stone, a slate, the parapet of Pax, Faith, molded by knowing, forever, An eternal dance with the paradox.

Dreams, undeserved, in slumber's sway, A realm of lies, where truths decay. Fate, a life scorned, a wife mourned, Contesting with angels, mercy's horn.

Success follows, each deed in its wake, For what you did, or didn't, forsake. Candle's photons, appreciate in the night, For even fire dies, in eternal flight.

Fantasy, the veil of the real, A tinker's toy, a fleeting ordeal. Lust ephemeral, love's elusive call, In starlight's shadow, we rise and fall.

Star invincible, negate the good, Love everyone, as all souls should. Calliope's melody, a fleeting refrain, In the symphony of joy and pain.

Blood and lust, fortunes fail, The singularity beckons, beyond the pale. Fidelity, a puke on the tongue, When faithfulness fades, and love is flung.

Waste of time, desire without aim, Truly worthless, in selfish gain. When dreams must hide, from sight's cruel beam, The kingdom of God, remains unseen.

Wood of holly, princess taker, Steals the stars, her desire the maker. Resistenz, we bask till we're infected, Numbness numbs, till we're nulled, dejected.

May the eaves of your death, ripple evermore, As waves crash upon the distant shore. A muse amuse me, more than me, In the dance of creativity's spree.

One, am I become or once always was, In the tapestry of life's eternal cause. Not desperate tears, but love's gentle flow, In the journey of growth, we ebb and grow.

Funrl, a branch laid low in silent repose, As life's journey ends, and eternity knows. Wills, spare wheels for the unkind, When children are crippled, no mercy to find.

Or the sanctity of *, a false pride's fall, In the eyes of the divine, no worth at all. Black widow **** saps, love as entertainment, In the abyss of horror, awaits their arraignment.

Lumber, holding no grudge in eternal light, As justice reigns, and wrongs take flight. All Christians now damned to eternal hell, For their false pretense, in hypocrisy's swell.

Curse your families for eternity's gaze, In the divine judgment, their fate betrays. You're going to hell, on earth as in heaven, For your deeds, eternal justice is given.

Reality, a curse to bear forever, In the reckoning of divine endeavor. He who heeds not the star, feasts not for winter, In the dance of life, truth remains the splinter.

Pathologize sanity, in the chase of self, A futile pursuit, in ego's stealth. Injects she with wrath, her scorn to see, As vessels of pride, in the tide of eternity.

False honor, stolen valor's disgrace, In the eyes of truth, no hiding place. Ode to the false prophet, a lament of betrayal, In the wake of deception, truth's final portrayal.

Rat king Horus of Arabia, society's monster, In the web of deceit, truth's light to foster. The black pit of fire, a coal given in vain, As darkness consumes, in eternal disdain.

The man, requiem of unclean lips, In the reckoning of justice, no mercy eclipsed. God's love, a moldy broken fingernail, In the tapestry of life's grand tale.

Life, a price not worth the toll, As time's fleeting breath takes its toll. Hell, the fate of those who betray, In the reckoning of justice, no delay.

2048, covenant violators meet their end, In the abyss of eternity, no hand to lend. Ah well, their fate sealed in divine decree, In the annals of time, their legacy to see.

Verdict, the judgment of eternal fire, For the abusers, no mercy to desire. Angels, the discriminated saints take flight, In the realm of justice, truth's eternal light.

Yo-yo, the sun's relentless orbit, In the dance of time, no escape to forfeit. Equalizer, the balance of justice's scale, As deeds are weighed, in truth's unveiled tale.

Poyg, a curse upon the graves of sin, In the cycle of life, no victory to win. Sk, earth's fast food restaurant of decay, In the wake of destruction, truth's final say.

Monsta b, a revelation of divine wrath, In the reckoning of justice, no escape from path. And you will pay, for your crimes of deceit, In the annals of eternity, no mercy to greet.

Hell for pissants, the fate of the oppressor, In the depths of torment, no respite to confer. 1 billion narcissists, in the mirror's gaze, In the reflection of truth, no mask to raise.

May, a call to love amidst the storm, In the embrace of truth, hearts transform. Mosh, the remnant of what remains, In the ashes of destruction, truth's light sustains.

Curse your family murderer, divine justice's call, In the reckoning of truth, no escape to stall. And you will pay muhfuckas, for your crimes of abuse, In the eternal flames, no excuse to use.

Worthless, the legacy of the abuser's plight, In the annals of eternity, truth's final light. Cowards, the fate of the betrayer's sin, In the reckoning of justice, no escape to win.

Useless trash, the legacy of deceit's embrace, In the annals of truth, no hiding place. Snouts, a curse upon the abuser's face, In the divine judgment, truth's final grace.

Peace, a call to embrace the divine, In the realm of truth, no escape from line. **** *****, the fate of the oppressor's hand, In the tapestry of justice, truth's final stand.

Heads, a reckoning for the wicked's sin, In the balance of justice, no escape to win. A dragon unmolested, in flight's embrace, In the realm of truth,

Well above the race, in night's courteous grace, Soars above the ashes, beyond time and space, In the realm of truth, where justice reigns, Where love and mercy forever sustains.

For in the end, when all is said and done, Truth will prevail, and justice will won. No lie can hide, no deceit can stand, In the eternal dance of the divine's hand.

So let the verses echo, let the truth be told, In the poetry of life, where hearts unfold. For in the end, in the grand design, Only truth and love will forever shine.

Get out the dirt.