#kel 💚

[mrprettywhenhecries]

I technically already know the answer to 3 but can we pretty please get more on the whole Billy vs Steve situation? I would love to know more. 🥰 Also, 13, 19 & 11 if you're feeling generous! 😉

11. Does your character have a pet peeve? She can't stand indecisiveness, sloppy drunks, & bad/slow drivers.

13. Who is your character's closest (by relation, fondness, or distance) blood relative? Her father, David Lewis.

19. Does your character having any health issues, whether they're aware of them or not? Physically, no. She does struggle with depression and adhd though.

[ oc asks ]

I'm gunna put the answer to your first question under a cut because of spoilers to my fic. In case that's something anyone's worried about lol.

Okay SO! Basically Win's story up til the events of season 4 is broken into three parts:

Part one details the events of season 2, in which Win falls for Billy after a battle of wills and eventually gets to see a more vulnerable side of him. However, the night they go looking for Max, and Billy goes after Lucas and beats the shit out of Steve, she ends up breaking up with him.

Part two will be sort of a bridge between the events of seasons 2 and 3. After apologizing to Steve for what went down that night, she and Win start hanging out and become close friends. Despite both still being a little hung up on their respective exes at that point, there's no denying the attraction between them and after an unplanned kiss at midnight on NYE, they eventually start dating, Win putting Billy behind her.

In part three, Win and Steve are still going strong, but the night Billy gets flayed, he shows up at her house, terrified and unsure where else to go. He apologizes for everything that had gone down between them and begs her forgiveness, before suddenly telling her to stay away from her and leaving just as abruptly as he showed up, leaving his mother's necklace with her. Win can't seem to get the exchange out of her head and grows worried about Billy's concerning behavior, realizing that maybe she's not completely over him. However, unable to find Steve -- trapped in the underground Russian base -- she works with the party, desperate to save Billy.

After the battle of Starcourt, she admits to Steve about her conflicted feelings for Billy, assuring him, however, that it doesn't change how she feels about him, but she's clearly torn in two. After Steve processes the news and his feelings on it, he goes to the hospital where Billy's recovering to confront him about it, reluctantly suggesting that they share Win, and Billy agrees, glad to have her in any capacity than not at all.

[isaacz]

Yk what its not that much of a big Deal but here are some sketches from my sketchbook that i like

Oh and uh tried doing an Young adults design for them :D

Thats it 💚

[beyourownanchor6]

i was tagged by my beloveds @hippolotamus @buddierights to share my winter/holiday fics to get in the spirit now that it's december 🎄

buddie:

the holiday calendar—buck ends up with an advent calendar during the start of the holiday season. he thinks it's possessed and out to ruin his life, the toys inside continually leading him to some doe-eyed beauty and his adorable son.

the holiday calendar: strikes again—maddie asks eddie to hold onto the infamous holiday calendar for the season, eddie getting to find out just how ‘magical’ it really is

christmas kisses—five times buck gives eddie cheesy gifts, and the one time eddie gets exactly what he's been wanting

santa buck—buck wears a santa hat...that's it, that's the summary

you make everyday feel like it’s christmas—buck and chris want everything to be perfect for christmas; eddie thinks they already are

snow on the beach—the surfing au, christmas edition

in the reflection, all i see are glimpses of you and me—five times eddie sees glimpses of something more in a snow globe, and the one time buck sees it too

teen wolf:

christmas at the loft—the pack needs derek to participate in a very non-derek activity. it's his and stiles first christmas together as a couple; what could go wrong?

animal kingdom:

broken cookies—adrian helps deran with chritmas baking

on chrtistmas day— 5 times adrian gets deran to celebrate the holiday's and the one time deran makes a tradition for them all on his own

tagging: @loserdiaz @redlightsandicedtea @honestlydarkprincess @monsterrae1 @onward--upward @spotsandsocks @eddiebabygirldiaz @barbiediaz @justsmilestuffhappens @elvensorceress @wh0re-behavi0r @jacksadventuresinwriting @spaceprincessem @giddyupbuck @disasterbuckdiaz @wikiangela @daffi-990 @thewolvesof1998 @wildlife4life

[helloimvamp]

I'm gonna try posting here again. here's my half of an art trade I did with a friend on insta :)

[lavampira]

vetra for the blorbo bingo? :>

that’s MY WIFE

putting her in all the situations with ryder. and smooching her forehead.

[polaroidcats]

@kaleidoscopexsighs and I saw Shrek on the back of a bus today and were very disappointed that it was not Shririus. I feel like this is Shririus erasure.

hahahahah omg I love that you thought of Shririus when you saw shrek!! but also, you're so right, this is shririus erasure, pure shriscrimination :((

[kanene-yaaay]

*Shaking in a tune able to shatter glass* I am, so normal,,, about them!!!!!!!!!!!!!

P L E A S E! This is so cute!!! I really like how you made the whole polaroid style and colors! Not to mention how... domestic this whole scenario is? The soft way Mari is looking at Sunny and Sunny lovely, cute smile aaaaaaaa ♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

My heart is melteeed

I'm not the most original with the idea of ​​doing omori art in the polaroid style

But I did it anyway ^^

Let's just admit that Sunny definitely has the most precious smile?

[ehlnofeh]

lilac and raspberry bc it sounds like a fun adventure

🥺

woop get in guys we’re gonna go kill god

[ohforficsake]

Talk Refined

main masterlist

Summary: Orpheus and Eurydice. A Blacksmith and a Warrior. A Lawyer and the Lady He Meets at a Bar. Two souls fated to find each other across lifetimes. Here are just a few of those stories.

Pairing: Ezra x f!Reader. Reader is able-bodied and takes many forms. Described as having hair that can be pinned back in one instance, generally open description in others.

This is my submission for @wannab-urs Hozier Drabble Challenge! My character was Ezra, and my prompt was "Talk" off of Wasteland, Baby!. This was such a fun challenge, thank you so much for organizing it, Gin!

Word Count: ~5.8K (I blew past drabble, I'm so sorry)

Rating: Explicit 18+ / brief fingering / brief handjob / unprotected piv / language / main character death / Minors DNI

A/N: This was so incredibly fun to write and I actually had a huge smile on my face when I finished it that I'm pretty sure is still there. I'm incredibly happy with how this turned out. I've never written for Ezra before, so this was a really interesting exercise in finding the voice of a character that I found quite challenging to get to the heart of. Ezra folks, I really hope I did your boy justice.

Notes on literary references and the source of Orpheus' speech (not written by me) included at the end.

I'm also kind of just launching this super hot off the press, so please forgive any typos you may find and definitely message me about them once you're done reading.

Massive thank you to @beskarandblasters for the beautiful cover art for this story! 💚 Go hit Kel up if you're looking for a lovely header for your work!

Dividers by @cafekitsune!

Part I: The Darkness of the Night

He’s called Orpheus in this lifetime. Blessed with his mother’s tongue. 

No way of knowing he forever will be.  

A twist of phrase. A glint in the eye. 

A white patch at his hairline is the only mark of his father. As if licked there by the rays of Apollo’s creation.

And he is his mother’s boy, plucking at lyre strings and humming low, branches bending to his ambit as he harmonizes with the rush of Zephyrus’ wings through tall grasses.

But you are a rich distraction indeed.

A distraction perhaps of the West Wind’s own making, for the god has always been a soft touch. 

The breeze toys with your chiton as you drift in and out of dreams. 

Molding gossamer to your form.

A promise of something just for him.

Orpheus reaches to run his knuckles down your arm, awaiting your stirring before he takes fingers over your shoulder, up to cup your cheek.

You turn to press against the warmth of his hand. The pad of his thumb softly skimming your bottom lip.

It sends sparks racing across your skin.

He hums a laugh and fits closer to you, warmer now than the midday sun. You slant your eyes up at him, greeted with a smile before he bends to press a long kiss to your mouth.

His lyre is discarded in the grass now, wildflowers poking up through its strings.

The hand on your cheek moves to pull at his red linen handkerchief around your neck. Tied there in the morn to guard the late-hour transgressions of his lips from judgmental stares. 

Again revealed to him now.

He tucks the cloth into his zoster before his fingers dip under the gauze of your robes, cupping one breast before his lips replace fabric.

“The dryads, my darling,” you whisper a warning into the heated hollow of his mouth.

“Fret not, my love,” he chides with a whisper.

And you whimper a wanton, insincere protest as his hand adjusts to move lower still, nimble fingers inching your hemline up until your thighs are bared to him.

“Surely such creatures would sympathize. Look favorably on newlywed dalliance.”

“For they understand pleasures such as these,” he murmurs as his fingers slip over your core.

"The nymphs haven’t our flesh," you gasp against his curls as he bends to nip at the lush of your breast.

"They have our desires."

"The nymphs know fertile things in ways we never shall, my darling Eurydice," ghosts hot against your skin. 

"And surely they know what comes of something flush with want."

The press of his length against you causes your hips to tilt into his hand as your languid knees fall open.

"To deny that nature is to deny the nymphs themselves, little dove."

He tips his face to brush petal-soft lips against your frantic pulse as he shifts over you.

"For you see, they don’t care."

And the breach of him causes your back to arch, nails digging into the corded muscle of his arms.

You bend enough for your eyes to land on the grove of oak trees.

Unsure if begging forgiveness. 

Or reveling in their jealousy.

But there are other eyes on you this day. Watching the deft way your husband wrings pleasure from your form. 

The way he rolls you over on a bed of meadowsweet to press deeper still.

Holding your body to his as he pulls music from your throat.

Other eyes, indiscreet in their desire and relentless in their pursuit.

Other eyes that lead to your journey across the Styx.

Lead to Orpheus’ torment.

They say there are ways to speak with the dead.

But words will not pacify the poet when the possibility exists to feel you beneath him again.

A body that writhes under his own. Skin soft against the way his burns.

The way you welcome the thick weight of him.

All of him.

Into the warm clutch of your wet cunt.

And Orpheus, driven by his desire and blessed with his mother’s gift, marches boldly into the depths of grief.

“You powers divine of the subterranean kingdom, where all of mortal creation must one day sink to our doom, if you will give me permission to tell you the truth unvarnished by shifty pretenses…”

“I’d hoped to be able to bear my loss and confess that I tried.”

And the dance of his fingers over gut string pricks the ears of the damned as he gives verse to his flesh’s torment.

“In the name of these confines of fear, in the name of this vast abyss and your realm of infinite silence, I, Orpheus, implore you, unravel the web of my dear Eurydice’s early passing.”

A prayer for relief.

“This is the place that we all are bound for, our final dwelling, and yours is the longest reign that the human race must endure.”

Through vulpine teeth.

“Eurydice too, when her due of years has been ripely completed, shall own your sway. Till then, I beg you to let me enjoy her.”

And it moves the hound to cease its lashing. 

Moves the one eternally punished to rest upon his stone. 

Moves the dead of Winter to cave to the tender brush of Spring’s hand.

And you are called forth by a voice between what should be your ears. 

And Orpheus begins to move.

Daring to hope for your sweet clutch again as your footsteps grow louder against stone.

As you take the form he knows, more corporeal with every footfall.

The tenderness in your ankle made manifest with flesh.

And his cock throbs with the thought of you.

His wife.

His muse.

But there’s a pause in the lilting cadence of your step.

Where you’ve stopped to grab for the fallen handkerchief that slipped from his belt.

And the panic flooding his breast moves him against all hope.

And he turns.

And you reach for him.

Before disappearing for the final time.

With forgiveness swimming in your eyes.

Part II: Pilgrim, Stranger, Wanderer

He’s called Doran in this lifetime.

A name you learn upon ducking into the blacksmith’s workshop with another man’s name on your lips. 

“Callum!” You call, greeted instead by a shock of white hair where blonde should be.

Round brown eyes where you expected green.

“Apologies,” you offer, “I am looking for the smith.”

“Callum was called away to his family in the north country.”

His answering voice like honey just starting to crystalize. 

“I’m called Doran,” he bends his head in customary greeting.

And you note the broad spread of his hand against his chest.

“I apprenticed under Callum, in what feels like a lifetime ago now, I admit.” He offers a small smirk. “He asked that I mind the forge in his absence.”

And you give him your name but not your full belief in this story.

“May I help you with something, dove?”  

You straighten against the rake of his eyes. “My horse requires particular shoes. She is of a larger breed and nothing standard will suit.”

And you turn your back to him leading the way outside.

Doran whistles low at the sight of your mare, a sturdy Friesian glossed blue in the morning sun.

“She is a stunning creature,” he purrs, gently taking his fingers over her strong neck.

Pausing to thumb the iris stamped into the leather of her bridle.

“She’s no delicate thing,” you watch as he circles the horse. “Her grandsire was a draft who pulled the High King’s carriage.”

He fits one massive hoof between his knees, gently brushing away the feathers at her ankle before she starts fighting his touch. 

He adjusts her gently, inspecting her irons before she protests in earnest.

“It’s apparent,” he says, quickly dropping the horse’s foot and jumping aside before she stamps and shakes her head, “that her blood runs hot.”

“She does not favor the touch of men,” you answer, soothing a hand over her hindquarters. “I should have forewarned you.”

“A fair lady is entitled to her opinions when she is that beautiful,” Doran gives her a wide berth.

And takes his eyes over you instead. 

“You are the nobleman’s daughter.” He squints against the sun. “The warrior?” 

“I am.”

“Now,” he pulls a rag from his pocket and rubs at his hands, “I know well the dangers of feminine beauty but a warrioress is altogether new to me. You are not riding into battle soon, I pray?”

“One in my position exists in a constant state of preparation. But there is no rumble of battle on the horizon.” 

His smirk dimples one cheek now.

“I shall have the shoes for your láir within the week. And I shall pray you need not fly away before then, little dove.”

“May I make half the payment now for your services? This was the custom with the old smith.”

“The only payment for my services I can insist upon is merely the chance to sit in your presence a moment longer. Would a fair lady allow a humble blacksmith that much?”

And you see straight through him. Through to the tools on the wall. 

But the broad set of his shoulders under ash-smudged linen. The way he moves, lithe and light on his feet as he dances between his stock of iron bars and his cache of hammers. The bright wideness of his eyes that betray sincerity or something of its kin.

A humble one no. But this one, perhaps.

You drop a pouch of coins onto his anvil. “Where?”

“Meet me here. In the morrow?”

And you tell him “maybe” in the moment as you climb into your saddle.

But you arrive on foot the next morning. 

_____

You meet him three mornings in the week it takes him to forge your mare’s irons. 

On the first day he tells you of his travels through Spain and France. Of scrambling up the masts of the ship that brought him to your shore. 

On the third, he recites The Bard’s work with such nuance that you’re not entirely sure he isn’t the man himself.  

On the fifth day he leads you out to the ruins of an old monastery, up a winding staircase until you’re forced to stand so close on the crumbling parapet that you can feel the heat of him at your back.

Your head spins from something other than the height.

On the seventh day he places four horseshoes, lovingly wrapped in burlap and bound with hemp cord, into the hand he has cradled in his own. 

Warm and worn.

“Can I see you again?” He murmurs, barely a foot between you.

“Is that wise?”

“I have been mistaken for many things, little dove.” He brushes two knuckles over your cheekbone. “Nary a man has included wise among them.”

And you scoff but press into his touch all the same. 

“Forgive me my boldness,” he takes his fingers under your chin, “but I must pose the question.”

“Your mare does not favor the touch of men.”

“But,” he purrs, “do you?”

And your lips form the word “goodnight” but you don’t dare move.

Your eyes flash with a want that does not go neglected. 

“Must you take your leave?” He thumbs your bottom lip.

“I must.”

“But what of my payment,” he hums.

“As I recall you beseeched me pay with my time,” you tilt your head, reveling in the brush of warm breath against your skin, “I dare say I’ve tendered more than my share.”

“And yet I am in debt every time you take your presence from me,” he smirks. “There is something of you, little dove, that I fear has a hold on—”

You steal the words from his lips with your own.

And the unabashed delight dancing over his features when you part makes you kiss him again.

You fling your arm to rest the irons on the first surface you can find, desperate to wind your hands in his hair as his fit to your waist.

He urges your mouth open with the soft slip of his tongue. Humming when you let him inside.

“Little bird,” he pants when he tears his lips from you, forehead thumping hard against yours. “I confess if you stay past this moment I shall not be able to exercise any measure of restraint.”

“Is restraint what you desire?” You angle heavy-lidded eyes up at him. 

“Not in the slightest,” he swallows hard, fist still gripping at your hair. “But you are a gentle lady with a good name, and I—”

“I want you, Doran,” you murmur. “This.”

And his head falls back on his shoulders with a tight, pained hiss.

“I confess I have given in to the fantasy of hearing that fall from this lush mouth many nights since first we met.”

And he expects heat to rise to your cheeks at his admission. But the hand that cradles your neck finds no such warmth.

“Do you know how it works?” He hums low, running his palm down your sleeve to lace thick fingers with yours. “Pleasure?” He brings your knuckles to his lips, eyes glinting in hearthlight. 

And there is sincerity evident in his gaze.

For you are a gentle lady with a good name. 

“Mmm, have you felt this?” He takes your hand, gliding it over the rough wool of his trousers.

To the hard line of his length underneath them. 

Your breath skips.

You are no stranger to amusement of the flesh. But never before have you felt so—much. 

“Feel me, birdie,” he hums, rolling his forehead against yours, “what you do to me. I fear there isn’t any blood left for the rest of me.” He kisses you again. “Only for you. This. Just for you.”

“Your bed, Doran,” you murmur against his mouth.

The hand over yours encircles your wrist and he leads you through to his chambers.

He pulls you tight to his body again, mouths locked as his hands roam your form, unable to settle upon what features his fingers must traverse first. 

You push the braces from his shoulders and he helps you with the buttons of his shirt, your hands skating up the smooth expanse of tanned skin before tugging at your own shirttails.

Your lips find his neck as he unbuttons his trousers. You’ve already stepped out of yours.

“So eager, birdie,” he wraps you in his arms, and your skin burns with his touch. “Surely you’ve seen it with beasts, yes?” He salts your neck with kisses. “It’s quick with them, you see. It doesn’t have to be. Doesn’t have to—”

A moan cuts off his babbling from where you’ve taken him in hand. 

“Although I may yet need to beg your forgiveness,” his hips buck into your hand, “my stamina may yet waiver, upon this first time.”

His tongue slips into your mouth again and finally he finds himself enough to back you up until your thighs meet his bed. 

“It’s been so long. So long, birdie, since I have held a woman.” He leans you back with his body as your hands fly to his hair. “Longer still since I have held one as soft. Supple and pliant as you.” His lips map your collarbone, nose skimming the valley of your breasts as he takes one in hand.

“Never before is a long time indeed.”

He sucks at tender, pebbled skin, drawing an arch in your spine as he shifts to settle between your legs.

“I give you my word that I will indeed take my time with you but I offer a preemptive apology in the instance that I fail upon this first time.” His fingers slip down to toy with your folds, groaning against your ribs at the wetness that he finds there. “Perhaps we are no different than animals indeed.” 

You hear only half of his babbling. 

The static of anticipation under your skin crackles in your ears as your hips tip into his hand. His thumb slides over your clit and you cry out. 

“You see, sometimes a man just needs to bury himself deep.”

He slings your legs over his hips and sits up on his knees, stroking his length with your borrowed wetness as your hands find his thighs.

There’s a dark edge to his voice now. Heavy-lidded eyes locked on the core of you.

“This need. It’s far stronger than I ever will be.”

“Now, Doran, I need—”

He doesn’t make you wait.

And he keeps his word in the moments it matters. Slowly rocking his hips to stretch you open on his cock before your body begs him deeper.

Large palms settle around your waist as he builds in pace, alternating slow with fast. Tenderness with force that drives the bedframe to knock against the wall. When his thumb winds circles against your clit you cry into the night as pleasure rips through you. Greedy lips crash against yours as his weight blankets your reeling form. Fevered moans in his chest thrum through you as he savors the way your walls pulse around him. 

He buries his face against your neck and you feel the bite of his teeth as he snarls, drawing closer and closer to the edge.

He cants his hips just so at the last minute, pulling himself from your heat a moment before his seed streams hot over your thigh.

You soothe a hand over the nape of his neck as his hips spasm with the last of it, wide hand cradling your jaw and tipping your face to his.

Kisses softer now. 

Grateful.

“You are a rare bird indeed,” he murmurs against your ear, lips ghosting over your neck. 

He finds himself enough to rise from bed and kneel on the floor, searching for his handkerchief amongst the tangle of his clothes. 

Yours peeks from the pocket of your trousers, red against brown wool, and you lazily twirl a corner of it around your finger and draw it out.

Doran catches it from your hand, gently cleaning your thigh of his spend before pressing a kiss there. 

“I shall return this to you clean,” he holds it up briefly before craning to press a kiss to your lips. “Don’t trouble a hair on your head with moving, birdie,” he bids you before disappearing to the kitchen.

You trouble the hair on your head all the same as you pull the jostled pins from it, tousling it out of the style your nurse had so meticulously placed it in this morning. 

Doran returns with two glasses and a bottle of whiskey. He fills them as you prop yourself up on your side and he settles on the floor. One arm slung up on the mattress.

Adoration in his eyes as he tips his glass against yours.

“You didn’t tell me this was not your first time. Although I do find it rather a pleasant surprise,” he rubs a hand over the curve of your waist with lust-hazed eyes.

“I could scarcely utter a word amidst your chatter,” you tease with a grin as you take another sip of your whiskey.

His smile dimples his cheek. 

“Are you—”

For once he hesitates to speak.

“Are you promised to anyone?”

You catch his hand and bring it to your lips, pressing a kiss to his palm before he thumbs your cheekbone.

“None but myself. And my duty.”

He hums in acknowledgment. 

You finger the white patch at his hairline, twirling a clinging curl. 

“Angered a horse as a child and she made it known with her hooves,” he offers. “Frightened the color from that spot, I’m afraid.”

“There’s character in it. I’m quite fond.”

He turns in and rests his chin on the bed, hand back to trailing over your curves. 

“Dove?”

And you frown at the nickname.

“I am nothing so delicate, Doran.”

“A shrike then, perhaps,” he smirks, knuckles ghosting over your stomach. 

And something about it makes your heart preen.

“Has a man ever,” his fingers dip lower over your abdomen, “put his mouth on you?” 

It sends a fresh jolt of pleasure racing up your spine. You turn onto your back without thought, basking in his touch as fingers trail over your mound.

“Right here?” The pads of his middle and ring fingers wind softly against your clit.

“No,” you gasp.

“Then may I have the pleasure of being the first?”

And he is the first in a way that has you wishing for him to be the last. 

The only.

_____

Your handmaid was sympathetic to your cause, having been driven from her own house for true love. They share a small cottage on your father’s land now.

Your mother, though she did not know the intricacies of your continued dalliances with the blacksmith, knew the shift in your demeanor was a man’s doing. And she always was a soft touch for love.

Your father.

Was your mother’s concern. 

And so your nurse covers your footsteps with a tickle in her throat that needs clearing.

Ushers you back into your chambers before morning light with a knowing smile.

“I always thought you would make a pass for the stable hand,” she confesses one day as she pours heated water over your hair. “The blacksmith is a surprise.”

“An unpleasant one?”

“Not in the slightest. He’s handsome.”

You can tell there is more to the sentiment. 

“Yes, and?” You ask with a raised brow.

“Rakish.”

“Perhaps rakish is what I need,” as you rub water from your eyes. 

“No lady with sense needs rakish, my darling girl,” she chides as she rubs soap at your scalp. “But a lady with sense should indulge in it from time to time.” 

This draws a smile across your lips.

“He treats you well?”

“He treats me to pleasure the likes of which I have never known. If I offer this kingdom the breath in my breast every time I leave its gates, the least I may be permitted is the choice of a lover.” 

And so she fixes you bitter tea every morning that you return from your rakish man.

_____

The pair of you take to late night meetings at the old groundskeeper’s shack on your parents’ land. 

Where the splashing of the brook over rocks and the churn of the water wheel stifle the way he makes you cry out in pleasure.

And for one so verbose, he does excel at discretion. Raking ashes from the forge through the patch of white in his hair. Bending shadows around himself as he slips from town and into the forest at the edge of the estate. 

The pair of you carry on for months. Until summer sun yields to the darkening blanket of fall. 

A welcome change that lengthens your stolen hours.

“I’d wager that we were lovers in lives past,” he muses one night, lips pressing kisses against a scar on your shoulder. “You know me, little bird. The very depths of me.”

“Perhaps,” you roll over in a luxuriant stretch, “you are easy to know.”

“The Townsfolk would perhaps beg to differ, my darling.” He rests his hand on your cheek as you curl into him.

“Must you go in the morrow?” He asks softly.

“I’m afraid I must. For it is my duty. To ensure the safety—”

“—of the kingdom,” you both finish.

“In that case, I have made you a gift.” He reaches over your form down to the pocket of his cloak, and produces a small canvas pouch.

He sits up with you, pulling your back to his chest, arms around your middle as he watches you. 

A small silver disk threaded on a chain falls into your palm. An iris stamped into the pendant.

“Doran, it’s beautiful. You made this?”

“It is perhaps more crude than a silversmith’s work,” he helps you fasten it around your neck, “but I wanted you to have something to remember my touch in the absence of it.”

You turn towards him such that he can see you in the firelight. Ash on your jaw from where you held him to your neck, perched atop his hips while he ground deep. 

Silver pendant hanging just above the valley of your breasts. 

“Beautiful,” he smiles, pressing a kiss against your lips, thumbing at the smudge on your chin. “I have always thought there to be something undeniably sensual in the furl of iris petals,” he rumbles, “how fitting for them to be your favorite.”

“Your imagination is swift, Doran.”

“You have not beheld what I have, dearheart,” he pulls you down against the bed linens once more.

Holding you against his heart. 

And he is quiet for a long while, fingers running softly over your stomach, nose buried in your hair.

“What of my safety?” He asks. 

A plea to keep you here. 

“What shall I do?”

“I have no doubt you will find another iris that unfurls for you in the meanwhile,” you hum. Eyes slipping closed. 

“There is only one, my love. I shall wait for your return.”

_____

A grand crowd lines the streets as you and the men of your battalion ride towards the village gates the next morning. Full of cheers and blessings.

And you offer the customary wave and nod.

But your heart hammers against chainmail. 

Eyes darting through the crowd.

Willing a shock of white to appear. 

And as you near the gates he greets you.

Warm brown eyes and a grin of pride. He rushes to push through the crowd as you approach on your mare, eyes never leaving each other. 

You slip one foot from your stirrup and he jams one of his into it and stands, briefly.

Long enough to cup the base of your skull and lay a parting kiss against your lips.

You hurriedly pull your red handkerchief from behind your breastplate, pressing it into his palm as he drops away.

Crushing the cloth to his heart as you slip through the gates. 

And it will yield the ire of your father and the warm, joyous tears of your mother.

But they matter not.

For you do not return home under your own power. 

You return home under a shroud. 

Your nurse slips into the night, treading your path with your necklace in hand.

“She was found with her hand over her heart. And this underneath it.”

And the blacksmith. 

Wrought with grief.

Is never seen again.

Part III: The Helper. The Protector.

He’s called Ezra in this lifetime. 

Brought to this bar by a group of associates keen on celebrating his win in federal court this afternoon. 

And he knows it’s an excuse to drink on the firm’s dime.

He was an associate once too. 

But they helped draft the brief that saved their client $44 million. A few drinks is a small thanks. 

Ezra sticks to the corners, entertaining chatter only when approached. Kindly redirecting the advances of a first year who’s too young to realize flirting with a partner is career suicide.

He’s content tonight to sip his bourbon and observe.

“Okay, but I told you that Bismark case was horseshit and the judge was going to see that!” One associate who is two drinks too deep roars.

“That was so fucking risky, I still can’t believe you put so much weight on that,” another chides.

“Fucking WORKED though!” And the first man spreads his arms wide.

Knocking you into the sip of red wine you were about to take from your seat at the bar. 

“Jesus, fuckin’—” you start before taking a deep breath and glancing down at the patch of deep burgundy beginning to spread on your white blouse. 

Fuck.

“Boys, boys, this lovely lady didn’t consent to hearing your opinions on bullshit 4th Circuit rulings, okay?” Ezra appears, stretching an arm between you and the men. “Let’s be a little more careful, take it to a booth, yeah?”

“Miss, I apologize on their behalf,” he starts and you take another centering breath because you really are not here for some hotshot lawyer’s apologies. This is your spot, and they’re fucking with your Thursday night nightcap.

But the brown eyes you’re met with are wide and sincere.

And something at the very core of you thrums momentarily with something you can’t name. 

“Please, allow me to replace your wine and cover your tab for the night.” He’s already calling the barman over before you can assure him that’s really not necessary because they’ve fucked up your night already and you just want to go home. 

“Could you please arrange a fresh glass of wine for this lovely lady, place her tab on the card I gave you, and may I have a shot glass of white wine. I need the white wine as quickly as you can, please. Thanks very much.”

And you’re still staring at those brown eyes.

Bristling and dumbstruck at the same time. 

“Ezra,” he holds out a hand in belated introduction, and you offer a firm shake and your name in exchange.

“Sorry, a shot glass of white wine?” You quip as the bartender places it in front of Ezra.

He slips a red pocket square from his jacket and dips a corner into the shot glass.

“Apologies, may I?”

And inexplicably you turn in towards him on your bar stool as he dabs at the stain on your shirt. 

Just over your heart. 

“White wine will keep the stain from setting,” he proffers.

You crane your neck to the side, trying to settle your focus on cut glass bottles and not the stranger tending to the fine layer of cotton just above your left breast. 

He’s gentle though. Respectful in a way you perhaps didn’t anticipate. 

He smells of hinoki wood and worn leather.

“Right as rain,” he announces and takes half a step back before offering you the handkerchief. “If you want to hold that there to blot some of the excess.”

“Um, yeah, thank you. Thanks,” you hold the cloth over your heart as the bartender returns with your fresh glass of wine. 

Ezra settles on the barstool next to you.

“How…did you know that?” 

“About the wine?” He swallows a sip of bourbon. “Must’ve read it at some point and it just stuck.”

“Seems you’re a good man to have around in a crisis then,” you smile and tip your glass in his direction. He gently touches the side of his against it, before tapping the heavy base against the bar and taking another sip. 

Everything he does is briefly fascinating. 

“I apologize again for these kids,” he reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket, producing a business card which he slides over to you face-down. “You should be all good with that,” he gestures at the handkerchief, “but I insist on you sending me the dry cleaning bill. If I’ve recalled incorrectly and it does stain, I will procure a replacement for you, you have my word.”

“That’s really not necessary,” you start and yet find yourself unable to stop, “and I’m not even sure it’s possible this is vintage—”

“Alexander McQueen, I know.”

You turn all the way towards him on your barstool now. 

And his eyes glitter with your fascination as he runs his hand through the patch of white at his hairline.

“What are you reading,” he tips his head to the side as if to glimpse the cover of your book but he doesn’t break your gaze. Cheek dimpled with a half smile. 

“Ovid. Metamorphoses.”

“For fun?” There’s a hint of surprise in his voice but it’s far from belittling. 

“It’s…” you start before a smile splits your face, “yeah. For fun.”

And he echoes your grin.

“I re-read it for fun last year. I think the passage about Orpheus’ death is my favorite.”

“Fascinating,” you swallow a sip of your tempranillo. “Why that one?” 

“Well, I believe it’s a commentary on both the unbridled rage of passion and a testament to the obstinate nature of true love.”

“Obstinate?” You incline your head incredulously. “That’s quite a choice.”

“And yet it holds true, does it not? Orpheus, arguably one of the most talented figures in Greek mythology,” and he’s gesturing broadly now, “able to enchant the very souls of feral beasts and move trees to bend their limbs just to be nearer his music.”

He jabs his finger into the bartop between you, “he moved Hades, both the realm and the deity himself, let’s not forget, correct?”

And you nod, amusement playing across your features. 

“The earth and the underworld fell at his feet. And he shunned it all out of love for Eurydice.”

“And so what moral value do you place on obstinacy?” You ask.

“Obstinacy in love is the only way to experience it. To feel it so completely that you forsake everything else. Defy the world. For love. Fidelity to the wife that you betrayed by turning back.” Brown eyes are wide with his conviction.

He adds, “even Shakespeare said let it be virtuous to be obstinate.”

“Okay, in a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT context!” Your turn to erupt now, with arms thrown in the air where you’re met by his wide smile. “You cannot cherry pick that out of Coriolanus choosing to abandon his family out of sheer stubbornness, and frankly, contempt for his own people, to extol the virtues of love! Let it be virtuous to FORSAKE that love, is the whole point of that line.”

And this is the moment.

That Ezra falls in love.

And you’re not far behind.

Time slips from this point on. Patrons file in and out. More wine and whiskey is poured. Associates drunkenly clap him on the back as they make their way home, but none of it registers.

The world spins around the pair of you.

Until finally the bartender insists that he close his tab. 

And you both step out onto a city street wet with the aftermath of a brief summer downpour. 

“Thank you,” Ezra starts, “for the absolute pleasure of your company.”

He holds a tentative hand out, which you shake with a heartfelt “likewise.”

“Oh, your handkerchief,” you pull it from your pocket and hold it out to him. 

“Keep it.” He smiles. 

And you both spin on your heels. Proceeding in opposite directions.

But the warp and weft of the red cotton square that you keep rubbing between your fingers forces you to stop in your tracks. 

You turn around.

And look back. 

Meeting Ezra’s gaze from where he hasn’t moved a step.

He thumbs the corner of his lips, brown eyes locked on yours.

And you both move. 

Urgent steps pulled by Fates’ string.

Colliding as you throw your arms around his neck and he locks you against him with biceps around your ribs.

Lips crashing together with the relief of a thousand lifetimes. 

Lifetimes that you’ve known each other.

Lifetimes that you’ve lost each other. 

And this lifetime. Having found each other again.

Taglist of folks who may be interested, as always, please do let me know if you'd prefer not to be tagged, or if you'd like to be added!

@morallyinept @iamskyereads @tinytinymenace @for-a-longlongtime @legendary-pink-dot

@oliveksmoked @nerdieforpedro @julesonrecord

Subpart headings are the meaning of Ezra's name in that section.

Orpheus' monologue included herein in italics is quoted from David Raeburn's 2004 translation of Ovid's Metamorphoses, published by Penguin Classics. The text of this translation just felt so Ezra that I had to include it in that form. If you'd like to hear it read by Hozier himself, head on over to his instagram circa summer 2020's Poetry Fridays for this and some other wonderful work.

This story references the version of Eurydice's death as precipitated by Aristaeus.

Láir means mare in Irish Gaelic.

"Let it be virtuous to be obstinate" is quoted from Coriolanus by William Shakespeare.

[valkeakuulas]

If you are still doing the kiss asks maybe 24. or 28. for Plo/Wolffee? Pretty please, p.s. I love your one-shots very much!

Hello there, dear Anon. Thank you for telling me that, it made me smile. Also, sorry for the wait, I got distracted for a bit. 💚💚

I don't see the dice here but it's been ages since someone has asked me to write any Plo/Wolffe, so I threw an actual d6 to pick between these two (odds for 24 and evens for 28) and got 3, so pompt 24 it is! -- -- --

24. A Sleepy Kiss

Plo didn't know what disturbed his sleep but even before he fully woke up, he forced his body to stay relaxed. There was a warm weight resting on top of the Kel Dor and Plo didn't want to disturb them.

Opening his eyes to the dimness of his quarters, Plo neither saw nor heard anything that would've given him a reason to wake up.

Looking down, Plo listened to Wolffe's slow, even breathing as he slept peacefully in Plo's arms, head pillowed by the Kel Dor's chest. He could see only the dark curls and parts of Wolffe's forehead from this position but there was nothing wrong in his partner that could've explained why he was awake.

Frowning, Plo called for the Force, feeling it flow through him. As Plo concentrated, he mused that he must've sensed some trooper's thoughts through his sleep. Before he could use the Force to locate the source and comm someone to check on them, Wolffe twitched before curling tighter around Plo.

Oh, Plo realised with a slow blink of eyes. It was Wolffe.

Wolffe was having a nightmare.

Pulling his hand from beneath the blanket, Plo carefully ran his claws through Wolffe's hair, careful of the cartilage that made his ear. He could feel the tendons in Wolffe's neck tense and his pulse a little elevated from usual.

There were no other signs, not even a sound from Wolffe to show that his dreams had taken a darker tone. His Commander's mental shielding was impeccable even dead asleep but at that moment Plo found it more disturbing than impressive.

It would be so easy for Plo to use the Force to enter Wolffe's mind, use it like a gentle whisper to guide him away from the nightmare and into more pleasant dreams.

But he wouldn't. There were other means to help someone.

Instead, Plo gathered his lover closer, rolling them to the side so that they were facing each other. His chest warmed when Wolffe barely stirred at the movement, his trust in Plo overriding a lifetime of training. That, or the nightmare had a much stronger grip on him.

Plo shifted so that Wolffe rested his head on his arm, using his free hand to pet the mussed-up curls and scarred brow. He used his claws to gently scratch Wolffe's scalp as he started to hum a song from a distant past. The antiox mask guaranteed that it would never sound like the one Plo had heard in his childhood but the deep rumble it turned his voice had proven to be very soothing.

The lullaby and the gentle, affectionate touches seemed to help as Wolffe inhaled, deep, and his whole body relaxed, all but melting into the bunk.

Satisfied, Plo sighed and pressed the flat front of his mask into Wolffe's forehead.

Just as he leaned back, Wolffe moved again but this time it was to chase after the touch, mouth brushing the engraved metal.

Plo chuckled at the kiss he had received from his still-asleep Commander. Pulling Wolffe close, Plo let the sleep claim him once more.

There were no more nightmares through the rest of the night.

[rozmy-basilcore]

OMORI x The Owl House AU / crossover

🧡 Kel as Luz Noceda

💚 Basil as Amity Blight

[bittersweetresilience]

opening line patterns

thank you @kasienda for the tag 💜💚

List the first line of your last 10 posted fics and see if there's a pattern.

in order of update recency, skipping as time goes by podfic and brave, truthful, and unselfish since i didn't write their opening lines

1. loose leaves (feligaminette)

Marinette isn’t entirely awake when she stumbles into the kitchen, rubbing exhaustion from her eyes.

2. never been in love (aromantic félix)

“She’s incredible, Félix.”

3. VELOURS (sentitwin omori au)

Don’t worry… everything is going to be okay…

4. metempsychosis (time loop)

The gist of it is this—Adrien and Félix are walking by the Louvre when the commotion breaks out.

5. in certain light, i can plainly see (felinette)

“Is this okay?” Marinette whispers, her lips hovering over the back of Félix’s hand.

6. watership down (amélie soulmate au)

Amélie is thinking of her sister when her world dislocates: the determination in Emilie’s voice so many years ago, hung on a resolution Amélie couldn’t yet reach.

7. tous les morts-nés (sentitwins)

Félix is sitting with his back to Adrien when Adrien steps out onto the roof.

8. oh, no, not again (time travel)

“Okay,” Ladybug says, a determined glint in her eye.

9. nothing ever stops you leaving (réunion)

Duusu doesn’t look at Adrien as they press the kwagatama into his hands.

10. overflow (well... you know)

“Kel?”

i certainly do like starting right in the middle of something 🤣 opening scenes are probably more my strong suit than individual opening lines. i like that amélie is the only one who gets a complex sentence. you deserve it, queen.

@ninadove @trishacollins @redundant-lava @celestialtitania @mostmagical @monpetitchattriste @wehadabondingmoment

@asukiess LOOK AUTUMN YOU GET A SPECIAL TAG OKAY 😭😭😭😭😭💘💘💘💘 @heartfulselkie AND MY OTHER SPOUSE

[br0-k3n-sch00lb01]

UPDATED ALTERS LIST!!

not all my alters have emojis, so the ones with a red question mark havent decided yet. Theyll show their presence by name.

below the cut!

Rowan 🐾

…the other rowan?? ❓

Basil (canon rw) 🌸

 HS basil 💐

Bitch basil 🌿

British basil 🍵

Aubrey (rw)💒

Aubrey hs🍆

Kel rw🛹

Kel hs🏀

Mari rw💌

Mari spirit🕯️

Mari HS🤍

Stranger (british) ❓

STRANGER 🗝️

Marcille 🪞

Wally Darling🏠

Omoboy ♠️

Hero hs ✨

Hero rw ❄️

SOMETHING 👁️

Sunny 🎻

Omori 🔪

Sage ❓

Opal🍰

Sol ☀️

Zip 🥀

Tessa ❓

Tris ❓

Tryst 🌻

Cosmo 🐚

Oliver 🕊️

Mello/Mellohi 🍈 

Milo 🎠

Matcha ❓

Mocha ❓

Chai ❓

KII ❓

Broken 🩷

HOST 📻

Ruai 🕷️

Luna 🔥

Charlie 🌈

COMBOY/B-143 📺

Len 🍌

Sweetheart 🎀

Spaceboy 🪐

B.U.G 💚

Quinn ❓

Flynn ❓

Elizabeth 🍦

Angel 🪽

Puppi 🌹

Kokichi 🎲

Nagito 💣

Mikan 💉

ENTROPY 🧨

HIKA 🎬

JINX ❓

Sunny n.2 🍄

EMORI!Basil 🚬

C.C 💧

Nil 👁️‍🗨️

Nox 🖌️

Mono ❓

Chrome ❓

Alexander ❓

Nehmo 🪁

Tsukasa/ Kasa ⭐

Madotsuki (Suki) 🌑

Basil (broken’s timeline) ❓

Sebastian Solace 🦋

Ranboo 👑

Nico ❓

GHOST!Basil ❓

Dollhouse!Basil 🧸

SAGE!Basil ❓

HIKA!Basil ❓

OMARI!Basil 🪦

Camellia 🪓

Sayori 🩹

Till maybe ? -🎸

Luka 🎤

[edupunkn00b]

On a Butterfly's Wing, Ch. 1: A Book Before Bed

Graphical representation of the Lorenz Attractor.

A Book Before Bed - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ] - Playlist

"As the system changes, the motion of the point represents the continuously changing variables. It traced a strange, distinctive shape of a butterfly's wings." - Chaos: The Making of a New Science by James Gleick

Changes in an environment can make a outsized impact on a life: Arriving three minutes late to a student club fair. Never walking home alone after that party at Jack's house. Trying a new goal planner that year.

Deciding to stay just a little longer to try to make the marriage work.

Universes collide in this story, as Logan Croft finds himself stumbling down paths he might have followed throughout his life but for a few small changes.

And what he discovers will change everything.

- Across the universes, Logan starts a book he's been looking forward to reading for a long, long time.

💚💙 Happily Ever After Universe - Wednesday, May 7, 2025

“Whatcha readin’, hot stuff?”

Eyebrows raised in a wordless question, Remus waited for Logan’s little nod before he slid between his husband’s back and the padded headboard. Wiggling into place, he wrapped both  arms around his belly, hugging him close and helping support the thick book he was reading. Logan leaned in to the soft kisses along his neck and hummed, the finger tucked between the book’s pages the only reminder he had, in fact, been reading.

Remus smirked. “Am I distracting you from your book?”

Logan blushed and settled against his chest, nodding when Remus carded long, strong fingers through his hair. “Perhaps,” he admitted, laughing low in his chest. “But I would never mind, Meus.”

After a few moments, Remus nuzzled against his temple and asked, “So what are ya’ reading?”

He held up the book so Remus could read the cover.

“Mmmm,” he hummed. “Chaos: Making a New Science?” He shimmied his shoulders, eyebrows dancing over sleepy eyes. “Sounds like my kinda book.”

~

💚💙💛 Overruled Universe - Wednesday, May 7, 2025

“Indeed, Muse,” Janus murmured, joining them under the covers. A satin scarf wrapped around his still-damp hair, he smelled of bergamot and cedar wood, plus a hint of spearmint. Smiling, Logan made mental note to check the order for his cinnamon toothpaste after they dropped off Patton at school.

“I believe we can convince our dear Lo to read us a bit of it,” he added, leaning in to kiss first Remus, then Logan. “If we’re very, very good.”

Logan chuckled. “You’re always very, very good.”

“Except when we’re not,” Remus laughed, nipping at his shoulder.

Shaking his head with his own laugh, Logan settled in between his loves and read aloud from where he’d left off. “‘Where chaos begins, classical science stops…’”

~

❤️💙 The Uses of Adversity Universe - Wednesday, May 7, 2025

“‘The irregular side of nature, the discontinuous and the erratic side will emerge, always staying within certain bounds but never—‘”

Logan paused as Roman’s breathing slowed, head heavy on his chest. “My Prince,” he whispered, smiling at the tickle of soft hair against his lips. “Have you fallen asleep?”

“Mm-hm… no, Lo, I’m wide awake,” he mumbled, rubbing his cheek against Logan’s bare chest. “Keep reading to me… please?”

Logan pressed a kiss into his auburn curls and smiled. “As you wish. ‘At any instant in time, the three variables fix the location of a point in three-dimensional space…’”

~

💔 In Sickness and In - Wednesday, May 7, 2025

As the system changes, the motion of the point represents the continuously changing variables. It traced a strange, distinctive shape—

Logan inhaled sharply when the text on the page disappeared as the bedroom light clicked off, blanketing him in darkness.

“That’s not another one of those damn ‘Fifteen Ways Your Marriage Will Fail’ books, is it?”

Logan cleared his throat and tucked the bookmark firmly into place before sliding the book and his eyeglasses into his nightstand drawer. “No. No, Kels, of course not. It’s, um…” He closed the drawer quietly, then fumbled for his water glass in the dark, and drained it as Kelly took off her slippers and climbed in to her side of the bed. “It’s a physics book, actually. On chaos theory…” Logan rushed to fill the stony silence between them. “It—it’s fascinating, really. The current chapter demonstrates mathematically how small changes in the initial variables can set off—”

She grunted and arranged her body pillow between them, then rolled to face the other side of the room. “Sounds like something you’d read.”

Back still turned to him, she inserted her ear plugs and dropped her sleep mask over her eyes before eventually stilling. Moving slowly so he wouldn’t jostle her, Logan slid down under the blanket and pulled it up to his chin. In the dim light, he could make out a glint of blonde curls peeking past her pillow.

“Goodnight, Kels,” he whispered into the silence. He listened to her breathe, counting as each grew slower, steadier. Softer. Finally, when he was certain she was no longer awake, he closed his eyes and let sleep take him.

[caged-heartz]

COLOR WHEEL ART COLLAB!!!!!! HEHSHEH

Red - TT: @fizzyfazzythesillyclown or @number1.floyd.leech.fan

Character: Opera from Welcome To Demon School, Iruma-Kun

❤️——————————————————————❤️

Orange - TT: @boiledleafwater

Character: Kel from Omori

🧡——————————————————————🧡

Yellow - NO TAG!!!

Character: Mami from Madoka Magica

💛——————————————————————💛

Green - @vanrouge13

Character: Trey Clover from Twisted Wonderland

💚——————————————————————💚

Teal - @callmestrawberries

Character: Hatsune Miku

🩵——————————————————————🩵

Blue - @pawmimo

Character: Usagi from JJBA JOJOLands

💙——————————————————————💙

Purple - @peppermintbanne

Character: Doppio from JJBA Golden Wind

💜——————————————————————💜

Pink - ME!1!1!1!!1!!!!

Character: Pinkie Pie from My Little Pony

🩷——————————————————————🩷

[sillyuziii]

Silly little things abt me! ^^

(fixation = 💚)

-fandoms that I'm in! -

Madoka magica

Generation Loss 💚

Murder Drones💚

PjSekai

Bungou stray dogs💚

Scott pilgrim

Hazbin Hotel��

Helluva Boss (kinda)

Fnaf

Sailor Moon (kinda)

Eddsworld💚

Spooky month

Omori

Cookie Run 💚

Toilet bound hanako kun

---------------------------------

-A few songs I like-

---------------------------------

-Boundaries-

No weird / sexual asks (or comments) pls! Even if it's a joke, I only feel comfortable making those jokes with closer friends.

IF you know me IRL, please, PLEASE do NOT use my real name on this blog! I don't want that info out on the internet yet.

--------------------------------------

-Things I like-

Subway

Birds (specifically owls)

Monkeys (specifically the small ones)

Dogs

Cats

Doritos

Milk

Orange soda

Art

Writing

---------------------------------------

-Characters I like-

Fyodor Dostoevsky - Bungou stray dogs

Nikolai Gogol - Bungou stray dogs

Ivan Goncharov - Bungou stray dogs

Tessa - Murder Drones

N - Murder drones

Uzi - Murder drones

Slimecicle - Generation Loss (all ver.)

Ranboo - Generation loss

Niki - Generation loss

Pitaya Dragon Cookie - Cookie Run kingdom / ovenbreak

Shadow milk cookie - cookie run kingdom

White lily cookie - cookie run kingdom

Kel - omori

---------------------------------

This blog is LGBT+ friendly, this is a safe space. Any homophobic comments / asks are not tolerated here. If you don't like that, then block me and move on. Any hate towards anyone's sexuality, race, gender or beliefs is not welcome here. If you do make rude remarks of these topics in my comments I will block.

The End of my intro!

(might add more later..)