#rosebeds

[eerieangels]

— LET ! she he

RQ STATUS : everything closed ..

[PT: closed. END PT]

will do flags, title/pronoun suggestions. no name suggestions

[PT: no name suggestions. END PT]

———

temporary pinned !! come back later …

[irrfahrer]

This or That Dash Game: Ziv Odiz’Zee

indoor plants or gardens / cloud-watching* or star-gazing / water or fire / paperback or hardcover / running or hiking / sleeping with socks or without socks / fruit or vegetables / hanging plants or succulents / dark wood or light wood / handwritten or typed / instagram or pinterest / braids or pigtails / dc or marvel / books or movies / oceans or meadows / forests or fields / sweet or salty / ice cream or chocolate/ hoodies or sweaters / piercings or tattoos / summer or winter / boots or sneakers / cars or motorcycles / curls or straight hair / castles or cottages / sunny days or storms / reptiles** or birds / disney or nickelodeon / strawberries or watermelon / essays or posters / phones or laptops or desktop / glass or stone / dark or light / photos or paintings / circuses or theatres / reading or writing / dogs or cats / poetry or novels / monsters or ghosts / thrift shops or libraries / fiction or non fiction*** / comedy or action / romance*** or horror / adventure or drama / historical or musicals / sci-fi or westerns / tea or coffee / cake or pie / cereal or oatmeal / bagels or cookies / sandwich or pizza / early bird or night owl / city or country side / foxes or wolves / hugs or kisses / shorts or long pants / monopoly or sorry / comic books or novels / showers or baths / chess or checkers / hip-hop or classical music

*While Ziv has nothing against stargazing, she is also a person who is 99% of her time occupied with work. So she is, whenever she is looking up, actually searching for signs of weatherchange, temperaturechanges and the change of seasons. Accordingly while the stars are pretty, the clouds are what give her informations about what weather she should expect and what to look out for when watching over her growing gardens. For someone who clearly comes from a religious upbringing with a lot of mysticism , Ziv is uncharacteristic down to earth (pun intended) and scientific in her methodes and way of working .

** In general Ziv is neutral to whatever crawls in the soil she is working with, though she is occaisonally more irritated by birds eating the fruitpeels she uses as feritlizer for her gardens, than she is of the reptiles occiasonally slithering through the grass or weeds. Reptiles are however a very good bug-control to keep the bug population in reguation. And when she had been a child they had been her favorite animals. Obviously they were ( and still are her favorite animals) because snakes and lizards are very far from looking fluffy or mammalian adorable and since these are features belonging to Ziv as a Tynnan with which she is struggling with as someone wanting to be seen as the sentient person she is, she finds comfort in them beeing not at all adorable looking.

***Ziv is most of her tIme reading non-fiction books for research, but when she is reading fictional books it alwas are those very slushy and very horny Jedi-Romance-Novellas and she has the fun of her life reading them to point out all the mistakes in them. She also has especially the fun of her life to read those books on public transportions or when she is waiting in public places for everyone to see, to make the people uncomfortable knowing she is just reading a very slushy AND INFAMOUSLY VERY STEAMY book, because she just loves to mess with people. 

Tagged By: The Force     Tagging: @sithisms  @mando-of-esverr @lighthouseborn @general-kalani @peacefaithed @strongfuck  @starfaithed  @talesgolden @starkillur @tellstales @qoruscant @retrocognizantrecreant @cnlyluck @onehell-of-apilot  @space-hecate @asycuwish @skyler-bane @survivorsofthegalaxy @bewitchingbaker @hopexncarnate  @beskar-himbo  @ofthestcrs @honorhunt  @lady-proudmoore  @savior-of-humanity  @fallesto @outcaststar @jedilovcd @poewingsdameron @cardinal-carvings @smertzimy @visceratorn @infernusfuror @inkedstone @kyberllcore  @cfmartyrs  @luminousxbeings  @thaneirstaer @fleetadmrl @ensgn  @gwiazdowe @lvkexskywvlker   @ariadne-inthesky  @sxbaist @lightfaithed @trueheartofarebel  @hunters-house   @envychosen @masterofthelivingforce @startrailed @bladelancer     @hosnianleft   @sithdestined  @safrona-shadowsun  @stubborn-amphibian @ncxile @skywlkrr  @jedixamidala @chromium-siren @aetcrnus   @bountyborn  @memcriaes @2sabers @thrawnur @creaticn @thestupidmeanone @fatewills…and everyone else who blinked today!  

[staff]

tumblr tuesday: some excellent art

It's been a whole week since we celebrated our creative community on a Tuesday. So here we are. That's what this is.

@z33b:

@leeshannonart:

@wrenwrought::

@telekitnetic-art:

@yixique:

@aubryjoi:

@rosebous:

@wingedog:

@trashedinpluto-jpg:

@xenodogartz:

@critterpdf:

@ghostlyfirnen:

@bugcowboyart:

@turrondeluxe:

@runicpixels:

@vaer:

@toriascreebs:

@the-meme-monarch:

@wis-art:

@mossyartworks:

@hrokkall:

@poniesart:

@chrysanthemumskies:

@butchfriend:

[3knecrotic]

I feel so bad

[lufdraws]

a love forever young🥀

bday present for my dearest friend @rosebous🎉💚 the kiss but make it il mheg🌈

[bloomingdarkgarden]

For Him the Bellflower Tolls Confessions in the Rain

Rated M | Angst, Emotional Confessions, Language | 4,8k A Valentines treat for you beauties and @sjmromanceweek Read on AO3

There were more scars on Elain’s slender, elegant hands than stars in the night sky. But nobody seemed to notice. Those elegant hands fidgeted with the dusty pink skirts of her gown as she stood near the townhouse’s great wide windows- admiring her morning efforts in the rosebeds down below. Gardening was a far bloodier business than warfare. A battle of hope and life and loss and grief, only death was far quieter in the end. So nobody seemed to notice. “Remind me again why I’ve agreed to this?” Elain hummed to Feyre, who stood at her back, tidying the loose curtain of curls which now nearly reached her waist.

“Because it’s been ages since Nesta did anything outside of Illyrian leathers and I need a night out.”

Elain couldn’t find it within herself to argue. It had been ages since the three of them even shared a meal together without any of the males hovering about, let alone had a night on the town. Feyre noted her silence and stilled her hands. "I know it's been a difficult week for you, Elain," she said gently. An understatement of the year. "If you'd rather be alone, Nesta and I both understand." Elain waved a hand, dismissing the entire subject she was alluding to. “Rita’s is just rather-” Elain chewed her cheek, “- loud, isn’t it?” Elain wanted nothing to do with Rita’s. But both of her tremendously busy sisters did, and in the end, the need to see them smile won out over most things in the world. “Nothing is loud compared to an Illyrian infant,” Feyre muttered darkly. Elain chuckled beneath her breath. Yes, this sort of night was in order. The High Lady of Night clicked her tongue with satisfaction as she surveyed her handiwork and Elain turned from the window to face her sister fully. Feyre shook her head appreciatively. “Stars above, Elain, little to no effort and you could bring any male in this kingdom to his knees.” Elain ducked her head, batting away the compliment. “I’d rather keep them on their feet, I should think.” It was a lie. There was one male she’d much rather have on his knees than anywhere else. But nobody seemed to notice.

※※※※※

A cool spring breeze rustled Azriel’s dark hair as he landed on a bustling Velaris street with Nesta Archeron in tow. As soon his boots hit the stones, the grey-eyed Archeron stiffened to a stance and glanced across the square. Nesta then paced towards a nearby cobbled lane, yanking him along in the process.

“Is that really necessary?” Azriel asked, voice clipped with annoyance. A shadow attempted to loosen her grasp on his wrist a moment later. “Yes,” she snapped back, not bothering to turn behind. “I was to spend tonight at Roseh-” “Brood to your brothers about it, you’ll see them momentarily,” Nesta waved a dismissive hand, marching on, leading him by the wrist. She turned east, leading them both down a long alleyway laden with twinkling strings of golden faelights. He was scowling now, unabashedly. Nesta halted before a dark wooden door with an iron latch. She turned to face Azriel, rolling her eyes at his silent disdain for being ever so slightly manhandled. Her brows wrinkled as she studied him head to toe like an equation with no solution. After a moment she straightened the collar on his shirt- a simple dark silk piece he wore once a year or so to nicer family dinners. “This was a good choice,” she said, approval tracing her sharp features. “For what occasion?” Azriel’s face remained cold, untrusting and unreadable as ever. Nesta saw through it all, of course. Nesta said nothing, but her steel-grey eyes glittered triumphantly as pulled the iron latch aside. Azriel studied the open doorway acutely. His shadows stilled from their usual idle swirling as if to taste the air. “Cassian and Rhys are not in this building,” he noted darkly, that scowl returning. “No they are not,” Nesta replied, and shoved the shadowsinger over the threshold. The rare, fleeting moment of clumsiness that followed had Azriel’s silent temper flaring as he stumbled into an unfamiliar room. He straightened, correcting his wings with a feline sort of grace and shot Nesta a glare that would send most people fleeing for their lives. Nesta merely shot him the very same look back. “Hurt her again and I will cut off your fingers and wear them as a necklace,” the eldest Archeron hissed, and slammed the door in his face.

※※※※※

Fairies began lighting lanterns and streetlights as dusk whispered across the Night Court skies. The air was damp with the scent of hopeful spring rain. Elain and Feyre strolled down a quiet street, arm in arm. The latter was admiring a beautiful painting on display in a nearby window when Nesta rounded a corner and nearly plowed them over. Elain grinned at her sister in greeting. Nesta smiled serpentine back, murmuring a quick “Shall we?” to Feyre before linking arms with her. The trio chatted as they continued down the lane towards Rita’s, but instead just before reaching the tavern’s wood-carved sign at the end of the street, Nesta made a hard right into an alleyway beyond. “Nesta, Rita’s is-”

“Oh, we’re not going to Rita’s.” Feyre remarked, pulling Elain’s arm just a little bit closer. Her sisters both quickened their pace, giving her no choice but to keep up. “We’re not?”

“Well we are,” Nesta chimed in, stopping before a tall, wooden door. “But you most certainly are not.” A moment later both sisters were hauling Elain over the threshold, and locking the door behind her. Squabbling ensued in the alley in which the words insufferable Illyrian baby could be distinguished. Elain had the distinct feeling that her nephew was not the source of those words. “Oh goodness,” Elain said softly, surveying the dark space around her.

A long, winding stone staircase spiraled up behind her. The steps were lined with candles and dusky primrose petals. Elain swallowed, realizing her two choices in this room consisted of causing a scene or following this mystery to its end. The civilized thing to do won out in the end, as it usually did. Up, up, up she went, soft skirts sighing against the dark stone. Elain reached the final step where another wooden door awaited- this one already wide open to a rooftop beckoning beyond. A warm night-kissed breeze wafted across her skin in greeting. Her breath caught in her lungs as she took it all in. A sea of flower petals blanketed the rooftop- faded primrose, lilac, and gardenia petals fluttering in the wind. A small, candlelit table in the center of the space held two plates full of food, and wine.

And there, leaning against the far balcony, stood a tall, lean, Illyrian warrior. A shadow-wreathed male looking longingly at the oncoming night as if he could hear every song dancing in the dusk-swirled sky. Elain’s heart grew very still and very quiet. Because nobody ever seemed to notice- that he could.

※※※※※

Flower petals stirred in the wake of each hushed footfall.

One foot in front of the other, Elain told herself.

An ebbing dark tide of shame still welled within her from the last time she had found herself alone with the shadowsinger.

This was a mistake.

But seeing him here, a creature of shadow and ruin in a vigil of forgotten flowers- somehow whisked it all away.

Elain knew all about beautiful things.

She had spent an entire lifetime growing, nurturing, and tending them- a thousand breathtaking roses, lilacs, blossoms of gardenia.

But Azriel put all the beautiful things of the world to shame.

Haunting hazel eyes that glimmered like a forge when they beheld her, and her alone.

Why did he always look at her that way?

His mussed ebony hair curled softly against the nape of his neck as it so often did when rain was on the horizon. Shadows whispering things she would never know, drifting in the wake of his beautiful wings.

One look from him and she ached like never before.

“Whatever is a fearsome warrior of night doing in a place like this?” Elain asked softly, stepping closer.

Azriel turned, long, dark lashes blinking at her in rapid succession before he lowered his head in greeting, a golden stain blushing his high cheek.

“I’m not entirely sure,” he said quietly.

Elain swallowed, smoothing her skirts and stepping towards the balcony. “You’re not alone in that regard.” She chose not to look at him.

Propriety came first, embarrassment second, anyway. Two pillars of her life that seemed to go hand in hand. She really ought to offer him a way out of this ridiculous situation. “You can leave- if you like.”

Azriel ran a hand nervously through his sable curls, shadows darkening for the briefest of moments.

“I can leave if that is what you prefer.”

But there was no point turning away from the truth, now that they were left alone with it in a grave full of flowers, so Elain clarified before he could continue.

“I’d prefer you stay, actually. However foolish that makes me.”

It was a long, long moment before Azriel said anything at all. He stared over the dark horizon- at the shades of violet and blue weaving in the cooling twilight.

“There is only one fool standing on this rooftop, Elain, and it isn’t you.”

The words, gentle and shameful, settled something within her. The smallest acknowledgement of the atrocity that had happened on Solstice. A few months ago now, but somehow the rawness of it all made it feel like only yesterday.

But more than that- there was her name.

How long had it been since she heard her own name on his lips?

Far too long A spring wind whispered.

“It’s been some time,” Elain said quietly, tucking an errant curl behind her ear. “Since we last spoke.”

Azriel swallowed thickly. “Eighty six days.”

He looked as if he hadn’t slept a single one.

“Has it been?”

Azriel’s eyes sought her out and some unseen agony swam there- haunting that silent hazel sea.

“I haven’t slept either, you know,” she admitted.

He scanned her pale face, the loneliness carved in the hollow of her cheeks. “I know.”

A curious shadow began leaking down his shoulder towards her. Azriel seemed to yank it back momentarily, a hint of a scowl on his brow, but the shadow only leaked out again a moment later.

“Hello little darling,” Elain leaned on an elbow, cooing a soft breath towards his shadow, which flickered with delight.

Azriel swallowed thickly and seemed incapable of moving.

“I miss watching them flutter through the garden,” Elain murmured. “I used to wonder if they might watch over me in the darkest hours of the night.”

Azriel’s wing twitched as he registered her words.

“Would that-” his throat bobbed as he searched for the words. “- comfort you?”

The question was tender, disbelieving, as if he could not fathom a world where his shadows could be considered comforting rather than terrifying. He looked like the answer could wreck him for the rest of his life.

Elain smiled softly, staring over the city. “It might have, some time ago.” Her hands trailed the pale petals of moonflower blooming in a basket on the balcony. “I might have wondered where they go when you dream.”

She could sense him edging closer. As if the ache was deep within him too. As if it ran too deep to do anything but draw him closer.

“I rarely dream,” Azriel said quietly. “But when I do, your hair is unbound.”

Elain’s heartbeat began beating like a wardrum in her chest. She slowly rose her chestnut eyes to him.

Damn the forgotten gods, he was tragically beautiful this way.

Star-soft wind filtering that ebony hair into his eyes. The top button of his shirt was unbuttoned, and the breeze shimmered through the dark silk, whispering over the muscles of his chest in a way that made her ache inside and out.

She blushed, thoroughly, and allowed him to watch her through it. Allowed him to see that he was responsible for that color rising in her cheeks. That thrum humming in her blood.

“I might make use of that wine bottle if you are going to keep saying things like that to me, Azriel.”

Azriel stepped closer, shadows twirling in the wake of his footstep. “Forgive me,” he said softly, but there was no remorse in his gaze- only unyielding determination and soft, whispering hunger.

Five minutes alone with him and she was already imagining things she absolutely shouldn’t. But it had always been that way.

It would still always be that way.

“I know it wasn’t your intention, or mine,” he paused, “but might I share this evening with you, miss Archeron?”

The gods were particularly tormentful for making him such a gentleman.

Elain swallowed, hating the flicker of bitterness that coursed through her. “Should I expect any sudden departures?”

But Azriel had that look in his eye- that look of unbent will. That look that sent him charging into Hybern’s hell to rescue her without a second thought. That look that told her he needed to right this wrong, or die trying.

“There is nothing that could keep me from sharing this night with you,” he said softly, “aside from your command.”

Elain grinned, casting her eyes downwards.

“A shadowsinger at my command?” she hummed, turning to the night-kissed sky once again. “Whatever will I do with such power?”

“Whatever you wish,” he said, and the promise in his voice made her knees weak. “But you might start letting him pour you some wine.”

Elain cursed the stars above and the seas below for allowing such beautiful, bedroom-eyed, well-mannered males to walk the earth at the same time as herself.

“Very well,” she submitted, turning towards the candlelit table before he could catch sight of her face going up in flames at how perfectly wonderful it all was.

The smallest hint of a smile graced his lips- and gods, the promise of it blooming full before the end of the night was holy.

“I haven’t forgiven you,” Elain said quietly.

“You don’t have to,” Azriel replied, holding her gaze. “Just let me-

Let me watch you Let me want you Let me fix what was lost. “- let me look after you tonight.”

※※※※※

Elain decided there was nothing so lovely in the world as a rosemary-dusted honey fig tart. She wasn’t entirely sure what sort of witchcraft was at work here- but each time she or Azriel finished a course, the next magically appeared. There were perks to having the High Lady as a sister, she supposed. For years now, Elain had lived in the Night Court. But the wonders north of the wall, no matter how small, were still not entirely lost on her. She caught Azriel watching her more than once. Tracking her amusement with the magic, her appreciative noises as she ate. He watched her like it fed something within him far more than the decadent food on the table did. The pair did their best to make polite conversation about a variety of things that had happened in the absence that followed last Solstice. An absence at most family dinners that Elain had distinctly marked for weeks on end. They weren’t addressing that elephant in the room, at any rate. The meal wound to an end eventually and Elain found herself swirling the wine in her glass carefully as she eyed a note Feyre had left on the table. You are both so serious it is dull. Live a little. Damn the consequences. - F+N + Everyone else including His Majesty The last line was scratched in Nesta’s distinct handwriting. Elain wasn’t entirely sure what the quip about Rhysand was about. But she had noticed Azriel’s jaw ticking when he himself read the note. “I can’t believe Nesta did this,” Elain muttered, spilling a splash of wine down her throat. Azriel rubbed his temple gently. “I can.” The veiled, tired look on his face Elain everything she needed to know- that Nesta was giving Azriel hell as often as she saw fit. And despite herself, Elain smiled at her sister’s unbent fierceness. The shadowsinger deserved a little hell, anyway, after walking out on her those weeks ago, little did Nesta know. “How has training been?” Elain asked, studying the shadowsinger over her glass. “With Nesta and the others?” “Grueling. The Valkyrie have more determination than Cass and I did when we began training. With twice as much retribution in their blood.” Elain murmured an agreement and looked over the lights of the city, glowing below them. “I’ve stopped by a few times to pick up some books- the priestesses wish me to join. To train with you all.” Azriel’s fork stilled on the last bite of his lamb. She studied him curiously, sipping her wine. “Does that bother you?” The shadowsinger remained silent. “Anyway it’s a farce- I’ll never do such a thing. I doubt anyone would ever find me frightening anyway, even if I were to wield the sharpest blade in Prythian.” A trace of bitterness in her tone again. Born from a life of being consistently underestimated. Elain knew that softness was a far more formidable weapon than steel. She wore that truth daily as armor. But nobody seemed to notice. “You are frightening,” Azriel said quietly. “Far more so than anyone I’ve met with a blade.” Elain rose her eyes to his. The wine was warming her blood, stoking the flame of her courage. “Whatever makes you say that?” “I should think it’s rather obvious,” he said tenderly. And she saw it all in his eyes- the longing, the need- the hunger. “I wouldn’t mind hearing the words.” A challenge. She knew he would rise to the occasion. “Ask any male who looks upon you and he will give you the same answer,” Azriel murmured. Elain drained her wine to the dregs, resting the empty glass in the space between them. She rose to her feet and held his gaze before turning to the balcony again. “I’m asking the only male I want for the answer.”

The truth laid bare between them. Elain reached the stoned edge and inhaled before resting her back against the abyss of starlight, observing him openly. Azriel drained his wine as well before rising from his seat and stepping towards her on the balcony. “There is a certain sort of beauty that haunts an Illyrian heart,” the dark timbre of his voice danced down her spine as he stepped closer. “The song of the wind, which calls to our wings. The blood hymn of a battle on a long winter night.” The hazel of his eyes burned like a golden beacon in the darkest night. “The divine taste of honey between a female’s legs.” She was unraveling now, her knees weakening with the heat of his words. “Azriel,” Elain said softly. His eyes lowered to the swell of her lips. “And the more we yearn for such things, the more we live in fear of losing them.” He rested his palms on either side of her, caging her in. “In fact what frightens me far more than how beautiful you are,” he paused, voice lowering. “Is what I might do,” heat seared through his gaze “- to earn the right to cherish you.” The words shimmered with the truth of their reality. The mention of that infernal tie to another male she never asked for. Elain  watched as the reminder of that truth darkened his gaze not only with jealousy, but with sorrow. She wanted to chase away every last wisp of it that she could. “Can you show me?” Elain whispered. Azriel’s gaze flickered in response. “Can you show me the song of the wind?” His mouth curled upwards at the notion, yet he didn’t tear his eyes from her. “It might rain,” he said softly. “I don’t care.” A playful glint in his eye now and she would die a thousand deaths before watching it fade away. “You might regret asking me this,” he muttered dryly. Elain held his gaze, not allowing her will to falter. “I don’t care,” she said again, sinking a hand into that nest of curls at the back of his head. She savored the silken strands beneath her fingers and his shadows wrapped around her, murmuring cool breaths over her fingers. Azriel then slowly, carefully, snaked an arm beneath the back of her knees, cradling her to him and gods- it ruined her all over again. She looked up to him. He looked down to her. Elain traced the swell of his sensual lips with a delicate finger as Azriel carried her to the center of the rooftop. His eyes remained locked with hers, and they were both lost to time in a gentle trance. She was aching again with how beautiful he was. “Show me the song of the wind, Azriel,” she said softly. Azriel spread his great, dark wings wide, stirring flower petals and shadows in their wake. “As my lady commands,” he answered, kissing her fingertips ever so gently. Primrose, lilac and moonlilly swirled skyward with each beat of those mighty wings, as Azriel took flight. The blooms drifted back to the earth a moment later, littering the streets below with forgotten flower petals. Elain Archeron’s heart soared into the atmosphere along with the wings of an Illyrian warrior. But nobody seemed to notice.

※※※※※

It was a song. It was a song unlike anything she had ever heard before. It was wild and free and plummeting. It was dancing in the last hushed violet light of dusk. It was basking in the promise of rain waiting to fall from the clouds. It was tasting the gaps between the stars like night-rich wine. It was him. It was her. It was symphony. Azriel flew through the heavens like he never had before with her in his arms. He glided and twirled and dove through the atmosphere, each echo of laughter leaking from her lips chasing him higher. It did start to rain. But Elain was so taken with the light in Azriel’s eyes that she didn’t care.

※※※※※

Drops of rain fell like fallen stars onto the glassy surface of the Sidra as Azriel gently landed on the riverbank.

Bellflower bloomed along the verge- soft blue petals dancing in the wind of the shadowsinger’s wings.

The nearby boulevard was bustling with revelers of the night. Her family, undoubtedly, was somewhere among them. But Elain couldn’t tear her eyes away from the shadowsinger long enough to care as she slipped from his arms to her feet.

The quiet which followed the rush of the flight was deafening.

He was looking at her that way again, as if he might raise cities to the ground if she asked him to. And it was then that Elain realized she needed to know that it was all real.

That it had always been real.

“Why?” Elain whispered, her voice trembling. “Why did you say those words to me on Solstice when you knew it wasn’t true?” This was a mistake.

Azriel’s throat bobbed. He seemed for a moment as if he might avoid the question entirely. But the pleading in her eyes had him speaking instead.

“Because someone told me that being with you was wrong.”

Elain flinched as the words registered. A tangled web of questions coursed through her. The only one that mattered was the one she asked.

“And you believed it?”

Rain was falling, well and truly now. Azriel’s hands remained at her waist, a world of raw emotion swimming in his gaze.

“I wanted to believe it,” he said quietly. “I wanted to believe it the same way I want to believe I am unworthy of most beautiful things.”

Elain drew in a shaking breath, trying to fight back tears that were inevitably gathering.

Azriel brushed a raindrop from her cheek with a gentle thumb. “But one look at you makes me want to believe otherwise.”

Elain raised trembling hands to cup the shadowsinger’s face and willed every ounce of truth she could muster into her gaze.

“You are good, Azriel.”

His eyes shuttered darkly, raindrops clinging to his endlessly long lashes.

“If I ever had goodness within me, it died long ago.”

He began pulling away, that tide of self-hatred drowning out the hazel. But Elain couldn’t stand the thought of his absence now or ever again.

“You found me,” she whispered, turning his cheek to her. “You found me when I was drifting alone in that dark, empty sea.”

A seer. The Cauldron made you a seer.

“You found me,” Elain said again, her voice breaking on the words. “And I will live a thousand years without forgetting what it felt like when you carried me to shore.”

“Elain,”  Azriel breathed, covering her hand with his own.

“There’s something,” she said with a shaking whisper, “Azriel, there’s something I need to-”

Azriel searched her eyes in question and found no answer there.

Elain only skirted the heavy weight of her hair over one shoulder, baring her long, pale neck to him. She then gently pulled him down. Down, down, down, until she could feel his breath against her throat.

A moment passed. And then another, as Azriel softly inhaled the scent of her.

She could feel the blood still in his veins.

A shudder ran down his back, through his wings, scattering silver drops of rain to the grass below.

Azriel’s breathing grew shallow and then his hands were in her hair, carefully careening her head back, so that he might scent her truly.

A staggering breath escaped him and his grip on her waist tightened for the briefest moment. He pulled back to search her face, pupils blown wide.

“Is this-”

The words wouldn’t come. A heartbeat passed. Maybe two.

His voice was a rasp when he spoke again.

“real?”

Elain’s gaze tightened at the disbelief etched in his features.

“Yes,” she breathed, “Azriel, it is real.”

She was shaking now, all over, uncontrollably. “It wasn’t easy,” she whispered, her voice a rasp. “But it is done. He is more relieved than I am.”

Azriel stared at her. He stared and stared and stared and looked as though he was on the verge of collapse.

“I’ve told myself- all this time, the way you felt under my hands when I touched you,” he said softly, “was real.” His hands were shaking too now, tracing her cheeks, her jaw, her throat. “That the song I heard when I first saw your face,” he drew closer, “was real.”

Elain’s heart was fracturing within her chest.

“That all those nights spent staring at the stars thinking about you so long that I woke up bruised within,” he rasped, “were real.” Elain couldn’t breathe.

“It should have been you,” she whispered. Because nothing had ever been so precious, so right, so beautiful as the words leaving his lips. And Cauldron be damned for not giving her the choice. “It should have been you.”

The confession broke something in Azriel and those long abandoned instincts ripped free from their cage.

“Yes it fucking should have.”

And then his lips, his hands, his heart- were all upon her.

Elain parted on instinct and that first, holy taste of him had every piece of her burning alive. Azriel kissed her like he was starving and she kissed him like she needed to be savagely devoured.

His tongue was tender, savoring every taste of her he was allowed, claiming her mouth for his own. Those scarred hands were everywhere, clutching, stroking, pulling her into him, wrapping her in his scent like she belonged to him and gods she was going to die from this.

It was starfire and shadow and void and song.

It was symphony.

Elain loosened a breathless sob at the perfection of it all, tears mixing with the raindrops on her cheeks. But Azriel was there a moment later, kissing them all away.

She repaid him in kind for that, claiming him with her mouth so vehemently that she nearly knocked him over. Crowds of partygoers were stopping on the street to watch amusedly as Elain kissed Azriel like she was burning alive from the inside out. The promise of the wild, untamed night had strangers clapping, cheering her on and Cassian was whooping with delight somewhere far off.

But none of it mattered because Azriel was laughing under the fervency of her lips and fuck, if that wasn’t the most beautiful thing she had ever tasted.

It was symphony.

The rain was a lullaby as it struck the earth. The wind was singing as it blew through the grass on the riverbank. The bellflower tolled a lover’s knell that rang out into the night.

And Elain kissed the most beautiful male in Prythian like she could damn the stars with the kiss.

For once, everyone seemed to notice.

But as Elain Archeron claimed Azriel’s lips before all the world-

she didn’t particularly give a damn.

[jesncin]

I read "Frizzy" when it released and I was always itching to draw fanart for it! It's about Marlene, a Dominican girl learning to take care of her curly hair and love herself in spite of the odds! Written by @authorclaribelortega with gorgeous art by @rosebous <3

[authorclaribelortega]

Happy Pride ♥️🌈

Here's a short excerpt from The Warmest Winter short story -

Graves was walking around and inspecting the room when she came upon Cotton Swab. “Is this your rat?” she asked, eyes wide. “Yeah, I don’t have access to real monstruos yet, but I will! Cotton Swab is nice—are you afraid of—” But Graves had already picked the fluffy white rat up and was smooshing him tenderly against her face. Cotton Swab closed his eyes happily. The only thing he loved more than cuddles was cheese. “He’s gonna get in your rucksack and go home with you if you keep that up.” Graves put Cotton Swab back in his box, lined with a little rat-sized blanket and pillows. “I wouldn’t mind! I love rats. Buuuut are we gonna handle actual monstruos too?” Valley bit her lip. “Seven was supposed to bring one of her raccoons. I’m not sure when she’ll get here though.” “I see.” Graves nodded, circling a chair then plopping herself into it. “Well, Prof, teach me about monstruo hunting!” Prof? Valley blushed. That’s what witches called their favorite professors, like a nickname because it was cooler and cuter than professor. She wasn’t sure why, but it made her stomach flutter with a hundred moths for Graves to call her that.

Full Story here

Graves & Valley - art by Rose Bousamra @rosebous

[candycoated-rage]

anyways since my favorite group of characters from the psychonauts series are the thorney towers patients, here’s headcanons or something

- all of the patients are really good friends with each other. they probably have tea parties n shit (hosted by dr loboto our main man) and talk about their hobbies

- boyd has his own room in the asylum and it’s styled like one of those houses in his mindscape. except that all the walls are covered in this gigantic paper trail.

- Gloria is a lesbian. I feel it in my soul. she’s also probably a really good singer and maybe has done musical theatre before

- Fred Bonaparte’s whole condition is one that really confuses me but my personal interpretation is that he’s literally possessed by napoleon’s ghost and everybody thinks he’s just crazy. in reality Fred is the most normal one there except for the ghost thing

- Edgar is DEFINITELY a gardening guy. he goes back home to his house and there’s beautiful rosebeds all throughout his front lawn. he just strikes me as one.

- dr loboto actually cares about his patients and stuff but the thing is, he’s a nut, and whenever he tries to do mental health stuff for his patients it always goes wrong. He’s like “hi gang, we’re having a board game night tonight!” and it’s immediately cancelled because Fred goes into a panic attack

[evly-pdf]

Do the geese too miss their mothers

when they leave the nest?

Swimming and flying

and trying their best —

Do the rows and rows of roses

long to return to their rosebed?

Plucked and trimmed

and stiff as lead —

I wonder if everything known

truly just wishes for home

[neopronouns]

flag id: a flag with 7 stripes. in order, they are soft blue, pink-white, faded purple-pink, purple-black, soft red-pink, pale red-pink, and dark dull turquoise. end id.

banner id: a 1600x200 teal banner with the words ‘please read my dni before interacting. those on my / dni may still use my terms, so do not recoin them.’ in large white text in the center. the text takes up two lines, split at the slash. end id.

rosebitremenic: being a roseboy, bigender, transfemme, and xeno-aligned

[pt: rosebitremenic: being a roseboy, bigender, transfemme, and xeno-aligned. end pt]

for @big-transfem-sister! the colors are from the roseboy, bigender, transfeminine, and xeno-aligned/xenic flags and the term is 'roseb' from 'roseboy', 'bi' from 'bigender', 'tr' and 'em' from 'transfem', + 'enic' from 'xenic'!

tags: @radiomogai

dni link

[rumor-imbris]

Turned myself into a rosebed Arteries of thorns and unfurled petals to call your midnight steps and lonely thoughts A ribcage of wildflowers to hold your heart and bruised hopes as solstice treasures

[avionvadion]

Once again, I am asking for Mrs. Roseb*tch to make an appearance. I do not want to talk, I want to punch her in the face.

Also, awwww~ they’re bonding!

[just-a-sewer-goblin]

SFW only

Oneshots

x Reader

Krolock x fem!reader Enemies to lovers modern AU. You try to get Krolock to admit to being a Vampire. And ooops, there's only one bed. - alcohol, intoxication, enemies to lovers, fluff -

Rosebeds And Baths Krolock x fem!reader Reader tends to the Gardens of the Castle. Von Krolock doesn't get the human - fluff -

In Sickness And In Health Krolock x fem!reader You work as a servant under Krolock even as your sick. Stuff happens, Krolock is there to safe the day - fluff, harassment of reader by another Vampire -

x Sarah Chagal

Delight Krolock x Sarah Set during the show. Sarah wanders the Castle. Krolock watches

Coming Home Krolock x Sarah Sarah returns to the castle with Herbert to seek shelter.

Oneshots

Herbert x intersex!woman!witch!reader The Villagers come for the local witch who just happens to be a friend of Herbert. - non-sexual nudity, discussion of genitals, bisexual Herbert -

[lufdraws]

hands you (another) rose🌹 beloved child of @rosebous 💜💜

[bloomingdarkgarden]

just thinking about Azriel reading murder reports in the garden while Elain drinks tea like thats just a normal fucking Tuesday. and how much i want that to be their normal tuesday.

Not the 6th fix-it story of the franchise. Just him and her, being what they are. Nobody making anyone better or fixing anybody's darkness with weapons or banter. Each finding peace in quietly ripping things apart whether it's the rosebeds or throats of enemies. Him washing off the soil from her hands. Her washing off the blood from his. Sharing that delicate understanding with a need that burns so bright it puts the stars to shame.

Sometimes you don't overcome your demons. Sometimes the real war is just learning to live quietly with them instead. Without a sword. Without a shield. Without anything to save you at all.

Sometimes it's just carrying the darkness, not forging it into something else, which truly makes us heroes in the end.