[loredrops]

❝ #𝒍𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒔 ❞ is a 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐥𝐲 selective , 𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢-𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞  odyssey  curated  by lynn   [ she / her / woc / 25+ /cst ] 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬 and topics will be  present. 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐧𝐢. please read my guidelines before interacting.

† : oc muses. horror muses.  starters. wishlist. wanted.

[st4nheight]

                  𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒔 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚 𝒂 𝒈𝒂𝒎𝒆 .ᐟ  @loredrops requested a closed starter.

a   targaryen   arrival   was   rarely   unremarked   upon.   they   were   difficult   —   nay,   impossible   —   to   ignore,   given   the   wide   breadth   of   which   maekar's   seed   had   been   sown.   daeron   and   aerion   and   aemon.   daella   and   aegon   and   rhae.   somewhere   in   the   middle   had   been   calla,   named   for   her   movers   affinity   for   the   flowers   on   her   window   ledge.   the   white - haired   princess   ached   to   be   back   at   their   castle   beside   her   dragon,   away   from   prying   eyes   and   those   that   wanted   nothing   more   than   to   spill   blue   blood.   as   she   lowered   from   her   horse   to   the   usual   fanfare,   calla   huffed   and   settled   orchid   eyes   on   a   strangely   unfamiliar   and   unmoving   face.   “i   would   expect   more   of   a   reaction,   considering   i   am   of   the   royal   family.   kneel,   or   i   shall   call   my   father.”

[loredrops]

the urge to laugh came first. she was stunning. moon pale hair tumbling over her shoulder, voice pitched to slice stone. and every gawking courtier around them held their breath, waiting for the 'duke of scandal' to do something scandalous. arrogance is expected of him; defiance is not. yet the two feel indistinguishable as he draws a silent breath and decides, absolutely, irrevocably — not to bend. he dismounts his horse with ease, dust pluming at his boots. the courtyard’s hush tightens. somewhere a guard clears his throat. even the wind stills, as though aching to hear scandal being born in real time. cassian allows himself the smallest gesture of politeness: a half incline of the head, more promise of motion than motion itself. it satisfies etiquette by the thinnest margin. “my lady, the ashfords kneel to no throne within these walls.” tone is velvet laid over steel, a gambler’s smile hiding loaded dice. “hospitality grants you my respect, but my knees belong to gods and graves, not living flesh.” one reckless step carries him closer — close enough that their shadows mingle on the cobbles.

[willowswriting]

          Persephone hadn't imagined that Cato would open up to her so easily. To recall such horrid memories and bare them in front of her to witness. It made her own afflictions seem silly in this new light. She had never stepped foot onto a battlefield. Hadn't witnessed death to the same extent he had. Any weight that she held from the loss she had witnessed seemed like mere child's play compared to his. "You were yet a child." She spoke softly. Her words didn't hold the same weight that pity would. Instead it was simply a statement she felt that needed to be made. It seemed an almost comical statement. Children rarely had the pleasure of being just kids. They were forced to grow at an alarming rate unless they were among the treasured few. However despite Cato's status and up bringing he even hadn't been lucky enough to escape the cold embraces of the world.

          She sat there a moment in the silence that followed the males declaration. She felt like she owed him a confession following his vulnerability. Especially knowing that nothing she said to him at this time would heal the wounds he still carried around with him. "At least you aren’t a traitor.” The words were like acid on her tongue. Every morning that Persephone woke up she had shame eating away at her. Instead of avenging her mother she had allowed herself to be bought by the same people that she promised retribution against. At first she had chalked up her allowance to be bought on merely needing to get closer to those who had wronged her, but the longer she allowed this charade to go on the clearer it became that she had no intention of leaving the life she had been granted for the one she used to live.

[loredrops]

child. he almost laughed at that — almost. cato ransacked his memories for something as simple as marbles on a cobbled street or sap-sticky fingers after stealing orchard fruit, and found only the clang of steel. even his first steps had been counted in drill yard paces, a practice sword scaled to a boy’s reach pressed into his grip before he’d lost all his milk teeth. play was a rumor other sons enjoyed while he charted supply lines on maps that smelled of grease and smoke. by the time he could read courtly poetry, he could already recite casualty tallies. "i dont feel like i was ever a child. not really." something he's never said aloud. he mourns not just the lives lost under his command, but the childhood that was drafted into battle before he ever had the chance to claim it. "a traitor? you? how's that?" he knows little of her past, only the steady grace in her step and the quiet order she weaves through his halls. those wide eyes hold warmth, not guile, and warmth is hard to fake. a true traitor learns to hide behind ice. her gaze feels like open doors, and open doors rarely lead to betrayal.

[hclygifs]

Ꮺ OSCAR ISAAC — BEEF SEASON 2 GIF PACK

in the source link, you’ll gain access to #560 medium gifs of OSCAR ISAAC in the series, BEEF that are suitable for roleplays.  please cast appropriately when using these gifs . all of these were made from scratch by me, so you may edit them,  but please do not reclaim as your own! this gif pack is FREE , so I kindly ask that you just reblog/like if you use them . if not it will result in a block.

[amourneds]

⤿ andrea + tobias › @loredrops .

stands  over  the  crumpled,  groaning  form  of  the  man,  his  knuckles  raw  and  blossoming  with  an  ugly,  dark  red  stain  that  he  doesn't  even  feel.  the  veneer  of  his  calm,  calculated  existence  has  shattered,  leaving  behind  a  desperate  reality  that  he  can  no  longer  hide.  had  spent  the  entire  evening  forcing  his  blood  to  remain  cool  while  that  parasite  circled  her,  poisoning  the  air  with  his  lewd,  humiliating  jokes,  but  the  moment  he  saw  the  flicker  of  genuine,  trapped  panic  in  andrea’s  eyes,  his  restraint  disintegrated.  he  hadn't  just  crossed  a  line;  he  had  nuked  his  entire  cover,  and  now,  the  silence  of  the  alleyway  feels  like  a  countdown. rakes  a  trembling  hand  through  his  hair,  pushing  it  back  from  his  sweating  forehead  as  he  pivots  toward  her,  his  chest  heaving  with  the  remnants  of  his  blind  rage.  “ there’s  nothing  we...  i  can  do  now ! ”  he  snaps,  his  voice  sharp  and  cutting,  vibrating  with  the  sudden,  terrified  realization  of  what  his  lapse  in  judgment  has  cost  them.  he  looks  at  her,  his  eyes  wide  and  stripped  of  their  usual  guarded  precision.  “ i  couldn't  just  stand  there  and  let  him  treat  you  like  that,  andie.  ”

takes  a  step  toward  her,  his  posture  losing  its  rehearsed  poise,  becoming  something  raw  and  uncharacteristically  pathetic.  he  knows  he’s  ruined  everything,  but  the  thought  of  letting  her  walk  away. or  worse,  having  to  be  the  one  to  finish  this  ugliness  right  in  front  of  her is  unbearable.  “ look,  you  can  go  if  you  don’t  want  to  be  involved.  i  can  finish  the  job  here,  i  can  make  sure  he  never  speaks  another  word  to  anyone, ”  he  says,  the  words  tumbling  out  with  a  frantic  edge  of  desperation.  he  reaches  out,  not  quite  touching  her,  his  hands  hovering  in  the  air.  “ but  if  you  don’t  want  that,  if  you  can’t  stomach  the  blood,  then  just  come  with  me.  leave  it  all.  let’s  go  somewhere  else,  somewhere  no  one  knows  us,  somewhere  we  can  just  exist  together.  please,  andie,  don't  make  me  do  this  alone. ”

[loredrops]

these galas had always been a headache, and now the pain throbbing behind her temple, watching tobias tremble with another mans blood dripping down his knucles, was enough to make her throw up. "tobias — what did you do?" taking a step further, she angles her head to see around his body. to get a better look. the panic in her eyes clear. not because she was scared for herself, but for him. putting his life and future on the line for her? initial words unsteady, not the cool rebuke a molina should deliver, but a raw, frightened plea. frightened for him. because now his fingerprints are inside a crime scene that begins and ends with her. "let him? i had it handled! i had him handled!" she can make out the figure on the ground, his beard. she knows its him. gust rattles the alley’s dirty gutters, and her’s mind drifts — unwanted, unstoppable , to javier delgado, the disposable “date” whose laugh never reached his eyes. tobias wasn't wrong the man was absolutely vile. his hand constantly wandering to her ass, and lewd jokes that made her beyond uncomfortable. and yet the thought scrapes across her ribs, equal parts awe and terror. silly her, expecting tobias to orbit her carefully constructed gravity well—supply intel, receive flirtatious praise, remain harmless. instead, he detonated. and not to save the campaign or her reputation—god, those abstractions never even crossed his eyes. he’d done it out of instinctual, incandescent protectiveness. "just — stop, stop. give me a moment i need to think." palm of her hand pushes into his chest, a gesture to hopefully calm him down. she drops into savior mode. dispose of the body? bribe the emt? spin a self defense narrative? each scenario clatters against the knowledge that a single photo of tobias in this state would destroy the softness she’d only just begun to believe in. that softness — so inconvenient, so miraculous, has no defense in the political arena. her stomach flips. she’s spent months weaponizing intimacy, collecting secrets like gemstones; now the sharpest secret is lodged in her own chest: she cares whether this man survives intact. "im not letting you do this on your own. you've done enough." she crouches beside javier’s slack form, careful to keep the hem of her dress from the spreading stain of blood. he’s still breathing: ragged, wet, but alive enough to talk. that cannot stand. one heel slips from her foot; she guides the stiletto’s metal tip to the juncture between jaw and carotid, presses. his eyes flutter, pupils blown wide, and she leans in so only he can hear. "i guess you've learned the hard way that no one's untouchable — que los dioses tengan misericordia." a chilling calmness in her words, as he takes one last breathe. rising, she wipes the stiletto’s tip with a cocktail napkin scavenged from her clutch, tucks the evidence into a dumpster’s oily maw. one problem sterilized. “now,” she says, sliding her shoe back on, composing her features into warm gala glow. "you’ll escort me through the side corridor. we re enter during the raffle; plenty of commotion, no one notices late arrivals. the last time was saw javier he was drunk, belligerent and stumbled into the alley ... the rest? unbeknownst to us. got it?"

[loredrops]

✨✨ love u and love when i can scream at you for making the drama too good in our plots mwuah

i fear we are a problem together but like the best problem!!!! i know our charas hate us baddd but i love us baddd !!!!

[loredrops]

✨✨

<33333 you're the absolute sweetest! i appreciate you so much and i cant believe we've been writing fro so long!!!

[loredrops]

✨ ✨ ✨ ✨ ✨ ✨ ✨ ✨ ✨ ✨ ✨ ✨ ✨ ✨ ✨ ✨ x a million!

thank you! thank you! its mutual! because the thought and time you put into the concept of your characters is amazing!

[loredrops]

✨✨might be a little late BUT just wanna say i adore you and your writing. we haven’t done lots of it YETTTT but we’ve written beautiful things together and i’m always in awe reading a reply from you i hope we get to develop things and keep writing together always 🩷

oh my god this means the world!!!! im looking forward to our stuff because i know you'll give me the perfect about of angst/heartache/ and amazing writing <3

[narcobarbies]

TAYLOR RUSSELL at the 'hope' press conference in cannes

[dcmsonidris]

FBI: MOST WANTED Ivan Ortiz in 2x14

[velvctstatic]

closed starter for @loredrops

based off this (#3) !

jamie was mid-sip of his yuengling when a rhythm of three knocks sounded against his front door. he licked the residue from his lips as he set the bottle down on the worn bartop, then pushed himself off the oak stool and headed toward the entrance of the small cabin he’d been staying in for the last couple months. the place technically belonged to the property too, tucked deeper into the land just beyond the tree line, though it had slowly started to feel like his own since being hired. between maintaining the acreage, fixing fencing, keeping watch over the property, and making sure things stayed running smoothly, jamie had settled into the rhythm of the land easily. maybe a little too easily. somewhere along the way, looking after her had quietly become part of the routine too.

the faint outline of someone’s figure lingered behind the small window beside the door, though he already knew who it was before he even opened it. without hesitation, jamie unlocked the door and pulled it open. “it’s a little late for you to be wandering out here,” he commented casually in a lowered tone, his eyes instinctively drifting over the woman’s shoulder to scan the dark surroundings before returning to her again. the subtle shift in his expression gave away a flicker of concern. “everything okay?”

[loredrops]

she should have been asleep an hour ago, tucked beneath the quilt that still smelled faintly of mothballs and her grandfather’s cologne, but the silence of the ranch was louder than she could bear. asphalt lullabies had spoiled her; manhattan never let the mind wander too far inward. out here, every creak of floorboard felt like an accusation. so she’d wrestled on jeans — threw his flannel over a camisole, slid bare feet into dusty boots, and followed the weak porch light glow spilling from jamie’s cabin. “i couldn’t sleep.” a shrug tugs at one shoulder of the flannel, exposing the strap of lavender silk, a city softness she hasn’t learned to shed. "figured a short walk might tire me out, but then — then i saw your light.” she leans into the threshold, fingers curling around the doorjamb as though she needs the wood to keep her upright. she hates how her voice wavers, haunted by years of her ex husbands clipped sighs whenever she spoke out of turn. "i didn't mean to bother you though. i can uh — head back and uh let you get some rest." head back. to what exactly? the ranch house was a cavern at night, all long hallways and ghost echoes of her granddad’s mechanical clock. but even as the words leave her, corrie flinches inward, half expecting a polite dismissal, rehearsing apologies she learned in penthouse marble corridors. why is asking for company so hard, when she’s survived gala spotlights and boardroom stares?

[silkchvffon]

IT HAS KEPT HIM UP more nights than he likes to admit — the guilt pooling in his chest. he had not had a choice, sword to his throat on his knees in front of the four princes, but this does little to soothe him. he could've died. perhaps he ought to have. he most definitely will. but catarina is fierce in front of him, already waging a war she wants no part of whether she wants to or not. it is the unfortunate weight royalty must carry: to inspire loyalty, or fear, or whatever keeps them on the pedestal they have earned by nothing but blood — their own or other's. serving the monarchy had been an easy choice because he had had so few of them. to cengiz, court has always been a roof over his head, a meal in his stomach; and now a princess to care for. he cannot crumble underneath her defiant gaze, that color of betrayal she sports for him, though he wants to. none of this was supposed to happen, but that does not make it happen any less. « i do believe you, » he argues, hands shooting up to envelop hers gently, in a way a man like him should not be familiar with. he softens around her though — impossibly, melting hardened edges that have been forged in fires more powerful than her. and yet he crumbles. and yet he yields. « the council believes you. there are knights and dukes and lords who believe you, » he continues urgently, her hands swallowed in his and yet she towers. cengiz wants peace. he wants an opportunity to put down his sword, to not wake to horrors worse than his nightmares, and none of her brothers will grant him this. he knows only one who will. « the princes may believe they are leading this rebellion, and they need to believe it. but it is not them i wish to see on a throne. » starved and foolish they will find a way to annihilate one another before any of them even sits down on it. « you do not wear a mask, your highness. but perhaps you could wear the crown quite well. »

[loredrops]

"wear the crown? talk like that will see both our heads on pikes." but the warning lacks conviction; it tastes almost sweet. she lifts her chin, studying him under the guttering torchlight. a soldier built for shields and spears—​yet here he is, offering a crown he can never wear. why? her mind demands. guilt alone can’t purchase that kind of loyalty. she forces herself to pace again, small, precise circles, gathering thoughts like fallen pins. “i can’t claim that throne alone. the courts would never allow it. let alone my brothers, and you know it." but she also knew the way her brothers circle the throne like a falcon eying a single scrap of meat, so entranced by the glitter of it all that they'd scarcely register her breathing the same air. Their egos make fine armor but poor mirrors; they see only their own reflections polished bright, never the quiet blade she sharpens in their blind spots. "but their might be another way — if the princes think they command you.” she says at last, “we let them keep the illusion. let them believe you bend to their will—​until the moment bending becomes breaking.” she stops before him. her pulse bangs so loudly she’s certain he can hear it. treason tastes like iron on her tongue. yet the alternative is silence, and silence has never saved a kingdom. “and when the time comes, i will need the gates, the armoury, and every knight still undecided. can you give me that, cengiz?” catarina reaches, almost against her own caution, and sets two fingertips to the center of his chest—​just above the sigil of the royal griffin. the gesture is both command and confession. she is trusting the man beneath the metal more than the emblem hammered upon it.

[loredrops]

✨ - is this on? BECAUSEEE i seriously can't get enough of your writing, it's addictive. lolol ! you pinpoint so many details within a reply its super fueling!! i forgot how long we've been writing together, but i swear it feels timeless! i can go back and reread and it's like a picture being painted before me. keep being you lynn !! an amazing writer and partner! 🤗

eren!!!!!!!!! when i say our threads are like crack ... im not kidding! i love your mind and how you're always down to write uncommon prompts! like we've never written one boring thread! you're absolutely one of my favorite writes on the hell site <3

[wintcrstcrfall]

She couldn't do this talk. It opened too many emotions she'd worked hard on burying, the worst of all fear, and Sienna didn't want to crumble or shake or cry, or do anything that would only make his mission harder. If she had hope that any of her relatives might be alive, she too would've done everything impossible to reach them, so she couldn't begrudge Angel the desire to leave. And the life they were now leading wasn't sustainable for the long run; despite the little garden and knowing the terrain around them, there were still traps from outside, dangers that would inevitably come in the form of survivors, the cruelest of them just waiting to steal everything they had before possibly murdering them. Sienna had had those nightmares ever since the world imploded and she'd worked hard to desensitize herself over it. But hearing him talk now, the steel in his voice, the way he was so sure everything could just turn for the best - it made her anxious. Sienna wanted nothing more than to push the map away and embrace him, guide him lower on the mattress and stop all of his next words with kisses and touches and her body, to steal more moments with the only person who'd made her feel loved - who still did - and just ignore the inevitability of the world outside. Even now, there were parts of his body she wasn't sure she'd remember; scars that beckoned for her lips and fingers to touch until they became engraved in her memory. The vision was so intense that for a moment the woman believed she'd act on it, and yet instead she stayed put, looking at the map between them and not really seeing it. It hadn't slipped past her how Angel first called it 'her family' before 'ours'. Tears pooled at the corners of her eyes but she didn't blink them away. It was a good kind of pain. The one that meant she was loved so much that someone thought of not leaving if she wasn't by his side. "Please... I can't bear it if you waste your life because of me. That was what my life was before you found me. Even when you were just... so insufferable with wanting to be a vigilante and still help people you didn't know of, my life finally had a meaning because I got to help you." It was a painful topic for her because it meant to remember with regret a world that would never come, a world that had always been stacked against her and yet, somehow, it had given her him. She would be forever grateful for it. "What happens... What happens if we do make it there and they just won't let us in? Won't let me in? I won't make you chose between me and your family, Angel. Please..."

[loredrops]

before he brought it up he never actually entertained the idea of her saying no. in his head, the plan was fixed. pack, guide her to the gate, step into light that didn’t flicker. simple. clean. he’d pictured every mile of bad road, every ambush point, every ration count—but not her refusal. “waste.” his heart thudded at the word. she was wrong, so wrong. he tipped his chin until their eyes met, rain-silver catching in the wet shimmer along her lashes. wasn’t that the crux of every nightmare? that the years he’d bartered, the blood he’d spilled, would tally to nothing but empty air? a low breath slipped through his teeth. “sienna.” her name steadied him the way a rifle stock had once met his shoulder. "what happens if we do make it there and they do let you in. let us in. you don't know that things won't work out." funny thing: every op he’d ever run had drilled pessimism into him—assume the worst, plan three contingencies past that. but since the sky split and the world caved, he’d found himself instinctively hunting the one bright thread in any wreckage, the way a drowning man sniffs out air. maybe because sienna needed it; maybe because he did. truth was, angel feared the dark edges too, the possibility that paradise was a myth wrapped in wires. yet every time doubt gnawed, he pictured soraya’s laugh echoing down some underground corridor — alive. he pictured sienna stepping through a sterilized airlock, blinking at electric light that didn’t flicker. that picture pulled him forward harder than any mission order ever had. "why not take a chance." so he let the optimism live on his tongue, not because he was blind, but because he’d seen what despair did to soldiers: it hollowed them until the next firefight finished the job. he wouldn’t let that hollow her. "look—every mission i ever ran, i always had a plan and an exit strategy. i could walk away from a whole platoon if the math said it kept me alive.” a rueful breath. “but the moment you stepped into my god forsaken life, things changed. i don’t have a contingency plan for losing you, and i don’t want one.”

[parisgoodbyes]

lesser parts before she shakes her head , keys dangling between her fingertips . “we agreed .” is all she could muster up the courage to say , looking between his eyes and identifying the betrayal behind them . “you can’t come here pointing fingers when we both said we’d sleep with other people .” she won’t falter , refuses to despite every crevice of her body threatening to burst into flames beneath the gasoline pouring out of his mouth .

[loredrops]

he bites the inside of his cheek, the way he once bit the inside of her thigh. she’s two steps above him, his head hanging with irritation. “yeah, we agreed — but i pictured some rando from econ, not—” his jaw flexes, name withheld like a swallowed piece of glass. “— that egotistical asshole.” brody hayes— tau sig golden boy, linebacker shoulders, colgate commercial grin, always walking across the quad like a billboard for protein powder. axil hated his guts. "i just hate the idea of him and his greasy hands all over you. was it even good?" he shifts his weight, throat working. truth is, he isn’t asking to gauge technique or if brody could even get it up. he’s asking if she felt seen, if some part of her sparked the way they spark.

[loredrops]

✨ x infinity and beyond - you already know that i adore you so fucking much!!! your writing is out of this world and so are your muses. i love the fact that we can always come up with new ships or ideas for plot basically on the spot. you're someone that i consider one of my best friends and someone i consider myself very close to! love you sm, lynn 💜

babbbbbbyyyyyy! awwwww i just smiled so hard reading this! seriously i love being able to bounce ideas of someone and thats so easy to do with you! thank you for letting me test out my muses or even sometimes creating special muses just for me because my tiny brain gets fixated alskdjf