you’re not the devil orian, you’re just another ex-hippie con-man, who swapped his beads for bullets.
will byers stan first human second
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Jules of Nature
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@riversent-a
you’re not the devil orian, you’re just another ex-hippie con-man, who swapped his beads for bullets.
this blog is now an archive ! follow orian over HERE !
this blog is now an archive ! follow orian over HERE !
this blog is now an archive ! follow orian over HERE !
this blog is now an archive ! follow orian over HERE !
this blog is now an archive ! follow orian over HERE !
this blog is now an archive ! follow orian over HERE !
this blog is now an archive ! follow orian over HERE !
this blog is now an archive ! follow orian over HERE !
you’re not the devil orian, you’re just another ex-hippie con-man, who swapped his beads for bullets.
what if i archived this blog and ‘started fresh’ ? jk.... unless ? 👀
Jamón Jamón (1992)
i am a simple jayne, i see motherstyle post about orian, i log on.
motherstyle.
SHE IS ACUTELY AWARE OF THE FACT THAT SHE IS BEING WOOED : it’s a rather distinct feeling that this night is somehow more special than any other romantic endeavors they have ventured on , a sensation that throbs in near - perfect time with the dizzying love inside chest . as to why , exactly , she’s unsure ––– either way , every moment that goes by , every touch , is cherished .
but then , all at the hands of two little words , she is suddenly absolutely certain . ( MARRY ME ––– ) it is not so much hesitation as it is stolen breath that keeps her immediate yes on the tip of tongue longer than she would have liked . need a question have such an answer , when she would say yes a million times over , when there is a yes for every occasion that he’d ask ? a smile lights up rose - honeyed rouge , an impossibly bright beam ‘neath the sparkling moonlight , as hands move to cup orian’s jaw , ❝ yes ––– of course . ❞ & a fervent kiss borne of unbridled love / happiness is pressed to his mouth , broken only by another reaffirming murmur ‘gainst lips , ❝ of course i will . ❞
does she know he’s asked a million times tonight alone ? the question in every touch, every little movement of his hands. he’s asked a million-thousand times in the time they’ve been together, the question in lingering in every heartbeat and stolen kiss. he is the wolf, he is meant to be above all else, a king among men, but what is a king in the presence of a goddess. hand finds her cheek, their lips press together and pull away and it is remenecent of the push and pull of the ocean; they call for one another but a terribly inconvenient need for air and words means they have to pry away from each other.
he doesn’t know what answer to expect, he knows what answer he wants, knows that even as it spills from her lips he feels as though he could never, should never be graced with it. of course i will. she answers, and oh, he could die happy with those words alone echoing in his ears. she could be the one to hold the knife and he would forgive her a thousand times over. fingers move to her jaw, trace the shape, feeling foundation against the pad of his fingers, he leans in, closer, until they are sharing the same breath, the same words. of course i will. he kisses her, kisses those words from pink painted lips, as if he can feel them, as if he can show her how much they mean to him.
🐺
the night passes far faster than he would like, dinner, the teasing touch of soft hands as they eat, touches stolen beneath the table, fingers tempting over her thigh. a habit now, something he does perhaps for some form of comfort. now, they stand, his arms around her waist. the moon shining off the ocean, privacy provided by the pack, lurking in shadows, always watching from a distance.
“baby.” voice a soothing purr, he shifts to look at her face, amber eyes almost glowing as he watches her in all her glory, his heart flutters. butterflies push up his throat and the corner of his mouth twitches upwards. he loves her, truly, wholly. his heart laid to her hand. he raises it to his lips, kisses each finger. “marry me.” not a demand, a question, carefully whispered against her skin, far softer than he intends. there is no uneasiness in how he presents himself, even against the soft moonlight that makes his hair a halo of silver. if she looks, there is a shine in his eyes, something... nervous.
@motherstyle