Nygmobblepot with Ulmus and Yarrow, please. 💜💚💜
two gay idiots + ulmus; royalty, strength, age & yarrow; cure for a broken heart.
Oswald has learned to love Ed in every light and every darkness. But here, in the dim fire glow of the mansion, Ed is particularly beguiling.
Ed rests on the floor, leaning gently against Oswald’s crossed legs. He’s sleep deprived, drowsing despite himself and twitching awake again when Oswald’s fingers card softly through his gold-limned hair. Oswald presses his fingertips just so into Ed’s temple, where the roots have started to grow in grey.
“We ought to retire for the night,” Oswald suggests carefully.
“I’m fine, Oswald. I just need a moment to rest my eyes.”
“At least join me up here. You can’t possibly be comfortable on the floor.”
“Don’t tell me where I’m most comfortable,” Ed grouses, sliding a hand around the back of Oswald’s knee stubbornly.
“Well, if you insist on holding me hostage here, you might as well talk to me so I don’t waste away from boredom.”
“Any preference on subject?” Ed’s hand meanders down to settle on Oswald’s ankle, tracing the hem of his umbrella sock with a thumb.
“I’m in the mood to reminisce. Remind me of something nice.”