#//i'm so excited to meet her

[nataliealynlind]

Iris Apatow as Georgia

Unstable Season 2 Trailer

[utterlyazriel]

whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: annnd we've made it to velaris ! yippee !! now it's time for all the introductions >:D i hope you enjoy pls let me know what you think angels <3 ok mwah bye

word count: 3.5k

synopsis: You wake up somewhere entirely new, a long, long way from your home.

CHAPTER EIGHT :: STRANGERS (AGAIN)

The air all around you is sickly sweet.

Maybe... sweet is the wrong word. The air is clean; perfumed with an allure of scents you've never smelt before, heady and swirling, sweet and sterile all in one.

But more importantly, it is utterly foreign.

You're in unknown territory. Age old instinct has you shifting the moment you wake, surging up in a rush before your memory can catch up and remind you why that's an terribly bad idea.

The sheets rustle as you push yourself up into a sitting position, a heavy dose of panic already poisoning your system. It doesn't take long for the pain to follow.

You falter in your movement as an aching agony ricochets through your body, forcing out a wince. Your eyes screw up in pain. Your entire body feels like a bruise, punishing you with every movement.

You allow yourself only a moment of pause before you force them back open to take on the new threat, every sense filtering in unknown information as they sluggishly come to life. You have to blink rapidly to clear your vision, light coming in from all angles.

Why does it feel as though you've been asleep for years?

Where are you?

A room. You're not outside which is where you memory places you last. The extent of the memory drifts back as you search the room, your eyes climbing the walls, ravenous for details. They're made of some kind of warm coloured stone that covers the whole ceiling, you realise, as you follow the line of it up.

You screw your eyes up again and blink hard when you open them again. Every sense keeps pinging for your attention, a thousand things unfamiliar. The bed beneath is too soft, the sound of the wind outside isn't a whistle, the clothes on your back...

You startle, stumbling off the bed you've awoken on as you peer down at yourself, eyes moving about wildly. You're wearing... something completely new.

Frowning down at your arm, you raise one of your hands and pinch at the new fabric that covers the expanse of your arms. It's soft. So soft.

You tentatively smooth your hands down the tunic you're clothed in, all the way down to your pants. Each thing is finely made, with details far smaller that you would ever consider, and soft. Warm but sturdy.

What the fuck? Your chest starts to heave as panic truly sets in, your breath just out of reach before you can catch it. You gasp, grasping at your chest tightly, the new clothes scrunching up beneath your fingers. Memories begin to trickle back in as your mind scours for any information about how you ended up here.

You had been... cold. It was raining.

And your wings had been—your wings—your brain trips over the thoughts as every detail bleeds back in, sudden and frightening.

Stakes driven through the flesh of them, your wings pulled taut, stretched out for lashings and prepped for removal. Your terror climbs, its cloying grip tightening around your sternum like a fist.

Eyes screwed closed, you pray to every deity you can imagine, begging the Mother for this one thing.

You twitch the familiar muscle and feel the weight of your wings as they respond. There's no describing the relief that bursts within you, overwhelming your panic in an instant, your knees nearly buckling beneath you. They're still moving, still stretching out as you command them, still yours.

You stand there and peer over your shoulder, stretching your wings out as far as you can—cringing when they stop before full extension, buckling and bunching up at the violent spike of pain that ripples through them. It echoes through your body, making you hunch forward and grit your teeth. Your left eardrum wails extra loud.

What had happened? What had changed?

You could recall the finality of being down on your knees in the pouring rain, your hands are bound as your fate. Endless agony. The secret you couldn't keep, despite all you had tried.

You had been resigned to it—to dying there amongst in the dirt from where you had come from.

So, what changed?

Behind you, there's an abrupt noise from behind a door in the room, a rustling that makes your head snap around to face it.

Someone’s coming.

You stumble back a couple steps, dread mounting in your chest and your panic returns in full-force. You don't know where you are, you don't know how you got here, you don't know who is coming through that door.

You know that you have a lot more foes than you do friends.

Eyes darting around the room frantically, you spot a balcony down a small hallway and don't waste a single second.

As you begin to stride, you realise faintly that you're without shoes, feet bare on the cool marble floor. It turns to carpet beneath you as your fast strides transforms to a run, hearing the door open somewhere behind you.

It feels like a trap. Not the nice clothes or the fancy room would be enough to fool you. You're caught in a sickly sweet trap of honey and the net is being reined in, the ropes closing up on every side of you. It feels like you're being chased.

Heart in your throat and pulse rabbiting wildly, you burst through the doors of the balcony, daring a glance behind you without thought—

—and you nearly plunge off the edge of a mountain.

The gasp that escapes your throat is entirely involuntary, your fingers gripping the edge of the stone railing the adorns the balcony.

Your balance tips momentarily, the momentum of your dash nearly pulling you over. Terror freezes you. You're fairly certain with the state of your wings, it would be a short flight and an almost guaranteed casualty.

But a wind blows gently against your face, as though helping push you back to safety.

When you're sure you're not going to topple over the edge, some of your crippling panic eases. Your breaths, short and fast, begin to slow.

Your eyes travel up from the daunting height of the mountain side and widen, all the air in your lungs stolen in pure surprise.

Because before you, stretching out across the land that meets the sea, is something you've never seen before.

It's... a city.

A city that sits amongst the rolling, steep hills of the terrain and curls around a meandering river that leads out to the ocean. Tall, jagged mountains surround it from all sides, their hills steep up the top until they give way to gentler slopes, eventually becoming paved roads and streets for magnificent buildings.

The structures gleam, even from afar, made with precision and beauty in mind. Some are white marble or warm sandstone, others the same red stone of the mountains beside the one you're standing on. Small, quaint houses with green copper roofs, their white chimneys smoking softly.

Your breath stutters out in an exhale and you don't dare blink.

A city—a sprawling, wondrous city that was bursting with people, with colour, with life. So utterly unlike the chilled gray-scale of the Illyrian Mountains.

In fact, you wonder briefly if this was even the Night Court at all. This— this incredible sight felt like something you'd imagined of Summer or Spring, imbued with warmth, a place where things could grow and thrive.

The Night Court was... foul. It was the biting frigid cold of the wintry mountains or the shudder-inducing darkness of the court that lay beneath the mountain. This... where is this?

As though you've spoken your thoughts aloud, a voice answers from behind you.

"Velaris."

You start, whipping around fast enough to reawaken all your wounds, forcing you to stifle a pained noise that leaps up your throat. Your heart thunders as your eyes lay upon an unfamiliar figure, stepping out from the empty hallway—a form cut from the very night itself.

Your hands grip the stone railing behind you and you're unsure whether it's to keep your knees from buckling in fear or from bolting off the edge, into uncertain skies.

He's unfamiliar to you, yes, but you have a feeling you know exactly who he is.

"You asked where this—" The male waves a casual hand to the city beyond the balcony before pocketing it, either unaware of your panic or uncaring. "—is. You're in Velaris."

He surveys you, his violet eyes glancing down at the strained way you clutch at the railing.

"I know you must have a thousand questions. We haven't been introduced. My name is Rhysand and I am—"

"I know who you are." You interrupt. There's a lilt of fear in your voice but you couldn't keep it out even if you tried. He's the fucking Highlord of the Night Court.

Which means—Azriel.

His name slams into you like a shooting star, glowing hotly and dripping through your ribcage with a fire warmer than you've ever known.

Azriel must be— he was the one- he's the reason you're still alive. It feels like you relive the relief of his appearance during the storm all over again, remembering that he came back for you.

You have no idea the cacophony of emotion you're giving off, shouting all your unguarded thoughts across the balcony.

Rhysand's cool expression doesn't falter at your disruption. He looks at ease, both hands in his pockets, like he's merely having a conversation with a friend.

"Then it's important for you to know," He continues. "that I mean you no harm."

Lying, lying, liar, LIAR—the thought festers from within you instinctively, only growing in its urgency. You and everyone else where you come from are well aware of the origins of your Highlord.

And while he's your ruler, he's first and foremost, an Illyrian male.

"Only half," Rhysand corrects.

You startle, sickly surprise at the fact he seems to be able to read your very thoughts.

Then he confirms it, by saying, "And I can."

"You can read my thoughts?" You echo, voice sounding so much meeker than you intend. You sound like a child—and you feel like one, feel like the same eight-year-old staring down at the scorched brown earth in Exordor. Old blood. The same dirt you had been forced to kneel upon that now makes you shudder at the fresh memory.

Rhysand's expression falters momentarily at your train of thought, a flash of hurt on his handsome face.

His eyebrows draw together, forming a sympathetic, troubled look. "I can teach you how to shield them, if you so wish."

You don't make a noise. You don't even dare to take a breath, your fingers still crushed around the railing.

Within you, some part of you knows what he's offering. What the very nature of his words implies. He voices it anyway.

"You're no prisoner here. You're free to—”

"Where's Azriel?" The question falls from your lips before you can even think to stop it. Fear hammers through your chest—Fae that make a habit of interrupting Highlord's often find their lives cut short.

But Rhysand gives no impression that he minds. All he does is step to the side, revealing the empty hallway out to the balcony.

Except it's not empty anymore.

There, standing back to hide in the shadows as he did best, is your Shadowsinger.

Reserved and holding back, clearly waiting for you to remember him, to make your call before he made himself known. Making sure you wanted to see him at all.

Azriel, all 6ft something of shadow and muscle, with his wings tucked politely behind him, takes one step out on to the balcony and towards you.

His hands stay at his sides and his hazel eyes watch you with a familiar intensity. Something deep within you unfurls at the sight of him.

It feels like the collision of a thousand stars rain down on you, their jagged, burning fragments pelting into your body.

It's as though the world had been falling out from underneath and then, seeing him before you—when Cauldron knows how long ago you had been resolutely convinced you were never ever going to see him again— suddenly your feet were grounded and the world was still.

You breathe out his name. Azriel sways forward, almost imperceptibly, as though the sound of his name on your lips was a siren call he was helpless to fight.

You don't know that you say it sweeter than he's ever heard it in all his centuries.

Like following an invisible tug, you don't even realise when you start moving, only that you're rushing towards him with an urgency you can't begin to comprehend. It's like he's calling to you and you can't bear to be this close to him and not press in closer.

His beautiful face, usually guarded, reveals a glimpse into his storm of emotions. Concern, care, and something that looks suspiciously like... longing.

Your brain catches up and your feet falter, bringing you to a stand still before him, chest heaving.

Reason starts to catch up to you, asking meanly about what exactly you meant to do, running up to him—you weren't raised with physical touch beyond violence. You and Azriel had barely touched beyond sparring and those quiet nights in your shelter, skin brushing as you passed something to the other.

In the end, it's not you that moves, it's Azriel.

He closes the distance between you with one single step and his strong arms sweep around your middle, pulling you into the tightest hug. Night-chilled mist and cedar swirl your senses.

Helpless to do anything else, with no desire to do anything but this, you melt.

Your weight slumps into Azriel and he takes it without question, your arms curling around his neck to hold him back just as tightly. The light around you shifts, his shadows frenzied as they kiss along your neck and arms, all checking for hurt they can ease. Your heart is torn between soaring and stopping altogether.

The world fades away as his head ducks down, pressing his face the crook of your neck. It's more touch than you've ever known. More safety, more kindness than you've ever dreamed of. You and Azriel seem to exist only in a cocoon of shadow and warmth, in each others arms.

"You're alright," Azriel murmurs, his breath against your neck. It sounds more like he's reassuring himself than telling you. He sounds devastatingly sincere when he says, "I'm so fucking glad you're alright."

"Thanks to you," You whisper back, not wanting to break the silence. "You—"

The words get caught in your throat and you know you need to see his face when you say this. Pulling back from the embrace, you clear your throat as Azriel straightens up. You miss the heat of his body almost instantly.

"I-I thought I was never going to see you again."

It looks as though your words pain Azriel, a flash of pain and shame crossing his expression. His voice, low and gravelly, holds a guilty tone you've never heard him use before.

"I never should have left."

You blink. That wasn't what you had expected him to say in the least. It was you who had lied, who had deceived him from the very beginning. He was— he had— this was what you got for letting anyone get close to you, you understood that.

You shake your head, pointedly ignoring how it makes your injuries throb. "I know why you did, Azriel. I can't imagine—"

Azriel's scarred hands clench into fists at his sides, anguish colouring his face.

"No." He shakes his head, his jaw clenched tightly. "You did nothing wrong. Nothing."

"Then why did you leave?" Your questions comes out with an edge this time, a biting fury as your emotions process what he's saying.

He says you did nothing wrong. He says he shouldn't have left you behind. It's a ugly mixture of hurt and anger that paints your insides as realisations churn to the surface.

Azriel steals a glance to the side, serving as a quick reminder that there was, indeed, someone else still out on the balcony with you. You glimpse at the Highlord as your anger begins to bubble but you can't bring yourself to care.

You had... trusted him— you had let him in, let him get closer to you than anyone ever had, and he had left. He left, he left, he left. He did exactly as you had feared and he was wrong for it.

The greatest secret of your life, exposed like a raw nerve, and he hadn't said a word as he deserted you.

Your heart warbles at the betrayal and you can't help but step back, putting distance between the two of you. It's such a far cry from the nearness of a moment ago.

And even though you know he wasn't responsible for the events that followed, in the haze of your upset, it's awfully easy to add it to his betrayal. As if in response, your wings flinch and shudder as a wave of agony passes through them. You wince, gritting your teeth and turning your gaze to the ground.

"I can leave to give you both some privacy," Rhysand cuts into the conversation, evidently answering Azriel's pointed glance in his direction. "However, I don't think it will be overtly helpful. She's shouting every thought so loudly, I think I'll be able to hear it from the other side of the house."

She. It's been so many years since anyone has used that in reference to you that it nearly winds you, your entire body giving a visible flinch.

It feels foreign. You can't quite tell how you feel about it; whether it's some lost part of yourself to reclaim or whether it's something you've outgrown altogether.

You don't get time to consider it further as, bustling as she walks, a fourth Fae steps out onto the balcony. She's an older female in appearance but certainly not in her sprightliness. Her eyes land on you and they lighten up, as though you're the one she's been searching for.

"You are supposed to be resting." She tsks, without much further explanation. Your heart sinks, already feeling as though you're in trouble. Rhysand, reading your abrupt switch from anger, jumps in to explain.

"Madja, here-" He gestures to the female with a polite smile- "is our resident healer. She's been taking care of you over these last couple days, helping to heal your wings."

A severe reminder of the sorry state that had been in not too long ago. Glancing over your shoulder, your eyes glaze over as they take in the dozens of scattered markings that litter your wings. Irreversible. Your glorious love, changed forever.

There's patches over the ends that you hadn't noticed before, covering where you know the stakes had been. You suddenly feel an immense rush of gratitude towards the stranger before you.

"Thank you," You say, your throat thick. You want to say it again, want to repeat it over and over til your lungs bleed because just once doesn't seem enough.

But Madja nods in a grave way, as though she knows your internal turmoil.

"You weren't supposed to be up and moving quite so soon," She says, this time with less disapproval in her voice.

She directs a more withering look towards Rhysand and Azriel, enough to surprise you. Perhaps, healers held a higher rank within the city than they did in the mountains? The whole scene looks like a mother scolding her naughty children, especially with how both males shrink beneath her glare.

"Anyhow, come now," She turns back to you and gives a gentle wave of her weathered hand, ushering you back inside. "You'll need at least a days rest before you should be back on your feet."

You amble in her direction, too fearful to glance back at the Highlord and too conflicted to turn back to Azriel. You had broken his trust with your deceit but... he had broken your trust back.

He had abandoned you when you needed him most. But he had also turned up during your darkest hour and saved your life.

You weren't sure what you wanted to do more; hug him once more or throw a shoe at his head. Probably both would make you feel better.

From behind you, you swear you hear a faint chuckle of amusement.

—

When it's just the two of them on the balcony, Rhys turns to Azriel, ignoring his brother's unsubtle sullen demeanor.

"So," He grins. "Mates, then?"

Azriel casts a glance across the balcony, still rigid and unmoving from his spot. His shadows perk up at the word but Azriel gives no reaction beyond a twitch in his jaw muscle. Debating whether to respond at all.

Finally, he mutters, "How could you tell?"

Rhys tilts his head back, chuckling quietly, his mind cast back to an old, fond memory. His violet eyes slice back to his Azriel and he gives a little shrug. "A hunch, really. I think I might have enough to start a theory actually."

He wanders over and nudges Azriel with his shoulder, breaking him from his frozen spot and nodding for them to both head indoors. Rather reluctantly, the Shadowsinger falls into step. Side by side, Rhys gives him only a moment of quiet to stew in before he pipes up once more.

"Say— how much do you remember Cassian and Nesta's first meeting? Any flying projectiles?"

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[marivanilla05]

Officially part of the cast for movie 27!

[knickety]

"a little mild" girl you're used to Jiaoqiu's cooking your sense of taste is skewed

[ofshivelight]

whats daunting isn't my mikvah appointment in a little over an hour, but rather making small talk throughout the hour-long car ride with my rabbi and his wife that we will be taking since the nearest mikvah is sixty miles away

[animezinglife]

"Do you like Elain?"

Honey.

I adore Elain.

I appreciate Elain.

I respect Elain.

I love Elain.

My tomboy self has recently been on a sundress and plant kick because of Elain's influence.

I wish I were more like Elain.

Does that answer this silly question?

I missed the "Eluciens, do you like Elain?" poll and I'm mad about it, so here's my answer.

Yes, there are things I wish she did differently just like every other character, but I'm excited to see where her story leads.

[caluupin]

neuvi is meeting his peepaw rn

[thermodynamic-comedian]

a personal computer is much like a lover. in a way

[fromtheseventhhell]

what do you think about the theory that arya will mercy-kill lady stoneheart? sorry if you have already answered this

So I have actually already discussed this but I'm always down to talk about Lady Stoneheart. I think this is one of the few theories surrounding Arya that's actually rooted in canon but...it's not the way I'd personally like their reunion to play out. Lady Stoneheart isn't really "Catelyn" anymore, but she still has her memories and emotions; There are more interesting ways for her character to be utilized than being brought back only to be put down again because she's "too far gone". I fully expect her to die but there are more meaningful ways to go about it, like her dying while getting to save one of her children. The idea that Arya needs to learn not to be obsessed with revenge from her also falls flat because Arya...simply isn't obsessed with getting revenge. LS was warped by being violently killed and brought back to life, so Arya isn't in danger of following her path. I like to imagine that by the time Arya returns to Westeros, she'll have communicated with Bran and be able to tell LS that Rickon and Bran are still alive. Reuniting with Arya and learning that her sons are alive could give her some level of peace and she could ask Arya for mercy but...that just feels a little lackluster to me. After all that she's done in the Riverlands it's hard to imagine that she'd go out so quietly.

[blatterpussbunnyfromhell]

I can't wait to meet my future cat tomorrow

[seleneprince]

Based on this

The Crow

It dawns on her there. She's going to die in the Hewn City. They left her there to rot away, alone and miserable, like the other miserable souls around her. Dark shells of beings that can't even be called people anymore.

No one would look for her here. She knows. They've been looking for excuses to get rid of her for ages. They'll be relieved with this.

"She was a wretch, got what she deserved", she can hear them say, as they complain and celebrate over cups of expensive wine—the same wine she was shamed for drinking.

A wave of pure, unbridled rage rises inside her. She feels the familiar burn itching beneath her skin, threatening to spill out and destroy everything. And a part of her wants to let it happen.

She has never lost control like that. Her weapons have always been her words and the poisonous barbs she cast with them. It’s a part of her, of who she is, as much as she hates it. But this fire—this cold inferno that has been boiling within her since she emerged from the Cauldron—she refuses to acknowledge. Ever since, she has keep it contained in the deepest corners of her being, pushing it back whenever it arises. The pain and exhaustion she gets from it are worth it just for the satisfaction of proving herself stronger than the magic.

Until now.

She finds herself struggling to keep her flames at bay. She senses how they're whisper away to break out of her body, to roam free and rampant along with her angerbetrayalsorrowguilt. That voice in her head that always urges her to let go grows louder than ever, and she tries, she really does, but she's so tempted now. So eager. She's tired and hungry and so, so mad at everything. At everyone. She has done it all and it still wasn't enough for them. They've dumped her like a pile of trash to a place where they keep the worst people in the world locked up.

Its what they've always thought of her, right? Something rotten and worthless to be locked away for eternity, so it doesn't corrupt others?

Cold sparks jump between her fingers. She recognizes them. They grow bigger and she doesn't stop it, because why should she. What's the point. It's not fair. Notfairnotfairnotfair...

"There you are, my love," a smooth voice murmurs behind, breath brushing against her ear, "You got me looking everywhere for you."

Nesta is pulled back to reality as strong arms surround her, one secured around her waist and the other on her shoulders. Her back meets a broad, warm chest, and she stiffens as her brain gets a hold of the situation.

When she does, she fights against his hold with all her might, but he hugs her tighter, and his lips move against her ear.

"There's a group of males following you since you stepped out. Play along until they leave."

She freezes. The male moves back and Nesta feels him turning back a little, still shielding her.

"Thank you for looking after her until now, everyone. You can leave us now."

Murmurs and shuffling reach Nesta's ears, sending a chill through her as she realizes he was right—she had been followed. How had she not noticed?

"¿Didn't you all heard me?," he chuckles, but she senses the threatening edge there. "Fuck off. Before I make you."

Nesta hears them scramble away hurriedly, their footsteps fading into the distance. They remain like that for several minutes, until there's nothing but heavy silence in the street. Then, with a suddenness that catches her off guard, he lets her go, and she stumbles slightly.

She turns to face him, torn between thanking him and hurling insults. But as she catches his face, her words die on her lips.

He’s taller than she expected, around Azriel's height, probably. Dressed in brown-green leather, he wears a sleeveless top that reveals toned arms, and fingerless gloves that end at his elbows. Nesta’s eyes dart to the knives hidden within his layers, strategically placed around his waist and legs. But it’s not the weapons that catch her attention.

Half of his face is concealed by a partially pulled hood, casting shadows across his features, while a dark veil shrouds his eyes, adding an air of mystery that unsettles her. There’s a raw aura emanating from him, a soft but fierce energy that makes her heart race in anticipation.

His mouth draws a crooken grin, showing his sharp teeth. Nesta holds her breath...

A sharp caw echoes in the street, and Nesta sees at that moment a black crow flying over their heads. The male extends his arm just as the animal lands naturally on it, emitting a caw that sounds like a greeting.

The scene looks straight out of a weird dream to her. As if sensing her confusion, the male laughs softly, scratching the cow's head as he walks towards her slowly.

For some reason, Nesta can't bring herself to move, stuck staring at him until he's towering over her.

"Are you scared of me, darling, or is it my cane that bothers you?"

Nesta blinks at his question, processing that he's actually talking to her and this is all real.

"Your cane?"

"My crow. He's my cane in a certain way, you know. I know most people don't like him. Can't blame them, though. He's an asshole."

"Oh"

She doesn't know what to make of him. The way he talks and acts clashes greatly with the impression he gives off. But she knows how deceiving people can be, and she's heard enough of this place to know most of its residents can't be trusted.

"Thank you for saving me earlier."

"What do you mean 'thank you', darling? I don't do anything for free."

"Excuse me?"

He sighs loudly, as if he's repeating something simple to a child.

"I want money, obviously. A guy has to eat here. But I also accept favours...or kisses," he leans closer to her, smirking. "I saved your beautiful face from something worse than death. I think I'm owed a good reward."

A chill runs down her spine. She should have known. This is exactly the kind of person that makes the Hewn City what it is. A place for greedy, twisted creatures who indulge in their vices without restraint and embrace violence as a part of their daily lives. Assaulting women is just one of the many horrors they promote.

Nesta feels the air thicken with tension, the weight of his presence suddenly pressing against her like a tangible force. She steels herself, fully aware of the implications of being alone and defenseless with a man who considers taking kisses from females as 'reward' the norm.

Then he bursts out laughing, shaking his head. The crow seems to laugh with him. Nesta stares at him perplexed as he steps back.

"By the Cauldron, I wish I could've seen your face. I smelled your fear so clearly I thought you were going to bust into a giant flaming ball at any moment. Ah," he wheezes. "I'm fucked up, darling, but I'm not that fucked up. I only accept kisses when all the parties very much want to kiss me. Don't worry."

Nesta begins to calculate the right angle to kick him hard enough in the balls so he's limping for weeks. A voice suggests that setting him on fire would be much more enjoyable.

"You're a sick son of a bitch."

"Yeah, and the grass is green. Nothing new under the sun. Well, more like under the mountain. Get it?" He grins, expecting a reply. "Nevermind. Try to be more careful around here, darling. Specially since you're new. This place is full of sick sons of bitches, but not all of them are as nice as me."

"Who the hell are you anyway? Why are you helping me?"

He smiles again, but this time it’s not playful; it’s laced with something darker, a secretive edge that hints at eagerness. The corners of his lips curl, revealing a glimpse of those sharp teeth that sends a shiver down Nesta's spine. She can sense the challenge in his expression, an unspoken invitation to dance on the razor's edge of danger. And, much to her frustration, she's not entirely taken back.

"I'm Uther, at your service" he finally says. There's a certain heaviness on his voice when he does. "I've heard a lot about you, Lady Death."

The air between them crackles when those words are spoken, and Nesta’s pulse quickens. She’s suddenly acutely aware of every detail—the way his muscles ripple discreetly beneath the leather, the shadows that play across his half-hidden face, and the alluring blend of danger that surrounds him.

"Welcome to your new prison."

(This is your fault @jon-snows-man-bun - @the-anonymous-unikitty - @aurenturley - @c-starstuff-man0)

[rasairui]

God I fucking hate dating apps if you're poly that's great if you want to make one profile for both you and your partner it's fine but be upfront about it! If you chat me up and we hit it off and you only mention there's a man involved AFTER we've agreed to meet up, you need to die one million deaths I'm SERIOUS. Be honest from the get go don't try to TRAP me in a situation where I'd be a third I do not want to fuck your stupid ugly ass boyfriend I am GAY. FUCK OFF!!! I hope the ceiling fan falls down on you both!

[lelianasbong]

most important dragon age the veilguard question: is my inquisitor still happy and thriving with her beautiful chaos wife? 🥹

[schleierkauz]

Thief Lord News

i'm still away from my laptop/slightly shellshocked after meeting cornelia BUT during the interview portion she said that she'd been determined not to work on any long stories this year, but when she went to Venice, an idea ambushed her and she can't shake it off. A bit later she confirmed (predictably) that it's something related to The Thief Lord 👀

[a-side-character]

Lesbians of tumblr I have done the unthinkable:

Flirted with a girl and asked her on a date

Will keep you posted

[silkpages]

one month off uni LET'S GO!!