#the final quote is from that one

[serenpedac]

OC in 15 - Yael Greene

rules: share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

Thank you @aztarion, @topaz-carbuncle and @serially-wayhaven for tagging me, I loved reading the ones for your OCs so much! I'm stealing Lucille's idea for adding a link to the fic (if posted) where the quotes are from ^^

“I understand,” she whispers. She turns around before he can see her break down completely. (x) 

“In case you haven’t guessed, and I know you have, you were distracting me. I was thinking that you look very beautiful when you’re concentrating. Very beautiful and very distracting and I would like to—” She shakes her head. “No, one thought.” (x) 

“You know I’ve always wanted a sister?” “Would be fun, yeah? Good thing you have—” Farah falls silent, realisation spreading over her face. “Me. Oh, that’s what you meant, isn’t it?”

“But don’t you see, we shouldn’t have to find them. No one should have been taken in the first place. All they want is me.” (x) 

“Or you could… demonstrate?” She bites her lip, his gaze flickering to her mouth at the movement. “Right now?” (x) 

“Hmm, yes. Yes, you did. But it’s part of what makes it romantic, don’t you think? Being lost in the throes of passion, forgetting about anything else. No thinking, only feeling, feeling…”  (x) 

“I don’t think I need to make any wishes tonight, you know. Not when you’re already here with me.” (x)

“Are you sure there’s still space for me between all the bubbles?” (x) 

“Just like me. And each mark tells a story, some are good and some are bad and some might be sad or funny, but they are all part of its history, you know? In trying to remove that it felt like, like they were telling me everything was fine. That Murphy never. That I wasn’t changed.” (x) 

Do you, can you maybe understand? Just a little? (x)

After a few deep breaths, Yael places her hand on top of Morgan’s. “Thank you. I appreciate it.” With a wavering smile, she adds, “I appreciate you.” (x)

“My car didn’t die, it’s just… ill. Yes, it’s ill.”

“You should go help them. I’ll,” she swallows, “I’ll be fine.”

He breaks the kiss when she shivers against him. “You’re getting cold, darling.” “Are you going to follow that one up with a proposal to warm me up?” (x) 

“You could have escaped,” Nate says, vehemently. “You should have escaped.” Tears of anger and frustration burn hot in Yael’s eyes. “I couldn’t. How was I supposed to just leave you? You were— I thought—”

(Yes, nr 10 is me cheating, but letters are a kind of dialogue, right?) Tagging anyone who wants to do this really, but also: @evilbunnyking, @nat-seal-well, @agentnatesewell, @wayhavenots, @ellstersmash, @fauville, @nsewell, @sustainably-du-mortain, @lykegenia, @lukas-du-mortain

[michaelwheelers]

Our fates are sealed. But I think we have one move left.

We can try.

[starkspi]

Lucifer x Salem quotes 1/? (+ Alastor)

[mintmilk-art]

Fight and Flight

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

True love is possible only in the next world. For new people. It it too late for us.

(Redraw for @pakhnokh's DTIYS post!)

[micamicster]

"I'm... I'm here to tell you..." To tell him what? That it's fine? That I don't hate you? That everything is fine? That I don't blame you for having killed Jin ZiXuan? It was impossible. But she couldn't say anything that was the opposite either. And so, she didn't know what else she could say to Wei Wei WuXian, under such circumstances. It was just that she felt like she had to see this brother of hers once more. / "You ran so fast, I could hardly get a look at you."

The Untamed vs Leonard Cohen's Famous Blue Raincoat

[charmac]

"I fell for you and I get clobbered. You then fall for me and I, again, somehow get clobbered. I'm tired of being clobbered, you know? It's, it's just not worth it."

Rob McElhenney naming Mac and Dennis alongside Ross and Rachel as one of the greatest "will they, won't they?" couples in sitcom history forever altered my brain chemistry.

[saturnvs]

there's a light in all of us

[hyohaehyuk]

Sam being really protective of Jacob in 2 comic cons 🥰

[sdcc 2022]

sam encouraging jacob to share which new figurines he got/jacob about taking him & eric to the floor:

Jacob: i think they were like, “oh, we thought–” Eric *teasing*: “–you were a normal person” Sam: i loved it. I just cant believe some of the artwork [of the figures]. it's amazing!

He really loves the fact jacob is a nerd 🥰

Also at beginning, Eric even says "now i know the level of lunacy of the fandoms (that attend to comic cons)" and Jacob was outraged. He even mumbles "how dare you?!" to Sam 🤣

[sdcc 2024]

sam protecting jacob in his absence, as the interviewer jokes about trash-talking jacob:

interviewer: he can't fight back! sam: *fighting back* jacob has massive fomo […] *glancing at delainey & assad* so let's not trash jacob!

via thejamlore (x)(x)

[maeljade]

Hey Tumblr, I got a question for the folks that have beaten Dawntrail and Stormblood Dark Knight.

How do we feel about these two? Would the world that Myste wished to build BE Living Memory and Alexandria? A world where you never have to say goodbye and never feel the sadness of parting, because the memories of the departed are deleted.

Yet also a world where people can meet their loved ones again and say what they wanted and spend an eternity together, because Living Memory is designed to support such reunions.

The dead are forever beyond our reach, and we have no choice but to accept the inevitability that everyone we know and love will join them in time ... or do we? Distraught by his failure to see Gallien's final wish fulfilled before his passing, Myste muses on the possibility of a world where time and death hold no power over us. A world you could share. You need only ask. But we know better. - Dark Knight Questlog: "We can never go home"

[mdemn]

i’d rather be in hell than alone.

the opposite of haunting is something very lonely by katie maria (@heavensghost), leaves and blossoms alone the way - mary oliver, @julykings (art & words), dawn pulls forward with nothing dead enough to hold it - mary sims, the touch - anne sexton, an interview with jenny slate, kill bill - sza

buy me a ko-fi!

[toxooz]

Antibody skin is finally gettin used lmfao 💛☣💚

[empty-dream]

Where the sins lie nor how heavy the punishment is, I have no idea. But I will protect you. I will protect you from everything you'll be inquired of. Even if it's a hypocrisy, I will protect the one I love to the end.

Fate/Stay Night: Heaven's Feel - spring song (2020)

[sforzesco]

so it’s. it’s like. man this is so hard without my laptop.

alright so Crassus is a weird guy, existentially. There’s a tendency to speculate, assign, and insert him into whatever places are conspiratorial and shadowy because he fits into those narrative places with ease. My personal favorite (aside from all of it) is the idea that he may have pulled strings wrt to Sulla and Caesar’s conflict to help get Caesar out of it.

The Defeat of Rome: Crassus, Carrhae and the Invasion of the East, Gareth C. Sampson

In the universe that exists in my head, he definitely had a hand in it, but he didn’t really intend for Caesar to figure out he played a part in it, but Caesar’s good at puzzles, and noticing someone goes both ways. Binding someone to yourself goes both ways.

Crassus: The First Tycoon, Peter Stothard

This scene takes place sometime relatively soon after Sulla’s death. Crassus has complicated feelings about it, Caesar less so. Veni, vidi, vici, baby!

Here’s a bonus thing that I keep thinking about with them.

The Roman Revolution, Ronald Syme

like, utang na loob. and it is DEEP between them.

[amanedachi]

berkelium / dragonslayer

Part of LoL Esports Elemental Series.

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 61

Chapter; Highlights (okay the entire chapter is a highlight)🤣

As requested @mysterylilycheeta I NEED TO SQUEAL IN WYVERN FANGIRL WITH YOU NOW CAUSE OH M GOODNESS THIS CHAPTER ON SO MANY LEVELS I JUST AHAKWIHUHFEJLZXBKEKA

Agony was a song in Lorcan's blood, his bones, his breath.

Every step of the horse, every leap she made over body and debris, sent it ringing afresh. There was no end, no mercy from it. It was all he could do to keep in the saddle, to cling to consciousness.

To keep his arm around Elide.

She had come for him. Had found him, somehow, on this endless battlefield.

His name on her lips had been a summons he could never deny, even when death had held him so gently, nestled beneath all those he'd felled, I, and waited for his last breaths.

And now, charging toward that too-distant keep, so far behind the droves of soldiers and riders racing for the gates, he wondered if these minutes would be his last. Her last.

She had come for him.

Lorcan managed to glance toward the dam on their right. Toward the ruk rider signaling that it was only a matter of minutes until it unleashed hell over the plain.

He didn't know how it had become weakened. Didn't care.

Still Elide kept urging the horse onward, kept them on as straight a path toward the distant keep as possible.

No ruk would come to sweep them up. No, his luck had been spent in surviving this long, in her finding him. His power would do nothing against that water.

The farthest lines of panicked soldiers appeared, and Farasha charged past them.

Elide let out a sob, and he followed the line of her sight.

To the keep gate, still open.

"Faster, Farasha!" She didn't hide the raw terror in her voice, the desperation.

Once the dam broke, it would take less than a minute for the tidal wave to reach them.

She had come for him. She had found him.

The world went quiet. The pain in his body faded into nothing. Into something secondary.

Lorcan slid his other arm around Elide, bringing his mouth close to her ear as he said, "You have to let me go."

Each word was gravelly, his voice strained nearly to the point of uselessness.

Elide didn't shift her focus from the keep ahead. "No."

That gentle quiet flowed around him, clearing the fog of pain and battle. "You have to. You have to, Elide. I'm too heavy-and without my weight, you might make it to the keep in time."

"No." The salt of her tears filled his nose.

Lorcan brushed his mouth over her damp cheek, ignoring the roaring pain in his body. The horse galloped and galloped, as if she might outrace death itself.

"I love you," he whispered in Elide's ear. "I have loved you from the moment you picked up that axe to slay the ilken." Her tears flowed past him in the wind. "And I will be with you ..." His voice broke, but he made himself say the words, the truth in his heart. "I will be with you always."

He was not frightened of what would come for him once he tumbled off the horse. He was not frightened at all, if it meant her reaching the keep.

So Lorcan kissed Elide's cheek again, allowed himself to breathe in her scent one last time. "I love you," he repeated, and began to withdraw his arms from around her waist.

Elide slapped a hand onto his forearm. Dug in her nails, right into his skin, fierce as any ruk.

"No."

There were no tears in her voice. Nothing but solid, unwavering steel.

"No," she said again. The voice of the Lady of Perranth.

Lorcan tried to move his arm, but her grip would not be dislodged.

If he tumbled off the horse, she would go with him.

Together. They would either outrun this or die together.

"Elide-"

But Elide slammed her heels into the horse's sides.

Slammed her heels into the dark flank and screamed, "FLY, FARASHA." She cracked the reins. "FLY, FLY, FLY!"

And gods help her, that horse did.

As if the god that had crafted her filled the mare's lungs with his own breath, Farasha gave a surge of speed.

Faster than the wind. Faster than death.

Farasha cleared the first of the fleeing Darghan cavalry. Passed desperate horses and riders at an all-out gallop for the gates.

Her mighty heart did not falter, even when Lorcan knew it was raging to the point of bursting.

Less than a mile stood between them and the keep.

But a thunderous, groaning crack cleaved the world, echoing off the lake, the mountains.

There was nothing he could do, nothing that brave, unfaltering horse could do, as the dam ruptured.

Rowan made himself stand there, to watch the last moments of the Lady of Perranth and his former commander. It was all he could offer: witnessing their deaths, so he might tell the story to those he encountered. So they would not be forgotten.

The roaring of the oncoming wave became deafening, even from miles away.

Still Elide and Lorcan raced, Farasha passing horse after horse after horse.

Even up here, would they escape the wave's reach? Rowan dared to survey the battlements, to assess if he needed to get the others, needed to get Aelin, to higher ground.

But Aelin was not at his side.

She was not on the battlement at all.

Rowan's heart halted. Simply stopped beating as a ruddy-brown ruk dropped from the skies, spearing for the center of the plain.

Arcas, Borte's ruk. A golden-haired woman dangling from his talons.

Aelin. Aelin was—

Arcas neared the earth, talons splaying.

Aelin hit the ground, rolling, rolling, until she uncoiled to her feet.

Right in the path of that wave.

"Oh gods," Fenrys breathed, seeing her, too.

They all saw her.

The queen on the plain.

The endless wall of water surging for her.

The keep stones began shuddering. Rowan threw out a hand to brace himself, fear like nothing he had known ripping through him as Aelin lifted her arms above her head.

A pillar of fire shot up around her, lifting her hair with it.

The wave roared and roared for her, for the army behind her.

The shaking in the keep was not from the wave.

It was not from that wall of water at all.

Cracks formed in the earth, splintering across it. Spiderwebbing from Aelin.

"The hot springs," Chaol breathed. "The valley floor is full of veins into the earth itself."

Into the burning heart of the world.

The keep shook, more violently this time.

The pillar of fire sucked back into Aelin.

She held out a hand before her, her fist closed.

As if it would halt the wave in its tracks.

He knew then. Either as her mate or carranam, he knew.

"Three months," Rowan breathed.

The others stilled.

"Three months," he said again, his knees wobbling. "She's been making the descent into her power for three months."

Every day she had been with Maeve, bound in iron, she had gone deeper. And she had not tapped too far into that power since they'd freed her because she had kept making the plunge.

To gather up the full might of her magic.

Not for the Lock, not for Erawan.

But for Maeve's death blow.

A few weeks of descent had taken her powers to devastating levels. Three months of it

…

Holy gods. Holy rutting gods.

And when her fire hit the wall of water now towering over her, when they collided —

"GET DOWN!" Rowan bellowed, over the screaming waters. "GET DOWN NOW!"

His companions dropped to the stones, any within earshot doing the same.

Rowan plummeted into his power. Plummeted into it fast and hard, ripping out any remaining shred of magic.

Elide and Lorcan were still too far from the gates. Thousands of soldiers were still too far from the gates as the wave crested above them.

As Aelin opened her hand toward it.

Fire erupted.

Cobalt fire. The raging soul of a flame.

A tidal wave of it.

Taller than the raging waters, it blasted from her, flaring wide.

The wave slammed into it. And where water met a wall of fire, where a thousand years of confinement met three months of it, the world exploded.

Blistering steam, capable of melting flesh from bone, shot across the plain.

With a roar, Rowan threw all that remained of his magic toward the onslaught of steam, a wall of wind that shoved it toward the lake, the mountains.

Still the waters came, breaking against the flames that did not so much as yield an inch.

Maeve's death blow. Spent here, to save the army that might mean Terrasen's salvation. To spare the lives on the plain.

Rowan gritted his teeth, panting against his fraying power. A burnout lurked, deadly close.

The raging wave threw itself over and over and over into the wall of flame.

Rowan didn't see if Elide and Lorcan made it into the keep. If the other soldiers and riders on the plain stopped to gape.

Princess Hasar said, rising beside him, "That power is no blessing."

"Tell that to your soldiers," Fenrys snarled, standing, too.

"I did not mean it that way," Hasar snipped, and awe was indeed stark on her face.

Rowan leaned against the battlements, panting hard as he fought to keep the lethal steam from flowing toward the army. As he cooled and sent it whisking away.

Solid hands slid under his arms, and then Fenrys and Gavriel were there, propping him up between them.

A minute passed. Then another.

The wave began to lower. Still the fire burned.

Rowan's head pounded, his mouth going dry.

Time slipped from him. A coppery tang filled his mouth.

The wave lowered farther, raging waters quieting. Then roaring turned to lapping, rapids into eddies.

Until the wall of flame began to lower, too. Tracking the waters down and down and down. Letting them seep into the cracks of the earth.

Rowan's knees buckled, but he held on to his magic long enough for the steam to lessen.

For it, too, to be calmed.

It filled the plain, turning the world into drifting mist. Blocking the view of the queen in its center.

Then silence. Utter silence.

Fire flickered through the mist, blue turning to gold and red. A muted, throbbing glow.

Rowan spat blood onto the battlement stones, his breath like shards of glass in his throat.

The glowing flames shrank, steam rippling past. Until there was only a slim pillar of fire, veiled in the mist-shrouded plain.

Not a pillar of fire.

But Aelin.

Glowing white-hot. As if she had given herself so wholly to the flame that she had become fire herself.

The Fire-Bringer someone whispered down the battlements.

The mist rippled and billowed, casting her into nothing but a glowing effigy.

The silence turned reverent.

A gentle wind from the north swept down. The veil of mist pulled back, and there she was.

She glowed from within. Glowed golden, tendrils of her hair floating on a phantom wind.

"Mala's Heir," Yrene breathed.

Down on the plain, Elide and Lorcan had halted.

The wind pushed away more of the drifting mist, clearing the land beyond Aelin.

And where that mighty, lethal wave had loomed, where death had charged toward them, nothing remained at all.

For three months, she had sung to the darkness and the flame, and they had sung back.

For three months, she had burrowed so deep inside her power that she had plundered undiscovered depths. While Maeve and Cairn had worked on her, she had delved. Never letting them know what she mined, what she gathered to her, day by day by day.

A death blow. One to wipe a dark queen from the earth forever.

She'd kept that power coiled in herself even after she'd been freed from the irons. Had struggled to keep it down these weeks, the strain enormous. Some days, it had been easier to barely speak. Some days, swaggering arrogance had been her key to ignoring it.

Yet when she had seen that wave, when she had seen Elide and Lorcan choosing death together, when she had seen the army that might save Terrasen, she'd known. She'd felt the fire sleeping under this city, and knew they had come here for a reason.

She had come here for this reason.

A river still flowed from the dam, harmless and small, wending toward the lake.

Nothing more.

Aelin lifted a glowing hand before her as blessed, cooling emptiness filled her at last.

Slowly, starting from her fingertips, the glow faded.

As if she were forged anew, forged back into her body.

Back into Aelin.

Clarity, sharp and crystal clear, filled its wake. As if she could see again, breathe again.

Inch by inch, the golden glow faded into skin and bone. Into a woman once more.

Already, a white-tailed hawk launched skyward.

But as the last of the glow faded, disappearing out through her toes, Aelin fell to her knees.

Fell to her knees in the utter silence of the world, and curled onto her side.

She had the vague sense of strong, familiar arms scooping her up. Of being carried onto a broad feathery back, still in those arms.

Of soaring through the skies, the last of the mist rippling away into the afternoon sun.

And then sweet darkness.