#led tree

[the-alternate-realities]

[outislovesgoobers]

Me and one of my IRLs had this interaction about Hector last night and I felt I needed to share with the class

[pixel8or]

[lunarharp]

more things that vibe with my silverleaf fic etc

[sir20]

Lighted palm (summer is coming?) by sir20

[magejamespage]

do you guys think that if you listen to im gonna crawl long enough youll be hypnotized and work as a sleeper agent for jimmy page?

[my-pjo-stuff]

You all may rip german-american Luke from my cold dead hands because I am NOT letting that headcanon go.

[somegrumpynerd]

This is her “we have to get back in before the wind gets worse” speed

[amya-da-pjo]

reminder that Percy listens to punk rock, hard rock and heavy metal, and not pop (canonically Led Zeppelin is his favourite band)

[zachiie]

Un año después

[hoboblaidd]

All it takes to bring down Wisdom is a kiss?

featuring @fellenaste

When the Evanuris sent their envoys to the grand palaces and villas of their brethren, they dressed them in glittered finery and laden with gifts. Envoys would be paraded through art galleries and all manner of displays of the host’s ingenuity - not for the benefit of the servants, but so they could report back to their masters on the opulence of another’s court.

Not so with Andruil. She stood on no ceremony but her own, and relied not on wealth or excess to cow the other Evanuris, but intimidation. Pomp and circumstance was disposed of, and envoys were stripped of ornamentation. Invitations to Andruil’s halls were not a game of intrigue; they were a test of survival.

Solas is hardly the only outsider in Andruil’s council chamber today. The diverse and glimmering vallaslin of those standing at the feet of the Huntress’ throne are a stark contrast to the harsh, dark lines tattooed on her servants. That Solas is the most vocal of them is a matter of course, but even he holds his tongue when Her Will speaks. Her wrath is not something to be courted.

Melar’era. His face is carefully neutral as Ghilan’nain speaks for the Huntress. He doesn’t look at her and keeps his eyes on Andruil herself, who sits lounged on her throne and watching everything. The only expression he wears is the general disdain that is always fixed to his brow in Andruil’s presence. 

Strategies for dealing with Anaris’ simmering coup are discussed, war assets are negotiated, and the envoys are dismissed with little fanfare. They file out through their respective eluvians, all anxious to return to the relative safety of their masters’ courts.

Solas is just as anxious to get out from under Andruil, but he finds an excuse to linger. He trumps up some convoluted artifact demanded by Mythal that has Andruil’s people scramble to fulfill, and he is left alone to look at the art in the fortress’ antechamber.

He feels when Ghilan’nain enters the cavernous room. All of his senses hone in on her, except that his eyes remain fixed on a lavish portrait of Elgar’nan. Her bare footfalls are quiet on the marble floor, but his heart quickens as they near him. 

Ghilan’nain comes to stand beside him. There is a mere breath between them, the flow of her robes brushing the sleeve of his leather armor. Her presence burns as a brand along his side. Beneath the perfume and soaps of her ceremonial dress is the untamed scent of earth and petrichor. His eyes close briefly as he breathes her in. 

Solas turns to look at her at last. Beneath heavy lids, her sea-dark eyes meet his violet gaze. His eyes only fall from hers to look on the soft line of her lips, and he lets himself imagine that they did not have to hide, that he could press her back against the wall and take her beneath the grandiose portrait of the All-Father. 

Instead, he stifles his smile and gives her a respectful bow. She holds up the artifact he’d invented a use for. Any servant could have delivered this to him. She had done it deliberately, for the same reason he had invented an excuse to linger. 

He reaches for the artifact and their fingertips brush against his. There is a spark of rebellion in her eyes, and his heart swells with the sight of it. His joy, and her grounding force. 

They part, and Solas inclines his head. He allows himself the moment to memorize the sight of her. Her hair is ceremonially braided, and he wishes he could run his fingers through it and let it run as wildly as it did when they were together. He wishes his hands could fall to the slight cant of her hips, to pull her back against him and bury his nose in her scent. He wishes they were anywhere else, free under the open air of their grove, with no duty but to each other.

Ghilan’nain turns from him, leaving the antechamber for Andruil. Solas turns from her, and makes for the eluvian and Mythal. As painful as it is to part, to keep that impassable breath between them, it would be worse not to see her. It’s enough. It has to be enough, these fleeting moments they manage to steal with each other.

[bookishjules]

keefe and baby blue by luke hemmings...

[leveebreak-s]

algorithm STOP trying to get me into greta van fleet it's not gonna happen

[malfnction-54]

weird building

[namelessprince]

smiles so sweetly. who wants to tell me about their riptide theories. about literally anything. i really want to know what other people are thinking!!

[rebecca96]

My amazing LED Christmas tree from Macy’s. Loving all the colors and so cozy at night time