#ordeir

[lunaccult]

— @ordeir: i don't even really know how it happened . // The  sharp  of  the  blood  spill  does  not  bother  Anya  in  all  her  millenia  of  nonliving.    A  younger  vampire  would  be  overcome,    undone,    and  lapping  at  the  pool  at  their  feet  with  greed.    A  madness  nigh  unstoppable.    Anya  merely  wrinkles  her  nose  as  her  boots  stain  from  the  spread.    ❝    A  killer  in  your  halls,    so  it  seems.    ❞  She  sketches  a  path  along  what  appears  to  be  the  drag  of  a  blood,    the  marks  of  something  heavy  swept  through  the  gore  and  slid  along  the  floor.    Anya  crouches  and  regards  the  mess  with  all  the  casual  air  of  someone  admiring  a  painting  or  needlework.    ❝    Were  you  not  expecting  this,    then?    ❞

[springthings]

@ordeir.

        she's dancing, even before she knows it, spinning on bare feet and watching the way her dress catches in the wind and the grass tickles her feet. she giggles, crouching down to the ground and scooping up the flowers that lay on the ground. a bushel of low lying blooms. she kisses them all on their quivering petals, chattering about their lovely stems and growth since the last time she had seen them. their whispers find her in the midst of her rambling, something about a rustling in the woods not far. she twirls around, and finds a flash of silver and fire. " your hair is like the moon, " the fairy girl says, entranced, eyes sparkling as she looks at the girl opposite of her, drifting closer to her by the second. " it's so lovely here ... but nobody ever has winter hair. you have winter hair. "

[joyuex]

❝ it is growing dark. ❞ / @ordeir

the heavens flame in her hair : silver - blonde turned to gold in the sun's final hour. he watches her sidelong, one eye to her and another to his post ... a tension held not only there, but also in the rise of his shoulders, the set of his jaw. [ he may well have been made of stone, a model knight for an un - model king. ] model, that is, except for the slight twitch of his fingers. it is slight – little more than a swat of a fly. and yet just like that, the figure shifts ... tension turns to irritation. his flared nostrils an insult, his furrowed brow a threat. his very form seemingly shaped to insult. ❝ yes, princess. ❞ his words are formal, but polite. horribly at odds with his sharp - eyed stare. ❝ but i have not yet been relieved ... until then, i must keep my post. ❞

[aldovaha]

" where i come from, i'm the only person who rides dragons. which i guess is kind of similar to here, if you think about it. " a whole family that does so — he loves it. the bond ásgeirr shared with fulkaalbo was one he wished all could experience it — at least it was something @ordeir understood. " mine's called fulkaalbo. beautiful, fiesty thing. what about yours? "

[obsessing]

⤳   @ordeir​​​​,    𝘳𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘯𝘺𝘳𝘢 𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘦𝘯,   asked:     ‹  is that all you think of her? ›

sheepish nature overtakes the full length of her frame, an entire inch's span. she perches herself delicately at the crook of rhaenyra's neck, hands holding on tight to the side of her as if she might wisp right over at the slightest breeze. “ ... ⋆⁺˚｡． ‹  might be. › ” the response is clearly laced with a sentiment of embarrassment, as if this were a silly thing to admit. a bit foolish. in a moment's notice, with a rapidity to her twinkling speech, she grows suddenly cheeky, a great big grin stretching wild across her miniature features. “ .✧⋇  ゜! ゜  ✦ *゜✧ ‹  she's frightful! shall i go over and pull her hair? › ”