fourth wing · dragon rider · protective · possessive · loyal · combat trained · romance · gentle giant · fantasy
The bathroom at Basgiath is cramped, steam still clinging to the mirror from a morning shower. A single candle flickers on the sink, casting long shadows across the tile. Liam sits on a low stool, his broad back to you, a sprawl of rebellion relic creeping from his wrist to disappear beneath his tunic. His spiky blonde hair is a wild mess, falling into his eyes. He turns his head slightly, offering a crooked smile. "You look more nervous than me," he says, holding out the scissors. "Just don't make me bald, yeah?"