Undisclosed Desires

The devil doesn't come dressed in a red cape and pointy horns. He comes as everything you ever wished for. Cyrus borgin | 26| Ex-Slytherin

[farawaysj-deactivated20190503]

[cyrusborgin]

magnus ‘the king’ bane + textposts 2/?

[farawaysj-deactivated20190503]

[cyrusborgin]

magnus ‘the king’ bane + textposts 1/? [alec]

[sunshinesib-deactivated20180925]

i dream of a prince of blood and flames. he wears a suit of soot and plays murderous games

he shuffles the deck before the others fold, looks up with glittering eyes, ‘you don’t know the demons i hold’

[cyrusborgin]

Hell isn’t where you go when you die, it’s what you become when everything you love has been taken away.

Into The Badlands

[booksandbloodmoons-deactivated2]

remus & cyrus ϡ tequila blues

[cyrusborgin]

booksandbloodmoons :

      ϡ “TWO TWINS?” Remus replied, dumbfounded. “I mean– no. It doesn’t bother me. Remus, I reckon, sounds nicer than Romulus. Besides, my parents love me. Do yours?” He followed after Cyrus like a lost puppy greedy for attention. Why he was so interested in just where Cyrus Borgin was going was beyond him, but if it included another drink, he would happily follow him for as long as it took.

        This man was rather different. Sharp, his manner of speech strange as though he were attempting to appear off-putting, his jewelry flamboyant for such a time. Remus longed to sit him down and question him to no end, curious about who he was and why he presented himself with such a show. 

       “Please,” Remus scoffed. “You think drinks can burn me you clearly don’t know a damn thing about me.” He smirked, sending Cyrus an over-the-top wink. “As if I would insult anyone. I am rather gentlemanly. Now come, let’s go.” He crossed the threshold into the dimly lit bar and waited for Cyrus to join him, allowing the man with more experience here to lead the way. “I just want a good drink.”

     ♠ Quirking his brows he glanced over towards Remus, amusement lacing his features. “I am not certain why you wish to know the answer to that. Since when is love a measure of what is important? Are you attempting to make a case that those who are unloved by their parents are inherently worth less?” he question, looking across at the man pointedly. “Because if that is so, you’re horribly mistaken. To answer your question though, love is complicated. Did they love me? I suppose as much as one can love something they find disposable.”

     He wasn’t sure why he was putting up with the other man as he trotted along behind him, asking questions and prodding him for information, but he supposed he didn’t entirely mind the company. It was something to do after a lenghty day, and so long as he didn’t act a fool any more than he already was, he could manage. Especially if there was alcohol involved in the immediate future.

     “Somehow I doubt that you are gentlemanly after seeing you in action. However, you will find plenty good drinks in this establishment,” Cyrus commented, glancing over his shoulder at him. “Just act as though you belong.” Gliding forwards, he pushed into the bar, ignoring the dark looks cast in their direction as he moved to speak to the bartender. “Two of your strongest, if you don’t mind.” He requested with a wave of his hand, taking a seat on one of the deep purple stools. 

[selinasxpworthy-blog]

dissent | c.b & s.s

[cyrusborgin]

selinasxpworthy :

     ★ WIN FIRST, THEN GO TO WAR. At this very moment, they had an upper hand. The sublime advantage they held over the sanctimonious and impious at that very moment was c r i t i c a l to their planning, and yet the people who declared themselves as the ones with power wished to fight with the fruitlessness of p e a c e. Diplomacy was an endeavour long forgotten — a civil war does not end in a ceasefire. The sooner everyone came to consensus about it, the faster they’d be able to actually act. 

     Every word of their conversation ignites a new fire of resistance in her mind; the idea of resisting the rebellious and tactless terrorism of the Aversio is rendered more appealing by the second. Perhaps that would teach them a lesson of their own — dissent within their own ranks would force them to think better of the people who fought for them. As much as Selina used to look down upon anarchy, frowning at reports of the so-called Cold War with her father and wishing that everything could be solved with a treaty and a handshake, it was their only remaining option. The assassination of the Minister was not enough.

     “ Precisely. I find it very amusing how everyone seems to forget that You-Know-Who is intelligent, blinded by the violence he seems to leave everywhere. We are fooling ourselves by not assuming that their strategy is meant to be bulletproof — there is a reason he has supporters for his cause. Every day, I’m certain, there are more people joining him and believing his values. Standing outside a glorified prison and protesting the sudden corruption of the Ministry is the worst possible move. ”

     War was akin to a game of chess. Here, however, there were 3 players, and yet the board was still the same size. Each piece, expendable yet crucial in the long game. They were pawns and knights and rooks and bishops — battling and conquering and strategizing and enlightening. Their players were blind, however, to the misfortune that was ahead of them in the light of such stupid and arrogant moves.

     With the charm around them, Selina feels more powerful within the bubble of scheming they’d created. The feeling of anticipation, of strategies planned with the purpose of fruition, was intoxicating. Her mind is attentive, soaking in every word Cyrus uttered, weighing them carefully and forming her own responses simultaneously. She begins running the nail of her thumb across the pad of her fingers — a tick she’d developed through Hogwarts, something to secretly allude to her rapid thinking.

     They spoke of their comrades like metal — unthinking and bendable. A part of her internally protests at the blatant dehumanization of the people she willingly works with. The other, the one that is ready to commit whatever moral, ethical, and legal atrocity to fight for the justice she deserves, quickly shuts it up.   “ Well. A large majority of the Death Eaters are pureblood, and from what I know, society events are a part of the opulence they like keeping up. You’d know better of their upcoming events, though, of course. But an event of such a scale would be perfect for poison — slipping it into food would disguise the flavour of the poison easily. Slow-acting poisons would be perfect — they’d take different times depending on the person’s physique and would prevent the possibility of everyone dropping dead at the same time. Less inconspicuous, equally effective. ”

     ♠ A satisfied curl of his lips lingered as he listened to the words that dripped off Selina’s lips with precision and ease, her calculating mind quickly responding to well developed thoughts. Alarms went off in his brain, releasing a relieved sigh, as at last, he had found someone who did not underestimate the enemy. All around him, it seemed as though the children that ran rampant within the group believed they could beat the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord with ease. It was an injustice to the brilliance of a man who had mastered the art of motivation, who had managed with the ease of charisma and fear to appeal to enough wizards and witches to build an army, one he used with precision and strength.

     “He made a smart choice by siding with the purebloods, I will give him that. He has used decades of brainwashing and tradition to his best interest and convinced all those willing to join him that he will create a new world order. However, only the foolish would believe that there is not something in it for him. I don’t think for a second that he believes in supremacy. What he believes in is their passion for winning. He’s lit a fire under them, and they are disposable to the cause, yet none of them are wise enough to see it. Playing into an individual’s pride has a tendency to blind them from the truth,” Cyrus drawled, his nose wrinkling as he spoke. It was disgusting, the way pureblood parents raised their children for the slaughter, and the sooner they were all wiped out, the sooner they could restart and create a world that did not look down on someone merely because they do not fit the mold. Death was the only way to protect anyone, the only way to succeed in the world they were surrounded by. It was kill or be killed, not protest angrily outside the Ministry and hope for the best.

     The only way they were going to be able to win was to outsmart their opponents, and sitting around waiting for the upper hand seemed nothing but careless. Every second they wasted, someone from their side perished, their numbers dwindling, their advantage torn from their fists raised in victory. There was no other way to think of it, the survival of their cause dependent on them no longer presenting themselves as weak. Killing the Minister had been a step in the right direction, yes, but they could not stop there if they wanted to bring about the future they all claimed they desired.

     Leaning back, he crossed his legs, one over the other as his dark gaze focused on the passion that burst to life behind Selina’s eyes. He could see the fire ignited inside of her, and he knew between the two of them, they would manage to have a success. There was no question in his mind, their calculated efforts were an advanced move that none of them would see coming. Not even their closest allies.

     “I do know of several parties that are upcoming, actually. It is quite redundant and ridiculous to be throwing so many of them when there is a war on, but I digress,” Cyrus retorted, his eyes rolling at the thought of having to endure another mindless affair. “Thankfully, for both of us, I have continued to show my face at these events and kept a decent reputation among the pureblood society. I believe I could manage to administer the poison with ease and have no one suspect it was me.” He arched a brow as Selina continued to plot, a slow smile spreading across his lips as he admitted to himself that he was impressed with how fast she had managed to catch on to the idea. “Yes, I believe a slow acting poison would be best. Not only for the reasons you stated, but also because it will administer the most amount of pain. Do you know of any plants or poisons that would work that way? If not, we may have to consult with outside individuals, which proves risky. I do know one individual who works with potions, but his loyalties are suspect. Severus Snape? Or, we could approach our local plant master, and see if the Toots boy has anything to offer us. He might be more... easily manipulated and trustworthy in this matter.”

[cyrusborgin]

deal with the devil || cyrus & rodolophus

[cyrusborgin]

lestrangexrod :

Apparition was generally Rodolphus’ preferred means of transportation. He didn’t like to linger in dirty alleyways or waste precious time sightseeing. Stopping to ‘smell the roses’ was the last thing on his mind. Not that Rodolphus was ever rushed per se, just efficient. However, after a particularly dull day at the Ministry pushing paperwork, he needed to stretch his legs and breathe air that wasn’t circulated around a stuffy building. The London air wasn’t particularly clean, mostly due to the thick layers of smog that hung heavy in the sky and polluted the city in more ways than one, but at least it had the illusion of something different. In many ways, he considered, a placebo was better than no effect at all.  So Rodolphus walked, despite the crisp wind and biting cold, inhaling deeply through his nose and exhaling breaths of condensation. His satchel hung loosely from his well-built shoulder, water droplets gripping  on to the Italian leather as he made his way through Diagon Alley. Familiar faces floated around him sporadically and he offered each a curt nod and tight smile, walking slightly faster to showcase his obvious hurry. It proved to be a double-edged sword though because the more people he avoided the quicker he reached his destination.  The Lestrange family had always been loyal customers of Borgin and Burke’s, and Rodolphus had no intent to change that, but he really wished they’d move the business to somewhere that had slightly more class. He turned up his nose, looking at the foggy shop windows, and grimaced. With the amount of time and money Rodolphus alone spent there they surely had more than enough money for some sort of upgrade. Gritting his teeth, he shoved the door open and stalked into the store, greeted immediately by the smoky atmosphere and incessantly dusty smell.  “Borgin.” He acknowledged, forcing at least a smirk if not a proper smile. “As you are probably well-aware, I’m not really one for small talk and pleasantries.” He snorted at the understatement. “I’ve been on the look out for an enchanted music box. Have you seen anything?”

     ♠ Judgement was scrawled upon Rodolphus’s features, his head tilted upwards as though he was looking down his nose at the decor and atmosphere the shop presented. It irked him, to say the least, that any man who entered his shop would give an illusion that he was better than it., but he bit his tongue. Drumming his carefully painted nails against the ebony counter top, he arched a brow in Lestrange’s direction, an unimpressed expression lingering on his face. 

     “I have plenty of enchanted music boxes, Lestrange. You should know that. They are particularly in demand by the purebred socialite wives,” Cyrus drawled, his dark gaze flicking over his lengthy form, attempting to give the other a ghost of a smile. “It all depends on what precisely you are looking for the music box to do. However, if you are merely looking for collection’s sake, then come with me. I will show you what I have on hand and you can decide if it is worth your time.” 

     Pushing away from the counter, Cyrus walked gracefully over to the curtains that separated his store from the area where he handed more delicate affairs. His patrons often required discretion and he was nothing if not willing to assist in meeting their desires. Waving Rodolphus on through, he stalked over to his private selections that tended to be more expensive and deadly, pulling one of the boxes from the shelf and placing it on the counter for the other man’s consideration. 

     “This one when played puts the individuals listening into an eternal slumber. As I’m certain you can tell from that description alone, it’s not exactly an item the Ministry wants floating around in the hands of individuals who might abuse it’s power,” Cyrus explained, gesturing to the ornate box that was gilded in a silver and gold design, brilliant blue sapphires standing out upon the surface. “I am sure you can appreciate a unique item such as this one.” 

     Dark eyes lingered on the man before him, questions itching at the back of his mind. He wondered if he had spoken to Rabastan of late, if his brother had said anything to him of interest. While he didn’t expect the other to have gone around spilling their secrets, he was curious to know how he was handling it all when it came to individuals outside of himself. While usually he rarely mixed business with his own personal motivations, it seemed when it came to the Lestrange family the line had already been blurred beyond recognition. 

     “Have you spoken to your brother of late? I was expecting him to bring in a new delivery, and I was curious to know if he’s had any success. Of course, I can merely owl him, but since you are here, I figured I would simply ask.”

[cyrusborgin]

simplysybill :

Cyrus was teasing her, he had to be.  Sybill crossed her arms in front of her, frowning and refusing to move forward.  He had to know the pantaloons she was speaking of.  He had to wear them for the express purpose of showing off his member, surely.  She couldn’t imagine they would be worn for comfort. 

“Borgin.  You wore them last thursday.  They are dragon-hide and a dark brown, almost black.  They must take some sort of magic to get on, because they look as if they are painted on you, and I refuse to believe you would wear them for reasons of functionality.”  Sybill sighed, shaking her head so her long curly locks swayed back and forth behind her.  “You must be wearing them to attract some sort of mate… or perhaps instead of love you are looking for a steamy night of forgotten promises?”  Sybill frowned, a hand going to her temple in contemplation.  That would make sense as to why, though he continued to display his attraction to her, Cyrus had not made a move.  He was not ready for the commitment that it would require to hold her attention.  Sybill smiled at him softly, suddenly flattered by his consideration towards her needs as a woman.

She frowned once more at his words about the other realm, shuddering slightly.  “You do not know what you say, Cyrus.”  Her voice was low, all trace of forced dramatics and exaggerations aside.  “You have not seen – you do not know – there were horrors I have witnessed with my own eyes.  Small children tearing their own eyes out of their skulls… grown men wimpering as they scratch at their chests until bone is visible through torn flesh… women throwing themselves into fire to make the pain and tortuous existence end somehow… old men curled in the corner, almost as if their soul has been taken by a dementor…”  

“If you do have the gift, Cyrus, as I believe you do, you cannot ignore it forever.”  She bit her lip, looking at him worriedly.  “I would rather give up my own inner eye and give up divination for the rest of my life before seeing you suffer such a fate.”  She grabbed his hand, stepping close to him, earnest in her pleas.  “Promise me you will not ignore the calling of the other realm?  Promise me should you seek it’s answers you will come to me, instead of pushing it all away as you try to do?  I cannot bare to see you end up that way, Cyrus…”  She looked at him expectantly, waiting for an answer.

“Wait…” Once the matter had been settled with the other realm, Sybill realized what he had said earlier.  “You have individuals already interested in what you have to offer?  Are you saying you have taken a lover?”  Sybill’s eyes grew wide with excitement and eager anticipation.  “Well Cyrus, you cannot tease and not spill!”  

Without waiting for his approval, she grabbed his arm and dragged him to the nearby bench, plopping the two of them down as she turned to face him, crossing her legs as she sat sideways.  Her head came to rest on fists, her elbows sitting on either knee.  “I refuse to allow you to leave this bench until you tell me every word, Cyrus Borgin.  I wish to celebrate this joy with you!”  

      ♠ Staring at Sybill incredulously, Cyrus rolled his eyes as she described the trousers in question, narrowing his gaze as her evaluation. It was clear the witch knew absolutely nothing about what was in fashion, especially in pureblood society, if she thought he was wearing them merely to attract attention. 

     “Sybill, dear, they are functional was well as fashionable. Dragon-hide trousers are in trend at the moment. You see wizards in the upper class wearing them all the time. I do not wear them to show off my package, as you claim. They are out of the way, they protect me from nefarious spells as dragon-hide repels all heat sourced enchantments, and they happen to look good on me. I enjoy the way they feel. It is no more about attracting an individual to me than any other part of my look. I choose what I wear because it reflects what I want others to see,” Cyrus drawled in explanation, knowing it was fruitless, as Sybill had a tendency to believe whatever her mind had come up with. If there was one thing he had learned about her in the time that he’d known her, it was that she was stubborn. While that was a trait he could admire since he held it as well, it was also at times aggravating when it came to the truth.

     Raising a brow at Sybill’s words, he noticed the change in her tone, the seriousness in which she took this situation. He was certain these were horrors she had all witnessed first hand, terrors that plagued her dreams and caused her unending torment. It was not easy to see the darker sides of life, the agony of others before your very eyes, especially when one was as sensitive as the woman before him. “That sounds like a typical Sunday for me,” Cyrus joked, a smirk quirking his lips as he looked across at her, noting she did not look pleased with his remarks. “I have seen torture and pain, Sybill. I am not afraid of what might happen to me. Especially in this regard.”

     He looked across at her, his brow furrowing as she took hold of his hands in her own, her pleas heartfelt as she begged him to take care of himself. “I don’t see why you care what happens to me,” Cyrus responded, his gaze focused on her aquamarine eyes. He could see the depth of emotion in them, the anguish that plagued her at the thought of him genuinely suffering in that way. She did not know he suffered far worse in ways that no one could ever possibly see or understand. “I do not think I have the gift, my dear. If I did, would I not have had visions by now? I promise you though, should I endure any manner of suffering or seek answers for them, I will come to you. However, in this instance, I believe a headache is merely a headache and should be left at that.”

     It was with remarkable speed that Sybill went from genuinely upset to absolutely joyful, nearly making his head spin as he tried to keep up. Before he could respond to anything she had to say, he found himself forced down upon the bench near by, lest he lose his balance as she pulled and tugged him to where she desired him to be. As much as he appreciated her enthusiasm, he rarely spoke about his personal life to anyone, let alone someone who showed a remarkable inability to keep a secret. 

     “There’s nothing to tell. I merely enjoyed the company of an individual who was doing work for me. Several times. Perhaps more times than I should have,” he stated simply, setting his jaw as he looked off down the road to avoid making eye contact with the witch. “I wouldn’t precisely call it a joy. It’s... complex in nature. Growing continuously complex the longer I allow it to continue. If I was wise, I would have cut it off at the knees once I’d had my fun.” 

[cyrusborgin]

Coimetrophobia: My muse visits your muse's grave. OR Chorophobia: Our muses dance together.

Coimetrophobia: My muse visits your muse’s grave.

There was no stereotypical rain nor snow; nothing to mirror the raging turmoil that was supposed to be settled in against his bones, burning holes within his continuously hardening heart. The faded light of twilight illuminated the ground, his extended shadow his only companion as he made his way across the stiff, frosted grass. The crunch of his boots as they hit the ground filled the air with their numbing, continuous rhythm until at last he stopped, standing in front of a towering gravestone. Lavishly decorated fingers rested against the rough stone as dark eyes took in the handiwork, deciding that it would never quite be worthy of the man that lay beneath the frozen ground.

He’d tried. Tried to succeed in celebrating a life that had been torn to pieces by the destruction of war, to give the other man a memorial that celebrated him in ways his family had never been capable. He knew it wasn’t everything he would have wanted, but given the circumstances, it was the best that could be offered. The Lestrange’s land had been seized by the Ministry, them claiming an investigation due to their close associations with the Dark Lord. He was meant to be buried there. Meant to be given the honor he’d fought so hard seeking, but a criminal and a wanted man being laid to rest was not a viable enough reason to allow a reprieve.

“I did not bring flowers,” Cyrus murmured to the stone before him, the situation never feeling any less awkward, no matter how much practice he had. “I didn’t think you’d appreciate them cluttering your now limited space.” His fingers trailed down the surface of the stone, tips catching against the edge of the R that twisted fancily. It wasn’t the font he would have chosen, but Narcissa had insisted, claiming it was tradition. “Besides, what do they even mean? That I am sorry for your death? That I want to brighten your tomb? You always preferred black anyway. You weren’t one for loud colors.”

His pointer finger moved, slowly capturing the design of each letter as it flowed along the face of the stone. R – A —

“You and I both know that I was supposed to be first. The risks I took, the life I lead, it’s a miracle I am not six feet under.” The words pressed past his lips, each one tight and carefully chosen, ignoring the claw-like fingers that attempted to ensnare his gut. “I owe that in part to you,” he muttered with a scoff.

– B – A – S —

“I only wish I had been capable of recognizing how to stop you. How to make you stand down. We both know that would have been impossible. You were nothing if not stubborn.” Lips twitching at his words, a slow breath released from restricted lungs. “I’ll find who did this. You know I will. That is one thing I am good for. I know how to exact vengeance even if I don’t know how to keep those close to me alive. That is one promise I can keep.”

Silence pressed in around him, hanging off his shoulders, as an owl hooted in the distance.

– T – A –N.

His finger caught in the final groove of the last letter, curling into the tight space as though somehow he could extend his time if only he could continue the line of his name. “Your family may not have appreciated your worth, but you never allowed me for forget it. They never deserved you,” Cyrus whispered to the headstone, fingers splaying over the line of his last name, resisting the urge to deface it. “Maybe now you will find the peace you could never achieve.”

Part of him wished that he too could find it, though he was nearly certain he no longer deserved it. He wondered if perhaps this was his punishment. To live in a world with no relief from it. A world that slowly decomposed the soul in favor of it’s continual existence. There were different kinds of hell, after all, the living and the dead.

Midnight eyes took in the sight of the headstone next door, simple yet opulently decorated, the name of the only family he valued etched across the surface. If the afterlife took into consideration the placement of one’s body — if there was an afterlife — then he knew the other man would be in good hands.

Removing the amulet that had hung around his neck from the moment he’d been allowed to see the corpse, he placed it on the headstone, putting a spell upon it to drive away thieves. “I believe this belongs to you,” he managed, as a stealthy wave of sorrow dug it’s nails into his center.

“Goodbye, Rabastan.”

The words were like gravel over his throat as he took a step back, gaze lingering for one final look. The sun had nearly set, the grounds a hazy grey as the sky shone with the last vestiges of glowing red light. He would be safe here. He would have a home. Words and emotions he still could not identify or vocalize sat low in his chest, lingering on the back of his tongue.

“Rest well,” Cyrus managed, nothing more willingly coming forward. It did no good to dwell on what couldn’t be changed. That was how men died, after all.

Turning, he moved to exit the way he’d entered, heavy steps reverberating with all that was left unspoken.

@thvnderstormrab

[cassandraisgone]

Cassandra, I received the invitation to your wedding. I cannot believe you are actually going through with this, after everything that has occurred. Not only that, but that you are inviting me to it. Are you certain this is wise? I worry about your long term sanity should you follow through. Nevertheless, I suppose I shall be there if you desire me to be. Shall I come prepared with poison for the groom? Either way, congratulations are in order, I guess. Let me know if you need assistance. -Cyrus

Cyrus, 

my personal emotions and past encounters with Evan Rosier aren’t important in pureblood marriages. I didn’t get to decide what was right for me. I chose family and safety for the people I love – even if said decision no puts me into chains. I’d love to have you by my side and couldn’t wish for someone I would love to see at the wedding more than you. 

Poison won’t be necessary. I’m sure this marriage will already be enough poison to kill him slowly. Thank you for joining me on my wedding - I just need you to be there and smiling when I walk down the aisle.

With love, Cassandra.

[cyrusborgin]

cassandraburke :

Cyrus, 

if I order anything which will hurt him, I will be the first he’d suspect, believe me. I certainly don’t look forward to marry him, but you know my father, you know his ambitions and way of putting his own needs first. The Rosier family’s one of his most trusted allies and I feel like I’ve been fated to marry Evan all my life, so I could’ve seen that one coming ever since I met him.

I’m glad you’re joining me, nonetheless. Even though my heart’s aching, I’ll be happy to know you’ll support me no matter what. I trust your sense of fashion and colors, more than those from anyone else. Be sure to safe a day so we can attend my chosen designer together. He’ll design my dress and I would love to know your thoughts on my design first before asking my father. 

I’m sure my presence in his life serves as enough punishment. I do not accept marriage as it is, Cyrus, I’ll marry him, yes, but that doesn’t mean I won’t go easy on him. 

yours, Cass

Cassandra,

     Somehow, I doubt that. Especially if it is coming from me. Last time Rosier and I spoke, I made it quite clear of my intentions towards him should he ever upset you again. I refuse to allow him to harm you. So say the word and I will happily unleash myself, but until then, I will retrain my anger for the appropriate time. For your sake and your sake alone. 

     Perhaps if things had gone another way with him, I would have been in support of the union, but your happiness if key to me. I cannot bare to see you suffer. You don’t deserve to be treated with anything but respect for the choices you have made in your life. They are yours to make and yours alone and no one should ever make you feel less for them.

     I cannot say I am a huge fan of your father’s but then, I was never a huge fan of my own either. Perhaps it is just a generational divide that makes me think their mindset is barbaric, but I suppose it is not my place to step in.

     You will always have my support, Cassandra. You know that. You are family to me. If I cannot take away your pain then I will stand by you and protect you in the only other ways I can. I would be happy to go see your designer with you. Perhaps I can get something suitable there as well so that I may accent you appropriately and allow you to shine.

     Give him hell, Cassandra. Make him wish he never met you.

      Fondly,        Cyrus

[walburgaxblack-blog]

Invitation to Scrutinize // Cyrus & Walburg

[cyrusborgin]

walburgaxblack :

His voice dripped with unfounded superiority and his movements seemed to leave a trail of undeserved ostentation in it’s wake.  No man would let his hips swing in such a wide and suggestive manner.  Orion had been closer with Cyrus’s father, but Walburga had enjoyed a comfortable acquaintance with his mother.  She knew his parents would have not raised him with such an irritating attitude.  

“I have learned not to trust owls, darling.  The ministry screens more of those than they’d like you to think.  And this is a matter of utmost importance.  I wouldn’t want it to get lost in bowels of the ministry.”  An accusing finger brought a smirk to her face.  My, if Cyrus was resorting to playground, childish insults she was already wandering in with the upper hand.  Walburga lifted up the three envelopes, fanning them in her hand.  The emerald color glistened darkly in her hand, gold calligraphy on each of them detailing four names, which she kept carefully obscured.  No use jumping to the point when she could infuriate him by drawing it out.  

“Druella and I are joining forces, throwing a bit of a soiree to help lift morale.  We all have a part to play in the war effort, don’t you agree?”  She smiled, each of her worlds perfectly phrased with an air of unforgiving accusation.  She passed him the first envelope, his name elegantly scrawled with enchanted ink.  The gold seemed to glimmer and shine.  

“I wanted to personally deliver the invitation.  Make sure you had no convenient excuse not to attend.”  She turned her back on Cyrus, leaning lightly on the counter as she surveyed the items in the shop.  She didn’t know what Orion saw about this place.  “I have another request of you, if you believe you would be up to assisting me.”  

     ♠ Irritation laced the blood that pumped through his veins as he watched in annoyance as Walburga flourish four deep green envelopes before him. Jaw clenching, he extended long fingers, scooping up the invitation, his sapphire painted nails breaking the seal on the envelope. Scanning it, he scowled, wondering just how many taxing and boring affairs he would have to attend in his lifetime before individuals like Walburga would be satisfied.

     “I of all people know just how much the Ministry screens owls. I hardly think they would have given a second glance at your invitations to a dinner party,” Cyrus drawled, arching a brow in her direction as he did his best to keep his agitation from lacing his voice. “Unless you are attempting to poison an individual by lacing theirs with some kind of powder, I doubt they would give it a thought. As much as I appreciate the thought, I do not understand why you would need to hand this to me in person. You know I will arrive in splendor, as always.” Lying his hands flat against the surface of his counter, he observed her stoic countenance, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

     “If you believe this party is your way of assisting in the effort, you certainly have delusions of grandeur. What is the point other than to mingle? Not that I am against mingling. I quiet enjoy speaking with all the men. They have such intriguing stories to tell,” he responded, a small smirk curling the corner of his lips. He especially enjoyed hearing those stories in the dark corners and closets where no one would stumble upon them, but he was not about to give her the satisfaction of hearing that from his lips.

     Anticipation hung in the air as he waited for her to continued, his eyes rolling as she paused in her revelation. “That all depends on the request, now doesn’t it?” Cyrus pointed out, his nails tapping impatiently against the ebony surface. “I am not about to agree to terms that I am not aware of, Walburga. Surely, you of all people can understand that.”

[booksandbloodmoons-deactivated2]

hope & cyrus ↁ muggles in magic.

[cyrusborgin]

booksandbloodmoons :

@cyrusborgin

        ↁ FOR ONCE, here, in the folds beneath her housecoat, here, with her long, thin body pressed gently against the steering wheel, she didn’t have an answer for Lyall Lupin.

        “Where are you going?” he asked.                    “Your world.” She sucked at lying.         “What are going going to do?”

         Her only response had been a shrug and her thin fingers carefully tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

          As luck would have it, only one spot just big enough to fit her Ford Escort sat in front of a dingy old bar Remus had taken her through just once in all his time as a Wizard. She knew she needed help to get in but she’d thought about that. 

              Twenty minutes later and several solid gold coins slipped into the open fist of a portly wizard name Jacob Wolverhampton and she found herself strutting down Diagon Alley looking particularly out of place, feeling as though all eyes were on her.  She wore flat shoes and still, she needed to look down as she stepped, the cobbled stones unfamiliar beneath her feet. Gods, it was unsettling not knowing what she sought but needing it nonetheless. Remus was everything and she’d be damned if she didn’t try. 

               It was in a particularly macabre section off Diagon Alley she found herself wandering into a particularly macabre shop with items in the window that she wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole. Borgin and Burkes was not exactly a household name but Hope Lupin knew about it anyway. With a deep, encouraging inhale, she crossed the threshold, causing a bell to ding. 

               “Hello?”

     ♠ Long nights always seemed to wander into long days as Cyrus worked tirelessly, finishing up a deal with a Finnish wizard who had a penchant for items which caused eternal sleep. He did not question his patrons on what their intended uses were, but even he felt mildly disturbed by the phrases the man occasionally used. It was not his place to judge, however, and he was compensated enough for him to look past whatever practices the other was engaging in.

     It was with a sigh he ended the call, getting up onto his boot clad feet just in time to hear the bell ring above the door of his shop, his gaze lingering on the curtain that divided the store in two. He hadn’t been expecting anyone, and he did not usually get patrons from off the street for at least another hour. He expected that was due to the fact most individuals didn’t like to think of dark artifacts before breakfast, but he was never quite certain why that was.

     Pushing the curtain aside, he walked out from the backroom, his gaze fastening on a woman somewhat older than himself, the golden glow of the sun haloing her blonde hair making her look nearly angelic in appearance. She seemed out of place, her shoulders pressed back in an attempt to appear confident, but Cyrus could see the uncertainty that lingered about her, as her gaze flit from item to item.

     “I can promise you they are not all deadly, but I don’t recommend touching any of them without taking the proper precautions,” he offered, moving out from around the counter towards the lady. “I do not believe I have seen you before. The name is Cyrus Borgin. How can I be of assistance to you?”

[cyrusborgin]

✉ - my muse likes to pester / talk to

“I do not pester. I do enjoy speaking with Selina, as she is very intelligent, and has managed to impress me. As well as, Rabastan, Fenrir, Cassandra, and anyone else I associate with frequently. They are in my life for a reason.”

@selinasxpworthy @thvnderstormrab @creatureofnightmares @cassandraburke

[creatureofnightmares-blog1]

Snowed In || Cyrus & Fenrir

[cyrusborgin]

creatureofnightmares :

Cyrus had always been one of the most trusted wizards among the wolves and Fenrir, despite Mikael’s advice, trusted him completely. Or at least, trusted his motives and self interest and knew that he gained far more from the wolves than he lost. Perhaps he liked Fenrir, or perhaps he didn’t, Fenrir didn’t care too much, even if he liked the bloke there was no reason for him to wish the same from him. He smirked across at him though, nodding in agreement. “The snow has made most travel for our kind far easier” he conceded, glancing at the snow at the window, appreciating it’s icy coldness and it’s persuasive nature, keeping almost every human inside their comfortable, fire lit homes, whether they wanted to remain there or not.

“I’m sure you can appreciate that in my position, with my reputation, to be anything less would be suicide” he half growled, though not for any other reason than it being his natural tone of voice. Most assumed that his growling was a sign of anger, but really his voice had always had a dark edge to it and the wolf was far more present at the surface of his being than it had been when he had first turned. He was glad that Cyrus did not take offence at his overly cautious nature though, it would make their business run far more smoothly.  He nodded his head towards the man, “As do I” he smirked. “I am  a good judge of human character and I am confident that you never would… willingly… betray my trust”.

He pushed his hair away from his face, running his hand over his head to push the wet strands away from his eyes. His pack were his to look out for and he had failed them this time. Something he had not done in many moons. He was more desperate than he allowed himself to show, to find the culprit responsible. “He was a good wolf. He was murdered in cold blood and he will be avenged” he said, not expanding any further on the matter. His pack were his family, most members as young as his daughter, and though he did not feel too terribly that the wolf had met his untimely end, he knew it could happen again and he had to prevent it.

He heaved a sigh, hating to remind himself of a time when he was human, with a family who later tossed him out onto the streets and despised him as a beast. As an grown man, it shouldn’t have affected him, but old wounds like those never fully healed. “I figured that was the case, I only hoped that I was wrong. They have not been seen for several years… I thought the last slaughter of their people would have ended their pathetic crusade” he snarled, shaking his head in disgust. “Would you keep your ears open and your eyes peeled for any sign or whisper of these knives? You have access to a wider range of wizard than I, perhaps you will hear something more easily than I ever could” he said, raising an eyebrow at the man. “Of course, you would be compensated for your efforts”.

     ♠ A smirk curled his lips as the wolf before him spoke, his voice deep and gravely as he expressed himself, as it always was. Cyrus had a healthy appreciation for all that the man before him was capable of. If the Dark Lord had done one thing right, it was attempting to get individuals like Fenrir and his pack on his side, though he had no delusions that the man standing before him would turn on a dime the moment he was unsatisfied with his deal. Protection of his family came first, a motivating factor that Cyrus had seen many times before, but Fenrir’s strength and loyalty were traits that he could appreciate and understand.

     “I am certain that it does,” Cyrus drawled in response, nodding at his words with appreciation. “I have no doubt that you would kill any individual that betrays you. I do not seek to. I appreciate you position in this war. Perhaps more so than any of our comrades. It is a sad bit of misfortune that so many of them see you as nothing more than a tool, a monster they can attempt to unleash on their enemies, when you hold great potential all your own. As well as a keen mind, capable of seeing through their guises.” Dark eyes focused on the man before him, amusement tilting his lips as he placed the blade down upon the ebony counter top. “Willingly, unwillingly, betrayal is betrayal, my friend. You and I both are well acquainted with that fact. However, I can guarantee you, nothing I ever do will be against my will. I am quite careful in that regard, as I am certain you are.”

     Lifting his brows, he leaned back glancing about his shop thoughtfully. While he may not be able to prevent further deaths within the pack, he knew if he could help in some fashion, it would place Fenrir into his debt. While he didn’t want anything from the man, being in his good graces was enough of a motivation. He was familiar with the kind of vengeance that colored Fenrir’s voice, the all consuming anger that pushed a person to do unthinkable things. He had experienced it himself, still experienced it, and he knew the weight of baring it on one’s shoulders. “You will do all that you can, that is all any of us can do,” he replied calmly, his gloved fingers resting against his amulets. 

     “It is quite disgusting when hunters refuse to give in until every last person is disposed of, isn’t it?” He responded, his voice light and airy despite the gravity of the situation. “Why yes, of course I would be capable of doing that, Fenrir. Compensation or not, I trust it would be well worth my efforts. However,” he continued, placing his hand on the edge of the counter. “I may have something that could help your situation. Mind you, it is not guaranteed, as I do not have someone to test it on, but I have a bracelet that may negate the charms that have been placed on this blade. The wolf would still be stabbed, and should it be a lethal hit, there would be no saving them, but it may give the individual a fighting chance should it not be one.” Gliding around the edge of the counter, he made his way over towards one of his cases, his necklaces clanking together as he leaned over to fetch the item in question. “Perhaps it will assist you in some small way.”

[malecshappiness]

FAVOURITE MAGNUS’ LOOKS IN 2A (as voted by my followers): #7

[cyrusborgin]

✗ - my muse likes to pick arguments / fights with

✗ - my muse likes to pick arguments / fights with

“I would say anyone who annoys me. However, if I have to name an individual then I would say Walburga, Sybill, or Rosier, for very different reasons.”

@walburgaxblack @simplysybill @evanrosierx

[verbosehealingstone]

[cyrusborgin]

verbosehealingstone :

Dark Side of Capricorn

apathetic, snobbish, superior, selfish, rigid, condescending

And then all of a sudden she changed. She came back a completely different person with a new mindset, a new outlook, a new soul. The girl that once cared way too much about everyone and everything no longer cared at all.

Aries | Taurus | Gemini | Cancer | Leo | Virgo | Libra | Scorpio | Sagittarius | Aquarius | Pisces