collection of dweebs

writer in residence, enter at your own risk.

[kywritesss]

HELLO !! Welcome to a private roleplay blog for friends/mutuals only. Current blog features JOEL DUNCAN, RABASTAN LESTRANGE, RYKER VOIGHT, ARSENIO SKULLSWORN, MAVROS DRAKE, & STERLING MONYE. Links below will feature all active characters info & are all penned by kyra ( she/her; twenty-eight years old ). please don't interact unless we've privately talked & have a muse together !!

ryker. | joel. | rabastan | sterling | arsenio | satan | starters. | memes. & asks. | headcanons. | inspo. | visage. | interactions.

asks: 22 | replies: 3 | starters: 1

[kywritesss]

“Careful, it’s hot. Don’t burn your tongue like last time.” (Arsen x Cassrakir)

“ Well, well, well,” he says, tipping his head up the barest amount to see her lips beneath the brim of his hat. Just her lips. Needing no higher glance to know intricately who those lips belonged to from her voice alone. A voice that has trailed him from a castle to the dusty, dirt roads they travel now. “If I ‘member correctly, Cassie, darlin’” he starts, his lips curling into an O shape and blowing out to cool off the still steaming mug of chocolaty sweetness. “The burnin’ of my tongue was your fault.” Entirely. He doesn’t say. Just thinking back on a late night creeping into morning spent planning momentarily broken up by her not so graciously offering him a steaming mug like now and pushing the cup to his lips immediately. Encouraging him to drink quickly so they can leave the place and get back on the road. Just for a string of curses and coughs to sputter from his lips as she laughed. Like her lips started to form and do now. In this quietly tense second where he kept his gaze focused on her mouth. “You always liked things overly heated.”.

[shadowcrowncd]

He's ecstatic, with his entire body ready to keep chasing that high he provides. It's an never ending rush of oxytocin, with dopamine following close after. He's one hell of a drug, Francesco concluded as each new thrust got him closer to the edge. If only they'd never stop, never once talk about their feelings and just continue. Maybe, just maybe, he'd have to convince Ryker for another drink one day or else he'd never find the courage again. Still, despite his own worries and mind still racing of what's to come next, Francesco desperately tries to stay in the moment, to not let his mind win for once. Instead it's all instincts from here on out as Francesco's mouth remained open and his eyes fixated on his underboss. What else would he be focused on than Ryker's pleasure? Hasn't this been their modus operandi? Ryker, the underboss, the leader, with Francesco following along in the shadows, always aiming to please him. Francesco's dependent existence had its perks: not only did he know Ryker better than anyone, no, he considered himself to be an attachment, completely unknown to the world apart from that. Who could really describe and categorize Francesco Russo? Describe him as something else but Ryker's soldier? An identity-less existence, now fully intertwined with the man underneath him, with each new thrust just solidifying the unspoken truth: no other will but his.

He's only encouraged by the way Ryker claws into him, getting him to thrust harder, not faster. It's the same, comfortable rhythm with which he penetrates his underboss, feeling alongside his walls, the heat, the intense pressure against his own dick as Ryker took him in, over and over again. It makes him want to roll his eyes back in arousal, but Francesco stopped just before he actually would, unwilling to avert his gaze from him. No, he watched carefully as Ryker pleasure himself, as his own sweat dropped from his forehead and against Ryker's cheek, the way he moaned and chuckled at his question. He's met with a language he didn't understand, so, he'd just do the same. "I've never felt this way about anything or anyone. Everything in my power is yours. Forever." His Italian rolled off his tongue without any problems. Panting louder now, Francesco's words remained steady, just like his thrusts and moans in between both of them. He'd decided to watch him for a while, but not before placing a soft kiss against Ryker's lips, too gentle for his own good, but he couldn't help himself. Now completely satisfied, more than that, Francesco straightened his back, carefully letting Ryker's legs follow accordingly as they still sat on top of his shoulders. Placing soft kisses against Ryker's left shin, Francesco didn't dare to blink as he watched him jerk off, starved to not miss just a second of it. "Go on," he moaned, almost at his own limit, "collect your price, Ryker." His name. His fucking name, more whispered in utter devotion, accompanied by a moan so pathetic, Francesco firmly believed he'd already reached his climax - he hasn't. Just the view alone would finish him off very, very, soon.

[kywritesss]

The italian so softly spoken is like a melody alongside the rocking motions of his Shadow burying himself in Ryker. But the sentiment, no matter how small, isn’t lost in the countless sensation being felt in this moment. It isn't a careless noise in the background. It haunts him — wraps like vines around his lungs and squeezes the breath out of him. Causing a stutter. Causing a pause in his hand movements. Causing a few stolen beats of his heart just to be revitalized by the softest press of his Shadows’ lips on his one. Gone too soon. Almost as if they hadn’t been there in the first place. It brings him back to himself, and back to the moment. His own hand quickens its pace, needing more, as those lips pressed newer light kisses on his shin. 

And when he demanded he claimed his prize; the very thing this whole night had been headed towards since the start — he doesn’t stutter this time. Not when he hears his name whispered in a way only his Shadow could. With blindly, destating devotion. Letting Ryker know who he belonged to. He was his. Even if they were standing apart. Even if they were a whole world apart.  He would always be Ryker’s Shadow. He comes with a loud groan in the hushed room then. Emptying with whispered Russian curses and unguarded expressions before a huff and a, “fuck, Shadow.”  

[shadowcrowncd]

Relief washed over her upon realizing they were both, at least to her knowledge, intact and breathing. Though she still had troubles adjusting to this new reality, with emphasis on reality, Sofia now had to think two steps ahead. What would be the alternative? Them facing the Delacroix family head on? The one family she's loyal to, married into? Even worse, she couldn't be all too sure why Morrigan didn't let them move on, not knowing they were the ones unwilling to pass on. From that dark, cold existence, their conscience just floating somewhere, to being together, she had yet to fully comprehend their new normal. Their heartbeat as one, with him not knowing everything, at least for now, it's a parallel which caused her to feel a sense of dread. A fear of repeating the cycle, this time with him being the unknowing one. She let out a slight huff, incapable of really forming a single, coherent thought which didn't push her worry about him in the forefront. It's a constant reminder of what she'd done to her friends to protect him only for twelve years of separation to pass, only for them to reunite and die shortly after. Like they were cursed, like nothing on Earth truly desired for her to be with him.

"She didn't hesitate. Rosalie has to follow my orders, should've checked for my wellbeing first but she didn't. All I'm saying is, that..." there's a pause, her shaky breath only testament of what's going on inside of her mind. She'd killed their friends in a fit of rage, because they were trying to kill him for whatever reason. "I met with you hoping to talk. I never had any intention of attacking you, how could I?" when every version of her loved him - and how much that scared her. What she'd do for him. Kill a king, burn everything to the ground.

She moved with him then, one arm steady around his waist to hold him up. Her own stiffness slowly vanished, with her blood now circulating more freely. The extend of her own changes were yet to be seen or known, with only the curious display of heartbeats and veins visible to her naked eye. "He never liked you, so it's all just speculation at this point." Once they'd exited the villa and arrived at a large front yard, Sofia's movements became slower, though she never stopped. "I don't know where to go." the Saint swallowed hard, realizing they probably had no real allies at this point. Joel would be branded as the traitor, the enemy, while her position as Queen would certainly enrage all citizens to rally against her. Like she would have ever agreed to marry the king if it wasn't for her memory loss. Her fingers tensed at his side, especially upon being seen by the first Athos citizen despite trying to stay within the shadows. A feeling of being foreign in her own kingdom wouldn't leave her mind, but she clung onto him, knowing he'd been her entire world ever since.

Having to make a decision, Sofia eventually decided to just lead them to one of the few homes the Delacroix family owned for leisure. A beautiful cabin not too far from the castle, but a good spot to just rest. Finally letting go of him, Sofia examined Joel with a mixture of worry and... hope. They were alive, after all. "You've changed., but we'll be alright," she assured him before eventually spotting the color difference in her own hair, how dark and blood-colored it had become. "We'll be alright. Once we found out who's truly after these attacks."

[kywritesss]

His mind was in a state of — restlessness, turmoil, or vacancy. It was filled with so much, but also so little. All this newer information from her was just getting lost in the mix of his rampant thoughts. Of who? Of how? Of it not being because of her. But didn’t it all still stem from her, them, and everything they’ve done since their starting line. Somehow they’ve both always been at the scene of the crime when disaster strikes. This was no different. And yet, it was. Because this time he felt worse than before — in a way he doesn’t quite know how to explain yet. How do you even begin to unpack how you’re feeling when you feel nothing at all? The only sensation that seems to connect is the heat of her shoulder pressing into the underside of his arm. Her warmth still not enough to penetrate the coldness of his own skin. Another new sensation for him. He almost wants to lean deeper into the feeling of her, but that feels like too much for him to handle at this moment. Instead, he follows her lead. 

He goes in the direction she steers even after she mumbles she doesn’t know where to go. Lets himself just be guided as he sorts through his thoughts, his brief flashes of memories, and the blankness that swelled in the pit of his stomach. All the way up to the moment she released him from her grasp and he let himself just entirely collapses onto the couch. Not an ounce of care for the blood or grime on him staining the furniture. And his head can only lull to the side to stare at her in … earnest skepticism. “Sofia this —” No. The taste of her full name still felt eerily wrong now. Like he couldn’t stomach saying something as devoid as he felt on the inside right now. He craved the comfort of some sort of connection. No matter how small the comfort was. “Sof,” he corrects as a hand covers his eyes; the brightness of this room hurting his eyes at the moment. Enough to have him silently cursing the lights and craving a touch of darkness. 

“None of this feels alright.” This felt uncertain, bleak, perilous — dark. Just like the light beyond his hand. It felt less intense. Enough for him to peek beyond his hand and see the room slightly darker now. Like the light had been leached from the bulb itself and dimmed. Had he done that? “Change isn’t always good,” he whispers. Maybe more to himself at this moment. He clears his throat. Looking back towards her. Towards her face and the hair that looked slightly darker, but maybe it was the dimmed lighting. “How do we tackle something when we don’t know where to start? Do we start with who was there? Or is that just a waste when they were likely pawns. Do we start with your dad? Do we start with mine? Who do we trust? Each other?” He pauses, looking down towards his chest where his skin had blackened beneath his shirt. “I don’t even know if I can trust myself.” He says, solemn and so, so tired.

[shadowcrowncd]

He'd expected to be talked about and approached with some hostility, though Damon didn't really mind. Given his Alpha's disapproval, the werewolf didn't really expect other races to play nice. Sibling-killer, the last son, not favored in any way, yet still heir if he could help it -- they at least could try and bring him down, because he for sure wouldn't allow them to. It's like any other party of the magnitude: fake smiles, even worse attitudes and excessive, hedonistic tendencies with just a hint of politics mixed into it to give their little party its right to exist. For Damon things had become so much more complicated ever since meeting Sterling. He couldn't just stay away even if he wanted to. While his siblings usually went to parties like tonight, he couldn't rely on them now after having killed them and absorbed their powers - only for the curse to weaken him. He'd suspected his father to be the source of his curse, so he'd play nice until he had whatever strength or recipe he needed to actually break it. For now, he had other demons to battle. Kaito whateverthefuckhisnameis.

He already got straight to the point, not wasting anytime with being polite. Why play nice when you can be hostile? All bark, no bite. All fangs and no manners. Damon simply grinned, as if it's the only thing he knew best, the only reaction he could truly muster to such... aggression. "Doesn't matter, I'm here now. In fact, I would consider myself to be a secret weapon of sorts." He'd wanted to say so much more, about how his fifteen minutes of fame within his immortality was wasted on being a complete clown. Nothing would ever hit or be relevant enough to even hurt that vampire. They were too far gone already. However, he did take offense in the way Sterling was treated. Immortal eye candy, just to be seen, not heard. Nothing he'd ever wished for her, but he quickly understood why she wasn't all that interested in him to begin with. "'Guess I'm a bit old school. I would've considered you to be just that, but you've just taken all the worst parts and just abandoned anything good about your... day and age." He didn't question Sterling's decision to join in and nod. While he couldn't be so sure about her true feelings, he did know her, by scent, intimate enough to just trust her. "Why don't you find someone else to bore while I discuss politics with the heiress of Rome? After all, we might need to discuss an alliance in the future. I don't need some allied vampire to eavesdrop while we discuss local politics." He's visibly displaying his features now. The sharp fangs, his glowing eyes, strong muscles and height, "Are you threatened by a lone wolf, Kaito?"

[kywritesss]

Kaito took another step forward. His eyes turned dark and his expression was hard to read, especially from Sterling’s position behind him. It wasn’t cruel or angry. It was pleasant, and very direct, with a ghost of a smile that highlighted a portion of his fangs. He held Damon’s gaze as his voice lowered. “Is that a threat, mutt?” He quirked a brow. Daring Damon to say something he shouldn’t in front of two elite vampires in the center of a crowded festival-filled street. “I’m sure the coven would be interested in knowing of a secret weapon, and what that weapon wants to do with her.” Her — Sterling. Said in such a way that he almost sounded revolted. By her, or Damon speaking to her, or maybe both. It was no secret to her that Kaito was just as exasperated by her as a speck of dust he had to brush off the shoulder of one of his finer suits. It was just so passive aggressive and she was doing anything to not sigh. To not break in front of either of them. She clenches her fist tighter behind her own back as she keeps her glance firmly on the cobblestone ground instead. Simply listening, and letting this conversation simmer to a roaring boil. 

“You have a lot of nerve. And I can’t decide if it’s arrogance or just plain stupidity.” She could spot it then. She might not know Kaito that well, but she could see the tension in his spine. The way his rigidity spoke to a previously checked fury that was now close to snapping if someone didn’t step in when Damon tried to simply shoo him away like a dog. “Kaito,” she started, but it came out too low. Too soft to land any form of a blow to the man. His smile tightening into a fatal sneer. So she cleared her throat and tried again — only slightly louder. “Kaito.” Still too soft for her own good. But she extended her hand this time. Touching him at the elbow and gently tugging to get him to look at her. He didn’t respond at first. She expected as much. It’s not as if her touch had ever softened him to her. It was all just for show, and it had to be that way right now, too. 

“I can take care of this. You should go. You had plans with my brother, Blaze, remember? Another discussion with a moreimportant coven. You don’t need to be a part of this one.” Then, just for an added necessity, or embarrassment, she murmured a delicate: “please.” It worked like a charm. He cleared his throat and his shoulders relaxed a barely noticeable fraction with a simple, too simple, “fine”. And she should have known that wouldn’t entirely be enough for him because suddenly his hand is wrapped around her throat and jaw. Too rough. Painfully tight. Yanking her face to his and slamming their mouths together. His fang biting her lower lip enough to draw blood. A drop he ran his tongue along before pulling back and sending a proud smirk over his shoulder at Damon. A not so subtle way of saying Kaito won before looking back at her. That he had nothing to be threatened over when it concerned Damon. “Don’t stay with the mutt for too long. You’ll start to smell.” She nods once. The tiniest dip of her head before stepping to the side to let him pass and go find her brother. Not once letting her gaze waiver from Kaito as he starts to move past her. Not entirely willing to meet Damon’s gaze yet. Unwilling to see the disappointment or disgust she knew was bound to be there. She was just so pathetic, after all.

[shadowcrowncd]

RALENA - @kywritesss CIRCA — April 17th, 1979. Three weeks after her father's sudden death, which had been ruled as a heart attack. Edinburgh– Avery Family Crypt.

The ghost of her ancestors were probably around, just watching, waiting, as they lowered another member of their family six feet underground. All in black, some wore the family crest, two half moons, mirrored and circled by snakes, vincit qui patitur. Pureblooded through and through, with nothing breaking through that barrier of duty, superiority and darkness.

Helena watched as they lowered his coffin into the tomb, a place designated for her grandfather who'd been awaiting his death in the Scottish highlands, now filled with the remains of his son. The witch clung to the white cloth with which she'd dried her tears, the only white within the group of black. Crocodile tears, perfectly executed, as she then clung onto Evan for support. Most onlookers were convinced she'd been struggling with the news, almost falling apart with her father's untimely death suddenly sweeping through her life. So when she left in a hurry, almost as if she couldn't bear to watch, Helena walked up the steps, up to the cemetery.

Rabastan. Instead of waiting, Helena just kept on moving, trying to put as much distance between her father and herself. "So you found out," she didn't want to explain herself, so Helena kept her next words vague. "No worries. I've been careful. My only mistake was, that it had reached you all the way back in Ireland." Surely Rodolphus told him everything there is to know about the ordeal. A trusted Death Eater, dead.

[kywritesss]

It’d been just shy of a year — ten months. Ten months since he fled to Ireland without a second glance back. Ten months of grueling Quidditch matches and severe avoidance. An avoidance promptly striped away from him through his brother’s abrupt appearance at his home in Ireland in the middle of the night. All tense muscles, and snapping at him. Ordering his presence back in London for the death of a Pureblood wizard. A requirement, he had shouted at some point. Rabastan never cared about his requirements, though, and was about to decline when Rodolphus mentioned whose funeral it was. His jaw had become tense and any fight in him drained. He just packed a few items  and left with Rodolphus immediately. No argument needed. No words exchanged. There was nothing to say. His brother knew he had him once he’d said the last name. Knew the grip that name had on him. Still. Ten months older. Ten months of cleaning his system of London, his family, and her. Gone was any trace of them. He was clean — just to be yanked back in by a singular death. One he didn’t want to know the answer of how it happened. 

And that’s how he ended up here. Ten months older, dressed in an all black suit and watching the funeral from a distance. Declining to stand with his family and instead standing at the edge. In the cemetery while a tomb is sealed shut and the daughter of a dead man clings to his closest friend. Someone he also hasn’t spoken to in months. He had no desire to. To speak with any of them except… Well, that didn’t seem to matter anymore. That decision of his was coming to an end now, too, as she strode away from the tomb and towards him. Only to walk past him and the breeze of her body rushing past  the only form of a touch he gets from her. Tension was thick in the air as she spoke, too. He simply hangs his head. His fingers brushing through his hair as he trails behind her with quiet, but quick steps to keep pace. 

“You knew I would.” There wasn’t a chance in hell his brother wouldn’t use any excuse to drag him back here. Back into all of this. There was never an outcome where he didn’t hear about this funeral. Only a chance that he would tell himself not to come back for this. But he did. He had to. In a way he couldn’t explain. And now he had another confirmation, as vague as it was. “The mistake here is that someone is dead to begin with.” Then, much quieter, “are you okay?” And he doesn’t even know what he is asking here. Okay with the outcome. Okay with being a… killer. Just okay in general. And all of this feels like something he doesn’t have the right to ask, but he still does. 

[shadowcrowncd]

He loves to be admired by him every inch of the way, to have his Gamemaker acknowledge his Shadow instead of only ever feeling the other's breath down his neck. The intensity with which Francesco worships knows no limits, so when they kiss, every inch of him presses against Ryker. Like nothing could ever come between them. He breathed more heavily the more time past, not because of any physical exhaustion, but because he couldn't wait any longer. This agonizing pain of waiting only increased the more they touched. Rubbing against him, feeling his warmth and erection was enough to positively drive him mad. Mad with want, mad with ideas of setting the whole world on fire for that one man who'd always believed in him. Fuck this.

Pushing himself up again, Francesco's hands moved Ryker with him, placing his back flat against Ryker's bed. His hand carefully caressed along Ryker's chest, away from his strong neck, only for his fingers to finally tense around his cock yet again, stroking meticulously, almost in a strategical way. Slow, intentional strokes, giving Francesco the chance to feel every inch of him, every inch of his skin and build, while his other hand dragged along Francesco's wet tongue, just to get himself wet for what's to come. Grinning and shaking his head, Shadow has yet to adjust to his new reality. Fucking Ryker Voight. It'd be sloppy and intense, no doubt about that. He'd always been a man of restraint, until he wasn't. With his hands now moving one of Ryker's leg and bending it backward, Francesco aimed and slowly inserted himself, pushing the barrier between them, mouth agape as he could feel inside of him, every new inch more intense than the other. So warm and comforting, it's almost unbearable. Still, he watched Ryker's reaction, his upper body now bending down to place tender kisses against Ryker's chest and neck. "Fuck, you're tight," he moaned against the Gamemaker's neck, then, with a low, guttural groan, pushed himself in completely. Unexpectedly fast and almost careless before setting himself in motion, his hip rocking back and forth and taking up speed with each new thrust. Francesco felt goosebumps form on his arms, the way his body reacted immediately. "You feel so good. Tell me how it feels." He's seeking for approval, of the only man whose approval he truly desired.

[kywritesss]

There’s a laugh swallowed up by the sound of his own moan as he gets what he wants — he always does. His Shadow without restraint. Just for Ryker; always for him alone. Pushing past all of their barriers as he sharply pushes Ryker’s leg up and back towards Ryker's chest as he finally, finally relented in the endless game of back and forth to push himself inside of Ryker. Slowly — allowing heavy-breathed seconds for Ryker to welcome this new sensation before… Francesco’s all the way inside him, and the noise he makes then is ungodly. It’s raw with pleasure, and his body can do nothing but tremble and shake from the series of tidal wave sensations as his Shadow increases his thrusts again. 

“Shadow — fuck.” If possible, he pulls him in closer. Deeper. One hand falls to his ass check and curls enough for his nails to leave red, enlivened scratch marks. The other goes in between them. His right hand finds his own cock to alleviate the pressure there at the same time as pleasure continues to ripple through Ryker from Francesco's thrusts. He can’t help but chuckle at his question then. His shadow, always thinking of Ryker first. “This feels…” His words come to an abrupt stop with another moan, then switches to another language. His native tongue. The Russian accent is thick in its hauntingly secret admissions. “I don’t want this feeling to ever stop.” He attacks Francesco’s mouth with his own then. Kissing him roughly and with loud breaths taken in between as he continues to stroke his own cock quicker in return. “Harder. I’m so close.”

[gloomglimmer]

›       TENSION   LINER   PROMPTS     

"I   dare   you   to   try."

"Do   you   always   get   close?"

"You’re   pushing   my   limits."

"Stop   looking   at   me   like   that."

"I’m   losing   control   here."

"You   have   no   idea,   do   you?"

"I   can’t   resist   you   anymore."

"Stay   back,   or   don’t."

"I   know   what   you   want."

"This   is   getting   dangerous   now."

"You’re   too   tempting   for   me."

"I   shouldn’t   want   this,   but…"

"I   don’t   play   fair,   remember?"

"Careful,   you’re   testing   me."

"You’re   just   making   it   worse."

"You’re   too   close   for   comfort."

"Do   you   always   push   buttons?"

"Stop   before   I   kiss   you."

"You’re   making   it   too   hard."

"I   can’t   stop   thinking   about   you."

"I   want   you   too   much."

"You   know   exactly   what   you’re   doing."

"I’m   not   playing   games   here."

"You’ve   crossed   the   line   now."

"Keep   pushing,   and   you’ll   regret   it."

"This   is   dangerous,   isn’t   it?"

"I’m   trying   not   to   care."

"Don’t   make   me   regret   this."

"You’re   playing   with   fire."

"You   don’t   know   what’s   coming."

"I   shouldn’t   be   this   close."

"We’re   getting   dangerously   close   now."

"I   can   feel   the   heat."

"Don’t   test   me   right   now."

"I   want   you   too   badly."

"Don’t   make   me   chase   you."

"You’re   distracting   me,   you   know."

"I   won’t   fall   for   this."

"I   want   you,   but…"

"What   do   you   want   from   me?"

"I’ll   never   give   in."

"I’m   trying   not   to   care."

"You’re   playing   with   my   patience."

"Don’t   make   this   harder,   please."

"I   can’t   stop   this   feeling."

"I’m   already   in   too   deep."

"You   won’t   walk   away   unscathed."

"You’re   walking   a   fine   line."

"I’m   trying   to   stay   calm."

"What   are   you   doing   to   me?"

[mcflymemes]

"STOP PUTTING YOURSELF INTO DANGER!" PROMPTS *  assorted dialogue for expressing your fear that the person you care about might get themselves hurt if they keep acting like this, adjust as necessary

i thought i told you to stay back.

i love you too much to let you get hurt like this.

this affects me, too, you know.

every time you leave, i sit up all night waiting, praying you'll come back alive.

you keep pulling stunts like this and something bad will happen.

do you have a death wish or something?

this isn't fair to me.

i deserve better than this.

i didn't get any sleep last night because i was so worried about you.

you promised me you'd stop going out at night.

i don't like hearing this.

you've been risking your life, and for what? so you can feel like a goddamn hero?

i said i would handle it.

what the fuck are you doing here?

you told me you'd stay put.

so much for laying low.

you remember how bad it was last time.

seems like you haven't learned anything.

i believe you promised me you'd lay low.

i can't keep doing this.

don't give me that look.

we'll discuss this later.

this stops now.

i'm tired of picking up the pieces once you've left.

you keep throwing yourself into danger.

you don't give a shit about yourself, do you?

i'm sitting here, worried out of my mind, while you're out doing god knows what.

that was really stupid of you, and you know it.

i thought you knew better than this.

what's your excuse this time?

you do realize what this does to me, right? seeing you get hurt like this? you know it hurts me, too?

you really don't give a shit how this affects me, huh.

that was the dumbest possible thing you could have done.

i need you to stop throwing yourself into harm's way.

that was completely unnecessary.

they had it handled.

you didn't need to step in like that.

why do you think you're invincible?

the last time you pulled a stunt like this, it nearly got you killed.

i can't just sit here and watch you get hurt.

what are you trying to prove?

you just like fucking with my heart, don't you.

this shit hurts me, too, you know.

you're not the only one affected by this shit.

you've got a lot of people counting on you to come home every night.

what happens if you don't come back?

you think we can just carry on without you?

you think i can handle things if you end up dead?

i'm not sticking around to watch you get hurt.

you're not even slick.

you think you're invincible, don't you.

quit pretending you've got everything under control.

let someone else do it for a change.

you can't keep putting yourself through shit like this and expect me to just sit back and watch.

i'm done with this.

next time you do this, i'm not coming back.

promise me this is the end.

look me in the eyes and tell me you'll stop doing this.

let the authorities deal with it.

you're making a big mistake.

is it worth dying for?

i've dealt with enough pain over the years.

[texasbama]

I’m unwell.

[thatseymourbirkhoff-deactivated]

ILYA ROZANOV | fuck…

[buddieloustat]

Connor Storrie as Ilya Rozanov Heated Rivalry | 1x02

[shane-ilya]

Connor Storrie as Ilya Rozanov Heated Rivalry — 105 I'll Believe In Anything

[kywritesss]

“Stop skating circles around me, you’re showing off.” (Ralena)

CIRCA — Seventh year holiday break.

“Stop skating circles around me, you’re showing off.” 

He laughs, free and unabashedly, as he does another loop around her out of spite. Looking back as he did to see the daggers she sent his way that felt half-hearted. There wasn’t any actual anger behind her gaze. They were as carefree as his. “Yes. Yes, I am.” He was showing off, and he had no problem admitting it. He was thrilled to be at Hogsmeade for the holiday break instead of at home with his insufferable family — who had to make a “business” trip this year for Christmas instead of celebrating or exchanging thoughtless gifts. He was at ease to be here riling up Helena’s feathers instead of forcing smiles at a drawn-out, heavy-topic dinner. So, he does another lap before coming up behind her to wrap his arm around her waist and tug her along at his speed. Half-dragging her as she tries to adjust to his pace. “Did you forget I’m an athlete? Skating is nothing compared to Quidditch.” He turns to face her, his back facing the direction his skates were taking him. He had no worries of falling or crashing into anything, even with his back turned. He did, however, let his arm drop from her waist to slide down the length of her arm before clasping her gloved hand in his. “I know it’s hard, but try not thinking so much about the movement. Just let yourself glide. Let yourself be free.” He lingers with his hand in hers for just a second longer before letting go to do a running leap with a twist in the air. Coming back down to the ice with practiced ease. “For once, just try having fun with me, Avery. Consider it a Christmas gift to me.”

[kywritesss]

“Hold my hand— I don’t want to lose you in this chaos.” (Franryker)

CIRCA — Chasing a lead on the reapers during the holiday season.

“Hold my hand — I don’t want to lose you in the chaos.” 

He breaks off. His steps came to a hard stop with an unplanned skid along the ice-covered sidewalks. They had been on the hunt. Utilizing the heavy shopping crowds to search for clues on the recent attack on the Scarlet Angels and stalk Eclipse, who undoubtedly played a meddling hand in the bloodshed. She always was the more vicious one in comparison to the Tsar. But now he was at a standstill. The need to continue the chase dwindled as his eyes went from the snow-covered market to the hand held up in the space between them. He’s speechless for once. Just staring at his hand. At what it could mean to be seen in the dying light of day, holding his Shadow’s hand. “I-uh,” he flounders. But then — fuck it. In a few hours the person they were chasing, who would be the only one to see this, would be dead. Or them. “Yeah, okay.” He takes the proffered hand with a nod. Staring at their hands clasped together for a couple of seconds before he shakes out of it. “A-alright. Let’s go. Lead on. But try to stick to the shadows.” While he may enjoy every second of this, a part of him knew they needed to stay concealed now more than ever as he kept his grip in Shadow’s firm.

[kywritesss]

❛ I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone. ❜ (ralena)

CIRCA — Following the death of Helena’s father.

He’d return under the guise of a mourning pureblood wizard witnessing the passing of an exemplary, highly known wizard. He returned for a funeral at the request of his brother, who no doubt thought this was another opportunity to dig his claws into Rabastan, who had been gone for almost a year. He’d returned for her — who blots her eyes with tissues while under strict observance at the vigil, only to conceal a wry smile in the dark shadows of her ancestral home. Unnoticed by most. But not by him. He spotted the tiniest flicker of delight, and it was all the confirmation he needed for why he was back in town for a funeral. She had done it, and knowing it was a pill lodged in his throat that he could not swallow. Even still, he lingers like a shadow until he sees her escape to a back room. He doesn’t wait to join her. 

“So you actually did it,” he says, clicking the lock into place behind him. He mutters a spell under his breath with the smallest wave of his wand — preventing any sound from carrying out into the hallway behind the door. “At least tell me you were smart about it?” She tilts her head with a pointed look. One that reiterates what he already knows: she never does anything halfway or foolish. He sighs and leans back into the door. His hands smushed in between his back and the frame of the door. “You shouldn’t have done this, Helena. You could have had a decent life with Rosier.”

Her eyes narrow at him then. Barely holding in so much exasperation towards him; at this conversation they always end up in that gets them nowhere. “I don’t want him.” She says, clearing the distance between them in three breaths. “I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone.” He tenses. His fingers behind his back curl around the leather of his jacket and tugs nonstop. “Helena,” he mutters. The words he wants to say don’t get past the lump in his throat. So, he just coughs. Sputters. Pushing out something more of a dig towards her to undercut the emotional weight of her sentence that he isn’t prepared to deal with. “Your father may be gone, but you're still a Rosier. We still don’t have a place in this world together.” 

[kywritesss]

❛ I have wished you joy since first I saw you. ❜ (darling)

CIRCA — The week leading up to Sterling’s wedding.

“I have wished you joy since first I saw you.” 

If they could, her cheeks would have inflamed and burned a vibrant red. But she isn’t human. There is no heart to pound incessantly and cause extreme blood flow. There is just a knot in her stomach — twisting like a ball of yarn with overwhelming delight and pangs of misery. Followed by a deep-seated grief for the loss of something she never had in the first place. Some futures are just meant to be dull or tragic, like hers. It was always going to be this: swallowing down the words she actually yearned to speak in favor of, “vampires don’t get to have joy.  It’s the price we pay for eternity.” Then, she shrugs. Turning away to take a seat on a decayed stump in the woods; her head falls back to gaze up at the stars with her delicate neck extended and on full display to him. A display of utmost trust. She never second-guessed that he would be the first in line to protect her. He had since the day they met; choosing to worry more about her than his own safety. 

“I mean, we can start out with joy. Our emotions always start so, so heightened. But eventually…” Her words trail off. The coldness starts to seep back into her skin from where he previously left her warm. And it’s as if she was never warm to begin with. She was back to being frozen in a cage of endless time. A curse more than it was ever a blessing — filled with red-strained teeth. “I’ve watched people I’ve known die; humans and wolves. Again and again. There and gone in what feels like a blink of an eye for me, but ninety years realistically. So, we don’t get close. It’s too painful. We stick to our own cause the chances are marginally better but even then, there is still the possibility.” She pulls her gaze away from the stars then. Finding his with ease. “Joy has a finite timeline.” 

Joy would always find its ending while she carried on among the Stardust coven as its eternal heir. “No matter the choice, the outcome is the same. We fade. I fade from the loss of a love I’ll never have again, or from never getting to have it.” Her gaze falls to the ground. The heel of her boot snapped a twig in the lingering silence. “With Kaito… I don’t know. It isn’t joy. But it’s reassurance. I have the comfort of knowing I’ll never be losing something that we’ll break me for the rest of time.”