SHADOW PREACHER

[shadowcrowncd]

sofia (pinterest) | musings | powers | mirror | jofia francesco (pinterest) | musings | powers | mirror | fryker helena (pinterest) | musings | mirror | ralena damon (pinterest) | musings | mirror | darling

[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]

He's too drunk to fully acknowledge what he'd just said. A declaration of love? Opening up to one of the only two people that mattered to him? Impossible, scary. All of which faded into nothingness at the mere thought of burying himself in Ryker again, and again. Francesco considered himself lucky, luckily drunk enough that is, to take matters into his own hands tonight and offer a price so tempting, that even the Gamemaker himself couldn't hold back. Every thrust is met with a low, unrestrained moan as every nerve in his body reacted to the ones down below. Filled with utter arousal, Francesco furrowed his eyebrows, mouth agape, as he put just a little bit of space between them to fully admire his boss.

At this point he even stopped caring about any potential intruders. With Ryker being so distracting and tempting, he didn't care if the whole world saw them right now. With his body completely fired up, Francesco panted, his upper lip moving into a lustful grin, "You're going to ruin me," he admitted in Italian, "Fuck, but I want you to," he continued as he watched his boss come all over himself. It's when Francesco focused on Ryker's face, took in all his expressions and words, which in return completely sent Francesco over the edge. Every nerve in his body fully ignited as more and more pressure circled his own cock, causing Shadow to groan. "Fuck, Game-" He lost himself within the sensation, now moaning loudly as he filled Ryker up, just slowly thrusting some more. It's an experience like no other before. Intense enough to make him believe in something divine, to completely crave and love that man, even worse, better, than before. Him or no one. As he pulled out Francesco kept looking at the man underneath, sort of waiting to be sent away, for them to return to their habit of keeping each other at arm's length. "I'd consider this worth losing. After all, did I really lose?"

[shadowcrowncd]

&. BASICS 

Full Name: Phoebe le Blanc

Nicknames: Sanguis Regina, The Red Bride, The Leech (derogatory)

Age: 26 (at death)

Sexuality: Bisexual

Date of Birth: February 12th 1494

Place of Birth: West Athos

Gender & Species: female & sanctified, first blood wielder

Current Location: Deceased; exists in spiritual echoes and memory fragments (sometimes appears in Sofia's visions)

&. MORE BASIC INFO

Religion: formerly devoted to the Sanctified Pantheon, Catholic

Education:  basic education, Catholic education

Occupation: former fiance of Bellamy Delacroix, public speaker, soldier

Drinks, Smokes, & Drugs: never

&. PERSONALITY

Zodiac Sign: Aquarius

MBTI: ISTP - the virtuoso

Likes: power, (in a way) being feared

Dislikes: the eventual revolt and Bellamy as the usurper, the four horsemen, not having been enough

Bad Habits: intense displays of violence

Secret Talent: skilled at dancing (and has been an avid dancer all her life)

Hobbies:  attending catholic mass, dancing, exploring her powers and its limits, really getting into the whole ascendant mythology and placing herself within it.

Fears: losing control, losing her own status and identity

Five Positive Traits: Adaptive, Perceptive, Determined, Strategic, Charismatic

Five Negative Traits: Controlling, Emotionally guarded, Manipulative, Obsessive

Other Mentionable Details: Often appears in blood-fueled visions Sofia has when under emotional duress (later in the story)

&. APPEARANCE

Tattoos Scars: none

Piercings: none

Reference Picture: ( x ), ( x )

&. FAMILY INFORMATION

Parent Names: unknown

Parent Relationship: Her mother's believed to be a prostitute, her father a nobleman who paid enough money to let all rumors disappear, including her. She was brought up in a Catholic orphanage.

Sibling Names: none

Sibling Relationship: N/A

Children: none

&. BIOGRAPHY

A never ending need of control and power, Phoebe le Blanc represents power in its purest form. Once feared because of her sweet demeanor hiding unfathomable, sadly uncontrolled power, Phoebe has made sure to use Bellamy Delacroix as a shield. However, in doing so, she's always on the verge of losing her own identity. A relationship based on basic instincts, she leaned into his role as the savior, to be protected from ridicule and attacks. Sacred blood, capable of healing smaller wounds and forcing others on their knees, she soon adopted the epithet The Red Bride, only slowly getting a hang of her powers and how to control them, while others, like Marek, were already strong enough to control themselves fully. A ticking bomb, a monster not meant to be put on this earth, she realized her salvation would depend on Bellamy Delacroix' love.

Once revered as holy, Phoebe eventually lost the trust of her people as she accidentally let her powers take over at mass, unable to keep them caged any longer. A prayer and those praying with her ended up with blood pouring out of their eyes, with them coughing up blood and succumbing to blood loss. She was eventually overthrown by Marek and the rest who rebelled against Bellamy Delacroix. Just to make sure she'd not be able to return, they drained her body of all its blood and buried her body in a deep, marble grave lined with linen, veins exposed. Bellamy Delacroix, despite being immortal, never once visited her grave.

[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]

It's a safe haven, that cottage, build for the Delacroix', with Delacroix money. Surprisingly the key was still hidden underneath the same pillow from their outside sofa. Everything still looked the same and since they mainly used this retreat for the Summer days, they'd be safe her for a while. With November coming to an end, Sofia had to make sure their plan would be formed until Spring. Too many thoughts, too little time. The former Queen tried to calm herself, not react to the sudden death and resurrection, the sudden surge of memories flooding her mind. She could think of a dozen things to do right now to help their cause, but one of the more important steps was to make sure they'd stay hidden. With him sitting down on the couch, falling onto it, Sofia proceeded to check for any food, water, before finally closing the curtains. One by one, suddenly surprised at the lack of lighting in the room. Sof. Turning around, Sofia saw Joel struggling, clearly blinded by the light, with the light bulb flickering, then adjusting. What happened to them on the other side? Resurrection left them scarred and changed, she had yet to fully understand the extend of what that entailed. Had they been trapped in Hell for Heaven? Purgatory? Possibly, she didn't feel like her old self anymore. Rage, nothing but rage at times. She so carefully watched Joel struggle, that she walked towards the other couch facing him without even realizing it. He was hurt, again. Again and again and again. The Saint continued her spiral downward, mentally at least, with rage only building up inside of her. At the end of it all she'd failed to keep him safe. Even worse, if it wasn't for her he might still be safe.

"I don't know." Her words were slow, deliberate, to not let him see her rage. Instead, her fingers dug deeply into the backrest, her stare blank, jaw tight. "But you have me. Always." Sofia took a deep breath. "You need to calm down. Calm down. You're not thinking clearly, everything from this point on will be decided by your wrath and your love for this man. You can't take them on without some rest first," Marek pleaded not too far away, still in her head, still lingering. Of course he would. If anyone would understand her rage and the danger it could cause, then it was him. "Drag me to your father. As bait. They don't need to know I'm back. I--," she stopped, her jaw still tight and her eyes filling with tears, "will kill them all for what they did. We'll get these bastards to talk and confess what they did to us." She was yelling, all rage at that point, with the light bulb eventually exploding and the room going dark. Still, even now, she could see him, at least his blood flow, how his heard pumped. It called to her in way she had yet to understand. "I'm sorry," silence filled the room, with her actively trying to stop herself from going after them right this second. "I could ask Mina to send us some supplies. She's trustworthy and the only one whose mind's safe from any intruders."

His words were haunting her in ways nothing ever else ever would. I don't even know if I can trust myself. When he'd always been the voice of reason, the hero in their untold story, the beacon of hope. All her rage disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. "Of course you should. I trust you. More than anyone." She finally sat down next to him. "You might've changed, but you're still my Jo."

[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]

"What nice fangs you got there. Would be a shame if they'd get ripped out. I heard hunters love to collect fangs, much more than they love to collect pelts," he remarked, low enough for him to hear. He wasn't going down without a fight, especially considering he absolutely loathed then way Kaito had said her. her. The heiress, no less, a vampire better than anyone he'd met yet. "What I want to do with her is talk. From one heir to the other. Let's not forget who you're talking to here," he really didn't have to know that his own claim to the throne could be challenged at any moment, especially because of his father's dislike for him. With Damon having killed his siblings and absorbed their power, the current alpha expected a challenge and thus already prepared for the worst. Instead of backing down, Damon watched Kaito's eyes turn dark, something he hadn't seen before. While it did scare him to an extend, the werewolf didn't even think of backing down. His toothy grin matched Kaito's, his canines now clearly displayed. "I'm clearly not here to talk to you, an ally, an outsider. I'll give someone the benefit of the doubt, that you simply didn't know our Roman customs." He tried to be as polite as possible, but judging by Sterling's interference, things were already starting to turn sour. Kaito seemed to have as much as a temper as Damon did, but he didn't expect anything less from the man he'd already heard so much about.

Once the tension defused ever so slightly, thanks to Sterling's insistence, Damon tried to not let Kaito's display of dominance trigger him in any way. He watched, stared, as Kaito forced himself on Sterling to kiss her, rough and violent in a way that thoroughly repulsed him. The low growl erupting from his throat was enough evidence to confirm how displeased he was, especially knowing he'd drawn the same blood Damon had tasted before, in a quite intimate manner, as well. "Remind me to not rip his head off next time," Damon commented, his eyes still fixated on Kaito as he walked away. So far so good. His father looked displeased, but nothing unfamiliar to him to begin with. "He's even worse than I thought. Let's go outside, calm ourselves a little bit," Damon himself had to huff, loudly, to calm himself down. He hadn't anticipated to be this affected by someone like Kaito, but he was. "I actually do have something I wanted to discuss with you. My dad's frequently meeting up with witches. I don't know why exactly, but they're Beaurmont witches, necromancers and curse wielders by nature. I was hoping I could sneak into your territory in order to hunt them down, ask them a few... questions," he grimaced. "You'll be able to sense me," he whispered, "nobody else will, if I can help it. There might be something I can do for you, as well. Just tell me. Cut out his tongue, mh?"

[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]

Marriages and funerals were fairly common among the Scared 28. Helena herself had bought at least four new dresses for weddings, with two black dresses alternating between each funeral. However, she'd worn a black dress with chiffon around her neck for her father, almost constricting her - a deliberate choice and a new dress, too, to symbolize today's significance. This wasn't a question about whether she'd get away with it or not. Today marked the first day of her freedom and the last day of innocence. She'd planned everything ahead of time, tried to map out every possible outcome, every possible mistake and counter it. Plan A, B, C... the whole, bloody alphabet, just to keep her hands stained but her record clean.

She didn't let her emotions take over once he'd arrived. They'd been separated for so long, with her memories of their moments spent together still so vivid in her mind, she hardly spent one day without the thought of him. Painful, to say the least, inevitable. How could she not when he was an inspiration to her? Had he not displayed his pure determination by leaving, choosing himself over his family's ambitions? She'd done the same now trying to showcase a part of her worthy of love. Perhaps out of fear to never be enough, perhaps to simply grant herself the freedom to exist on her own terms. The lines of right and wrong had been blurred ever since their encounter, that one sinful night.

She turned around ever so slightly, not really looking at him just yet. Instead, Helena merely focused on the edges of his shoes, the way his hands move to his face in order to brush through his hair, possibly to relief some tension. "Nothing. I feel nothing," nothing of value that is. A life lost, not a valuable one to her. Blood clung to her fingers, figuratively, stains she could never get rid of, but something she wore with absolute pride, "I'll survive, there's no need to worry about me." Helena shot him a slight, calculated smile before heading further, just casually strolling through the graveyard like it was her backyard. She'd wanted to ask him so many questions then, but everytime one of them former, she reconsidered, unsure whether to let him in again. "So, how's Ireland treating you? I assumed you'd have already caused a ruckus over there." Like when he stumbled over that threshold months ago, completely bringing chaos to her usually orderly life. "Thank you for checking up on me," she finally looked at him, genuinely glad, not at all sad like she's supposed to be, "Even after everything, I trusted you into keeping my little secret, in seeing beyond my chains and just enjoy what's left. I never told you," she stopped clearly struggling to let herself care, to find the right words, "how much I value your unfiltered, raw approach to life. That the best thing one can do in this life is to just live it, unapologetically."

[shadowcrowncd]

❝ you can’t keep getting your feathers all ruffled when anyone else gives me attention. ❞ -- FranRyker

Scarlet Angels Christmas Party - Post Francesco's little excursion

It's been Francesco's believe that he had to make sure everything was in order for Ryker. No matter the target, no matter the threat level, his sole focus remained on Ryker's wellbeing, almost in a compulsive manner. He'd obsessed over this man for years now, something which he could now openly showcase by letting his own cruelty and actions speak louder than any of his words ever could. Francesco was, after all, a man of action. The Shadow, a perfect blend within the corners and underground of this world, he'd already shot down Icarus, almost got his hands on Belladonna, but decided to turn around in order to not cause a full-blown war. They'd move to a new year in peace, just until either Ryker or Francesco decided it's time to continue theirs.

"Spitfire," it's matched with a subtle nod as Francesco emerged from the shadows to greet both him and Ryker. The latest successful mission had been in everybody's minds tonight. Ryker's idea, of course. The imminent threat of the Reapers could not be overlooked, at least if he could trust his little songbirds whispering to him. A celebration, alcohol, excessiveness - Francesco watched everything in disgust while he'd been trying so desperately not to cause a scene tonight. "Come on, grab yourself something to drink, we've got things to discuss." A choice which wasn't Francesco's to make, but he did, anyway. With his arms folded behind his back, chin held high, he looked towards Spitfire with a mix of superiority and jealousy, despite there being no signs of them even being close. Ever since returning Francesco simply... remained distant, obsessive and paranoid. What if one of them tried to betray him after all? Spitfire turned, hands raised slightly to defuse the tension.

"You can't keep getting your feathers all ruffled when anyone else gives me attention."

A huff, that's all he could muster. A single, almost defeated huff. If it wasn't for his obvious obsession and desperation to protect Ryker, none of this would ever be an issue. He'd made it his mission to heel whenever Ryker called, to be watchful every second of every day, eliminating threats before they even had a chance to reach his ear. "The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb, at least that's what they say. I wouldn't bet Spitfire's keeping that promise." Francesco fully turned towards Ryker, "I'm jealous, yes." He examined him carefully, intensely, "I've seen him meet up with his sister, once, twice, to determine if he's worth your attention. He is not."

"Say the word," he half begged, "say the word and he's gone and I'll return to your side for good, if you'll have me. Fuck what everybody thinks."

[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.”

[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.

[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.

[shadowcrowncd]

❝ i did! i loved you. and i thought you didn’t feel that way so i moved on. i’m with someone now. why…why did you wait so long? ❞ -- Ralena

timeline: the bad ending AU

She couldn't be bothered to be agreeable tonight. With Laurent playing with her blonde hair which she'd carelessly pinned up into a messy bun Helena stepped closer towards the door. Her large bump already revealed she was pregnant yet again. The next Rosier (who, in all honesty, could also be a Lestrange), hopefully another boy, someone she wouldn't see herself in all that much. Opening the door after a while, Helena immediately locked eyes with Rabastan. "I think you're lost, Rabastan." welcome or not, with his best friend out on some bloody mission, Helena could do nothing but wait, play housewife while boys, regrettably, will be boys.

Good manners demanded for her to let him in, so she moved aside, only further accentuating her pregnancy. Though she didn't dare to look at his initial reaction. Instead, Helena simply stared down, towards the marble floor. "Come on, time for bed," she lowered Laurent to the ground and sent him off with one of the house elves. "So, how's Quidditch treating you? Truth be told I force myself to skip the sport pages while I'm locked up in here." Just seeing his face would only remember her of easier times. With Jasper following into his father's footsteps and being a death eater, family man and professional womanizer, her mother put far too much pressure on Helena. To be the agreeable, scandal free child, never once in the spotlight like Jasper. "Look, you'll only get me in trouble. I know you don't love me, especially after what I've done, so me telling you I actually did love you won't change anything. Evan isn't here, so-"

"i did! i loved you. and i thought you didn’t feel that way so i moved on. i’m with someone now. why…why did you wait so long?" Helena tensed her jaw, eyes void of any emotion. She'd become the very thing she'd always wanted to avoid. "I've lost myself within the cracks of your heart, hoping to mend it. I've been damned to a life of submission while you get to live your dream. If the Death Eaters find out I've murdered my father, my entire family will be send to Azkaban. I'd have given everything to be with you. Look at me now. Stuck, forever."

[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.

[deanmoth]

I’m so in love with you, and I don’t know what to do about it.

[magnusedom]

Hudson Williams as Shane Hollander HEATED RIVALRY | OLYMPIANS (1.02)

[rozanovy]

HUDSON WILLIAMS Numero Netherlands

[katmcnamara]

Clary Fray + Jake Riley | We lost each other

Please don’t repost/claim as your own but do subscribe/thumbs up/comment and reblog/like!

[shadowcrowncd]

“Well… we’re definitely not getting out until morning.” -- FranRyker

timeline: post-sex, before he leaves

He's restless, completely filled with adrenaline and arousal. Emotions come in waves and are there to stay. No matter how much he'd tried to suppress them, they came like the tide, completely igniting his mind with fantastical ideas of a future together, of spending every waking second worshiping that man. He huffs, which turned into a surprised chuckle. He wasn't drunk enough to really separate himself from that situation, to just consider them fucking tonight a one-off. They'd crossed a line, blurred it, possibly even redefined their boundaries. "Well... we're definitely not getting out until morning."

He was hit by a dizziness, with the whole room spinning as Francesco's body regulated itself. To no one's surprise he could still not think of anything else than Ryker as his horny mind considered whatever else he could do to his Gamemaker, within the Shadows. However, that same dizziness and blurry state they were in stabilized itself with a kiss, a confession to what's on his mind. No sparrows, no secrets, only him. They were all so trivial in comparisons to Ryker's arms around Francesco's waist, the way their lungs filled and emptied in tandem as they just grinned at each other. It's when the same dread he'd pushed away with each new drink resurfaced. He'd never loved anything more, not even secrets, than Ryker Voight. His bright eyes, the way his lips looked almost bloodstained by Francesco's kisses, having sucked on his skin far too much over the course of their... spent time together. "Nah, I'm not going to move one bit," Shadow said, one leg already wrapped around Ryker's just to make sure he'd remain in place, just to feel his warmth some more. "We'll have all night to continue," only for it to end in the morning.