#cupidopericulosa

[iincantatorum]

@cupido-periculosa

[Msg: Ex]: Why haven’t you if you hate me so much? [Msg: Ex]: It’s cute that I can poke through your Miss Tough Shit facade.

[Msg: Unknown Caller] You think I hate you? [Msg: Unknown Caller] At least you admit I’m Miss Tough Shit. [Msg: Unknown Caller] You can’t poke through me.

[voxvulgi]

Moodboards

D’Ablo della Vega {{ @cupido-periculosa }}

PSD by coolgirlofrp

[roleplaypositivitea-blog]

@cupido-periculosa has brought the character of D'Ablo from the book series The Chronicles of Vladimir Tod to life in such a beautifully creative way. Cip is a very talented writer and one can tell how passionate she is about both writing and her muse through replies, headcanons, drabbles, etc. I love following this mun and reading anything she posts, I have great admiration and respect for her both as a person and a writer and I can't wait to explore more things with her D'Ablo and my muse(s).

[feearchived]

Infographic:

for @cupido-periculosa​​ // base here 

[nothingrcmains]

@cupido-periculosa

   “i bought more toys for the cats. i almost bought a little outfit for one of them to wear, but i figure they might hate that.”

[thebrazenandbold]

@cupido-periculosa liked for a starter

“If you can’t fucking change a diaper you can’t fucking be a dad! Get off your royal ass and show Mal some respect.”

[saligiare]

Welcome, cupido-periculosa.

@cupido-periculosa

Ghostly steps echoed across the pavement of the nightly city. The streets were deserted safe for one or two stray rats digging through abandoned trash cans. It was this strange hour of night between three and four in the morning when most party goers had already fallen into their beds and the earliest workers had not risen yet.

Although Asmodeus usually enjoyed the hot hustle and bustle of the day time, his recent situation had made him prone to a certain longing for solitude. No probing questions about his whereabouts during the past two months, no pitiful stares or supposedly helpful comments on his less than shining personality as of late. The demon prince of Lust still desired some more time for reminiscence, away from the prying eyes of his underlings, Whisperers, clients or any poor human souls that had grown attached to him. Every once in a while he would bring up the effort to take a peek at his phone and sort through his missed calls and messages, which still stood at a five digit number.

The moonlight and a faulty, occasionally flashing street light illuminated his path, and the air was so quiet that he could hear the wind rustling through the treetops.. But wait. Wasn’t there also something else?

The demon could hear the hushed whispers and sense the presence of at least two people just around the next building. How did that saying go again? Something about curiousity, satisfaction and a cat. Perhaps absolute loneliness, even if chosen, did not suit him after all. With a little sigh Asmodeus put his phone back into the pocket of his jacket and started moving towards the noise.

The sight of two shady figures greeted him then, standing closely together in what looked like a terribly intimate embrace. But those were hardly two of your average lovebirds meeting under the romantic light of street lanterns at night. The scent of blood lingered in the air.

“Oh. I apologize. I did not realise this alley was taken. Don’t you be bothered by me.”

[filmkilled-a]

@cupido-periculosa  ♥

       the  lights  are  flickering,  how  long  have  they  been  flickering?  how  long  has  he  even  been  standing  here?  shit  -----  he  lost  time  again.  the  buzz  of  the  light  seem  deafening  in  the  late  night  silence.  he’s  been  through  this  a  thousand  times.  street  lights  that  work  properly  one  moment  begin  to  strain  themselves  to  provide  light  once  he  walks  past.  green  eyes  gaze  up,  pupils  dilating  as  he  tries  to  focus  on  it.  

      it’s  an  eerie  feeling,  no  matter  how  many  times  he’s  watched  it  happen  before.  he  wonders  if  other  people  have  this  problem,  but  he  doesn’t  want  to  ask.  he’s  not  sure  he’d  like  the  answer.  it  sounds  like  they’re  going  to  shatter,  but  he  can’t  pull  himself  away  from  staring.  finally,  a  soft  tone  escapes  him,  ❝  they  should  fix  these  lights.  ❞  deep  down  he  knows  it’s  not  a  fixable  problem.  the  problem’s  him,  the  lights  only  flicker  when  he’s  under  them.  ❝  you  know  with  ❞  a  beat,  ❝  -----  taxes  and  shit.  ❞