#reavcr

[hisregret-blog]

reavcr replied to your post:

Gives you a big smooch on the cheek!! Please take care of yourself BBY.

[ I will! Thanks for your support it means a lot. ]

[dalishflame]

continued from here:

“ I--- I’m so sorry. ” He regretted the question almost the moment he asked, that cheerful facade crumbling under the weight of sadness and longing. No, not just sad, hopeless, so much so that Atreion’s heart hurt to see it, inwardly kicking himself for his lack of tact. If he were here, he’d have kicked Atreion’s shins black and blue to shut him up - and he’d deserve it, too. No-one should have to look so wretched.

“ It’s a beautiful dream, ” He reached out without a pause for thought, laying a gentle hand atop his. “ And you mustn't lose hope in finding it. Mythal bestows love upon us all, and that includes you, mark my words. ” His lips quirked in a tiny smile, meeting his eye behind that fall of red hair. “ You have much more to offer than you think. ”

                           @reavcr

[vojvode]

Is Alucard interested in learning anything or having anything to do with modern day education?

send us questions :) / accepting

not really. he’d always enjoyed learning — mostly languages and calligraphy — and humanity utterly fascinates him now that he no longer possesses any, but alucard has no real compulsion to involve himself at all. he knows that this world isn’t his; he’s not meant to be here. he’s just sort of a voyeur, a ghost watching from some distant plane. 

he knows what is pertinent and he does what he’s told.

[manofwcr-blog]

❛ when i’m angry, i don’t yell i burn. ❜

Milk and Honey Poetry RP Starters

“I noticed. Be careful that you don’t burn anyone else while you’re burning.” 

[corvidblade-a]

@reavcr  ❤’d --- warrior ; aurora

Zevran’s heart rattles in his chest. His skin is too thin: he can feel every brush against his flesh and the very weight of his leathers threatens to crush him as easily as if he were an eggshell. Delicate and frail. The nightmares have never found it fit to leave him alone, which is likely his due for everything he has done, but tonight...

A light tapping on Hawke’s window, and if the warrior were to look outside he would see the form of an elf perched on his windowsill with brilliant blonde hair and dark armor.

He does not shake, though the cage that is his lungs dare him to. He feels--- something like shame, boiling up in his throat, and it takes everything he has to not flee before Hawke gives him permission to enter. Maker. Maker.