#semi para

[perceivedpast2]

luposcainus:

❝   it is a very rare feeling for me. all that anger , that wild instinct . ❞ caspian confesses.

he was sitting on the chair with his hands clasped together. the werewolf made a whine. that whine that sounded like a bit of a dog would make. kill.

he would only do such a thing if it means to protect himself or his friends. the man looked at her.  his eyes made a wide expression. ❝ if i had to defend myself then i’d had to.. ❞

wouldn’t she done the same? the wolf stands up. he was tall , wearing a green sweater while looking .. distressed. ❝ but .. all they saw was.. a werewolf.. a monster. ❞

There was a great sense of compassion that filled Johanna's dead veins as she listened to the werewolf. It seemed, despite being of two completely separate species (some may even say mortal enemies), they weren't too entirely different from one another. Both could easily kill, and both had to carry the guilt that came from taking a life. 

"Defendin' yourself doesn't make you a monster. Least ... I don't think so." Johanna assured, her sweet tone still so soft one could’ve easily missed her speaking if they weren't paying attention. "Just because we ain't human doesn't mean we're monsters either. It's what we choose to do with the ... unique gifts that we've been given." It seemed like little Johanna knew what she was talking about, but the truth some things still ate her even a hundred and fifty something years on. She let out a gentle sigh as her gaze fell again, little fingers playing with the bottom of her jacket. "Sometimes we slip. Sometimes we make mistakes. But we try to do better. For our humanity."

Or whatever left of it there was underneath.

@luposcainus​

[rosefromdeath]

mybloodystars:

AT FIRST THE VAMPIRE didn't feel the desperate slap of his victim's palm. His teeth, sharp and needy had sunk deep into soft olive neck, which has sent him into a deep frenzy. The only feeling was exaltation and the hunger for more of Gabriella's tasty blood. As the thick liquid made him feel more satiated and stronger, his lids opened and red eyes bore into dark ones. His cold cheek was imprinted with the feeble attempt of slim fingers. " Oh, my. I do love spicy food," The pale elf snided -- she was unexpectedly delicious.. and then it occurred to him, " Are you a virgin, my dear?"

The palm of Gabriella's hand stung as she slapped Astarion with all of her might. It'd been an impulsive response on her behalf (often the sweet and gentle Gabriella never resorted to any acts of violence) ... but what did Astarion expect her to do after he had bitten her? Gabriella clung to her neck with her hand, putting pressure upon the deep puncture wound. Brown doe eyes were wide in absolute shock, delicate eyebrows deeply furrowed: unable to believe the vampire actions.

"Excuse me--(!) ... that's none of your business!" Gabriella gasped, stuttering and turning a bright blushing pink. She could feel the blood running through her fingers and down her neck. It made her nervous how much more the smell of her exposed blood was tempting him, "If you even try to bite me again my brothers will kill you. And it won't be a quick death either!"

@mybloodystars

[rosefromdeath1]

evilfaced:

" AND? DO I NEED to love you to think of you?," Eloquent brow arched at his little doe. " Most certainly not. You can take into consideration all of the rivals I've buried six feet under after spending months, years even, in plotting their horrific deaths." Sionis replied curtly to Gaby, while putting his gloves on, and fixing his jacket. " They surely had been on my mind a lot before facing their fatal demise." He gave himself a quick once over in the vanity, adjusting elegantly his hair raking his fingers through it. " Are you ready to join me for dinner or not?," The crime lord then turned to her.

"Is that what you plan to do to me? Kill me one day?" Gabriella's softly spoken voice was unnerved, her doe eyes wide as she stared at Roman through the vanity mirror from behind him. What was her future to be with Roman? Stay with him and have him kill her one day? Or try to flee and be killed for trying to do so? Her worrisome thoughts spread clear across her face, yet she was quick to answer Roman. "Yes, I'm ready." The dress she'd been gifted fitted her perfectly. The gold truly made her olive skin shimmer. "Will you at least tell me where we're going for dinner?"

@evilfaced

[violantdesires]

🍂 [ GABBY ] liked for a starter

Jack was almost sure he was successfully disguising his nervousness. It wasn't that Gabriella herself made him nervous, not at all, in fact when he was with her he felt more like himself than he did with perhaps anyone else. What his worry about, however, was the money thing. Of course, Gabriella had never shown any sign of snobbery, not at all, quite the contrary even.

Jack just wasn't sure that she could possibly be interested in the food at The Lodge or the The Carver Cafe, both of Jack's dad's top haunts, he was tired of both the veggie burgers at those places and he was sure he remembered something about Gabriella saying her family were vegetarians. And he didn't even recommend the fare at the Hotel restaurant he worked at other than the veggie mezze platter. That was unironically gold. So here they were at the fanciest place he could find in Port Angeles.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, "Um... the vegetarian mushroom risotto looks good..." he started, trying to ease his own tension, "... bet it's better than the one I make too" he chuckled. Obviously, Jack, obviously. They're professional chefs.

@rosefromdeath

[rosefromdeath1]

evilfaced:

BLOOD GASHED on his tongue deliciously as the young woman twisted under him. Astarion felt the frenzy slowly taking over as he was getting lost in her neck. Should he continued to suck on his delectable snack, the ending would've been fatal for her, so he had to force and stop himself. Fangs removed from her soft neck with regret, " Of course it doesn't, my dear. You're still my leaking bloodbag! "

Gabriella winced as the sharp fangs left her. She could feel the warm blood running down out of her open wound, down her neck, with each rapid beat her heart gave. Her neck felt like it was pulsing: almost as if she could feel her heart beating inside of her neck. It made Gabriella feel weak. Her legs almost gave out on her, so she clung to the only thing she was able to: the vampire elf who fed on her. "I'm only ... agreeing to this ... so you don't feed on anyone else." Gabriella panted breathlessly, brown doe eyes fluttering heavy as she tried to stay awake, "But I'm not yours."

@evilfaced

[rorysanderson]

[ FADING. SELF PARA 001 ]

SUMMARY: Rory has his nightly conversation with Eliza. LOCATION: Rory's porch, late evening. TW: death, grief

It’s cool enough in October that the crickets start to chirp again, rather incessantly.

Annie complains about the sound, insisting she’ll never be able to fall asleep like this for fifteen minutes straight before she eventually falls asleep like this. Rory envies a child’s ability to sleep through just about anything, including an admittedly obnoxious cricket choir.

They’re louder out here. Not surprising, considering they’re surrounded by foliage and trees more than they’re surrounded by anything industrial. Rory can accept their presence begrudgingly, if only because he knows it’s him, really, who’s the intruder here. It feels unfair Rory would hold a grudge against them for the simple crime of existing where they’re meant to exist; something Eliza had affectionately insisted to him, for a very long time, Rory knew nothing about.

He sets both cups of earl gray down on the small table out on his porch, then takes his usual seat to the left. Rory watches as the steam rises from the cup that isn’t his, carried away by the cool night breeze, off to where he can’t follow. What fills the silence for the next five minutes is the crickets’ high-pitched instrumental, the rustling of leaves against the wind, and the occasional intrusive chirp of a bird that’s not meant to be awake anymore.

Rory spins his cup between his fingers gingerly, careful not to burn the tips of them by pressing against the ceramic for too long. Eventually, he brings it to his lips and takes a sip, the heat of the tea comfortable enough to both satiate his thirst and warm his body against the dropping temperature. He sets the cup down again, tracing the rim of it, before he starts.

“Annie’s learned the word fuck,” Rory tells his girlfriend, gaze fixed on the untouched cup of tea across from him. “Keep thinking she’s not listening all the time, but that little bugger’s got her ear to the ground always,” he snorts, amusement settling inside him. “I’m surprised she didn’t learn it sooner, honestly. She’s been warned she can only say it in the bathroom, and never in front of anyone else,” his lips tighten into a warm smile. “Yesterday she broke one of her Barbie’s heads off accidentally and I watched her march straight into the bathroom and shout it,” Rory laughs, rubbing his face both tiredly and disbelievingly. “Wish you coulda seen it, Ellie.” 

His hand traces the smooth edges of the porch table. He’d built this almost immediately after he and Annie had moved to Blue Harbor, knowing he’d need a place, eventually, to sit outside and talk to Ellie. Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered, if the tea didn’t play such an important part of their talks. Rory doesn’t think he believes there’s anything to look up at the sky for — feels a little silly, if he tries it. He supposes there’s nothing less silly about talking to a cuppa, mind you, but at least there’s something about her there. The cup’s got a hideous neon-pink pattern printed around it, the loops largely reminiscent of ass cracks. It’s what had drawn Ellie to it in the first place, cackling at it at the thrift shop, and she’d happily drank her tea out of it for years after the fact.

Humming, he continues, “Valley’s finally told me about what happened with her and Murph,” he tells Eliza. His fingernail scratches at the wood of the table anxiously. “I’m sure she’d’ve preferred it’d been you she could talk to. Never been good at all that,” he swallows, his throat starting to feel a little tight. “Not like you, anyway.” The steam is still rising from the cup, but it’s coming in thinner waves now. “I know you’d be worried about her. I’m worried about her, too. Getting her to ask for help — it’s like pulling teeth,” he huffs, the words filled with affection despite himself. Valley and Eliza had been good friends for a reason; she reminds him a lot of her, in many ways. “I won’t keep my eyes off her,” he promises Eliza unnecessarily. “I mean it.” 

He continues to tell her about the past week — an oddity at the flower shop, an ambitious commission by a young musician, Annie’s affinity for Ms. Zakwe, her new favorite teacher. Peanut Butter’s great escape, the grand army of insects he’d been afraid he was going to have to fight, the quiet afternoons off where nothing particularly interesting happens. He talks until the steam has stopped rising entirely from the tea inside the cup, the night seemingly having cooled it down in its entirety. He talks until he’s out of things to talk about, and the elephant in the room has made its way to their porch, sitting on its hind legs. 

Rory purses his lips. He can taste his heartbeat, suddenly, with how far and fast it’s beating. He thinks he has the words, really, but they’re stuck to the roof of his mouth now, and his tongue feels heavy. 

So instead he says, “I’m sorry.”

The tears sting at his eyes almost immediately, the knot in his throat constricting so fantastically it almost feels like he’s going to choke with it. His hand grips the handle of his cup so tightly he fears, for a second, he might well and truly break it. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, wiping at his nose with his free arm. “I didn’t think I’d like him this much, Ellie.”

A part of Rory knows there’s nothing to apologize to her for — she’d never have given him any sort of grief for this, under the circumstances. Even in life, he doesn’t think there was a jealous bone in Eliza Carmichael’s body. She’d been perfect in every sense imaginable, and Rory had been at the right place at the right time, lucky enough to orbit her as long as he had. And still, he can’t help feeling like the admission is some sort of betrayal: he’d promised her, once, he’d spend the rest of his life loving her, and now — now—

“I think I’m forgetting your voice,” he admits, voice thick, blinking tears away. “It’s hard to remember it, on my own. I used to—” he clears his throat. The knot sits firm. “I used to be able to pick you out of a crowd by the sound of it. Pick apart your moods with it. And now, uhm,” his eyesight’s blurred over, suddenly. “And now I can’t even remember your laugh. I can’t even remember how you said my name, Ellie.” 

He chokes on a sob, pressing the heels of his palms tersely against his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes again. He wants to tell her how different they both are from each other — where Eliza had slotted herself into the parts of Rory that had been left wanting his entire life, Jack’s somehow snuck into the crevices of what remains, content to live in the spaces Rory never filled. How where Eliza had always burned so brightly she’d blind anyone who looked at her too long, Jack slumps into himself and exists outside the lines, like a sculpture at an art museum you’re not meant to touch. How where Rory’s losing the details of Eliza he’d been sure he’d committed to memory for years, he’s slowly starting to learn the exact number of Jack’s laugh lines, the depth of his frown, the texture of his scars, all by heart. 

The love he has for Eliza burns as brightly as the first day he’d laid eyes on her. He cannot deny her that — he cannot lie to himself about it. It is, perhaps, the reason why it hurts to think of her as a disappearing memory, as a stack of carefully-wrapped canvases sitting in storage, collecting dust instead of admiration. And where Rory thought there was no room in him left, no way to make it inside himself with such overwhelming grief having taken up residence, it turns out somewhere between a shy smile from across the way while unloading moving boxes and the feeling of calloused lips soft against his own, there exists a chasm, still. 

Does this count as a broken promise, then? I’ll love you forever, but I’ll forget the details of your face. I’ll love you forever, but I’ll not be able to remember the exact curve of your smile. I’ll love you forever, but you’ll start to live outside of me bit by bit, until time takes the rest of you.

You’ve never done anything by halves, have you, Rory Anderson? Eliza had asked of him once. Her voice still eludes him — she comes through like a radio station just outside its frequency. But he does remember how she’d caressed the side of his face, looking at him with such fondness it’d spread through Rory like a wildfire. I hope you know what it feels like one day, to have the attention of someone like you.

Maybe. 

He thinks of Eliza’s insistence that the world was made up of colors Rory’s yet to discover, her firm belief that he’d see what she saw, one day — that he’d find that burst that so eludes him, and he’d know, he’d know, then, he’d found exactly where he was meant to be. 

Maybe, Rory thinks as he lets the breeze run through his hair, take whatever’s left of his quiet sobs — maybe making space for more does not constitute a broken promise, in the end. 

Maybe some things have to be felt through their absence, by the gaps in the memory they leave behind.

Maybe, actually — this is how all things are meant to be loved:

Deeply, even as they fade.

[dearcauti0n]

Imagine just being born and you get greeted with your first trauma

NO BUT THIS SHORT IS SO FUNNY I MISS THESE

[vervainlacedveins]

Eva snorted. "Yeah, right ... like I've never heard that one before." She rolled her eyes, hips shifting as she directed her weight onto her other foot: arms still crossed over her chest. "Trust me, you ain't the first lot of freaks movin' into town claimin' peace." Eva pointed out. What they were exactly, she didn't care all too much. The woman's golden eyes reminded her of werewolves, though she didn't smell at all like a wet dog ..."If y'all are smart ... then you'll leave. People have a tendency to die fast in this town. Doesn't matter if they're human or not."

Esme couldn't help the exasperated exhale. She's entirely exhausted with the supernatural and its conflict. She just wants peace and quiet, a place to settle for a few years before having to inevitably move once more. Still, a practiced smile adorned Esme's pink stained lips and finally, golden hues meet those of the woman speaking to her. "I understand. But I can assure you that we have no interest in such things." Despite not needing to, Esme swapped the strap of her bag over to her other shoulder. Human habits were ingrained in her now. "As long as no-one bothers us, then you can be assured that you'll live peacefully; so much so, you'll forget we're even here."

[unamokkeecuatoriana]

@moonsoupstar-ao3

[livesguarded]

Tag Drop.

[psychicsalvatore]

"Mostly?" Ellie's delicate eyebrows shooting up in surprise, "You mean there are other vampires like you with the creepy red eyes?" She asked, intention not at all to insult with her choice of words ... but it was still creepy (even to a vampire like her). In fact, the more that she curiously studied him the more Ellie realized that she couldn't even hear a heartbeat from him. "Can you turn it off?" Ellie asked. Surely he could. Even werewolves didn't have their golden eyes 24/7. "Like this. See?" Her once green eyes turned blood-shot: darkening by the protruding veins around the eyes. Then just as easy as Ellie allowed her vampire face to show, she smoothly turned back, smiling.

"Hey, I'm totally new to all this. I've never met a vampire not like this. There's the Cullens with yellowy orange eyes, but mostly it's red like this." he explained. Perhaps if he'd been a vampire for a longer amount of time he'd find it stranger that she wasn't like him, but all of this was new to him, it was all weird. Who was he to say what was weirder? "Maybe there are subtypes?" he suggested, "Like grey and red squirrels but less cute and more..." he hissed.

[outspirk]

Una nota y me cambio la url a argentinasexogay hasta que termine el partido a ver si da buena suerte

[voids4voidies]

Meet voidies! :DDDDD

Base used :3

[dream-sans-mogai]

Anyway, because I'm considered a bigger creator within the mogai community and I have a responsibility to address things given my bigger audience-

Please remember that Tumblr, especially LGBT Tumblr concerning discourse and intracommunity issues, is a hyper niche, reactive, violent, sensitive community with next to zero basis in reality at large and you should not take any of its opinions as absolute fact. Especially the mogai community's opinions.

A lot of people on mogai Tumblr talk big game with very clearly fake the-whole-bus-clapped stories about the real world concerning acceptance towards mspec monos, Neopronouns and Xenogenders and it's my job as an adult and guiding voice to remind people these experiences may happen but rarely do and you absolutely should not just tell random people you use purr/purrs pronouns or your a bi gaybian or you identify as Chronosian or other things like that because it's really fucking dangerous even in hyper progressive places like new york, cali and Detroit. It can be deadly in many many small towns, including ones in progressive states. Especially dangerous in non accepting states.

I don't say this to burst your bubble or ruin your hopeful world view but many stories of acceptance are fake, even if some are true, most of the community is underage and just cause your teacher may approve of your Soniccharic identity, doesn't mean they won't tell your transphobic parents. It's scary and dangerous out here for trans and gay people rn and I won't be one of the idiots who tell you to run and frolic with your Xenogender pins Infront of increasingly hostile transphobes. I want the younger gen z trans people to survive and I won't lie to you about the reality of the battle we all are staring down concerning project 2025.

Most of the people telling these stories live in progressive states and do not tell you about the failed times or exaggerate the acceptance they supposedly received. I'm telling you from the mouth of someone who grew up in a tiny town in South Ohio with less than 1,000 people, it's still just as dangerous as it was 10 years ago. I still get followed in my home town. I still get stares in my home town. My actual home town, a place I grew up in where people knew me as the gnc dyke for a good while in my last 2 years of school. Do not spread this shit around to everyone. Nex didn't think they would become a victim, Brianna didn't think she would be one of the unlucky ones, plenty of those we've lost did not think they would die in hate crimes. I almost died in two of the hate crimes I've experienced.

You need to be really fucking careful and although I love than Neopronouns and Xenogenders are becoming more accepted by the larger LGBT community, you need to be very very VERY careful about what you do, what you wear and who you tell what because word spreads fast in suburbia and hate spreads faster. You do not want to be wearing a pin the day some white cishet magat decides he's tired of the "pedophiles" and chooses you as the first victim because you were the first he saw. Don't hide who you are but Be. Fucking. Careful.

[psychicsalvatore]

Ellie gave Damon a funny furrowed look, lips curling upwards in a dimpled smirk, "You say that like its such a bad thing!" She exclaimed with a snort, her sweet raspy voice dramatic as the teenage age she was forever frozen at. Yet, there was an undeniable sense of pride to the immortal teenager and her recent choice of actions - oh, she was practically bouncing in her seat: happily taking the glass of whiskey offered to her from her older brother. "As if you've never done worst!" She teased, hiding her grin behind the glass as she brought it to her lips for a small sip, "Even I don't need a vision to tell me that."

▶;; { psychicsalvatore - ellie } LIKED FOR A STARTER

                       ❝ You did all of that in the ((( SAME NIGHT )))     ?     ❞     Damon asked, the vampire found himself to be an odd mixture of impressed and disturbed. This discomfort, of course, had nothing to do with insecurity. He could do all of that if he wanted to, of course he could.     ❝ How, and more importantly WHY would you even do that      ?     ❞     Damon poured himself a glass of whiskey, then a second one for Ellie waving it in her direction, he wouldn't even tease her for being 'too young' to drink, she'd earned this one.

@psychicsalvatore

[smileflowcr]

Ragnar Landvik, 22 años físicamente, semi dios y gobernante del reino de hielo, montañas y auroras boreales, omega.

Han Jongsu, 22 años, estudiante de fotografía. stay away from him, please (verse humano)