"It’s a very powerful thing when someone sees you as the person you wish you were."

—Veronica Mars (via wordsthat-speak)
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[ ρяєqυєℓ : ωαɴdєяιɴg ѕтαяѕ ]


Joseph did not fight back as the girl clawed and screamed, her small frame wriggling beneath him like a ferocious animal trying to break free from a trap. He stood his ground and let out a noise, one that fell from his lips as her bloodied nails raked over his cheek and left a slice from his nose to his earlobe. He didn’t bother fighting back despite it’s sting,  because he didn’t want her to be frightened, he was trying to get her to understand that he wasn’t here to hurt her.

When she managed to kick him free from her, her foot jabbing harshly into his abdomen; luckily he was good about his own strengths and when flinging up and off her he managed to land gracefully a few feet away. But, it was a minor lapse as he crouched, peering at her, eyes luminescent in the dying flames of the light. He took her all in, marveling over what appeared to be injuries that were glittering metallic. She was frightened, a little girl in mind, one that saw something evil in Joss—-an evil that didn’t truly exist in him but existed in whom had hurt her in the first place.

He tilted his head, looking her over, his form nothing more than a coat wrapped around his teenaged yet sinewy form, complete with  trousers, boots, and hair that fell into wavy tufts behind his ears and over his hazel eyes. In the darkness they reflected no more than the burning flickers of a lamplight going dark. When she spoke, his body was an animated corpse—-pale skin with blue roots snaking up his throat if looked carefully.

His steps were quiet, his lips going up at the corners, his body statuesque and gliding along but away from her to give her momentary assurance. He couldn’t just grab her and whisk her off. He was no predator but an observer, immaculate in his grace and honest in his gentleness. He had the strength to rip apart an entire fleet of soldiers, to reign fury and horror on kingdoms and to manipulate his way onto a throne. But he was no evil-doer, he was good. 

And just as his Germanic people looked down upon his mother for her frailty and her big heart, he too was looked down upon; all vampires considering him a waste for not giving into what he could be. He was an ancient among the scattered few and his particular transformation was a rarity and very unique. But this did not matter to him, he knew why he was alive. He was meant for kindness and responsibility.

I would never dare to,” He voiced strongly, his eyes locked on hers, “-—I am here to prevent hurt, to make it flee from you, to let you know that you’re not alone. And that I am no threat.” The vampire watched her, captivated by her as if she were a painting. But he did not consider himself a fool, keeping himself at a proper distance, waiting if she were to strike again. 


For every step that he took, Jill took a reactionary one. She was insistent on keeping him directly in her line of sight. She didn’t know what he was except that he was just as strong and just as fast as she was. The forest was silent around them save for the dogs that still panicked in the far distance as neither of them made a sound. He looked young but there was age to him that far surpassed her own. He was speaking again and there was no choice but to listen as every fiber of her being focused on him. Her spindle form was taught as a bowstring — tense and ready and waiting for the t r a p to be sprung.

"Liar," she hissed and bared her strange teeth at him. "All boys lie. Liar!” Jill inhaled sharply at the stabbing pain in her head and backpedaled, her fingers tangling in her hair and she wailed in pain. Never before had she been in so much pain but now there were so many hollows inside of her. So many throbbing points of torture that it nearly blinded her. Made her weak.

Tinker Bell finally had finally passed her punishment. Jill needed to feed but the animals in this forest provided no sustenance and glutting herself on the blood of the men who stormed after her was thrown up from the pressure in her head. Dying. She was dying now. She would wither away and turn into a hollowed, dusty husk of a monster thing. How far she had fallen. She, “I… am R-red Handed Jill,” she ground out through the blinding pain. “N-need…” The once fierce beast fell to her knees as the pain in her head intensified. Black parts stark in her memory and she wished she knew what was missing. What was trying to push through. “No…. one…”

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juleshough:  I don’t think @ninadobrev was expecting to get some action when she decided to come over … She wasn’t really complaining though! ;) love you babe have fun shooting! Xoxo (x)


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Your muse notices bruising around my muse’s neck. How does your muse respond?


Kick the ass of who ever dare harm such a kind creature

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I have two hours left.

Would like to go home now please

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Reblog if you do violent roleplays.

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■ !ooc;  yes;  
The Liquid Shadow: FUCKIn
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