#hellborus

  ​   sterile  while  walls,  the  scent  of  heavily  fragranced  lemon  bleach  they  mopped  the  floors  with  before  pierces  through  her  nose.  that  is  the  hindrance  of  having  such  advanced  senses  constructed  into  one’s  sleeve  ;  the  sensitivity  is  increased.  it  isn’t  pleasant  thus,  she  scoffs  at  the  entrance  of  the  room.  how  lifeless  and  cold  it  seems  to  be,  even  past  the  booths  and  into  secluded  rooms...  it  is  no  wonder  less  and  less  people  desire  this  position  and  their  forces  are  overwhelmed  with  crimes.  what  does  she  care,  anyway ?  it  is  all  to  her  benefit.  

[   𝐔𝐍𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐃   ・   𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨     ⇥   @hellborus​​​   !   ♡   ]

his sickening sentiments fueled vice and virtue and were there to educate his stance into one of defensiveness, feeding further his unhealthy coping mechanisms. as he leaned against his camaro, with cigarette trembling betwixt tiers, he consumed that nicotine as if his life depended on it ⸻ as if oxygen was naught but a secondary necessity. he was utterly pissed off, finding her more of a confounded nuisance than an asset. ❝ you're late… yet again. ❞ vocals brimmed with anger, he could only let the azure of his spheres land on her for a second before setting on the curious passerbies. ❝ how many times do i have to tell you that i don't like to wait? ❞ the sharpness of his tongue was kept at bay, daring not to insult unless she was no longer of use. ❝ if you can't do your job properly, i will find someone else to do it. ❞ and undefeated smirk jazzed upon his sun-bathed lineaments, finally locking his gaze with hers, sensing a fleeting victory. ❝ your reputation isn't what it used to be, anyway. ❞ douche b :)))))))

[ ... ]   𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍.   She cared not for the way his blue eyes cruelly pierced through flesh and muscle,   through sinew and bone until they could dig out all the   𝙨𝙚𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙨   that the young woman had cowardly buried within the depth of her marrow:   if he was certain that his jaw could afford giving bites entirely unforgiving and unforgettable,   then Ahri was undoubtedly more than willing to demonstrate him that her own jaw had been arduously honed and strengthened through loss and grief,   through the   𝗲𝗱𝗮𝗰𝗶𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗴𝗼𝘂𝗿𝗺𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗶𝘇𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻   of her own heart and soul.   It is thus not surprising that his complaints were destined to fall ‘pon capriciously deafened ears   ;   her sole reaction was that of rolling her eyes beneath heavy layers of thick mascara and shimmering eyeshadow. 

             [   𝙳𝙾 𝙽𝙾𝚃 𝚁𝙾𝙻𝙻 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙴𝚈𝙴𝚂 𝙰𝚃 𝙼𝙴𝙽,   had her adoptive mother once reprimanded her,   for everyone knew that men only longed for submissive lambs by their sides     ⸻     foxes that bit were a plaything,   𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙳𝙾 𝙽𝙾𝚃 𝚆𝙰𝙽𝚃 𝚃𝙾 𝙱𝙴 𝙰 𝙼𝙰𝙽'𝚂 𝙿𝙻𝙰𝚈𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶,   𝙳𝙾 𝚈𝙾𝚄,   𝙰𝙷𝚁𝙸   ?   ]

An overly dramatic sigh was heaved betwixt lotus - red tiers as she approached him,   standing mere centimeters away from him,   close enough to fill the expanse of her lungs with the strong and pungent scent of his cologne.   A hand was raised,   finely manicured nails grazing the line of his chin as if desirous for affection before they began digging into his tanned flesh with their cherry - painted tips   ;   how truly unnerving,   to play by the rules rather than wholly depending on the abilities bestowed ‘pon her by the devil himself.   ❝   Have I ever told you that I like you most when you use your mouth for things other than speaking   ?   We have spent less than a minute together and I already want to hit your   𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙮 𝙛𝙖𝙘𝙚   with a brick.   ❞

@hellborus​ said: i will bring you coffee at midnight if i want to. ( from maybe damon or grant ward or any other you would like ) 🥺

          teen wolf season 5a sentence meme

“ you do not turn against your family. ” and “ enough”… put them together and we have juicy drama 😳      ╱       source    ,    open    ,    @hellborus​​

      trepidation.  it  petrifies  so  that  the  body  is  paralyzed  in  its  spot  --  he  stands  there,  somewhat  abashed  and  incredibly  dreadful  of  his  father.  while  tenderness  isn’t  commonly  graced  such  a  austere  tone  is  not  often  heard  --  there  is  evident  disgruntlement,  pique,  and  aggravation  in  the  vox.  enough.  it  echoes  through  ceaselessly.  such  petulance  brings  the  boy  filled  with  nothing  but  insolence  in  his  blood  to  a  halt.  as  if,  in  these  fleeting  moments  of  silence,  might  he  assess  the  situation  and  find  the  best  escape  route.  albeit,  with  no  avail  to  his  great  misfortune  --  he  must  face  him  and  tolerate  whichever  wrath  is  to  be  lashed  out.

      only,  that  a  laughter  bursts  through  him  in  the  utmost  inappropriate  moment.  hearty,  impertinent,  loud...  he  fears  not  to  scorn  him  straight  in  the  face,  laugh  at  the  statement  which  leaves  such  a  bitter  taste  to  the  tongue.      ❛    ha,  you’re  one  to  lecture !    ❜      unbelievable,  he  rages.  how  could  one  who  had  forsaken  in  the  past  now  lecture  to  do  the  exact  opposite ?  a  hypocrite,  that  is  what  his  father  is.  

      ❛    save  your  breath,  old  man.    ❜      a  sneer  evident  across  the  countenance  ;  there  is  an  expression  of  immense  disgust,  rancor  in  his  mouth.  he  detests  every  moment  of  this  inevitable  interaction.      ❛    what  do  you  think,  that  your  posh  friends  like  to  see  all  this  silver  on  my  face ?  the  moment  i  turn  my  back  they’re  gossiping  --  they’re  all  fakes,  so,  why  don’t  you  ask  your  favorite  child  to  come  with  you  to  this  stupid  event  instead,  mm ?    ❜      years  of  being  jilt  speak  through  him  in  embitterment  so  poignant,  it  almost  hurts  to  hear.  he  turns  away,  unable  to  even  gaze  at  the  man  who  stands  before  him  with  such  ingenuine  expectancy  in  his  eyes  as  if  they  had  never  met  before,  as  if  he  does  not  know  what  a  terrible  being  his  son  has  truly  become.      ❛    i’m  gonna  tell  you  one  last  time  --  i’ve  got  nothing  good  to  speak  of.  i  hate  this  place,  this  family,  the  business...  everything.  and  i  don’t  need  you  showing  me  around  like  a  puppy,  we  all  know  you’d  rather  have  your  trophy  wife  or  daughter  there  instead.    ❜

[ AID ] and [ ALONE ] mwah mwah.        ╱       source    ,    open    ,    @hellborus​

      where  lays  the  depraved,  is  where  the  blood  flows.  wretched,  an  abomination,  sole  two  words  that  cross  the  mind.  she  melts  away  into  the  spiral  of  thoughts,  a  tornado  is  in  her  head  and  relief  shall  never  arrive,  nothing  shall  ever  quell.  this  is  not  her  first,  and  most  likely  not  her  last.  yet  the  life  grasped  in  the  palm  of  her  hand  and  shatter  were  never  so  vivid,  never  so  tangible.  it  is  different,  from  being  between  a  cyberspace  to  the  real  --  it  is  not  a  construct,  nor  a  cruel  joke  on  her  expense.  she  is  equipped  with  a  deadly  weapon  that  is  harmful  just  as  her  intellect,  and  what  does  she  use  it  for ?  

      for  annihilation  and  catastrophe  alone.  

      crimson  was  never  a  color  that  suited  her.  she  wears  so  with  shame,  as  it  stains  her  bright  clothes.  they  must  burn  now,  to  the  very  last  fiber  until  all  of  the  ignominy  burns  into  flames  and  turns  into  ashes.  she  stands  there  with  enfeebled  knees,  uncertain  whether  to  grasp  onto  something  before  a  collapse  or  whether  to  pull  herself  onto  the  floor,  hoping  that  to  simply  sprawl  there  lifelessly  would  cast  away  all  this  desolation.  there  is  nothing  left  in  her  to  endure  this,  and  she  does  not  wish  to  find  the  resources  to  do  so.  no  more  endurance.  if  one  cannot  feel  consequence,  can  they  feel  anything  at  all ?  and  if  so,  will  their  crimes  be  forgiven ?  

      he  pulls  her  away  from  the  misery  and  confusion,  wrapping  tightly  alike  a  suffocating  snake  around  her  throat.  even  in  this  state,  she  manages  to  neutralize  the  room’s  defenses  so  that  he  may  pass  the  threshold  without  harm  --  yet  the  sight  that  her  eyes  catch  is  no  succor  in  quelling  these  erratic  palpitations  and  ache.  and  instantaneously,  she  heaves  a  defeated  exhale  --  that  as  if  to  state,   ‘ you,  too ? ’   in  all  this  crimson  smeared  across  his  features.  his  exhausted  and  strict  features,  fine  lines  filled  with  a  color  surprisingly  and  woefully  suiting  him.  with  eyebrows  furrowed  upwards  in  desolation  and  dolor,  with  the  exhale  given,  her  shoulders  fall  softly  --  everything  in  her  caves  to  his  presence...  and  yet  she  feels  so  lonely,  she  pulls  him  inside.  frail  fingers  that  can  barely  halt  her  quivering,  although  not  as  noticeable  as  prior  --  she  motions  them  into  the  shower.  but  nothing  can  clean  them  of  the  blood  on  their  hands.  

      not  even  the  gushing  of  hot  water  can  burn  away  the  sensation  of  viscidity  of  carmine  against  her  skin.  the  echoes  of  droplets  of  water  against  the  tiles  cannot  overweight  the  repeated  sounds  of  their  harrowed  squalls  in  her  head.  why  did  they  have  to  part ?  why  did  they  have  to  go  each  on  their  own  way ?  whichever  excuse  they  had  to  completing  this  mission  faster  if  they  were  to  split,  felt  futile.  for  yevgeniya  had  never  felt  more  alone  in  this  world.  more  cold  and  lonely.  

      it  is  because  she’s  lost  control.  she  has  never  been  in  a  position  of  absolute  lawlessness,  of  raw  luck  and  instincts  --  ego  is  a  code,  a  program,  an  engram,  a  construct,  the  malware  in  your  home  office...  ego  is  not  a  fragile  girl,  shattered  to  the  bone  by  ceaseless  pleads  of  mercy  and  she  does  not  put  her  faith  in  the  hands  of  her  survival  instincts.  it  is  always  calculated  to  the  very  last  percentage.  

      albeit,  perhaps  yevgeniya  evidently  is...

      the  stream  of  water  down  her  face,  down  her  back,  it  washes  the  crimson  into  a  roseate  hue.  but  it  does  not  wash  away  her  tears,  bottled  in  her  eyes  and  quivering  over  the  edge  --  conspicuous,  prodigious  drops,  she  feels  ludicrous.  how  many  lives  has  her  occupation  extracted ?  just  as  it  was  not  a  surgical  and  distant  procedure  now,  it  abruptly  becomes  all  too  overwhelming  and  consuming ?  how  piteous.  

      cautious,  studious  eyes  examine  each  curve  and  muscle.  there  is  a  cut  under  his  left  bicep,  and  at  his  shoulder.  sedulous  manner  of  the  fingers  that  trail  across  the  cuts  seems  to  disconcert  only  momentarily,  from  the  void  of  ordeal  in  her  head.  ever  so  gentle,  as  if  focusing  on  the  warmth  of  his  injured  flesh  could  somehow  divert  her  from  the  grave  hole  in  her  chest  --  the  loss  of  control,  how  colossal  this  feeling  of  helplessness  is...  it  is  all  because  of  him.  and  even  with  blurred  vision  she  can  still  follow  her  fingertips  over  his  flesh,  cleaning  the  cuts,  and  having  only  one  thought  in  her  mind  ;  it  is  all  his  fault.  

      she  has  never  lost  control  until  their  paths  have  crossed.  he  is  to  blame  for  her  mind’s  gradual  derail.  

      perhaps,  he  had  become  the  malware  in  her  brain.  

“ you need to stop worrying about hurting me. you gonna apologize and pay the hospital bills of whatever bad guy you go against next time? ” <:3      ╱       source    ,    open    ,    @hellborus​​

      heaving  chest  that  will  not  soothe,  it  betrays  his  attempted  composed  expression.  what  strain  has  this  put  into  him,  almost  out  of  breath  and  there  he  is,  crouched  with  patent  perturbation  gracing  the  tired  features.  how  could  he  not  fret  when  this  is  the  outcome  of  his  erratic  and  turbulent  strength ?  ever  since  this  terrible  accident  oberon  had  not  been  the  same  ;  he  can  practically  sense  an  agonizing  headache  creeping  into  the  front  of  his  forehead  with  each  endeavor.  the  tingling  left  across  his  limbs  is  peculiar  --  it  possesses  the  same  gentle  familiarity  with  the  power  he  once  held,  as  well  as  it  is  adulterated  in  a  sense  of  disconsolateness  and  gloom.  a  raw  disdainful  sensation,  as  if  his  the  same  particles  once  holding  him  together  now  mock  him  as  he  crumbles  into  pieces.  eons  of  ashes...  into  thin  air  --  nothing  but  a  shell  of  the  immense  potential  once  displayed.

      ❛    first  of  all,  i’m  no  superhero.  i  don’t  fight  ‘ bad  guys ’  i--    ❜      what  is  the  point  exactly ?  whatever  shall  he  do  now  --  in  this  hopeless  and  desperate  state,  all  hope  evaporates  out  of  him.  there  are  no  tears  left  to  weep  for  the  loss,  nor  is  there  any  contempt  remaining  within  to  repent  and  blame  himself  for  these  insensible  decisions.  now,  all  there  is  --  it  is  surrender.      ❛    i  know  you’re  trying  to  make  me  feel  better,  but  it’s  a  poor  attempt.    ❜      a  hasty  assessment  of  the  severity  of  the  situation  is  made  via  a  brief  scanning  --  his  eyes  do  not  detect  anything  grave,  and  yet,  he  is  rueful  for  the  wounds  he’s  caused.  defeated,  he  offers  a  feigned  small  smile,  as  if  that  on  its  own  could  somehow  convince  kyungho  there  is  nothing  to  worry  of.      ❛    i’ll  go  get  the  first  aid  kit.  don’t  move.    ❜

    “ do i need to speak SLOWER so your slow brain can keep up? i’m not FROM HERE. a different universe entirely. i’m not a child and not in need of some weird man acting as a friend. ” he’s tired. if he thought time travel was a crapshoot clearly universe travel is a whole other bag of fucked up worms. and now, he’s stuck until he can figure out the true equation to jump home. at least his family have managed to get back. at least, he hopes.

... whump / hush, pin ;)        ╱       source  +  source    ,    open    ,    @hellborus​

      everything  is  tenacious  and  putrid.  it  burns  her  nose,  every  second  in  this  hell  hole.  she  has  tired  of  these  sounds,  of  thumping  of  water  --  broken  pipes,  the  stillness  in  the  air  awaiting  demise  that  never  quite  arrives,  at  least  not  in  the  right  time.  she  despises  every  moment  which  she  is  still  breathing  this  stifling  air  that  fills  this  room.  but  his  cry  for  help  couldn’t  be  ignored  --  the  way  he  exclaimed  in  piercing  affliction  --  it  would  be  inhuman,  perhaps  moreover,  they  have  a  mission  to  complete.  and  ryker,  he  is  her  muscle  --  if  she  were  to  lose  him,  all  blame  will  weigh  on  her  shoulders  and  the  deal  will  be  broken  ;  contract  eliminated,  and  so  is  her  life.  a  thin  line  she  threads  on,  cautiously  and  with  calculated  movements.  as  she  crawls  through  the  floor  to  find  an  opening,  almost  gaging  by  the  scent  of  iron  which  fills  her  nose.

      at  the  sight  of  her  inadvisable  partner,  her  heart  accelerates  all  of  the  sudden.  it  takes  her  approximately  no  more  than  two  seconds  to  comprehend  the  direness  of  the  situation  is  furthermore  vehement  than  what  she  had  surmised.  it  is  no  wonder  to  her,  given  his  expertise,  that  he  managed  to  create  all  this  horrendous  chaos  she  sees  smeared  across  the  walls,  lifeless  carcase  on  the  concrete  ground.  but  he  does  not  move  with  caution  --  like  an  injured  animal,  a  fight  or  flight  instinct  triggered....  he  is  running  away,  and  she  must  join.  or  be  forsaken  for  the  fate  of  luck  --  ego  does  not  trust  luck.  she  trusts  mathematics,  codes,  and  calculation.  

      ❛    ryk----    ❜      there  is  an  endeavor  to  retrieve  his  lost  gun,  all  in  vain.  she  would  yelp,  gasp  at  the  unforeseen  and  painful  contact  her  back  has  made  with  the  wall,  if  she  were  not  immediately  silenced.  both  of  their  hearts  pound  with  such  momentum  and  gravity,  they  might  burst.  she  can  virtually  sense  his,  for  their  profound  proximity.  his  nose  at  her  temple,  their  breathing  erratic  yet  forced  to  be  silenced  --  in  hiding.  an  injured  animal  in  hiding,  but  his  wound  smells  immoderately  repulsive  for  that  to  sustain  for  much  longer.  

      ❛    you’re  hurt...    ❜      it  is  merely  a  whisper  of  this  conspicuous  matter  which  she,  for  some  unknown  reason,  feels  the  urge  to  point  out.  as  if  he  must  not  feel  the  sharp  pain  of  having  a  bullet  wound  at  his  rib.  upon  a  brief  glance  it  seems  that  the  bullet  did  not  pass  to  the  other  side  --  she  fears  he  may  risk  an  internal  injury  as  well,  at  least  grateful  that  there  are  no  other  holes  she  needs  to  stop  the  bleeding  to.  from  her  body  forming  suit,  she  manages  with  absolute  silence  to  pull  out  anything  that  could  stop  the  bleeding,  and  she  presses  against  his  wound  as  if  that  could  help,  somehow.  but  she  must  try,  for  she  cannot  risk  losing  him.  not  right  now,  not  like  this.  

      the  most  astounding  mystery  is  the  pounding  of  her  poor  heart  --  it  is  a  sensation  she  cannot  elucidate  even  if  she  had  every  intention  to  do  so,  for  this  ache  is  something  unworldly  excruciating...  it  is  a  genuine  fear  which  arises  in  ego’s  chest,  as  if  something  or  someone  is  pressing  down  onto  her  heat  to  squeeze  out  every  last  drop  of  blood  it  contains.  seeing  him  this  wait  is  perturbing,  to  say  the  least.  she  listens  intently,  inaudibly  begging  for  air  when  their  chests  touch  in  this  tight  and  dark  corner,  calculating  every  move  of  the  enemy.  they  wait  for  a  moment  longer,  just  to  be  certain  --  and  yet,  the  desperation  grows  in  multitude  for  this  eon  of  pending.      ❛    i’ll  back  you  up,  but  we  have  to  get  you  to  a  ripper.    ❜      she  pleads,  beseeches  for  him  to  hear  her  voice  although  it  is  nothing  but  a  whisper.  each  second  matters  and  with  each  second  that  passes,  her  consternation  gnaws  deeper  at  her  insides.  

      ❛    elias...  please..    ❜