radicalrascals

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ISABELLA PEREZ + RAFAEL DA SILVA @radicalrascals

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GABRIEL HERRÁN + STEVEN CARLISLE @radicalrascals

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@etxrnaleclipse

Wagner Moura e Selton Mello || Tarja Preta

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DIOGO ROSA MADRIGAL + MURILO MADRIGAL @radicalrascals

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WAGNER MOURA Photographed for Collider [May 2025]

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@etxrnaleclipse asked:

can you please come get me? (Isabella to Rafa)

Rafael might have survived worse press conferences, yet the incredibly boring event with its bloated affairs and canned questions by his bland and obedient colleagues was grating on his nerves. He felt a need to make a ruckus, to be the one who voiced the uncomfortable truth. But the second his phone vibrated lowly in his pocket, all the chatter blurred into backgroud noise. He tugged his phone halfway out of his trouser pocket and tilted the screen up with practised discretion. His wife usually didn't call him at work. Not unless something was wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong. Rafa was on his feet before he realised it, not even caring to excuse himself to the suits flanking him. He just slipped out into the hallway like a man escaping a collapsing building. Out by the window, he caught a glimpse of the sun and felt his stomach sinking. "Where are you, querida? I'm on my way."

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HENRIQUE DE SOUZA + JOÃO OLIVEIRA @radicalrascals

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BEN HERNANDEZ + NICK SILVA @radicalrascals

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@thxnymph | @thxoracle for Tristan [Starter Call]

The door made a groan-and-bang noise as Niamh shoved it shut with her elbow. Her black curls were wet and clinging to her forehead like seaweed on a shipwreck. Befitting her state as a spirit farer, no even close to Kharon's glory. Yet.

She spotted Tristan in the back of the room, having to do master the social slalom course of avoiding the other people in here to get to him. Niamh took a deep breath and exhaled in frustration, but she persevered, walking over, boots squelching faintly. She stopped just short of his personal bubble. She took a breath, already bracing for the eye-roll that the living always tend to give her. "There's a girl. Dead. Stuck. Says she was murdered. And she won't shut up about it, poor thing." Her fingers twitched at her side. "Now, I know I'm not exactly Sherlock Holmes, I can't even solve a sudoku puzzle to save my arse, so... Will you help me?"

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Starter Call

Heya, sorry I'm still struggling a bit with getting back into the flow of writing. If anyone wants something short for either of the 6 lovelies down below just shoot me a number for a short starter.

Thank you :)

⚀ - 1 - Vitu Rocha - died for 5-minutes and came back with an eldritch horror attached; total slacker and bro [fc: Selton Mello]

⚁ - 2 - Lua - (ex)escort turned private investigator, currently still testing her out [fc: Camila Pitanga]

⚂ - 3 - Niamh Murphy - ushers the dead to the after life; doesn't get along with the living too well; loud mouth [fc: Ruth Negga]

⚃ - 4 - Nick Silva - werewolf owning a book shop for the supernatural, runs 100% on coffee [fc: Wagner Moura]

⚄ - 5 - Evelyn Adeke - homicide detective, intimidatingly professional, but secretly a theatre kid [fc: Florence Kasumba]

⚅ - 6 - Gabriel Hernandez - thief and con-man with too many alter egos; total hedonist with a heart of gold [fc: Pedro Pascal]

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@etxrnaleclipse asked:

we're friends . friends tell each other things (Pedro to Nessa)

"Eu sei," Nessa murmured, wiping the tears from her eyes. "It's just... it's complicated. No, actually, it's not complicated. I... God. I hate my family! We're all cursed, I tell you. It's either my papai or my tio, or the namorados dos meus tios or... I don't know! Everyone is always getting hurt. I'm sick of getting a heart attack every time my phone rings, that I have to fear the worst. Why can't I have a normal family? With normal people who do normal things? Instead of... I don't know... doing this dangerous shit all the time. And I know, I'm no different. Which makes me a total hypocrite. Sorry... I just... I'm sorry. I'm being over-dramatic, huh?"

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@etxrnaleclipse asked:

some people don't want to be saved (Ben to Nick)

"And you expect me to just accept that?!," Nick asked, a certain tone of disbelief and something darker, hinting at his frustration, colouring his speech. "He's my brother, porra! And I don't care if he's also an idiot, which he is. They both are, for the record. But I don't have it in me to just sit idly by and watch him get hurt. What do you want me to do, Ben? Just wait it out and tell him 'I told you so' afterwards when I could prevent it?"

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@etxrnaleclipse asked:

you're bleeding! (Gabi to Quinn)

"Me? What? Nope," Quinn put his hand under the table to hide the evidence. "It's nothing, pixie. Just a cut." Across the palm, like the good old blood magic rites demanded. Needless to say: it didn't work. "Look, it really is nothing. It'll heal up just fine. I've had dozens of these cuts in my life. It doesn't even hurt. ...Much." The warlock let out a sigh which seemed to deflate him. "I didn't think." He put the hand back on the table, eyeing it as if it wasn't part of his body. "Perhaps I need this as a reminder of what I can't do anymore."

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@etxrnaleclipse asked:

I think I'm in love with you and I'm terrified (Dani to Eve)

"Terrified?," Eve asked, straightening her posture to truly look at the beautiful woman beside her. There were a thousand reasons to be terrified, but to acknowledge them was something Eve didn't have it in her right now. So she put on a smirk instead and resorted to teasing: "Why? Any corpses you don't want me to find?" She leaned in and kissed Dani softly on the cheek. "I guess... I might be in love too. You absolutely wonderful woman."

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"Being the son of a seamstress is bound to have its perks," Paulo joked. Of course he knew he had good style and an eye for fabric and fits. It was something he had always held dear, even if he had cut ties with his family eventually.

Colmilho fell silent on their drive to the café. A small establishment, no brand affiliation, exactly what promised actual good coffee. "Choose whatever you like, I'll pay," the delegado offered, already getting his caffeine fix and a simple bagel for breakfast.

Vic paused at the comment, a little taken aback just by hearing it come from Paulo's mouth. This was unchartered waters for them both, though in vastly different ways, and he just hoped that whatever happened next would not fuck everything up like he had done previously.

"You have good style." Vic replied, doing a little spin as if to show off, before he grabbed his jacket. "You know what? That actually sounds amazing. I think I'll need it to function."

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The lanky one of the three teenagers?™ scoffs, raising a half-empty bottle in mock salute tapping the ash of his cigarette into a tiny metal bowl with too many intricate carvings for Quinn's liking. The second one sneers at Rosie: "Didn't know the dead had a curfew." He walks up to the party-poopers, with every step he takes, his leather jacket creaks, and reveals a tiny glimpse at the bone-handled dagger at his belt.

"Okay. Alright. That is enough," Quinn tells them, but with a voice so quiet he might as well just have thought it.

"Then go on and call the 'regular cops'," the lanky one shrugs. He dips his fingers in the bowl and smears the mixture of booze and cigarette ash on his forehead.

Quinn recoils. "No, this is all wrong! You cannot use any type of ash or liquid. It's like you're trying to craft a key, but in the best case you end up with nothing, in the worst case you get a crowbar and won't be able to close that door." He looks from the hobby-necromancers to Rosie. "I... uh... I read that. Somewhere."

Rosie looks between Quinn and the- they’re teenagers, right? Young enough, probably, that she shouldn’t be intimidated, even though she is, but maybe not quite as young as she thought they would be before stepping outside. Rosie crosses her arms and squares her shoulders, trying to look taller than 5’4” and not quite pulling it off. “No, just the regular cops. You’re trespassing.” She points down the winding lane, towards where the sign sits. “Our hours are posted down there.” Her heart is pounding, her cellphone sitting uselessly in the pocket of her windbreaker, a mile away from her shaking hands. “And we don’t allow open containers. This is a cemetery, not Bourbon street. Show some respect.” That last bit comes out too hesitant, with none of the weight that it should have. Summer would have cussed them out by now, but Summer was back at the house on the hill, resting for another full day of doing all of the face to face work with the living that Rosie didn't have the nerve to do.

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@etxrnaleclipse asked:

i'm not going anywhere. (Pedro to Paulo)

"And this is why I can't have nice things..." Colmilho muttered under his breath. He was sitting in his hospital bed, the only flowers he'd received were some generic get-well bullshit his superiors had on speed dial for whenever someone landed in hospital. Appropriately, the flowers had landed in the bin, with the card and all. "Don't you have visitors or something?," he wanted to snap, but it came out much tamer than he anticipated. Almost rueful. "Good to see, you've made it, novato. You did a..." he cleared his throat. "You did a good job down there. I won't forget that."