rosshale

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they say ego isn’t pretty, but honey, it’s pretty on me.

[rosshale]

there’s nothing more satisfying than the sound of hitting someone solid in the fucking jaw.

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DEVIANT: Lorenzo Zanetti —

Full Name: Lorenzo Zanetti Nickname: Enzo Age: 28 Gender & Pronouns: Cismale, he/him Ethnicity: White Sexual & Romantic Orientation: Bisexual/Aromantic Occupation: Fighter at Rogues’ Club Affiliation: Deviant Faceclaim: Giuseppe Maggio URL: enzozanetti

Character introduction.

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+   elijah carlson.

where: outside st. peters, 7pm to: open (@redridgestart) ||| The day had been long, the office was busy and there were too many files to read up on. The town had far more happening on the sidelines than it let on, it almost scared him how little he knew when he first lived in the little city. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to settle down and just go to bed, a beer and some time in a a different place sounded about right. The walk was a bit away from his apartment, but the neon lights of St. Peters were almost impossible to miss a whole block away. The air smelt like it was getting ready to rain, Eli figured he could pass enough time to miss the storm for the walk back.

Stopping short of the door he moved to turn down his hearing aids, the things had been giving him grief all day, but the ring it started to emit was new. Letting out a surprised noise his hand moved to cover his ear, as if it would stop the sound, “Fuck-” he hissed ripping the right one out first. Flicking it off he pulled the left one out as well turning it off, he could reset them with his phone once he was inside. About to move to the door he realized there was a shadow in front of him, “Sorry about that-” he started closing his eyes for a second. Vertigo was always a possible side effect that he prayed wasn’t coming on at the moment, “Sorry,” with a deep breath he opened his eyes again grateful the world was still upright. 

“New aids,” he halfheartedly explained finally getting a good look at them. 

—

    st. peter's — a place where enzo frequently inhabited, so much so he was close to resembling a piece of the furniture by now. having just left rogue's club, the adrenaline of another win still engulfing him entirely, coursing through his veins like a drug, and with a while to spare until he had a deal to make, enzo opted for heading to his usual haunt. he'd been situated at the bar for around a half-hour now, halfway through his fourth double shot of jack when the sudden yet incessant itch for inhalation of nicotine caused enzo to head toward the front exit. as greenish-brown eyes drank in the dark-haired male stood up ahead, enzo's footfalls ceased. with a pleasantly dismissive wave of his hand, a subdued smile framed his features. “ no need to apologise. i was just heading out for a smoke, ” enzo admitted, gesturing toward the pack of marlboros he held within in his grasp. “ i keep trying to quit — never seems to stick. ” a short chuckle tumbles from his mouth then, stepping aside to permit the other man entry into the hallway. as he stood a few feet away, inky pupils darted south to cast a fleeting glance toward the man's hands ; observing the devices he held in his palms. “ you alright? ”

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+   acacia orozco.

open || @redridgehq​

Acacia couldn’t help it. Some days brought her to the steps of the restaurant that had been her home. No matter how short it had been, she’d always view it with a kind of wistfulness. Like a moth to the flame, she was across the street. Large sunglasses obscured part of her face, but any of  the senior staff would still recognize her. The danger wasn’t lost on her, but the same amount of uneasiness curled around her throat. It was a constant companion, though. The woman paused for a moment, eyeing the sign advertising the day’s specials. Her desserts were still being featured. She’d bet a week’s tips that the recipe was the same. too. Acacia shook her head as she thought better of her snooping, she hurried around the corner, only to stop short before colliding with a stranger. “Oh! I’m sorry!” she exclaimed. 

—

     rounding the corner, large hands stuffed into the leather confines of his jacket, it wasn't until his tall stature collied with another that enzo was roused from his internal train of thought. greenish flecked eyes rose, inky pupils landing upon the face of the female stood before him. “ woah there — somebody's in a hurry, ” he quipped, a short, breathy chuckle slipping past his lips. then, with a shrug of his shoulder, a faint smile etched across enzo's lips. “ it's fine, no need to apologise. we're both still standing so i'd say that's a positive outcome. ” allowing a fleeting moment of silence to gather in the air between them, enzo peered down at the woman. “ are you alright? ”

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+   anthony polat. 

Starter: Open

Outside of Blue Hill Diner

@redridgestart​

Most might call it soliciting, but he called it business. The more he sat on the street, the more people would know that he could be hired for all of their needs, that is within the musical spectrum. His guitar case was open in front of him as he played around with the strings of his guitar. At the sight of a figure passing, Anthony tried to grab their attention, “I’ll play you Wonderwall for five bucks.” 

—

     the voice pricked enzo's ears, piquing his attention just enough to cause a momentary halt in his footsteps. swiveling on his heel then, he advanced toward the other male ; a thick, dark eyebrow arching as mild interest clouded his features. “ hmm, ” he hummed in thought, the subtle noise resounding within the walls of his throat. “ i always thought wonderwall was such a mood killer — don't you think? ” as a mild smirk claimed the corner of his mouth, enzo managed to suppress a faint chuckle at his own claim. “ play me something more uptempo and i might even consider emptying my pockets for you. ”

[rosshale]

boy of darkness, they call you. heart made of stone, they tell you. born with perfection, they say of you. but oh, boy of fire, they call you. heart of a lion, they tell you. born with courage, they say of you. and sometimes you wonder, which one of you is true?

there is always truth in both // k.s. (via neverlandswriter)

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am i bitter? yes. but do i try to move on and let go of past anger? well, actually, no

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his soul is tainted, one of a deceiving, diabolical angel. he is raven-crowned, with smoke hazy eyes and intentions that are nothing but cataclysmic.

no, he had no soul at all // n.s.   (via mindspirits)

[rosshale]

They called you golden boy and pushed you up to heavens to live amongst the stars. But you couldn’t bear the weight of the universe so you crumbled and you fell. And you burned. And you burn.

they don’t know no gold is made without suffering (via fireheartwrites)

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He’s toxic. His smile will poison you. His boyish charm dangerous. The glint in his eyes as he challenges you to do something devious is lethal.

(via viirgowrites)

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calling ur dad “my father” is just the socially acceptable way of saying “my dads a bastard and i hate him”

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You keep bringing this ‘illegal’ thing up as if it means something to me.

Ilona Andrews: Magic Shifts (via faefever)