#(and the thing is that she wanted cosimo to find happiness of his own! that they didn’t want to be stuck in loveless marriages!)

[thedeadthree]

shouting from the rooftops because this song is FITTING for chiara/marc and im yelling. and taylor swift did it again and made a song that fits them as well why am i crying.

[miercolaes]

️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️ ️️️️️️️️️️️️️𝖆 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖑𝖊𝖘 𝖆𝖉𝖉𝖆𝖒𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 𝖋𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖆𝖒𝖎𝖑𝖞

after scouring the internet for something to bring me back the muse, i have stumbled upon a collection of illustrations made by charles addams. everything found is from an internet archive which can be found here (though i suggest going for the .cbr files which are 100% safe). the pages feature more than just the addams family content. below the cut you will find edited versions of the screenshots i took + headcanons that apply to my wednesday based off of them.

where the name of principal weems originated from. that's all, in my version of wednesday she never had weems as babysitter, but i wanted you to know the origins.

watering plants runs in the family. wednesday has her own plants. most of them borrowed from morticia and some she has received from other family members. most of them are either deadly, poisonous or just beautiful through her dark lenses.

featuring a new family member, uncle cosimo. he's probably the one that set the tradition of aiming to be the worst and leave this world a worse place than it was before.

tooth removal. it's funny because i think most of us did similar things with our baby teeth, but instead of a trap door it was just a plain door. or if you were like me, you were using cars with remote control because you thought that was cool. i really hope i didn't just out myself and you did the same thing as a kid.

some father - daughter bonding. swinging on a broom to feel more like a witch. wednesday adores his father although she may appear a tad cold as she grows up. this version of wednesday loves her family very much, thank you for coming to my vero talk.

wednesday canonically has six toes on one foot. as you can see, she didn't mind physical contact as a kid. and she learned how to pry from her mother.

christmas eve. reading some skewed version of a christmas carol was tradition. both wednesday and pugsley were fascinated. you guessed it right, the children loved bob. it's even more funny that i already did that without knowing it was canon and well, i too read a christmas carol on christmas eve almost every year. i am becoming an addams.

the reason why the children do not like santa. why hurt / torture an animal when you can do the same but with people who most likely deserve it? they don't like santa. below this, you'll see how they are waiting for him.

burn that bastard. forget gifts, they don't even need them. but santa must pay for what he's done. wednesday probably made a whole campaign to free the reindeers and the elves from santa's tyranical wrath.

family photos are the best. which is why if you take a picture with wednesday she won't stay deadpan. she will sneer or make some creepy face. it's what she was taught, alright?

how fairytales should be. in this version, wednesday loved fairytales with this kind of happy endings. however, what she heard is public school was atrocious. she hated school ever since.

wednesday and pugsley maiming the postman. morticia and gomez caught it in 4k before hd ever existed. once again, wednesday sits on her father's lap and she's happy.

business 101 with the addams spawns. you know it's poisoned or something among these lines.

just another lovely day.

the addamses welcoming to all supernatural beings. morticia just couldn't recognize the werewolf from just the fur. if the werewolf would've howled, then fester would recognize who it was. but all supernatural beings were welcomed on their godforsaken threshold.

fester taking wednesday and pugsley on a fishing trip. as you can see, the children had a great upbringing. their parents had the best relationship, all family members were loving, in their own way. the children had the perfect childhood. and yes, that included dynamite. if you think otherwise, grow up.

wednesday and her dollhouse which she set ablaze a few times. poor lurch had to stop the fire hazards every time. she probably got the dollhouse from krampus because screw santa.

cheating is encouraged and required. which is why wednesday would cheat her way through about anything. and once again, it seems i have made the right choice for her dc verse, in which the addamses own a casino and lbr, the house always wins because it cheats. wednesday's one hell of a co - owner.

summer days. you must scare the other children, right? that's the social norm or something. wednesday definitely filmed the moment while pugsley scared the other kids.

if another baby boy comes into the addams family one way or another, we'll know the names.

they took turns being the executioner. beheading dolls is not gender based! all kids should be allowed to behead dolls for their own sanity and happiness.

bat house. wednesday built it with gomez. the bats seem to appreciate it.

kids coming from the camp. if they were caged, then everyone would be safe on the road back home. these two rascals would commit crimes at any age and it is a good omen for them to start at a young age.

wednesday throwing a tantrum. it happens quite often. this applies into adulthood. whenever she does something benevolent accidentally she'll throw tantrums because it's not what she meant at all. have some sympathy for this devil.

another christmas tradition. pour boiling liquid contents (may or may not instantly kill the victims with the flesh disolving from their bones) on the carolers. they had it coming.

the best way to end this masterlist. that's one happily ever after wednesday loves to hear. we love some justice.

[flownintothesun]

 ⋆ ✰ ⋆ ───    [ 𝐝𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐥 ]: 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟-𝐝𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦. (𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐞 @ 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐨)

                          ⋆ ✰ ⋆ ─── 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭 𝐌𝐞𝐦𝐞: 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬  ( @batteredoptimist )

       𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐎 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐊𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐍 since he was a very young lad. It’s familiar and comforting to him — even though the majority of the memories he’s made here are fraught with their own troubles. Their home has been in the family for generations — and it’s rumored that it was built by one of his ancestors. Family homes are important for the memories they hold, for the history and for the symbolism. He loves the blue ringed tiles on the kitchen, and the paint that might once have been white but is now yellow and peeling. Everyone keeps meaning to ‘get to it’ — but so far, renovations have been on the back-burner. They’re wealthy enough they could hire a contractor — but that’s not how things are done when there’s already so much heart in it. If Mariano could count the times that his Nonna had complained that ‘if the men in this family could just get along’. But that's neither here nor there.

       The lass’s small, bird-like shoulders tremble as she stands over the sink — and Mariano thinks about how soft Rosie’s hands are compared to those of his Nonna, even in her old age. This is all new to her — overwhelming, certainly and despite Mariano’s hopes of having a pretty wife who loves his family as much as he does — he’s aware that the night has had some snags and roadblocks. All right — several. The language barrier is a mountain in and of itself. His siblings speak English — though his sisters had pretended not to, Cosimo had deigned not to. Only Santino had really tried along with him to keep Rosie apprised of the happenings around the dinner table — which are always chaotic. They’re a fairly large Italian family — dinners can get rambunctious if not downright vicious. His Nonna used to catch the corner of his eye when he was a lad and down a glass of limoncello if things got too rowdy. It had made him laugh, before he’d forgotten how.

      Slowly, he approaches, placing a hand gently against the small of Rosie's back before wrapping his arms around her. “I see you find escape room,” he offers sagely, looking down at Rosie’s hands shaking, submerged in the foamy water. “I make use of it too, when I was young.” And, fuck, it had been downright rude of his family to all but ignore her. Even with Mariano trying to ease everything together, and Santino and Nonna helping as best they can — his family can be too cruel. They have no reason to be happy about this union. About their son marrying a foreigner who does nothing for their position in the Mafia. He can’t explain to Rosie that they see it as a dishonor — because he doesn’t want her to think of herself as such.

       “Italian families — they — loud at dinner. Too much wine,” he tries — but fuck, when she looks up at the window, he can see her reflection and those big blue eyes are glassy and she looks like she’s about to cry even though she’s smiling patiently as ever. He’s been defending his family his whole life — but maybe now they all need to realize that she is about to become his family, too. His wife. “They will...get used to the idea, fragolina. It’s okay,” he says, breaking away from her to dig through a drawer and toss a dish towel over his shoulder, “You no have to have everything figured out. We do it together.”

      Here, families often share their homes — it’s not uncommon for elders and parents and adult children and young children to all live under the same roof. This house is his Nonna’s, whether or not his Papa treats it as his own, and currently his sisters and younger brother still reside under this roof until the boss decides on an appropriate match for them. He still has his own room for the ‘weekends’ — one that used to be shared with his elder brother Santino — but that will change once he and Rosie marry. Probably for the best that his own Mama doesn’t need looking after yet. “Would make you feel better if Nonna show you old photos? She show you the time I was maybe three years old,” he continues, taking dishes and beginning to dry, “And thought it would be a good idea to eat an entire bowl of Parmagiano.”

[carewyncromwell]

Hey hey hey, Cinderella AU time again at last! Sorry to have left y’all on a cliffhanger last time, so I think it’d be kindest if we just jump right in!

Previous part is here -- full tag is here -- Katriona Cassiopeia “KC” (pictured above with McNully in a dress based on this design 💙) belongs to @kc-needs-coffee -- and I hope you enjoy!!

x~x~x~x

There was a very tense silence. 

Then Erika abruptly barreled over to Orion, seizing him roughly by the collar. 

“I knew I smelled a rat, when you first waltzed in here -- ” she snarled.

“Get the hell off of him!”

BAM.

Skye had hurled a punch right at Erika’s jaw. The violent move made Erika take a step back, but she didn’t release Orion -- instead, holding onto his collar with one hand, she proceeded to try to grab Skye. Soon the two were in a full on tustle, with Skye trying and failing to get Erika to let go of Orion. 

“Skye -- ” choked Orion in a very hushed, strained voice. “Lady Rath, please -- !”

“Erika, stop,” said KC sharply. She grabbed Erika’s arm and held it back. “This is no rational way to deal with this -- ”

But Erika seemed unmoved. “This man’s a Florentine royal who disguised himself as a Royaumanian peasant to get close to our Prince. There’s nothing to waffle over.”

Her eyes shot over to Carewyn harshly. “If anything, I’d say you should make sure she doesn’t run off too, for aiding and abetting him.”

Carewyn, who’d been too stunned to properly respond, straightened up abruptly. “What?”

“Don’t play innocent, Cromwell,” said Erika very coldly. “Looking up troop movements in your spare time? Meeting every other day with a Florentine spy? Lying to Prince Henri about where you were going before dashing off to the Florentine border? It’s pretty clear you were in on it all along.”

“No!”

Orion for the first time wrenched sharply in Erika’s grip. His face was unusually pale, his black eyes very wide and anxious. 

“She didn’t know,” said the Prince of Florence insistently. “She never knew -- it was solely my doing, all of it...”

“Just what a spy would say, to protect his co-conspirator,” Erika cut him off. 

Bill and Charlie, however, both swooped down around Carewyn, flanking her like bodyguards. 

“Carey is NOT his co-conspirator!” said Charlie, his arms wrapped around her neck in a protective side-hug. 

“And she wasn’t dashing off to the border,” said Bill, his voice much firmer and lower than Charlie’s, but no less righteously angry. “She was going to see her brother at the war front.”

Andre and KC both looked startled. 

“Brother...?” whispered Andre. 

He looked at Carewyn, but she avoided his eyes. 

“Carey’s older brother is a soldier in the Royaumanian army,” said Bill. “She hasn’t seen him since her grandfather sent him out nine years ago.”

KC looked from Bill to Carewyn, her eyebrows knitting together. “He’s a soldier? But...I’ve never seen the name ‘Cromwell’ on any of my records...”

“That’s why she decided to go!” said Charlie. “She couldn’t find Jacob in your records either...so it’s likely old Charles Cromwell made him enlist under another name or something.”

“Or he just died ages ago,” Erika said bluntly. 

Carewyn’s blue eyes abruptly flared. “No! My brother is out there somewhere!”

She turned to Andre, her eyes more imploring. 

“Andre...I’m sorry for having lied to you -- but I couldn’t afford to let Iris or anyone else in my family know I’m trying to make contact with Jacob, without Grandfather’s approval. And even if my brother’s alive...”

She glanced at Orion. Her blue eyes were welled up with pain, and she had to tear her gaze away, unable to show that much emotion openly. 

“...the War is getting worse. I don’t know what state my brother is in out there now, if the War is as bad as I’ve heard -- I can’t let Jacob suffer out there, not if I can do something to help him!”

“So you thought of sneaking into the Royaumanian army camp completely on your own without even having any means to protect yourself?” said KC, her gaze rather critical as she crossed her arms. “Carewyn, that was not smart.”

Andre too didn’t look happy. “You could’ve told me, Carewyn. I considered you my friend -- I trusted you. There was no reason for you to lie to me.”

Carewyn’s face grew a lot more stoic as she turned her face away, trying to hide the tumultuous emotions in her eyes. Bill, however, strode forward, stepping right between Andre and Carewyn. 

“I know it wasn’t right for Carey to lie, Andre,” Bill said, “but truly, do you think you would’ve been all right, knowing she was running off toward the battlefield?”

“No,” said Andre, “but I would’ve been happy to help!”

“So were we, and that’s exactly why she didn’t tell you,” Bill barked back. “Because she knew how dangerous it’d be out there for herself, and she didn’t want to put any of us in that danger too, especially you. Carey doesn’t ask for help -- she never has. She’s always done things herself, rather than trouble anyone else. She tried to convince Charlie and me to head back several times, when we caught up with her. She gave herself up to those bandits because she couldn’t bear the thought of us never being able to go home to our family again, just because we followed her.”

The eldest Weasley glanced at Orion still in Erika’s grip, his brown eyes narrowing. 

“I may not know what this man’s intentions were, manipulating Carey so that he could get at the royal family,” he said lowly, “but he’s telling the truth. Carey didn’t know he was a Florentine, let alone that he was their Prince.”

“He was telling the truth about a lot more than just that.”

McNully had climbed out of the coach and down into his wheelchair attached to the boot. Gripping the sides of his chair and giving them a sharp twist, he catapulted it off the boot and down to the ground so he could roll over to Orion’s side, facing Andre with a very solemn expression. 

“Your Highness, Orion told the bandits, ‘We do not come seeking trouble’ -- and it’s just as true in this instance. As much as Orion had to keep certain things under wraps, I know him well enough to know he didn’t lie so much as omit key details, and let you all fill in the blanks yourselves. I daresay a good 95% of everything he’s told you and Carewyn is true, if not more.”

Erika snorted. “Doubtful. I’ve never heard of an honest Florentine.”

“Don’t act all high-and-mighty, you -- !” started Skye. 

“Skye, please,” Orion whispered. 

His hands were still clasped in front of him and his voice was still brushed with anxiety, even as he took several deep breaths to try to calm his heart rate. 

“...Prince Henri, the reason I came today was to seek an audience with you,” he said seriously. “I fully intended to go to the castle gates and request a diplomatic meeting, before I saw you with KC and Lady Rath. My deception was only ever a means to that end -- diplomacy and peace. There was no malevolence meant.”

“If you’d wanted to discuss peace, you could have done it honestly,” said Andre, his arms crossed.

“He could have tried, but would you have listened?”

Everyone turned to look at Carewyn. Her voice was low and she couldn’t make eye contact with anyone -- her gaze instead floated just over Andre’s shoulder -- but she sounded firmer than before, more like her usual self. 

“If he had approached the King under his true name, can you really say that your father would’ve accepted an audience with him?” she challenged Andre. “Naturally your father would’ve never allowed you to speak to him -- but would he even have spoken to Prince Cosimo VII? Would any of us have?”

Something uncomfortable flickered through Andre’s expression, robbing it of some of its righteous anger. 

Carewyn broke away from Charlie and Bill, striding right up to stand between Andre and Orion in rather the same protective way Bill had for her. 

“If Orion had come under his real name, we would’ve never danced with him at the Winter Festival,” she said. “Bill and Charlie’s family would’ve never invited him to stay for dinner. KC would’ve never told him that Charlie and I had been gone longer than expected. Badeea would’ve never invited him to sit with us by the bank while she painted. I...never would’ve accepted his help...nor would I likely have helped him.”

Was that shame, in her face? It was hard to say, for it was a shadow that disappeared very quickly. 

“I’m sure we’ve all been judged by what our names are and what families we were born into, but you especially should know full well what that’s like,” said Carewyn, her voice suddenly full of fiery conviction, “considering that from the moment we first met, you actively tried to discourage me from calling you by your real name!”

Andre flinched.

“Carewyn...” he murmured, taken aback by her passion, but Carewyn cut him off. 

“Orion met me last night to tell me that his father was a high-ranking officer who planned to attack the enemy forces with a strategy that could destroy many lives. That’s why I’m here now. I thought his father was in the Royaumanian army, but now it’s clear that he meant to warn us that his own army -- the Florentine army -- means to attack us. Yet Orion came to warn me anyway -- and beyond that, he said how much he disapproved of the strategy and wanted peace.”

Andre’s eyes narrowed upon her face. “Carewyn, he lied to you about who he was. How can you believe anything else he told you might be true?”

“Because good people can still make mistakes!” Carewyn shot back. 

Her voice betrayed a flare-up of emotion, and it made her go very quiet. Then after a moment, she took a deep breath. 

“People make mistakes -- fathers, mothers -- 

People make mistakes,

Holding to their own -- thinking they’re alone.

Honor the mistakes everybody makes, one another’s terrible mistakes...

They could still be right -- they could still be good.

You decide what’s right -- you decide what’s good --

Just remember...

Someone is on your side -- someone else is not.

While we’re seeing our side, maybe we forgot

They are not alone...no one is alone...”

The familiar words seemed to make all of the anger in the air ebb away. Skye looked from McNully to Orion, stunned. Erika, although her face remained as distrustful and hard as ever, felt her grip on Orion’s collar slacking. Orion himself, however, could do nothing but stare at Carewyn over Erika’s arm, his black eyes storms of emotion. 

Andre closed his eyes, his expression becoming more troubled. 

“Andre,” Carewyn said more softly, “I told Orion that if he believed peace between Florence and Royaume was possible that he should talk to you about it. Clearly he took that advice...even while knowing how badly you’d probably react. Even without bringing any soldiers to protect him. And he put himself on the line by coming out here with you to help me. Is that truly the mark of an evil man?”

Andre slowly opened his eyes. His gaze swept from Carewyn up onto Orion behind her. Despite himself, the Prince of Florence couldn’t keep the pained, yet adoring emotions out of his midnight-black eyes as he stared at Carewyn -- like a man who truly had never seen anything more beautiful in his life. 

The Prince of Royaume’s eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly. Then, finally, he sighed. 

“...Erika, put him down.”

Erika looked up at Andre, faintly surprised. After a moment, however, she did so, though her eyes stayed on Orion beadily. 

“I do not approve of your methods, Prince Cosimo,” said Andre, drawing himself up to full height, “but you came seeking an audience with me, to discuss diplomacy. I shall grant it, but on my terms. I intend to accompany Carewyn to the Royaumanian camp straightaway -- should you wish to speak with me on our journey up, so be it.”

Both Carewyn and Orion reacted with surprise, but for completely different reasons. 

“Andre, you don’t have to do that -- ” Carewyn started. 

“No,” said Orion firmly, trying to keep his voice level despite his urgency, “you and Carewyn must not go anywhere near the war front. It is no place for you, nor anyone -- ”

Andre held up a hand to stop both of them. 

“I’ve made up my mind. If my country’s army is threatened, then I’m obligated to intervene, as their Prince. And besides...”

His eyes landed on Carewyn, growing a bit softer. 

“...I’ll need to know where your brother is positioned, if I’m going to know which battalion to reassign to guard the palace.”

Carewyn straightened up sharply. Andre beamed. 

“Your family needn’t know that Jacob and his battalion were repositioned,” he said almost smugly, “nor that it was for any particular reason. If nothing else...I’m certain your brother would be beneficial to castle security, if he knows you’re working there.”

Carewyn stared at Andre, hardly able to comprehend what she was hearing. 

He wanted to bring Jacob home. He wanted to give them a place in the castle together -- he was willing to do it covertly, so that Charles wouldn’t try to punish either of them...

“Andre...”

Her heart suddenly felt overfull. She had to cover her face in both hands to try to hold in her emotions. It took her a solid minute before she’d forced back her tears enough to remove her hands from her face, and when she did, she immediately strode forward and threw her arms around Andre in a full hug. 

“Thank you,” she whispered in his ear, her voice very choked and soft. “Thank you.”

Andre’s eyes melted with warmth and fondness and he brought his arms around her in return, squeezing gently before holding her at arm’s length. 

“I hope your brother’s as good of a fashion template as you, Carewyn,” he said with a brighter smile. 

Carewyn couldn’t help but give a choked laugh. “I’m afraid Jacob’s a disaster when it comes to clothes, but...oh, you’ll love him, Andre, I know you will...”

Orion’s expression was still very tense when McNully reached out and took hold of his arm. 

“Orion, I get why you don’t want to go near the war front,” he said seriously, “and obviously you shouldn’t be going into their camp at all yourself...but this is your chance, to talk things over with Prince Henri. We have to get a peaceful road mapped out fast, if we want to convince your father not to use my strategy...”

“Your strategy?” repeated KC, her eyes narrowing critically. 

Everyone turned to McNully. 

“A war strategist strategizes, it’s part of the job description,” McNully said, unabashed. “Though for the record, I intended for it to simply help us capture an army’s worth of war prisoners, not kill everybody.”

“Unlike a certain army who keeps shifting their cannons every day so they can blow up everyone they can without even looking their opponents in the face,” said Skye rather coldly. 

KC crossed her arms. “The goal was to aim for your stores of ammunition, not your soldiers.”

McNully did a double take. 

“Wait -- so you’re the one who came up with that strategy?!” he said. He whirled on Orion, looking incredulous and almost angry. “You made friends with Royaume’s new military strategist and you didn’t tell me!?”

“It must have slipped my mind,” said Orion serenely, but his black eyes betrayed a glint of mischief. “Yes, I remember now...you were remarking about how whoever made that strategy for the Royaumanian army had to be a genius...”

Skye snorted in amusement. “‘Remark?’ He ranted about it to me long before telling you, Orion -- McNully was so mad that he was fumbling over his statistics...”

“I fumbled once,” McNully said irritably. “My statistics were therefore 99.9% accurate in that conversation.”

Amazingly, even despite all the tension that had been between them, Andre and the Weasleys found themselves snorting with laughter. Carewyn even had to bite her lip to hold in her own amusement. 

KC raised an eyebrow at McNully, her lips spreading into a smirk. “Well, I guess I can thank you for appreciating my ‘genius,’ at least, Mr....?”

“Murphy McNully,” said McNully at once. Even though he was smiling, though, there was some irritation in his face. “Just called ‘McNully.’ And the name of my opponent in military strategy would be...?”

“Lady Katriona Cassiopeia,” she answered with just as cool of a smile. “Just called ‘KC.’”

“Charmed, I’m sure,” said McNully, but there was definitely a charge of competitive lightning that crackled between them as they stared each other down.

Andre, for his part, was actually smiling mischievously as he moved to remove his horse from the front of Orion’s black coach. “Well, KC, perhaps while we’re escorting Carewyn, you and Mr. -- rather, McNully can have a discussion of your own.”

Both McNully and KC looked taken aback. 

“What?” said KC.

“I would love to talk to Florence’s chief strategist about the in’s and out’s of military protocol, but...well, I just don’t know enough about it myself,” said Andre innocently, though his eyes and voice were much too sassy to be convincing. “So you can do so on my behalf. After all, you are much more versed in these things.”

When KC tried to argue, Andre cut her off with a simple “That’s an order,” and climbed back up on his horse.

“Come on, Carewyn -- let’s get your, Charlie’s and Bill’s horses and be off. We don’t have much time.”

“Wait.”

Everyone looked at Orion. His face was still very pale as he stared at Carewyn.

“If you’re determined to go out there,” he said at last, “then you’ll need some way to protect yourselves from harm.”

He freed one of his own black mares from the front of the coach and climbed on its back.

“Follow me -- Carewyn and I have a friend who I know can help us.”

Once Bill, Charlie, Erika, and Carewyn were all back on their horses again, Orion led the group out of the woods. Skye drove the coach with KC’s steed as well as her own black horse, for McNully would have to ride inside it, and KC (following Andre’s directions) rode with him. Inside the coach, McNully -- perhaps to try to bolster his own slightly hurt ego -- challenged KC to a game of chess to pass the time. Carewyn could hear them bantering over their match on their way up. 

“Well, well! Moving a pawn rather than your Queen -- that’s 99% unexpected.”

“What’s the other remaining 1%?”

“Margin of error.”

“Well, I assure you -- this was not an error.”

“I think I’ll take my chances anyway.”

Andre, meanwhile, rode on his own horse beside Orion a good ways ahead of the others to talk privately. Erika, Charlie, Bill, Carewyn, and Skye all watched them from a distance -- they couldn’t hear what the two Princes were saying, but their discussion appeared very serious. Andre’s posture was oddly stiff and guarded, and Orion’s looked oddly submissive and detached. 

Then, very abruptly, Andre actually started to laugh. The sound startled everyone, Erika most of all.

“What?” said Erika. “What’s so funny?”

Orion looked back at them with a small wry smile. “Merely shoes, my lady.”

“Shoes?” repeated Erika, bewildered.

“Don’t bother questioning it,” Skye sighed tiredly from her spot in the driver’s seat as Orion faced forward again and continued his conversation with Andre. “Orion never stays focused on one thing whenever he’s talking to somebody -- be glad he didn’t randomly start talking about swallows and the color green...”

“Those were brought up too, actually,” Andre said loudly over his shoulder.

He flashed Carewyn an amused look, and Carewyn couldn’t help but smile a bit in return. It really sounded like they were finding common ground...

As the Princes both turned away, though, Carewyn’s smile slid off her face.

Princes...yes. That’s what they both were. All this time she’d thought that Orion might be a magician, or that he might’ve been like her mother and been born into wealth but trying to distance himself from his family -- or even that he was a bit like her, in the way that he’d lived in poverty but now lived in a home that was wealthy. Never had she thought that, in truth, he was the Prince of her country’s mortal enemy...

She knew she should be frightened by this -- betrayed and hurt. But everything she’d said to Andre was true. Instead of feeling distrustful and resentful of Orion, all she could do was feel worse about herself. Orion had lied to her because he was a Prince -- a royal with the humility of a peasant and a wise and gentle heart who wanted nothing more than to bring peace to their countries...who was willing to put himself in harm’s way to do it, who befriended her and the people around her regardless of their ancestry and the War that dictated they should be enemies...

And Carewyn? She’d lied to him because she was nothing but a maidservant. Worse still, she was the penniless, lying, pretentious commoner ward of Charles Cromwell -- a pathetic child who’d sold her soul to her grandfather, stupidly thinking that he’d treat her and Jacob like family, only for him to rip her and Jacob apart and send Jacob off to a War where he would suffer day after day with no chance of reprieve. A prisoner...someone who was chained to Charles’s will for the rest of her life, as penance for her mistake.

When Orion’s lie was revealed, it only served to make Carewyn admire him more. When hers was...Carewyn knew that it would only serve to turn him away. 

“Carey?”

Carewyn looked up. Bill had come up alongside her, his brown eyes very soft with concern. 

“Are you okay?” he murmured. 

Carewyn gave him a smile. “Yes...I’m all right.”

She couldn’t hold his gaze long, so she looked up toward the Princes again.

“...I just hope...they can come together. That’s all.”

Bill looked up at them too, frowning slightly. “Mm...”

Carewyn didn’t have the heart to tell Bill what she was thinking, especially not with Erika, Skye, Charlie, Andre, and Orion all within earshot. She knew he’d tell her that if Orion really cared about her, he’d forgive her for lying...but...

He shouldn’t want to forgive me, Carewyn thought. He shouldn’t be content with what I am. Not when he deserves so much more. 

The memory of the last time she saw Jacob, of him hugging her tightly rippled over her mind. 

“My Wyn -- my sweet Wyn -- ”

Jacob was the only person who Carewyn knew for a fact would always love her, no matter what she did. He’d always been flawed beyond reason, but she never ever had to doubt that. Jacob had helped raise her, and she in return had looked out for him just as much. They were each the one person who they could always depend on...and Carewyn knew Jacob would forgive anything she might have done, however horrible it was or how terrible and pathetic of a person she’d become...

Carewyn closed her eyes, trying to force back her tears. 

Jacob...I need you. I need you here so much.

Maybe she’d be strong enough to accept that she could never be what Orion needed, if she could at least be in her brother’s arms again...

Orion led the others to a beautiful, but perfectly empty valley, perfect for stargazing. Just about everyone was baffled and suspicious, especially when Orion started calling out for a Baroness. It was only when a woman with a pointed black hat with a familiar-looking golden eagle on her shoulder and a beautiful manor appeared seemingly out of nothing that they all understood. 

“Magic,” breathed Andre, his eyes very wide.

Carewyn, however, climbed off her horse and greeted McGonagall warmly. “Baroness -- it’s so good to see you again.”

She reached out a hand to stroke the golden eagle’s feathers, and the bird almost seemed to smile wryly. 

McGonagall actually seemed somewhat surprised by how fair her reaction was. “It’s good to see you as well...”

She held her arm aloft, letting the eagle take off back into the air and toward the manor, and glanced at Orion, her narrowed eyes clearly questioning. “I was not expecting to see either of you again so soon.”

Orion climbed off his own horse, looking very grave. 

“Baroness, I come to ask for your assistance. Carewyn and her companions plan to go into the Royaumanian camp, so as to locate Carewyn’s missing brother.”

“Into the camp?” repeated McGonagall, looking almost stricken. 

She turned to Carewyn. 

“That is far from wise -- the Florentine army has already started making moves to attack. You must stay far away from that place.”

“What?!” just about everyone said, horrified. Orion, the only one who didn’t cry out, had abruptly lost all the color in his face.  

“B-but the strategy can’t be ready to go already!” stammered McNully. “Putting the troops in their positions without anyone noticing would take at least two full nights -- attempting it without everyone being in their proper place decreases its effectiveness by a good 38%!”

“Effectively or not, they have started the attack all the same,” said McGonagall. She looked from Orion to Carewyn. “I cannot in good conscience let you go out there, in the midst of all those explosions -- ”

“But their strategy aims to wipe out the entire Royaumanian army!” said Andre. “I cannot stand by and let that happen!”

He immediately flicked his reins and prepared to charge off, but Erika abruptly blocked his path on her own horse. 

“You dying out there too would only make everything worse,” she told him sharply. 

“So I should just let all of my men die, in my stead?” Andre demanded. 

He tried to ride around her, but Erika blocked him again. 

“No, we just need to be smart about this,” Erika shot him down very firmly. “I understand you want to help, and I agree with you -- but if you died out there on the battlefield, that would escalate the fighting, not end it. Just look at what happened when we took out Florence’s first Prince. And didn’t you say you were open to talking about peace with Prince Cosimo? If you want to chuck that out the window, fine, but don’t do it without understanding that’s what you’re doing.”

Erika looked from Andre to Orion. Her face was as stony as ever, but not as mistrustful as before. Andre, still looking frustrated, nonetheless seemed to accept that she was right. 

“McNully,” said Erika, “it’s your strategy the Florentines are using. What do you say?”

Everybody turned to McNully. Florence’s chief strategist crossed his arms, leaning back on the seat of the coach thoughtfully. 

“The ‘noose’ I developed would have significant breaks, if it was attempted without the proper preparation,” he said slowly. “The plan was to prevent anyone from getting in or out, so that the Royaumanian army would be unable to get reinforcements or supplies. That would then become a siege that would force them to surrender. With holes in the Florentine lines, though, the Royaumanian army could slip out and, worse, maybe even break our army up into smaller pieces.”

“Therefore making your army even more vulnerable,” finished KC, her eyebrows furrowing. “The fractures would go into all-out war and probably lose all sense of cohesion, which would make it harder to gather the troops back together and stop the fighting...”

McNully nodded shakily. “Casualties and injuries would be high -- anywhere between 40-58%."

Skye’s face had gone as white as a sheet. “But -- but if we lose half our army...!”

She looked at Orion in alarm. Orion knew what she was thinking. King Cosimo had said that this most recent line of reinforcements was the last defense Florence had, unless he wanted to draft all citizens 18 and older, regardless of rank or health. 

“Such devastation on both sides would make peace near to impossible,” murmured Orion. His hands were clasped together very tightly in front of him as he turned back to McGonagall. “Baroness, please -- isn’t there any spell you could cast that might soothe the ire of our armies?”

The Baroness looked upon Orion with a solemn expression. “To cast any spell, I would have to leave my home to the mercy of the armies’ mines and cannon fire. I’m sorry...but I cannot do that.”

“Then I will.”

A tanned young man with a pointed nose, very sharp eyes, and a bandaged arm strode into the room. He glanced at Carewyn, and she gave a light start -- those eyes seemed...

The young man then looked at McGonagall. 

“I’ll craft and cast the proper shield around them, to protect them from the cannon fire,” he said firmly. “Then the Princes could run to their respective sides and convince the armies to stop fighting.”

McGonagall’s eyebrows furrowed. “Talbott, your concentration would be sorely tested in a war zone. One flicker in your concentration would require you to recast the spell all over again -- at which time it might be too late to do so.”

“It may already be too late for us to prevent those casualties at all,” said Talbott, undaunted. “We’ve watched the War go on for years -- I know protecting our home is important, but this protects our home and the country it occupies. And since you’re the only one who can keep the illusions up here for any decent length of time, I have to be the one to cast this spell.”

McGonagall and Talbott stared each other down for a moment. 

“You feel very strongly about this,” McGonagall said dryly.

Talbott glanced at Carewyn, his oddly eagle-like eyes flickering with a wry kind of humor as his hand rested on his bandaged arm. “...Well, I do have a debt to repay.”

Carewyn’s eyes widened in realization. Then her eyes softened. 

“Thank you,” she murmured. 

“Very well, then,” said McGonagall grimly. “Take your time crafting the shield, my young apprentice -- remember to be very specific in the terms set. All of a spell’s terms must be met, in order for it to work properly.”

[halcyonbound]

( SAMARA WEAVING, UNKNOWN, SHE/HER )  We opened the gates to the seelie court for CAMILLA DE' MEDICI and we are curious to see how the DEMON  ( PRINCESS OF HELL ), that is often described as the halcyon, will contribute to the new era ━ are they the hunter, the prey ; or are they just here to search for Cosimo de' Medici, their twin brother? We will find our answers in due time and until then, we hope that they can keep their little secret from getting exposed. It could be dangerous if everyone knew what we know… ( sab, she/her, 23, gmt+2 )

STATS .

( taken ) name :  camilla de’ medici . age :  unknown  ( stopped counting a long time ago ) . birthday : july 3 . nationality :  n.a. / italian . species :  demon  ( princess of hell / formerly angel ) . gender :  non-binary woman . orientation :  pansexual & panromantic . religion :  formerly catholic . moral alignment :  lawful neutral . occupation :  princess of italy /  trained seamstress . location :  cosimo de’ medici’s mansion .

PERSONALITY .

open, caring, compassionate.  she was always a little more ...  humane  than most of her siblings. her deep fascination with everything  living  and  moving  and  changing  extended to humanity - from the moment she first came to earth  ( still an angel then, and naively hopeful )  she had a sort of natural charm, always appearing approachable, friendly, and optimistic. while none of that changed, and she is usually  genuine  in all her feelings, there is a spark of  calculation ,  at times - she’s seen too much of the world to simply accept things at face value anymore.

loyal to a fault.  those she considers  family  are her everything, and she’d do  anything  to keep them safe. camilla generally strives for compromise and peace, for the sole reason that she’s  tired  of the fighting and the conflicts and the sorrows she witnessed in hell, but when the people she loves are concerned, all bets are off. whatever they need, she will provide  —  at whatever cost.

vindictive. it is hard to loose her good opinion  ( or amused tolerance, as it may stand )  but once someone does, they are in  serious trouble .  although she barely showcases her demonic powers, she  does  know how to use them - and to mess with a princess of hell is, quite possibly, one of the worst mistakes one could make. it takes a lot to get her going, but when she does, she’s easily lost in violence.  ( a touch of  hell-ish insanity  is hard to hide when it comes in so  handy  in certain situations. )

free-spirited.  spurns rules and regulations; and bounds of any sort. likes travelling, moving, discovering, trying out new things. incredibly curious about anything and everything and reacts with wholehearted  attempts  and a humorous  ‘ watch me ’  at someone telling her  ‘ you can’t ’ .

perfectionist with a limited attention span;  she has long since stopped trying to wrestle her mind into any sense of order, and tends to give in to impulses rather quickly. usually, they’re  positive  ones - new projects, interests, ideas - and it frustrates her a little when she cannot seem to finish any of them to her liking. it makes for ... interesting situations, however, when she does work for hell.

SKILLS .

trained  ( and talented )  seamstress.  her interest in clothing - and not just wearing, but  making  it - comes from that leftover angelic urge to  create ,  she thinks. it started when cosimo and her were taken in by teresa; the woman was of the opinion that a  princess  needed to have certain skills, and after starting with embroidery, camilla quickly became interested in and learned the other aspects of the trade, and the hobby has remained with her since.

pianist.  another one of these skills teresa so valued was  musical proficiency .  her singing, in their society’s general opinion, is no good  ( not that she cares; she’ll sing as loudly and falsely as she wants if it brings her joy, thank you very much )  and she never quite got the hang of string instruments, but she managed to turn into a passable pianist. then again, centuries of practice will do that.

good mediator.  ( when she wants to be. )

demonic powers.  elevated strength, speed, and agility; possession, levitation, teleportation, and the lot. as she’s a princess of hell, her abilities are much stronger than those of normal demons, although she ranks on the lower end when compared with her immediate siblings, as she does not practice as much and hasn’t in centuries. her powers manifest mainly more defensive aspects, and she has an affinity for telekinesis  ( as  that  is something she actually uses regularly for convenience ) ,  making her able to manipulate a large amount of objects or people at once and with surprising precision.

BIO .

they barely remember their creation.  there was light ,  as it is said, and from  nothing  they became  something ;  one  thing among many. heaven was home, and that was enough  ( for a time ) ,  and they were one with their siblings  ( until they weren’t ) . their fledgling days are a blur, now ;  only a few memories stand out. cosimo and his tales of earth ;  their strive for  making ,  for  being ;  reprimands, restrictions, rules ;  their other brothers’ annoyance - then anger - then fury - with all of it.

falling  is much clearer in their mind ;  mainly because it  hurt .  worth it ,  they told themselves as their wings burned up and their grace shattered and split and warped itself into something  else  somewhere between heaven and hell. they left, less out of malice than curiosity ;  for the need to see, and to  become ,  to be more than heaven’s meticulously directed hand.  corruption ,  they knew their siblings called it.  freedom ,  they whispered as they stretched into their new form,  beyond  what god intended.

except they weren’t free ,  not really ;  there was a  price for everything, even  becoming .  hell was ... much the same as heaven, they found, except viewed through a mirror. the humanity they idolized sold themselves out, but despite sharing their sibling’s curiosity to see just  how far  they could turn, hell’s work held little joy for them. they did not want to see the result - they wanted  the process .  they wanted  life .

rising ,  in turn, was much easier given their position, they remember. at one point they simply left for an assigned task and didn’t come back - creeping through the cracks of the world, looking for ... something .

demon’s didn’t have  true vessels ,  she knew from those who frequented earth ;  but whatever was left of her grace, twisted though it might have been, recognized  something  in the girl. or maybe it was something  around  her - it mattered little when they took possession of the body. they were surprised, though, to reconcile that much with her - they  felt  her fear, her recent loss, her remaining love for a brother long gone ;  a brother they now recognized as their own. they didn’t even need to lie to swear they would protect him above all else before the girl let go.

she became camilla .  after recognizing cosimo’s grace in her vessel’s twin brother, her decision to remain on earth became final. it wasn’t just her promise to the girl ;  she’d missed her brother more than any of her other siblings, and he welcomed her to his side with open arms, accepted her more than heaven or hell ever had. for the first time since creation, she felt ... whole .  human. like she had choices ;  had the  freedom  to choose a home.

eventually ,  they ended up in italy, being  ‘ adopted ’ ,  of sorts, by the ruling family. the situation never ceased to amuse her, but she liked teresa well enough  ( it felt interesting, being  mothered )  and being once again styled  ‘ princess ’  opened the doors for a myriad of new experiences. this  was precicely the  joy of life  she had always craved.  ( and if hell came a’knocking, no one forced her to open the door. )

things took a turn  when cosimo decided to get married and fell in love - unfortunately in the wrong order, she thought then. illyria was … a special case. camilla didn’t particularly care for political marriages  ( the trend of the decade was  romance  and she’d read far too many novels on the subject )  but her brother seemed open enough to the idea. so for his sake, camilla made an effort to befriend her; she was intrigued by the dragon and enjoyed her company with others, but they never quite became confidantes - camilla bemourned her brothers’ heart too much.

when instead ,  he fell in love with one of illyria’s ladies, she was ecstatic - this  was what was meant to be. anastasia makes him happy, and so camilla is happy, too ; conversation was so much  easier  with her, and camilla came to love her like a sister and did everything to make her feel comfortable and supported in her new position as  mistress - especially with a child on the way.

who could have expected neglecting illyria could have such  dramatic  consequences?

good things burn as good things do ,  and when cosimo was called back to heaven,  something  didn’t sit right with her. that fear was validated soon after when ana and aurora were attacked ;  and with no way of knowing when cosimo would get back, she did what she could to help them.  ( it wasn’t much. it, arguably, might have made things worse ;  but it was the best option at the time. the  only  option. )  

when she heard from heaven next ,  however, it wasn’t from cosimo, but someone  else ,  with a very clear message. furious as it made her, she accepted the offered deal ;  but she’d never hated heaven more than the day cosimo returned with memories altered and something ... missing. she lied and laughed and tried to make up for forgotten happiness as much as she could ;  as much as was possible without raising suspicion ;  attempting to return to some form of normalcy. 

CURRENT SITUATION .

centuries later ,  with cosimo’s memories recovered and his family returned to earth safe and sound, they finally found some semblance of peace. camilla tries not to dwell on the past, but her role in all of it weighs heavy on her heart.

now, while they are ... mostly stable  in the fae realm, she tries to keep a low profile  ( fearing the past eventually catching up )  although she grows more and more  antsy  being stuck in the same place for so long.

she’s offered her services  as a seamstress, working from a little house in the village of spring ;  it’s a nice way to stay occupied and keep an eye on new arrivals and the general talk of the town.

IDEAS FOR CONNECTIONS / PLOTS .

LOVED AND LOST :  camilla loves to love. she gets along easily with just about anyone  ( if she wants to )  and collects hearts like other girls do necklaces - but she’s just as likely to give her own away. most of her relationships over the centuries have ended amicably, simply due to growing apart. her one and only engagement is the notable exception to this.

→  WANTED CONNECTION POST : ex-fiancé 

BLOOD OF THE COVENANT : throughout her life, she’s abandoned both heaven  and  hell, and while she still holds some affection for her  siblings ,  she’s stopped hoping for a friendly reception. besides that, she’s angry at heaven and hiding from hell, so that should make for some interesting dynamics.

BAD MOON RISING :  as a princess of hell, she was directly involved with creating more demons. i’d love to explore a connection to someone she met in hell and/or screwed with on earth!

any kind of relationship, really: platonic, romantic, antagonistic. whatever shennanigans you can imagine!

hi all, i’m sab and this is my chaotic friendly-ish demon babe. i’m also writing darcy, who you can find over  here .  if you’re interested in talking / plotting / just starting a thread based off of these ideas, hmu!! i’m always up to chat!

[schleierkauz]

The Color of Revenge: Chapter 3

This chapter burned my house down but here it is. You probably know the drill by now - please tell me if you find any mistakes, share your thoughts and enjoy! :)

Chapter 3: It’s not easy to find a Glass Man

It’s not easy to find a glass man, especially one that doesn’t want to be found. The Black Prince, who had only just returned to Ombra with his following of strolling players, musicians and acrobats, started a search party with all of them.

Meggie’s mother Resa drew portraits of Ironstone that they showed around. Mo and Doria took turns inside the tavern Rosenquartz favored (after the innkeeper had made it very clear that she had better things to do than watching every glass man who sat down on her counter).

Meggie took her brother Dante on long walks through the streets of the neighborhood where Rosenquartz had seen Orpheus’ glass man. She hoped Dante might spot him more easily since he was so small.

But there was no trace of Ironstone anywhere. The futile search and the fear they all felt brought back dark memories. Memories of the reign of the Adderhead and the sinister role Orpheus had played back then. After five years of peace, the past seemed almost unreal. But everyone who searched the city for the glass man remembered all too well the fear and pain of those days. When the sun was setting and they still hadn’t found Ironstone, even her Ugliness’ soldiers joined the efforts. But they couldn’t find him either.

Only one of Orpheus‘ old foes wasn’t in Ombra when Rosenquarz’s discovery disrupted Ombra’s peace. Farid had spent the last year or so at the courts of South Lorraine, being celebrated for his fire shows. It was a long journey there but Doria’s brother, the Strong Man, agreed to go to find and warn Farid after Dustfinger asked him to.

“Well, you seem very sure that Orpheus is still alive,“ Fenoglio said to Dustfinger as they stood at the city wall with the Black Prince and watched the Strong Man disappear down the road. Despite his size he had, as always, chosen a donkey to carry him.

“I never believed he was dead,“ Dustfinger replied.

Another day came and went. One by one, everyone got back to work, even though the unease stayed with them and they knew that from now on, their eyes would linger on any glass man they saw.

“Hell, I just hope Orpheus doesn’t hear about all this chaos,” Fenoglio grumbled as he rested his sore feet in Minerva’s kitchen that night. “That scumbag would probably take it as a compliment.“

“I still hope he’s dead,“ Rosenquartz chirped “and that his glass man will join him soon.“

Dead… As if that meant much in this world. Fenoglio simply grunted and held his empty glass out to Minerva. 

Dustfinger had been dead, so had Cosimo the Fair. It was all too easy to come back from the dead in this world. No, he wanted a more permanent end for Orpheus and his toxic silvertongue.

Minerva filled him his glass with obvious disapproval and put the bottle back in the cupboard. Yes, yes, he was drinking too much – he always did when something was worrying him. Oh, hell, why had he ever invented tiny men made of glass?! Of course, he didn’t say that out loud. If Rosenquartz heard, he would dance over at least five pages of his new manuscript. After dipping his shoes in fresh ink.

Not that it would have mattered much. Fenoglio wrote strictly for fun these days, for Dante or Minerva’s children, but he was still attached to his stories. Resa illustrated them with beautiful drawings that could have competed with the paintings of the great Balbulus – even though he was so full of himself that he strode through Ombra like a puffed up bullfrog.

“Do you want me to make you some hot milk with honey?“ Minerva asked when Fenoglio sighed into his wine. “You’ve barely slept for days. Wherever Orpheus is hiding, you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of killing you from afar, do you?”

No, surely not. For inky heaven’s sake! Just why was it so much easier to believe in impending misfortune than a happy ending? They’d had such good years. He hadn’t thought of the other world for one minute. Well, he missed his grandkids from time to time, but Dante and Minerva’s children were excellent substitutes. Hell, he was a heartless old man!

The dogs started barking down in the yard. Visitors so late at night. Minerva looked just as surprised as Fenoglio – and just as worried.

But it was just the bookworm woman who stood at the door. Ombra’s good bakeries had made Elinor Loredan even rounder whereas Darius, as always right behind her like a living shadow, was as spindly as a locust despite all the cakes he shared with her. Truly enviable. He didn’t look as melancholic as usual. Maybe the rumors were true that he’d fallen in love with the girl who dusted Loredan’s bookshelves. She was very pretty. “Stop it, Fenoglio, you could be her grandfather!” he silently scolded himself.

“You won’t believe it!“ Elinor spluttered as she followed Fenoglio up the steep stairs which led to Minerva’s kitchen. “Darius! Go on, tell them! Can’t you see I can barely get out the words?“

Books were still being written by hand in this world, which made them very expensive, so she had found a new passion. Loredan attended the performances of each and every troupe of actors who performed in Ombra, no matter how raggedy. Some of them had started bringing along an armchair for her.

“Tell me what?“ Fenoglio asked. After all these years, Elinor Loredan still managed to drive him up the proverbial wall. He wasn’t sure whether he admired Darius for his patience with her or thought him a fool.

“We had an unexpected visitor today.“ Hearing Darius‘ gentle voice, no one would have suspected that he was a very talented silvertongue. “Orpheus’ glass man showed up at our door.”

Fenoglio’s heart stopped long enough that for a moment he was sure it would never beat again.

“Just walked right in!“ Elinor shook her head in such outrage that it started raining hairpins out of her gray hair. “That disrespectful glass head! I have no clue how he managed to get past the dog!“ The Black Prince had talked her into getting said dog, even though she didn’t like dogs. She couldn’t deny the Prince anything. Fenoglio suspected that she was in love with him. Anyway – it was such a gigantic creature that Mortimer had already proposed the theory that it wasn’t a dog at all but a small bear. Which would in turn explain why he got along so well with the Prince’s own tame bear.

“Great Heavens! Elinor Loredan, who cares how the glass man got past the damn dog?!“ Fenoglio blustered. “What did he want? What did he say? I hope you caught him?“

“Caught him?“ Elinor pushed back her messy hair (it was always messy) and took a sip of Fenoglio’s wine. “The pipsqueak carries a sword! Not much longer than a toothpick but I’m sure he would’ve stabbed me in the hand! Altough he was very polite. Right, Darius?”

“Exceedingly polite,“ Darius agreed. “He told us his new master, a troubadour, was so confused about all the excitement they caused that he told him to visit all of us and explain that Orpheus died four years ago. An avalanche, he said, near Trent if I remember correctly. After visiting us he planned to go find Mortimer and then Dustfinger. His new master apparently has a lot of respect for his fire.”

“Really?“ Fenoglio frowned but Rosenquartz cut him off.

“Lies!“ he shrieked. “That smoky gray miscreant lies as soon as he opens his mouth! A troubadour? The man I saw him with looked more like a professional murderer!”

Fenoglio stepped to the window and looked down at the empty street.

“I don’t like this,“ he murmured. “I don’t like this one bit. I hope he shows up here as well. I’ll get the truth out of him. After all, I invented his kind.”

Rosenquartz rolled his eyes but said nothing.

“He wanted to go to Mortimer next?” Fenoglio turned around with a sudden jerk that signaled determination and impatience – and a hint of fear. Maybe a little more than that. “Alright. Then I will wait for him there.“

“The Folcharts aren’t home,“ Elinor said. “I already told the glass man the same. They’re all with Doria’s mother to discuss the engagement.”

“Engagement, what engagement?“ Fenoglio exclaimed. “Don’t I get told anything anymore?“

“Meggie’s engagement to Doria. I told you last week,“ Minerva said while she handed Rosenquarz a thimble filled with lentil soup. “But of course you don’t remember. You only ever remember things that concern yourself.”

Fenoglio ignored the comment. He was very good at ignoring comments regarding his character.

“But… Meggie is way too young to get married!“ he shouted, very cross that the story had taken yet another turn he’d neither written nor foreseen. “How can Mortimer allow that?”

Elinor abruptly stood up from her chair. “Don’t be an idiot! Meggie’s life isn’t some book you’re writing!” she snapped. “Have you forgotten what she went through? She hasn’t been too young for anything for a long time. You’re just very very old! Good night, Minerva!”

And with that she was out of the door, followed by Darius who had looked very sentimental upon hearing the word “engagement”.

(Next chapter)

[durgas]

bella rosa

summary: contessina has loved three times in her life and each time the love grows deeper than before. 

A rose in the first flush of love blooms with such vitality that it cannot be tempered.

Nothing can compare to its heady scent, its vibrant colour and its perfect form.

“Ezio, Ezio.” Contessina whispered from her hiding place amongst the fields of his father’s land.

The darkness of the night had settled upon the land, the only light from the twinkling stars above so Ezio found himself with a puzzled look upon his face as he searched for Contessina with nothing to guide him. She had hidden herself well this time, he noted, unlike previously when he had found her moments. The prickle of the wheat itched his leg and he attempted to resist the urge to scratch. He stepped into another row.

He felt something grab him by the ankle as his heart pounded out of his chest. He looked down at the culprit and breathed a sigh of relief. “Contessina.” The corners of his lips turned up at the sight of her, hidden amongst the grapes with a smirk upon her face.

“Ezio.” She accepted his hand to help her stand up, brushing the dust from her apple green skirt. “I was beginning to think that you were, perhaps, lost.” Her words held a hint of challenge though she was smiling.

He kissed her hand delicately, noting how perfectly well formed and soft it was despite Contessina’s constant state of busying herself with one thing or another. “Sweet Contessina, my lady, how could I be lost when I have a jewel such as you to find?

“You are too well versed in the arts of flattery, my dear lord Ezio.” She let out a laugh, strong and pleasant. “I fear your artist friends are corrupting you.”

Brushing away a stray tendril of her dark hair, he stifled a chuckle.  “I do not believe it is them who are corrupting me, bella donna. ”

“Are you trying to imply something, my lord?” Her eyes widened with feigned shock. “Surely, you cannot mean me?” She took a step closer to him.

The scent of lavender wafted towards him as he took her hand again. “I know of no other noble lady who hides in the fields of her lover with not even the slightest of doubt or fear.” He pressed another kiss to her hand although this time his lips slept a little longer upon her ivory hand. “No other noble lady who leaves her own home in the dead of night to exchange conversation with a poor man and an even poorer poet.”

“You do yourself too much wrong, my Ezio, for you are a poet they will speak of for centuries when we are naught but dust.” A tingle spread across her body as Ezio placed a kiss upon her cheek, his lips so lightly grazing the top of her cheekbone.

Ezio pulled her closer, their lips mere moments away from touching. “And, you shall be this poet’s muse.”

A rose in the middle flush, twice bloomed now, has a strength that cannot be denied.

No longer is it fragile, instead it is redder in colour and more fragrant than before.

“Will you be dining with me tonight, Cosimo?” Contessina asked as he entered their bedchamber.

Dressed all in black, she could see the dark circles that rimmed his eyes from the moment he had stepped through the door. It was no surprise, he had been working long hours these past days with very little reprieve. As a newlywed, she had been confused and hurt by his regular absences yet she knew him a little better now. He was a man devoted to his work. Pleasure was not a phrase with which he seemed familiar and she did not mean the carnal sort for they had discovered many things at night in bed. Yet, in the cold light of day he was a sombre sort of man with a hard to find humour.

He glanced over at her, his mind full of a thousand things, and was momentarily taken aback. “Yes, once I’ve finished today’s accounts.” The words left his mouth in a hurry as he stared at his wife in a crimson dress he had never seen before.

“Then, what time should I expect you for?” She felt the heat of his gaze upon her. The dress had worked, she noted, as he was still looking at her in a way he had never looked at her before. “The last time, I waited two hours for you.” Her voice took on a teasing tone.

“Give me ten minutes.” He suddenly found his appetite was roaring its way through his body though he was not sure it was for food. She looked like a goddess today, although not the angelic sort. He could not tear his eyes away from her brown eyes and the creamy white skin exposed by her dress. “Contessina, that dress…” His voice tailed off as she moved closer.

“Yes, Cosimo?” She was enjoying this sudden lack of composure from her husband. It was a reminder that he was a man at heart despite his serious and practical behaviour.

“You won’t wear it anywhere else, will you?” He had decided that it was far too sinful for public sight and that he would very much enjoy removing it tonight. “It’s not seemly.” He added on to explain his request.

“That does depend.” Her mouth curved into a smile and her eyes were glinting with mischief.

“On what?” His voice was gruff as he pulled her into an embrace. She had been a good wife thus far but they had not properly been lovers. He intended to remedy that after dinner.

She paused for a moment. “Will you be having dinner with me now?”

“Strangely, I do feel an appetite.” The accounts could wait, he wanted to spend this time with his Contessina.

A rose in the final flush, thrice bloomed, does not wither and instead has a serenity that cannot be disturbed.

No more will it be sweet, it is strong with spicy notes and deepened with time.

“Contessina.” Cosimo whispered her name as they lay in bed, her beautiful hair spilling over both their pillows.

She was still half asleep with glazed eyes yet she turned to face him. “Cosimo.” She could have slept for longer but Cosimo’s voice held a touch of nerves and she did not want him to bottle his worries once more.

The sun had just risen, a bright ball of orange amongst the blue and purple streaked skies. There was birdsong mixed with the chatter of kitchen staff and the babble of the babe that slept in a cot at the foot of their bed. She sat up against the backboard of their bed and stretched, her arms still heavy with tiredness.

“How could you forgive me with such ease, Contessina?” The words burst out of his mouth. He had gone to sleep with the thoughts upon his mind and found himself tormented with dreams of Maddalena threatening to come between him and Contessina. “How could you accept the child?”

She took his hand and felt the calluses cut into his palms. “Our marriage has not always been a happy one, Cosimo, but that does not mean it was not worth saving.” She met his anguished blue eyes. “We have shared so much in our life together, it is not worth throwing away all of the good for a single mistake.”

“I have not always treated you fairly, Contessina, and I have mistrusted you time and time again.” His voice was low and hoarse, not its proud commanding self that had the possibility to terrify.

“But, you love me, do you not?” She did not wait for him to answer because she knew the truth even if he did not speak it. “And, I love you now more than I think I have ever loved you before because we have grown together and we have forgiven each other for our faults.”

“I do love you and I am grateful you have always been my support, Contessina, but I cannot shake the thought that this is merely a pleasant dream.” Cosimo had not wanted to admit his feelings but they came tumbling out anyway.

She allowed herself a little laugh, silvery and gentle. “Oh, Cosimo. We have never had that fiery, passionate love but I think we can allow ourselves a little peace, do you not think?” She rested her head upon his shoulder. “We will live out this dream together as we have always done.”

“I do not deserve you, Contessina.” Cosimo said as he accepted her words and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Thanks for reading! Can also be found here :)

[shxdowme]

(DOVE CAMERON, 931, SHE/HER) We opened the gates to the Seelie court for ANASTASIA DE’MEDICI and we are curious to see how the WITCH-DEMON, which is often described as the careful, will contribute to the new era ━ Will they stand with the Clave, or against them? We will find our answers in due time and until then, we hope that they can keep their little secret from getting exposed. It could be dangerous if everyone knew what we know…

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* Hi friends *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

ωҽƖƈօɱҽ ąղąʂƭąʂíą ɗҽ'ɱҽɗíƈí. hi friends! guess who is back with their latest baby. meet ana or anastasia. she is a sweet baby but also does not mind expressing how she truly feels about a situation. she is currently pregnant. only about three months along with a little boy. 

before seelie court:

you would believe that being born on an island would the most amazing start in life. for anastasia it was. growing up a seemingly dormant volcano on an island off the coast of greece. they were surrounded by other witches. beings of magical ways. dragons. while their family has a mix of her eldest sister vasilkaera, her twin were born with the magic of dragons in their veins. when anastasia was old enough to understand the difference in magic it brought her closer to her sister. she was her idol in a lot of ways. vala spoke her mind. she was always in charge. even when it came to their mother. vala in some ways was more like a mother than a sister. 

their relationship changed the night their town burnt down. they had done everything they could to protect their town. so see it burn. it caused pain to build. doing what she could in order to stop the flame with whatever magic she could. that was when she saw her. vasilkaera. it was her. turning against their own kind. their people. their family. their brother assisting with the destroy of their home. it left her heart shattered. the way her own sister could do that to them. once vala had run she stayed. picking up the piece of what life they had. the next couple of hundred years were spent rebuilding what her own sister destroyed. 

after their home was established once more anastasia decided to branch out. move to where they land and people were growing. she had always been curious about mundane people. other species around them. Italy was the next place she decided to call home. it was beautiful. the people were kind. so countryside was so.. beautiful. not as beautiful as the prince himself. the moment her eyes landed on him all she desired was getting closer to him. even if it was morally wrong she became the mistress to the prince of italy. openly. his marriage was arranged. he deserved to have something real. she wanted to give that to him. as wrong as she knew it was. her heart belonged to him. it was not long before their whirlwind of an affair landed them with a child. 

they were going to leave Italy. leave this life behind. they had another person to focus on. anastasia was patient. she knew that cosimo would make sure their life was perfect before. she didn’t mind. as long as she was with him. aurora came into their life at full speed. their happiness as a family was short lived as cosimo received the news his mother fell ill. he needed to see her. she knew that he needed to see her. ana encouraged him to go. they would be fine here. he would see them when he returned home. yet that never happened. she can still remember that night. holding her daughter close. feeling the softness of her skin against her own. the way she giggled. it was her last sight. before the feeling of a dagger struck her. 

ending in hell there was only one thing she cared. aurora. what happened to her daughter. cosimo was strong. but what happened to aurora. it was not long before finding out she entered the empty. ana made the decision turn into a demon. even pleaded. giving her soul in order to be with their daughter. they were inseparable. even in death. centuries went by. but ana had her. that was until the bright light of the world came down upon her. the next time her eyes opened. she was no longer staring at her daughter. they were gazing towards a mismatched pair eyes. with the most beautiful blonde hair. cosimo. 

the current situation:

the moment she had gained her freedom from the empty things felt as if no time had passed. cosimo was still her everything. he didn’t forget her. he brought her back. her first thoughts were of aurora but he promised. they were going to get her back. they would both be home. rekindling their relationship things took longer than they planned. before they could even bring aurora home they brought a second child into the world. leilani. she was beautiful yet the desire to bring aurora home grew even more desperate. cosimo could see the hurt in her eyes even without saying anything. she missed their daughter. it was not long before arriving to the seelie court that they were finally able to resurrect aurora. they brought their daughter home. both girls were close in age when they finally brought them into the world. they were finally able to grow together. be together. all four of them. she was happy. cosimo seemed happy. with their recent arrival at the seelie court anastasia is scared of the idea of history repeating itself. she does her best to hide her growing belly from anyone outside of her husband. finding out the arrival of her sister does not help her situation as well. 900 years of avoiding her. it would finally come crashing to reality. 

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, BECKY! You’ve been accepted for the role of LADY MACBETH with an approved FC change to Karrueche Tran. Admin Cas: Ah, Lucrezia. She’s undoubtedly one of my favourite characters here, and for good reason. She’s perceptive, calculating, enchanting, and perhaps most importantly of all, utterly terrifying. I adored your application from start to finish, Becky - you captured every dark ambition, every siren song, every scheme and subterfuge that Lucrezia’s ever used to her advantage. Femininity is her weapon, and she knows exactly how to use it. Honestly, I could feel the beat of her heart in every single word you wrote. This line in particular got me: “You must shed your snakeskin and free the heart-thrum-fresh creature which lays ready and waiting beneath.” Your Lucrezia certainly isn’t for the fainthearted, and I’m so excited to watch how she flourishes in your capable hands! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Becky

Age | 24

Preferred Pronouns | she/her

Activity Level | WFH so online daily.

Timezone | GMT

How did you find the rp? | Blast from the past !

IN CHARACTER

Character | Lady Macbeth, Lucrezia Falco

What drew you to this character? |

There’s blood on your hands and it won’t wash out. There’s blood on your hands and it glistens, deep and dark and vicious. There’s blood on your hands and it whispers like a friend, like a confidant, like a lover.

There’s blood on your hands – and you know this is the price to pay for greatness.

You will build your empire piece by piece until a crown of power rests against your brow. If the streets of Verona must run with ichor, so be it. You are the flower and the serpent. You are becoming and unbecoming. You are forging yourself anew until the person looking back at you in the mirror is a reflection you deem worthy.

Docile smiles have never been a currency you can afford to use. When you were younger, bright and teetering on the edge of foolishness, your mother and father had wished for a doe-eyed daughter. Instead, you had come home from school with a bruise marking your face and a blade-sharp smile cutting across your mouth ( the other girl had looked far worse ). Makeup had covered the purpling skin from friends and family, your mother chiding you with a loss for how to tame her daughter. Your parents had done all they could to brush aside your misdemeanours. This is what happens when you grow up in a house which thrives on concealment: you get good at hiding your sins.

You feel yourself being picked apart. The decadent dance of decaying debutante. You must shed your snakeskin and free the heart-thrum-fresh creature which lays ready and waiting beneath. Your heart turns to a sticky dark mess that slides through the fingers of anyone who dares to try and save it.

You were never built to be soft.

Venom pools in your mouth, tart on the tongue. Dark eyes shine bright in the nighttime, flashing a smile to distract from danger. Laughter echoes down a cobbled passageway and silence pools along stone grooves soon after, matching the rust-coloured criss-cross patterns that decorate your palm as soap and water cleanse you of tonight’s trouble.

Marriage. Misdemeanours. Murder. Perhaps there’s a reason they call you Lady M beyond simply carrying your husband’s moniker with you. Binding yourself to him had been necessary to get where you are now but it had not been his trust you sought to gain but that of Cosimo. The best laid plans are those that take time. You know how to lay in wait, patient when necessary, and those who do not perform as you wish them to are cut loose from their marionette strings.

There is nothing you wouldn’t do to achieve what you desire.

– Lucrezia Falco is the amalgamation of some of my favourite characters, including her namesake; Narcissa Malfoy; Marisa Coulter; Rebecca de Winter; Carmine Zuigiber; Melanie Cavill; Estella Havisham; Amy Dunne. I’m definitely drawn towards the idea of Lucrezia embracing the darker parts of herself and pushing her boundaries. I’m always a sucker for a character who stirs gossip and whispers in people’s ears so I have no doubt she’ll bring her fair share of drama with her, leaving anyone who suffers for it in her wake. A temptress at heart, she’s particularly adept at inciting trouble.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

I. ASCENT. You are destined for more. You can feel it calling to you like a siren song billowing up from murky depths. Every ounce of praise is gathered, wrung out and collected from those above you. Hierarchy is merely a concept devised to provide a clear pathway for people like you. The top is evident; the means for ascent less so. – Lucrezia sets her sights high. The absolute pinnacle of her goals is to achieve a high level rank, be it Boss, Underboss or Advisor. She isn’t fussy. I have no doubt this will put her at odds with Juliana ( who is somewhat her foil ) but who doesn’t love some tension? Vivienne and her influence is potentially tricker for Lucrezia to deal with but I envision her attempting to carve out a mentorship-type role for herself in the heart of Ms Sloane. She’ll be quick to pitch her desire to become something more and, whilst it would be great to see her achieve it, I can’t help but wonder what she may do should she be denied.

> Vaguely and conceptually curious about the idea of her becoming a hitman to take the spot Orion left behind but she’d certainly be a bit of a wildcard option, all things considered. Very femme fatale, very serpent-under-the-flower.

II. BONDS. You can feel him watch you, eyes tracking your movements. Lust occasionally sparks but love remains absent, settling like quiet of your shared abode when his conversation starter falls flat at your feet. It is not his fault, not really. You are repulsed by the idea of letting him know you well enough to know your weak spots. To let him in would be to surrender. The organ beneath your ribs serves its purpose keeping you alive and you shan’t let it soften for the sake of a husband who wants to know the woman who shares his bed better. – Ah, Mikael. Married for his connections and potential. Lucrezia is purposefully preventing herself from having any feelings towards him that aren’t inherently carnal but even those have begun to dry, the thrill of what they once had having risked returning to routine. I don’t think it’s impossible for them to fix what they have but it would take Lucrezia learning to be vulnerable in front of him which, after ten-or-so years of marriage, may admittedly never happen. For now she is satisfied keeping him ( what she assumes to be ) happy so that he doesn’t grow tired of her. It’d be interesting and very Shakespeareanly-apt were he to get wrapped up in her devious plans. For better or for worse, and all that… Perhaps they will end up breaking apart or perhaps they will overcome their current lack of love for one another. Either way, it’ll be messy.

III. MANIA. You wipe the blade against silk, a dark smear across fine fabric. Information is precious and once you’ve plucked what you need from a mouth that offers what it can in amongst strangled sobs, you dispose of the source before others can make use of it. Clean. Precise. An emissary is not expected to get their hands dirty like this but you do what you can to get noticed by the right people. And the wrong ones. But your sins are beginning to take a toll, gnawing their way into the blackened husk of your heart. Before long, you may begin to unravel.

– Emissaries trade in whispers but Lucrezia knows she needs to get ahead of the rest in order to stand out from the crowd. She’ll do whatever it takes to get information and secure deals. We love drama in this house so I am absolutely here for her getting in too deep. The more she tests her morality, the weaker her conscience grows. She treats it like an experiment to see whether she’ll ever reach a point of breaking and thus far is yet to see any signs of such. If there is a price to pay for these inhuman acts, it will be her sanity.

IV. CONTROL. You will take what is offered. You will keep climbing. You won’t turn back and you certainly won’t let anything get in your way. Or anyone. You need those ranked higher than you to look on you favourably. The thought of someone close to Cosimo thinking you are incapable makes your skin crawl. With recent deaths and absences leaving gaping holes in the mob hierarchy, you need to do all you can to ensure that those who fill them adore you.

– The higher she attempts to rise, the further the fall. Lucrezia knows she cannot achieve power on her own; she needs supporters. It will take more than a well placed compliment and a brush of her fingertips. She needs to climb inside their minds; carve out a space for herself to sit amongst dark thoughts and ensure the loyalty of her fellow Capulets. Once inspiring this in a chosen few, she will rely on them to protect her and behave in a way that snubs out the sparks of any other bright things daring to climb the ranks. As soon as a new Advisor is chosen, should it be someone she doesn’t take kindly to, she may very well start fanning the embers of mistrust in their abilities. A whisper here, a comment there. A reputation can take a long time to build but can be toppled overnight by the right sharp-smiling disarming woman.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Not currently but that could certainly change if it helped with the overall plot!

IN DEPTH

In-Character Interview:

I. ) At half past nine, in the wake of Mikael going to work and leaving her alone ( precisely the way she likes it ) in the shell of their home, Lucrezia dons her gym wear and goes for a jog. The route is specific. The timing is immaculate. She passes the wife of the mayor like clockwork, passing a smile in her direction each morning until smiles become greetings and greetings become stopping to coo at the child in her stroller.

Eventually this turns to weekly lunches and invitations to various social events. They all dance the way she desires, puppets dangling from strings caught in her hands. It’s at the book club that she learns the most; gossip spilling from the wine-loosened lips of women in power or women married to power. Falling into the latter camp isn’t so bad when it gives you a free step up in the world. Lucrezia knows this fact well.

“But is that really your favourite place in Verona?” the Capulet asks as they talk of unexciting places nestled snuggly in her Don’s territory, seeking a location fit to hold an entirely over-the-top birthday party for the mayor’s wife. She’s only been half-listening, waiting for the perfect moment to chip in with her opinion. Her valued opinion. That was important. Charm the right people into believing you have their best interests at heart and they won’t see that your own motives lay at the centre of all you do.

“What about Teatro Nuovo?” she suggests, seemingly off-handedly, gaze fixing on the mayor’s wife with familiarity and a glimmer of private acknowledgement, as though only she knew precisely where would be best. Lucrezia wouldn’t dare spend an unnecessary amount of time in Montague territory typically but this particular excuse to snoop around the building wasn’t one to turn her nose up at. With high profile politicians and their security in attendance, she’ll bet her luck that the Montagues wouldn’t dare to target her. “There’s an elegance to the theatre. Grandeur. And who doesn’t love an opera-masquerade themed party?”

II. ) “I’m trying to get a better idea of Mr Falco’s routine. What does your typical day look like?” Mikael’s PA asks, far too eager to please their boss in a way that Lucrezia would like to think only she knows the art of.

The edges of her mouth lift, hiding her irritation at the prying behind a well-practiced false smile. “To begin, Mikael and I wake up and enjoy some early morning cardio.” The lie leaves her lips, accompanied by a laugh to put the other at ease. Her wifely facade remains; she’s used to putting on this charade. It is the blush that stains the PA’s cheeks that marks her success. “And then he will leave for work and I attend a yoga class or meet a friend for breakfast.” Lie. It’s more likely to be a negotiation, securing a deal with someone whose attention lingers on her just as much as it lingers on the examples of the firearms the Capulets can offer. “I’ll typically spend some time running errands or planning a dinner party before lunch which is either eaten alone at home or out. The afternoon is for shopping or a leisurely stroll.” Another lie. Afternoons are for organising reports to give to Vivianne. Who is following through with their half of agreements? Who is falling short and needs a follow up visit from her less-charming friends? “And then Mikael will return from work and we’ll have an enjoyable evening.”

Lucrezia conjures a vision of perfection without giving it a second thought. She neglects to mention the hours spent at The Twelfth Night; or those coaxing whispers from unyielding mouths; or those scrubbing the blood of another from the beds of her fingernails.

III. ) “What has been your biggest mistake thus far?” The bespectacled marriage counsellor asks. Beside Lucrezia, Mikael fidgets. She reaches for his hand, curling her fingers around it. His wedding band is warm to the touch. He stills as he always does when she touches him as though surprised by his own wife’s affection. Predictable.

Agreeing to attend this meeting, she thinks to herself. She’d slammed a door in Mikael’s face when he’d suggested they try and talk things through with a therapist present yet agreed to attend for the sake of keeping up appearances ( he talks to Everett about their relationship, she knows this much ). “I once served garlic hors d'oeuvres at a party with an orchestra.” Lucrezia answers. “Such a bad idea when everyone had to stand so close to speak to one another.”

Her revenge on her husband’s attempt to meddle with their relationship is to be had afterwards as she says goodbye, a hand on the therapist’s arm and a sultry tone drifting from her lips. When she glances towards the door, she meets Mikael’s line of sight.

It didn’t matter what games they played, the queen was always the stronger piece.

IV. ) “What has been the most difficult task asked of you?” Cosimo’s question wafts towards her on a tendril of cigarette smoke that catches in the sunlight streaming into his office through slits in the blinds.

Inwardly, Lucrezia wants to scream. Very little can make her speak genuinely, truthfully, from the heart. This line of questioning makes it feel as if he were trying to climb inside her head and understand who she was. She doesn’t care for thinking about her shortcomings, nor does she have any intention of allowing Cosimo to do the same.

She deploys one of her usual tactics. Raises her hand slowly to pull the cigarette from Cosimo’s lips and hold it to her own, taking a drag before returning the lipstick-stained end to him. She exhales slowly. “I’ll tell you when you give me something difficult to do.” Her brow raises in challenge, settling the boss with a steady stare. Test me, she wants to tell him. I want to feel alive.

V. ) “What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?” Everett asks her the day she leaves his decina, chin held high in light of her promotion to emissary, no longer trapped beneath the heel of another man’s shoe. The question is posed casually but Lucrezia knows him well enough by now that Everett rarely acts without purpose – and that purpose would be sat snuggly against the morals that keep his spine straight and his expression guarded.

Lucrezia turns the question over in her mind cautiously as though it were a trap, steel jaw ready to spring shut. A smile slinks slowly across her lips as she closes the space between them until a metre of polished wooden floor is what keeps them apart ( along with a history of unresolved differences ). She squares her gaze with his. “All this time spent teaching me and you still can’t figure out what goes on inside my head, can you?” Something that isn’t quite a laugh escapes her mouth. The sound is silky, amusement winding itself around it like a serpent. “What would you like me to say? That the war is necessary? That, like you, I got involved in all this because of someone I love?”

It doesn’t take a telepath to know that Vivianne springs to the forefront of both of their minds. An emissary is only as good as her intel and sufficient background information was always a valuable arsenal to carry. Her reassignment had not been born from luck; she knows exactly what she’s doing.

Acrylic fingernails reach to brush an imaginary piece of lint from the shoulder of Everett’s suit before turning swiftly to leave, her answer falling behind her as she strides out of the room. “It’s about time we fucking won, Everett.”

Connections:

THE SPOUSE: Mikael Falco. As much as it pains her that the man she married can’t find the strength to stand up to her when necessary, she still clings to a thread of hope that she can turn him into the person she wishes he was. Headstrong. Lethal. As hungry for more as she is. The Falco name is a pretty one and would surely look just as beautiful sitting alongside the most powerful families of Verona, no?

THE ADVERSARY: Calina Sokolova. This town isn’t big enough for the both of them. Calina seems to slip through life with casual elegance whereas Lucrezia feels like her nails have left imprints in everything, working hard for what she deserves. She waits with bated breath to hear news of the Montague emissary’s fall from grace, eager for the whispers to land on the shell of her ear first so she can watch it all burn down in flames.

THE ANNOYANCE: Everett Craven. There’s fun to be had in finding new subtle ways to torment a man like Everett. She waits for the twitch of his brow or the tick of his jaw, hoping to be the cause of the vexed sigh that leaves his mouth. His seriousness mixed with his influence over Mikael are, irritatingly, things she’s never been able to break. And not for a lack of trying.

THE PUPIL: Delilah Bello. She is not one to offer a shoulder to cry on but, equally, she is not one to disregard those who do whatever it takes to stay ahead. Delilah’s choice of tactics may have been misguided and Lucrezia certainly doesn’t find the soldier’s attempts to deny what happened in any way productive – but perhaps she simply needs steering in the right direction. Making the best of a bad situation can be an enjoyable pastime when done right.

THE SOURCE: Mona Chen. Mona certainly knows how to string together a pretty sentence, words shining through the darkness that they have both made their home in. Lucrezia enjoys collecting the payment owed to Cosimo; enjoys having the privilege of hearing the secrets whispered to her as if some vessel for the truth. She turns the information over in her head, admiring it, deciding what should and shouldn’t be passed on. There’s power in that.

THE SEDUCED: Open to anyone. Lucrezia has them hooked around her finger, but unlike post-marriage Mikael they prove to be much more of a fun plaything. She knows they want what they can’t have but she’s beginning to get a taste of her own medicine. Being with them is like playing with fire, dangerous but enthralling. She won’t cheat on Mikael but she might just test a few boundaries.

THE SANCTUARY: Open to Capulets or neutrals. Even someone like Lucrezia needs a safe place to rest. Somewhere she can drop the many charades and be herself. This person is, perhaps, the only soul she has ever felt truly at peace beside. Time is what strengthened their bond, along with their fair share of helping one another out of tricky or dangerous situations.

THE TRICKED: Open to Montagues. She has no intention of harming them, for that would be counterproductive. They are a plaything, of sorts. An experiment to see what she can do, what she can achieve. When they first meet, she slips into a charade of fear. Pretends to be at their mercy if only for the sake of spinning her story: the terrified wife. A sob story can go a long way if you know how to play it.

[dnd-on-a-budget]

Darkness of Senaria

 This campaign is currently unnamed because @dice1235 is running it, but he knows what he’s doing. Here’s our featured players.

Sivana: @hero-undercover variant human cleric, Sivana was an orphan on the from the streets of a city in the isles on the coast of Uskaria. She was a thief who always got away with her crimes until she attempted to steal from a temple of Tymora and was caught by the clerics there. She soon became devout and thanked her excellent luck and become one of the most respect clerics of Tymora. After the man who brought her in died, the previous head cleric of the temple, she set out on a pilgrimage to the holy land of Tymora to become the next head cleric of her temple. 

Melodi Mawens: ( @loonyllama ) Melodi is a water genasi druid born on The Twisting Islands to an elven mother and a father she never knew. Her mother knew she was special because as a child she had a strange connection to the water. Her skin was a pale blue and her hair seemed to flow behind her as if it were in the water. There were no other people who lived near Melodi so she naturally went to the creatures of the sea. One day the seas around the island rose and swept away Melodi’s home and her mother. The sea she loved so much had betrayed her. With nothing left at home she left to find adventure.

Nova Cosimo: a luminian (moon person) sorcerer; Luminia fell to the sea 100 years ago Nova’s power awakened. The wild magic in his blood allowed him to slow the fall of the city. But he could not do enough. The loss of life was still extravagant. He had once been a devout follower of Selune, but now his faith had left him. He had just started the trials required of him to reach adulthood. He decided his return to his city and his trials would have to be put on hold. He had to find his former goddess, and ask why she would abandon them. He has now started his quest to find the truth. Whatever the cost may be.

Torment: tiefling wizard.The nature of Torment’s birth was one few can claim. The prince of Ospea, Pieron Voolbray had a sadistic streak of curiosity from a young age that carried into his adult life. He began to experiment on women to attempt to create a more powerful race. He made a dark pact with a fiend and not long after, one of the women gave birth to a tiefling child. Disgusted, and fearful of the potential consequences he locked the child and his mother away in the dungeon. Torment was born with a knack for divination magic and had an extraordinary gift to see what others could not. He was able to see events in the future vividly. Torment saw his gift as the gods taking mercy on him, for being born as he was, by giving him extreme intellect and the ability to see the future. When the prince learned of this ability he allowed Torment to leave the dungeon, forcing him however to remain in the vast library to continue his studies, and when his talents were needed he was called upon. However this was not the life Torment wanted to live. He fled the kingdom, and sailed for the kingdom of Elsserine, where tieflings were more accepted and to tell the king what happened to him in his former home. After a long travel he arrived at the village of Olinore where his journey begins.

Seraphina:( @rowenaravenclaw441) Seraphina was an orphan growing up on the streets of Lam Asari, in the country of Erstaesi. She was taken in by a troupe of entertainers, called the Tealeafs. Their leader was a human man named Aesir Tealeaf, whom the troupe was named after. Aesir was raised by a halfling family and thus knew what Seraphina felt like. She adored her new found family and took the stage name Teenee. She traveled around the country with her beloved troupe and soon became one of their most famous members. However, once upon visiting the capital city of Elsserine, one member of the troupe made a crude joke about the queen, Drusilia. She soon heard about this from one of her many spies and struck out against the troupe. She banished all the members of the troupe from the kingdom, imprisoning all those who stayed. Seraphina fled the city, South, to the small village of Olinore. There she ran into an old friend, who her troupe had performed for once. A tiefling woman named Quest.  

Anorak:  Anorak was raised in the third ring of Elsserine, the poorest area of the sprawling elven capital. He never knew his father however, his mother, Sara, told him that he was a wealthy merchant who had traveled into town for one week, left her with a child, then left forever. Despite being as poor as he was, Anorak and his half brother, Parzival lived a happy life with their mother. That is until the plague came. Sara was one of the first to be struck with it. Within a day she was bedridden, her skin began to turn and inky black and within a week her body succumbed, withering quickly. Anorak was seven and his brother, thirteen. Parzival began to steal to provide for himself and his brother, and soon began to teach Anorak this work as well. One day however, Parzival was spotted stealing from the guards, and was hanged the next day. All on his own now, but remembering well the things his brother had taught him he decided to seek revenge. He used his newfound prowess in infiltration to assassinate many of the cities guards and became known as the most wanted criminal in the city. However, this was not what he wanted. He had his revenge and left the city, south to the small village of Olinore, to seek a new life, leaving behind a legacy that would not be forgotten.

Eira:  ( @miss-nerdalots ) Eira was born to an Ellserinian ambassador named Ander and a human woman named Marta from the small village of Olinore. When her father found that her mother had given birth to a child, he had Marta assassinated and sent Eira to the wilds to die. What her father did not know was that she had caught the attention of a powerful archangel known as Tadriel. Tadriel watched over this forest and saw to it that her charge was protected. She was raised by the wilds and in turn by Sariel themself. She grew up with a purpose in mind. She swore to defend nature from those who would harm it. One fateful day she came across a band of poachers who had captured and had begun to starve a Dire Wolf. She stealthily slew the poachers and freed the dire wolf. It would not leave her side and she decided to take it in as a travelling companion and call her Remi. Eira went North to the city where her father lived as an ambassador when she heard of a dark presence corrupting the land near the city. This lead her to a labyrinth under the city where her journey begins.  

[littlemerchris]

Inspired by (x).

It was almost like Wonderland had found him once again. 

That morning had been normal enough. He’d awoken to the blare of his alarm, but that was where normal had ended. He was in an unfamiliar bed. It was not the one he’d fallen asleep in last night, nestled on Felix’s other side with Jefferson’s fingers brushing against the skin of his hip. He was alone, and the room he was in was unknown to him. “Felix?” he called as he pushed himself up. He paused and tilted his head, waited for an answer. None came. “Jefferson?” he tried instead. There came a knock on his door, and Alec twisted to peer at it. That was when he realized where he was: Granny’s bed and breakfast. He hadn’t recognized it because it had been over a year since he’d last been in this very same room. He clambered out of bed as quickly as his feet would allow him and wrenched the door open. Ruby stared at him with raised brows. “You told me to wake you up if you didn’t answer your phone,” she told him when he stared at her, uncomprehending. She held up her phone and waved it in front of his face. “We’re supposed to go to the diner together. You always eat breakfast when I’m on duty?” She looked even more concerned when Alec continued to gape at her. “I do?” he asked. “Yup,” she replied with a hard pop of the final syllable. “Then you go to work?” “Work?” “At the library,” Ruby explained. She now looked even more concerned. “Alec, are you sure you’re okay?” “I don’t work,” Alec responded, as if that was the most obvious thing he should latch onto. “I go on adventures.” “Right,” Ruby said and rolled her eyes. “Adventures don’t pay your rent.” Alec swallowed. “Okay, uh--” he looked wildly around him and then realized he was shirtless. “Give me, uh, one second? Just--” He left the door ajar and retrieved a shirt to throw on, before he snagged where his phone had been set to charge. He quickly swiped into it and thumbed through until he found his texts. There was nothing of interest there. No text chain with Felix, which was odd, because Alec had a constant string of exclamations he sent to Felix and details about adventures he’d been on around town. He must have deleted them the night before? He opened a new draft and tapped out a worried are u up? before he heard Ruby clear her throat. 

“We’re on a schedule here, wonder boy, let’s go!” He waved his hand at her without looking up from his phone. It was quick work to open up his contacts and scroll through to the Fs. Except-- “Felix isn’t in my phone,” he said aloud, mostly because he was shocked and it had slipped free before he could stop himself. “Felix?” Ruby asked. He jumped when he realized she now stood right next to him. She peered over his shoulder and quirked a brow. “Felix who?” Alec looked at her with full blown startled horror. “Piero,” he supplied. “Felix Piero? Jefferson’s husband?” Ruby’s eyes snapped to Alec’s face and her mouth fell open. “Jefferson got married?” 

“He’s been married!” Alec yelped. He’d been married for most of Alec’s relationship with both of them. Something holds Alec’s tongue on repeating those words, however. The town had been slow to accept that Jefferson, Felix and Alec were a thing, all consenting to it and dating each other. Alec never mentioned it unless he absolutely had to. “For at least a year now, if I recall correctly.” 

Ruby looked at him suspiciously. “You’re jerking my leg, aren’t you?” she huffed. She rolled her eyes and marched back towards the door. “Let’s go! I can’t put this off anymore. I have a shift, you jerk.” 

Alec stared at her for several long, drawn out moments. Her face had held no recognition for Felix. “Jefferson’s your best friend,” Alec pointed out, helplessly. He had to know. It was his one flaw. He had to know!

“How would you not know his husband?” “Jefferson isn’t my best friend,” Ruby growled and slammed her hands on her hips. “I’ve barely spoken five words to him since the curse broke, Alec! God, you’re being weird. You’re my best friend, doofus! Now let’s go!” She turned on her heel and marched out of view. Alec was floored. Ruby and he got along just fine, that was true, but they were nowhere near as close as Jefferson and she were. Alec mostly got on very well with Belle, if he were to be honest. She had the same sort of curiosity about the world and he used to spend all of his time in the library when he had nothing better to do. “Ruby, wait!” he called and chased after her. “Don’t talk about stupid things anymore,” she grumbled as she stomped down the stairs. “I’m late, and Granny is gonna kill me because of you. Some best friend you are.” She continued to complain as they left the building and made a beeline toward the diner. 

“What about the other Pieros?” Alec asked, breathless with anticipation and creeping, slowly consuming horror. “Cosimo and Liviella?” Ruby shot him a look. “I thought I said to drop it,” she complained, but then rolled her eyes. “Cosimo Piero, that sounds familiar, but I don’t know a Liviella.” “Cosimo, then!” Alec begged. “He sounds familiar?” “Sure,” Ruby said as they reached the diner. “I think he comes in to eat sometimes. He lives alone, never married, talks about how his brother left and never came back--” “Never married,” Alec whispered, lips numb. Brother never came back, his mind supplied to him next. His stomach twisted uncomfortably. For the first time in his life, Alec felt like he might be sick and need to rush to the toilet. “Cosimo never married?” Alec repeated. 

Ruby grabbed her apron from behind the counter. She looked more worried now. “Yeah,” she said. “Now that I think about it, I think you flirted with him once, ‘cause he had a book you wanted to read.” “I what--” Alec was even more nauseous. What was going on here? What had happened? Where was Felix? Why were things-- why were things so much like Wonderland? Not right, upside down, with a faint gleam as if they were in a different reality. “None of this is happening,” Alec said. His throat felt like it might close on him. He couldn’t get enough air into his lungs. 

“Alec,” Ruby said. Her eyes were now very concerned. “Alec, breathe--” 

“I have to go,” he gasped and whirled so he could rush out of the diner. He didn’t stop even when he heard Ruby calling after him, and instead barreled full speed ahead. He had to find someone, someone who could explain what had happened. Felix-- Felix was here. He had always been here. A brother who never came back? It didn’t make sense-- 

Alec’s shoulder collided painfully against someone else. He pulled himself to a stop and took in great, heaving gasps of air. His eyes caught sight of a worried couple peering at him. “Are you alright, dear?” asked the woman. She was older than Alec, a little grey around the temples. She reached a hand out to pat him, gently, on the shoulder. “Alec, what happened?” “Do I know you?” he asked before he could stop himself. He had never seen her face before. Or perhaps he head-- everything was all upside down. Alec almost wished himself back in Wonderland. It might have been a living Hell, but at least it was one he knew, one he understood. 

“Alec--” It was the man who spoke this time. “What’s wrong, Alec?” came a soft, familiar voice from behind both of them. He hadn’t noticed her at first, too wrapped up in his own worries. His eyes landed on Grace and his whole world tilted. Someone who would most definitely know of Felix and Jefferson’s whereabouts. 

“Grace,” he said and straightened. His stomach uncoiled, just a little, because this meant answers. “Grace, where’s your Papa and Dad?” 

Grace’s face crumpled a little. The couple she was with each took a step toward her and placed a hand on her shoulder. The woman crouched and soothed her, murmured something to her that Alec couldn’t hear. The man turned back to Alec. “Alec,” he hissed and stepped forward, grasped his shoulder and led him a bit away. “You know not to speak of Grace’s--” “Why couldn’t I speak of Jefferson?” he asked. His world was off kilter again. The sickness had returned. “Where’s Jefferson?” The man chanced a quick glance back to Grace and who must obviously be his wife. He looked at Alec again and sighed. “Alec, I know you have your reasons to be so curious, but-- please, leave this be. It hurts Grace whenever someone mentions her Papa.” “Why?” Alec pleaded. Nothing made sense. This entire morning was a nightmare. He wanted so badly to wake up. He would never be curious again, he promised the universe, if only they would take him back. He wanted to awake in Felix’s arms, watch the smile dawn on his beloved’s face and the teasing voice of you slept in again, hm? Then Alec could shoot back that Felix was also very much still in bed with him, thank you very much. 

There came a heavy sigh. “Jefferson never returned for Grace,” he murmured. “It’s a very sore subject. Please don’t upset Grace. She is like a daughter to us, and we just wish her to be happy.” Alec took a step backward. Jefferson had never-- but that couldn’t be true. “He came back for her,” Alec whispered. “I know he did. They told me-- Felix mentioned it, before, that Jefferson had been afraid, but that he had--” Alec shook his head. “This is all wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.” He reached a hand up to tangle in his hair, feeling-- feeling mad, he felt quite mad. “I knew who I was this morning,” he quoted, a long since faded memory that barely stood the tests of time, “but I’ve changed a few times since then.” 

“Alec,” came Grace’s voice. Both of them turned to see her tearfully watching. “Have you seen my Papa?” The words were tremulous. Tears clearly shined in her eyes. She swallowed and Alec watched her struggle against her own emotions. “I’m sorry,” Alec breathed. He was sorry. Whatever he had done to deserve this, he was sorry. He wished it all away. He wished he could curl up on the ground, close his eyes, and let the world fade away. “I don’t know what I’m talking about, Grace, do I? Gone a little mad. I suppose it comes with the territory, and all that.” “Alec,” Grace repeated. She looked so hopeful. Alec didn’t want to smash that to dust. He knew he probably would. Perhaps all of his memories were nothing more than delusions. Had he lost his grip with sanity finally? It had caught up with him, all those adventures, all those nightmares come to life. He was bonkers, out of his gourd, as mad as a-- “I have to go,” he said, firmly. He had to. He didn’t want to see Grace like this anymore. He didn’t want to watch tears well in her eyes as two people who were most definitely not her Papa and Dad soothe her. “I’m quite late, you see, to tea. I have to go.” He turned on his heel and left before anyone could call him back. He tried to ignore the sobs that echoed behind him. His friends were gone. Or-- no, that didn’t encompass the situation quite right. His lovers were gone. He still hadn’t quite gotten used to the title. It seemed that it didn’t much matter now. “Where am I?” he asked himself as he walked. His head felt foggy. Nothing made sense. He couldn’t get a firm grasp on anything. 

There had been nothing different about the night before. It had gone normally. They had had dinner, after Felix had returned from an investigation. Jefferson had made a beautiful pasta and sauce from scratch. Grace had been giggly all night, happy because they had agreed to go exploring on the beach, her favorite spot, that weekend. She had gone to bed on time without a fuss, and then the three adults had wandered into Jefferson’s room. The bed-- Jefferson had upgraded it. It was now large enough to fit all three of them, though not always comfortably. Alec enjoyed a good sprawl whenever he slept. He tended to either fall all over the other two, or somehow kick them out of bed every other night. Jefferson always acted like he was annoyed by it, but there was a small curl to his lips that hinted otherwise. Felix would just good naturedly tease Alec about it the next day, and demand a massage the next night if he had slept fitfully. 

Nothing different, nothing out of place, nothing maddening. There was nothing to hint at why Alec was here, now, in a Storybrooke that didn’t hold either of his soulmates. Or-- it didn’t hold Felix, he realized. Ruby had spoken of Jefferson just fine, mentioned she hadn’t spoken to him much since the curse had broken. But if she had spoken to him, no matter how little, then that meant he was here, somewhere, hidden. 

Alec knew where he would be. It wasn’t hard to allow his feet to lead him to Jefferson’s house. It was secluded and on the outskirts of the city, but it was still there. It appeared as it had the day before, when everything had been in the right order, although it did seem a little lonelier. There were no childish toys in the front yard, no swing set with flowers painted on it in Grace’s slowly developing style, and Felix’s usual vehicle was nowhere in sight. Still, Alec pulled himself together and walked up the path to the front door. He knocked before he could doubt himself, then waited. No sound came from within the house. Alec glanced around, and then attempted to peer through the curtains to see inside of the house. The softest of sounds emitted from within. Someone was in there. Alec had every intention of ferreting them out. He banged his closed fist harder against the wooden door. “I know you’re there,” he called loudly. “Come out, Hatter, I wish to speak with you.” Still more time passed without a peep. Alec had begun to doubt himself. Perhaps he had imagined the sound earlier. It could be his own hopes and dreams, rising up out of the sickness swirling inside of him, only to be dashed by this cruel new reality. Alec had almost convinced himself to leave when the sound of the lock releasing shattered the silence. Alec turned back just as the door creaked open. The inside of the house was dark. No light emitted from any source, and the curtains were drawn tightly. Then, like a phantom looming out of the gloom, stood a rougher, more ghastly Jefferson. It was clear to Alec’s eyes this was not his Jefferson. There would be no way to look at this Hatter and think of his lover. There was a hardness in his eyes, and a haunted look about his face that hinted of lonely despair. 

“What do you want, Alice?” Jefferson rasped, his voice hinting at being unused for a long while. The incorrect name caused Alec to wince. Jefferson narrowed his eyes at the movement and his lips twisted into an ugly scowl. “Or did you not really have anything to say to me?” 

“Where is Felix?” Alec demanded. He had come here for a reason. Nothing-- not even this awful reality-- would keep him from it. Jefferson’s brows furrowed together. His eyes hinted at no recognition of the name. “Who?” he asked. “Felix Piero,” Alec further clarified. “Your husband.” 

For a moment, any negative emotion cleared from Jefferson’s face. He looked confused, just as baffled as Alec, and his eyes blinked owlishly as he processed the words. “I have no husband,” he muttered. “I have nothing,” he further stated. 

“That’s not true,” Alec shouted. He was sick of being sick, and exhausted from the day’s events. Barely an hour had passed, perhaps, and he still was stuck in a reality that was not his. “You are married to Felix Piero, most possibly the best thing to happen to either of us. You have a daughter named Grace, who you approached and revealed yourself to, and now lives with the three of us here, Jefferson. Don’t play games with me!” 

Jefferson snarled. The sound was unfamiliar to Alec. He had never heard it leave his lover’s lips before. It was an ugly noise, ripped from him as if he were a wounded animal. “Begone!” he shouted. He staggered back and grabbed the edge of the door, intent on slamming it in Alec’s face. He followed him, though, and grasped it before he could. “Leave!” “No!” Alec yelled back with just as much emotion. “I have woken up in a reality that is not mine and now I am forced to see such horrible things happening to people I love very dearly! I will not leave! I demand answers! You’re the best to approach about this sort of thing! You used to leap between worlds with nary a problem, and now I would like to be transported back to my world, back to my family, if you please!” 

Both of their chests heaved. Emotion flowed through Alec like a live wire. His blood pounded in his ears and his heart was on fire. He could barely get enough air into his lungs. He felt as if he might faint. 

“A reality that is not your own?” Jefferson asked finally, after a very long, tense silence. Alec’s eyes flitted up to meet the Hatter’s. “Yes,” he replied weakly. Jefferson showed no doubt. His eyes were clear. He did not press Alec or attempt to brush aside his statement. He believed him. Wholeheartedly. “A reality where,” Jefferson paused and licked his lips before he continued, “where we all-- we live together? You, myself, Grace, and--” He shook his head, as if he couldn’t quite believe he would utter the words, “My husband?” “Yes,” Alec repeated. “Your husband.” “You, myself, and… my husband?” “Yes,” Alec said once more. “Together,” he emphasized. He didn’t have to say more. He could see it click into place for Jefferson. “There is another reality,” he rasped, voice unsteady, “where everything is… better?” “It’s not perfect,” Alec whispered, “but it’s good, for both of us. It’s ours.” 

“Hold on,” Jefferson said and his brows had furrowed once more. “Wait a moment-- perhaps--” He turned and hurried back into the house. Alec was left to stand on the porch, lost and alone, unsure what had transpired. His phone chirped. Alec ignored it. It was probably Ruby, finally realizing she could text him to find out where he was. It made another noise and Alec heaved a sigh. It would do no good to ignore it. Ruby would just send someone to hunt him down. He fished it out of his pocket, where he had put it earlier, and unlocked it.

Felix: It’s time to come home, gattino. Felix: Come back to us.

Alec stared at his phone, at the odd text, which didn’t appear to have come from a phone number at all. It was just in his phone with Felix’s name attached to it.

Alec: what’s happening why is this happening to me Alec: is this really you or have i truly taken a page from jefferson’s book Alec: felix, please, please, please

No response, not for a long while. No sounds reached Alec. He looked up from his phone and found that he was no longer on Jefferson’s front porch. He had been bent over the edge of the bed, staring at his phone, seemingly lost in thought. His phone vibrated and startled him out of his sudden realization.

Felix: I’m on my way.

He was in Jefferson’s bed-- their bed, the one they all three shared-- and right where he had been the night before. He was only in his boxers, the ones he had put back on after last night’s tryst, and he was alone. Alec stared around the room with growing hope, barely daring to breathe. He was fearful if he closed his eyes it might all dissolve, and he would be back in that other reality once more. 

“Alec,” came Felix’s breathless voice from the doorway. The blond turned to drink him in, desperation clawing up his face until it ate away at him. “Felix,” Alec cried and threw himself from the bed. His arms wrapped around Felix before the other man could react, and Alec was crying, great, heaving sobs that shook his frame. He had not cried since he had returned from Wonderland, since he had learned his family was out of his reach and everything had changed without him knowing. “Felix,” he sobbed into his lover’s shoulder. “I thought-- you were gone, Felix, gone--” 

Felix rubbed soothing circles into Alec’s back, murmuring soft, gentle words into his ear. “I know, gattino, I’m sorry this has happened to you--” Alec clutched him tighter. “You are the very best thing that has ever happened to me,” he gasped as he pulled himself just far enough back to look into Felix’s eyes. “I never said-- but you have to know, before something happens again, and I never see you again.” 

“No, gattino, that won’t happen, not again,” Felix hurried to assure him. “It had been a mistake-- a spell that had affected us all. Emma has sorted it out.” “It affected-- all of us?” Alec stopped his crying in order to blink owlishly at Felix. Now that he was not hysterical, he could see Jefferson just over Felix’s shoulder, his face concerned and so soft, heart in his eyes. Alec held a hand out and Jefferson moved forward so he could slip himself into the circle of Alec and Felix, all three of them leaning against one another. “Yes,” Felix replied. Alec could finally feel himself settling back into this reality. He didn’t feel as if his heart might fly out of his chest or that he would lose his stomach’s contents any moment. “I was cursed in a reality without you or Jefferson, Jefferson--” Felix’s eyes went toward him, but the shorter man shook his head. His eyes were tight. Perhaps he did not wish to recount it or remember. Alec tangled his fingers with one of Jefferson’s hands, and squeezed, squeezed so that he would know he was not alone now. “We’re back now,” Jefferson rasped. “That’s all that matters.” “Emma has dissolved the problem,” Felix said with a small smile. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with us once again.” “I will never complain about that, ever, for as long as we all shall live,” Alec replied solemnly. It felt like a promise. It felt like a vow. It was exactly the way Alec would always have it be.

[scribomaniac]

Man of Ash and Thorns: Chapter 7

The rattle of a face being smashed against a chain linked fence could be heard all throughout the stadium.  The fight had only just began a few moments ago and both Weres were still in their human form.  Jared and Will ensured their seats were the best in the house by camping out in the stadium for several hours before the fight even began.  Liam was all too ecstatic to be sitting in the first row and was cheering with the best of them.  Reyna, though enjoying the fights, didn't love the fact that flecks of blood, spit, and sweat now speckled her shirt.  Grimacing, Reyna took a tiny step away from the fence and checked her phone.  No new messages.  Putting her phone away, Reyna looked over to see her hoard of sweaty men.

Will and Jared at least came prepared and dressed appropriately for the late May heat in shorts and sleeveless shirts.  Liam was wearing a t-shirt, and already sweat stains were appearing in its arm pits.  The worst of them, though, was Max.  He made Reyna's skin crawl with second hand heat waves.  He wore a button down business shirt with matching slacks.  At least he'd taken off his jacket, but Reyna didn't understand how he wasn't suffering from heat stroke.  He looked like he should be with how much he was sweating.  Reaching out with her magic, Reyna checked his vitals to make sure he wasn't actually going to collapse from heat stroke.  Her magic couldn't detect anything wrong, so she shrugged and turned her attention to his face.

It'd been three weeks since Henry King's death.  Only three weeks, and yet Max looked like he'd aged three years.  Stress lines that hadn't existed the last time she saw him were now etched deep into his forehead and between his brows and even parts of his hair were turning silver. He was beginning to look so much older than his actual age of twenty five.  

His face was alive with excitement and adrenaline, though, as he watched the fight progress.  He looked dynamic and invigorated and his actual age.  Looking at him, seeing him have fun, made Reyna immensely happy that she invited him.  She hadn't been avoiding him since her run in with Clochette—not exactly, but she definitely hadn't been seeking him out.  So seeing him tonight, with his haggard face and wrinkled clothes, made her feel so guilty she thought she'd cry.  Luckily, she didn't.  That would have been so terribly awkward she wouldn't have known what to do with  herself.  

Looking out to the fight, Reyna saw that the Weres had both shifted, and both had gotten in good hits, but that neither was giving in to the other.  She winced.  She normally enjoyed the Were fights, but when they got to be this vicious it would sometimes make her stomach sour.  Turning to Max, she yelled into his ear, “I'm gonna go to the bathroom.  Do you want me to make a stop at the concession stand?”  He passed the message down to the others and the answer was  a firm yes.  So Reyna left her seat and made her way up to the restrooms while repeating the list of snacks in her head over and over again.  

The line to the bathroom was long—as it always was for women—and the line for concessions was even longer.  Reyna crossed her arms over her chest while she stood patiently in line.  She wondered how many fights she'd missed and contemplated texting Liam or Will to see what was happening, but then frowned at the unlikelihood of them hearing their phones.  Sighing, she steps closer to the counter as the line moves forward.  A warm, fabric covered arm brushed her own and Reyna looks up to see Max looking down at her with a soft smile.  “Hey,” he greets.

“Hey, what are you doing up here?”

“You were taking a while so I thought I'd come up and check on you—help you carry some of our snacks.”

Reyna smiled up at him in thanks, “I'm surprised you even noticed I was still gone.  You were watching the fights pretty intensely.”

“I always notice when you're gone,” he admits, then his eyes widen as he realized what he said. He turns his head towards the counter, but doesn't retract his statement.  Reyna stared up at him with a small frown on her lips. Max knew he didn't have a chance with her.  No one did.  She was aromantic, and would never feel the way about him and he did her. Sometimes, though, like now, she kind of wished her heart would flutter like a butterfly's wings in her chest and that her breath would catch and her cheeks flush like his.  None of that did happen, though, and none of that ever would.  

Shaking away those thoughts and the small pang of sadness that accompanied it, Reyna cleared her throat and decided now was as good a time as any to talk to him about what she'd discovered.  “I'm glad you're here,” she said, then quickly continued when his eyes widened and his blush deepened.  “I wanted to talk to you about your father—and the Fairies.”  Max's eyes turned from wide eyed and hopeful to narrowed and focused.  “I was able to speak to one.  She was a member of the Unseelie Court.”

“What did she tell you?” He turned his body fully towards her now, giving her his utmost attention.

Grimacing, Reyna told him, “Not much, to be honest.  Neither Queen ordered your father's death.”

“But,” he prompted.

But,” she nodded, “they wanted it, and allowed it.  They're working with . . . someone,” she almost said Dunstan, but cut herself off last second.  She had no evidence that Dunstan was back, that he was working with the Fae, but . . . something in her gut told her he had a hand to play in all of this.  Somehow.  Clochette's questions that night had been too specific.  Someone wanted intel on her life and there was no way that person was one of the Fairy Queens.  Not telling Max her theory, though, Reyna wasn't sure if she did so because she had no tangible evidence he was behind the attack or for another reason she refused to acknowledge.  “Someone who's giving them the confidence and arrogance to kill the mayor of New York City.  I don't know what's going on, Max, but I want you to be careful, okay?”

He nodded slowly, his jaw clenched tight.  He turned back to the counter and they stayed quiet until they had their goodies and made their way back down to their seats. “Is there any way—” Max began to ask, but it was too loud so close to the ring, so instead he pulled out his phone and began to type, “Is there any way to find out which Fairy killed my father?”

Reyna took his phone in her hands and contemplated her answer.  “Yes,” she paused, then continued typing, “it might take me a while, but I could do it.  But there'd be no point . . . the Fae don't adhere to human government so nothing would be done unless . . .” she trailed off.  She knew he was reading over her shoulder and when he finished because he looked at her, waiting for her to finish. “Unless you want me to kill them.” she finally finished  and looked him in the eyes.  She'd never killed a Fairy before.  She wasn't even sure if she could, depending on how powerful the particular Fae was.  And if Max asked her to . . . she thought she knew the answer to the unasked question and wondered if it made her a bad person.  Made her as bad as Dunstan.  

Max took the phone back and read and reread her words several times as he contemplated the unspoken offer.  Eventually he shook his head and erased her text.  “No, you're right.  There'd be no point finding out if we can't bring them to justice.”  Reyna nodded her head, glad that he didn't want revenge.  Max put his phone away and they returned to watching the fights.  

After three more fights, it was obvious to Reyna that Max wasn't paying any attention to what was in front of him.  He didn't even so much as blink when Cosimo Borgia—Max's favorite fighter—took the stage and decimated his opponent in barely five moves.  Tugging on his hand, Reyna caught his attention and nodded for him to follow her out of the stands and away from the ruckus and noise of the fights.  “I'm sorry,” she said when they were able to hear each other.  “I shouldn't have told you.  It ruined your night.”  And he was having such a good time, she thought as her stomach twisted itself into knots.

“No, no,” he shook his head earnestly.  “Thank you for telling me.  It's helped me . . . clear my head, I think.  It's definitely helped me make up my mind.”

Tilting her head to the side, Reyna hesitated to ask, “Make up your mind about what?”

“My father was . . .” he sighed, “he was a strong man.  He had strong principles and values and he stuck with them.  But he was also very stubborn.  Sometimes that worked in his favor, like when he needed to get laws passed or persuading city council members, but it was also his downfall in a way.  He was so adamant against Supernaturals—against magic.  I think, though, I think there can be peace between the species. Between humans and the Fae and Vampires and everything else that goes bump in the night.” He chucked to himself, then shook his head, as if chasing away a thought.  “I believe we can have peace.  Real peace.  If we strive for it.  And I want to help bridge the gap between the human race and all the others.  Even if I don't live long enough to see the day when all the species live together in harmony . . . I'll die happy enough knowing that I helped build that bridge.”

Max's eyes glistened with unshed tears and Reyna's brows furrowed as worry began to grow in her belly. Hadn't she just asked him to stay safe?  This did not sound like it would end safely.  “Reyna, thank you really, for helping me with my decision.”  He smiled gently at her.  She didn't reciprocate the action, but he didn't seem to notice.  “I've been battling with it for a while, but it's decided.  I'm going to run for mayor.” His smile turns cheeky as he continued, “I'm going to take my father's throne.”

Reyna's jaw dropped.  She hadn't anticipated this.  This was not good.  He was walking head long into danger if he ran for office!  Max, taking her shocked silence as a good thing smiled wider and wrapped and arm around her shoulders. “It's all thanks to you, Reyna!”  Reyna continued to stare at him, completely frozen, while he continued to prattle on about how much good he'd be able to do in office, and how he knew it'd be difficult, being so young and all, but so long as he got the proper amount of signatures no one could stop him, and on and on and on.  

All Reyna could think about was the last King campaign office she'd been in and how close Dunstan had gotten to killing Henry King then.  How close he'd gotten to killing everyone in that building.  She wanted to shout at him, tell him to stop his thinking, but knew he wouldn't hear her.  He might be different than is father in some ways, but they had the same stubborn streak.  Reyna could only hope that his wouldn't also get him killed. The seven tattoos on her forearm burned at the thought.  She would never let that happen.  He stopped his jabbering and looked down at her waist, “Is that your phone?”

Blinking, Reyna grabbed her phone from her back pocket and was surprised to find that yes, it was her phone Max had heard.  Those were some good ears he had.  Seeing that it was a call from Lilith, Reyna answered the call.  “Lilith?”  

“Reyna!  Where have you been? I've called you twenty seven times!”  The Vampire Queen shouted in her ear, making sure Reyna had no difficulty hearing her at all.

In no mood to deal with Lilith's dramatics after Max's terribly optimistic speech, Reyna growled back, “Well I'm answering now so what is it?”

“It's Sophie,” Lilith said slowly, letting her words sink in.  Reyna turned away from Max and waved a hand around her, cutting off all the noise around her.  Her heart thudded painfully against her chest as she waited for Lilith to continue.  A chill overcame her fingertips.  Numbness crawled its way up her arms.  Finally, Lilith continued, “She's missing.”

Read more here!

A03

[schleierkauz]

The Color of Revenge: Chapter 5

Because I’m an insomniac fool and because you’re all beautiful and deserve it, here’s chapter 5 featuring the gang and Reckless references so blatant even I caught them. Enjoy the love, everyone!

Chapter 5: An Engagement in Ombra

They had all come. By the time the church bells signaled noon the house that everyone in Ombra knew only as the Bluejay’s workshop was already full. Resa had even opened her chamber of wonders for the special occasion, a little room right behind Mo’s workshop where she displayed truly wonderful things.

Scales of nymphs and water-sprites that she had collected at the nearby riverbank could be found there, two honeycombs made by fire-elves (a gift from Dustfinger) and a strand of hair taken from a glass woman. Bowls of healing herbs and dried flowers, tree bark that could dye clothes, but also the page with Fenoglio’s handwritten words that had brought Cosimo the Fair back from the dead – and the book that had killed the Adderhead, bound by her husband.

Meggie was sure that any guest who wandered into her mother’s treasure chamber would immediately forget that they had actually come to celebrate the engagement of her daughter.

Resa’s chamber of wonders also contained two of the flying machine models that Doria had built. Meggie’s mother treated him like a second son by now, but Mo made no secret of his disapproval of Meggie’s and Doria’s plan to move out into their own quarters.

“Don’t be angry with him. Fathers don’t like anyone who outranks them in their daughter’s favor,” Resa had whispered to Meggie when Mo had asked her just a few days ago if she wasn’t a bit too young to be engaged.

Too young… Meggie didn’t feel young. Sometimes she felt so old as if she had lived a dozen lives already. She remembered so many Meggies… The one who had lived alone with Mo in the old drafty house, the prisoner in Capricorn’s village, or the Meggie who had crossed worlds and who had been in love with Farid.

They all seemed to have lived their very own lives. Sometimes Meggie imagined them as little figurines standing in one of Resa’s treasure chests. She remembered each one of those Meggies fondly, but she wouldn’t have traded any of them for the version of herself who was by Doria’s side.

The love he filled her heart with was like a coat she felt around her shoulders. A warm blanket in a cold winter night. She had always believed that no one would ever know her better than Mo did. But Doria saw so effortlessly into the most hidden corners of her heart as if he had always lived there. Some she hadn’t even known herself until he showed them to her.

It was easy to fight with him, to laugh or to sit in silence, and every day he surprised Meggie with a new outlandish thought or plan and lured her deeper and deeper into this world with his insatiable curiosity. Sometimes they would borrow Fenoglio’s stubborn horse and ride for days into some faraway village because Doria had heard of a blacksmith who created wings of gold or a cobbler who could sew seven-league-boots.

“Nonsense!“ Fenoglio shouted any time Doria spoke of such wonders. “There is no magic in my-, I mean, in this world!” he corrected when Rosenquartz shot him a warning look.

But there was. Doria found it every day. And so Meggie wanted to spend all her days with him, even though they had both only just turned 18. Even Dante loved Doria. Wasn’t that proof enough that she was choosing the right one?

“Do you need proof, Meggie?“ she asked herself while accepting another engagement gift. She knew exactly why she was asking herself this question. Before Dustfinger had disappeared to join Mo in his workshop, he had mentioned that the Strong Man had told Farid about her engagement to his younger brother.

What if he showed up?

Meggie hadn’t seen Farid since he’d left for Lorraine two years ago, after the jugglers of the Prince told him about the pathetic fire-breathers who performed at those distant courts.

Did love ever really disappear? Or did it leave its seeds like a flower which would bloom anew once she saw him again?

Meggie’s heart gave her the answer an hour later when Farid suddenly appeared next to Elinor. He had a beard and she barely recognized him at first, but then he looked over at her and -

No.

Her heart did not beat any faster. It filled up with warmth, familiarity and loving derision when Farid pushed his shoulder-length hair out of his face – shoulder-length like Dustfinger’s hair.

Meggie was sure that despite all those princesses, Farid still loved his teacher more than any other person. And he was still vain and eager to be loved and admired. He needed that admiration like the air he breathed.

As he stepped towards Meggie he wore the half-mocking half-enticing smile on his lips that she remembered so well. A fiery rose grew in the hand he held out to her. It left a heart of ash on his skin when it disappeared.

“Engaged?“ he whispered in her ear as he kissed her on the cheek. “Have you lost your mind? The same meal for the rest of your life?”

“This meal tastes different every single day,“ she whispered back, but of course Farid didn’t believe that. He would never believe her that she loved anyone more than him. But his eyes were already searching for Dustfinger. The one love he would never betray.

“Dustfinger is with Mo in his workshop,“ Meggie said.

“Ah, good. How is he?“ Farid turned to look at a girl who had pushed herself past them. Lucinda, the daughter of the miller who helped Mo make paper.

“A sheep loses all its skin and its life for just six pages!“ her father had said to her and Resa one day. “I’m tired of working with parchment. I’m going to accelerate progress a little bit – after all, it’s said that there are already paper mills in Spain and farther north.”

“He’s doing very well,“ Meggie said. “The whole city loves him and he has two new students.”

Farid frowned.

“They’re probably not half as good as I am, right?“

He was hopeless.

“Come on,“ he said and took Meggie’s hand. “I have to have a serious talk with your fiancé. He should know the risk he’s taking. If he makes you unhappy just once, I will turn him into the finest gray ash that this and any other world has ever seen.”

He probably would.

 They couldn’t find Doria anywhere and the house was still so full that they barely made it up the stairs. Meggie and Dante had their chambers on the second floor and there was one bigger room that they all called the “living room”, even though the word came from another world. Mo’s and Resa’s books were kept there, very few compared to their collection in the other world. They cost a fortune in this one, but luckily Mo was able to fill the shelves himself.

Doria stood at the window – with a girl. Farid still knew Meggie well enough that he could feel her antipathy towards this girl. Doria bought the wood for his flying machine models from Filippa’s father and she usually brought it to him. Meggie had walked in on them once, just as Filippa had asked Doria why he hadn’t chosen a girl from Ombra instead of a stranger whose past was unknown.

No, she didn’t like Filippa Bafone. The fact that she was considered the most beautiful girl in Ombra didn’t help matters.

“Ah, the bride!“ she exclaimed when she saw Meggie and Farid standing in the door. “I just showed Doria my gift for you two.”

She shot Farid an appraising look and offered Meggie a bracelet. It was beautiful. Black, painted with tiny flowers. Doria held the matching one in his hand. He smiled at Meggie and pulled her at his side, not without a cautious glance towards Farid.

The glance that Filippa gave Farid was an invitation and Farid was happy to accept. But before he followed Ombra’s most beautiful girl, he whispered something to Meggie.

“You shouldn’t wear those bracelets. Witchcraft,” he added when he saw Meggie’s confused face. Then he and Filippa disappeared in the crowd. Meggie stared after him in disbelief but Doria had already pulled his knife and scratched the paint off of his bracelet.

“He’s right,“ he said. “I’ve heard whispers that Filippa doesn’t just rely on her beauty. I should probably feel flattered.“

He took the other bracelet out of Meggie’s hand and threw them both out of the window.

“Witches?“ Meggie looked down at the street where the bracelets rolled across the pavement.

“Oh yes.“ Doria took her hand and touched the ring he had put on her finger that morning.

“Not here. A few years ago the light witches fought so fiercely with the dark ones that they all disappeared. But farther north there’s still a lot of them, even though the priests of the new religions really hate them. Here in Ombra there are two merchants who sell their items. They say it’s only light magic but everyone knows that’s a lie.”

Witches… Meggie shivered. They were something that belonged only in storybooks. She laughed at herself a moment later – she lived in a book! At least Fenoglio still liked to see it that way. Did he know anything about witches in this world?

“Eastwards there’s said to be a country where princes ride silver dragons,“ Doria whispered to her. “The women in Lorraine turn into foxes. And up in Prussia, an uncle of mine saw people who have skin made of stone. This world is way bigger than just Ombra, Meggie.”

“I know,“ she replied – but what did she know? In all those years during which Fenoglio’s world had become her home (yes, she admitted, she still called it that), she had barely travelled 50 miles from Ombra. Travelling was arduous and she was so happy here in the city! Doria was here, and Dante and Mo and Resa, Elinor and Darius, Dustfinger, Roxane, Brianna and Jehan. What else did she need?

“Do you know what the Black Prince likes to say?“ Doria fed her one of the tiny cakes that Rosenquartz had bought for them from a bakery that specialized in such delicacies made for glass men.

“‘If you try to hide away from the world, it will come to find you one day.‘ I’ve told you so many times: We should travel! Samarkand, Constantinople, Edo – doesn’t that all sound wonderful?”

He started spinning with Meggie. The guests made room and clapped in time with the beat. Two more couples started dancing and Meggie forgot about witches and Filippa’s bracelets. Yes, they would travel! It was time to explore this world outside of books. She twirled in Doria’s arms and couldn’t tell what made her dizzier: Being in love or dancing.

(Next chapter)

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, CARA! You’ve been accepted for the role of HIPPOLYTA. Admin Julie: Cara, you’ve once again blown us away with your app. From your plots, to your para sample, to the reason why you were drawn towards Halcyon, everything about the woman we see here is incredibly human in a very gripping way -- and we know that’s not easy to pin down when it comes to Halcyon. It was a joy to read. The additional writing sample especially drew me in, and by the end of it, I was totally hooked. We’re thrilled to see you bring her to our dashboards once again, and we cannot wait for you to put what you have planned for Hal into play on the dashboard. Set her loose! Go wild -- we’re watching with anticipation. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Cara

Age | 34

Preferred Pronouns | She, Her

Activity Level | Please describe how active you think you’ll be in a few sentences. - I’m able to get online everyday and do replies. Depending on how many and the length, I can write one to three replies perday. I do have a busy schedule during the weekend, so these would be my less active days.

Timezone | EST

How did you find the rp?  | I’ve been aware of it since it’s first run and was happy to see it back last year. I’ve been checking in often, waiting for the right moment to apply. And now, after being inactive, I’m back.

Current/Past RP Accounts |

https://ofhippclyta.tumblr.com/

https://laraxrutherford.tumblr.com

https://theninalowell.tumblr.com/

IN CHARACTER

Character | Hippolyta, Halcyon Santos

What drew you to this character? | I’ve been eyeing Diverona since it opened and the character I always come back to is Hippolyta.

To say she’s resilient would be an understatement. There’s something amazing in her, in a woman who falls from grace like her, someone who had everything and still defied the odds and wanted her own path. Her label being the Phoenix is only proof of that. Halcyon is a woman who sacrificed a lot to the idea that others had of herself, who she was or should be. Being good of heart, like she once was, doesn’t make it less a sacrifice. Halcyon existed for others only for a long time, something that she didn’t challenge. Her purpose served others until her time came.

The strength she showed since Cosimo came after her is not something she showed before. Not in such a raw way. It was one of the most determining moments of her life, when she asked to be taken to him, and it was her first taste of another kind of power. She didn’t accept death because there’s something stronger inside of her, a  will to live on her own terms. She had nothing left to lose, she had been betrayed by everyone she ever loved and trusted. She saw an opportunity and took it, something that is very interesting to her. She has the ability to see steps ahead, of being able to size her opponents the minute she sees them. It’s something that most likely comes from all her years of sitting quiet, of observing the world around her without making a move.

Halcyon is a complex person, with two sides. She is kind, something that hasn’t changed in all those years, surprisingly. Her kindness is mostly shown through her work for the Church. Halcyon always had a want and a need to help those who were less fortunate than she and she’s still doing it. But that kindness has hardened over the years. Halcyon has been holding her breath for so long, that when her husband died and she knew the Capulet would come for her, in a way, she started to breathe again. His death was the final push she needed to let go of the life she lived and to forge a new one.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

Rising higher. Halcyon is ambitious, there’s no denying. She is deeply loyal to Cosimo and Vivianne but what about the others? How far will her ambition take her? I would like to have her be confronted with the opportunity to do something, maybe double-cross one of her own, in order to rise higher. Or even be faced with the choice of choosing between Vivianne and herself. Because as much as Halcyon isn’t selfish, how far would she go, in terms of sacrificing herself? Her loyalty to Cosimo is strong but weaker than the one to herself. Breaking away from the Capulets wouldn’t be easy, if even doable, but if her life was at stake,, or if Cosimo betrayed something she strongly believed in, she  would try to keep her head high and rise from the ashes of that betrayal, one again.

The ties that bind. When it comes to Halcyon, blood doesn’t run deeper than water. At least not anymore. Her parents caused her too much pain. But could she go as far as hurting them? Halcyon cares deeply about Verona, but what if her parents stood in her way? She never fully let the darkness and ugliness stain her, but would going as far as to cast out her own blood be the thing to push her over the edge? Killing for others is easy, but killing for oneself is harder. In a moment of anger, Halcyon would be confronted with the ghosts of her past and seize that opportunity to completely severe her current life from her past life. Because there is a darkness inside of her, despite all her goodness, and having that balance tip when it comes to her parents specifically would be something that completely unleashed that darkness inside of her.

Greatness. I see Halcyon has still being adored, even if not as much as she used to be. Those who watched her fall and get up, more than once, might have even more faith in her. But I want that faith the people have in her, the symbol they made her be, to eventually fade, either because they turn their backs  on her or because she did. Though I imagine if they knew what she was really up to, they would be the ones to cast her out. It would also test her faith, and that’s something I’d like to have happen to her, to wonder who or what she is without God.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yes. Death is needed for this kind of group and while I adore Halcyon with all my heart, killing her would be a good plot. I would just like her to have been developed and written a bit before, so that her death could be more meaningful and that she would have her moment to shine.

IN-DEPTH

In-Character Para Sample: Again, write as much or as little as you need to get your interpretation across.

SAMPLE I

It had been a strange request, to dye a wedding dress in red, but the Santos name held too much for the tailor to turn it down and the hush money helped too. “Why do you need two dresses?” her future husband had asked, his tone bored. It was an arranged wedding for him as well, and he hoped to gain a dutiful bride. He had been assured that it would be the case.

Halcyon and Callum had gone on a few very public dates, the wedding being regarded as the event of the year. The Santos and Pardi, united as one. Halcyon Pardi, the woman hated the sound of that. Where Celia had insisted they both keep their maiden name, Halcyon was expected to shed hers as soon as the vows would be pronounced. Nonetheless, she smiled on these outings, nodded when he talked and voiced the right opinions only when prompted. She knew that her life would be just like that and she wanted to feel Celia one last time, to feel passion before losing it forever. And so, she had Celia’s wedding dress dyed crimson, a sign of the fire that burned her and the blood her heart had bled.

“Everyone except me to have one for the wedding and another for the ceremony. A woman has to be trusted on these things dearest.” The words sounded sweet, they all did when they came out of her. But they tasted bitter to Halcyon, bile rising into her throat. They ached, every single one of them. They cut through the very fabric of her soul. And she bore them, like the children she would never give him, refused to give him. She was thankful for the pills she could take, until she wasn’t fertile anymore, so that she would never give this man and her parents what they hoped; an heir. Her two biggest rebellions, she thought as her finger ran through the fabric of the dress, now tucked away in her closet, never to be worn again. Celia was gone and she was now someone’s wife.

A voice was heard and Halcyon rushed into the master’s bathroom, avoiding the man she kissed every night. His voice sounded angry and she knew he was talking about them again, the Capulets. Her husband was greedy, money wasn’t enough, he wanted power. And the Capulets had the one thing he really wanted, Verona. Halcyon ran the bath’s water, creating a diversion. She played the almost empty headed wife so well, he often forgot she even had thoughts that weren’t his. Callum felt safe around her, too safe. Pressing her ear against the shut door, she could hear everything he was saying. He had been trying to buy the police department lately, thinking that if he had them in his pockets, the rest would follow easily. But they were not easy to bribe and he was going at it all wrong. He was playing a dangerous game, pretending to help Cosimo while working against him. He wanted to be mayor and he needed more than the few businessmen that stood in his corner.

Halcyon could see all this unfolding before him and the man still thought he was on top of everything. Every little mistake he made, she predicted, finding some sick joy in it, in watching him be a fool. She kept quiet and maybe, just maybe, if he didn’t expect her to be nothing else than an accessory, would she have helped him see what was coming. But with every day that passed, he kept asking why she wasn’t pregnant when it was all she had to do. He kept treating her as if she was failing at the only thing she was supposed to be good at, bearing children. She pretended to cry and despair as he badgered her about it. But that was her secret, at least one of the many she was starting to collect.

As she stood there, holding her breath so that not even that would make her miss a word, she could see too well the choices she had in front of her. If she talked, if she said it all, surely he would understand his mistakes and be able to stay alive. And wasn’t that her duty, as a wife, to help her husband? Hadn’t she vowed, in the Cathedral, to stand by his side, for better or worse? It was a holy bond and Halcyon respected the Church. But she knew her words had been empty then, they meant nothing if they weren’t spoken to the woman she loved. It was there, in their bathroom, that she was conscious, for the very first time, that she would let this man walk into his death. From the outside, it would look as if she had been passive in all this, not involved. But the reality was different, every moment she chose to stay quiet was bringing her one step closer to her freedom and she knew that.

Maybe one day she would understand that he had been her first kill, her first taste of the darkness that was buried inside herself. And years later, when Vivianne would suggest she infiltrated the police department, she would smile, knowing that she would succeed where a man failed.

SAMPLE II

A delicate flower, that’s what they had built her to be. They gave her poise and grace, told her she was the best and deserved the world. And in return, she smiled, nodded and extended her hand to those who needed it. She had walked among them, an angel, her light inspiring others. Never did Halcyon let it alter her, her heart remaining pure. She had loved, believed in it. Like an innocent girl, not yet the woman she was today, she was bound to wed. The fire that consumed her gave her strength, made her better. Halcyon was naive, she believed that everyone was like her, good, or at least, that those who raised her were as good as she saw them. She had been wrong, fooled by her faith. When her fire ended in ashes, she had to get up. She rose above herself with a burnt mark that would always follow her, a scar forever etched on her heart. Had it been a mistake, to nurse her broken heart and not turn the city upside down looking for her missing  half?

No matter how deep the bullet lay, reality was ugly. The woman she loved could be bought. And by none other than her parents. It was with trembling hands, already feeling the blow in her heart, tears coming down, that she had taken the note that was left with the wedding dress. A soft finger ran  over it, even when she couldn’t see the words anymore obscured by her vision. That’s when the light had gone out. There was rage that first night, something that she was ashamed of. She had sought out her confidante the next morning, feeling herself calmer in the hot air of the Cathedral. She was told that God had a plan for her and she believed it.

Halcyon draped herself in her sadness, coming out of it even more beautiful than before. Her failed engagement wasn’t a secret, the Santos’ were well-known in the city. And it wasn’t long before talk of another wedding ran through the streets.

“I can’t,” she cried many times. “Please don’t make me do this.”

“You’re marrying him. We gave our word.”

“Mama, please,” she appealed to her mother, the one who had nursed her, taken care of her.

“Listen to your father. He knows what’s best.” And Halcyon knew, she had left her mother’s womb for good.

“Stop being a child, Halcyon,” her father snapped. His final words on the subject.

She smiled the day of her wedding, she was gracious to the guest, she played her part. And she played it well. There had been too many tears, too much pleading that had lead to this moment. Her parents had as good as killed her the day they gave her hand away, sealed her faith in a magnificent ceremony, a funeral where she was dressed in white. It wasn’t the fact that she didn’t love him. It was the fact that they extinguished her light, put her in a cell and threw away the key. Halcyon didn’t exist, the shadow that walked this world instead was not her. And they didn’t care, for they all had what they wanted. Her parents gained more money and her husband gained the most beautiful woman in the city. A trophy, polished regularly, something that people took pride in, a simple object. Never did she let others see  any of this. She was only his wife, but she was a good one, a dutiful one. Devoting herself to charities, the only thing she was allowed to do, and the halo on her head grew bigger. Little did they know, her hands would soon be bathed in crimson. When her husband was killed, the tears weren’t for him. They were for her, for finally being free from him and from her family.

Halcyon knew Cosimo’s men would come for her. Against everything, she hadn’t fled the city. Verona was her home and like a Queen, she would never leave it behind. Her blood would soil the city if needed, her pain and anguish visible for everyone. A martyr. She had left the door unlocked, knowing there was no need to try and protect herself. Cosimo was powerful and a locked door would not stop him or those who worked for him. Her back was to them when they came in as she looked at the city she called her own all her life. It would all be over soon. “Please,” she started. Make it quick. Her life flashed by, the faces of those she helped and of those who caused her pain. But what troubled her, even more, were the words she heard all her life. Fragile. Useless. Deviant. Wife. Martyr. Fiancée. Beautiful. Kind. Icon. Weak. One word was missing, one word had never been spoken to describe her. Determined. Never before had she felt such courage, or rather, had she been aware of it. “Take me to him.” The words were said as she turned to face them, an angel awaiting her death.

All her life, Halcyon had stood by, quiet, observing. The world unfolded in front of her and she watched it, in awe. Never before had she thought that all her observing would pay off for her, that being quiet would serve her. A presence quick to be forgotten, a pretty face deemed nothing more, the woman has listened. And learned. Until this moment, until her life hung in the balance, she never understood how precious that gift had been. It paid her in information. Her husband was dead, killed by the Capulets. And they thought, foolishly, that all of his secrets were buried with him. They had been wrong. Information was precious, the most powerful currency there was. Information would be her most powerful weapon. “There’s more he doesn’t know.” The words were a whisper as the woman slowly found her voice, the one that had been muffled all her life. She could be valuable, something she saw for the first time in her life. Every moment led her to this, right now, she could finally see it. They thought they had put her down for good, but she got up, stronger than ever. The shackles  on her hands were gone.

SAMPLE III

It hadn’t been long, or so it felt like, since Vivianne was in the hospital and now it was Halcyon’s turn to be freshly out, or almost. The days following her release had been spent trying to patch the hemorrhage, a word that could be taken to its most literal meaning. The Capulets were bleeding despite all their physical wounds being, at last, and yet things still felt too fragile. The capitana could be seen at all hours at the headquarters, working relentlessly to find a way to make the Montagues pay double for their actions. Halcyon herself had come close to losing too much, with Theo laying unconscious in a hospital bed for days, a player so precious to the woman, she had been on edge. A short breath of relief had been exhaled when she learned to other had woken up, something she felt on more than one level, some form of friendship forming with the informant.

It was late at night and when everything had started to blur she silently made her way to her dear friend and underboss’ office. On a night like this, exhausted like she was, it was the comfort of the friend she was seeking and not the advice of the leader she blindly followed. “Posso entrare?” May I come in? Tired words that followed a soft knock on Vivianne’s door. Something in Halcyon’s voice had the woman looking up from the reading she was doing and beckoned her to the more private area of her office.

There had been whispers of the state the underboss had been in when she learned that Halcyon and not come back from the mission, something she had seen, in parts, herself when she was finally alone with the older woman. Halcyon had seen changes, subtle ones, in her mentor since she got out of the hospital as if a confidence she once paraded so easily was no longer so strong. Maybe the capitana was reading too much into all this, a trick her own emotions were playing on her. It was, after all, so small what she thought she saw. If only she was not looking at the other so often, maybe they would not be here tonight.

The two women shared a bond, everyone knew it, but it was not something that was openly discussed between the two. Halcyon would die for Vivianne, in a heartbeat. But the moments when they talked about how much the friendship meant were rare. Tonight, the younger one needed that, for herself, but she sensed also for the underboss. As they sat down, closer than usual, an action that was deliberate on her part, a soft sigh escaped her. “Too much has been on your mind.” It wasn’t a question, a simple fact that was uttered as big brown eyes searched the blues she dreamed of losing herself into.

It was a rare occurrence, a hand brushing the other, waiting to see if part of the skin she felt like she craved at times would shy away. When it did not, Halcyon’s hand became heavier, a gesture that was meant to let Vivianne know she was there. But suddenly, it did not seem enough. Amidst the chaos, this simple hand, one that would follow the other woman anywhere, felt too little. “Whatever it is, whatever you’re keeping, you are stronger than it.” Without thinking, something she would never do usually, Halcyon let go of the woman’s hand. Light fingers followed by warm palms went to the underboss’ visage. For a woman who could be ruthless, there was genuine care for those she cared about, many of whom had been targeted lately.  “You won’t lose us. You won’t lose me.” They were so close and the touch felt like everything that could soothe Halcyon’s tired body and mind. But Halcyon did not dare allow herself to go further, to let the sudden flushing of her cheeks get what drove the blood there. She did not close the small, too small, space between their lips.

SAMPLE IV

Location: Halcyon’s house

Date: March 25th, 2019

Ever since the hospital, the Capulet forged a second layer around her, another armour that guarded her from the outside. The physical wounds were something she could take, another symbol of the war she was fighting. But the emotional ones were something she tried to shield herself from, marks that were carved too deeply into her soul. Wounds that followed her everywhere, even in her sleep. Days were long, the list of things that had to be done to contain the hemorrhage the Capulet had been cursed with in recent months and the woman always came home later than usual, long nights working at the Cathedral. Some nights she even prayed, the Faith that had been testing her for years never too far. The lights were not turned on as she walked into her penthouse, the dark soothing for the headache that had been building all day. Heels were carefully discarded, joining others that were in the entrance, forming a delicate line. Never would she dare say the words out loud, but there was loneliness lately in coming home to such an empty place, a longing for something more, something well beyond her reach. Her hand could extend, fingers grasping into thin air, and never would she reach what was missing.

The television was turned on, the channel already on Rai News24. It casted a glow in the living room and she went to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea, the background noise eased part of the storm inside of her. The Santos name was heard distantly just as the kettle started to boil, the whistle of it drowning the noise. Not that it mattered, her father’s business was often in the spotlight. The name barely registered, too preoccupied with the day she had, going over every little detail of everything that was said to her, trying to see if she had missed anything. Absent fingers were running along the edge of her tea cup as she walked back to the living, only then looking at the screen in front of her. Strangely enough, the news was still talking about her father. Breaking News were not words that were usually associated with any of his activities. The images did not make any sense, neither were the words. Was this really how Halcyon Santos was to learn of her father’s death? Not by her own mother but by the coldness of the television. The cup she was holding dropped to the floor, shattering in tiny fragments. Slowly walking closer to the object that was turning her world upside down, finger gently brushing a picture of her father that came with the segment. The woman crumbled on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. Halcyon didn’t know if she was crying because her cage was finally broken for good or if it was because the man she once held so high would never be redeemed in her eyes, breaking her heart forever.

Extras: If you have anything else you’d like to include (further headcanons, an inspo tag, a mock blog, etc), feel free to share it here! This is OPTIONAL.

Headcanons

Training Halcyon was easy. Her years of ballet made her graceful and athletic. Hand- to- hand combat came easily to her, it was another form of dance. The woman surprised everyone by how easily and quickly it came to her and soon, she was able to  best more experienced fighters.

She started at the bottom and rose rather quickly because of how determined and dedicated she is. Halcyon directed all her energy and emotions into the tasks that were given to her, breathing and living solely for the Capulets. She was running and quick-thinking, able to see many outcomes unfolding before her. Her charm and apparent sweetness fooled more than one and it played at her advantage.

Halcyon is still nursing her broken heart. Celia was the great love of her life, up until this point. She was a burning fire and Halcyon gave herself completely to her lover., The woman always knew she was attracted to other women. And to men at times, something that was very confusing for her Catholic soul. Never before Celia had she been so open and free with another person . It was Halcyon, timid and fair compared to her passionate lover, who proposed. The ring was exquisite and when Celia said yes, Halcyon thought she could never be happier. In the days and weeks leading to Celia’s departure Halcyon could feel something had changed. She thought it was the wedding’s excitement, as the day was nearing. But when she came home to an empty house and saw the dress, she knew. Her heart hasn’t mended since].

The first tasks she had when she joined the Capulets were easy enough. Her first kill wasn’t. It was a conflicting moment, one where her soul fought the two sides of her, the light and the darkness. Never before did she thought she would or could kill another. But when the moment came, it felt…easy. There was half a confession to Hugo, Halcyon talking of a great sin without naming it. But she found that once you committed something that seemed hard, the next times were easier, until it came almost naturally. There was a war to fight and she was now part of it.

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, LIA! You’ve been accepted for the role of MACBETH with an approved FC change to Dev Patel. Admin Rosey: Ladies and gentlemen, we are incredibly excited to announce that we have our Macbeth! Mikael Falco is a difficult character to capture simply because writing him is like a balancing act - you have to understand his own wants and the wants of those he loves and find balance between the two. Lia, you managed to capture him and his voice perfectly making him wholly unique and stand out in an unapologetic way. We are over the moon to have out Macbeth and even more excited to see what ruin he'll bring to the dash! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Liar

Age | 21

Preferred Pronouns | She/Her

Activity Level | I pop in every few days for replies, and I’ll definitely be even more active once school ends in a few weeks.

Timezone | EST

How did you find the rp?  | The RP tag many, many eons ago.

Current/Past RP Accounts | *points at Ro*

IN CHARACTER

Character | Macbeth— AKA the wonderfully indecisive and useless Mikael Falco. I would also like to request an FC change to Dev Patel. Dev is 29, so I was hoping to age him down to 31 or 32? That would also make me much more comfortable with the age gap between him and Lucrezia!

What drew you to this character? | Honestly, after I read Macbeth in my Shakespeare class, I began looking at Mikael in a different light. I think there are many people in Verona with  one track minds and desires, but none as plagued by their owns demons and indecision in the way that Mikael is. He was told exactly who he was supposed to be. His parents outlined all the steps, set him up with all the tools and knowledge necessary to secure notoriety for the Falco name. This man yeeted his own parents out of Verona. Like who does that? I think I’ve fallen in love with the potential Mikael sees in himself, but his own inability to make anything of it, and I am v excited to see how he can potentially wreak havoc (or not) when he finally does something (or doesn’t, but if he does it’ll probably be stupid lbr). Being a dark, immoral asshole means nothing when you don’t have the intelligence, aptitude, nor motivation to act on it tbh. He’s not the obvious pick for someone in pursuit of throne— but I believe his inability to quiet the lust within him will potentially get him damn near close (or damn near dead).

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

I DARE DO ALL THAT MAY BECOME A MAN; WHO DARES DO MORE IS NONE— Mikael definitely isn’t the most moral of characters. His parents instilled one goal within him. They never said he had to do it in the most right or moral way. I am interested in exploring his own loyalty to the mob, or the lackthereof. I see him taking the most convienent possible route in order to obtain the one thing he acquires most, and that is the crown. Whether that be through the Capulets or through the Montagues.

IT WILL HAVE BLOOD THEY SAY. BLOOD WILL HAVE BLOOD—The ambuigity in his connection with Matthias is something I adore. It never concretely states whether or not Mikael actually killed his father, but considering all the people he’s killed, whether it be for the Falcos, the Capulets, Lucrezia, or himself— Mikael has accumulated a plethora of bodies in his wake, and quite a few ghosts to follow. A HUGE charactaristic that defines Macbeth, and Mikael too is his own paranoia. He’s always convinced someone is out to get him, and that his own actions (mostly lackthereof), will come back to haunt him. This plot isn’t super concrete right now, but I want Mikael to something (or many) deliciously stupid. Maybe it’ll work out, maybe it probably won’t. These are mostly traits I hope to explore through further characterization and plot development.

SHALL HE DWINDLE, PEAK, AND PINE— There aren’t many people nor things Mikael fears (maybe Lucrezia and his own mind), but Theodora definitely creeps him the fuck out. He won’t make it easier for them, he wants to be chased, pursued even, before he ever considers giving in. What happens when they offer him an escape? Through the experimentation of his own body and mind? What happens when they offer him a potential way to quiet his demons? Mikael has never been one to indulge in drugs, Lucrezia has always been intoxicating enough (an equal parts a headache), and I’m interested in how they might end affecting him— for better or for worse. Will it make him more active? Will it make him even more inactive then before? It would take time because Mikael is stubborn as fuck, but these are all things I hope to discover ;-)

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Pls. Don’t let Lucrezia do it though :|

IN DEPTH

In-Character Para Sample:

1. Mikael born to a family that coveted immortality, to the point where they’d procure it by any means, and for any imminent amount. They would appraise their SOULS, and solicit them to the highest bidders. It would be the Capulets that accepted their terms, and from that moment on, their names would forever be intertwined with the Capulet reign. A symbiotic liaison was formed, one that depended on a child, a son, in particular, to propel forward. But hadn’t they saw how precarious of a position they’d left him in? How difficult it was to make a proper namesake for himself, one severed from the Capulet name, when the only prosperity he’d known was flung to him in scraps from their bloodied, opened palms? They’d grown far too content with being the Capulet’s lapdogs, and they’d managed to commit the greatest sin that any mortal man could carry out against him. Doubt. As they boarded their flight back to India, after a very convincing conversation with Cosimo Capulet expressing his concern for their dwindling minds, his parents were then reduced to the nameless commoners that they’d once been all those years ago. They should’ve known better, but they hadn’t known better— and that’s when Mikael understood that he was not the GOD he believed himself to be and that a total recreation of  himself was vital. He would no longer be the child of two people utterly content with being subjected to the will of another. Those were not the kind of people that were IMMORTALIZED by scripture long after they were gone. He would become the man unwilling to settle for anything other than absolute IDOLIZATION, no matter who would have to be eradicated from his path in order to do so. He were a man willing to forsake even his own parents; how could anyone believe he would not obtain what he wanted at any cost?

2. He would know of LUST before he knew of love (though can he say he truly has loved? When the only love he’d had known has been distorted and corrupt to its very essence?) That terrible, that wild desire— it was instilled in him from his earliest moments of comprehension. This insatiable want; this unquenchable need for something more. It would lord over him in his youth, towering over him like an ominous cloud, but it wasn’t until adulthood that Mikael would dally with it, exploring its various nuances and potentiality. It wouldn’t be until his parents denied him of what he believed to be rightfully his that he first succumbed to it. The second time would be when he saw her. She’d been a dancing flurry of reds, vivacious energy ricocheting off of her and into the minds of her spectators— men and women of all ages. But there had been a crucial disparity between Mikael and the rest of the onlookers, as he would coo to her months later. They were wholly content with being graced by Lucrezia’s presence. A glimpse of her was all they thought they deserved. He’d been greedy, not wanting to settle for a meager glimpse. Mikae had never been one to stop at what he simply deserved. That same lust that had driven him to exile his own blood was the same lust that electrified him in his pursuits of Lucrezia. He’d been a man of scarce variety in his own thoughts, and a man of even scarcer actions. And truthfully? Mikael had known he wasn’t good enough. Not at that moment when he’d first saw her. But his desire fueled his insignificant life with purpose, and despite his own habit of capitulating to inaction, he were determined more than anything to become good enough. No one could deny Mikael of that— of his unquenchable resolve. Lucrezia could ask him of anything, to stare down the GODS themselves, and he would’ve done so. At that moment, he had been nothing and she had been everything. They would BECOME something together. She would breathe life to the Falco name. He’d signed away his soul and commenced with his dance with the devil. Lucrezia wanted a chase— she wanted him to leap through rings of hellfire for her favor, and he’d indulged her with little resistance. He had not expected the softness her love would instill within him, and how wholly determined he would be to keep her happy. She would become the spark that would ignite his flame; she breathed life into the Falco name as he’d expected, but she’d breathed life into him too. He’d been completely enchanted, blind to the power he’d gradually begun to sign over to her. His soul had gone first, followed by his cognizance, a suspension of disbelief replacing the parts of his mind that were meant to be logical. Mikael would come to know that flame Lucrezia wielded, that flame that once frequently warmed him— and that it was just as capable of SCORCHING him all the same. She’d seized all his shortcomings, and how plentiful they had been, and stored them in her ARSENAL of weapons to be wielded against him. And wield them she did. Each TAUNT bounded him tighter and tighter to her. He was incapable of overlooking his own inferiority in her presence. That inferiority that he’d promised himself to overcome, was now being used to keep him constrained, confining him to his own mediocrity. Maybe this is what he deserved for existing as a being ruled by only lust. Mikael told himself that a lesser man would have befallen the same fate, but how could he truly have known, when that lesser man himself met him every day in the mirror?

Extras: my love and adoration b/c I took too damn long on that para sample sokefgoegek Btw, all my bold text disappeared. :( I redid it twice. And it’s gone, yet again

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, CARA! You’ve been accepted for the role of HIPPOLYTA. Admin Jen: If I could, I would drone on and on about every gripping detail and every thrilling aspect of your app, but let me just summarize it all by declaring that it was simply a wonder to read, Cara. I was hooked from the moment I started reading your plots, and then I moved on to the writing samples and my intrigue only doubled with every line I read! I was so drawn to the care and thought that you’ve put into exploring the crucial points in Halcyon’s backstory and the little hints you’ve given about how you envision her future. I can’t wait for you to bring it all to the dash, and I’m so excited to see what more you have in store! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Cara

Age | 34

Preferred Pronouns | She, Her

Activity Level | Please describe how active you think you’ll be in a few sentences. - I’m able to get online everyday and do replies. Depending on how many and the lenght, I can write one to three replies perday. I do have a busy schedule during the weekend, so these would be my less active days.

Timezone | EST

How did you find the rp?  | I’ve been aware of it since it’s first run and was happy to see it back last year. I’ve been checking in often, waiting for the right moment to apply.

Current/Past RP Accounts | Provide any current or past roleplay accounts that you think best showcase your writing! This is OPTIONAL.

https://laraxrutherford.tumblr.com

https://theninalowell.tumblr.com/

IN CHARACTER

Character | Hippolyta, Halcyon Santos

What drew you to this character? | I’ve been eyeing Diverona since it opened and the character I always come back to is Hippolyta.

To say she’s resilient would be an understatement. There’s something amazing in her, in a woman who falls from grace like her, someone who had everything and still defied the odds and wanted her own path. Her label being the Phoenix is only proof of that. Halcyon is a woman who sacrificed a lot to the idea that others had of herself, who she was or should be. Being good of heart, like she once was, doesn’t make it less a sacrifice. Halcyon existed for others only for a long time, something that she didn’t challenge. Her purpose served others until her time came.

The strength she showed since Cosimo came after her is not something she showed before. Not in such a raw way. It was one of the most determining moments of her life, when she asked to be taken to him, and it was her first taste of another kind of power,. She didn’t accept death because there’s something stronger inside of her, a  will to live on her own terms. She had nothing left to lose, she had been betrayed by everyone she ever loved and trusted. She saw an opportunity and took it, something that is very interesting to her. She has the ability to see steps ahead, of being able to size her opponents the minute she sees them. It’s something that most likely comes from all her years of sitting quiet, of observing the world around her without making a move.

Halcyon is a complex person, with two sides. She is kind, something that hasn’t changed in all those years, surprisingly. Her kindness is mostly shown through her work for the Church. Halcyon always had a want and a need to help those who were less fortunate than she and she’s still doing it. But that kindness has hardened over the years. Halcyon has been holding her breath for so long, that when her husband died and she knew the Capulet would come for her, in a way, she started to breathe again. His death was the final push she needed to let go of the life she lived and to forge a new one.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

Rising higher. Halcyon is ambitious, there’s no denying. She is deeply loyal to Cosimo and Vivianne but what about the others? How far will her ambition take her? I would like to have her be confronted with the opportunity to do something, maybe double-cross one of her own, in order to rise higher. Or even be faced with the choice of choosing between Vivianne and herself. Because as much as Halcyon isn’t selfish, how far would she go, in terms of sacrificing herself? Her loyalty to Cosimo is strong but weaker than the one to herself. Breaking away from the Capulets wouldn’t be easy, if even doable, but if her life was at stake,, or if Cosimo betrayed something she strongly believed in, she  would try to keep her head high and rise from the ashes of that betrayal, one again.

The ties that bind. When it comes to Halcyon, blood doesn’t run deeper than water. At least not anymore. Her parents caused her too much pain. But could she go as far as hurting them? Halcyon cares deeply about Verona, but what if her parents stood in her way? She never fully let the darkness and ugliness stain her, but would going as far as to cast out her own blood be the thing to push her over the edge? Killing for others is easy, but killing for oneself is harder. In a moment of anger, Halcyon would be confronted with the ghosts of her past and seize that opportunity to completely severe her current life from her past life. Because there is a darkness inside of her, despite all her goodness, and having that balance tip when it comes to her parents specifically would be something that completely unleashed that darkness inside of her.

Greatness. I see Halcyon has still being adored, even if not as much as she used to be. Those who watched her fall and get up, more than once, might have even more faith in her. But I want that faith the people have in her, the symbol they made her be, to eventually fade, either because they turn their backs  on her or because she did. Though I imagine if they knew what she was really up to, they would be the ones to cast her out. It would also test her faith, and that’s something I’d like to have happen to her, to wonder who or what she is without God.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yes. Death is needed for this kind of group and while I adore Halcyon with all my heart, killing her would be a good plot. I would just like her to have been developed and written a bit before, so that her death could be more meaningful and that she would have her moment to shine.

IN-DEPTH

In-Character Para Sample: Again, write as much or as little as you need to get your interpretation across.

Sample I

It had been a strange request, to dye a wedding dress in red, but the Santos name held too much for the tailor to turn it down and the hush money helped too. “Why do you need two dresses?” her future husband had asked, his tone bored. It was an arranged wedding for him as well, and he hoped to gain a dutiful bride. He had been assured that it would be the case.

Halcyon and Callum has gone on a few very public dates, the wedding being regarded as the event of the year. The Santos and Pardi, united as one. Halcyon Pardi, the woman hated the sound of that. Where Celia had insisted they both keep their maiden name, Halcyon was expected to shed hers as soon as the vows would be pronounced. Nonetheless, she smiled on these outings, nodded when he talked and voiced the right opinions only when prompted. She knew that her life would be just like that and she wanted to feel Celia one last time, to feel passion before losing it forever. And so, she had Celia’s wedding dress dyed crimson, a sign of the fire that burned her and the blood her heart had bleed.

“Everyone except me to have one for the wedding and another for the ceremony. A woman has to be trusted on these things dearest.” The words sounded sweet, they all did when they came out of her. But they tasted bitter to Halcyon, bile rising into her throat. They ached, every single one of them. They cut through the very fabric of her soul. And she bore them, like the children she would never give him, refused to give him. She was thankful for the pills she could take, until she wasn’t fertile anymore, so that she would never give this man and her parents what they hoped; an heir. Her two biggest rebellions, she thought as her finger ran through the fabric of the dress, now tucked away in her closet, never to be worn again. Celia was gone and she was now someone’s wife.

A voice was heard and Halcyon rushed into the master’s bathroom, avoiding the man she kissed every nights. His voice sounded angry and she knew he was talking about them again, the Capulets. Her husband was greedy, money wasn’t enough, he wanted power. And the Capulets had the one thing he really wanted, Verona. Halcyon ran the bath’s water, creating a diversion. She played the almost empty headed wife so well, he often forgot she even had thoughts that weren’t his. Callum felt safe around her, too safe. Pressing her ear against the shut door, she could hear everything he was saying. He had been trying to buy the police department lately, thinking that if he had them in his pockets, the rest would follow easily. But they were not easy to bribe and he was going at it all wrong. He was playing a dangerous game, pretending to help Cosimo while working against him. He wanted to be mayor and he needed more than the few businessman that stood in his corner.

Halcyon could see all this unfolding before him and the man still thought he was on top of everything. Every little mistakes he made, she predicted, finding some sick joy in it, in watching him be a fool. She kept quiet and maybe, just maybe, if he didn’t expect her to be nothing else than an accessory, would she have helped him see what was coming. But with every day that passed, he kept asking why she wasn’t pregnant when it was all she had to do. He kept treating her as if she was failing at the only thing she was supposed to be good at, bearing children. She pretended to cry and despair as he badgered her about it. But that was her secret, at least one of the many she was starting to collect.

As she stood there, holding her breath so that not even that would make her miss a word, she could see too well the choices she had in front of her. If she talked, if she said it all, surely he would understand his mistakes and be able to stay alive. And wasn’t that her duty, as a wife, to help her husband? Hadn’t she vowed, in the Cathedral, to stand by his side, for better or worse? It was a holy bond and Halcyon respected the Church. But she knew her words had been empty then, they meant nothing if they weren’t spoken to the woman she loved. It was there, in their bathroom, that she was conscious, for the very first time, that she would let this man walk into his death. From the outside, it would look as if she had been passive in all this, not involved. But the reality was different, every moment she choose to stay quiet was bringing her one step closer to her freedom and she knew that.

Maybe one day she would understand that he had been her first kill, her first taste of the darkness that was buried inside herself. And years later, when Vivianne would suggest she infiltrated the police department, she would smile, knowing that she would succeed where a man failed.

Sample II

A delicate flower, that’s what they had built her to be. They gave her poise and grace, told her she was the best and deserved the world. And in return, she smiled, nodded and extended her hand to those who needed it. She had walked among them, an angel, her light inspiring others. Never did Halcyon let it alter her, her heart remaining pure. She had loved, believed in it. Like an innocent girl, not yet the woman she was today, she was bound to wed. The fire that consumed her gave her strength, made her better. Halcyon was naive, she believed that everyone was like her, good, or at least, that those who raised were as good as she saw them. She had been wrong, fooled by her faith. When her fire ended in ashes, she had to get up. She rose above herself with a burnt mark that would always follow her, a scar forever etched on her heart. Had it been a mistake, to nurse her broken heart and not turn the city upside down looking for her missing  half?

No matter how deep the bullet lay, reality was ugly. The woman she loved could be bought. And by none other than her parents. It was with trembling hands, already feeling the blow in her heart, tears coming down, that she had taken the note that was left with the wedding dress. A soft finger ran  over it, even when she couldn’t see the words anymore obscurred by her vision. That’s when the light had gone out. There was rage that first night, something that she was ashamed of. She had sought out her confidante the next morning, feeling herself calmer in the hot air of the Cathedral. She was told that God had a plan for her and she believed it.

Halcyon draped herself in her sadness, coming out of it even more beautiful than before. Her faiedl engagement wasn’t a secret, the Santos’ were well-known in the city. And it wasn’t long before talk of another wedding ran through the streets.

“I can’t,” she cried many times. “Please don’t make me do this.”

“You’re marrying him. We gave our word.”

“Mama, please,” she appealed to her mother, the one who had nursed her, taken care of her.

“Listen to your father. He knows what’s best.” And Halcyon knew, she had left her mother’s womb for good.

“Stop being a child, Halcyon,” her father snapped. His final words on the subject.

She smiled the day of her wedding, she was gracious to the guest, she played her part. And she played it well. There had been too many tears, too much pleading that had lead to this moment. Her parents had as good as killed her the day they gave her hand away, sealed her faith in a magnificent ceremony, a funeral where she was dressed in white. It wasn’t the fact that she didn’t love him. It was the fact that they extinguished her light, put her in a cell and threw away the key. Halcyon didn’t exist, the shadow that walked this world instead was not her. And they didn’t care, for they all had what they wanted. Her parents gained more money and her husband gained the most beautiful woman in the city. A trophy, polished regularly, something that people took pride in, a simple object. Never did she let others see  any of this. She was only his wife, but she was a good one, a dutiful one. Devoting herself to charities, the only thing she was allowed to do, and the halo on her head grew bigger. Little did they know, her hands would soon be bathed in crimson. When her husband was killed, the tears weren’t for him. They were for her, for finally being free from him and from her family.

Halcyon knew Cosimo’s men would come for her. Against everything, she hadn’t fled the city. Verona was her home and like a Queen, she would never leave it behind. Her blood would soil the city if needed, her pain and anguish visible for everyone. A martyr. She had left the door unlocked, knowing there was no need to try and protect herself. Cosimo was powerful and a locked door would not stop him or those who worked for him. Her back was to them when they came in as she looked at the city she called her own all her life. It would all be over soon. “Please,” she started. Make it quick. Her life flashed by, the faces of those she helped and of those who caused her pain. But what troubled her, even more, were the words she heard all her life. Fragile. Useless. Deviant. Wife. Martyr. Fiancée. Beautiful. Kind. Icon. Weak. One word was missing, one word had never been spoken to describe her. Determined. Never before had she felt such courage, or rather, had she been aware of it. “Take me to him.” The words were said as she turned to face them, an angel awaiting her death.

All her life, Halcyon had stood by, quiet, observing. The world unfolded in front of her and she watched it, in awe. Never before had she thought that all her observing would pay off for her, that being quiet would serve her. A presence quick to be forgotten, a pretty face deemed nothing more, the woman has listened. And learned. Until this moment, until her life hung in the balance, she never understood how precious that gift had been. It paid her in information. Her husband was dead, killed by the Capulets. And they thought, foolishly, that all of his secrets were buried with him. They had been wrong. Information was precious, the most powerful currency there was. Information would be her most powerful weapon. “There’s more he doesn’t know.” The words were a whisper as the woman slowly found her voice, the one that had been muffled all her life. She could be valuable, something she saw for the first time in her life. Every moment led her to this, right now, she could finally see it. They thought they had put her down for good, but she got up, stronger than ever. The shackles  on her hands were gone.

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Headcanons

Training Halcyon was easy. Her years of ballet made her graceful and athletic. Hand- to- hand combat came easily to her, it was another form of dance. The woman surprised everyone by how easily and quickly it came to her and soon, she was able to  best more experienced fighters.

She started at the bottom and rose rather quickly because of her determined and dedicated she is. Halcyon directed all her energy and emotions into the tasks that were given to her, breathing and living solely for the Capulets. She was running and quick-thinking, able to see many outcomes unfolding before her. Her charm and apparent sweetness fooled more than one and it played at her advantage.

Halcyon is still nursing her broken heart. Celia was the great love of her life, up until this point. She was aburning fire and Halcyon gave herself completely to her lover., Tthe woman always knew she was attracted to other women. And to men at times, something that was very confusing for her Catholic soul. Never before Celia had she been so open and free with another person . It was Halcyon, timid and fair compared to her passionate lover, who proposed. The ring was exquisite and when Celia said yes, Halcyon thought she could never be happier. In the days and weeks leading to Celia’s departure Halcyon could feel something had changed. She thought it was the wedding’s excitement, as the day was nearing. But when she came home to an empty house and saw the dress, she knew. Her heart hasn’t mended since].

The first tasks she had when she joined the Capulets were easy enough. Her first kill wasn’t. It was a conflicting moment, one where her soul fought the two sides of her, the light and the darkness. Never before did she thought she would or could kill another. But when the moment came, it felt…easy. There was half a confession to Hugo, Halcyon talking of a great sin without naming it. But she found that once you committed something that seemed hard, the next times were easier, until it came almost naturally. There was a war to fight and she was now part of it.