#he is not. he is very much at bella's every whim

[bookwyrminspiration]

which is worse, twilight or 50 shades of grey

Oh 100% 50 shades. I might have a bias given the twilight special interest, but I think even without my bias 50 shades is infinitely worse. It's literally like. twilight but without the vampires (and much hornier). like??? why would you not want the vampires!! if you're gonna write something horny vampires are so much fun for that

I will concede perhaps if you read 50 shades without having read twilight, it might fare better in your mind. but I have read twilight, and all I can see when reading 50 shades is how reliant it is on Twilight. It has the same characters (though some of them are a little switched/altered), but it also literally has the same plot.

In both, MC (Bella, Anastasia) meets a man who she's very attracted to (Edward, Christian) but is telling her to stay away from him, turns out he has a dark secret (is a vampire, is a sadist), they fall in love anyways. They break up after one book, leaving everyone shells of themselves until they get back together. They're being stalked by an unstable grieving individual who may hurt them (Victoria, Leila), MC is threatened to do something (come to a location, give money) because an individual important to them has been kidnapped (Renee, Mia). MC accidentally gets pregnant and Love Interest reacts poorly/isn't happy about it, but MC is fiercely protecting of unborn child.

I just. It's like when writing 50 shades EL James had a checklist of twilight plot points she was going through for her own novels. Which is like...yeah, you can do that, but the story doesn't stand on its own then. Like it's a little much at this point

And some of the qualities transferred over from one setting to another just...don't work the same. Like the post I made earlier about how Christian's anger and threats don't hit the same because he's literally just human. Yes, he's struggled with anger, but he's still human. Edward's a vampire. He can make much more important and impactful threats, and the threat of being near him is much more potent than being a sadist.

Anyway, point is I think, even taking into account my bias, that twilight's better. Because the characters and plot used in both were designed for Twilight. Everything fits and flows better, AND it's got vampires and werewolves. But this is only my opinion, so others may disagree :)

[motherfuckingmaneater]

What’s your favourite iteration of Bellatrix and Rodolphus’ relationship? 

This is so hard to answer because I’ve seen them written so well by so many authors. My top two favourite iterations are:

School friends, best friends from childhood, Rodolphus has always had a thing for her — Bellatrix agrees to marry him when the time comes, but it’s entirely her decision. Rodolphus is over the fucking moon and the happiest wizard to ever exist. They marry and it’s blissful though Bellatrix is never really as interested in him as he is in her they fuck a lot and it’s always always good for them both. They decide they don’t really want children plus it’s never something that crops up in conversation plus they’re soldiers in a war. He doesn’t know about her affair with their Master for some time — either until his suspicions catch up with him or he’s outright gaslighted by Bellatrix into thinking he’s mad for such a suggestion and that’s their Master and she’s just his student. Rodolphus realises a few years later but he doesn’t care so much because ultimately it means he gets a piece of the favour and he’s an excellent soldier anyway and always remains in Voldemort’s good graces. They go to Azkaban together after searching together. When they escape he still adores his wife and still thinks she’s the most beautiful witch to have ever lived. He’s a little resentful about Delphini but he’s not angry. He adores the kid anyway (much to his and Bella’s surprise). Ultimately he’s a very loyal and devoted husband who understands Bellatrix and never tries to change her. He’s devastated when she dies but after his third escape from Azkaban (this man is an underrated fucking legend for that shit btw) he finds Delphini and is very much a loving father-figure to her, he’s instantly ‘Uncle Rod’ again. He tells her everything about her mother and father and even names her heir of the Lestrange fortunes. He dies peacefully as a very old man in his armchair by the fire, never fully over Bellatrix but glad for the company of Delphini who is very much a daughter to him — and reminds him of her mother.

He’s much older than her, about her father and Voldemort’s age. She meets him while she’s a student of Voldemort’s. Rodolphus had never married and never wanted to. He expected Rabastan to continue the Lestrange bloodline. Rodolphus is surprised when Bellatrix shows interest in him but he doesn’t reject her at all, in fact he’s sweet on her almost instantly. they realise quickly neither of them want children and he doesn’t want a house-witch. It’s perfect. With Cygnus’ permission they start courting and within a year they’re engaged. He makes a lot of effort (Voldemort is slightly sickened, Cygnus is very happy) during this time. In another year they’re married and it’s the wedding of the century. Rodolphus thinks he hit the jackpot — he’s handsome, no doubt, but he has grey in his hair and he’s started forming wrinkles on his skin. She’s gorgeous. She’s grey eyes and long black hair, tall, slender, wickedly cruel with her curses, excellent at magic and not at all a house witch. She’s the Black family’s crown princess and she’s all his. Only, she isn’t really. He knows that — he’s discussed things with Voldemort before, he’s a clever man, he’s hitched on that they’re no mere teacher and student. He’s not offended the Dark Lord has slept with his wife to be, he’s not even offended that it’s something that’s going to continue. He looks up to Voldemort despite that he was only a year above him, what does he care? Bellatrix and Rodolphus have a very happy marriage. She’s affectionate, likes setting her nails into him, likes playing rotten bloody games with him, adores hunting with him and she plays to his every desire in return for him satisfying her every whim. He loves her. He spoils her absolutely rotten. They never have children. Delphini is a very very welcome addition to their family despite that her name is Black and not Lestrange. Bellatrix’s death almost kills him, he is a ruin of a wizard. He dies during his final imprisonment in Azkaban, likely of heart-break. 

[lovesaved]

i need more of your incredibly correct Bella headcanons and dynamics with the other characters RIGHT NOW

OKAY SO.

she jacob and leah are all the same age bella is the oldest born in september, then leah in november, and finally jacob in december. they are her oldest and best friends. like there are pictures of the three of them as babies and toddlers in the little inflatable kiddie pool in billy's backyard and their moms holding them on the steps.

charlie and renee divorced when bella was around 3 and it was. pretty brutal. there weren't any fights or anything like that, but you know how they say the opposite of love is apathy? that was pretty much it. as far as charlie knew, one day things were fine. the next? renee had put her things in a uhaul and driven south. she didn't give him a reason until weeks later when she bothered to call. then she came back for bella and bella alone. the custody arrangement got sorted later and charlie waited bravely until bella stopped waving at him from her little car seat and the car was vanishing down the road to cry his eyes out.

renee wasn't a deliberately bad mother. she was just very self-centered and that didn't change when she had a child. she viewed bella as less of a small human she was responsible for and more of a tiny extension of herself she could tote around. renee loved dance, so surely bella would be thrilled with a ballet class! it didn't matter that bella practically begged to go to a science program after school instead, that she came home from class in tears every day.

she and charlie both LOVED the summers. she'd get to be a kid during those months :( she didn't have to tiptoe around an adult's feelings and go with her whims or hide the way she was disappointed. it was endless days of riding her bike around town with jacob and leah and showing them bugs and naming them on the way through the woods to the creek and bonfires and smores at night until she was so tired charlie would have to carry her to the car.

rest is under the cut or we will be here all day

again, charlie never knew how bad it was in phoenix. bella learned how to lie to him on the phone by the time she was five and to his face by age 6. he never heard about the power being shut off because renee forgot to pay the bill, or about how she'd made her feel bad for not liking ballet. just about her chalk drawings on the sidewalk and the scorpion she managed to get a picture of in the yard. by the time she was 13 she was so convincing that he believed her when she said she just didn't feel like coming up anymore.

despite this, she does actually miss phoenix a lot at first. it was consistent there, she enjoyed the sun and the desert and all the flora and fauna that lived there.

the way she sees leah that first time in 3 years and blurts out "you got hot!!" and she and leah just hold each other up while laughing

bisexuality <3

bella isn't on her "not like other girl's" bullshit. she has a hard time understanding "girly" things sometimes, renee wasn't a huge help, but when she softly says that she doesn't know how to do things like eyeliner jessica, angela, and leah descend on her to show her <3 there is a cute montage to be had of the three of them picking out new clothes with her and trying to teach her how to walk in heels,

this is less bella focused and more just me thinking smeyer sucks but I'm not acknowledging imprinting as a thing. it really does feel like another weird ass machination of a racist mormon to paint native characters as predatory

she finds out about edward and his family in a v similar way but there is no romance during the reveal. he confirms her suspicion that he's not human her and her first thought is "oh god he's going to kill me i got too close i know too much". she bluffs like a champ tho.

edward admits that he isn't able to read her mind and they both kind of come to an awkward gentleman's agreement where they are friends with each other- for research purposes.

next few months she hangs out with the cullens more and more. rosalie hates it from the start and is always like "are yall fucking dumb??". the others are more open-minded. jacob and leah ALSO hate it! they don't really believe the stories but their dads do, but mostly? they miss their friend and they have a sixth sense gut feeling.

like leah and jake are hanging out and he's like "you remember how stranger danger didn't work on bella when we were little and she'd try to make friends with people she didn't know and nearly gave charlie a heart attack? what if this is a little like that. her danger meter is broken."

that being said the thing with james still happens. he sees this one little human surrounded by protective vampires and decides this will be GREAT enrichment time in his enclosure. like by this time, edward and the other cullens- save rosalie- have gotten fond of her. she's like their weird little human mascot

the story then kind of goes into victoria wanting revenge + the volturi finding out about their laws being broken. the cullens are like "its not her fault james fucked around and found out" and then "you don't have all the facts" "which are?" "we love her,"

while this is going on, jacob and leah shift and get drafted into this whole thing. they absolutely view this as the cullens dragging bella into their shit and endangering her for their own selfish wants.

tbh they can't even really argue that? but also they want to stay to make sure the mess they made is taken care of without having to rely on the wolves- bc if they leave, the problem will not necessarily follow them.

bella also realizes she might have a thing for both jacob and edward- she just doesn't know if she's gonna live long enough to make a choice there.

like spending time with the cullens, she tends to think of her humanity as something she needs to be cured of a little. she wants to be unbreakable and unmoving. but over the course of the series she sees her life as the gift that it is; her being a human, something that can grow and change and live and breathe, isn't something that needs fixing anymore. she doesn't need fixing.

years and years down the road the cullens still visit from time to time; edward tells her she's still beautiful and rosalie admires the gray that's started to form at her temples.

[surlybobbies]

they get married

they get married on a whim: dean hires some guy off craigslist to officiate and the guy’s at cas’s place in two hours flat. dean’s work boots are caked in mud, cas’s tie is crooked, and there are no rings in sight, but the guy shows up in a hastily-pressed three-piece suit and says nothing. his smile is perfunctory at best until dean pulls out the cash after the ceremony, then he’s shaking their hands vigorously and wishing them well, suddenly very sincere. he’s out the door 30 seconds after they say “i do.” dean wonders out loud if the guy was legit, but cas is already tugging dean into the bedroom and dean figures it doesn’t matter much anyway - legit wedding or not, dean’s staying with cas forever.

they get married in vegas. they’re best friends on vacation, and it’s a joke - a big ol’ fuck you to cas’s homophobic family - but then it’s six months later and dean’s got a tan line on his finger from the ring he almost never takes off, and he realizes very suddenly that he never wants to take it off - so he calls cas up and says exactly that. cas is at dean’s apartment in record time, and when dean opens the door cas says absolutely nothing - just grabs dean by the back of the neck and kisses him hard. they make out for an hour against the door before cas finally draws back and says fiercely, “that ring is yours for as long as you want it.” dean smiles. he promises, “then they’ll bury me with the goddamn thing.”

they get married because it’s convenient. dean restores houses for a living, but owning a company that has exactly one full-time employee doesn’t exactly give him access to the cushy kind of group medical insurance that cas has. cas is the one to suggest marriage to solve this issue, mostly because he’s seen dean’s restoration work and just so happens to have recently bought a house badly in need of dean’s touch. dean agrees - cas is hot and dean hasn’t been on a proper date in five years anyhow so it’s not like he’s losing out on much - and they get married in a quick civil ceremony two weeks later. it’s a year later (and only about halfway through restorations) that dean sits cas down and says, very gravely, that they can no longer remain married because “i can’t keep living a lie, cas.” he watches as cas’s face goes pale, and hates when he has to explain, “i’m in love with you.” cas’s jaw goes slack. dean’s about to leave, embarrassed, when cas blurts out, “me too. i’m in love with you too.” in the end it turns out dean’s been restoring his own goddamned house because he officially moves in two days later.

they get married in sam’s back garden. mary and eileen have been planning it for months. dean and cas gave input when asked but were mostly absent during the planning, happy enough that they would have each other, and not really caring about much else. (except the cake. dean had many thoughts about the cake.) everything is perfect on the day. dean didn’t think he’d cry but he surprises himself (and nobody else) when he sobs through cas’s vows. cas in turn sobs when dean says “i do” and almost can’t say the words for himself. in the end he manages it, but only just, and the wedding picture they eventually hang in their living room shows both of them teary-eyed and red-faced. they show it off proudly to all their guests.

they get married in the impala, alone. they kiss and they hold hands and say nothing at all, parked on the shoulder of a back road of some town in massachusetts. there are no rings and there will be no rings. but dean kisses cas’s ring finger and cas does the same for dean, and from there on out cas introduces himself as castiel winchester.

they get married. in life and in death they get married. in every universe, in every timeline, they get married. 

---

(tag list under cut)

@super-powerful-queen-slayyna@lifeisingrey@crisp-tiger-riot@fangirlingtodeath513@levicastho @dmsilvisart@hello-vague-stuff@bold-sartorial-statement @massivefaceperson-blog@livebloggingmydescentintomadness @shelterfr0mthestorm @neo-neo-neo@elegybot@sonewbeginnings@goldiegabrielfallenangel@destieldisaster @multi-fandom-dark-lord @bella-reed @manifestingdestiel

[edwardsmate4ever]

You are always so kind and beautiful and encourage my silly little headcanons, and I wanna hear yours.

Can you please tell me what you think the best and worst traits are for Edward, Carlisle, and whatever third character you wanna talk about? 🤍✨🌲

First of all, thank you so much. I really enjoy your work and headcanons. Bleeding Hearts is next on my binge list. You're the best!! (Side note: I had to roll my Forks Festival ticket to next year - gas and air ticket prices are sky-high now with inflation 😔)

On to the ask. Sorry it took me a while to answer, but I had a hard time choosing the third person!

Best qualities:

Edward:

steadfast- when he makes a decision, he sticks with it as long as possible (the break-up, wanting Bella to stay human), romantic (purple flowery prose, always concerned about Bella's needs), humble (concedes Jacob would be better for Bella, doesn't think he's worthy of anything - I know I'm reaching here)

Carlisle:

compassion (goes without saying, really), charismatic (everyone is his friend, people totally accept him as a full fledged medical doctor despite looking 23), determined (he refused to drink from humans even as a starving newborn, built his life from scratch numerous times)

Charlie:

protective (wants Bella to stay out of the woods, meets Edward with a gun in hand), laid-back (gives Bella space and lets her live her life), concerned (lots of fatherly concern during Bella's depression)

Worst qualities: I had an easier time with these ☺️

Edward:

impulsive (running off to Italy to kill himself, anyone?), volatile emotions (smashing expensive and rare for 2005 plasma TVs when he doesn't get his way, anyone?), angsty (woe is me, I'm a horrible monster and I hate myself, no one else could ever understand) , inflated ego (how could he not be when Esme says he's the best a brightest and Carlisle caters to his every whim and Rosalie was changed for him he just didn't want her). This is all very sad, really. He can't control it or even see these faults about himself because he's seventeen and he's acting like it.

Carlisle:

impulsive (changing people without thinking it through - Esme worked out, but Edward and Rosalie were a damn mess), idealistic (wants everyone to try his diet, pushes it for centuries, then creates his own followers), blind to the faults of loved ones (Edward is case in point. Esme's housewife doormat personality in book canon is also rather worrisome)

Charlie:

aloof (the flip side of laid-back, you could also see it as standoffish and keeping his distance instead of trying to get to know the daughter he hardly knows), oblivious (the man can't see what's right in front of him, even gets into a huge rift with his best friend Billy over the Cullens), inability to move on/stuck in his routine (goes fishing every weekend even when Bella is depressed, always watching a game, and his house is the same as it was when Renee lived there. Nuff said.)

Thanks for asking! ☺️☺️

[honeysidesarchived]

don’t know if we’re allowed to request but if we are ❛ if you called just to get off on my voice, i’m hanging up. ❜ for euphie/santi 👁

ugh kat the way you are feeding me. the way you spoil me. ily.

❛ if you called just to get off on my voice, i’m hanging up. ❜ + santphie, warnings include nsfw/nsft/explicit content, including but not limited to euphemia being both a brat AND a brat tamer. wretched wretched things. set pre nt/ng so everything is fine : ' ) combining this with a prompt from @luxurybeskar for the spotify wrapped prompts, which ended up being closer by nine inch nails. lmao. thank you both sm!!

"do you miss me, euphie?"

it's the same song and dance every time that santino is out of town for longer than a few days. even, sometimes, when it's only a few days. euphemia tries not to think very hard about how much it sends her heart fluttering when she sees his name call up on her phone screen, when she knows that he's been thinking of her and is calling her, now, unprompted. every person she's been with before him has been the exact opposite, and perhaps that is part of santino's charm: he's not afraid to be seen wanting. prefers it, even.

"don't be stupid," euphie murmurs, balancing the phone between her ear and shoulder as she settles herself into the bed. santino's bed. it smells like him, the gentle click of the air conditioner whirring on, and it feels more like home than her own flat does. "it's only been two days.

he'd said she was welcome to stay whenever she liked, but she tried not to, very often. it was just different when he wasn't around. without santino to take up all of her attention, suddenly, she is forced to recognize how integral to her day-to-day he's become, like she's some pathetic, love-sick schoolgirl with nothing better to do than entertain the whims of her infatuation.

she hears santino exhale into the phone, the thud of what she assumes is him hitting his own pillows in the hotel room echoing dully in the background. "you are cruel to me, little fox."

"barely," she replies. carefully, she sifts under the blankets stretching out and enjoying the cold sheets, sighing. "and besides..."

"you are going to say i like it, hm?"

"well, don't you?"

"a little," he admits. she can hear the smile curling in his voice. "and you do miss me."

"a little," she returns, absently sinking further against the pillows. she's fashioned one of his lounge shirts as her pajamas for the evening--yet another thing that smells like him--and there's some comfort in knowing that he's no grounds to tease her for it. "how is rome?"

"oh." santino sighs, clicking his tongue. "i don't want to talk about business."

"then what do you want to talk about? it is so late." euphemia thinks she knows--there is a hungry little lick nestling in the timbre of his voice, one she is familiar with--but she insists on playing dumb anyway, because the sound of him laughing lowly into the phone makes her skin prickle with anticipation.

he says, "what are you wearing?"

"santino."

"i miss you, euphie," he rumbles into the phone, his voice pitching lower now, different than the way he'd said it before. "everything about you. touching you, the way you sound, the way you taste--"

"if you called just to get off on my voice," she cuts in over him, keeping herself cool and even despite the way his tone makes her want to melt, "i'm hanging up."

"i did not call just to get off," he defends indignantly, and she can hear him shifting on the bed. "i also called to get you off, bella."

"per carità!" euphemia shifts, sitting up in bed. "you will be back tomorrow."

"and it is suffering," santino agrees, "every second, without you in my bed."

she presses her mouth into a thin line. she wants to make him wait. she wants him to hungry for her, always. but there is a part of her itching for it, for him, and even now she finds it almost impossible to tell him no--to tell him to mind himself, that it'll be all the sweeter when he's back in town.

"actually, i am in your bed," she says after a minute, nonchalantly. she tugs at the hem of his lounge shirt she's wearing, kicking the blankets down to the foot of the bed absently.

santino makes an intrigued sound. "in the loft?"

"yes," euphemia murmurs.

"i thought you didn't like it there."

"yes, but--" she pauses again, working the words around in her mouth. "it smells like you."

santino's breath slows a little, like he's pacing himself. "is that so?"

euphie skims her fingers up the inside of her thigh and then back down. "and i put on one of your shirts--"

he makes a low noise. "and?"

"what do you mean, 'and'?" she replies sweetly. "i put on one of your shirts and nothing else."

there is a different kind of noise, now, something that she thinks he might be trying to strangle before it comes out too loud, and she wishes he'd stop withholding it from her. she loves the way he sounds when he's losing those delicate threads of control, when he stops being perfectly composed.

"do you touch yourself and think of me?" santino purrs, his voice close but not close enough through the phone. euphie squirms, refusing to answer even as her fingers glide higher up beneath the lounge shirt, and he says: "touch yourself and think of me."

a command, this time. not a question.

euphemia feels the quick, hot drag of want blooming in the pit of her stomach, molten as she does as he bids--but only because she does miss him, only because he is still a nine hour flight away, and even though he will be back tomorrow, maybe if she closes her eyes and listens to his voice it will be just like he is--

her breath hitches, and she whimpers, gliding her fingers against the neediest part of herself. santino makes a broken sound.

"bet you look so good right now," santino growls. "you always look so fucking good when you--f-fuck, when you're--"

yes; if she closes her eyes, listening to the way his voice hitches and breaks into a moan on the phone just there in her ear, euphie can think he's there--that he would be dipping his fingers into her softness, beckoning them against her until she's moaning his name (and he loves that, the sound immediately followed by his broken, "oh, euphie, euphie, so fucking pretty when you say my name like that,") it's almost like he's there. his hands, his mouth; she can feel his lips on hers and the way his breath hitches the second he finally sinks home, if she tries enough, can think of the way he says her name very specifically in that moment, like she is so fucking holy he just can't stand it.

he's close, too. he's close, and he says, "i want my mouth on you, tesora," and he says, "come on, come on, i want to hear my girl," and he says, "fuck, when i get home i'm going to ruin you," and she drags her thumb against herself and almost, almost sees stars.

almost.

but she stops herself just before the plunging edge, and she manages out, her voice breathless, "don't, santi."

"what?" he's breathless, too. a laborious noise grinds out on the other end of the line. "euphie--"

"don't. come," she elaborates, sharper this time. santino groans, a heady mixture of despairing and agonized; he says something, but she's a little too intoxicated knowing that he's abiding by her, that he's despairing because he wants to finish so fucking bad and he can't.

"tesora." he is trying his best to sound composed, saccharine. "my beautiful euphie, you would deprive me of--"

"yes," euphemia tells him, "yes, i would deprive you. you want to fuck me, don't you?"

the line is silent for a moment. santino exhales sharply. "si, you know that i do."

"you want to come home," she continues, "and you want to fuck me on the kitchen island, or maybe our bed--"

"yes, euphie, you know--"

"and hear me say, oh, santi, santi, please, you feel so good inside of me--"

"yes," santino grinds out, bridging on a moan. "yes, f-fucking--brat."

"then," she murmurs silkily, all but come off her own high and onto another one, "don't. come."

something infuriated comes out of his mouth, bitten out between his teeth. a swear, probably; but he's shifting on the bed, trying to get comfortable, and she can almost hear the grimace, taking the place of that insidious little smirk he gets on his face when he feels particularly in charge.

good, she thinks. it's what he deserves.

"okay, okay," santino acquiesces, hoarse. "whatever you say, my euphie. if that's what you want--to deny me this."

she finds herself smiling, despite the twingeing little wrench in her own stomach from the denial. she has been with plenty of men; dangerous men, rich men, handsome men. santino is, of course, different than all of them, but one thing that doesn't change is how good it feels when they tell her, whatever you say.

"goodnight, santi," euphemia purrs. "i'll see you tomorrow. and so you know, i will be able to tell if you've broken the rules."

[lumilasi]

Yessss finally. All the necessary ocs for this set are done. Decided to use the nightshade/belladonna flower as my inspiration for her look

...well I did consider drawing a full body for Akiko’s mum too, but at least I did already draw her OTL But apart from that I’m done! 

(somewhat unfinished) Bio below:

Name: Belladonna (formerly Saori Nakano)

Nicknames: Bella (Amalia) Lady Belladonna (by her subordinates minus Angus) Plantlady (Azure, sometimes) Witch (Angus, when he’s annoyed at her)

Age: Her exact age is unknown, but in “witch years” she is considered to be around her late thirties

Height: 170 cm

A forest witch with particular skill when it comes to poisonous plants and hallucinogens

Role: One of Hanzoku’s four “family heads,” the Head of the Vessel temple

Family: Son Konjou (Bikou’s true form) Former mentor Anei Senior (The great grandmother of Yume Kobushi) Kiyoi (Nephew)

Love interest: Amalia Marek

Friends: She’s mostly on friendly terms with her fellow Family heads Azure and Taiga, as well as her boss Hanzoku, though sometimes gets annoyed with Azure. (and in turn she annoys Azure and Taiga) She’s also very fond of the little Chimera girl Youko, whose aunt works under her and often provides her with fresh blood.

Rival: Haname/Hanabi (she generally looks down on witches who are nice to people and try to help instead of cause mischief) Yume & Yaguro (Great grandchild of her mentor, and a corrupted Moth-spirit who is vengeful towards her & is Konjou’s half-brother) Kouka Murasaki (she’s a lil jelly that Amalia finds her attractive)

Powers:

She’s very knowledgeable about all sorts of poisons and drugs, and can easily cook them up on a whim. She also knows how to make antidotes to every poison she can create.

She can control plant-life, using thorns, vines and sometimes just sharp roots as weapons. She can also mind control forest dwellers, typically prefers using bigger or more dangerous ones like snakes or wolves.

She knows some shadow based magic as well thanks to her shadow wisp familiar Bikou. Such as the ability to use shadows as camouflage, or traverse through them short distances.

She can create telepathic links with people through Bikou as well, by having him merge with their shadows briefly. This can be done even without the person knowing to spy on them.

She can make plant-life grow - or kill it in an instant.

She has vast knowledge of shadow magic and shadow beings as well thanks to her mentor who excelled in that area.

Weaknesses:

She’s not a fighter type and wouldn’t last long in close combat, and often acts as more of a support person, providing her comrades with tools or healing if necessary. She’s very protective over Bikou and will go into complete panic/rage if he gets hurt. This is explained by the fact Bikou is actually her son Konjou’s weaker spirit form, that she keeps him in most of the time due to his instability.

Belladonna’s selfish nature tends to often be harmful even for herself; her current strained relationship with her son was due to her obsessive need to keep him alive and give him magic powers when he was a child, which caused Konjou a lot of suffering and trauma. His state is one of the few things in the world she feels guilt over, but she is too prideful/afraid to back down and try to make amends, choosing to keep him in the small harmless form as much as she can instead of trying to fix her mistake somehow. Konjou is the one person she tends not to defend herself against, usually others have to protect her from his wrath.

The whole process of getting Konjou was also stressful/harmful for her mental state, because she stubbornly insisted on having a biological child and felt only a human would be safe enough option to do it with. Basically, she forced herself to sleep with something she hated + would never be attracted to either, all because she was too prideful and arrogant to even consider adoption, even though she herself had practically been adopted by her mentor. 

Her selfishness has also led to her creating many enemies, including a vengeful moth Spirit Yaguro, the son of the man with whom she had Konjou with that she cursed out of impulse, leading to Yaguro being born as a moth spirit that caused his childhood to be hell.

Personality:

Like many of her kind, Belladonna is quite mischievous and loves causing chaos and using people as test-subjects for her new concoctions. She often has a very friendly and cheerful demeanor even when mad, which tends to terrify people.

She’s the most emotional out of the group, as in she shows her emotion far more openly than the rest, which causes her to sometimes clash with Azure for example, who finds her annoying. She’s also very open with her affections towards Amalia. Belladonna generally is largely governed by emotions, and she is also actually somewhat conflict avoidant with situations that aren’t easy to solve, such as her son’s bitterness towards her, or Angus’ loss of respect because of her actions. (Also its partially due to pride)

She tends to be very confident in her skill and acts arrogant, looking down on other witches who choose to help “weak” humans instead of just having fun toying with them. (her hatred towards humans stems from what happened to her mentor, who got killed by them). She does grant some exceptions in case the human proves themselves worthy enough for respect, but that is rare. (example; Caelan, Azure’s cousin, and Angus; she still somewhat sees him as a human after all. The only person Belladonna considers as no longer human out of the Infected is Amalia)

Belladonna is rather vain, petty, and selfish individual, sometimes to the point its harmful even for her herself, for example; 

She requires on people working under her to dress similarly to her (purple/yellow clothing) and will not tolerate any complaints about it and tends to needlessly punish people if they do so, either by stabbing or poisoning them briefly.

Insisting on having her child be her biological child, despite hating the process she needed to do to get one, causing herself some mental trauma.

Cursing the father of the child out of impulse because the newborn was a male, very weak and void of magic. (Daughter would’ve been born with magic automatically) This later led to her getting a vengeful Moth-Spirit after her, the second son the man had years later with another woman.

Doing questionable experiments with magic to keep this biological child alive and trying to give him magic abilities, even though it caused him lot of pain and suffering and also caused her immense guilt because she does love her son despite her initial disappointment.

(Bikou is a a tiny ball of proud, temperamental energy, who’s mostly friendly but also easily starts arguing with people. His true self Konjou is very bitter towards his mother and often attacks her if he’s awake)

BG Story

Belladonna was initially taught by an older witch named Anei (whose great granddaughter would later adopt the same alias, and ironically her fate would also be connected to Belladonna by chance) who excelled in shadow and dream-based spells, giving Belladonna her knowledge of shadow entities despite being a forest witch. 

Anei tried to teach her to not use her powers recklessly, wanting her to be the kind of witch who would not grow up despising weaker beings needlessly (such as humans,) but unfortunately all that went down the drain when she was hunted down by paranoid humans, making Belladonna resent them and cause lot of havoc and chaos against any humans she came across out of revenge. 

After reaching what was considered mature age for witches however, Belladonna began to crave the kind of familial connection she’d had with her mentor, and she ends up trying to conceive a child by seducing plenty of men. (she hated the process given she’s a Lesbian, but she absolutely wanted it to be a biological child to pass on her power naturally) eventually succeeding. Unfortunately, the child born was not only male (I.E, no natural witch powers) but also very weak physically, close to death from the start. Despite all this, she genuinely loved the small boy and decided to try and do anything she could to save him. 

(She ends up cursing the man who “gave” her an ill child out of impulsive anger, eventually resulting to the birth of Yaguro, a corrupted moth-spirit who later in life goes after her out of revenge for his state. Basically meaning Yaguro and Konjou are half-siblings)

This was around the time she came across the cult worshiping a being called Hanzoku, a rebelling Death Vestige whom they had summoned, and who’d managed to possess himself a host body. She agrees to aid him with his goals, if in turn he helps her save her child.

After months of experimentation, she does manage to stabilize his condition somewhat, but it leaves the child very volatile of powerful magic outbursts, eventually forcing her to shape-shift him into a more harmless, shadow-wisp form. This allows Konjou to stabilize and start growing like a normal child, but unfortunately his more volatile nature would stay, coming up each time she tries to let him become human again. This condition causes the boy to start despising his mother overtime, resulting in Belladonna feeling forced to mainly keep him as “Bikou” to protect herself from his wrath. 

Fun Facts:

As the head of the “Vessel Temple” sect, her primary role is to provide support for either her comrades of their subordinates, from poisons to medical attention, to even surgeries if needed. She’s also primarily taking care of their boss’ safety while he sleeps. 

She’s always had a thing for strong, fighter type women who also use their brains, hence she fell for Amalia almost instantly after they met. (She does also find Kouka attractive, but doesn’t like the fact Amalia does lol)

She loves to dote on Taiga - their youngest member - because she’s always found Kitsunes adorable. (Taiga sometimes finds her annoying as well, but tends to not say it out loud like her BF Azure)

While she and Azure clash a lot, they do genuinely respect each other’s skill, and she’ll do whatever she can to save his life if needed

Bikou gets along with the other leaders as well, especially Taiga (probably due to her motherly nature) and she and Azure are the first to find out the truth about him when he finally transforms back.

She often randomly tests her new poisons on her underlings, which causes most of them to try and steer clear from her way when she’s humming That Specific Way

She’s very attached to her fancy hat and gets really annoyed if its damaged or dirtied.

The only times you may see her act more vulnerable is when Konjou is the topic at hand, to the point she won’t even try to defend herself when Angus calls her out on it.

Her thoughts and emotions around Konjou are generally complicated, not only because of how unpleasant the process of getting him was, but also because how she sometimes feels it wasn't worth it; all she got from sleeping with a man was a child that hates her. The same time though she still genuinely loves him in her own way, and is very motherly and sweet to him when he’s “Bikou.” (She just can’t see/refuses to see her own mistakes)

[forabeatofadrum]

I’d cry a river just for you (23/24)

Notes: Phone rings, door chimes, in comes company! No strings, good times, room hums, company!

AO3

–

COMPANY - The Band’s Visit

2020

“This is insaaaaaane!” Bella yells in Blaine’s ear. She’s right. Rotterdam is crowded with partying people. De Boompjeskade is the place to be. Kurt told them to go here. It’s apparently a tradition in Rotterdam to do a Nationale Vuurwerk on every New Year’s Eve. The famous Erasmusbrug will be surrounded by a fireworks show.

There’s a DJ and a party tent, but it’s half an hour before midnight and people are slowly moving outside in preparation for the show. Femke is pushing people aside so that they can have the best spot on the kade.

Kurt snaps a photo of the bridge and he laughs out loud a few seconds later.

“What’s so funny?” Bella asks.

“Oh, nothing, just Mercedes. She’s jealous that we’re already nearing the new year. She’s a couple of hours behind after all!” Kurt answers happily and Blaine feels warm with affection when he realises Kurt and Mercedes are still friends.

“Who’s Mercedes?” Adeola asks.

“My best friend,” Kurt replies easily while smiling at his phone. This doesn’t hurt. It only makes sense that Mercedes inherited that title after Kurt and Blaine laid their friendship to rest.

“Tell her I miss her,” Blaine says.

Kurt looks up from his screen and their eyes meet. Kurt nods.

“She’d love to hear that.”

“And you should send her one of those bags!”

“God, don’t get me started,” Kurt exaggeratedly rolls his eyes, which makes everyone laugh.

Everyone holds up their Susan Bijl bag, which leads to Kurt taking a photo of that too. Everyone in this damned city has something of this designer. Kurt likes their work and he took Blaine to Susan Bijl’s shop.

And Blaine is weak when it comes to Kurt, so he gives in to peer-pressure.

Femke leaves the group when she sees some people she recognises. The others talk about living in Rotterdam. Kurt’s been in Rotterdam the longest, so he has a lot of stories to tell. Blaine, Bella and Adeola have only been here for half a year, but they have their own adventures.

Overall, it’s really nice to be here. Coming here to study law has been the best choice in a long time. Blaine picked this country and city on a whim, desperate to finally do something with his life, and now he’s surrounded by people he loves, he’s enjoying his study, and Kurt’s back in his life.

Getting to know Rotterdam is so much better when Blaine’s with good company.

Femke comes back from a stand and she’s holding a basket with some sort of snack in it. Blaine can’t really see it in the dark, but there are fried round snacks with powdered sugar in that basket. Oil is dripping from the bottom. It lands on Femke’s shoes, but she doesn’t mind.

“Oliebollen time!” she says and she lifts the basket, “I have some with raisins and apples. They’re Dutch fried pastries!”

“You want one?” Kurt asks Blaine, holding out an oliebol, “I first tried them last New Year’s Eve and they’re nice.”

“Puff puff!” Adeola says happily, “That’s what they’re called in Nigeria.”

“They are indeed very soft and fluffy,” Bella says as she chows down, “You wouldn’t expect something fried like this to be this soft inside.”

“Oh, puff puff, I like that name,” Femke says.

Blaine accepts Kurt’s oliebol.

It’s not what he expected. Blaine was thinking of a big bitterbal or a round kroket, but this isn’t savoury, it’s sweet, which is fair since Femke did say they’re pastries. The inside is filled with hot dough and sweet raisins. The powdered sugar makes it even sweeter. The fried crust is kind of oily and he can’t really place what it tastes like.

“So, are they traditionally Dutch?” Blaine asks Femke.

“Honestly, food origins are always a bit messy,” Femke shrugs, “But they are seen as Dutch food. We love fried shit. We eat this during New Year’s. You might’ve seen some pop-up food stalls that sell them. That always happens in December.”

The five of them huddle together on the kade. It’s very cold and the Rotterdam wind doesn’t help it. Adeola’s rubbing her hands all over Bella, who’s shivering. Blaine smiles when she sees them.

“I wish I had someone to keep me warm,” Femke says with a sigh.

“Same,” Blaine says and his eyes flicker towards Kurt. Femke notices and she winks. Blaine playfully bumps his shoulder against hers.

“How long till New Year?” Kurt asks.

“Are you giving up your vices?” Blaine asks, instead of replying.

“No, but I did go back to school,” Kurt laughs. They recently watched the RENT movie again, which was a blast from the past.

Bella’s looking at her phone. “Three more minutes of the first year of this decade.”

It’s getting more and more crowded. They were already huddled together, but now they’re pressed against each other. Blaine suspects that the ladies moved around on purpose, since Kurt’s against his back.

Adeola hands him a plastic cup with beer and he needs it to calm his nerves.

“Are you okay?” Kurt whispers in his ear.

“Hm?”

“You seem a bit uncomfortable.”

“Cold,” Blaine lies. It’s fucking cold, but that’s not why he’s nervous. He hates that Kurt notices.

Luckily, the countdown to the new year is distracting enough. At the one minute count, people start to count down out loud. Adeola shoves another drink in his hands. This time it’s a plastic flute with champagne.

“Tien… negen… acht… zeven… zes… vijf… vier… drie… twee… één… Gelukkig Nieuwjaar!”

The crowd erupts in cheers. The bridge lights up with all the fireworks. Next to Blaine, Bella grabs Adeola’s face and they both have a big smile on their faces when they lean in for a kiss. Femke is positively beaming and she’s hooting excitedly.

Blaine feels Kurt’s hand on his shoulder. Blaine looks over his shoulder to look at Kurt’s face. Kurt has an easy smile and a questioning look. Blaine puts his hand on Kurt’s. Blaine takes Kurt’s hand off his shoulder, but he’s still holding it.

They’re in the middle of a crowd. There’s the sound of fireworks, cheers and DJ music, since the Netherlands is known for its DJs. People around them are moving and sometimes they push them around. Still, it’s as if everyone and everything around them is being pushed to the background.

It strangely reminds Blaine of one of the most soothing showtunes he’s ever listened to, namely Answer Me from The Band’s Visit.

Only you When the sun and moon and stars are gone What's left is only you Will you answer me? Answer me

They stare at each other with smiles on their faces and Blaine suddenly understands why Kurt looks like he’s about to ask a question. He knows what Kurt’s asking.

Blaine nods.

He turns around as Kurt leans in and he places Kurt’s hand on his face. Their kiss is soft and sweet and there are literally fireworks going off in the background, lighting up the Erasmusbrug, and their friends are probably screaming and cheering at the sight of the kiss, but Blaine ignores it all. Despite the noise and the lights and the people, what’s left is only Kurt.

It’s the perfect start of the new year.

--

End notes: They did it, folks! 

Oliebollen are traditionally eaten during the New Year’s Eve festivities, aka oudejaarsavond. It felt fitting to add them. 

Speaking of New Year’s festivities, I’ve never been to the Nationale Vuurwerk at the Erasmusbrug before, but it used to be an annual thing. Of course, the pandemic threw ash in the food (roet in het eten, it’s a Dutch proverb) for the 2020 - 2021 NYE and once again for the 2021 - 2022 NYE, but here’s a video of the 2019 - 2020 one. Skip to the six minute mark to see the fireworks.

Lastly, Susan Bijl is a designer from Rotterdam. I originally wanted to add the shop Groos in this chapter, because that’s a shop that only sells products made by designers from Rotterdam, since I read about it in the book, but like the Suicide Club, it pernamently closed in 2019. (Those De Vriezen ought to update their book.). I don’t have any particular attachment to Susan Bijl’s work, but my aunt from Rotterdam insists that it’s a must have and when I visited Rotterdam earlier this month, those bags were indeed everywhere.

[fascination-street-writing]

For Make Believe and Not So | Part II of II | La Squadra x Reader

To wake up to the sight of your messy hair and eyes softened by sleep is a lovely pleasure in life, but one not granted to him nearly enough. Tonight, however, you will stay and dream of an impossible future together. Tonight, you will save the heartbreak for your better selves.

Link to Part I

Content Warnings: N-SFW Sexual Content

The faux leather of the booth seating creaks with each jostle of laughter and lunge across the table for another shot of liquor. You suppose – after weighing the throbbing of your knees to the disoriented thrum of your head – that you have drank far too much. But you do not care, for you know that you are indeed with good company. Never mind that you had agreed to work opening shift tomorrow, because that is not your trouble now.

Though the music from the speakers blares through the tight space of the bar and patrons shout in jovial cheer to one another, you could not be bothered by the distractions. After all, the game of briscola before you is far more enticing – that, and your team is winning.

Formaggio nudges you in the ribs and discretely flashes you his cards before playing his turn for the both of you. Melone throws his cards down with a groan, withdrawing from the game. If not for Formaggio, you might have done the same; you are lost – utterly and completely lost. Perhaps you would have done better for yourself if you were not currently so intoxicated.

You reach for your ears to twirl your earrings out of habit, only to be met with air. Your silver earrings sit discarded on the table. You remember now; something about Illuso using the reflection to cheat, and Formaggio begging you to take them out. You did so with a shrug, though not entirely certain that your partner’s whim was so embedded in truth. Your earrings were not that shiny.

In the end, the two of you finish the game victorious. The waiter sets down a tray full of cinnamon whiskey shots. A cloud of cigarette smoke engulfs the table as Prosciutto takes a drag and sighs, accepting his defeat. Seated beside him, a look of mortification sweeps across Pesci’s face. “Do I have to?” he asks, eyeing the amber-colored liquid with hesitation.

“You lost, ragazzo,” Formaggio sneers with a smirk. He slides the tray towards the younger man.

“Mhm, losers have to drink up,” you say with a giggle. “You knew the rules.”

Pesci bites his lip. “It’s just – Well I . . . Uh . . .”

Prosciutto rolls his eyes. “Gesù Cristo, Pesci,” he mutters. “If you want to salvage your dignity, then drink.”

The green-haired man turns red in the face. “It isn’t bad, Pesci,” you insist, reaching across the table to tap his knuckles in an attempt of reassurance. “I promise.”

It is enough to goad him, but begrudgingly so. Liquor held at eye level, he swallows his spit before downing it in two – no, three – sips. He sputters and coughs as the whiskey burns his throat. The others laugh, yet he feels as if he has conquered the world, though only for a moment. The way you praise him, like hailing some accolade of his, makes him want to try again. Just to hear you speak so fondly of him.

Alas, the night drones on. Formaggio leaves the booth to chat up the bartender, and Melone wastes no time in claiming the newly vacated space beside you. You do not mind the change in scenery and the way he practically dangles off you, or the comments he throws your way regarding just how much he admires the style of your hair tonight – or, about the way your outfit perfectly accentuates your birthing hips (“That dress was made for you, bella-bella”). It is not until he asks about your blood type that Risotto promptly hoists you from your seat and ushers you to sit betwixt he and Prosciutto. You never had the chance to protest.

“What’s this?” Formaggio asks when he returns with two drinks clutched in his hands – one for you, no doubt. “How the hell are the rest of us supposed to shoot our shot with [Y/N] when she’s sitting between you two?”

His words fly over your head. Your attention is instead trained on the purple concoction he holds. “Speak for yourselves,” Ghiaccio scoffs. “You should have better things to worry about than getting your dick wet.”

“Hey, hey – I never said I didn’t have important things on my mind, but she’s one of them!”

“Wait, what?” you suddenly ask, your interest piqued after receiving your drink.

“Formaggio’s trying to fuck you,” Ghiaccio says with disinterest.

You shake your head and chuckle, chewing on your straw. “Of all the people at this table – no, in this bar – you’re the last person I’d sleep with, Maggi.”

Those cat-like eyes glisten and his jaw drops. The others erupt, and you can only hope that you have not wounded his pride too much. It is all just fun and games, after all. Formaggio points an accusatory finger towards Pesci. “You’d even pick testa di ananas here over me?”

“I said what I said.”

“Mio dio!”

At the end of the night, it is Ghiaccio who agrees to drive you back to your apartment – and reluctantly so. You stumble out to his maroon Alpina with little help from him. You think that he must like watching you trip over the bits of loose cobblestone masonry that line the pathway to the parking lot; even more, you suspect that he does not care for you very much. Or at least, not nearly to the same extent that the others do. It is no matter, for you have learned that you cannot win the favor of everyone. It is one of life’s many daunting natures.

The soft lights of Napoli flash by in a whirl as the car speeds down the road. Admittedly, he drives a bit too fast for comfort – or perhaps it is his attempt at furthering the wedge between you two. When he nearly swerves into oncoming traffic, undoubtedly distracted by something, you wonder if it is his vendetta to get you killed tonight. You suppose he would not risk the insurance claim on his car, however. The thought quells you. But it does not change the matter of your non-existent comradery to the man driving.

He is intelligent – one of most intelligent people whom you have ever met. Yet, his fixating rampages over the most miniscule of things is startling. Frightening, even. More often than not, however, it is he who is the subject of his own rage.

“Ghiaccio, can I tell you something?” you ask, though you know he will tell you to be quiet. You do not give him the chance to say so. “I think that deep down, you’re a nice guy. You just don’t want the others to see it, for whatever reason.”

He tightens his grip on the steering wheel.

“I had a good time tonight, and I hope you did too. It was nice seeing you let loose a bit.”

To say that he ‘let loose’ is a gross understatement. He refused to join the game of briscola, insisting that it would not be a fair match, and that the lights were too dim to even see the cards properly. He had refused every beverage offered to him – even water. Ghiaccio merely sulked the entire night, making it clear enough that he would rather have been elsewhere.

“It would be nice to do it again, and I –“

“Just, stop,” he hisses, throwing out his fingers in frustration, without releasing the wheel. “Stop talking.”

You huff and look away. The air within the car turns cold. It makes you shiver. “I know you’re just trying to get me to take back what I said, but I won’t. Why can’t you just let me say something nice to you? Why can’t you let me try to be cordial? I’m not asking you to like me or anything. You don’t have to be so hostile, especially when I’ve done nothing wrong to you.”

The car rolls to a halt in front of the townhouse that you share with several other university schoolmates. You expected an attempt at some semblance of an apology, but you were simply hoping for too much from the man beside you. Grabbing your purse, you wrench the door open, failing to notice the ice chips that have formed around the seal. They crackle and shatter on the pavement.

“I’m sorry.”

You thought too soon, it seems. He does not look at you – in fact, he refuses to tear his gaze from the road ahead of him. Stiffly, his jaw juts out in vexation, and you can practically see the gears churning in his mind. He does not know what to say next, yet you have heard all you need.

With a glimmer of a smile, you bid him adieu: “Goodnight, Ghiaccio. Thank you for the ride.”

He watches you hobble up the steps, supposing that he ought to have at least offered to help you inside. But why should he force himself into your servitude when you were the one who chose to drink tonight? Shaking his head, he at least waits until you vanish behind the front door – though not because he wishes you well.  

Certainly not.

Behind closed doors, you have taken a lover. You do not dwell in childish games with one another. In front of the others, you spare the fleeting looks of longing – of insatiable adoration to the man who succeeded in swaying your affection in his favor, and he to yours. You suspect that they must know of the affair, but he insists that your secret has been kept. It is better this way, for all parties involved. Better than souring hearts or making enemies of those who have become your closest of friends.

You suppose that you might feel remorse with each passing of his fingers over the supple perks of your breasts – but guilt does not make your belly swell with anticipation. With a content sigh and a lopsided smile, laced with ardor, he leans over your sprawled form and brushes his lips to yours. He thinks you look like a goddess, naked and tangled in the mess of bedsheets; and perhaps you are, for he has never met a woman as beautiful as you. He pulls away, only to kiss you again, as if to prove to himself that you are real. Goddess or not, you are corporeal.

Do not ask him to say that he loves you, because he will not admit it. And yet, under his gaze, you swear that you have become a daisy flower, potted on a windowsill, and he the preening blue jay, just beyond the reach of the glass. You wish to feel this way forever.

“Do that again,” you command, a nymph-like grin on your face. You reach out a hand to cup his cheek and sweep your thumb over the moon of his cheek.

Illuminated by high-spirits and spent desire, he cocks an eyebrow. “Do what, cara?”

“Kiss me.”

Who is he to deny you? At the peak of your own satisfaction, his lips move to your neck, savoring the warmth of fresh love-bites. You turn your head to give him ample space. You will surely parish in the heat tomorrow, in what will be your decision to wear a turtleneck to cover the blemishes, but that is a problem for your future self. The gentle rumble of a stifled chuckle sends a vibration through you. You bury your fingers in his hair, holding him close – as if he might slip away if only you let go.

“You look pretty like this,” he says without pulling away. You quiver as wetness pools between your thighs. “Sei così bella.”

“And only for you,” you tell him.

He shifts until his trail of kisses have led him to your glistening folds. “Only for me.”

You wait in your own delirium for his mouth to work you open. And he does, until he has had his fill of your balm and saccharine sweetness. You writhe and buckle into his lips. Just before you reach your limit, he stops and beckons you to stand. You do so on shaking legs. He settles against the headboard and you follow suit, straddling his hips and sinking yourself down on his stiffened member. Arms coiled around his neck, you stretch around his shaft and sigh in delight as you contort to his hardness, as if already molded into memory. His hands clasp your hips, urging you along with each jostle of your body.

It is euphoric. Even when you throw your head back in ecstasy and cry out his name, reaching your fill and gifting to him your release, his eyes never leave your face. To wake up to the sight of your messy hair and eyes softened by sleep is a lovely pleasure in life, but one not granted to him nearly enough. Tonight, however, you will stay and dream of an impossible future together.

Tonight, you will save the heartbreak for your better selves.

When a neatly packaged box addressed to the men of La Squadra di Esecuzione arrives on the front doorstep of their hideout – via express mail, no less – Risotto is the one to bring it into the living room, though not because he wants to. He recognizes the penmanship of the scrawled address. He has seen it on dossiers, files, letters of grievances and recommendations, and of course, thirty-six wrapped formalin frames. As always, there is never a return address. But he knows who it is from, even before Formaggio slices through the tape that welds the box shut.

Photographs spill onto the coffee table. Far too many to count, admittedly. And all of them, pictures of you. The first that Melone pulls from the pile is one of you caught in motion, a textbook clutched in your arm and your cellphone held up to your ear – heading to a class amidst the bustle of your university campus, no doubt. A look of exasperation sweeps your face, frozen in an eye roll and a scoff. The next is a photograph of you at work, in mid-conversation with Formaggio, who leans over the front counter. Your hand hovers over the cash register, ready to punch in the total for his order. What the camera did not capture was the smile upon his face as he beamed up at you. He takes the picture from Illuso’s grasp.

The analog lettering in the corner is dated to the very same day that the green-eyed man first visited you at the pizza shop. “Unbelievable,” he hisses. “Unbe-fucking-lievable!”

There is a photograph of you sharing a cigarette with Risotto in a park near your apartment – something that has become an unspoken pastime between you two. There is a photograph of you sitting in Ghiaccio’s car the night of the bar trip; his scowl has been immortalized for the others to see, and for a moment, a twinge of regret eggs him. Another of you in the bar with everyone else, taken through the cloudy glass of the front window, earlier that same night. When the photograph of you and your lover is turned over, all eyes fall to the man – accusatory gazes laden with what might perhaps be anger. But it is not the time to dwell in jealousy and betrayal, because he will lose you soon enough.

“He’s been watching us, all this time.”

Melone begins to flip the photographs over. Despite the tension of the room, something has caught his attention. “Some of these have letters on the back,” he says as he shows the evidence to his squadmates. “This one’s an L. Here’s a P. And an A.”

It is Illuso who understands the intention, though only after finding an E and an I. Lei – she, in reference of course to you. “It’s a message,” he insists.

No one argues. Not even Ghiaccio makes the effort to refute the permissibility of Illuso’s discovery. By the time the code is finally pieced together, the room has grown heavy and odorous of cigarette smoke. Two spent packs litter the floor, but Prosciutto will worry about sweeping the ashes later. He can bear the mess a bit longer, for there is another – far more pressing – that needs tended to. In that tantalizing cursive, the ever-elusive Don of Passione speaks: “Lei è la prossima.”            

She’s next.

No one speaks. How could you, their fondest friend – a woman who delivers pizza to fund her way through her studies – have fallen into Passione’s snare? “It wasn’t enough that he killed Sorbet and Gelato,” Illuso sneers. “Now this? Now her?”

Risotto is quick to shut him down. “I told you to forget about them,” he reminds the men. “I told you to – ”

“How are we supposed to do that when this shows up at our doorstep?” It is Melone who interrupts. Risotto stiffens. “How are any of us supposed to forget about Sorbet and Gelato when the situation is about to repeat itself? We can’t, and you can’t expect us to.”

“I can, and I will. And I expect the same to be done of her.” The man with black sclerae cannot even utter your name. Even the thought of it makes his chest tighten. “From this point on, I am prohibiting all of you from seeing her. If not for your sakes, then hers.”

Truly, each man in the room already knew the daunting solution – they simply did not wish to hear it uttered aloud. Your safety and well-being are important to them; it just so happened that the bond you share has put your life in jeopardy. They will not be the reason for your death. “So, who’s going to tell her?” Pesci asks.

“Why bother?” Ghiaccio huffs. “What part of ‘forget about her’ don’t you understand, mammoni?”

Pesci casts his gaze downward to avert the glare of the hot-tempered man. No man in the room volunteers. Their leader supposes that it ought to be his duty – to assume the responsibility, considering that it was his insistence. But, despite the stoicism, he never has been good at saying farewell.

“I’ll do it.”

Prosciutto steps forward, and the others are grateful for it. “It seems that, in the Don’s attempt to herd us like sheep – to weaken us into subordination – he’s instead succeeded in creating enemies for himself.”

He releases a puff of cigarette smoke. Perhaps he should have held it in for a bit longer, until his lungs swelled, and his head grew dizzy – because in the end, he feels nothing.

Aprile in Napoli is, you think, the loveliest time of the year. The pavement is slick with afternoon rain, but it does not trouble you in the slightest. In truth, you enjoy the smell of rain – it is purity and earth, and a fresh start. You peddle to a stop just before the row of graffitied townhouses at Vivo Pallonetto Santa Chiara. This time, there is no dog to gawk at you through a window. No child in rags to run past you with a stolen purse. No pizzas with sausage, eggplant, or porcini mushrooms, either.

Only you and your shattered heart.

You do not bother to tether your bike in place, because you will not stay long. With each step on the cracked concrete stairwell, it becomes harder to breathe, and you imagine that you are traversing your own ascension. Only, there is no heaven at the top – unless heaven is a locked door. In that case, you want little to do with her. You find the key buried within your purse, amongst gum wrappers, a bottle of vitamins, and receipts that ought to have been thrown out long ago.

You had not known what to say to the young man – no, the boy – with golden hair and turquoise eyes who met you in a black Maserati with tinted windows. You had not known what to say when he handed you an envelope with money and the key. Something of compensation for their family, he had said, to get along after their deaths. Had they even had family outside their tightly woven niche? You never knew. Your tongue grew heavy like lead: you did not thank the boy, but he did not expect you to. Instead, you sat in the backseat of his car and wept, moistening the expensive upholstery with tears.

There were no funerals. No memorial services. No solidary condolences. Only money to finish your studies, loneliness, and a key.

You begged the chauffer to pull over. You exited the car without so much as a contemplation of gratitude. There you stood, in some distant courtyard of a café, where you had met Prosciutto one last time just months ago. Or maybe it has been years. Grief has a way of making time pass slower. Perhaps you are already an old lady – or perhaps, only twenty and some more.

He greeted you with a cigarette dangling from his lips and a peculiar tiredness to his eyes. You moved to take a seat, but he held out his hand to stop you. You understood what he wanted – he wanted you to walk with him until you reached the park where too many times before you sojourned with Risotto. Only then, with Prosciutto instead, the sight of the neatly cropped grass made your stomach curl.

“Don’t make this difficult for me,” the blonde man said, all the while avoiding your furrowed brow and gaping mouth. “But you need to stop coming around. It’s better this way, for all of us and yourself.”

Do not be difficult – and so, you do not beg or cry, nor do you ask questions. You had always known that dangerous men did not make safe company. You knew, forever in your soul, that Eden did not last forever; and one day, you would have to leave. Prosciutto stubbed his spent cigarette on the heel of his shoe. You thought he meant to reach for a new one, but you did not give him the opportunity to.

He never said you could not hug him. And so, you did. Face buried in the lapel of his suit jacket, you spoke: “I know it’s not any of my business why, so I won’t ask,” you told him. His breath hitched. “It’s not my place to pry. Oh, I’ll miss you all so terribly, but, in the end, I wish you the best.”

His arms encircled your back, hesitant to return the gesture of your affection. At first, he merely hovered; yet, when you moved to pull away, he held you, tight. “I told you not to make this hard,” he mumbled into your hair. Vanilla – your hair smelled like vanilla. “Be good, bella ragazza. Stay safe for us, huh?”

“You too, Prosciutto.”

You insert the key into the lock. A part of you wishes it will not fit – that you can turn around and leave this wretched place that you love so dearly; why bother with something that will only make you wish you had not done it? Alas, the knob clicks. It is closure you seek, and you open the door. You could have prayed for a nasty little prank. That, sitting on the couch, Formaggio would be waiting for you, with a lopsided grin on his face, asking what took you so long?

Prosciutto might be cooking pasta and puttanesca in the kitchen, simply because he knows it is your favorite. Pesci might be watching a game of soccer on the television, glad for a new spectator to endorse his commentary. Illuso might be standing there, offering you a glass of wine to share with his own – a toast to the end of an arduous week, or just because he feels like it. Melone might beckon you to sit on the floor so that he can give you a back massage after your long night of running around Napoli. Risotto might be brooding in silence, though his demeaner brightens whenever you enter the room; and already, his fingers will begin to itch at the anticipation of slipping away for a cigarette with you. And Ghiaccio . . . Well, maybe Ghiaccio might scoff at your intrusion, but you would welcome it all the same.

But it is only you and your thoughts. With a shudder and a sigh, you sit down on the couch. The springs contort beneath your weight. Cobwebs adorn the walls like autumn decorations. Dust collects on the furniture. Everything has been left out as if they all might walk through the door at any moment and resume their allotted daily leisure.  A tear trickles down your cheek. You wipe it away and hold your breath until your eyes dry and you cannot cry. They would not want to see you like this, and you know that it is best to just move on with your life. To reach for the opportunities that were never permitted to them.

Your cellphone vibrates – a phone call from a schoolmate. Against your better judgement, you flip the screen open and accept. “Hey, [Y/N]!” she says to you. “We’re still meeting up to study tonight, right?”

You look to your watch. You were supposed to be at the library twenty minutes ago – this little detour of yours has not come without consequences. “Um, yeah,” you tell her. Your voice echoes in the dark space of the room. It makes you wince. “Sorry, I just lost track of the time. I’ll be there in a bit.”

“Well, if you’re going to keep me waiting, I’ll get us some coffees. Addio!”

You toss the key on the coffee table, atop a stack of over-turned photographs that you cannot be bothered to look at. It is none of your business, anyways. Or at least, that is what you told Prosciutto. At the door, you turn the lock, prepared to seal it all away. In the hue of the setting sun, you cast one final longing gaze into the living room. With the shaking of your head, you shut the door behind you and take your first step forward, though not before uttering to vacancy of that which was once irrefutable happiness.  

“Arrivederci, amici miei.”

| 4364 Words | Epilogue |

[another-fantasy-world]

Strings Pt.1

Pairing: Rosalie Hale x Fem!OC

Summary: in which the true queen of vampires found love when she least expected. 

Warnings: ...Light Angst? Slowburn and mentions of death,trauma and depression

Timeline: Breaking Dawn - Post-Twilight

Word count: 1,683

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧   ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧   ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The Patriarch of the Olympic Coven certainly didn’t expect a visit from an old friend, much less a forgotten queen on the time of their distress trying to save their coven from the selfish hands of Aro Volturi. 

“Greetings Carlisle. It has been a while, hasn’t it?” The violet-eyed vampire smiled.

“M-My Queen! I-” Carlisle stutters, still stunned by shock and confusion.

“No need for such formalities. We’re friends, are we not?” The dark-haired queen smirked.

“Of course. May I ask, How are you here?” 

“ Ah, Dear Carlisle. The years seem to blur doesn’t it? Forgot about me already?”

“It’s...been awhile.” The queen hummed at Carlisle’s response.

“You’re dreaming, Carlisle. Still aware of the fact that I can manipulate your body to sleep? Let’s cut to the chase, Your family is getting worried with the sight of you passed out on the couch. I’ll be sending my representatives over to you as addition to your witnesses. I am aware of your...agreement with the shifters. And I demand that they return to me in one piece. Understood?”

“Yes Ma’am.” Carlisle grinned

“Very well. They will explain once they get there. I wish you the best of luck. Carlisle Cullen.” 

And with that, Carlisle’s eyes fluttered open, refocusing on his wife’s worried eyes, he smiled gently.

“I’m fine, my love. It appears that we have more visitors coming.” He grinned 

“Witnesses? But how? More importantly, Who?” Edward questions

“Are we just going to ignore the fact that Carlisle just took a nap?” Emmett wailed while tossing his mate, Maggie, over his shoulders.

Carlisle sighed at his son’s antics before speeding out of the room, only to come back with an antique looking box. He gestured for them to sit down.

“I think it’s time that I tell you a story...” Carlisle breathed in an unneeded breath, allowing himself to recollect his memories from centuries ago.

“...Anastasia Thorne. Also known as Anastasiarine Maximilliene Rolinde-Thorne.” He starts, voice wavering as he smiles

“She’s also known as The Ghost Queen, Of Volturi and of every other vampires that there are. There were rumours that she was the first ever vampire to walk in these lands and that we came from her. She never really did confirm that fact, whenever I ask her of it, she only laughs and dismissed it with a joke.” Carlisle’s eyes seem to stare into the distance, reminiscing the olden days. He pulls out a couple of pictures, all containing the same woman.

‘Gorgeous’ was the first word that popped on Rosalie’s mind. And soon she wonders what would happen if she ever meets the said Queen. But she immediately dismisses the thought.

The Cullens, besides Carlisle of course, merely looks at each other in silence, urging Carlisle to continue.

“She was many things when she was still young. A Princess, A Queen, A Knight, A Doctor, A Philosopher, A Genius, She was even a pirate once. Above all, She was a paradox. Unpredictable and Bipolar. Always lived in isolation, I do not know how she manages that but she did. Only comes out of her own tower when needed. She was the one who thought me how to feed on animals, did I ever tell you that?” he asked. They all shook their head no.

“Huh, It must have slipped my mind” 

“My, Carlisle. You must be getting old.” An unknown voice suddenly pops out of nowhere.

They all swerved their head to where the unknown voice came from and there stood two figures. Two women to be exact.

“Don’t tease him. 3 decades is a long time.” The other slaps the other.

“I’m sorry for being rude, barging into your home like this. Anastasia was quite insistent on us helping you,” The figure in a green cloak grins

“My name’s Veronica. And this is Amore. We are here to help you.” Veronica smiles gently.

“How...” Emmett gapes

“How did we not hear you? How do I not hear you?” Edward asked, baffled

“Teleportation is the strangest thing isn’t it? It also risks losing a couple limbs.” Amore deadpans

“You... have a pulse.” Bella suddenly blurts out

Amore and Veronica looks at each other before chuckling. 

“Ah, we can never escape a newborn’s ears. Yes we have a pulse. Yes we are hybrids as well, just not the same as your daughter.” Vero smiles gently

“Uh-huh. We were witches. Salem witches to be exact. We escaped death when some random vampire bit us the day we were supposed to be burned. Somehow our genes as witches halted the venom from fully consuming our body, so when we awoke, we quickly learned we have every strength yet none of the weaknesses of a vampire.” Amore explains.

“What do you mean?” Esme asks

“Well, for one, we don’t sparkle.” Veronica giggles

“Two, we still bleed. but our blood isn’t appetizing. I’ve been told my blood smells like trash...” Amore grimaces “...I don’t know if that was a compliment or an insult.”

“And three. We still have our witchy abilities.” Veronica finalizes, holding Amore’s hand

Amore then furrows her brows as if threatened and offended. 

“Mind reader. Whatever your name is, our goal isn’t to hurt your daughter. If it was, My head would already be a decor on our Queen’s Palace. So don’t poke around.” Amore pointedly looks at Edward who tenses in shock 

“Amore. Behave. Now where is the hybrid?” Veronica curiously asks

A shy Renesmee pokes her head out of Bella’s legs, Veronica immediately coos.

“Awwee~ Rey, Look! She’s so cute~” The redhead fusses over a now blushing Renesmee

“You’re overwhelming her.” Amore pulls Veronica from her collar away from the hybrid child. “...Behave.” Amore smirks

Amore crouches down to Renesmee’s height and smiles. Staring at each other as if silently communicating then, Renesmee lifts her hand up to touch Amore’s cheek. She looks forward, in a daze then grins wildly, snapping back to reality.

“You have an amazing gift, Little Cullen. Very pretty too. Would you want me to show you mine?” Amore asks, to which Renesmee nods rapidly, already warming up to the visitors, much to Jacob’s distaste.

“Great, More Leeches.” Jacob glares when he steps into the living room, where he found his imprint near a vampire. 

“Too Close” He thinks, shifting into a defensive position while trying not to shift into his wolf.

“Hmm, and here I thought Renesmee couldn’t be more special.” Veronica giggles.

“Calm yourself down, shifter. I don’t want to hurt your imprint.” Amore rolls her eyes, then smiles at Renesmee. 

The opens her palms and there lies a mixture of purples, blues, pinks, blacks and whites. The universe is displayed in Amore’s hands, Swirling around as if creating a new planet.

“Illusion is tricky, therefore, only those who believe shall see it.”  Amore closes her palms and ruffles the child’s hair. 

“Coooooool.” Emmett gapes in amazement.

“Very well, shows over. Wolfie, be a dear and take your imprint on a date, will you?” Amore looks at Jacob with a serious glint in her eyes

Rosalie had to quiet her snort when Amore called Jacob, wolfie. She dislikes shifters with a passion, they stink and is very dangerous. Edward merely smirks at his sister before gulps due to Esme’s glare.

“Stay out of my head!.” Rosalie screamed in her head, making him wince.

As soon as the both of them ensured the child and it’s imprint is out of earshot, Their auras changed into a much more serious and sinister one. Frowns prominent on their faces.

“As we’ve said before, our abilities as witches remained even in this immortal form, but along that, we also attained gifts. Amore being the gift of illusion and Mine being knowledge. I know everything. I’m basically a much more reliable and attractive internet. Although I couldn’t see the future as your dear Alice, Once she gets her vision, it adds to my knowledge bank. Therefore, I have knowledge on the outcome of this battle. And it’s not good.” Veronica glares at the floor, silently seething. The once cheerful and happy woman, turned into an angry blob of mess.

“Aro is as insufferable as ever, He wishes to destroy your coven. He merely needs his evidence and he has been waiting a long time for this. He wouldn’t back down easily. As much as we want to help you, we can’t be seen in your thoughts. Or that will ruin the balance of the worlds. We trust in Alice’s plan, You should too.” Amore seriously states, rubbing her mate’s back

“We need your consent. You all have to trust us. I know it’s not easy, us popping into your lives and all. We must mask your thoughts, One where your memories and thoughts of us are hidden from Aro.” Veronica smiles gently, slowly calming down.

“They’re telling the truth” Maggie, The resident lie detector confirms.

“You may discuss it among yourselves.” Veronica drags Amore away.

Rosalie frowns, Trust doesn’t come easy. Do these strangers seriously ask for her trust without them earning it? That was absurd in her book, the last time she trusted someone on a whim, it caused her demise. Her frown deepens when an unknown feeling bubbles up deep in her. She’s confused, she was confused on as to why she felt jealous, envious. Was it their beauty? No, it wasn’t that. Rosalie knew, even though she was only ever been with men, she knew that she found women attractive, although never really caring about it since they had to come and go. she was offended when people misinterpreted her longing looks as glares of envy, she was only admiring after all. Was it that they found each other then? No, it was something deeper. She was jealous of them for something. Something she doesn’t know. And she hated that. She snarled at them then speeds away to the comfort of her room, without listening to her coven, missing the knowing smirks of both Veronica and Amore. They looked at each other then nodded with grins on their faces.

Yep. They were definitely meant for each other.

[gisellelx]

Do you ever wonder if on some subconscious level, Carlisle dislikes Bella? There's the obvious in that she gives Edward what he cannot, but there's also the fact that her presence brings out every bad quality Edward has, in ways that can't be ignored - his arrogance, his controlling behavior, his possessiveness, his constant patronizing disrespect for Bella's choices (he had Alice kidnap her to keep her away from Jacob, for example, forced abortion, anyone?) even while he swears she's in charge.

I LOVE this question. LOVE IT LOVE IT LOVE IT and I couldn’t answer it right away because I really have to think about it. Picture me and a fluffy Texas Heeler walking around the neighborhood for the last two days while I am deep in thoughts about Carlisle’s relationship with Bella.  Commence word vomit. Don’t say you weren’t warned. 

I think deep down, he loves her. Adores her. Cherishes her, and sees her as another daughter, and the one who finally made his son whole. We’re at 14 years of E & B being married next month. I think he looks at her and feels a rush of emotion, all of which is love. 

And I think he also kind of detests her presence, because she lays bare all the places where he is powerless. His closest companion, his most trusted confidant, his son, (and a character who I have frequently written unproblematically as his lover because--well, if you don’t think that makes perfect sense you need to re-read MS) just...became someone else. First he turned into a stone-cold killer, then all his basest instincts reared themselves, as you point out. And then in New Moon, she revealed that she had the power to completely take Edward away, and Carlisle would have no power whatsoever to stop that from happening. To say nothing of the fact that by the end of the saga, Carlisle has done his fair amount of killing vampires and hurting people, and he resents, in a very low key way, that all that was necessary. He wrestles with these feelings. Bella is everything he ever wanted for his son. And her very existence and her presence in his son’s life reminds him in every move she makes of all the ways he’s failed. He isn’t in control; he can’t be everything Edward needs; he falls far short of the mark for Edward. 

But. She is also Renesmee’s mother. And I don’t care how weird that kid is, and how much you want to just kick SMeyer for ever setting up that whole plotline...if you want to get over Renesmee hate, jump in Carlisle’s head. When I wrote Form 1040, totally on a whim, it uncovered for me this whole unbelievable depth to how Carlisle thinks about his family and how utterly full his heart is at the end of the saga. It also unearthed how utterly terrified he is of losing it all.  Bella represents everything that makes his life full and complete to bursting. She’s also every reason he almost lost everyone he values, more than once. And those things just coexist because he’s not going to articulate them, and probably even worse, he’s going to try not to think them because of Edward. So he’s just walking around with this under the surface and god knows how long he’ll hold it before it comes to the surface, if it ever does.

He finds the deep, abiding love much easier to feel, so that’s what he feels. But were someone to really dig, he would implode, because of course he would direct all those negative feelings in on himself, in self-hatred for daring to be upset with the woman his son waited for fo so long. 

[papergirllife]

Reactions with WayV

Requested : Reaction towards an extroverted s/o

Qian Kun

Kun is a homebody, I think most of the time, you’d have to drag him out to socialise with other people if your extrovertness deems the amount of time being holed up in his room was borderline crazy. Kun would probably let you drag him out, just like how he puts up with his more outgoing members, he’d probably sulk about going out at first, but eventually having fun with you, to his greatest surprise. Kun would most probably allow you to plan dates, since you always had an idea of where to go and what to do. But bear in mind, Kun wouldn’t budge to your nagging if he has work to do.

Ten Lee

Being an extrovert s/o to Ten would have a push and pull thing going on, at times he’d jump for the idea of going out with you, given that Ten has an adventurous side of him which loves to explore new countries and try new things. But there are times when Ten just wants to stay put and abide by his usual off day schedule, lazing around at home, sleeping in, playing with the pets and such. His introvert side shows the most when he feels that he has been going out too much, and just doesn’t want to interact with friends anymore. At times like these, you’d have to get used to lazing around in the dorms, cuddling and maybe talking about what your next adventure awaits.

Winwin (Sicheng)

Winwin is very introverted, even among his members, he doesn’t go out with them that often. I think dating Winwin means you’d have to go out on your own most of the time. He’d have moments where he’d be down for something, like shopping or eating out, nothing too extreme, and maybe even travelling to another country together once a year, he’s the type of traditional thinking guy where he thinks travelling is good when done in moderation to learn about a new culture, or maybe returning to a country he had good experience with when he was touring. Winwin is also not one who enjoys meeting up in large groups and new people, as seen by how he usually clung onto Yuta or his wayv members in the nct show. So please handle this baby chick with care, large crowds and foreign things scare him.

Lucas Wong

Lucas himself is an extrovert, so being with him would be perfect for you. The two of you would probably go out every weekend if he didn’t have anything on, whether it’s shopping, trying out a new restaurant, or even joining a wine tasting event on a whim, the two of you would have a great time together. You and Lucas would be the couple that has various seasonal seasonal adventures that repeat every year, like going to the amusement park in the summer, taking walks by the Han River to admire the cherry blossoms in spring, jumping into leaf piles in autumn, and going to the snowy hill caps in winter, as a tradition of your relationship.

Hendery Wong

Hendery is one of the most out going introverts I’ve ever seen, the most introvert thing he does is when he goes off bubble after a promotional period to recharge. So unless you wanted to go out at that time, asking him out on a whole day date wouldn’t be hard. Hendery unlike Kun, would most probably get involved with the date planning, let it be a day at the zoo, or multiple spots in a day, he’d happily oblige to whatever you wanted, unless you were planning to take him to somewhere which involves heights of frogs, then he won’t be talking to you and locking himself in the dorms for a few days until you agree to binge watch the whole Harry Potter series with him.

Xiao Dejun

Xiao Jun is one of the most introverted extroverts I have ever seen, if that makes any sense. I think Xiao Jun would have times where he must do some things, and wouldn’t let you interrupt him no matter what, like how he reserves time for the gym, his work, practicing his guitar, and his baby Bella. You’d always have to double check his schedule in order for him to be happily dragged out by you, but always give him a heads up if you guys were to hang out with people he isn’t close with, he’d end up staying silent in the corner like those nct v lives he had.

Liu Yang Yang

Yang Yang never disclosed his mbti, but I’m pretty sure he’s an extrovert. Being with an extroverted s/o would be a joy to him. The two of you would share moments like having impromptu cafe dates, being at each other’s necks at the arcade, and even taking the pets to the beach just to get scolded by Kun when he finds sand on their fur. I don’t think Yang Yang would try and explore new things all the time despite agreeing to go out and about with you most of the time, he’d have lots of doubt towards something new and alien to him, but would try it out once you do, the child in him and the fact that he’s the most spoiled maknae in nct gives him the feeling of security that he craves from you as well. So you always have to let him in on date discussions, just in case he doesn’t like what you were planning to do.

[luxfurem]

@treppenwitzz​​ asked: i need all the deets about your bellatrix... ALSO ANJI i wanna know more about anji | MEME.

So... this ended up really long and therefore it’s under the cut! I sort of left out the “who they could get along with” part but I also feel like that really just depends on verses and such, so we can totally discuss that sometime  🥺🥺🥺

Bellatrix Lestrange

TW for mentions of alcohol, abuse, death and miscarriage

TROPES/ARCHETYPES: The Champion, Femme Fatale

Bellatrix is the very first muse that I officially wrote on indie, but also a muse that I’ve explored in the many group rps I’ve been in in the years before that. Because of that, she’s been through a lot of changing and tweaking over the years, but I like what I’ve got going for her now.

I’m absolutely a big fan of villain characters and I support the humanizing of them because in my mind, it is all the more terrifying that a villain could like the same things as you, could be like you, but be capable of such terrible things. I think it creates a frightening perspective that’s the quiet sort of terrifying, and it’s what I aim to do with Bella. I wanted to create a villainous woman who is powerful without being sorry for it.

I do want to stress that a villain doesn’t necessarily become worthy or deserving of pity or redemption because their story contains sad aspects. In the end, everyone encounters terrible and sad things in life, and it’s what you do with these experiences that matters. If you become bitter or vengeful, that is a decision, and the consequences of however you decide to treat the world after are not cancelled out because of the reason why you became this way.

On the one hand, she is this terrifyingly powerful witch who, despite her comparatively young age, climbed up the ranks of the death eaters to the position of lieutenant at Voldemort’s side, but on the other she is someone’s daughter, someone’s sister, someone’s wife. I wanted to explore how these two aspects of her story intertwine, or, in some cases, clash.

My Bella is a bit canon-divergent in that I absolutely refuse to write a woman who’s completely submissive to a man, especially one that doesn’t deserve it. Of course, I don’t want to stray too far from her original arc in that I still believe she’s absolutely starstruck by Voldemort, but she is more interested in his abilities, his mind and his cunning than she is in him as a partner. It’s a different kind of infatuation, where she isn’t all too sure if she wants him or wants to BE him. In time, she settles with neither, and becomes his champion, instead. She’s a knight under his banner, a soldier under his command.

Much of Bella’s arc comes down to a dominant woman living in a society that doesn’t like dominant women. Pureblood circles are catered to the pureblood man, whereas the woman’s job, much like in societies of previous eras, is to bear a husband's children to continue the pureblood line. It’s a crude and sexist thing, and Bella wants none of it. From a young age, she rebels against her father’s firm beliefs in the way things are supposed to be, and rebels against her mother’s attempts to “guide” her back to how she’s supposed to be. She’s the feral child with the holes in her dresses, the scrapes on her legs from climbing trees and running too fast. Her long hair always tangled and messy. She knows that as a girl in the Black family, the highest achievement would have been to become matriarch, but even that wasn’t ever going to be enough for Bella.

When her mother dies, about two years after the birth of Narcissa, the matriarch of the Black family, Walburga, takes over the role for a short amount of time while her father drinks his grief away. After Sirius is born, however, even this steadiness falls away, as their aunt spends her full time caring for him and the second son, Regulus, born a year after. This leaves Bella to assume responsibility for her sisters at the age of 8. Her fights with her father, their temperaments going head to head resulting in situations I don’t really care to divulge about.

Once accepted into Hogwarts is where things start to divert. From one day to the next, her previously always messy hair is neatly combed back into a braid. Her clothes are pristine, not a spot in sight, and her sharp commentary is kept to a minimum. To all those around her, it seemed she had finally heeded her mother’s wishes, and embraced her place in society. But to those who knew her well enough, to her sisters and to her cousins, there was a stubborn fire burning behind those crow-black eyes, burning higher and brighter the more time passed. It was only a matter of time until the fire either consumed her, or consumed those around her.

It was at the age of 17, during her last year at Hogwarts, that Bellatrix was introduced to the Dark Lord. She’d seen him before, of course, but the Black family had stoically kept their stance on the matter of his campaign neutral, although this wouldn’t last. Her fiance-to-be, Rodolphus, who was a few years her senior, had already joined the ranks, and Voldemort’s actions could no longer be brushed off as a mere whim by the family. And Bella, who desired more than the life of a housewife, saw this as an opportunity to lift herself up.

I want to stress that I, as both a Tom Riddle and Bellatrix writer, don’t think their dynamic was of a romantic or lustful nature at all at this point in time, if ever. Voldemort saw the fire and the potential, and decided that he wanted both of these things for himself, for his ranks. She exceeded expectations and he decided that, if anyone was worthy to be his student, it was her. Over the course of the next two years, he trained her in the dark arts, eventually revealing her, at the age of nineteen, to be his new lieutenant. This was met with some resistance, of course. but Bella was quick to silence that. After all, she had risen above her station, and it had taken effort. She was not about to lose that to a bunch of butthurt men.

It’s also around this time that she marries Rodolphus, whom she puts through the ringer for months before and even post-marriage. She hated the idea of being passed from one man (her father) to another (her husband), as if she is nothing more than a possession. The marriage was arranged, and this bothered her, too, considering her lack of choice in the matter. And because she couldn’t exactly fight her father on it, she fought Rodolphus instead. On every turn, hoping he would be turned off and cancel it. After all, a man’s voice, even if he was only an heir, and not patriarch, still sounded louder than a woman’s voice ever would. But it only seemed to invigorate him, pulling closer the more she pushed. As if he were attracted to the fire, wanted to scorch himself just to stand in the light. He never forced her and he never would, even as she refused to let him into their marriage bed for months, even as she taunted him and ridiculed him. The marriage, in time, seemed to grant her a certain freedom that she never had as a daughter of house Black. She could go where she pleased, do as she pleased, pursue her position among the death eaters as she wanted to. She lost her wariness towards him, her anger. And eventually, she learned to love him.

Bellatrix used to be closest to her sister Andromeda. The two of them were, for a long time, practically inseparable, two halves of a whole. It was as if they should have been twins, and what one lacked, the other would possess. Where one went, you could soon expect the other to be. That was, of course, until Andromeda defected. When she did, Bella’s whole world collapsed. Her castle was captured from the inside, by sadness, by grief and by anger at the deceit. Because Andromeda hadn’t chosen her. Had chosen a “filthy mudblood” instead of her own sister, who had always cared for her, always been there for her. If Bella had had a mean streak, before, it was now full blown, a riptide that would destroy everything and everyone that didn’t get out of her way. She was devastated by the loss, and would never quite recover from it. This event had a huge impact on her view on muggleborns. Whereas before she allowed herself a certain tolerance, where she still viewed herself as holier than but limited her disdain to snooty looks and haughty comments, she now was actively hostile, threatening and garnering a reputation among the ranks of the death eaters for her ruthless, cruel actions.

During her marriage, Bella was pregnant exactly 4 times, but all 4 pregnancies ended up miscarriages fairly early on. It’s my belief that her problems stem from the inbreeding within the family and the English pureblood society in general. Contrary to her other beliefs on the woman in pureblood society, she was interested in being a mother and had the motherly instinct to go with it. Her not being capable of bearing children left her feeling devastated and hardened her heart. In AUs where she does have children, whether of her own or adopted, she develops a sort of caution, a knowledge that she isn’t just responsible for herself, but for this child as well. In these AUs, it keeps her out of Azkaban.

Speaking of Azkaban, I usually don’t write about her time there or really post-Azkaban, and this is mostly because I hate the narrative that she’s “crazy”, and I think it’s harmful towards people who have mental health problems. I believe, due to how Azkaban’s dementors suck the happiness out of people and how Azkaban looks like hell on earth, she suffers from a form of PTSD, but she is not “crazy”.

A few loose facts about her:

is bisexual but leans towards men

loves to write poetry, but she never shows it to anyone.

has a very low tolerance for alcohol and barely drinks.

loves coffee and can’t function without drinking it every morning

is obsessed with taking care of her hair. It’s long and dark and very well-maintained

loves to wear red lipstick

forced herself to learn to use her wand with both her left and her right hand

Anji Terryll

TROPES/ARCHETYPES: The Antihero, The Living Legend, The Reluctant Hero

Anji is actually one of my older muses, who doesn’t see the light of day often because I suppose the Skyrim fandom is sort of dead. On top of that, she’s a female oc. i don’t think i’ll need to explain this. Regardless of that and the lack of information I’ve put online about her ( which I actually seek to remedy by writing this ), she’s a quiet favorite who will never disappear from my roster.

I wanted to create a person who fate had been thrusted upon unwillingly. I wanted to create a woman who had never planned to do anything that didn’t benefit herself in life. Anji’s early life consisted of what was barely a life at the orphanage in Riften, where she watched the Thieves Guild lift jewelry from a man’s pocket with the man none the wiser. She never entertained the idea of being an honest worker, because she’d seen how the jarl treated honest workers. Of course, she knew that if she were to be caught thieving, the storm she’d call over herself would be worse, but that was only if she was going to be caught.

So she got herself into the Thieves’ Guild, worked her way up the ranks to Guild Master, before, near the border, she was caught stealing a horse and shipped off to Helgen, where the main story begins.

Anji is, from the start, reluctant about her supposed fate. She never believed in prophecies and rarely in Gods and now, everything was real, everything was true. And she was the main character of a legend. Thrust into a role she doesn’t think fit her. She isn’t who these people deserve, a thieving woman who serves only her own benefit. The people deserved a selfless knight, advocating for the survival of mankind, believing so wholly in oneself that they could overcome a legendary monster like Alduin the World-Eater. Someone who isn’t her. So she rejects her abilities, rejects her destiny, and pretends for months that she isn’t the one the Greybeards are calling from the Throat of the World.

And for a time, it works. For a time she can focus on the physical gain, the money she earns, the reputation. But in the back of her mind, the knowledge scratches at the door she keeps it behind. She sees the destruction the dragons are causing all over Skyrim, the terror of the people. The loss of morale. She tells herself that she decides to see what these Greybeards have to say, if only to tell them they’ll need to find someone else.

But she comes to learn that there is no one else. There is only her and her bow, and her lack of morale, against an ancient dragon.

Anji is the Reluctant Hero, the Unlikely Hero, not the woman you’d expect when one mentions the Dovahkiin. She’s slight and flighty, quick as a whip with her twin blades, relying on speed above strength. She prefers sneaking through the shadows instead of fighting her way through boldly and openly, and she never starts fights she can’t win. This doesn’t mean she won’t kill, and doesn’t mean she won’t use her powers, even for personal gain. She enjoys the power of the Voice and, as lore suggests, overtime grows more and more powerful (think: her voice can at some point burn the ice off a mountain), but she hates the responsibility that comes with it and will never fully accept it. She’s practical and quick-witted, more on the serious side of the spectrum, although she possesses a funny streak that only shows up in intimate settings ( think: close friends/guild/lovers ) or when she’s completely drunk. She observes each angle of a job or mission before proceeding, wanting to be ahead of each trap she might run into.

A few loose facts about her:

is bisexual but leans towards women

has absolutely no interest in bearing children, adopting is fine though

favors her bow over her twin blades

carries two daggers in each boot

In some verses she can be a werewolf for absolutely no other reason other than that i can

in modern verses she owns a martial arts school

Play smart not hard

[michelles-garden-of-evil]

Quiz: Which Desmond Hall Character Are You?

SPOILER WARNING FOR DESMOND HALL ARCS I AND II

Last week, I was going to work on finishing my next review, but then my muse pulled me aside and ordered me to write a Desmond Hall personality quiz while threatening me with a conjure doll and silver pin. Not every Desmond Hall character is in this quiz, only the ones that I thought would be the funniest to write. Enjoy!

1. You have just arrived at an ancient manor house enveloped in darkness that rests atop a sinister network of haunted caves. When you learn this, how do you react? A. Lie in bed for several days while writhing in agony. B. Accept it and keep myself busy while pining for my voodoo island home. C. Act insufferably smug, because soon the house will belong to me. D. Go search for creatures in the caves to alleviate my boredom and satisfy my compulsion to do random disturbing things. E. Barely react at all because the writers have forgotten that I have a personality. F. Swan around while talking to myself about how the manor looks like something out of a storybook. G. Wish that I could live there again, because I've been trapped in a trippy magical closet for months.

2. The daily newspaper arrives and the headline reads, "GIRL BRUTALLY MURDERED.” What is your response? A. Retreat to my bedchamber and panic loudly about how I hope no one discovers that I’m the murderer. B. Get the body buried and all evidence concealed. C. Observe a moment of silence for my former doxy, then promptly forget she ever existed. D. Cut out the photo of the victim's face, suspend it from a papier-mâché gallows tree, and display it prominently in the foyer. E. Feel moderately concerned for my safety, but not too much. My ghost boyfriend will protect me...maybe. F. Scheme to blackmail the killer into marrying me. G. Wonder, "Was that my brother again?"

3. Your hobbies include: A. Moping around the manor house in fancy suits and contorting my face as though trying unsuccessfully to relieve myself. B. Reciting dramatic monologues with bits of scenery caught between my teeth! C. Plotting murder, robbery, and the corruption of young maidens while sipping sherry. D. I wander. I visit. I'm here and there. I'm a kind of ghost of Desmond Hall. E. I used to enjoy rebelling, flouncing, and bickering, but I've lost my taste for those. Now I prefer hanging out with old people in a cottage that smells of strange spices. F. Talking to and stroking my sweet little snake. (By which I mean "reptile with no legs and a forked tongue." Get your mind out of the gutter.) G. Necromancy.

4. Your favorite foods include: A. Bubbly eggs cooked in champagne. Definitely not kippers. B. The cuisine of my native island, before the evil of THE DEVIL JACQUES ELOI DES MONDES made all the plants poisonous and killed all the animals! C. My spouse's hors d'oeuvres--but only when I don't have to eat them off the floor. D. Sugar, strawberries and cream, and the very best...*checks Teleprompter*...butter. E. Muffins laced with magical herbs. F. The delicious misery of the man who tried to strangle me and of all the other women who want him. G. I don't eat anymore. I'm a ghost. Food passes right through me--literally.

5. What turns you on? A. A lover who is unpredictable but not murderously crazy, and who likes to wear lacy nighties. B. I would not know! I have not felt those urges in three hundred years! C. Money. D. Anyone from my preferred gender who actually wants to spend time with me. E. A ghost who behaves like Edward Cullen. F. Jean Paul Desmond! He is the sexiest male character in the history of television. G. Submission and unquestioning devotion. Also, lesbians.

6. What is your signature look? A. Highly flattering mod suits combined with an unflattering combover. B. A long black Victorian dress. C. A stodgy gray/green suit, which is probably in desperate need of Febreze after being worn three days in a row. D. Turtlenecks. E. Bleached blonde hair and faddish early ‘70s fashions. F. Long pointed fingernails, false eyelashes, and a creepy grin. G. I once hung from the ceiling with my shirt torn open. Does that count?

7. Everyone has a skeleton in their closet. What is yours? A. Although I want to reach out and help the beautiful young women who come to me, instead my hands reach out to kill! B. I single-handedly cursed my employer's family by signing his grandfather’s (misspelled) name on a pledge to the Dark Lord. C. I am a black widower. D. I used to participate in necromancy rituals with my dear cousin. E. I stole a piece of my mother's jewelry and sold it at a pawn shop. F. I am a priestess of the Serpent God. G. Funny you should mention skeletons. My closet has a literal one hanging in it.

8. If you had to guess, which of these personages were you most likely in a past life? A. A freebooter possessed by the Devil. B. Myself. C. Henry Seewald--who looks exactly like a toddler version of me--transported back in time via the 49th hexagram. D. Someone named Claude. E. A young girl sacrificed by a priestess who looked like my mother. F. Ophelia, if she were real. G. My great-uncle with the same first name as me, who was allegedly disowned for being a poet.

9. Your favorite Dark Shadows character is: A. Barnabas Collins. B. Magda Rakosi. C. Nicholas Blair. D. David Collins. E. Carolyn Stoddard. F. Angelique Bouchard. G. Quentin Collins.

10. What from 1970 Dark Shadows do you believe was most likely inspired by Strange Paradise? A. The character of Judah Zachery, who is highly reminiscent of THE DEVIL JACQUES ELOI DES MONDES. B. The use of a retcon to completely change Angelique's backstory. C. The name Desmond Collins. D. The implied reincarnation in the Summer of '70 arc that (sadly) never got explored as much as it should have been. E. The subplot about Quentin falling in love with Daphne's ghost. F. The Leviathan cult's use of snake iconography. G. The carousel in Tad and Carrie's playroom.

If you answered mostly A, you are Jean Paul Desmond, richest man in the world and master of Desmond Hall. Tall, dark, and incredibly handsome in spite of his receding hairline, Jean Paul is the victim of two self-imposed curses, one of which causes him to strangle people when the Mark of Death appears on his hand (which is totally not a reflection of some repressed or hidden part of his personality, having formerly displayed megalomania and control freak tendencies on his island). When not under the effects of this curse, he is the living embodiment of charm and sweetness and attracts would-be partners like moths to a flame. Logically, the same must be true about you, because online personality quizzes are never wrong. ;)

If you answered mostly B, you are Raxl, daughter of the Priestess of the Serpent and winner of the Canadian 1969 and 1970 scenery-chewing contests. Far older than she looks, the Desmond family’s housekeeper may not be as loyal as she appears, depending on the whims of whomever wrote the plot outline for the final arc. She is an expert on all things occult and supernatural, from tarot cards to the Egyptian Key. Even after her retcon, she is awesome.

If you answered mostly C, you are Laslo Thaxton, husband of Ada (Desmond) Thaxton and master of Desmond Hall in the absence of Jean Paul and Philip. I would say that you are an unscrupulous, greedy Devil-worshiper like Laslo, but I’ve always hated those personality quizzes that make moral judgments about people just because they share some traits in common with the villain. Therefore, I’m just going to assume that you are most likely a decent person who only got Laslo because you happen to love money and Nicholas Blair.

If you answered mostly D, you are Cort Desmond, twenty-something cousin of Jean Paul and Philip. Eccentric and erratic but oh-so-adorable, Cort is a polarizing character loved by some fans for his good looks and (often unintentionally) funny lines, but hated by others for being somewhat of a spoiled brat. Like Hamlet whom he idolizes, he seeks justice for the death of his father, along with the inheritance his Dear Stepfather Laslo wants to steal from him.

If you answered mostly E, you are Holly Marshall--or, rather, what Holly has become since her creator Ian Martin left the show. Formerly a spitfire with a high IQ, a low boiling point, and a love for outdated slang, Holly has become a shell of her former self under the new writers. She spends more time unconscious and hypnotized than not; when she is conscious, she wastes her time pining after an unsuitable love interest who treats her like Edward treats Bella in Twilight. I hope this doesn’t describe you, because, if it does, you should seek help. Don’t be like Desmond Hall-era Holly!

If you answered mostly F, you are Agatha Pruitt, a young seamstress obsessed with Jean Paul. While the master of Desmond Hall has attracted many suitors, none are as strange or disturbing as Agatha, who blackmails him into letting her live at Desmond Hall after his failed murder attempt and proceeds to wreak havoc there along with the Serpent God (who may or may not be Raxl’s Great Serpent) whom she worships.

Finally, if you answered mostly G, you are Jean Paul’s brother, Philip Desmond (not to be confused with his cousin Philip Desmond, or either of the two Philippes des Mondes). A secretive figure largely mysterious even to his own brother, the handsome Philip dabbles in the dark arts and other mysteries, which ultimately leads to his disappearance into the caves beneath Desmondton and reappearance as a ghost. His character alignment is unclear--he may be evil, or just chaotic neutral--but one thing is clear: whoever messes with Philip has the Devil to pay.

[earthnashes]

Some real quick tidbits on some of the existing characters in the Demon GF project because I’m brainstorming some stuff for them and wanted to share. <:

-Sakura’s full name is Sakura Valentina Hikaru Guerrero

-Kaela’s full name is Mikaela Malie Rose

-Evangeline’s full name is Evangeline Bella Moore

-Mal goes by many names but none of them are her actual name; in fact she didn’t have one. The name “Mal” is the one she let Kaela pick out for her, and Kaela got it from “Maleficent” because the demon shares characteristics from the character (big horns, feathered wings, super tall)

-Evangeline’s parents are divorced, in which plays a factor to how her mother treats her. She claims she doesn’t want Evangeline to be like her “dead-beat no good father chasing fool’s dreams”. He was a musician.

-Sakura is Latino/Asian (I haven’t figured out which culture specifically) and she has two dads. Not too sure yet if she has a baby sibling but she has like 5 huge dogs back at home

-Sakura used to play a lot of sports throughout her youth, so she’s very athletic. She doesn’t play much now, but she maintains her strength because she wants to be strong like many of her favorite video game characters. In fact, her hairstyle is somewhat inspired by one of her faves, can you guess who?

-Kaela has an older brother she’s very close to, but he can be a bit overprotective of his mousy sister. They talk on the phone as often as they can, given they can’t actually see each other at whim anymore due to distance and travel

-Highly considering the possibility that Kaela knows how to surf

-Kaela has a deep love for flowers and plants, so much so that her apartment is covered in them. All of them are real, and every one of them she’s grown and nurtured herself. She’s been known to be able to grow just about anything no matter the conditions she’s in.

-Kaela, Evangeline, and Sakura are coworkers during the beginning in the story, but uh. Evangeline and Sakura kinda-sorta accidentally get Kaela fired. >.>

------

Not a whole lot yet, but I’m slowly discovering these characters as I go and I’m having a blast! I still have a few more supporting and minor characters I wanna design (not entirely sure if I’m showing them now or as they show up in the story) but yeah! This will probably be updated/reblogged when I add more stuff to it, but in the meantime suggestions of course are always welcome uwu

Also, I wanted to thank you all for your support of this project thus far; I don’t think I’ve felt this invested in a personal project in a long time and I’m honestly feeling very nervous about it, but talking to ya’ll always helps. I very much appreciate the suggestions and votes and everything in between you’ve helped me with thus far. Thank you so much! ;w;

[queencatherynerhys]

The Fighter - Chapter 7

A/N: I’ve had this published in Wattpad for a while now. I just have been too lazy to publish it here. Sorry. I just got back into being active this week when editing my Masterlist.

Summary: Will Maxon finally found out what happened to America all those years ago?

Tags: @devineinterventions2 @madaraism @theroyalweisme @drakewalkerwhipped @drakesfiance @hhiggs @hellospunkiebrewster @alicars @mrswalkerreynolds @mfackenthal @simplyaiden-blog @hopefulmoonobject @blackcatkita @cocomaxley @boneandfur @lizeboredom @crayziimaginations @umccall71 @zarina-x-zig @writtenbycandy @ranishajay @heatherfilliez @drakelover78 @indiacater @pens-girl-87 @katurrade @speedyoperarascalparty @greyeyedsmile14 @barbaravalentino @zilch3 @mynameiskaylabella @darley1101 @blznbaby @trashbagfullofflannels @bella-ca @highlyselectiveextrovert *I just used my usual tag list. Let me know if you want to be taken off if you don’t want to receive notifications about this story. Also let me know if you want to be added.*

The flashback takes a toll on my mental state. I struggle to tear myself away from it and get back to reality. James' grip on my hand becomes tighter as he sees the internal battle, I am absorbed in.

He silently communicates with me, Are you ok?

I don't know, I reply with honesty

I am right here if you need anything.

I know, I respond with my eyes.

I squeeze his hand conveying my gratitude of him being here with me. And not just on this mission and this wretched meal but being with me and supporting me over the last six years. I highly doubt I would have survived for as long as I have if not for him and it works the other way around.

Just as I was about to reminisce of the memories that James and I have shared through the past, I am interrupted by Princess Kriss asking me a question.

"How do you two do that? If you don't mind me asking?"

"I beg your pardon, Your Highness?" confused at the query.

"Oh, I apologize. How do you always seem to know what the other is communicating about just by simply looking at each other?"

Ah, only a few are lucky enough to have such a loyal friend in their lifetime just as James has been for me. Many have wondered and asked the very same question. James and I glance at each other and I converse with him briefly before answering the inquiry

Aren't you just tired of being asked the same damn questions over and over again, I say.

You have no idea.

You wanna tell her, or should I?

Why don't you take this one; I think I answered the last time.

I hide a smirk as I cut off the conversation and look back at the royal to reply.

"Well, Your Highness, that is a great question. James, my wonderful assistant, and I have known each other for six years. The ability to silently communicate with each other comes as a result of many years of knowing each other. Also, we have certainly been in countless life-and-death, and close call situations. Those experiences of having to depend on each other to survive and keeping each other alive has given us the wonderful gift of silent, unobtrusive communication."

She nods and a flash of curiosity goes over her face. She seems to be contemplating whether asking the question she now clearly has in her mind. She is relieved when the queen speaks.

"Miss Ryan, I–

"Please, Your Majesty, just address me as Scarlet. I'm not very fond of formalities," I boldly interrupt her.

"I am beginning to see why you and America were friends. She wasn't one for formalities either. I can recall the time that she called Maxon by his name instead of addressing him with his formal title during the Report in front of national tv," she amusedly recalls.

I remember that. I was so embarrassed when I caught my mistake after hearing the gasps and whispers that emitted from the crowd and the other selected.

"Scarlet," she corrects herself, "if I may be so bold to ask, what do you mean by those life-and-death, close call situations? Illéa has had a peaceful several years."

"Well, Queen Amberly, I don't mean to be forward with my answer, but you are not really naïve to think that the peace you've had over the last few years just came to be, do you?" I answer bluntly.

"It would be wise for you to check your tone, Miss Ryan," King Clarkson speaks with a reprimanding tone.

"It's alright, Clarkson. I appreciate her honesty and candid response. And no, Scarlet, I don't believe it just came to be, but we haven't heard any news about the Southerner's chaos or any kinds of attacks in a long while."

"That's a comfort to me. The Force operates in the shadows. The fact that you aren't seeing or hearing any news means we are doing our job. My agency has worked hard to minimize these barbaric attacks. I have spent the better half of my career trying to eradicate this group. I take a personal offense that there are still members wreaking havoc. But I promise this is the last time they go after you and your family." I declare with conviction.

I meant every word of my promise. I will do everything in my power to stop Griffin and his brother, Gareth, from destroying everything I have worked to protect. Even it meant dying in the end. I know this isn't going to be a simple negotiation. Either I kill them, or I die trying.

"So, how exactly have youcontributed to your agency's fight in eliminating these barbarians? I don't see someone like you, being the director which I'm assuming is the highest rank in your group, actively doing anything. I assume you push paper all day long, ordering your henchmen to perform your tasks," Maxon condescendingly says. After being quiet throughout this entire meal, he has the nerve to say such things as if he knows what I've been through.

My temper and anger threaten to retort, and I see James tense up and prepare to respond back, without a doubt with a bite, but I pull him back with a squeeze of the hand.

"On the contrary, Prince Maxon, I wasn't born into my title. I started from the bottom as a recruit just as everyone in the Force. I worked hard to get to where I am. I have sacrificed more than you will ever know to have the honors you are privy to for simply being born. And as far as what I've contributed to my agency, I have fought alongside my comrades. I have watched some killed before my very eyes. Many brave agents have laid down their lives so you can continue to sit in your chair comfortably and eat in peace," I didn't mean to be so forthright with my words, but he always had a knack to bring this side of me.

Why must we always argue with each other? How did we ever manage to fall for one another? All throughout the selection all we did was be angry and be on each other's throat, but his comment now was over the line! To assume that I merely fell into my position is outlandish and frankly, I didn't expect such a comment to come him. I would with his malicious father, but not him. What happened in the last six years that made him so cold, so spiteful?

I glare at him and he shifts his mouth into a thin white line as he scowls at me. The standoff between has caused the air to fill with an uncomfortable silence and tension. It's so distinct it's almost palpable. His actions over the past 24 hours has led me asking why I am even moving heaven and earth to protect him.

I tear my stare away from him to see Kriss shift in her seat in awkwardness. I quietly sigh as I start to feel the familiar dull of a headache. James rubs soothing circles on my hand for he knows the struggle I have put myself into.

Finally, the king breaks the icy tension and says, "Miss Ryan, when you are finished here, I need you to meet me in my office. We have matters to discuss concerning you and your agency."

No doubt he is also going to let me hear his opinions of this awful breakfast debacle. He places his table napkin on the table and gets up to leave. The lovely queen does the same and exit to head into the Women's' Room with Kriss following her, leaving Maxon, James and I on the dinner table.

The bitter prince stands up from his chair but doesn't take his leave. As the staff works on clearing the table, he addresses us.

"Mister James, may I speak Ms. Ryan in private?"

James grips my hand even tighter and looks at me with hesitation and panic so clearly written in his chiseled face. A strand of brown lock falls from his neatly kept temple and he corrects it before returning his gaze back at me.

I told you we shouldn't have come here! He's probable figured out who you are and compromised your identity!

Relax. I highly doubt that. I can handle this. Just do as he says.

Scarlet, this isn't a good idea and you know it. He scolds me with his gray eyes. I see so much concern in his orbs and I knew he had every right to be scolding me for allowing myself to be put in such a compromising situation, but I just can't help myself when it came to Maxon. When it came to him, I lose all sense of control, conceding to the whims and desires of America.

James gives my hand a reassuring grip before letting go and getting up to leave. He bows at the remaining royal before heading for the grand doors. Just before walking out, he gives me one last look to tell me to be careful.

Always, I blink.

As I move my head to concentrate on the only other person in the room, I see him seat down on the chair directly in front of me. He carries an imposing aura, one I would normally associate to the likes of his father, but not him. Where has my lovely prince gone?

As he observes me, I watch his eyes for any sign of detecting my true identity and so far, have come up empty. All I see is pain and anger in them. I would know it from anywhere for it's what my eyes held for many years.

My heart thumps wildly at being so close to him and I yearn to have him touch me and love me once more. I long to hear my name roll off his beautiful lips. At this moment, I struggle to remember who I am. My past and present battling for control and the ache in my head only grows. I hear the loud beating of my heart in my ears and it takes me a second to register that he has spoken.

"I apologize, Amer –..."