#mathilde talks

[harvvdent]

It has been 394394 years since I posted but @lightningelite tagged me to post the first 5 songs of my Spotify on repeat ^_^

I tag @bluebeetle @gaylianbeast @revindicatedbyhistory @joeyisanolive @sepperiath and actually every single one of my mutuals seeing this

[randomestfandoms-ocs]

8 Million* New OCs

( Part 2 )

*or at least it feels like it... i have been slacking big time on not actually posting about new ocs which like, yikes! soooooo here are the newest ones oops

(also let it be known that at least 3 times i said i was done making more until i updated masterlists/posted an intro list but @occasional-ghost & @manyfandomocs heard "don't let me make new ones until that's done" and said "lmao bet")

Gilmore Girls

Derek Gleeson (Glenn Powell); x Lexi Danes

Kirk's older brother, grew up in Stars Hollow at the same time as Lexi Danes and they knew of each other but weren't close by any means. He joined the military (specifically naval air force) at 18, and ended up crossing paths with Lexi while he was stationed overseas and she was travelling. They lost contact until she returns to Stars Hollow and finds out that Derek is home as well

Garnet Massey (Ruby Rose Turner) & Sapphire Massey (Elle Fanning)

A set of sisters who were raised in the circus. Their parents were trapeze artists and they were raised the same, both aerial artists though Garnet wanted to one day become a ringmaster. The circus was incredibly abusive (and later uncovered to be a cult). Sapphire left the day she turned 18, tracked down her godmother Patty based on very very vague memories, and filed a lawsuit against the circus to get Garnet out of there. They are now both living in Stars Hollow and adapting to life in the real world – though Stars Hollow is really a circus of its own

Mavis Tinsdale (Renee Rapp)

Sherry's much younger but equally high strung sister. Total type A, although she will start to reinvent herself in university. She was an accident baby because they thought her mom could no longer have kids and her parents did not feel like raising another child so she was left with Sherry when she was ten. Thinks if she had just been more perfect, her parents might have kept her.

Max Dorsey (Olivia Scott Welch)

Kirk's eldest sister's eldest daughter. Max Dorsey is a former military brat (has not lived on a base in years though) and the eldest of 10 kids – previously eleven but her twin brother died when they were infants. Her father adores his kids but is usually away and her mother is entirely checked out; a combination of having been too young/immature when she became a parent, grief, and her general personality, so Max has been raising her siblings for her entire life. She would love to move away for university and have her own life but is terrified of what that would mean for her siblings.

Nate Doose (Cody Christian); x Evan Mariano

Taylor Doose's teenage son. Plays hockey, football, and runs track, he is the town's golden boy athlete and all around darling and has been for his entire life. He loves his dad but they are very different and Taylor just doesn’t understand him, the only thing they have in common is a love for history. He does want to make his father proud but doesn't know how, and finds that he relates much more to Luke and has a much easier time talking to him – and when Luke's niece (and nephew, but his eye is on Evan) moves to town, it only makes sense that he offers to show her around and help her settle in.

Sunshine Mariano (McKenna Grace) in Little Miss Sunshine

Now 14 years old, Jess’ little sister. Liz wanted a girl so badly and was very much a stage mom (pageants, figure skating until she couldn’t afford it, music career) but eventually there was a very public shitshow and Liz lost custody. Jess was too young to get custody, her dad (not Jimmy, despite her last name) was AWOL, and she ends up moving to Stars Hollow when she’s around 11. Kind of loses contact with Jess because of it until suddenly Liz is calling and shipping him to Luke

Glee

Scarlett Evans (McKenna Grace) in Fearless

Sam's younger sister (Irish twin, in the grade below him), Scarlett was an up and coming country music girl in Tennessee before having to move to Lima. Sweetheart who just loves music and when Rachel Berry invites her to join the Glee club, she's so excited to have her first real friend. Until she realizes that Rachel has no interest in friendship, only control.

Gossip Girl

Eastlyn Kirby (Sarah Catherine Hook); x Carter Baizen

It is well known that Eastlyn Kirby and Blair Waldorf have been fighting for the crown for their entire lives. As different as could be but equally gorgeous, rich, and powerful. But Chuck Bass has always thrown his name behind Queen Blair and when he learns a secret that could ruin Eastlyn forever, well... he might be willing to use that for Blair's cause. Unless he can get a better deal out of it.

Kensey Kaufman

Kensey Kaufman had always been infamous in the Upper East Side; her family's sudden departure and relocation to London only added to the intrigue. But when she returns and refuses to say anything about why she left, or why she's back, Gossip Girl takes an unwelcome interest.

Gossip Girl 2021

Everleigh Noa Herrera

Noa Herrera is the newest student at Constance-Billard, freshly transferred from overseas. Or so she says, at least. In truth she is an escort and professional sugar baby who has worked her ass off to get herself into a top private school to then get herself into an Ivy League university, but saying that won't get her very far. Unfortunately, Kate Keller has seen her records and knows that her story doesn't quite line up, and Noa soon finds herself with an alliance offer from Gossip Girl – one that she can't refuse, if she wants her secrets to stay offline.

Once Upon A Time

Castles Crumbling

Carlita (Jenna Ortega), Ivan (Joshua Bassett), Jenny (Anna Cathcard), Kelly (Emma Myers), Liana (Zoe Colletti), and Marisa (Sadie Stanley)

The forest children from Swan Lake. Along with the rest of the Enchanted Lake, they have been stuck in their forest ever since Regina cast her curse, frozen in time and waiting for the right girl to save them.

Julius Hansen / Daniel Siegfried (Luke Thompson); x Odelia Kowroski

Prince Daniel from Swan Lake. While the rest of the characters are trapped at the Lake, Daniel's palace was outside of the forest boundaries and he finds himself in Storybrooke, Maine. Julius' days all blend together, boring and repetitive and unremarkable, until a lost ballerina shows up out of the blue.

Mathilde Karpakova (Ariana Grande) & Rothbart (Jeff Goldbloom)

Cousins, the fairy queen and von Rothbart from the Enchanted Lake, trapped by Regina's curse alongside the forest children until Odelia shows up. (shoutout to @occasional-ghost for suggesting Jeff as Rothbart!)

Edith Hargreaves (Olivia Cooke); x Linora Carroll & Jefferson

A previous Alice who chose to stay in Wonderland, growing up to become the Queen of Hearts. Until Regina's curse brings three Alices together and gives them a chance to change their story.

Linora Carroll (Phoebe Dynevor); x Edith Hargreaves & Jefferson

A previous Alice who chose to stay in Wonderland, growing up to become the White Queen. Until Regina's curse brings three Alices together and gives them a chance to change their story.

Kathryn Liddell (McKenna Grace)

The newest Alice to end up in Wonderland, she is doomed to repeat the same story that has been lived out hundreds of times. Until Regina's curse brings three Alices together and gives them a chance to change their story.

Henri Dubin (Kit Connor) & Lorraine Navarre (Ruby Rose Turner) & Louis Bizet (Louis Partridge)

Toulouse, Marie, and Berlioz from the Aristocats. In Storybrooke they have taken human forms and are no longer siblings, though they still found each other and are the closest of friends.

[despairforme]

Nnoitra would hear his phone start quacking. Meaning Adelha was contacting him. There was an audio message for him. "Would you like to go for a drive with Wesson and myself to the mountain trails for a long walk and picnic? It is supposed to be clear and sunny out there."

He was in the shower when his phone rang ( otherwise he would've picked up ). His phone buzzed on the side of the sink where he'd placed it, and threatened to slide down. He turned his head to make sure that didn't happen, and consequently got lots of shampoo in his one good eye. This resulted in some ( a lot ) of swearing, and he sped up his shower process. Once he'd wiped his face with a towel, he could once again see. He stepped out, splashing lots of water onto the floor as he wrapped the towel around his long body.

Who was contacting him this early in the morning? Mah, it wasn't that early ( he'd slept in ), but still. It couldn't be work. It was his summer-break. Unfortunately the weather was shit today. Of course it was shit! That's so typical, when he finally had some days off. He'd had his phone on vibration only to be allowed to sleep in, hence why there had been no quacking. When he checked his phone and saw it was Adelha who'd tried to contact him, he brightened up. She always had some sorta fun activity planned, that she'd wanna drag him along on.

He listened to the audio message, and was thankful she hadn't left a long text message.

She was inviting him on a drive to the mountains, where they'd go fro a hike. Nnoitra was immediately eager to go. HELL YEAH! And the weather would be nice? Perfect!

text to Adelha: 「 fuck yes 」

text to Adelha: 「 pick me up in 20min」

He needed to pack!

[onarete]

this rewrite is SO funny. I’m making early-story Janah a lot more set in her current ways, so she is currently trying (and failing) to seduce her way through the strategy team

she’s propositioning Mathilde. she’s flirting with Philippa. she’s stripping in front of Joel. these are the top skills on her resume rn and she is FAILING. all rejections.

she has yet to realize that she’s trying to seduce a group of people who are so absolutely insane and outside her ‘normal’ that the best way to seduce any of them is to let her walls down and show them she’s equally batshit

she will get there!! but for now it’s SO funny to just watch the world’s most powerful illusionist just taking L after L

[despairforme]

That was exactly the reaction he wanted. Just something simple. No long speech about how SORRY she felt for him. There was nothing Nnoitra hated more than pity. She didn't dismiss him either. She just acknowledged him, and then moved onto a different subject. Nnoitra felt surprisingly relieved. It wasn't often he talked this much about himself.

Nnoitra took the spoon, and began to eat. The flavour was rich and warm. Of course he would eat ALL the pieces of beef first. Meat > Vegetables any day of the week. What? He needed the protein.

❝ Oh, yeah, 'daz him alright. Just don't call him bald, he thinks he's wearin' a buzzcut. ❞ Nnoitra laughed. ❝ He works at the club. ❞ And he was one of Nnoitra's only male friends ( strangely enough ). He supposed other dudes simply could not deal with his alpha energy. ❝ I'd hook ya up with him, but I don't think he's single. ❞ Nnoitra grinned. Yeah, Adelha REALLY needed to date someone. She clearly loved taking care of people, so why didn't she devote her energy into taking care of a boyfriend? That was a mystery to Nnoitra.

Adelha listens to look sad at the end. But she soon shakes her head to then hand Nnoitra a spoon for his stew. "I'm glad your missing eye doesn't cause you any more pain. But now I'm really looking forward to seeing you at your best in the ring."

Adelha has several bites of the stew to then hum in pure enjoyment. The lady soon grinning openly. "Perfect. Just the right amount of spices and vegetables to balance out the beef. Especially when I added extra beef to it for us." Adelha chuckles to have more of the stew and then pause. Looking like something just struck her. "Wait a moment. You mentioned someone named Ikkaku? I feel like I've heard that name before somewhere. But it wasn't at my shop."

The lady thinks for a good long moment as she enjoys dipping a bread roll into the stew to munch on. But she soon has a realization to then look quite surprised. "It was when I picked my cousin Matvei up from his job at the fitness center! He mentioned that someone named Ikkaku Madarame came in for a job interview. Bald but seriously toned with muscles like he lifted weights. Would that be the Ikkaku you mentioned that works with you?"

[hairscare]

my mom is one of those white women who would die on the cross to save pitbulls but she also has hyperempathy autism so it kind of applies to all animals. now for the last maybe 18 years weve had this turtle at my grandmothers house and the only reason we had it is that my dad (also has crazy autism just of the baseball variety) accidentally ran it over with the lawnmower when it was just born and decided to keep it. for nearly my entire life we had that turtle and we really didnt think that much about it- obviously we took care of it and fed it, but we didnt really pay a ton of attention to it or even give it a name, it was just "the turtle" "she" or at most "lady turtle". anyways after my grandmother passed away my dad ended up with the turtle which was no big deal since hed been taking care of it the whole time anyways so he was just like whatever well keep it at her house until it starts hibernating and then well bring it home

well. my mother got her hands on this turtle. now keep in mind that every pet we have ever had has been spoiled to hell and back, ESPECIALLY by my mom. i was also away at college at this point so she didnt really have me around to coddle. so now she has this turtle, this turtle that has been an unremarkable part of me and my dads life for almost 20 years, and she goes CRAZY. suddenly shes calling me at college and telling me all about Mathilde, or Tilly, as shes dubbed her, who now has a giant tank full of enrichment, that she coos at and talks to all day. it got to the point where she would talk about the turtle at our extended family sunday dinners. she knows what fruits tilly likes and doesnt like, and she talks to her like shes a baby.

but all summers must come to an end, and so tilly was soon back into hibernation. for many months my mother yearned for her turtle. however, she found a way to fill the void in her heart: research. for the past few months she has been obsessively watching turtle youtubers, specifically ones who rescue disabled turtles, because my mom cannot resist the sight of a disabled animal being saved (weve had so many at this point - we even have the holy grail of disabled animals aka a pitbull with 3 legs that she valiantly saved at my rabbits vet as a puppy from a drug money pitbull breeding ring. yeah its to that point with my mom.) shes been buying books to read, shes been going to conventions, she was looking at turtle enclosures on pinterest at my doctors waiting room yesterday, hell she even watercolored a turtle print she bought.

but finally today, after months of waiting..... tilly has awoken from her slumber. my mom has been anxiously awaiting this day for so long, terrified that her precious turtle may be ill or hungry or dehydrated... thank god, the turtle is fine because its literally a turtle and it hibernates without any issues every year. shes got this thing living in the turtle garden of eden, waited on hand and foot, and shes still terrified that a small breeze may come and strike her down. she drank a bunch of water just now (keep in mind, shes a TURTLE that just got done HIBERNATING) and my mom was "worried she drowned". but no, thankfully the turtle is alive and well.

all of this is to say that now that spring has sprung ill get to stumble upon my mom silently looming over our turtle for half an hour again

[deminetly]

𓏵PEOPLE YOU CAN ADD INTO YOUR DRS PART 1

part 2 here

──────────────────

- FLORA

dyes her hair every 2 weeks

has a camera that she takes pictures of dead animals with

collects bones

will write poetry about you

──────────────────

- ROWAN

obsessed with shoplifting

hangs out on roofs

has a deep secret

doesnt have any friends

──────────────────

- MONA

loves art museums

talks to the moon

listens to true crime

hangs out in abandoned hospitals

──────────────────

- FINN

secretly loyes reality TV

has 4 degrees

listens to Lana Del Rey

rich

──────────────────

- ALMA

art teacher

has a pet raccoon

only wears odd socks

carries a hammer with her at all times

──────────────────

- CLAUDIA

loves stuffed animals

always has fun stories to tell

gives the best hugs

best friends with her grandma

──────────────────

- DIESEL

always at a concert

would marry his guitar if he could

simply refuses to wear anything but black

has a little sister he would do anything for

──────────────────

- HOPE

dreams of becoming an author one day

can identify birds by their sound

grew up as a middle child

only wears dirty converse

──────────────────

- ANGEL

has a voice so calm you could fall asleep just listening to her speak

believes in magic

has been an angel for halloween every single year ever since she turned 3

has a heart shaped mole behind her right ear

──────────────────

- MATHILDE

people at her old school used to call her the “ghost girl” since she was so pale

lives in the house that people call the haunted castle

can talk to dead people

collects haunted dolls

──────────────────

[wholoveseggs]

Dark Star {Part Two}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Part Two

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!Reader} In a 13th-century convent, you’re drawn to the mysterious nobleman Elijah Mikaelson, who stirs desires forbidden in both heart and faith. In the present day, the Mikaelson family teeters on the edge, torn over what to do with Elijah, now trapped in torment by Klaus’s dagger. Haunted by memories of love and loss, Elijah relives the past, and his siblings face a grim choice: leave him in despair or risk the havoc he might unleash.

♡♡ Oh hi! did you think you had to wait a while for the next part?? surprise! I've already finished the whole thing {it's 40k words so strap the fuck in} ~ xoxoxo {Here is my playlist for the vibes} love yaaaa ... ♡♡

8.2k words - Warnings: much more angst, slightly spicy, more violence, heavy on the flashbacks in this part, sibling fight, Klaus being Klaus and then Klaus actually being merciful, so much drama, sins & a sex dream, lots of religious talk, Elijah being a flirt in a church, nuns, a rosary && a confession box....

{Part One}{Part Three}{Part Four}{Part Five}{Part Six}

@gorgeouslydangerous @starkleila @lydia1369sworld @notleylaaa @vampiresluv

@myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibess @always-and-forever-daydreaming

@spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton @wickedmuse

@cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2

@itsjulzandmydiamonds @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury

@amanda08319 @starshipcookie @li-da-savage @veggie-eggrolls @spideybv28

@sunkissedebony97 @idk00sblog @savannaounana @sekaishell @b1tchy

@loving-and-dreaming @fancycassie-stayfancy @hcqwxrtss123 @iamawkwardandshy @ziayamikaelson

@absolutemarveltrash @darkened-writer @nina6708 @evasmlp

@madeinmyownmind-blog @lovelyy-moonlight @blacknightrises @poppet05 @sweetieseven

@xoxo-shy @nova-j @decaffeinatedparadisepost @fandom-princess-forevermore @theotherworld97

Europe, 13th century

You sat in the back row of the church, head bowed, fingers slipping over smooth rosary beads as the scent of incense curled through the candlelit air. Around you, whispers drifted, murmurs from your fellow sisters.

"Do you see them? Up near the altar?" Sister Margaret’s voice was low, leaning over the pew beside you.

"Yes," Sister Claire murmured back, stealing a glance. “Nobles, I think. Staying at Lord Sanguelac’s manor.”

“What are they doing here? Doesn’t the manor have its own chapel?” Sister Claire’s frown was visible even in the dim light.

“Oh, it’s said they’re seeking brides, if you’d believe it,” Sister Margaret continued, her eyes bright with gossip.

“Brides? Here?” Sister Claire scoffed, incredulous.

You tried to shut out their chatter, keeping your gaze fixed on your lap as the rosary clicked through your fingers. But your pulse quickened, unwillingly drawn to the figures at the front of the church. You had glimpsed them from afar—their imposing frames, the way they moved, as if shadows bent to their will. And now, here they were, close enough to feel their presence, yet aloof, their faces unreadable, eyes dark as midnight.

"They’re rather striking, aren’t they?" Sister Margaret mused, her tone almost wistful.

"And wealthy," Sister Claire sighed dreamily.

"Focus on your prayers," a stern voice hissed from the pew ahead. Mother Mathilde glared at them, her long years in the convent having carved a sternness into her features. They instantly shrank back into their seats.

Sister Claire gave you a sheepish smile, her cheeks flushed. Sister Margaret shook her head and returned her attention to the priest.

The service droned on, and Sister Margaret couldn't resist stealing a glance at the noblemen. You couldn’t blame her. The way they were dressed was unlike anything you had ever seen. Rich velvets and brocades, jewels glinting in the candlelight, the cut of their clothing immaculate, their postures regal.

“I rather like the blonde one. What’s his name again? The tall one?” Sister Margaret murmured.

“Niklaus,” Sister Claire whispered, barely audible. “The dark-haired one is Elijah. They have another brother, but I’ve yet to see him.”

“Shhhh,” Mother Mathilde hushed them sharply. “Must I separate you two?”

“Apologies,” Margaret and Claire mumbled in unison, voices meek.

Suppressing a smile, you returned to your prayers, though your gaze wandered, almost of its own accord, back toward the nobles. And there, seated near the front, was the dark-haired man, his features etched by the soft glow of candlelight as he looked upon the cross. His beauty was striking, unsettling—a face that made your breath catch, that dared you to keep looking even when you knew you shouldn’t. There was a dangerous allure in his gaze, a temptation that felt like sinning even to witness.

As if sensing your gaze, he looked over his shoulder. His eyes found yours, and a slow smile spread across his lips. Heat rose to your cheeks; you quickly looked down, fingers tightening around the rosary. Your heart pounded, so loud you feared the entire church could hear.

“What is it?” Sister Margaret whispered, her gaze following yours.

“N-nothing,” you stammered, eyes fixed on your lap.

“Oh, he’s looking at you,” Sister Margaret grinned, nudging you with a teasing smile.

“Hush,” you whispered, cheeks blazing.

“You’re blushing,” she whispered, her eyes dancing. “Careful now, sister. That devilish charm is quite dangerous for the innocent and unwary."

"Enough, all of you," Mother Mathilde scolded, her tone sharp and commanding. "No supper for you, and you will sit in silence the rest of the service."

The three of you immediately fell silent, heads bowed in shame. Mother Mathilde huffed and turned her attention back to the priest.

Sister Margaret nudged your arm, and you shot her a look. She mouthed 'he's still looking' and tilted her head in the noble's direction. Your heart leapt, and you resisted the urge to glance up. Focusing on what God would expect of a proper nun, you tried to push aside your curiosity and focus on the holy words.

The service ended, and the congregation stood. You bowed your head, crossing yourself and reciting a prayer as everyone slowly filed out. A few people lingered, greeting the priest, chatting amiably.

"Good afternoon, sisters," a deep, velvety voice said.

You froze, your breath catching, eyes widening. You could feel him behind you, the heat radiating off him, the smell of incense and sandalwood, the scent of rich, luxurious leather. You knew exactly who it was without even having to turn.

"Good afternoon," Mother Mathilde replied, a smile in her voice. "It is wonderful to see you in our humble church," she continued, her tone warm and friendly.

"Yes, well, we are visiting, and it is always good to be closer to God," he replied smoothly, his voice rich and cultured, an accent lilting his words.

"How very true," Mother Mathilde smiled. "I trust you have found your visit enjoyable thus far."

"Very much so," he replied, his tone pleasant.

"Your visit brings light to our congregation. May you feel the warmth of our faith," Sister Claire chimed in, a hint of flirtation in her voice. Sister Margaret suppressed a gasp at her boldness, shooting her a glare, which she completely ignored.

"Thank you, sister. That is most kind," he replied, a smile in his voice.

"And you are also a welcome guest," Mother Mathilde added, she was being uncharacteristically gracious, her voice sweet and almost coy. "Our Lord welcomes all into His house."

"Indeed," he agreed, his voice soft.

You could feel his gaze, a weight on your back. It took every ounce of restraint not to turn and meet it, to see if the intensity was still there.

"If I may be so bold, what brings you to our little town?" Sister Claire asked, her tone innocent, but her intentions anything but.

"My family and I are looking for a place to settle, a quiet place away from the hustle and bustle of the city," he replied, his tone warm and amiable. "We are hoping to find a suitable home."

"I see," Sister Claire smiled. "Well, I am sure that, given time, you will find just the place."

"Thank you, sister," he murmured.

"It was lovely to see you, and a pleasure to speak with you, Lord..." Mother Mathilde began, a hint of confusion in her voice.

"Mikaelson," he supplied, a smile in his voice. "Elijah Mikaelson."

"Lord Mikaelson," Mother Mathilde smiled. "It was a delight."

"Likewise," he replied.

You heard him shift, the soft tread of his boots against the stone floor, the rustle of his clothes. He was leaving. You swallowed hard, fighting the urge to turn and look at him, your curiosity overwhelming.

Mathilde's demeanor swiftly changed once Elijah was out of earshot. "Sister Margaret, Sister Claire," she said, her voice low and warning. "Both of you return to the convent and clean out the privies."

"Mother, but-"

"Do not speak a word until you are finished. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Mother," both sisters said in unison.

"Now, off you go," Mathilde ordered, her tone stern.

"Yes, Mother," they mumbled, obediently walking away.

"And you, sister," she turned to you, her gaze sharp. "The pews need to be cleaned and polished, as well as the windows."

"Yes, Mother," you nodded, averting your gaze.

She walked off, her robes swishing behind her. Once she was out of sight, you breathed a sigh of relief. It wouldn't do for the Mother Superior to catch you looking at a man, no matter how noble or charming he may be.

You walked through the church, picking up a cleaning rag and a bucket of soapy water, getting to work. The sun streamed in through the stained glass, casting rainbow-colored patterns across the stone floor.

In the throws of your labor, you pulled off your habit, the hood covering your hair and ears, and draped it over a pew, tying the sleeves around your waist. It was stifling under the fabric, and the cool breeze that swept through the open windows was a welcome reprieve.

You were alone, scrubbing away at a particularly stubborn stain, when you heard the faint creak of the wooden door. You looked up, expecting a member of the congregation, or one of the younger sisters coming in to pray. Instead, a familiar figure stood in the doorway, his broad shoulders filling the frame.

"Hello," Elijah murmured, his dark eyes meeting yours.

"Hello," you breathed, a rush of emotions running through you, nerves and excitement and something else entirely.

You quickly got to your feet, straightening your robes. You felt suddenly self-conscious, exposed. The last time a man had seen you without the protection of the habit, you were a young girl.

He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. You realized, then, just how young he was. He couldn't be more than a few years older than you, and yet he carried himself with a confidence that seemed almost ageless.

You grabbed your habit draped over the pew and pulled it back on, your movements clumsy and rushed. Your cheeks burned, embarrassed at the way you must have looked.

"Please, don't," Elijah murmured, taking a step forward.

"Pardon?" you asked, your brow furrowed, confused.

"Don't cover yourself," he said softly, his eyes never leaving yours.

You paused, your breath catching in your throat. He wanted you to disrobe? Surely, a nobleman wouldn't come to the church and request such a thing. You took a step backwards, unsure of his intentions.

"I apologize," he said, his eyes widening slightly. "That was too forward. Forgive me, my lady. I did not mean to startle you."

You swallowed, your heartbeat quickening, hands gripping the folds of your robe. You searched his face for any sign of deceit, any indication of wicked intent, but all you saw was genuine sincerity.

"It is alright," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

He smiled, his dark eyes warm and kind. "I simply meant that you should not hide such beauty. There is no need for shame."

His words, though soft and gentle, seemed to strike right through your soul. No one had ever spoken to you like this, not a single person.

"I am unaccustomed to compliments." you said, your voice wavering slightly.

"Perhaps not, but I think you are worthy of them."

You could feel the warmth creeping up your cheeks. His words were both kind and bold, a combination that left you speechless

"Forgive me for startling you," he said, returning your smile. "It was not my intention."

"You aren't of this faith are you?" You asked, curious.

"How can you tell?" he asked, tilting his head, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

"Just a feeling," you replied, returning his smile.

"A woman's intuition, perhaps," he said, his eyes twinkling.

"Perhaps," you echoed, unable to suppress a smile.

He took another step forward, the space between you shrinking with each step.

"You are right," he admitted, a faint smile playing on his lips. "I do not follow any faith, as such. But I believe in the goodness of those who choose to live their lives with honor."

“Does that not trouble you?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “To live without the hope of salvation, without the promise of something greater?”

There was a strange expression on his face, his gaze unfathomable, dark as the night sky.

"I am afraid I cannot answer that," he said after a moment.

"Why is that?" you asked, tilting your head slightly.

"Because I fear I might not be able to explain myself well enough to satisfy you," he said, a hint of regret in his voice.

"Try," you challenged, emboldened by his closeness.

"Very well," he murmured, his gaze dropping to the floor, his brow furrowing, as if struggling to find the words. When his eyes met yours again, there was a look in them that made your breath catch, as if the secrets of the universe were trapped within their dark depths.

"I have witnessed terrible things," he said, his voice quiet. "Things that would give a man nightmares for the rest of his life. But through it all, I have learned one thing."

"What is that?" you breathed, transfixed.

"There is no salvation," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

A shiver ran down your spine, goosebumps raising along your skin. His words terrified you, but somehow, inexplicably, you knew there was a deeper meaning to them, one he couldn't bring himself to say.

"The priest here is quite kind," you began, choosing your words carefully. "I am sure he would help ease your mind and guide you to a better place."

He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. "That is kind, but I am afraid it would not work. I am beyond redemption."

"All men have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God," you quoted, unable to tear your gaze away from his. "I'm sure he would gladly hear your confession," you said softly.

"Oh, I'm sure," he chuckled.

"Do you not wish to confess your sins?" you asked, curious.

"I do not believe it would do any good," he replied, a wry smile playing on his lips.

"Why is that?" you asked, intrigued.

"I am afraid I would simply repeat them," he said, his voice thick with amusement.

"Everyone has sin in their heart," you murmured, your gaze falling to the floor. "It is good to confess and seek forgiveness."

"What are yours?" he asked, his gaze piercing, as if he could see straight through you.

"I...," you began, a blush creeping up your neck.

By God's grace you were saved from answering. At that moment, a group of people entered the church, the heavy wooden doors creaking open, the sunlight pouring in. You were flooded with relief.

"Perhaps, some other time," he smiled, taking a step back, the moment between you broken.

"Yes," you murmured, your heart beating wildly.

He gave you a knowing smile and walked away, leaving you reeling. It was like he had crawled inside your skin and touched your soul, leaving a mark that would never go away.

That night, you lay awake, unable to sleep, your mind racing. You tossed and turned, your thoughts consumed by the mystery of the man that haunted you, the one who had crept inside your heart and left you with questions and fears and yearning. You knew the truth of it, even when your heart refused to admit it.

The devil had come for you, worming his way into your soul. And you, foolish girl that you were, had welcomed him in.

"You can’t keep him like that!” Rebekah's voice rang out, echoing off the cold stone walls of the compound. Her fiery gaze met Klaus's, a mix of fury and desperation churning within her as Marcel held her back, trying to calm her, but his efforts were futile.

“What would you have us do, sister?” Klaus retorted, his voice cold and emotionless, his expression hardening. “Let him run rampant through the French Quarter, killing indiscriminately?”

“You don’t know what it’s like, Nik,” she shot back, her jaw clenched, hands balled into fists. “I was stuck in that coffin for a century and a half, unable to move, the dagger burning in my chest.”

“Yes, yes, terribly sorry about that... but it was for your own good, as it is for Elijah’s,” Klaus snapped, irritation creeping into his tone.

“Bullshit!” Rebekah spat. “It was for your own good, so you could rule New Orleans without any dissenters, without having to face the consequences of your actions.”

"What's with all the yelling?" Kol's voice cut through the tension as he strode into the courtyard, his gaze flitting between his siblings before landing on Elijah's body lying motionless on the couch. The air felt thick, charged with unspoken fears. “Oh.”

“We’re discussing the best course of action for Elijah,” Freya said, she sat next to Elijah's body, looking exhausted. “Niklaus wants to leave him daggered, while Rebekah and I think he should be awakened, given the choice to heal.”

“Take it out,” Kol said without hesitation, his tone firm as he took a step toward Elijah. Klaus's hand shot out, grabbing his arm, eyes flashing dangerously.

“Don’t.”

Kol met his gaze, his eyes darkening. “Do you know what that dagger does?” he growled, voice low and dangerous.

“Yes,” Klaus grumbled, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Rebekah was kindly reminding me of her own experience.”

“Did she get to the part of what it does to the mind? How it makes you relive the worst moments of your life over and over again, trapped inside yourself, unable to break free?” Kol asked, his gaze flitting between his siblings, rage barely contained. “We all know what he’s witnessing right now, over and over and over.”

Silence descended, the weight of Kol’s words hanging in the air. No one dared to look at Elijah’s body—the dagger protruding from his chest, the blood staining his shirt, the expression of anguish frozen on his face. They all remembered the day Elijah found you, left on the streets for the entire world to see, broken and lifeless. The image of him carrying you into the compound, the sound of his screams as he called for their help, echoed painfully in their memories. The way his heart shattered before their eyes, pieces scattering across the ground, his soul torn in two.

“So,” Kol broke the silence, his voice hard and cold. “Take. It. Out.”

They exchanged glances, the unspoken question lingering in the air. Klaus was the one to finally speak, his voice low and hesitant. “If we take out the dagger, there’s no telling what will happen. We have no way of predicting how Elijah will react; he could very well become a danger to himself and others.” He sighed, expression grim. “The safest course of action is to keep him daggered.”

"Enter his mind," Kol said, his tone matter of fact, "Go on. Take a dive into what he's experiencing and then tell me we should leave him daggered. Go on," he added, gesturing to Elijah's body.

Klaus hesitated, his eyes darting around the room, seeking someone, anyone to support him, but no one spoke. "Very well," he finally agreed, albeit grudgingly.

Klaus sat next to Elijah, taking a deep breath. He reached out, placing his hand on Elijah's forehead, closing his eyes. His jaw tensed, his muscles straining and he was pulled into the depths.

Klaus found himself back in the village where he met you, the scent of rain and grass heavy in the air. Everything was the same—the sounds, the smells, the sights. He certainly didn’t miss this place; it was like any other village, filled with simple, boring peasants. Simply a place his family happened to pass through—a pit stop, as it were.

He didn’t expect to find anything here, but Kol had been adamant that Klaus experience what Elijah was going through, and Klaus had been too angry to refuse. Now, looking around, he felt an uneasy sense of familiarity, as though something dark lay just out of reach.

“This isn’t the memory I thought I would see,” Klaus muttered, scanning the scene, feeling a chill creep over him.

Then he heard it—the unmistakable slurp of a vampire feeding. He sped toward the sound, coming to an abrupt halt. His breath caught as he took in the sight of his younger self, feasting on an unfortunate woman. She was limp in his arms, her skin pale, her life slipping away with every drop of blood.

“Niklaus,” Elijah’s voice rang out, filled with shock and fear. “What are you doing?”

Younger Klaus’s head snapped up, fangs bared, blood dripping from his chin, eyes gleaming with a savage hunger. He looked feral, a beast wearing the face of a man.

“Don’t worry, brother,” Younger Klaus smirked, his voice dripping with arrogance and condescension. “I’ll make sure to save you a taste.”

Klaus’s gaze shifted to the woman in his younger self’s arms. She was barely conscious, her skin deathly pale— and she was you. Klaus felt a jolt of something he didn’t want to acknowledge, a flicker of guilt or something disturbingly close to it. How had he forgotten this?

Elijah rushed forward, his face twisted with fury, and pried you from Klaus’s arms, cradling you with a gentleness that made Klaus’s younger self scoff. “She’ll live,” Klaus said, his voice cold, as though it was nothing.

“No thanks to you,” Elijah snapped, his anger flaring.

“Then she shouldn’t have come out alone.” Younger Klaus’s voice was detached, dismissive. “She’s delicious, by the way. You can taste the virtue in her blood.”

Klaus watched as Elijah held you close, whispering words of comfort, his fingers gently brushing the hair from your face. The devotion in his brother’s gaze was unmistakable, even now.

“Elijah?” Your voice was a trembling whisper as you clung to him, desperate for protection.

“Yes, I’m here,” Elijah murmured, his voice soft and steady.

Younger Klaus rolled his eyes, turning away, clearly disinterested in your plight. “You really do have such a weakness for a pretty face, brother,” he sneered.

Elijah ignored him, focused solely on you, his face contorted with both love and pain. “She needs blood,” he murmured, as if forgetting Klaus was even there.

“So take her and leave,” Younger Klaus retorted.

Elijah shook his head, a spark of defiance flaring in his eyes. “I won’t let you harm her again, Niklaus.”

Klaus couldn't suppress a small smirk, knowing his younger self would be seething with anger.

Younger Klaus scoffed, a cold, derisive smile on his face. "That's fine with me, you can have her."

"You're just going to toss her aside, after what you did to her?" Elijah demanded, his voice filled with disbelief.

"I've been feasting on every peasant in this village, and she is no different. A taste was all I wanted," Younger Klaus shrugged.

Elijah's expression was thunderous, his eyes darkening. He gently laid you on the ground, rising to his full height, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "You will never touch her again."

Younger Klaus laughed, a cruel sound. "And who is going to stop me? You?"

Klaus watched, fascinated, as Elijah launched himself at his younger self, his face transforming. The two brothers were locked in a deadly battle, fangs and claws flashing, their speed and strength almost too fast to track.

Elijah's anger was a force to be reckoned with, his blows savage and merciless. It was so clear that you were special to him, the ferocity in how Elijah defended you was proof of that, and he wondered how his younger self didn't see it, how blinded he had been by his own selfishness.

There was a loud crack as younger Klaus's fist collided with Elijah's face, a spray of blood bursting from his nose, but Elijah barely seemed to notice, his movements unfaltering. He lunged at his younger self, pinning him against a tree, his fingers wrapping around Klaus's throat, a murderous glint in his eyes.

"I don't care if you tear apart every human being on the planet," he snarled, his voice low and dangerous. "But I will not allow you to hurt the people I love."

Younger Klaus's eyes widened, his lips curving into a wicked smile. "Love?" he repeated, his voice taunting. "Don't tell me you've fallen for a simple, plain human girl."

Elijah's grip tightened, his anger flaring. He slammed Klaus's head against the tree, wood splintering. "You will never lay a finger on her again," he hissed.

Klaus watched with a mix of amusement, it was a strange sensation, watching his own life from the outside.

Younger Klaus relented, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, brother, alright," he said, his voice dripping with condescension. "Have your plaything."

"I don't need your permission," Elijah spat, releasing his grip on his younger brother. "Now, go. And if I ever catch you near her again, I will not hesitate to kill you."

Younger Klaus scoffed, rolling his eyes, and sped off, his disdain clear. Elijah turned his attention back to you, kneeling beside you. You were unconscious, your skin pale and clammy, the bite on your neck still fresh. He scooped you up into his arms, cradling you gently, and sped away, leaving Klaus alone in the memory.

Klaus shook his head, he didn't understand what Kol meant. This moment wasn't exactly high on the list of Elijah's greatest torments. This actually drew you and Elijah closer together, a memory of the early days, the beginning of something wonderful.

Klaus had been there, seen it unfold before his very eyes, yet it had slipped his mind. He had no idea that his brother's affection would turn into something deeper, more enduring, or that it would last for centuries. That you would become his family.

The world seemed to shift and distort, the colors melting into a haze, and Klaus found himself in a different time and place. He was standing in the present day, on the familiar cobbled streets of New Orleans. But it felt hollow, like one of his unfinished paintings, a mere echo of reality.

A sense of dread washed over him as he scanned the empty streets, his eyes falling on his brother in the middle of the road. He was kneeling, his back to him, his shoulders hunched. Klaus took a step toward him, the feeling of unease growing.

"Elijah?" Klaus called out, his voice echoing through the empty streets.

There was no response, no acknowledgment, and he tried again, louder. "Brother."

His voice reverberated, bouncing off the buildings, the silence stretching. He moved closer, cautiously, his senses on alert.

He knew, deep in his gut, exactly when this was.

"I'm here, brother," he said, his voice low and soothing. "You're not alone."

He didn't know why he bothered, Elijah couldn't hear him, and there was nothing he could do to change the outcome.

An anguished scream tore from Elijah's throat, raw and heart-wrenching. Klaus winced, his jaw clenched, as his brother clung to your dead body. He couldn't see your face, but he didn't need to. He remembered the sight, the image forever seared into his mind, his stomach twisting at the memory.

You were pale, eyes staring blankly at the sky, the color drained from your face, your expression frozen in a mask of agony. Your body was broken, limbs bent at unnatural angles, blood staining the concrete beneath you. Whoever did this to you, didn't want a quick, clean death. No, they wanted you to suffer, every second dragging on as the life slipped away from you.

Another scream ripped from Elijah's throat, his body shaking with the force of it. Klaus took a step forward, reaching out, his hand hovering over his brother's shoulder, wanting desperately to comfort him. But when he touched him, his fingers passed right through and he was pulled into another memory.

It was a private one, something he didn't exactly want to witness, but he was powerless to stop it.

You and Elijah were alone, judging by Elijah's hairstyle it was sometime during the renaissance. The two of you curled up together in bed, no clothing to be seen, only the sheets draped around your bodies.

Klaus felt awkward, but also fascinated to see his strong, closed off, brother so vulnerable and open. Elijah's hand was on your back, gently tracing a pattern on your skin, his expression tender.

"Elijah," You whispered, leaning into him. "I'm scared."

"Scared?" Elijah's brow furrowed, his gaze flitting across your face. "Of what?"

"Eternity," you murmured, your lips so close to his, your breaths mingling.

"Why is that?" He asked softly, his fingertips brushing along your cheek, his touch feather light.

"We can't stay here forever, can we?" you said quietly, your gaze dropping. "One day, we will have to leave, find another place to hide. Everything will change, over and over."

Elijah cupped your face, lifting your chin so that your eyes met. "Not everything will change, my love. I will be with you, always. Nothing can keep us apart."

"But...," you began, your words cut off as Elijah pressed his lips to yours.

Klaus felt like an intruder, a spectator to a side of Elijah he had rarely seen. A side untouched by the violence and chaos that haunted their lives. A pang of something. Envy, sadness, perhaps both, pressing down on him. He turned away, the intimacy too much to bear, and willed himself back to reality.

When he opened his eyes, his hands were on either side of Elijah’s face, his brow furrowed. He didn’t meet his siblings’ questioning gazes; instead, he reached forward and pulled the dagger from Elijah’s chest, tossing it aside with disgust.

“Take him to a bedroom and have Freya watch him,” Klaus commanded, his tone brooking no argument. His gaze lingered on Elijah, his voice softening ever so slightly. “And when he wakes, make sure he doesn’t leave,”

"What about you?" Freya asked, her brow creased.

Klaus's expression was unreadable, but a trace of bitterness tinged his words. "I'm going to find her killer, and when I do, there will be nothing left of them.”

13th Century Europe

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," you whispered, your voice barely a breath in the dim, confining space of the confessional. The heavy scent of sweat and worn wood filled the small box, pressing in on you from every side.

"Go on, child," came the priest’s reply, his tone steady but firm, with the creak of shifting wood as he adjusted on the other side.

You took a shuddering breath, fingers clenched together. "I… I have been harboring impure thoughts about a man—a stranger." Your cheeks flushed, even here, hidden in darkness. "He passes through the village, and though I try, I cannot stop thinking about him."

The priest was silent, and in that quiet, shame twisted within you. "And is this stranger a man of God?" he finally asked, his voice laced with quiet judgment.

"No," you admitted, voice sinking low. "He’s an outsider. I know these thoughts are wrong, but I can’t keep them from my mind."

Another pause. "Have you spoken to this stranger? Been alone with him?"

"Once." Your cheeks burned hotter. "I have been tempted, Father."

"And have you prayed for these thoughts to leave you?" he pressed, a note of reproach in his tone. "Have you repented?"

"Yes, Father," you murmured, bowing your head, clinging to a fragile thread of hope for forgiveness.

"Then continue in prayer, and ask for God’s mercy. He will strengthen you, if you are sincere."

"Thank you, Father," you whispered, relief softening your chest, allowing you to breathe more freely.

You were about to rise when the priest spoke again. "One last question, child," he murmured. "These impure thoughts… tell me more of them."

You hesitated, teeth catching your lip, uncertain. Why would he ask? You tried to quiet the doubts, answering in a small voice. "They are wrong. I imagine being… with him, in ways that a woman of God should not." The shame that laced your words made your throat tight.

The priest was silent, and then his voice, soft, almost thoughtful. "Tell me, child. Have these thoughts brought pleasure to you?"

Your breath caught, eyes widening. Had he really asked that? You could feel your cheeks burning, hot as fire. What sort of priest would ask such a thing?

"Father?" A strange, uneasy chill prickled down your spine.

You pushed the confessional door open, stepping into the chapel’s silent gloom. No one was there. Candles burned low, flickering, shadows dancing across the empty pews.

"Is there anything else you wish to confess to me?"

You turned, your breath catching at the sight. It was not the priest who emerged from the other side but Elijah, cloaked in dark robes, his eyes sharp and unyielding, his face illuminated by the soft glow of the candles.

"What did you do to the priest?" you whispered, taking a wary step back.

Elijah only advanced, his gaze fixed intently on you. "Tell me, child," he murmured, his voice soft and low. "What is it you confess to God in secret?" His lips curved in a faint smile, one that was both beguiling and terrifying.

You opened your mouth, struggling to speak, to defy him, but he closed the distance swiftly. His fingers caught your wrist, holding it firmly as his other hand circled your waist, drawing you close.

"I know what you want," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "There’s no need to hide your desire from me."

A shiver ran through you as you felt his touch, his hand pressing against the small of your back, his face so close you could feel the heat of him.

"What is it that you long for?" His words slipped into your mind like a forbidden caress.

Your heart raced, any resolve melting as he held you, and the confession spilled from your lips unbidden. "You," you breathed, the word escaping in a moment of surrender, your voice trembling.

His smile widened, his hand tangling in your hair as he tilted your head back, forcing your gaze to meet his. "Good girl," he murmured, the praise sending a thrill through you that you could not deny.

Then he was kissing you, his mouth hard and insistent, and the weight of the forbidden melted into a fierce, undeniable longing. You sank into the kiss, the world narrowing to his touch, his presence overwhelming, until his lips moved along your jaw, down your throat, nipping at the sensitive skin.

A soft moan escaped you, a plea, as he held you close, his mouth lingering on your neck. Then his mouth opened, his teeth grazing your skin—and a sharp, aching pain flooded through you as his teeth pierced your flesh. A gasp escaped your lips, your hands clutching at his shoulders as a strange, twisted pleasure swept through you, leaving you breathless.

When he drew back, his mouth was stained red, his eyes gleaming with something dark and consuming. You tried to scream, but his hand was on your lips, silencing you. In the next instant, he pressed you back against the confessional, his touch insistent, the world around you fading into shadow.

And then you woke, your body tangled in sweat-soaked sheets, heart racing, breath shallow and uneven. The memory of the dream clung to you, its vividness lingering as if it had been real, as if his touch still burned on your skin.

For a long moment, you lay there, trembling, the temptation to return to that dark, forbidden fantasy searing through you. But guilt rose within you, and you clasped your hands together in prayer, pleading for strength. Yet even as you murmured words of repentance, your mind could not fully banish the echo of his touch, his voice, the thrill that had brought you so close to the edge of surrender.

You forced yourself to rise, stumbling out of bed and crossing the room to light a candle, the soft glow casting faint shadows. It was early morning, with the faint light of dawn creeping through the window, and you knew sleep would elude you. Instead, you sank onto the floor, kneeling before the wooden cross that hung on the wall, closing your eyes.

"God, forgive me for these sins," you whispered, the familiar prayer bringing some measure of comfort. "Please give me the strength to resist temptation, and the grace to see your will in all things."

You continued like this for some time, the words falling from your lips like a litany, until a knock at the door startled you.

"Come in," you called, your voice hoarse, as you stood.

Sister Margaret stepped into the room, she was holding a broom and a basket. "Are you alright?" She asked, her eyes flicking across your face.

You nodded, smoothing out the skirt of your dress. "I'm fine, just a bad dream," you assured her, flashing her a smile.

She frowned, studying you for a moment, before sighing. "We've got chores," she said, "More than usual because Sister Claire is ill," she continued, giving you a pointed look.

"Ill?" You frowned, "Is it serious?"

"It's the same sickness that has plagued the village, the one that leaves you weak and pale. You should be careful, and avoid the woods if possible," she warned.

"The woods? Why?" Your frown deepened, concern gnawing at you.

"That is where the sickness lies, amidst the trees and the mist."

"That doesn't make sense," you countered.

"It is what the villagers say," she shrugged.

You sighed and nodded, knowing it was no use to argue. The villagers believed the woods were cursed, a place where evil dwelled. It was nonsense, but that didn't stop the fear from taking hold.

"I will be out shortly," you murmured.

"Don't take too long," she warned, handing you the basket. "Mother Mathilde wants you to go to market and get some eggs and apples," she said, her expression softening.

"Okay," you nodded, taking the basket.

She turned and left the room, the sound of her footsteps fading as she descended the stairs.

You let out a long sigh, leaning against the wall. Your dream had rattled you, and the thought of leaving the safety of the convent, of walking alone, filled you with anxiety. But you knew God would guide you, and you could not refuse a direct order from Mother Mathilde.

You set the basket aside, quickly dressing and putting on a bonnet. You left your room, walking through the quiet hall, the silence broken only by the faint chirping of birds outside the window. When you reached the front door, you opened it, stepping out into the fresh morning air.

Mother Mathilde was tending to her garden, her hands caked in dirt, her brow furrowed in concentration. She looked up, her gaze growing darker when she saw you.

"Ah, there you are," she said, rising from the ground. "Did Sister Margaret tell you what we need?"

"Yes," you nodded, holding up the basket. "Eggs and apples,"

"Good," Mother Mathilde replied, brushing her hands on her skirt. "Go to market and hurry back, the sooner you return, the sooner we can begin preparations for mass."

"Yes, Mother," you murmured, turning and walking toward the gate.

"One more thing, child," Mother Mathilde called, her voice sharp.

"Yes, Mother?" You turned, catching sight of the stern look on her face.

"Remember that God is always watching," she said, her eyes narrowed.

"I know, Mother," you said quietly, your gaze dropping.

"Do not disappoint him," she added, her tone harsh.

"I won't, Mother," you promised, a lump forming in your throat.

She stared at you for a moment longer, before waving her hand dismissively.

You hurried down the path, walking quickly, eager to be away from her scrutiny. She was a strict, pious woman, who rarely spared a moment of kindness. She would rather scold than praise and her harsh words always stung.

You shook off the thought, trying to focus on the task at hand. It was a pleasant morning, the sun rising over the fields, the breeze fresh and cool, and you let yourself relax. The market wasn't far and the walk would do you good.

As you walked, your thoughts drifted, returning to the dream, the memory of Elijah's touch, his voice, filling you with a mixture of shame and longing. You shook off the thought, turning your attention to the sky, watching the clouds drifting by.

You reached the market, the streets bustling with activity. Vendors were setting up their stalls, hawking their wares, the sounds of haggling and laughter filling the air. You wove through the crowd, searching for the fruit and vegetable stalls.

You found one selling apples, and grabbed a bunch, tucking them neatly into the basket. You were about to hand the vendor some coins, when someone behind you reached over your shoulder and paid for you.

"Here, allow me," a familiar voice murmured, his tone sending a shiver down your spine.

You turned, heart pounding, coming face to face with Elijah, who looked even better than he did in your dream.

"Thank you," you managed, avoiding his gaze.

He inclined his head, a faint smile playing on his lips. "The pleasure is all mine," he replied, his voice laced with amusement.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. You didn't know why he was here, or what he wanted, but you knew that he was dangerous.

"I... I should be going," you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

"Of course," he murmured, his gaze locked on yours. "Allow me to accompany you," he offered, holding out his arm.

You hesitated, uncertain, before slowly reaching out and taking his arm.

He led you through the market, and the crowds seemed to part for him, as if he commanded their attention. As you walked, you couldn't help but notice the way his eyes lingered on your face, a curious intensity in his gaze.

You felt yourself blushing, and tried to focus on the path ahead, fighting the urge to glance at him.

"Do you need anything else?" Elijah asked, breaking the silence, his voice soft.

You nodded. "Just a few dozen eggs,"

"Allow me," he offered, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

You followed him to the poultry stall, watching as he haggled with the vendor, his voice smooth and persuasive. He paid the man, taking the basket and placing the eggs inside.

"Thank you," you murmured, looking up at him.

"It's no problem, call it penance," he replied, a playful smirk on his face.

"Penance?" You echoed, confused.

He chuckled, the sound sending a thrill through you. "For my behavior at church, I made you uncomfortable, and I apologize."

"Oh," you breathed, a flush creeping into your cheeks.

"But...," his voice trailed off, his gaze fixed on yours, the intensity of it sending a shiver through you. "I do not regret it," he finished, a trace of defiance in his tone.

"It's not penance then, just an apology," you murmured, heat creeping up your neck.

"Perhaps," he replied, his tone teasing.

"How can it be a penance if you don't regret it?" You pressed, curious.

"A man can be sorry for his actions and not regret the outcome," he explained, his gaze unwavering.

You blushed, his words sending a strange, warm thrill through you. You swallowed, trying to regain your composure. "I see," you murmured, unsure how to respond.

"May I walk you home?" He asked, his voice low.

"Yes," you replied, before your mind could catch up.

He offered you his arm, and you took it, allowing him to lead you through the market. As you walked, a sense of ease settled over you, despite the forbidden nature of his company. There was something about him, a calm certainty that put you at ease.

The path back to the convent was lined with high crops of wheat and corn, their stalks rustling in the wind. The sun was higher now, its warmth pleasant against your skin. You paused for a moment, lifting your face to the sun, feeling its rays on your face.

Elijah stopped too, watching you, his gaze curious. "Tell me, are the people of this village always so afraid of the woods?"

You nodded, lowering your gaze. "They say the devil dwells there," you admitted, the truth of the words sinking in.

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through him. "The devil is a fickle creature, and he does not often linger in one place."

"Then what lies in the woods?" You asked, curious.

"Nothing more than a man's fear," he replied, his voice tinged with amusement.

"What do you mean?" You pressed, your gaze flicking to his.

"I mean," he began, his tone softening, "that fear is a powerful thing, and when men allow it to rule them, they lose sight of the truth."

"And what is the truth?" You asked, breathless, a strange excitement coursing through you.

"That fear is a prison," he said, his gaze locked on yours. "Only a fool would willingly lock himself away."

"I...," you trailed off, his words echoing in your mind, he was suggesting something that went against everything you had been taught. "I shouldn't be talking to you,"

"No," he agreed, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "You shouldn't,"

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself, his presence overwhelming. You felt as if he was challenging you, daring you to defy your beliefs, and you couldn't deny that a part of you was tempted. But you could hear Mother Mathilde's words in your mind, warning you, and you knew that she would be furious if she knew that you were here, speaking with a stranger, alone.

"I should be going," you said, tearing your gaze from his, forcing your feet to move.

He didn't move, his gaze fixed on yours. "I won't stop you," he murmured, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"No, you won't," you replied, your resolve strengthening. You turned, walking away, determined to put as much distance between the two of you. But he continued to follow you, matching your pace.

"You're not going to leave, are you?" You asked, glancing over your shoulder, an edge of frustration creeping into your voice.

"Not until you admit the truth," he replied, a smirk curling his lips.

"What truth?" You asked, stopping, turning to face him.

"That you don't want me to leave," he answered, his voice a low murmur, his gaze locked on yours.

You shook your head, trying to suppress the surge of frustration and confusion. "You're wrong," you retorted, trying to ignore the way his words made your heart beat faster.

"Then why is your heart racing?" He murmured, his voice soft and dangerous.

You glared at him, clenching your jaw, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of a response.

"Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?" He asked.

"No," you said, your voice firm.

"I see someone who is lonely," he continued, "Someone who is searching for something, perhaps something they cannot name."

His words pierced your defenses, the truth of them cutting deep. "I'm not lonely," you argued, struggling to hold onto the last shreds of denial.

He stepped closer, his gaze locked on yours. "It's a sin to lie," he murmured, his tone teasing.

You swallowed, trying to stay calm, to ignore the heat that was rising within you. He took the basket from your hand, placing it gently on the ground. Then he reached out, his fingers intertwining with yours, the warmth of his touch searing through you.

"I see a beautiful woman, full of life and passion," he continued, his voice a low murmur. "Someone who is capable of great things, if only she would let herself."

You drew a shaky breath, your heart hammering in your chest. You wanted to pull away, to break the spell he had woven around you, but his words and his touch held you captive.

"I can feel your desire," he whispered, his words sending a shiver through you. "Your body is betraying you, telling me what your words won't."

Your eyes met his, and the intensity of his gaze felt like it was burning through you. "Don't," you pleaded, your voice barely a whisper.

"What would God say?" He murmured, his breath warm against your cheek. "What would your sisters say?"

You closed your eyes, fighting the urge to give in, to surrender to his touch. But the temptation was too strong, the forbidden nature of it thrilling.

He pressed closer, his hand resting against your hip. "Would he approve of this?" He asked, his lips brushing against yours, a barely there caress.

Your hands slid up his chest, your fingers tangling in his hair. "I can't," you whispered, your resolve crumbling, desire flooding through you.

"Yes, you can," he murmured, his lips claiming yours in a searing kiss.

The world faded, narrowing to the feel of his touch, his mouth against yours, the heat of his body. He pulled you into the tall wheat, the stalks brushing against your skin, the sunlight filtering through the leaves. You clung to him, lost in the moment, in desperation born of months of longing.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and flushed, a strange sense of peace settled over you. Whatever sin this was, whatever price you would pay, it felt right, like this was where you were meant to be.

He held you close, his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with yours. You had no words, the intensity of the moment overwhelming.

Finally, he spoke, his voice soft. "So you feel this too?"

You nodded, unable to speak.

He chuckled, his eyes filled with relief. "Good,"

You smiled, a sense of freedom washing over you, a weight lifting from your shoulders. In that moment, all the shame, all the guilt, faded away, replaced by something far more powerful.

Love.

{Part One}{Part Three}{Part Four}{Part Five}{Part Six}

[tiaramania]

I missed this last week but Benjamin Vaesen has identified Queen Mathilde's new diamond necklace. It's by Graff from the Foliage Collection and this was the second time she wore it after Princess Ingrid Alexandra's 18th Birthday last year.

The Belgians have the smallest jewel vault amongst the European royal families by a wide margin because they split the jewels fairly evenly every generation leaving only a small portion in the main line. That wasn't so bad back when brides brought lots of jewelry with them to replenish the vault but doesn't really work anymore now that new pieces are rare. Queen Mathilde has been slowly but steadily adding staple jewelry to her collection like the diamonds earrings she's wearing here that were debuted in 2017. I can only hope that Queen Paola leaves her major jewels to the main line and that they create a jewelry foundation to protect the jewels for future generations. I'm not really a big proponent of royal families buying lots of new jewelry instead I think that they should focus on keeping what they have so that they have enough to wear to official events without having to buy major pieces in the future.

TIARA ALERT: Queen Mathilde of Belgium wore Queen Astrid's Nine Provinces Tiara for the banquet during the state visit to Germany at Bellevue Palace in Berlin on 5 December 2023.

[harvvdent]

I forgot to update my beloved tumblr followers on my life but I had a problem with my exchange year so I'm not going and it sent me into a depressive episode during which I impulsively applied to go volunteering for 10 months in Estonia in a town on the Russian border so next year I'm teaching Russian speaking kids English

[plebbotheblob]

Mathilde talks about salad and restaurants

On another note, I did this in a half asleep state, so forgive the awful quality

[psalacanthea]

She's doing well. No signs of activity yet, obviously. I expect to see some by thursday or friday. She actually had a bubble or two this morning, but I think that was trapped air from the stirring together of the flour and water when I created her.

normally I'd say this was a horrible time of year to make a new sourdough starter but December was disturbingly warm- high 40s f to mid 50s, so I think I'm good.

[despairforme]

Nnoitra would hear that someone was at his door. Which turned out to be Adelha. A huge paper sack in hand to have the scents of food wafting from it. Her smile is bright as she says with good cheer, "Hello, Nnoi. I brought you some festive food to enjoy this holiday. Including a bottle of bourbon."

To him, this was not a "holiday". OF COURSE he didn't fucking celebrate Thanksgiving. First of all - he wasn't American. Secondly - why the fuck would he be thankful for anything? It was just any other Thursday to him, and it happened to be one of his most hated days. Leave it to him to hate the middle of the week the most. Needless to say, he just wasn't in the best mood ( when was he ever? ).

The doorbell rang, letting him know that there was someone wanting to visit him. He'd had no head's-up with a text, so he assumed it was Adelha. She was pretty much the only one who'd show up at his place unannounced. Considering how much time Nnoitra spent outside his apartment, he wondered how often Adelha had showed up to his place and found it empty.

He didn't make her wait. Instead, he headed down to the first floor to open the door and greet her. Her smile was bright and cheerful, sharply contrasting with his bad mood.

Nnoi, she called him.

Tch.

He always disliked it when people didn't bother to struggle all the way to the end with his name. As if it was a long name. Noi-to-ra. Just three fucking syllables. He would've told her off about it, had it not been for the paper bag she was holding, which clearly contained food, judging from the scent. Giving him food was a sure way to disarm him.

❝ I don't celebrate that stupid holiday. ❞ He said, instantly giving away how bad his mood was. ❝ But I ain't gonna say no 'ta some food. ❞ The paper bag did smell good, and he hadn't had lunch yet. As for the bourbon? Nah. He didn't drink hard liquor anymore. And he didn't want to have whiskey. Too many memories.

[ninyard]

a thought that's been spinning around in my head is what if jeremy did relapse? like what could drive him to that and how he would move forward considering the whole self hatred of "i'd rather die than be that person again" and shame in asking for help bc "ill never forgive you if you backslide"

OKAY so i’ve been sitting on this just thinking about it for a few days and although it’s not a theory that i believe would/will happen, it’s one of the few ideas i can come up with as to what could cause him to backslide

(i do believe him when he says he won’t. but god, for my own selfish reasons, do i want to see him crash out monumentally)

SO

Jeremy’s mom/stepdad stop allowing him to stay over at Laila/Jean’s place because of what happened to Bryson, how dangerous they think it could be, and how dangerous they think Jean is. Everything that has happened has made their control over Jeremy a thousand times worse. It’s torture for him, his final year, commuting to and from the university every single day for practices and that’s it; no parties, no free time, just practice, and classes, and then home. He’s forced into isolation, almost, but he still talks to the guys on video calls, and lies about having practices that don’t exist just so he can see them. But it’s few and far between. For him, mentally, it takes a huge toll. He hasn’t felt depression like this in a long time, if ever, really. It’s not good - He’s stuck with Bryson far more often that he’d like, and the only solace is those few hours a day where he gets to relax with Jean, Cat, Laila, and the few trojans he gets a chance to see outside of practice.

The guys notice this heaviness in him; Laila in particular gets worried to a point where she shows up at his house a handful of times just to make sure he’s okay, but the Wilshire household is a hostile place for her to be, and Jeremy hates her being around them if it at all can be avoided. Even the diplomats daughter excuse fails Mathilde and Warren: Jeremy has to focus on his LSATs, and he can’t afford outside distractions stealing his attention.

Jeremy pushes sitting the exam further out, and further out. He comes up with all the excuses he possibly can until he’s exhausted every single one, and with Bryson’s threats, he fails the first exam he sits. and it makes everything so much worse.

His phone is taken away from him at night, he’s not allowed to go for runs when he’s unaccompanied or without sharing his location the entire time. Everything the same as it’s been, but amplified, so much more suffocating than what’s healthy.

While all this is going on, the Trojans are doing well. They make it through to the Spring championships as expected, and one night Mathilde allows him to stay at Jean’s place, with the condition that he’s home by 10am the next morning. Its supposed to be a night of relief, a well deserved day off, but he cries in his friends arms and tells them that his family is destroying his life, and he doesn’t know why, and he doesn’t know what to do. Laila only looks at him with mild dissatisfaction as he spends most of the night sitting on the balcony, or out the front of the building, with cigarette after cigarette between his lips. They try to come up with a million ways to get him out of there but he knows none of them will work - he’s trapped, and there’s really nothing he can do.

Bryson corners Jeremy again, when he learns that he’s finally taking a resit exam, and tells him he has to fail this one too. Jeremy almost accepts the consequences of not doing what he says, that some planted coke or pills would be far less of a punishment than living in this prison is, but he takes the test, and he fails. It’s only half intentional, too. His mental health is in the gutter, because he’s a social butterfly, and he needs people around him to feel like himself. how can he focus on studying when he’s spending most of his days bored and resisting the temptation of the escape promised to him all those years ago?

The Trojans qualify for the semi finals, and then they qualify for the finals. It’s the Trojans V Penn State, or by another miracle, it’s the Foxes again. The date has been set. It’s a Friday, the same time of year that it usually is. It’s hard to enjoy the well earned chance at victory when he’s spent most of the year just trying to survive that big house with all its empty rooms and ghosts that walk the halls.

Warren has had enough of his failures, of course he has, the silly achievements of college sports irrelevant on his tall ladder of expectation. Jeremy spends a full night being berated, and belittled, called every name under the sun, full of vitriol and hatred for the disappointment of a son who refused the name of success and landed himself in such a position. Twice? He’d slammed Jeremy’s poor results on the table in front of him. Are you stupid, or do you faggots just get off on being embarrassments?

That night he texts his old dealer from high school, but when the response dings into his inbox, Jeremy deletes the message. He can’t. He thinks about Noah, and he thinks about everything riding on his sobriety. He can’t. He can’t do it.

But he wants to, so badly, and after that, he spends every waking second trying to prevent himself from asking again.

A morning or two later, Mathilde neatly sticks a sticky note to the top of the LSAT guides Jeremy has been pretending to study.

“What is that?” he asks, a date and time scribbled in her fancy scrawl across the green paper.

“It’s your exam, because you insist on avoiding it.” She says, turning around to do something else, like this was unimportant and meaningless to her. “I took the liberty of booking it for you. You aren’t going to fail this one.”

Jeremy picks up the piece of paper and stares at it. “I can’t do that date.”

“That’s too bad,” She almost laughs, sickly sweet. “It’s the only one they had this side of the month.”

“No, mom, I can’t do this date.” Jeremy’s head is in his hands already. This can’t be happening, and he doesn’t have the energy to argue anymore. “We’re flying out to Pennsylvania the night before. We play that evening. It’s the finals.”

She shrugs like that meant nothing to her, and Jeremy isn’t stupid enough to be surprised.

“Well,” She puts a hand on his head and endearingly rubs a thumb over his forehead. “You should have thought about that before failing the other two, Jeremy.”

He calls Cat as soon as he manages to pull his head out of the clouds of disbelief. It’s not long before the other two are on the other end of the line begging Jeremy to just leave, and they’ll figure it out later.

But he thinks of his life, that rides on a good relationship with the Wilshire empire, his reputation, and the Wilshire’s ability to ruin any potential recruitments he might have dreamt about in the future. One leaked document and every pro team in the country will know about Jeremy’s past, and his multiple run ins with the law. He thinks of his documents hidden under floorboards he’ll never find or safety deposit boxes he’ll never have access to. For a moment he wishes David Wymack had spent his time coaching a pro team, so maybe then he’d have a chance. He spends all his time agonising, trying to find a way, but everything in his life feels like it’s falling apart. He’s drinking so much coffee that he feels like his heart is going to burst. He’s barely even able to focus on playing anymore. He’s just about failing ceramics, for gods sake, and he’s not sure about most other classes - he has barely attended more than a lecture or two in weeks.

He spends hours, days, begging his mom to understand that this can’t be negotiable, it can’t be. He can’t let the team down at this point. Even Rhemann attempts to talk Mathilde down from her high pedestal, but Warren’s strong hand on her shoulder stops her from backing down. Jeremy’s dad stops answering his calls, not interested in being interrupted in the middle of the night to listen to the son he never cared about’s woes.

So the night before the championship finals comes, and Jeremy texts his teammates to have a safe flight, and he calls his dealer. They can’t meet anywhere suspicious, so he asks him to join him on the route he’s forced to run on. He knows his mom watches his every move when he leaves the house for even a second these days - he can’t stay still for too long either.

It’s not long later before he’s running home, with too much cocaine in his pocket, too many tears running down his face at what a disappointment he’d become. Noah would hate him for this; To be let down again, a promise broken, again, looking down from heaven at enough white powder to trigger a heart attack beforeJeremy even gets the chance to sit the exam.

He doesn’t take any of it that night; he knows he can’t fail again. The temptation is incredible, though, and it’s a very difficult thing to resist. He settles for some adderall he stole from Bryson’s room, and crams as much as his frazzled mind can take it.

He cries as much as he studies, every now and again just looking at the clear baggie that he hid in his wallet, heart racing every time he remembers that rush, that feeling.

The exam goes about as well as he expected, but he manages to find an hour somewhere afterwards before he’s expected to be home. he turns his phone and location off, and finds the nearest booty call to him in his contact list.

The coke goes down much easier than he was expecting it to, as if being out of practice would have made it different, but by the time his pupils are tiny and his heart is pumping, he’s at the front door of a bad idea. He doesn’t even feel able to question himself, unable to spend a half a second in his body to remember how much he’s destroying his life all over again, in that moment, because his brain and body are in seperate places. He doesn’t remember driving home, if his hookup kinda drove his car and got a cab back, or if he’d drove high out of his mind for the tedious 45 minutes that it takes. He hoped it was the former, but knew it was the latter. He just hoped he hadn’t caused an accident somewhere on the way.

His mom doesn’t stop him to ask how it went before he’s shutting his bedroom door behind him. He has a few hours to kill before the game, so he spends his time wisely between putting his nose in the bag, or smoking out of his bedroom window like a teenager afraid to be caught. By the time the game starts his paranoia has set in, an old and unwelcoming friend, and he hides his cigarettes deep in his closet for fear the tabloids would leak a photo of him smoking 10 cigarettes in an hour.

He cries when Jean takes to the court. He almost snaps his phone in half when Cat gets injured. When Derrick steps back from a fight, when Cody calls a timeout for an injury, all he feels is this hollow, empty pit in his stomach. When the Trojans lose, he can’t keep it in, and he feels his world start to crumble.

He wonders if this is how Noah felt before he made that decision to jump. He wonders if he’s high enough off the ground for it to work.

Laila calls him an hour or two later, and her face drops at the sight of Jeremy. When she asks him to hold the phone up to his eyes he smiles, an empty smile, obliging before she starts to cry. She hangs up, not out of anger, or rage at his decision to relapse, but sheer heartbreak at seeing him in such a state, alone, alone, alone, not able to do a single thing to stop it.

Cat calls him back minutes later, and he doesn’t feel heartened by how her voice cracks when she asks him what he’s taken. He’s angry, he thinks, a ball in his stomach and a voice in his head saying, “how dare they make this about them?”

She tells him to call his sponsor. She begs him to think this through. She knows she lost him when he’s half lucid and forgets he’s on a video call, dipping his head down to his bedside locker to snort a line he’d lay out earlier.

There’s an ending here, somewhere, a happy one, maybe, a complete one more likely. He said it himself; he can’t live with himself if he gets high again. He’d rather die than feel like that again. So maybe that’s just how it goes.

[royal-hair]

BELGIUM - Frédéric Van Espen, Claude Noterdame & Alain Tholl de l'Enclos

Starting with the current Queen's hairdresser, Frédéric Van Espen steppend into the position in 2013, just before she became Queen of the Belgians, and has been styling her for national and international events since then. He has also worked with Elisabeth and Eléonore.

He's the owner of Didier & Rosalinde hair salon in Brussels, but he usually works wiith Mathilde in the private quarters at Laeken Castle. Looking at the website and portfolio you can see the similarities of his other works and what we've seen on Mathilde for a while:

I found an interview on the occasion of his 10th anniversary as the Queen's hairdresser where Frédéric gave a lot of detals of his work with Mathilde, even how it all started (second link below). According to what he said to HLN he's good friend with Edouard Vermeulen at Natan and he recommended him to Mathilde's team because her previous hairdresser was quitting.

His very first work was for Willem-Alexander's enthronement events, a tiara event to launch his career as the Queen's hairdresser, and not a simple gala, but an event for history books. I gotta confess that even if it's not an updo, Mathilde's hair on the day of the entronement it's one of my fave looks on her and I do see a change in style from the previous years.

Frédéric talked about how sometimes is dissatisfied with his work and that he notice little mistakes and is concerned about the outcome but that Mathilde reacts light-heartedly with a "Oh, that happens!" and I think that's the most on-brand Mathilde.

He also stated that when there are public events, he styles Mathilde at 7AM at Laeken, but on the occasional time, she goes to his salon and they have a private box for high profile clients such as her or, surprise, Prince Laurent. Frédéric also talked about when there's a state visit or during national day, he goes to the palace several times because everytme Mathilde changes clothes, he match the hair with the outfit, or when there's a trip abroad, he works on the plane in the stewards cabin without a mirror (talk about trust).

While he talks about what Mathilde likes, he says that she likes to stick to her classic style, but that Elisabeth now that she came of age give him more room to experiment. This interview was made 2 years ago, and I can't assure that he always does Elisabeth's har, but because she isn't a full-time working royal and her events are pretty limited, it's pretty safe to say that he's the one behind her two tiara appearances.

And I don't want to end this post without mentioning Paola's two known hairdressers: Claude Noterdam and Alain Tholl de l'Enclos. While Alain is also mentioned as her hairdresser, my guess from what I actually found, is that Claude was her main hairdresser for about 40 years. He was the owner of Maison Roger in Brussels and in 2016 he stepped down handing the salon to Alain and that's why he is also mentioned, because of the conection to Maison Roger.

Claude Noterdame started working with her when she was newly engaged to Albert, so he was the one behind those big updos we all liked (because we do agree that she had the best hair of her generation of Queens, right?)

He said that she visited his salon at least once a week, but when she couldn't he went to work at Belvédère Palace. He also accompained her to visits to the United States of Lebanon.

I actually found a small interview that RTL did in 2017 with Claude where he shows an archive of pictures of her updos that I would kill to see for myself and he also keeps pictures of a young Claude with Paola in different gatherings. It's in french and I understand just a little bit. Here it is in case you want to see those pictures and him talkng for 5 minutes:

Of course there's less information about the older generation's hairdressers, or at least is harder for me because of the limited resources in languages I don't speak (you should see me translating the dutch interviews hahaha). But at least there's something to offer you in these series of royal hairdressers.

To close this belgian edition,, I found a few titbits about Alain: he also styled Mathilde (probably before Frédéric came into the picture in 2013) and Princess Claire. He also works with Princess Laurentien of The Netherlands and both ladies usually have their hair done like any other client in the salon. He also stated that when they're in Belgum, he styles Princesses Marie Astrid and Margaretha of Luxembourg and Hereditary Grand Duchess Stéphanie.

Sources: x x x x x x

[screamintoad]

Twst oc Mathilde “Mattie” Darrow

“Our fates are within us, you just need to be brave enough to see it.”

Voice claim: Rayla-The Dragon Prince

Character info

Mathilde has stubbornness and fire flowing through her veins. As the dorm head of Befated, she takes great pride in it. Many of her classmates gossip and say she would be better at NRC but she thinks otherwise. Wanting her freedom to do what she wants, she takes every opportunity she can to be outside or even just around nature. She loves playing spelldrive and uses it as a way to let out any pent up stress or energy, which she has a lot of at RSA. 

  She grew up around myths and legends and folk tales. She was taught to not believe them as reality, yet, Mattie took them as lessons that you can learn from. Like the old story of the princess who accidentally turned her mom into a bear yet ended up saving her and their bond. She lives a humble life with her family in the Shaftlands. Although they don’t always see eye to eye, her family DOES always end the day around the fireplace surrounded by laughter. 

Fun facts: She almost joined the archery club but when she saw the Spelldrive team practicing she decided right then and there that she wanted to do it too. When she was younger she was self conscious about her looks because of other kids poking fun at her for it, now that she’s older she’s quite confident in herself. Uses her magic to summon the string and arrows for her bow. Is a Eurasian brown bear beastfolk. She remembers meeting an old lady who lived in a cottage and this lady addressed her as “princess”, she especially remembers all of the bear carvings she was selling and the odd talking crow. 

Basic info

Age: 17

Height: 178cm, 5’10

B-day: June 15th (Gemini) 

Dominant hand: Right

Family: mom, dad, and 3 younger brothers

2nd year

Class A

Club: Spelldrive

Best subject: P.E

Hobbies: Archery, Horseback riding

Pet peeve: People not listening to her for various reasons (“I’m older”, “You’re just a girl”, etc.)

Favorite food: Berries

Least favorite food: Blueberry tarts

Talent: Self preservation, athletics

Unique Magic: Wisps Call, growing up around myths and legends gave her a knack for finding lone spirits and attract wisps to her. In dire need of guidance these wisps will lead the way. 

Character dynamics (listen there’s only like 2 RSA students that we know the personalities of)

Neige: They don’t interact very often but they are in the same grade so sometimes, very rarely, they’ll be paired up for school assignments. He has a habit of complimenting her and first she scoffed until she realized that it’s just how Neige is. 

Chen’ya: Even with her enhanced senses, Mattie can’t predict where Chen’ya is going to be. He’s a drifter and so they run into each other at random times but, she thinks he’s funny and will go with him sometimes to visit NRC. 

Richie: They first met when she was trying out for the spelldrive team. He challenged her to a 1 v 1 match and if she won, she could join the team. After she joined the team they gained a friendly rivalry, on and off the field. Mattie also has the habit of throwing him over her shoulder and walking away if he’s about to or has made a fool of himself. 

Mina: They met when there was a spelldrive tournament between NRC and RSA. Mathilde was immediately drawn to Mina as she stood out so much compared to the other NRC students. Her kindness was welcomed by Mattie’s enthusiasm and friendliness, she’s also the main reason why Mattie visits NRC. 

Bruna: Vice dorm head of Befated. Rats. 

RICHIE AND MINA BELONG TO @twtysevapr

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