riot king

Send me a symbol and I’ll tell you about…

💕 someone my muse loves.

Ryder is a lover, but that doesn’t mean he gives his love away freely. Annette, however was an exception to that. She couldn’t have been taller than four feet when they met, but she swept him off his feet to land with his jaw on the floor anyway —and quite literally. He dreaded his dull birthday parties, always filled with grown-up faces he couldn’t care less about. Elena Bellamy, his mum, dreaded them too, he was sure, but she had to keep appearances for the sake of society. The only things he ever loved about those parties were the cakes. Those magnificent, delicious cakes that towered taller than himself, usually on a table he couldn’t quite reach. The day he met Annette Bardon, he almost reached it, standing over a pile made of four of his presents. That was, of course, until she scared the crap out of him with her high pitched voice. “YOU WILL RUIN YOUR CAKE, RYDER BELLAMY.” Much like a scolding mum, she put a lot of emphasis on his last name, despite being half his size. Ryder, like any other surprised six-year-old boy, let out a loud shriek of terror and fell down from his present pile, pulling the tablecloth and the cake with him, for the horror of all the guests. “Told you.” She said, shrugging as her index finger wiped cake from his cheek to have a little taste too. He ended up thoroughly embarrassed, but also covered in that magnificent, delicious mix of chocolate and strawberries he loved so much. Perhaps that was the reason he came to love that girl so much. Her smile was always attached to that memory.

😜 someone who makes my muse laugh.

His friendship with Rohan was not tentative at first, they didn’t progress from being acquaintances and they most certainly didn’t thread carefully before becoming friends. They were an odd pair of tremendous idiots, falling into friendship right on their arses. They made up for it stroking each other’s egos, in the most dudebro way possible, though Ryder could admit the punk rock vibe Rohan ahd going on was kinda hot. Ryder can always laugh at Rohan’s silly jokes about his leg and damn, why would he name his it Gertrude? In Ryder’s opinion, it looked more like a Lola or a Roxy. Still, he always feel for the same old story: “Dude, I just had the freest girl in my bed last night.” And Ryder would listen carefully, like a bro would, until Rohan told him her name Gertie, or Gerri, or G, or Gigi, or Trudy or any other stupid nickname he could come up for Gertrude,the leg. Each time he told the story, the nickname got a little weirder and, the more absurd it got, the more Ryder couldn’t stop laughing about it all.

💀 someone my muse would kill for

Taking one look at Ryder, Riley knew that her conversation with him would be interesting. “I drink beer, usually, I’ve been trying to stay away from the HARD STUFF until I’m of age. Yet,” she ran a hand over her face, “unlike you, I didn’t start drinking when I was like, seven.”

“What?” Ryder protested, moving away from the wall he was leaning on. “With you talking like that You’d fool anyone into thinking you actually know me.” He pretended to be affronted for a minute, just to smirk at her again in the next. “I was eight.”

“Remind me why I drink alcohol?? It’s the devil’s poison,” Riley groaned, her cheek finding the nearest cool surface, “I dunno what you guys put in your alcohol here but it’s not ALCOHOL.”

Ryder gave her a no-good smile  — the only kind he gave away freely, before shrugging and taking another sip of his own cup. “One would think Grey Goose was an international language.”

“Oh shit…I got a tattoo last night? My mum is going to KILL me.”

“It does look dope enough, ma chérie, Ginny might actually like it. At least it’s not a tribal, that would be embarrassing.”