wicked grins and cataclysmic smirks; donning a crimson, cracked crown. a sharp does of unforgiving. to move hell and earth to obtain what he wants, obliterate all in his path. isolation and volatile, unpredictable nature. emotions are distractions and a waste of ability. a cynic with acidic bite. vengeance and the killing blow. nephilim, a black blake, shards of glass, old scotch, rare steak, chilling mists, dark alleys, dark chocolate, bruised knuckles, expensive wine, leather jackets, late night make out sessions, broken bones, dark clouds.

rabastan rowan lestrange.

6′3 & demisexual.

wand: ebony, phoenix feather, thirteen Inches, unyielding

amortentia: rain & pine, blood & chocolate, fire & smoke.

death eater ( does have the dark mark, was forced to take it ), once a keeper in quidditch ( scar through his left brow from an accident ), once part of the slug club & astronomy club.

a hit wizard / auror ( because j.k. sort of meant for them to be the same thing ? ). quite the assassin in his department. actually wanted to be a professional quidditch player until the war began, but his specialty is combat, and the dark lord wouldn’t have let his occupation turn out otherwise. as a hit wizard, he’s also been able to break out dark wizards from azkaban for the dark lord. however, he imprisons them just as quickly ( it’s best not to get on his bad side ).

he’d sacrifice himself for his brother, rodolphus; which is currently why he’s more interested in being a death eater ( for the fact he wants to make sure his brother survives ).

he likes to keep a cigarette tucked behind his ear, also likes books and can be found with quite the variety.

he’s good at war, and an expert on hate. because of this, it made it easy to get involved with dark prophecies despite if fully sharing the view. he’s rather insurgent, not one to be held beneath another, and the dark lord keeps a close eye on him for this reason.

truly, he probably doesn’t care about your blood status – not completely. it depends on the individual, and whether they’ll piss him off.

he’s particularly skilled at the DARK ARTS and MARTIAL MAGIC.

HIS PATRONUS IS THE WOLF. the wolf is a bit of a darker and mysterious soul, with the strength of a fighter. a person with this patronus has had a lot happen in their life, and do to that they wear a mask over their emotions. they do not trust or tame easily, and since they have been made cynical over the years this can be difficult.

he MURDERED his parents at the end of his seventh year, as his father was a fan of using the cruciatus curse on both sons to ‘ build character ’ throughout their years at hogwarts. you can read this HERE.

recent recruit to the order, currently attempting to insert herself into the death eaters’ world. for security purposes only a few people high up in the order know she is actually a member. 

also deputy head of the improper use of magic office.

was head girl for the 1970 - 1971 school year.

was in the slug club.

so the potential connections between her and your character are endless!!

for some reason (sexism) she grew up in the shadow of her younger brother, who (in her opinion) was pretty average compared to her. her parents praised his achievements over hers so eventually she sought the approval of her professors and peers instead. 

edith is an adept occlumens, but you don’t have to be practicing legilimency on her for her to shut you out from her thoughts lol. 

she’ll act according to who she is around and whatever the situation calls for. probably an oscar winner in an alternate universe. 

she’s not cruel, but definitely not a cinnamon roll.

takes her work very seriously, a no-nonsense kinda gal. 

full moons, bloody hands, lone wolves, the colosseum, pompeii buried under meters of ash and pumice, the catastrophic event of mount vesuvius, a confessional aflame, gunmetal, winter’s barren tundra, vermillion stained canines, blinding fog, the howl before the scream, scarred flesh, black fur, a decaying forest, melting glaciers, a scratched leather trench coat, whiskey, black coffee, shadows.

fenrir lycaon greyback.

6′1 & demisexual & bulgarian.

for quite some time, he was the top of his class at durmstrang, and was expected to go quite the ways in the wizarding world. he also had an immense passion for the wizarding world’s creatures.

at thirteen, fenrir witnessed a werewolf attack his ten-year-old sister. though he defended her, he ended up bit in the process, and also witnessed his sister’s death.

at the next full moon, he wiped out the remainder of his family due to the curse.

for a long time, he despised what he was. the wizarding world made sure to place werewolves at the bottom of the totem pole, and eventually he decided he’d no longer allow his species to be placed low.

you can often find him skulking around knockturn alley with a few of his highest ranking wolves, including in pub where only werewolves may enter.

he does not fully support the dark lord -- nor does he hold the dark mark or support the purist movement -- but is a very valuable ally in which the dark lord requires. in exchange for fenrir’s aid, the dark lord considers him a death eater for the sheer purpose of keeping him in his inner circle.

fenrir hopes to achieve werewolf equality through the war, and has chosen darker means to obtain it. throughout his life, he’s been driven by vengeance.

he often attacks those who speak wrongly of his species ( consider why he attacked remus, due to his father saying that all werewolves deserved death, were vermin, etc ).

however, fenrir has also changed people of their own request as well as providing them an alternate route if death is approaching. of course, they must be a part of his army if they choose to accept. he’s been known to destroy anyone who dares defect.

the alpha of his pack, fenrir actually holds immense respect among the wizarding world’s werewolves. if you manage to befriend him, he’s quite the ally to have by your side.

BASICS ! 

her name is molly -- just molly. try calling her margaret and she won’t give you the time of day.

born on the thirtieth of october, making her a scorpio.

gryffindor alumna.

her wand is nine inches long made of mahogany wood (strength, safety, protection), a unicorn core, and a springy build. 

golden retriever patronus ! 

the youngest of three siblings, three years behind twin brothers that are simultaneously her biggest headaches and fiercest loves. 

molly stands at five foot two inches of whoop ass. 

HISTORY ! 

TO BE LOVED. molly knew she was adopted as soon as she was old enough to understand — after all, she was starkly different from her parents and brothers, from the slant of her eyes to her stature and the way she always seemed to stand out. she doesn’t know much about her biological mother apart from the fact that she passed away not too long after her birth and the prewetts took her in soon after.  there was a fair bit of gossip that surrounded her adoption, everything from hushed whispers to biting remarks at social gatherings, questioning the legitimacy of her pureblood status because how would you know for certain after plucking your ‘daughter’ from stranger’s arms? the prewetts did their best to shield molly from these cruelties but they couldn’t shelter her from everything; for every tear shed there was a tight embrace, for every judgemental glance, they matched with proudly showing her as their bonafide and beloved daughter and sister. this was her first lesson in true, unconditional love, and she seeks to emulate it for the rest of her life.

ALL OF MY KINDNESS IS TAKEN FOR WEAKNESS. it’s easy to see molly, her stature, and baby face and think of her as all soft -- in reality, she’s a firecracker wrapped in cotton wool. unbeknownst to many, molly was a part of the duelling club in her years at hogwarts. she makes quite the formidable duellist given the chance (she insists she would rather not, laughing off her past passion with duelling as a mere hobby) — nowadays her wand work focuses primarily on healing magic and charms. 

BUT FIRST YOU MUST LIVE. molly cannot bring herself to join the order. martyrdom to a horrific war is something she just can’t justify, no matter how much she believes in the cause and loves the people out there on the front lines. every time she entertains the brave voice in her head that invites her to jump in the fray, her heart shouts i’m not strong enough, i haven’t even lived enough. there’s an entire life she has envisioned for herself; marriage, children, surrounded by all of her friends and family – safe and sound. however, molly also simply can’t put it all on the back burner, not when there’s so much at stake. she funnels her energy into being an ally to them, tending to their injuries and providing somewhere safe and warm for shelter. it frightens her to see her loved ones so willingly throwing themselves into the war, and it has become a terribly touchy subject.

AESTHETIC ! 

burning your tongue on a hot cup of tea, a house that truly feels like home, dancing barefoot on kitchen tiles, putting others’ needs before your own, standing on tiptoes, reassuring words spoken into existence, a lioness’ warning roar, clean dressings on a weeping wound, waking up to sunshine peeking through the windows, forehead kisses, tears of joy, tears of relief, tears of frustration, constant reminders to dress warm & eat well & be safe, off-tune lullabies composed on the spot, crossing fingers and toes for good luck, a white-knuckle grip, drizzling summer rain, to see the glass as perpetually half full, a love that never runs out.

inspo / associations: april kepner (grey’s anatomy), jane villanueva (jane the virgin), the goddess hestia (greek mythos), katara (atla). 

WANTED PLOTS / CONNECTIONS ! 

friends!!!!! give molly all the friends. she’ll be fussy and (s)mothering but dear god will she love you with all her might.

it’s always the ones who try to run away the farthest that get tangled up the worst. molly hates the thought of the war and what it’s done and continues to do -- she will help, she will care, but she will never get directly involved. she feels as though she has to be the one that stays grounded and clearheaded, not wrapped up in ideals of being a martyr, soldier, hero, or whatever else. molly wants to hold her own, protect all of her loved ones and keep them safe and sound. talk to her about the war, dig a little deeper -- also an open invitation for trouble to come find her. 

let her patch you up after a mission / tussle / miscellaneous injury. it’s essentially guaranteed you’ll get an earful about being more careful next time, though. 

HEADCANONS

1) patronus — Snow bursts     from beneath the feet of his steed, plumes, waves like a powdered sea,     settling into his hair, dampening his shoulders; a strange cacophony of     sensations this is, to be flanked by friends, to sit astride a steed known     from birth, to chase after a family of deer with such plebian fervor – but     to do so while wielding such magnificent power. Wand rolls between gloved     fingers, cutting down branches and bursting birds into plumes of smoke and     feather as he passes, the master, the pointed lead of the deadly formation.     All it is, is fun – they give no thought to slaughtering deer, to gutting     them and leaving them to bleed upon the snow simply for their amusement;     Antonin cannot help but wonder if his horse has some sort of moral     objection to chasing such a close cousin to its death – but the thought     only makes him laugh. Long before he killed the poor boy whose last sight     would be the walls of Durmstrang, he finds his release in the bloodshed of     animals. After all, they cannot really     fight back, can they? Perhaps the mountain lion can, the bear, the     cougar whose skin now serves as a rug in his mother’s boudoir, but never     the deer. And there is something almost erotic about complete and total     domination. Surely his comrades smell his power, even now – they’ve seen     it before, and they’ll see it now, even if the prey has neither the power     nor the foresight to fight back. But this is joy in its essence – a band     of brothers, warriors, like-minded personifications of violence itself who     kill not for the pride, the purpose, the profit, but for the thrill of     watching blood spill over an untouched bank of snow. Antonin throws a wild     grin, a haphazard glance, over his shoulder to one of his comrades, who     thrusts his wand in the air. He looks to the other, who does the same. He     looks forth, wand thrust forward and battle cry, a flurry of     indiscriminate curses slipping from chapped lips, and urges his horse     forward.

  The first deer falls with a whip-crack and a plume of red light, and -

   From his wand, in the hallowed halls of Hogwarts, amidst a classroom full of onlookers, bursts a Snow Leopard, snarling, slinking about the circle until it comes to curl     about Antonin’s legs, broad nose prodding at his calf. With cyanide lips     curled upward, he looks down upon his creation and knows – this is his soul.

   In common lore, the Snow Leopard symbolizes Intuition, Solitude, Secrets,  Allure, Sexual Prowess, and PURITY. A solitary animal, it watches, observes, and collects information, striking only when beneficial. It cares well for its own, and is often associated     in legend and lore with self-discovery through excruciating trial. It is only appropriate, then, that Antonin produce such a manifestation of his own soul, for his own trial by fire (or ice) is ever burning.

2) amortentia —  “But the real question – does your Amortentia smell of me?” The subtlest hints of     Antonin’s amortentia change quite regularly, but the base is always the     same. Pine, sometimes fresh, sometimes crackling at the base of a dying     fire; red wine, surely just fresh poured; roses, but only just – perhaps     no more than a few petals upon a bare collar; the salt of the sea, quite     like the Baltic coast, for its smell is different than any other stretch     of ocean he’s come upon; the distinct smell of sex –sweat, musk, the faintest floral of a familiar perfume.     Amortentia is not something that Antonin likes to dwell on – love is a strange thing, ever changing; he     would much rather fuck than     love. But he cannot help but be torn in a thousand directions upon     catching a whiff of his perfectly brewed Amortentia – home, the woods     surrounding the small (“small”)     manor to the north used as a vacation home, the sea… and familiar beds, familiar whiffs from upon familiar     locks. Familiar perfumes and colognes upon sheets – the familiarity of a     head of raven hair and a pair of strong hands. It always changes – but love remains ever constant.     Constant – and unwanted.

3) boggart — “I fear     nothing. Why would I? It is I who     should be feared.” Antonin would rather die than admit any sort of weakness – and fear is just that: weakness.    And perhaps that is indicative enough of his truest fears, that he     cannot admit weakness, that he cannot admit fear, or humanity if he possesses any at all. Failure, in truth, is his greatest fear – rejection,     incompetence, impotence; he got a taste of it in the form of doubt, doubt     and the knowledge that his omnipotent darkness, that his overreaching     power has its limits. Fear that even he     is mortal, that even he can     fall to error. Antonin does not fear death; to fear death would be to fear     the skin into which he was born. But he does fear failure, as cliché as it sounds. Failure would     mean disappointment; failure would mean letting a legacy fall to ash and     ruin; failure would see a hall of proud portraits, proud men, proud names     to uphold, smolder, burn, and fall to irrelevance, disrepair, and shame. His boggart sees this, of     course; where Antonin assumed that he would face a boggart and see it shrug, it grows, expands to a     hundred times its size. It is a wonder that it fits in the room in which     it’s contained, upon facing Antonin, for where a nondescript shape once     stood, a burning manor now stands. A raven-haired woman (“Mama?”) falls into the ash,     clutching at diamonds with one hand and what remains of a picture frame     with the other. A hunched figure stands over her, a man, a familiar back     which has never shut him out until now. He calls out to them – to his     mother once, twice, thrice, then his father (but only once) – but they do     not turn, for they do not hear him.     Perhaps they choose not to – or perhaps they simply cannot fathom any     sound but the burning of their house, the dismantling of their great     legacy. And all because of him.

4) wand —     ELM; What is truly ironic about this     wand wood, in particular, is its reputation for never making mistakes.     When Antonin drew his first blood, committed his firstmurder, his mother, for a time, did     her very best to pass it off as a mistake, a misfire, a malfunction of the     trusty wand which was made to be     precise at all times. ‘Elm wands     never make mistakes’, Gregorovitch had said. Elm wands never make     mistakes – and they certainly never lie,     either. Antonin, of course, stood by his wand, and his choices, and     his actions which disproved his mother’s claims; there was no use lying     about something as honest as his wand, after all. And why would he lie?Shame is an unfamiliar sensation.     Elm is a particularly fitting wand for Antonin, in addition, because it     notoriously prefers wielders with innate purpose and dignity; an elegant     wand for an elegant purity, and highly capable of all that Antonin will     doubtlessly ask of it.

5) LITTLE BLACK BOOK; I know it’s cliché, and I know that it makes Antonin seem a bit too much like Joey Tribbiani for comfort, but he actually has a little black book of past conquests. A small leather booklet, he keeps it in a slide-away panel within the trunk at the end of his bed. It is a rather sordid little thing, with comments, notes, likes, dislikes, sweet spots all listed upon crisp pages. He writes in his thick book of consumed hearts with only the finest ink, and treats its maintaining like ritual. It grows more often than it remains stagnant, and has seen many a night alone in the common room, pages flipping near dangerously dripping candle wax, spine pressed open while ink dries; Antonin is a studious lover, and should he ever return to a past conquest, to a page in his book, he will know them like a well-memorized song. No one knows of this little black book, for he does not flaunt it, nor does he wish to share its contents with anyone. At times, he makes vague, suggestive, allusions to it, calling it his box of hearts, but those who listen simply assume that he is simply talking into the darkness to satisfy his own ego – little do they know, he has more than just intent.

6) MOTHER KNOWS BEST; Antonin is, for lack of a better phrase, a giant mama’s boy. His mother is his entire world; from the very beginning, he was more devoted to his mother than to anyone else. He’d pick her flowers from the garden (“From my garden, Ant? Those were mine to grow.”), follow her about during her rare afternoons spent painting in the solarium, and generally worship at her feet. Of course he loves his father unabashedly, but the love he feels for him is something more akin to fear for comfort. He feels a great deal of pressure in his father’s presence, but in his mother’s he feels nothing but warmth and encouragement. She was never a traditional mother, hardly giving him the outward affection so many other boys received, but even the slightest pat of approval atop his boyish head was reassurance enough. He would kill and be killed for his mother – she gave him life, and he would gladly give or take it at her command. He will build a legacy, an empire, and will build a castle at the heart of it all for his dear Mama.

7) WHEN THE ANIMALS SMELL A PREDATOR…; There was very little like time spent in the stables, amongst the horses, in the quiet of early dawn before the birds awake and the snow outside is greatly disturbed. Antonin is an accomplished equestrian, and knows a great deal about the care of horses and the technique associated with all equine areas of interest. He is quite fond of the steeplechase, and of hunting from horseback, but there is merit to a simple ride through the woods to clear one’s head; the horses are unjudging company who expect nothing of you, they are easily controlled for the most part, and they make Antonin feel innately powerful simply by being. Sitting astride a horse is elevating in more ways than one – but what is most notable, perhaps, is the way that, for the slightest moment, as Antonin pushes open the barn doors in a flurry of powder and cool air, the horses go silent. Horses are notoriously noisy, demanding creatures – but for just a moment, in a space no longer than a breath, a blink, a beat of the heart, they are entirely still, with big brown eyes upon him, watching, waiting. But then the noise resumes, for they know that this predator is on their side.

8) GOD HATES WITCHES; A small incident in the life of a magnate, an iron prince, a legacy in flesh, but a small one – on regular family trips to Moscow, he disappears for an hour at a time; his parents worry not for his whereabouts, for they know that he is more than capable of wielding the streets of Moscow on a tight leash. Upon the steps of the Cathedral of Christ the Savior he sits, black jacket billowing in formidable breeze, a cigarette between his lips and a smirk playing at their corners. It is a personal joke he shares with only himself; he once heard, as a boy, a man preaching on the steps of this very cathedral that all wielders of magic and might, anything contrary to the man’s God was an abomination, that should they step foot inside the cathedral, they would burn on the spot. And so he sits on the steps, tempting fate, tempting expectation, teasing the myth that so many muggles seem to believe so fervently. Of course he believes it not – but the symbolism, the irony, and the chance to smoke in the face of a deity is too much to pass up.

9) OF OLD KINGS AND DEAD REGIMES; Antonin’s favorite subject to study is history – history of magic, and certain facets of European muggle history, specifically. He has a collection of old history books hidden away beneath his bed, sorted into meticulous categorical piles; needless to say, he’s read through the lot of them time and time again, for they never cease to amaze and fascinate. Antonin has a particular proclivity for cruel kings and long-standing empires with bloody histories; his own family history is one that he knows like the back of his hand, their legacy of domination, terror, and omnipotence being something to behold and something not easily forgotten or passed over in the annals of magical history. He excels in History of Magic, though he, during his studies, was not the sort to openly speak out in class; his knowledge, no matter how insatiable and overreaching, is one best kept silent. His aloofness is only magnified by time spent alone in the library, reading by candlelight in his usual armchair, with quill between his teeth, and notebook and historical tomes spread on the table before him. He could list every king of every notable dynasty from the beginning of time – and he takes pride in the knowledge that his name will share a page with the lot of them soon enough.

10) NAME ANALYSIS:

ANTONIN: “beyond praise, priceless”; A fitting name for a boy of such high caliber. His ego and his expectation linger just above the clouds; Antonin was born to be great, to be praised, to dominate. He is priceless, he is without compare; his mother and father were fully aware of the connotations of their heir’s name, and he has certainly lived up to it thus far. Of course, he intends to go above and beyond the expectations laden upon his name, for he is beyond praise,and he is beyond compare.

SVIATOSLAV: “he who worships the light”; Antonin’s middle name is such for Czar Sviatoslav I of Kiev, who was known largely for his merciless and effective conquest of two of the greatest and most potent powers of Eastern Europe. He was known for his insistence upon being surrounded by nobles, and like, war-minded, individuals for the entirety of his adult life, and for his ceaseless determination to dominate in all fields. He was considered a decent ruler; very little is known about his personal life, as he was private in most things aside from his political campaigns, but persists in history as a key expander of the empire as a whole. Antonin, needless to say, is quite proud to flaunt such an accomplished name.

DOLOHOV: “of the Dolohov dynasty”; The Dolohov name is one that does not need explaining. The Dolohov name is one implicitly known, one feared and loved and revered – and rightfully so. The strength of the bloodline is paramount; the potency of the Dolohov name, the family tree and its ever-reaching roots, the legend riding upon the back of each patriarchal male born under such a name, is all that truly matters. Family and honor above self; pride and respect above personal ambition. The name comes first – the heart is secondary.

AESTHETIC

The sound of leather shoes on freshly waxed marble, chipped china shoved to the back of a dark cabinet, too-strong cologne, popped buttons on a crisp white shirt, velvet tassels with golden chain, bruises hastily covered with mother’s white powder, snow stuck to the bottom of a thick fur coat, the click of a lock overshadowed by a loud scream, hickeys in provocative places that never seem to fade, whiskey and honey in a silver flask, hidden tattoos in different languages, sitting still and stiff for a family portrait, blood splattered across snow, the groaning hull of a salty old ship, soft words reserved only for mother, history books in stacks upon old leather armchairs, halls and halls of portraits that never smile, the rush of adrenaline after giving a hard punch, a cigarette tipped between pouting lips, commanding fingers wrapped about a lily-white throat, the smell of sex on black silk, wine dribbling down a split lip. You are an old king in a new body, and you will devour their gods to make room for your own. You are loyal to your blood as it spills, infects, sublimes.

EXTRAS: 

- basically, he went to Durmstrang first, but was expelled because he got involved in some shady business that ended up getting a bunch of people hurt - but does he care?? noooo

- he’s a total playboy, and a charmer that’s more snake than charm; he’s loyal to voldemort, but his own interests always come first. he’s the ‘spoiled prince from russia’ who likes to have the violent kind of fun, and thinks that the sun shines out of his butt, basically 

- has an enormous Machiavelli complex. It makes him doubt if he should be a follower or not; and it makes him wonder if love is a waste of time, and if fear should replace it all

- he’s just !!!!!!!!! A DOUCHE !!!!!!!!!! but he’s fun and good in the sack so ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

- he’s also v bisexual (”my sexual preference is often”) and likes to drink people under the table. 

- currently working at the ministry, but mostly in an honorary position since the russian ministry really wants like... nothing to do with anything to do with anyone else. but he feels very uppity about being a ‘liaison’, for what it’s worth

          i. amelia is the youngest of the bones siblings ––– a wizarding family originating from sunny méxico !! and by originating i do mean g e n e r a t i o n s back ,, they’re a long-established pureblood family ( not blood-purists though. major key ) within the british wizarding society

          ii. most people who knew amelia from back in school may still remember her as a very sweet girl, brave and caring without ever letting herself be trampled on –– believing in that noble notion of  ‘  better to have been betrayed than never have trusted  ’  which uhhhh yeah that’s not how she rolls anymore but ! it’s important okay . she was the embodiment of a capable hufflepuff girl, house pride & good behavior. fucking #tbt 

          iii. because of her work ethic and talent, her teachers suggested that she should pursue a career as an auror which, in all honesty, was never really something she considered ,, she knew she wanted to work for the ministry, one way or another, but she never thought she had  ‘  it  ’  in her ––– whatever it was. but as it turns out, you can get very far on work ethic and determination !!

          iv. the thing is , her parents weren’t stoked about this. they already had edgar going around trying to do good, and while they recognized that what amelia was doing was commendable, they didn’t want her in the line of fire. she’s still their youngest, their littlest girl & prized company. amelia went through with the auror training anyway, spitefully sticking to it even when she felt out of her depth

          v. now, years later, she’s one of the aurors working through perhaps the greatest crisis in ministry history –––– bureaucracy is a nightmare as is, imagine trying to manage everything as the proverbial ship is rapidly sinking. her office is a mess of papers, her apartment looks the part of a bachelor pad which sees more quick in and out visits than it does peaceful nights at home, and her parents are more worried than ever 

          vi. but amelia’s years as an auror has changed her, from naive and insecure to capable and austere. she’s headstrong, a formidable duellist, and still, inevitably, scared. though she may have realized some time ago that shutting everyone out and locking yourself into work won’t help her, she’s yet to figure out what might provide her with some peace of mind in these trying times 

           vii. not to say that she’s gloomy or anything,, she’s just very acutely aware of the turmoil around her, even though she hasn’t managed to grasp the full extent of it all yet. she still loves to hit the pub every now and then ... sip some drinks ... bump some jams ... you know

          viii. she only recently started being more open about her support for bagnold for minister of magic ––– amelia is not a fan of talking politics

           ix. what she is a fan of is books, animals, fucking.. candles i guess. idk . she likes MOST THINGS tbh she’s just needlessly edgy about it unless you call her out. 

          x. is she a pessimist ? cynic ? probably not really, but she sure acts like it ! a poor man’s rust cohle from true detective meets .. samwise gamgee .. i guess??? like she’d carry frodo up the mountain and fucking kill gollum but she’d be an asshole about it 

he is a rosier and you all can guess what this means — one of the 28th, “important”, family pride, and stuff. ya know... dom had it all, and he ACTUALLY was proud of his name? like, very full of himself and very narcissist, he really was very prejudiced and rich fuckboy vibe.

poor were the souls who crossed his path in hogwarts, truly?? he was a freaking nightmare to be around, a bully, with some heavy pranks. he also wouldn’t hesitate at calling people out on their blood status bc he was like that.

his relation with his dad was quite poor, so that adds on his wanting to be a troublemaker.

ah, of course, how could i forget... he has anger issues. so like?? can you imagine him when he is mad? because i can, and it ain’t pretty, kids. i’m 110% sure he got into physical fights even with “friends” when he was younger.

truth be told, had things not turned badly for him, it’s possible he would still be on that same path and be a death eater. but things DID turn badly for him and yet?? it was good?? plot twist indeed.

so, when dom was around 21, he had an incident. more like a planned attack tbh — remember when i said he was a bully? so, yeah, one of the bullied decided to make him pay lmao: he was attacked by a werewolf and everything went downhill ( in theory ) from then on.

you see... domitius loved his face ( i mean... me too boy... ) and? scars? across his face? his body? Not Pleased at all. he got even worse on his anger issues, not gonna lie. but ya know who wasn’t up for his shitty behaviour? elizabeth hepburn. so not up for his shit she actually managed to put him in his place, wow *claps* you go girl

elizabeth was basically this very very pretty healer who “tamed” him, and the cherry on the top: a muggleborn LMAO, and of course he HAD to fall for the girl, bc trashy boy. he is terrible but i suppose he has a heart that could be cured bc here he is now:

not dead, not a werewolf, very heart eyes at his wife ( yeah, he married lizzie, bc when you find a woman who can kick your ass and put you in your place, you marry her ), very amused with their children... and what about his pureblood prejudiced family? well... THEY say domitius was disowned and kicked out of the family and is far from welcome there. but TRUTH IS he was the one to walk away first. he is still called a traitor to those who know the rosiers but is very chill and sipping his tea about that tbh ( actually burning in rage on the inside, but he gotta to keep himself in control after all )

he current lives with his wife, children and muggle father-in-law. actually happy with this settling? his prejudiced ass fell in love for muggle stuff, man, it is Amusing to say the least. so much he enjoys his job as an obliviator to a whole new level.

he is sided with the order for both being dragged by lizzie and because he has to defend the only family who cares for him, hasn’t he? BUT I’M PRETTY SURE NOT EVERYONE TAKES HIM SERIOUSLY, i mean, he is a rosier and a former slytherin, and straight up bullied muggleborns and halfbloods through at least 65% of his life... this combination doesn’t seem very... order profile, right? so i would LOVE people from the order who doubts him and doesn’t trust him. give me thiS, PLS?

also open to any connections, so come @ me

( THE BASICS )

.—  name: bellatrix black

.— age: 29 years old

.—  wand: 12¾", walnut, with a core of dragon heartstring

.— profession: metal charmer working at some dodgy establishment in magical london. however, it’s a mere mask used to keep suspicions away -- the only ‘position’ she dedicates herself to is that of a death eater, she’s fully committed to the group.

.— amortentia: humidity, copper, old wood

.— height: 1.73

.— gender: cis-gender female

.— sexuality: pansexual demiromantic ( but closeted due to her family’s beliefs )

.—  previous house: slytherin.

.— boggart: the two most important male figures in her life ( her father & her master ) being disappointment at her

.—  patronus: * is unable to produce one *

( THE AESTHETIC )

.— moonlight seeping in through dark curls ; black velvet ; sharp citrus perfume ; bruised and bloody knuckles ; ‘you’re better than them’ muttered into a young girl’s ear as her mother combs her hair ; laughter echoing down a dimly lit hall; dark shades of lipstick ; wood burning in a fireplace ; smirks that whisper ‘i know something you never will’ ; cold, empty rooms ; self-made haircuts ; thunderstorms ; a hatred for all things sweet ; a beckoning void ; dimly lit alleyways ; taste of copper in the mouth ; mysterious knocks in the middle of the night ; curling your hands into fists to keep the tears from falling ; a sheltered heart ; the chilling glint of a pair of eyes amidst the darkness ; your father’s daughter ; ‘you’re purer than them ’ ; heels hitting the elegant marble floors ; ignoring opinions foreign to your own ; a mother’s disappointed looks ; boxes and boxes of jewels that will rot away with rust ; the smell of the burning tapestry on the wall ; deceitful grins ; ‘i’m better than them’ ; treasuring the sister you’ve got left as though she’d been the only one from the beginning ; feeling as though there were something lurking in the shadows ; a starless charcoal night sky ; inked skin ; power’s taste so fresh and addictive on the tongue ; mocking thoughts and voices clouding one’s mind right before going to bed ; a child infected by her parents ambitious ; bottles and bottles of liquor kept inside the night table drawer ; ringed agile fingers with ; black lace ; dead flowers ; and candles on bedside table ; the smell of incense ; the half-moons engraved on the palms ; eyes that were raised never to cry ; talk back, get slapped ; long dark gowns ; ‘ always pure, always better ’ ; wicked sisterly love ; unparalleled devotion ; blood before family.

( THE HEADCANONS )

.— you were the firstborn, the eldest daughter, the one to set the examples. that didn’t mean your parents’ slaps on the cheek and disappointed gazes hurt any less. you came first, and although many would think it’s the firstlings who experience new parents’ clumsy mistakes, this wasn’t your case - you were modeled after what your parents believed in, shaped to their liking by feeding you their wicked ideology like it was gospel. they vowed to raise you as perfectly as possible, and perfect was pure. “don’t mingle with them, bella. you’re better than them,” your mother said to you over and over, and although young, you were perfectly able to see past the soft, motherly tone and absorb the warning, the so-called ‘truth’ you’d follow later on in your life. your upbringing was stained by opulence and wealth, your family displaying you and your sisters like rosy-cheeked porcelain dolls. your father’s daughter, you became far too much like him. your youth was not yours, but his and your mother’s to mold like clay. you frequented balls and events with your family, gatherings you’d never care for or worry over. this was the only good you knew, the only truth, so you never blamed them for what you turned out to be, for what they turned you into. much too absorbed by the mirk, your distraught urges caught up with you - but you let them. you let your shadow friends embrace you and carry you. the darkness was light to you - so tempting, so satisfying to the touch, so addictive -,  and so you’d eventually make your home amidst the fog.

.— ever since you were young, you’ve always shown brilliant skills in whatever it is that caught your attention. your parents enrolled you in violin, harp, and piano lessons. it was a matter of a handful of years before you were playing like the most prodigious of musicians. you mastered italian and french, and calligraphy. you began displaying signs of magic at an early age - flickering lights, shattering vases with a look -, and so your parents could not be prouder at the sight. you’d always been talented, skillful, and determined to excel at whatever you got your hands on, so it was only expected of you to thrive during the time you were to study at hogwarts. you had an enviable knack for charms and transfiguration. admittedly, your parents never doted nor coddled, but you found pride and fulfillment in the envy projected by your fellow classmates’ eyes. your mother’s words were a self-fulfilled prophecy: you were better than them, after all. 

.— you couldn’t shrug off that mixture of frustration and confusion when you first managed to boil a successful amortentia potion. your classmates were in awe, describing scents like poppy flowers, cinnamon bread, cardamom – all you smelled was humidity. similar to the scent of moist soil, you couldn’t help but feel perplexed at the scent. it seemed miserable, dull. you managed to pick up other smells - old wood, like the one your family’s piano was made of, and copper – you were annoyed, mostly because you couldn’t comprehend what these scents indicated, and secondly, because you felt as though they lead you nowhere. to this day, the smells haven’t changed, yet you’re still puzzled by it.

.— you’ve been known as one to have a short-temper, but nothing had set you off like the inability to produce a corporeal patronus did. you felt the others’ gazes engraved on you as you tried and tried to achieve it during class, each attempt more frustrating than the previous one. you took in a deep breath each time. your mind always projected an image of your family - so noble, so strong, the only support you knew and had -, of your mother. you saw her singing to you as you practiced the piano, yet the memory soon became bitter, as it was followed by her getting upset at your mistakes and scolding you to no end. you thought of your father, the powerful, intelligent man he was and the massive shadow he cast on your path, yet all you could think of were his words about those less pure than you, words expressed at every gathering, words him and his inner circle constantly shared and nourished you with. you thought of your sisters, of andy and cissy, the three of you playing outside your family home. nothing seemed to be enough, and so after what seemed like an infinite number of attempts, you ended up throwing your wand across the room. many years later you tried, the first two memories resurfacing and soon becoming stained by the torment that followed those moments, yet you landed in the same place. now you couldn’t think of your siblings without feeling disgust for andromeda take over you, her carelessness, stupidity, and stubbornness costing you a sister. the image of her would be forever stained, and so you found yourself out of memories to use to try cast the spell effectively. you treasured your youth, you weren’t raised an unhappy child – were you? you told this to yourself over and over, and for a couple of moments, it eased the sting of pain failure had left you with.

.— a boggart managed to sneak into the garden adjacent to your family’s house one afternoon, while you and your sisters were out enjoying the pleasant weather. it hid behind a nearby bush, catching your attention. you didn’t scream when you saw, you simply froze, too consumed by fear to move or make a sound: you saw your father’s figure, with bloodshot eyes that showed the clearest shades of disappointment and hatred, his head shaking in discontent. “i thought we’d compromised, bella,” he said, approaching you in a way you found menacing and terrifying. “i thought we’d agreed you’d do your part…” and right then, the monster before lounged forwards, making you lose your balance and fall down. the creature seemed confused, changing form in a tornado-like way, and it was until you turned to look at one of your sisters, who had just approached and had managed to throw the boggart off. you shrugged off their worried inquiries and pushed the memory to the recondite of your mind. years later, however, the two of you met again: it’d hidden in an old, dusty closet, and so as you unknowingly went to open the door, the figure stepped outside. it wasn’t your father anymore, however. it was a different silhouette, with different features, the creature no longer taking after the man who’d fathered you. it was no stranger, and this time, you found yourself slipping and crawling away from it in the most pathetic manner. you whimpered like an injured animal as tears welled up in your eyes. “i thought we’d compromised, bella,” it was the same sentence you’d heard as a teenager, that day in the garden with your sisters, but before stood the man you’d developed a fascination toward, the man who’d managed to corrupt you more than your family ever did, the man who’d implanted himself amidst your thoughts and ideas, the man you were completely and utterly devoted to, the man you referred to as your lord. the distorted features showed you nothing but disapproval and discontent, the pale, waxy skin glimmering and planting fear in your heart in a way you’d never experience. you sobbed until a foreign noise sent it storming out of the room, your limbs still shriveling. 

.— there must be something in the water, or rather, in the way children of the black and lestrange families are raised, something that plants in them an attraction to the dark. despite having a seemingly-calm exterior throughout your earliest years, you always knew there was darkness inside of you. like a void holding what you desired the most, whispering to catch your attention and draw you in, you grew up with a fascination with matters that were too complex and far too obscure for a girl your age. your family made no effort to cease these thoughts, but rather, they fostered them, encouraging you to believe in exactly the same things as they did: purity and destruction. it was a matter of time before your malice bloomed - you were shoving your playmates aside, finding amusement in their suffering; you’d stare at the hues in the bruises and scratches you gave yourself in fights and duels, much too amazed at the unnerving yet pulchritudinous allure. it was the force and power you exercised over others, the thought of your judgment determining their state and place, that what you’d always lacked and thus that you could not resist upon getting the opportunity to experience. it was the electricity to the pain what kept your heart beat fast and your temples pounding & what caused you to develop a tolerance and fascination for it. you’d find ways to entertain yourself and encourage the growth of this evil within you, and so it was no surprise you joined the death eaters upon leaving hogwarts.  

( MISC. )

character inspirations: anakin skywalker ( star wars ), elena de la vega ( zorro ), elizabeth swan ( pirates of the caribbean ), nebula ( guardians of the galaxy ), harley quinn ( dc comics ), o-ren ishii and gogo yubari ( kill bill ), magenta and riff-raff ( the rocky horror picture show ), count olaf ( asoue )