[praive]

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𝙰𝙽 𝙸𝙽𝙳𝙴𝙿𝙴𝙽𝙳𝙴𝙽𝚃 & 𝚂𝙴𝙻𝙴𝙲𝚃𝙸𝚅𝙴 𝚆𝚁𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙱𝙻𝙾𝙶 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝐄𝐃𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍 𝙾𝙵 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚃𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃 𝚂𝙰𝙶𝙰. 𝙿𝚁𝙸𝚅𝙰𝚃𝙴, 𝚂𝙴𝙻𝙴𝙲𝚃𝙸𝚅𝙴, 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙷𝙴𝙰𝚅𝙸𝙻𝚈 𝙲𝙰𝙽𝙾𝙽 𝙳𝙸𝚅𝙴𝚁𝙶𝙴𝙽𝚃. 𝚆𝚁𝙸𝚃𝚃𝙴𝙽 𝙱𝚈 ℝℍ𝕐𝕊. 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

dossier . media influence . playlist . pinterest .

i. hi. my name is rhys. im here to have fun. if you're rude or weird i'll just sb you. 26 / pst /minors dni.

ii. if you unfollow for whatever reason or don't want me to follow you i'd appreciate a sb or hb. i wont take it personally.

iii. all rpc decorum applies. i dont repost drama. idc about duplicates but likely won't follow because we have no reason to write.

iv. minimal formatting from me. plot oriented. please at least attempt to contribute to plotting, otherwise it feels like a chore.

v. i work a stressful full time job and use this as a fun creative outlet. i have a really low tolerance for rude or self righteous or weird behavior. just be nice and have a silly goofy time. im writing a twilight character it is not at all serious

[praive]

it’s been a minute but i found the cullen house if nobody minds

[notmorbid]

all my mother's lovers, pt. 1.

dialogue prompts from all my mother's lovers: a novel by ilana masad.

i think you're in shock.

i can't handle this sober.

tell me something nice.

i'm okay, more or less.

maybe accepting some things as unfair is as good as it can get.

it's gonna be okay. we'll make it okay.

i didn't know you smoked.

breathe and eat and sleep, and you will get through this.

you must be pretty rich, to be so surprised.

are you okay? of course you're not okay. are you, like, surviving?

are axe murders even a thing anymore?

people deserve the truth.

i miss you too much to keep doing this.

you sound like you're disappointed with me.

sometimes i wish crying came more easily to me.

you're not sick of me yet?

excuse me. i'm feeling indisposed.

family is family, you know.

you're leaving? again?

memorization and specialized knowledge don't equal great intelligence.

what happened in here?

i didn't think i had that kind of strength.

let's get a drink. i'm in dire need of a good time.

i rarely trust my gaydar when i'm sober.

how has today been so long already?

i've been with plenty of artists, and let me tell you: we're overrated.

you let me be the little spoon. you make me feel safe.

don't worry. i'll tell you if you're boring.

doesn't anywhere you grow up feel small?

you want to run when you're angry, don't you?

you're like a teenager, all hunched and sulking.

[praive]

" she's so young! " cried one woman, who moved to kneel down beside the girl lying still with death on the paving stone. before she got to her knees a man, likely her husband, swept her by the arm, wrenching her upright and warning her in an urgent tone that this girl had succumb to the fever.

most of the bodies were found in their beds, waxy and weightless, clutching to their bedsheets or their throats with their white faces tied up with the distress of their deaths ( asphyxiation, many presumed ). there were no discernible symptoms in those that were taken by this sickness, only that they were alive one morning and dead before the next. no one had seemed to take notice of the lesions, which stuck out glaringly to edward as he stared down at the lifeless girl, her small fingers positioned despairingly near her chin, wound up piteously in her own hair. he guessed her scarcely older than eight.

the strange thing about her was not that she hadn't died in her bed, but that no one appeared to know from which bed she could have risen. she had no mother at her side, no father. no one even seemed to know her name. " perhaps an orphan. " he remarked to the man beside him impassively. " from the children's home, across the bridge. " @harrydamour

[praive]

edward is not ghastly pale or cold as stone unless he is extremely underfed. otherwise he is warm to the touch, appearing livelier than even his human counterparts. when he is freshly satiated he has an angelic glow to his features, he is beautiful and alluring in a preternatural way.

[praive]

what is edwards sexuality in your canon?

i don’t think i have a single character that isn’t bisexual … specific to edward though i imagine he was solely interested in women prior to becoming a vampire - the contrary genuinely didn’t occur to him and likely wouldn’t have had he not lived to be well over a century with an eternity left for self reflection. regardless, he probably wouldn’t entertain a conversation about his sexuality. but yes he is bisexual

[t-800]

Bruce Abbott as Dan Cain ↳ RE-ANIMATOR (1985) dir. Stuart Gordon

[praive]

through the night and well into dawn i stood, gazing over the edge of the veranda, down into to the choppy black nothing of the north atlantic sea. for hours it taunted me and for hours i allowed it, watching the hallucinatory shapes of carlisle, rosalie, esme, their distorted features imprinted on the surface of the waves by the pale white reflection of the moon

at sunrise the vessel awoke with a shudder, jerking violently in each direction, fighting the crashing of the tide before succumbing to the soft earth and lying utterly still upon it. the ss balfour settled in the port of marseille just before nine, the coach awaiting him as if it had been fixed there, waiting patiently for him all his life. he thanked the driver, tipping him generously, entertaining an idle vision of killing this man as a burning fever rose through his chest, tightening his throat. he shunned the thought, forcing his mind over instead to the clicking of horse hooves, to the pen and open notebook he clutched gravely, etching senseless and distracting shapes.

as carlisle had warned him, giulio did not make himself easy to find. days went on, then weeks which turned to months, the hours searching and researching drumming by to no foreseeable end. it was just at the precipice of losing hope that giulio found me.

at a library, in some unremarkable place he could not have cared to remember the name of, in a place that edward had intended only to receive directions. there he sat ( he was sure of it ), his large smooth hands folded neatly in front of him, gazing impassively upon edward as if he had anticipated his arrival, as if like the carriage that awaited him on the shoreline of france this man had been sat at this very library, awaiting edward all his life.

he approached him, his hand coming down to rest quickly upon the surface of the table as if it might vanish if he did not feel for himself the shape of it. for a moment he only stares at this man in astonishment, before at last with a steely sureness; " my name is edward cullen. you've done a remarkable job at hiding from me. " @vinduri

[praive]

if there is a certain dynamic you can see between edward and your muse and you want to plot like this and i will hit you up! im open to any dynamic, chemistry contingent

[praive]

…

[queenwooooof]

( ☾ )

A. ALLISON; ’ no one can help if you don’t let them in ’

“ i don’t appreciate you prying into my life. ” he must have sounded cruel, but it was the truth. he turned away from her as they walked, his body avoiding hers as she pushed on behind him. “ study the dogs, hunt them like game if you like. but leave me and my family out of it. ” @queenwolf

if  she  is  deterred  by  his  supposed  cruelty,    she  has  a  terrible  way  of  showing  it.    allison  is  steps  behind  him  though  his  gait  is  somewhat  otherworldly.    but  unfortunately  for  him,    hers  is,    too.    ❝    i  didn’t  come  for  the  dogs.    ❞  this  is  only  a  half  -  truth.    he  knows  it  is.    ❝    i’m  not  here  to  harm  anyone.    least  of  all  your  family.    i  have  my  own  to  protect.    we’re  on  the  same  side.    ❞

[praive]

his shoulders rise and fall then with silent laughter, and with unimaginable quickness so she might have fallen into his chest, edward turns suddenly to face her. " harm us? " he says, in a manner that mocks her, as if the idea itself is absurd. " my family doesn't fear you. " you are a nuisance. " if the safety of your family is in your interest, i suggest you go find them. "

[rosulie]

the outreach of the rose had felt more like an offering than a symbol of welcoming. she takes the rose, slender fingers brushing the stem ever so gently ... did he truly mean for this kindness? she wonders. it was not one she was familiar with, no, certainly not after the past few hours she had experienced. the light hazels look up from the soft pink petals and she transmits her vision from the kindness shared, to the man ahead. ❛❛ thank you. 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭. ❜❜ and yes, she had an affinity with things beautiful, yet she certainly had no intent of using this goodwill against him.

for the most part, she was fascinated by them. his tranquil state had very much foiled her own, and she feels restless, her hair soaking (blood spilled now blood washed away — even if it didn't feel like that currently). still, an inquisitory disposition is ever-present and she lets her mouth shift into patterns for her. not quite confrontationally upfront but not a hidden intent either. ❛❛ this place ... it's stunning. how long have you been here? ❜❜

[praive]

he thanked her, peering around the parlor then as if he too were marveling at it for the first time. it was truly an impressive edifice; an 1800s work of art donning vaulted ceilings, rounded angles, great stained glass windows, all adding to its charming dollhouse - like appearance. carlisle had gone through the trouble ( it seemed an unimaginable one to edward, moving these numerous objects around with him so many years, though he seemed to find it a pleasure ), outfitting it in decades and decades worth of artifacts he had collected. paintings sought out by historians, rugs weaved in iran, turkey, pakistan, india. marbled busts carved by the vatican, rows and rows of books filled with poetry, literature, history, any sort of book you could possibly imagine from all corners of the earth.

“ twelve years. ” he began to count them back in his head, from twelve to one, recounting events from each and sharing these mundane details with her. details about the house, about carlisle’s many possessions, about how long they were permitted to stay in one place before townspeople became suspicious, about any number of things that sprang to his mind. there was a point he became acutely aware that he must have been boring her to death, but he couldn’t stop. it was as if his words and actions were not his, as if they had been robbed by a person so desperate to be listened to that he refused to stop speaking. he couldn’t recall the last time he had conversed like this, so openly, with anyone other than carlisle himself.

at last he fell silent, having told her everything he could think to about this house, eyeing her from where he stood some distance away with mirrored fascination. “ how are you managing, rosalie? this all must be so strange to you. ”

[saintmelangell]

Simone Weil, First and Last Notebooks, trans. Richard Rees

[praive]

need to explore edward and carlisle’s dynamic actually, during the early years, when edward looked at vampirism with mystery and beauty and meaning

[praive]

i entirely forgot that carlisle envisioned / hoped edward and rosalie would fall in love, which makes me wonder if carlisle chose to change rosalie while seeing edward so unhappy as an attempt to give him purpose and someone to grow close to / confide in.

[praive]

H, ROSALIE. ' i know you're dangerous, but i also know you won't hurt me. '

“ of course not. ” he murmured to her, his voice faintly a whisper. it was the night carlisle had taken her life; this girl, feeling now as an absolute stranger in their home. he couldn’t make any sense of it. why hadn’t carlisle, finding her clearly calling out for merciful death, gently eased her suffering into sweet reprieve? why instead had he wretched her soul from her mortal body with the hand of a backwards god, calling a blackness into her like fever? during what i can recall of the following decade, i suppose i felt betrayed.

his golden eyes set evenly upon hers, smiling serenely. he holds out a single pink rose to her, one which he had plucked clean of all of its thorns. “ welcome to the family, rosalie. ” @rosulie

[praive]

' how many people have you killed? ' she asks this with a taunting nature. the question riles him, his face contorting furiously. he knew that she meant to see a reaction in him, so he decided she would have one. " what a shallow existence you lead. so arrogant, yet so threatened by the presence of me - as if you can hear the thoughts that i do. as if you know how quickly he would hand you over for me. " whether that was true, he did not know, but he felt good having said it. @withc