Neither light nor shadow — never an outcast, never embraced. An angel-faced boy with sharpened teeth. Once gentle, once sacred ; now fallen far beyond grace, drifting somewhere between saint and sinner. Behind those gleaming eyes of liquid-gold lingers the mind of a calculated murderer. Beneath silk, lace, and carefully chosen femininity, something far more dangerous hides — something that knows exactly how to lure, how to touch, how to ruin. There is no place left for him to belong — no heaven, no hell that would claim him. Freed from all that was good and holy, he moves unseen. And when he chooses you, it will feel like paradise ..
𝑮𝑶𝑳𝑫𝑬𝑵𝑺𝑰𝑵𝑺 ; a highly individual portrayal of Dr. Carlisle Luzier (née Cullen), the once so golden and altruistic surgeon who has betrayed all that what has mattered to find his true nature in blood. Forever 21. ━━ German preferred. Novelist. Selective with varying mid to high activity. 21+. mdni! general trigger warning for blood, gore, violence and sexual content. Respect my time as I do yours and spare me with your presence if you don't plan to stay.
[...] he remains a warrior lost in the dark, fighting a war within himself while refusing to let the last pieces of his soul fall apart. JTH. Est. 2010.
Growing up with empty pockets, he learned early on that money makes many things easier. He’s always been passionate about engines, oil, and anything with wheels. After his mentor’s death, he took over his workshop and quickly made a name for himself with his talent for tuning. Today, he’s considered one of the best in the scene—whether for motorcycle enthusiasts, street racers, or those who need fast vehicles for less-than-legal business.
Those who know him appreciate his skills. Those who don’t quickly get to know his more unpleasant side. Because not every debt is settled with money, and some of his favors lead deep into circles you’d be better off not messing with.
Despite his success, he keeps people at a distance. Too often, he has lost those who meant something to him. Instead, you’ll find him among engines, on a motorcycle performing risky stunts, or at night in the underground scene, where he pursues his second passion: rap.
But the deeper he delved into the underground, the more he encountered beings whose existence he had always considered a fairy tale. His interest grew, and the deeper he stepped into the shadows, the deeper he sank into the world of dark beings. Until he realized he felt at home there. Even though to this day he doesn’t know what he actually is.
𝗥𝗔𝗜𝗗𝗘𝗡 𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗕𝗔𝗧𝗔 ⠀ ⠀ owner of the BROKEN HALOS GARAGE ⠀ ⠀ ── ⠀ ⠀ original character inspired by F&F . semi to low activity, + 21, open for plotting, german and english, mutuals only, highly selective & not interested in any kind of drama. ⠀ ⠀ ── ⠀ ⠀ wire : fuelandfavor
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · · oceandaylight ❤︎.ᐟ cancer. cherry coke. shopping. animals. perfume. flowers. music. the sun. the moon. the ocean. the night. sunsets. crafted for fakevz.
୨୧ born and raised in newport beach, 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐑𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐬 grew up surrounded by luxury, expectations and people who cared far too much about appearances. for years she played the role everyone expected of her; the effortlessly popular girl, always smiling, always perfectly dressed and always one step ahead socially. but the truth was never that simple. behind the designer clothes and sharp wit was someone who felt everything far more deeply than she ever admitted. as she grew older, Summer stopped trying to fit into the image others had built for her and started building her own. she pursued higher education, became passionate about environmental activism, social justice and creating meaningful change, refusing to be reduced to the stereotype people saw at first glance. beneath the humor, sarcasm, and carefully maintained composure lies someone constantly searching for purpose, connection, and a life that feels authentic rather than performative.
𓇼 credits / writer is 21+ and writes with other 21+ writers only. semi-active due to real life, but always happy to discuss plots, connections, and future storylines. open to messages, ideas, and character dynamics. please take a moment to read my rules before interacting.
Aurelia Vance is the ultimate enigma in the modern fashion world. To the high-fashion industry, she is an aloof, ice-cold icon who rarely speaks a word, radiating an aura of absolute unreachability. Yet for Aurelia, modeling is no ego trip it is the perfect cover. No one questions a glamorous life, constant travel, or the fact that she simply does not age when she is already perceived as an eccentric global superstar. Behind this cold, distant facade, however, hides one of the oldest and most powerful beings in existence. Born in late tenth-century Florence and turned in the eleventh century shortly after the Originals, Aurelia belongs to the absolute power elite of the supernatural universe. Her physical strength and speed surpass almost every vampire she encounters, and her mind control is so potent that she can effortlessly manipulate the psyche of younger vampires. For centuries, she has witnessed the intrigues of the Mikaelsons, survived wars, and watched empires fall. This endless lifetime of loss has taught her to view her emotions as a weakness and to shield herself behind a wall of ice. Yet those who break through this wall will find a deeply kind, loyal heart. Aurelia detests senseless bloodshed and the death of innocents. Instead, she uses her immense power to turn feeding on live human blood into a gentle, virtually unnoticed art form. She feeds directly from humans, but first manipulates their minds through compulsion so that the experience feels like a heady, beautiful dream to her donors. Before she leaves, she heals the wound with her own blood and erases all memory of the encounter. Despite her cold mask, she possesses an unwavering protective instinct. When innocents are dragged into the bloody power struggles of witches, werewolves, or the Mikaelsons, she intervenes anonymously from the shadows. She does the dirty work, saves lives, and acts the next day on set as if nothing had happened. This hidden warmth, however, is also her greatest vulnerability: once Aurelia lets someone in, she loves unconditionally a gamble that repeatedly puts her in grave danger in a world full of betrayal.
Gestern waren sie laut. Heute werden sie leiser. Morgen sind sie still. Sie sprechen zu mir. Die Stimmen der Natur. Sprechen sie zu mir, oder ist es ein Gefühl? „Hör nicht genau hin, Mayari, bald kannst du sie nicht mehr von der Realität unterscheiden“, hatten mich die Dorfältesten gewarnt. Was meinten sie damit? Die Wälder seien nicht nur freundlich, hatten sie gesagt. Die Wälder, in denen ich groß geworden bin, sollen gefährlich sein? Eine Gabe, ein Fluch, schemenhafte Gestalten aus Nebel, eine Tür aus Wurzelholz, Visionen, der ewige Nebelwald, und dann… wieder nichts. Bloße Leere, lautes Schweigen. Das war meine Kindheit. „Sie ist noch ein Kind, es ist nicht ungewöhnlich, dass sie imaginäre Freunde hat“, hatte meine Mutter immer wieder gesagt. Ich weiß, dass sie oft versucht hat, darüber hinweg zu sehen, dass ich mit dem Wind geflüstert habe. „Nein, sie hat den Nebelblick.“ Die Worte des Dorfältesten klangen beinahe wie eine Beleidigung und gleichzeitig hörte ich Faszination heraus. Meine Finger zeichneten das spiralförmige Mal auf meiner Hand nach, das ich seit der Geburt trug. Es pulsierte, mein Kopf schmerzte, und dann war alles finster.
Das war damals. Heute bin ich kein Kind mehr, das verängstigt die Augen schließt. Ich habe gelernt, den Nebel nicht nur zu sehen, sondern mich in ihm zu verbergen. Die Stimmen sind geblieben, und sie führen mich tiefer in die Wälder, als es jedem Dorfbewohner lieb wäre. Ich suche nicht mehr nach Antworten im Wind. Ich suche nach einer Spur, die elf Jahre alt ist. Nach einer Tür aus Wurzelholz. Und nach ihm.
balanciert ihr Leben zwischen der Isolation im abgeschiedenen Dorf Windtal und den Hörsälen Schottlands, wo sie sich dem Studium der Pharmazie und Botanik widmet.
He works behind the pages everyone else obsesses over – somewhere between draft copies, fabric samples, and the quiet hum of deadlines approaching. At Vogue, his name is small, almost invisible, tucked into bylines and margins, but his vision is everywhere.
He notices what others overlook: the way a sleeve falls, the story hidden in a silhouette, the emotion stitched into a collection. Fashion, to him, was never just clothing. It’s language. It’s feeling. It’s the only place where his thoughts make sense without having to speak them out loud. Because off the page, he’s quieter than you’d expect. Not cold, not distant – just careful. Words sit on his tongue a little too long, and in crowded rooms, he prefers observation over attention. He’ll stand at the edge of a runway show, notebook in hand, capturing everything except himself. His creativity lives in contrasts — soft ideas shaped into sharp editorials, fragile thoughts turned into something bold enough to be printed. He doesn’t chase the spotlight; he builds what ends up inside it.
𝑨𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒚 𝑪𝒐𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒓 — working for Vogue in New York. Original character, semi-selective, low activity, slow replies, mdni 21+, English or German, crossover friendly and open for plotting.
𝑰𝑳𝑨𝑹𝑰𝑨 𝑫𝑬 𝑽𝑨𝑳𝑶𝑴𝑩𝑹𝑬. They say the fire at the estate took everything, but it really just left me with a debt I can’t stop paying. I carry the name of a fallen Italian house and a wealth that feels more like lead in my pockets than a privilege. My life is just a collection of things I can’t explain. The smell of bitter herbs from a woman whose face I’m starting to forget, the cold weight of a dagger I shouldn’t need, and those terrifying, empty gaps in my head where entire hours just vanish.
I’m starting to realize some secrets aren’t buried in the past. They’re pulsing right here in my veins, just waiting for me to let them out.
own character, italian and french roots, split existence, currently based in boston. mama of a black cat named tenebra, with a passion for (old) books and martial arts. interested in plotting and deep conversations. match making sheet | pinterest
Sie war alt geworden, ihr Geist verwirrt, ihre Augen trüb… die Frau, die in den tiefsten Kellern der Residenz lebte. Jene, die Ilaria großgezogen hatte. Zwischen den Verpflichtungen, der Aneignung ihres Erben, den Aufgaben, die sie laut ihres Papàs schon als junges Mädchen hatte übernehmen müssen, um auf alles kommende vorbereitet zu sein, war sie es gewesen, die ihr das Gefühl von Kindheit und Zuhause gegeben hatte. Und jetzt lag sie kraftlos da, die Jahre hatten ihren Tribut gefordert, sie verändert.
Ihr rasselnder Atem schrie beinahe nach dem Tod, und während die alte Frau im Sterben lag, trat Ilaria an ihr Lager. Ihr vertrauter Duft mischte sich mit dem schweren Duft aller Kräuter, mit denen sie Ilaria bei dem kleinsten Anzeichen einer aufkeimenden Krankheit versorgt hatte. Sie hasste diese Kräuter. Sie würde diese Kräuter ewig vermissen.
Ilaria wollte ihr den Übergang erleichtern, ihr in ihren letzten Momenten auf dieser Erde die Schmerzen nehmen, die ihr die sonst so sanften Gesichtszüge verzerrten. Also zog sie den schwarzen Samthandschuh aus und legte ihre bloße Hand auf die Stirn der Sterbenden. Sie wollte ihr Frieden schenken. Ihren Schmerz übernehmen.
Doch das Schicksal einer Valencre kennt keine Gnade.
Ihre Berührung sorgte nicht für ein sanftes Einschlafen. Die Erinnerungen der Amme… die Lieder, die sie gesungen hatte, die Wärme, die sie einst gegeben hatte… alles schien physisch aus ihr herausgesogen zu werden. Das Licht in den Augen der Amme erlosch nicht langsam; es wurde ausgelöscht.
Ihre Züge wurden glatt, jede Spur ihres gelebten Lebens verschwand aus ihrem Gesicht. Sie war lediglich eine anonyme Hülle aus Fleisch und Knochen, nichts war mehr von ihr übrig. Die alte Frau starb nicht als die Frau, die Ilaria geliebt hatte. Sie starb als eine Fremde, deren gesamte Identität in Ilarias Handfläche verbrannt war.
Dieser Tag veränderte nicht nur das Schicksal der alten Frau, es besiegelte auch Ilarias Schicksal.
