aurelia-mulciber:

Make Me Your Maria-- I'm Already On My Knees

Palpable tension rose in her stomach, thick knots twisting and curling as she glanced over the male. He who had been her protector for so many years had never been viewed with such an eye, but even as she peered closer, she noted the traces of masculinity that brought other women to their hands and knees before him. Proud jawline, eyes dulled with rich injection of alcohol, musculature in bearing that all noted he was a proper man and not someone to be trifled with. For a brief moment, there was fear of his abilities, though all wariness was easily quelled in the gentility of his touch. All would be well.

Lips parted in soft exhale, fingers loosening their grip against the fabric some as she allowed herself to feel the irreverence of his gaze, to revel somewhat uncomfortably in the changed looks Rodolphus offered. Stripped vulnerable to the core of her essence, as he had surely seen her so many times before, there was an altogether different air that evoked a posy tint to flood her cheeks. Mouth felt suddenly dry, a keen awareness of just how desperately she craved to feel his strength envelop her wholly rising in the back of her mind. She did not back down as he moved in, instead greeting his lips with a soft and supple welcome, a curiosity mixed with affection she’d only imparted to one other man.

Tendrils of desire waked in the heat of his lips against her own, unfamiliar hunger written behind such unusual kisses—it frightened her, to be privy to such new awakenings in body, though knew it was requisite to the sacrifice of her innocence unto his grasp. This was surely his acceptance of her proposal, and rather than to finagle with awkward details, had taken it upon himself to seize her wholly. Aurelia gave way without any fight, gentle curves melting into him as eyes shut to embrace the blanket of night he brought with him. Fingers slowly moved to walk the plane of his fabric-covered chest, the rigid contours familiar, and yet unknown all at once. In his grasp, she was supple, pliable, and giving of everything she stood to gift in that moment. Minute fear rang in the back of her mind, though the rest melded in a languorous ease. Years of trust, of companionship all led to this moment, and so she kissed him back, the taste of liquor stinging where only sweetness existed.

As her form gave into his without hesitation or protest, he knew that all lines had been crossed. They could not come back from this, and in that moment of significance, he didn’t believe either of them wanted to come back without the other. His hand cupped the fine curve of her cheek, tilting her up to him ever so slightly to grasp the pout of her lower lip between his mouth. Fingers dug into her lower back, the fabric of her dress folding beneath her touch, pushing her figure against his. His mouth drifted to the corner of her lips, a kiss placed there, before travelling across the curve of her subtle, soft jawline. A sigh, whether one of relief was not clear, was elicited against the base of her ear. Thumb brushed against her skin, drawing small circles across the softness.

“Come.” The word lingers between them, collecting dust, hovering in the corners with their many secrets. He takes her hand in his, her petite fingers curling against his own. Eyes never leave hers, the gaze between them seemingly unbreakable as their promises. He leads her to the bed; a familiar, engrained action to him, but there is a lack of malevolence in it now. He did not wish to take anything from her; did not covet her body as a thing for his pleasure. It was one of the few times that he ever wished to give something to someone else; how appropriate that it was she who would receive.

The buttons of his crisp white linen shirt her wore became undone slowly, as he watched her with an easiness he had thought impossible given their circumstances. To ease her uncertainty, he would lead them through their dance, at a pace fit for her. Skilled as a suppliant, he knew her to be; her docility would only aid her. “You look lovely, as ever.” He told her with a sincerity unknown to him; it was not a hollow compliment. That was moment he took his eyes from hers, and trailed them across her frame, illuminated by the white material grazing across it. He did not wish to tear away from her, but much rather he wanted the fabric to slip from her form. A goddess, in Persephone’s image. 

(Source: rodolphus-thedeviant)

Make Me Your Maria-- I'm Already On My Knees

aurelia-mulciber:

The weight of the previous night’s discussion rested heavily in her mind, normal light and airy spirits turned contemplative in the wake of her plea. If truth were to be told, Aurelia had come to regret the words spoken before, a sleepless night forcing certain conversation to replay over and over; she utterly cursed herself for having been so brazen as to beg Rodolphus for his immortal clutch on her innocence. Surely, he’d despise her and think her some impertinent little trollop, like so many other girls he’d bedded. In a perfect world, she’d wait until the throes of love were upon her, wait until the moment was steeped in heady lust and then indulge in sweet reward of years of chastity. Faced with the prospects, however, of a forthcoming wedding night to a man she feared, the notion seemed far away. Anxiety mandated a better solution.

Rodolphus was that solution, she reasoned. For years, she’d been entirely dependent upon him, both in nature of friendship and those topics broaching darker realms. With her innocence wrapped carefully in his ownership, the female felt secure in reasoning that Remington could not control her entirely. Demonoids owned her mind, Mulciber her body—that last remaining shred of possession would be given to the elder Lestrange male, ever safe in his able hands. He, her Dark Knight, her protector of Arthurian proportions wrought a strong sense of calm over her. There was no one else she’d rather give herself to, and the thought itself evoked a semblance of peace—something she’d not felt in some time.

The day itself had been spent trying to push away everything she’d spoken the night before, expenditures in shopping adding to an already massive closet. Dainty silks, flowing and open linens adorned lithe frame where usual crisp lines and feminine structure existed. Something in the ocean air served to relax her entirely, even rigid curls softening to a loose tumble over her shoulders. A gentility eventually took the apprehension from her mind, book perched in hand—a new purchase from the day as well. She would not dare to bring up the subject again, and hopefully, Rodolphus would forgive her brashness before their vacation was over. The whole idea had been silly and—

A knock. Looking up, the brunette’s brow creased in minute confusion, before she moved from the bed, setting book and bags of clothes aside before allowing a short appraisal of her appearance. The white fabric, though sheer, suited the vacation’s air and covered enough to maintain her modesty, though in habit, she brought a hand to tug the neckline higher some. “Rodolphus…” Aurelia exhaled, as she opened the door, dark eyes taking in the whole of his appearance. Something felt … different. Electric. Charged. A heavier energy bearing from his person than usual prompted her to exhale, almost shakily. “I, .. er … yes?”

Perhaps he had hoped—foolishly so, that his demeanor would change upon laying eyes on her. An errant thought, that he would not find his Aurelia behind the doorway, but another. Someone who had made no request of him, someone he could disobey without a word. Perhaps he had even wished that she would silence the stirrings within him. That he would see innocence before him, and all notions of lust would be extinguished by it; ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

He was a fool; unforgivably so.

 The door swung open and he stood in wait, as she appeared before him; doe-eyed, ready to be plucked, sweetness for the taking. Silence enveloped them in a chokehold. His eyes traced over her contours, lingering for far too long on the failing fabric’s task at covering her. They rested on her lips; those lips, which decorated her smiles, embellished her kisses, and accessorized her words. Why did he want them so? Was it because he could so easily have them? Was it the permission gained for an unsaid want? Or was it that he was only now realizing that the mouth of a girl he had loved in friendship since childhood had turned to the pouting lips of a woman he desired?

He took a step towards her, silent as ever. He would allow his actions to speak for him. Hands found her arms, his usual coarseness turned to gentility. His eyes met hers, a final plea he would offer her. Turn back now, or nevermore. He was upon her, mouth encompassing hers in a kiss never like that shared before between them. There had been kisses to cheeks, and foreheads; child’s play. This was a kiss of want and wanting. But he would heed her words. Though there was fervor coursing through him, there was no cruel desperation that so frequently accompanied his various affairs. Even without her request, he knew that he could only ever be gentle with her, for he had always feared breaking her under a mere word of displeasure, or look of disappointment. 

His lips melded with hers, as if they’d engaged in such an act countless times. He pulled her closer, her lithe form arching underneath the weight of the embrace. He would not let her go, not now—only by the fiercest protest would she become not ensnared by his trappings. She was his now. 

(Source: rodolphus-thedeviant)

Make Me Your Maria-- I'm Already On My Knees

Uncertainty plagued his thoughts, as liquor lit his insides alight; in devouring himself fragment by fragment, he found solace. He had taken to drinking more than was custom, for lack of escape. He could not leave her—would not leave her. He could not deny her request, yet he could not fulfill it with such ease, as she wished. He could not escape the thoughts of her supple form beneath his touch, yet he could not think of such things without grimacing at his own indecency.

He knew how to break and to bend; that was where his sweetest pleasures lay. He knew how to draw out those distinct feminine mewls of want, of desire, of lust. He knew how to illicit the sharpest intakes of breath from his lovers; his victims. There was expertise coursing through him; a masculine dominance, a birthright. He could take as he wished— and he had. 

But not her; never her.

 He, her protector; she, his salvation. Innocence incarnate, he had never laid his cruel hands on her. Never thought of what pleasure her flesh could bring to him. Though she was beautiful; a perfect pallor, a brightness in her eyes reserved for him, a smile he would end lives to see. Bur It would break all vows; it would be treason, one he would never be forgiven for. Even if no one knew, he would know, and with him the secret would fester, only to swallow him whole. He knew that without a shred of doubt, yet he had not only entertained the notion, he had given himself wholly to it.

He had not spoken to her yet that day, though the sun drew in across the horizon. He did not have words for her. He had only himself to give, and give he would to her. He set the empty glass beside the hollow decanter, finality in the action. The first note to a tragic symphony one would play over and over in one’s darkest moments.

The manor was quiet, the losing light dimming every shadow within it. He made his way slowly, with a new found stoicism. He focused only on the need present within him, for it was undeniable; he did hunger for her, impassionedly so. It fuelled his steps, his thoughts, and the unsaid words lingering on his lips. He would lose her on the fated day of her nuptials, but she would be his; to have and to take. He would give her away; but with him would remain her innocence.

The knock on the door of her boudoir was fervent. He made no greeting. 

I suppose I should make an official announcement, since I’ve been putting it off for far too long. I do apologize for my abrupt absence from the RPG though to be truthful I doubt it was of grave detriment to most of you. I really did love being a part of this RPG for the most part, and it allowed me the opportunity to dig deeper into my characters than I ever have before. There were many things I had difficulty coming to terms with though, but that’s just a part of writing with different individuals. I have my own opinion about the revival of this RPG sans the original creators, but it’s not up to me to decide what happens. Either way, thank you for giving me the opportunity to write with you all and perhaps we will encounter each other some time in the future! Rodolphus is of course up for grabs, and since all my other characters were OC’s written by myself or Tara and Paige, I will assume that their role will not be passed onto someone else. Adieu! 

r-lestrange:

The silence was, indeed, engulfing. Rodolphus’ words carried a hint of difficulty; a lingering taint that betrayed how harmful they had been to convey, despite the quickness with which they had been uttered. How unnatural the brothers appeared, in the midst of this revelation: one, fierce-blooded and passionate, now the very epitome of torpid insensitivity; the other, cold and apathetic, fuelled by sudden emotive urgency. Anger thrilled through Rabastan’s veins, though he could not be certain towards whom it was directed: the woman, for the difficulties she had caused; his brother, for not listening to sense; his parents and worse, himself, for not providing a more forceful opposition to the match.

“She cannot, or she will not?” he harshly requested. “Duties must be fulfilled.”

A bitter bile filled Rodolphus’ throat; the acidity choked his words, as rage began to turn his blood of ice to boiling temperature. His hands began to quiver with the need to lash out; violence against her, against himself, against the world itself. He wished to destroy; to wreak havoc as a means to appease himself. A childish want, and a fleeting one, but his anguished soul wished what wished. 

“I care not.” He replied in truthfulness. The semantics of the situation were trivial. What remained was the knowledge that the ends to his future had been decided upon without a single inquiry from himself. He would not further degrade himself by toiling with unchangeable notions. What was done was done, and he remained ever a fool.

A fool for her; always. 

r-lestrange:

“Hm..Bellatrix.”

Beside his brother, he sat, plush upholstery sinking beneath his weight. There was no hesitation in his conclusion. There was even less emotive indication in the words. Her name, blandly uttered. Yet, already, the younger Lestrange fought burning irritation. He had never wholly removed the unease that accompanied Rodolphus’ marriage, and since leaving Hogwarts, this discomfort had only increased as he observed the nature of the couples’ involvement in the war. Little by little, the initial pleasure he had found in his brother’s happiness was slowly leaking away. It was not helped by such moments as this, when malcontent ruined Rodolphus at his very core.

He turned, leaning forward, silently commanding his brother to divulge further information. Facts were required. Only then, would he decide on the manner of fraternal support to provide.

“Everything, Rodolphus?” he questioned. “Tell me of this deception.”

His hands slid down to fold down into his lap, his weariness shown clearly on his features. But slowly, as he thought of how to explain to his brother of the situation he found himself in; a situation of dire straits, he regained his strength ounce by ounce, fuelled with anger. Clearing his throat, Rodolphus’ eyes drifted to linger on Rabastan, his voice cold, entirely void of emotion. A facade of the brewing which was taking place beneath the surface. 

“She cannot provide to me- to our family, to our name, what it is that she has been created to do. She has failed me, and I have failed our father.” He wasted no time in the delivery of his confession. As he spoke the words and silence engulfed them, Rodolphus did not feel the ease he had hoped to gain from relieving the truth from himself. Instead, there remained a lingering hollowness within him. The truth was only quantified when spoken aloud, and how painful it was. 

r-lestrange:

He turned, as his brother’s voice finally pierced his lips. With one further appraisal of Rodolphus’ hesitation, Rabastan paced into his home, unfastening his cloak before tossing it onto a chair beneath an ornate mirror. In the glass, he observed. Such a tone had resided in his brother’s words. It was undesirable; an unpleasant chill that crept with foreboding intensity.

“Come.”

Insistent fingers splayed at his brother’s back, steering him into the sitting room that had functioned as their childhood retreat. Immediately, the fireplace soared to life, the flames’ amber glow forcing thick shadows to scuttle back into their corners. He released Rodolphus once they had reached comfortable seating, and, upon requesting food and drink from an elf, resumed his attention.

“Tell me what has happened.”

How he preferred the controlling actions of his brother in that moment. Rodolphus wished for nothing more than to be a puppet at the mercy of Rabastan, the only person he could ever have belief in any longer. His brother would be entrusted with his very body, and Rodolphus would be saved from the painful act of thinking. He walked with leaden steps, his form collapsing down onto the upholstery Rabastan guided him to. His head sank down to his waiting hands, and there he sat in silence. 

If he had been of sound mind, there would have festered in him the distinct feeling of cowardice, and weakness. He was a man that allowed himself to be destroyed by a woman, and even then he had not taken his destruction with the pride of man; instead he had run to the younger of age to seek comfort. In short, he was a failure of immeasurable proportions. Yet, none of this would occur to Rodolphus; not for quite some time. 

He knew not what to say in response. So simply were his troubles, yet so complex that words would not do them justice. He settled for “She lied…about everything, she lied.” 

r-lestrange:

“Rodolphus.”

Rabastan’s call carried on the wind, which bitterly cut across the surroundings. His brother’s form was unmistakable. But even at this distance, he could see that all was not well. In Rodolphus’s posture, there was defeat; in his motionless stance, there was lifelessness. With intensified purpose, he pressed forward, towards the flight of steps that led to the stone porch before the doors. Breathlessness threatened him, the walk having proven to be a challenge, in such unfavourable weather.

“Go inside, brother,” he said, affixing his sibling’s back with an unrelenting stare. Swiftly, Rabastan reached his brother’s side, his hand raising to glide across the heavy door with the tenderness of one who believed in the blood magic that sealed it. The enchantments quivered then disappeared; a shock visible in the air, as the locks were released. He looked into his brother’s face, observing the lack of existence that resided in its lines. Gently, he spoke, stepping across the threshhold, before holding the door for Rodolphus to pass.

“You know you do not need to wait. This is your home, for as long as it is mine.”

An unmistakable voice called out to him, yet he did not react to the familiarity. He knew it was Rabastan, and he knew even that he stood on the steps of his brother’s home, yet he knew not what to do with himself in the moment. To further even another step did not occur to him, nor did the thought of greeting his brother come to mind. Weakness draped over his form, but he stood ever steadfast, not allowing himself to succumb to the heaviness that weighted his heart with such sorrow to cause physical anguish.

He felt Rabastan move past him, reaching for the door to his residence. He did not move to allow his brother to lead the way, though he did so regardless. Even the open door before him did not pose the realization of an invitation. It took his brother’s words to reach his ears to ignite a spark beneath the numbness that pervaded through him. Rodolphus attempted the response that wrapped on his tongue, yet words did not follow. His voice was hoarse from the harsh words he had spoken with volatile rage mere hours ago. A croak was all that was left of his spoken wrath. 

“I don’t have a home any longer, brother.” Dejectedness filled his tone, and his eyes lingered across the threshold, as if testing it for stability before walking across.