#amélie castaignéde

[amescastaignede]

REACTION / SELF PARA.

WHERE: The Walking Trail. Night time. EVENT: The Camp Out, 24' SUMMARY: Amélie needed to get away from it all. The shirts, his family, the loneliness when she realised they were all intertwined.

Cut people out, avenge those who need it, and stay strong.

It was a mantra she'd repeated since she arrived, and it was now that realised...she sucked at it. She had no control over anything, or anyone...or herself, or the man she'd loved.

Nothing.

It was an overwhelming feeling.

The crushing in her chest, the clog stuck in the hollow of her throat with its threat to explode every time she opened her mouth and the static buzzing like a live wire in her head: reminding her that having a panic attack in front of his entire family at a festive-styled event was not what was expected of someone on the London Advocate team.

And certainly not of someone linked to his family, and seemingly friends. MPs, politicians, lawyers, filthy rich: the kind of money that allowed corruption to leak into every part of their lives. She was lumping them all together, unfairly so, for some...but the whole thing was piling on top of her like a never-ending avalanche.

Amélie would not give them the satisfaction of watching her break.

Those who laughed when she walked past, others with pity. It was her own fault, that inner voice chided, a repeat offender when she spiralled into this all-too-familiar place. Somewhere she might've made her home if she hadn't experienced what life could be like.

Before she gave it all a way to stick by her beliefs.

Those shirts, though, in all variations of colour...and — and his face.

Amelie gulped for air like a person dying of thirst would gulp down water and begged the high heavens to give her strength to stop the warping in her ears now, her heart beat so loud she could count the rhythmic thumping in her chest.

The people in this place thrived on that, fed on it until they were full, power-hungry. Every person she'd come into contact with had their hands in the pot, someway, somehow. And she was meant to walk around as if their hands were not soaked in the blood of the many innocent lives taken in London.

If she just kept walking, it'd keep her occupied: something to do. In a place like this, where the outdoors was so vast, she'd stuck to the clear path (hoping that the Duke of Edinburgh award would come in hand if she found herself lost.) and peddled forward...but the farther away she got, the more it got harder to breathe.

The grasp she'd barely had on her emotions unravelled in one.

Unable to contain it, finally far enough away that she wouldn't draw a group to her: she let out a yell, so deep and guttural it almost sounded inhuman, so unlike her, so deeply pained that the ground met her knees before she had the chance to stop herself.

It wasn't just Gideon. It was them. The sound of laughter, of yells of a different kind to hers, the free-flowing alcohol...like their country wasn't starving, their people dying: and the wealthy got wealthier, while poor...got poorer. Their money, made on the back of lies, and deals and promises that fell through or ended in the murder of someone who was someone to somebody...

she tried to breathe, tried to calm down the heaving of her chest, but it only worsened. Amélie had received a letter a couple of days before her arrival detailing the new part of her job.

*An amendment to her contract.

Amélie's relationship breakdown with Gideon hadn't just affected her personal life, but her work had very much changed in the months that followed. Less time on the French, more time spinning stories. That was what they'd expanded on. She was here on Felicity's orders to write a piece that showed the Rutherfords in a favouring light — and make sure the French were shown to be exactly what they were.

Her notebook, stashed in her tent, was filled with information she'd spotted on her wonders: and none of it was useable. Regardless. It implicated more people than she cared to admit. It was a farce.

The lot of it.

And like a fool...she was, unfortunately so, forever entwined.

[msmelissalin]

FOR: @erdogan-nevra EVENT: The Camp Out, 24' WHERE: Melissa's Tent.

Benjamin had been made to wait outside like a guard dog.

The sentiment alone had brought a laugh from the usually stoic woman, shooting a glance over her shoulder to the woman entering. "You look well, Nevra." As big a compliment as someone would get from Melissa when they were out in the wilderness. "I never intended to ask you to do anything this weekend," she paused, and she meant it. There was some guilt, especially as she'd grown to respect Nevra.

Grabbing her notebook out of her bag. It was where she kept her track of her own personal finance for the weekend. Melissa maintained her organization, even when she was out in the wilderness. "But it's not something I can do myself without causing myself more trouble than it'd actually be worth."

After the near-sleepless night she'd had with Gideon on the floor, her mind had been at war with itself. Over their...what did she even call it? Friendship? Enemies? It was this constant battle of a balancing board...but he'd stayed.

And that alone meant she owed him. And anyone who knew Melissa, knew a debt was a debt until paid. And she hated it. "Do you know much about Amélie Castaignéde? The librarian looking thing." And still, no matter how nice she was being, she wasn't that nice. "I need you to go and check on her. The Rutherford's can be ruthless, and she is now alone. Amongst...all of them." And more. "For Gideon's sake." she felt the need to add.

In reality, she cared none for the girl. But he did.

"Don't burden yourself, but if its a problem, report it to me or Benjamin."

[amescastaignede]

Amélie had been more of a mess than usual tonight.

Which wasn't hard: but when had she ever made anything easy for herself?

She'd be lying if she said she wasn't happy that Gideon hadn't been around to see those cracks in her already thinly veiled exterior. That the embarrassment she brought herself time and time again had effected that sunny disposition she tried to apply to herself. Even in her most authentic self, Amélie Castaignéde had never been very good at social interactions.

And until tonight, she thought she'd been learning.

She hadn't been sure which moment exactly had led to those moments of fear that always found a way to delve into her soul. There were some things even she liked to attempt to keep from infecting her relationship like the disease it was. People often mistook it as something that cute, or sweet.

It was soul destroying, but even she found comfort in it sometimes.

Like now, as she walked alone, in her own world. It was finally settling, that gut curdling worry. She was enjoying herself, the solitude nothing short of relaxing, halls larger than her apartment span out before her.

And then he found her, a door shutting, and lips finding each others with more steam than she'd ever thought of in public; but she didn't care in the secret of this room.

Amélie couldn't help but smile against those lips, the very ones that had been hers for a while now. In their own bubble, their own world without the prying eyes and questions of too many. She liked this. His touch, his scent, that god damn voice that sent a shiver rippling down her spine. Gideon was both comforting and electrifying. She melted into his embrace, feeling the weight of the evening slip away.

"Tell me you missed me."

"Oh, I don't know." she murmured teasingly with a grin, her voice barely above a whisper. "I was having a riverting inner conversation about secretly moving into this house and never leaving." Amélie's pretend facade melted a moment later, her own lips finding the corner of his lips, the connection of his jaw. It was true, she'd missed him terribly the times they were apart, surrounded by the suffocating air of social expectation and polite conversation.

But being alone meant she pushed herself.

"Of course I missed you. Miss me?" breathless, chest heaving.

His touch a balm to her skin. In moments like these, behind closed doors where it was just the two of them, she felt free to shed the layers of pretense and simply be herself. Stutter slowed, she relaxed. Gideon had that affect, to calm her.

LOCATION —  The Royal Albert Hall [Awards 2024] DATE — March 22nd, 2024. STARTER — closed for @amescastaignede

He doesn't like to hover when they're at public functions together.

Sometimes, he gets the feeling she'd prefer it. Sees her eyes light up and her nervous energy settle ever so slightly when he draws closer to her in a crowd. It makes him feel tender, too, to know he has that effect on her.

But Gideon doesn't want to be her crutch. Not when his life involves more publicity than he's ever wanted, and a degree of attention that's unlikely to die down in this lifetime. If Amélie's to survive it, if she's to be at his side, metaphorically, they both need to know she can handle it. That means working the room together and apart.

... It doesn't mean he has to like it.

In fact, he likes it much better like this, in private, after having found her three minutes ago, snaked his fingers around her wrist, and led her promptly to room where he knew they'd have the privacy. It pays in strange ways to know the Berkeley estate so well.

"I left you alone far too long, I'm sorry." He finds the soft underside of her jaw, tilting it upwards as he kisses her intently. Hungry, starving. Desperate for the chance to forget so many things about tonight, even for just a couple of hours. "Tell me you missed me."

[amma-castaignede]

where: vixen when: idk time isn’t real  who: open! @mobscene-starters​

The girl in the mirror was not her - grey eyes lined dramatically in a way that almost hid her shock, a daringly short black dress enthusiastically lent by her roommate. With the critical eye of a classical dancer, an editor’s eye, she studied her appearance, turning to begrudgingly admire the curves she generally hid under boxy jumpers. Amélie leaned closer, swiping her nail along the edge of her bottom lip to remove nonexistent smudge of deep red lipstick. The club thrummed a heady beat in the background, an intoxicating pulse of promise and seduction. Or so she assumed. Amélie didn’t like to drink much.

Tonight she would pretend, at the very least have one to nurse. She’d arrived at Vixen approximately five minutes earlier, taken one look at the crowd and headed straight to the ladies room. It was early in the night, Amélie having very little club experience was not aware that the so called ‘cool kids’ did not arrive until after midnight. So the ladies room was surprisingly empty and she was able to have a minor meltdown in the mirror relatively undisturbed.

Amélie squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath while she counted slowly to thirty - until the first hint of lightheadedness. Focus - you can do this. No more hiding Castaignéde. 

Ten minutes later and the blonde was perched uneasily at the edge of a dark booth, nursing some drink she’d panic ordered and deeply regretting every single choice that lead her to this moment. At the sudden presence of someone sinking into the seat next to her, Amélie flinched slightly and turned. 

“Please forgive me,” she tried not to flush, “I did not know if this table was occupied but I did not see anyone here. I do apologize.”

[amescastaignede]

AMÉLIE CASTAIGNÉDE’S THEME TUNE. 

Summary; If Amélie was in a movie or a tv show, this would be the song that would play for her. 

[amescastaignede]

CANON POINTS REGARDING AMÉLIE’S PERSONALITY. 

Amélie is twenty six years old and is a virgin. Partially by choice, and the other part is that she’s never felt comfortable enough or close to anyone in order to get that far. There was an ‘almost’ in college which she’d quickly found a reason to leave and never thought about again for the anxiety it brought was scary enough.

She has always been this anxious since she can remember, there was a significant moment that made her this way. She’d always been shy and socially awkward. it’s just who she was. People scare her, their motives and the fact that you can never truly know what someone is thinking or going to do. 

Amélie is the type to see the chairs all over the place in the library and fix the chairs herself like the chair arrangement is disrespectful enough to make her go out of her way.

Amélie would rather read books than converse with people. She finds classics are her favourite, but is partial to a coming of age novel or romance. She lives vicariously through them because she’s aware she struggles to have those moments herself.

Amélie lives in a maisonette apartment in Islington that has a condemned roof, shoving the sash window up in her bedroom, she often puts her records on before climbing up onto the room to watch the sun set and clumsily dances around. It’s her safe space, even though she’s aware that at some point the roof might cave in. Up there are two rusty old camp chairs that she will sometimes drink wine with Maria on and pretend they’re somewhere far away, in an exotic country because they’d can’t afford to actually go.

Amélie’s two most treasured thing in her home are her record player and her plants. She has a whole wall of records that she’s been collecting for years. Her most prized record is The Cure because it has ‘Pictures of You’, one of her most cherished songs. And her plants each have their own induvial names, she often gives them ‘baths’ where she puts a little bit of water in the bottom and leaves them there for a while.

Amélie hates drugs with a passion. She tried weed once in college and decided it wasn’t something she ever wanted to try again. She also drinks but not heavily at all. She doesn’t like the feeling of being drunk, it might be to do with the fact that the first time she got drunk she felt ill for days after and ever since then she sticks to a few glasses of wine. — however, she wouldn’t completely oppose to getting drunk again for something like a special event if she was with the right people.

Amélie is Christian and believes heavily in god. While her family were not people who pushed it upon them, she took it upon her self more so. Often going to church and trying to uphold being a good and loving person. Although she doesn’t believe in all of their values, she attempts to uphold what she can.

She is often laughed at by her friends for her choice of clothing, especially the more ‘girly’ or out going ones. The first time she ever met Alexis was in a toilet in a night club and a comment was made about her wearing her mothers clothes. 

[amescastaignede]

These are links to information you can read regarding Amélie Castaignéde. This contains only a few of the created pages and links. The full navigation has a more extensive list, however, the most prominent are listed below.

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Amélie’s NPC’s. (in progress)

[amescastaignede]

Is someone being a part of the mob a deal breaker for her? Could she maintain a friendship/relationship with someone who was?

''Yes. It's a deal breaker''

There was no other way of putting it, there was not a lightly or maybe. Could she deal with someone who actively chose a lifestyle that hurt and killed people without reprieve? No. She'd been sheltered her whole life from that world and had never known what hunger and starvation were like. Did not know of the brutality others had to face to simple stay alive. --- Her view was naive and selfish to place everyone into category's the way she did, but Amélie knew no better. Had only felt the pain that life had shadowed her family with.

''To actively choose to bring such darkness in the world is to feel God's wrath upon them.'' Hand instinctively going to the cross she wore around her neck, cold against her fingers. ''I am only dealing the hand of justice to those who have no regard for human life.''

[amescastaignede]

AMÉLIE CASTAIGNÉDE : THE CAMP OUT, 24'.

[amescastaignede]

Amélie Castaignéde's London Awards 2024 Attire.

Location: Royal Albert Hall Accompanied by: @drrutherford When: 23rd of March, 2024.

[amescastaignede]

Amélie Castaignéde's Valentine's Auction Event Attire.

Venue: The Barbican Centre Date: Friday, February 23rd, 2024. Escorted by: @drrutherford

[amescastaignede]

AMÉLIE CASTAIGNÉDE’S AWARDS OUTFIT 2023. 

Extras: she is wearing coco chanel perfume, nails painted deep red, lips coloured deep crimson to match. Hair is pulled back while it falls in soft drop curls down her back and her iphone case has been coloured to match her dress and shoes. 

Outfit: Pre-awards.

Date: 31st of March 2023.

Accompanied by: Gideon Rutherford. @drrutherford

[amescastaignede]

AMÉLIE CASTAIGNÉDE’S AFTER PARTY OUTFIT 2023. 

Extras: she is wearing coco chanel perfume, nails painted deep red, lips coloured deep crimson to match. Hair has now been let down to fall in curls around her face and her clutch is jet black to match her change of outfit that shows more skin than she’d usually show and shoes have been changed to a pair of high Jimmy Choos to length her already long legs. 

Accompanied by: Gideon Rutherford. @drrutherford

[amescastaignede]

Amélie Castaignéde

Amélie has an eccentric collection of vintage typewriters that she loves to tinker with. She finds the sound of typing on them soothing and often uses them to draft her articles before transferring them to a computer. She believes it helps her stay connected to the art of storytelling.

Amélie has a distinctive fashion style that reflects her quirky personality. She loves to mix vintage and modern clothing pieces, creating outfits that stand out and express her individuality. She's often seen wearing colorful mismatched socks and accessorizing with unique handmade jewelry. Her favorite style, however, combines a lot of eighties accessories, from scrunchies to over sized denim jackets with patches and an array of old dresses she's sewn and remade herself.

She practices journaling as a way to manage her anxiety. Filling her journal with daily reflections, gratitude lists, and creative doodles. Which she also incorporates mindfulness exercises into her routine, such as meditation and deep breathing, to help calm her racing thoughts.

Despite her struggles with social anxiety, Amélie has a knack for impersonations and accents. When she feels comfortable around close friends or family, she often surprises them with her ability to mimic different voices, adding a touch of humor to their interactions.

Despite her dedication to investigative journalism, Amélie secretly enjoys indulging in cheesy romantic novels. She finds comfort in the predictable happy endings and uses them as a form of escapism when she needs a break from the intensity of her work. Although, her favorites are the classics.

Amélie believes in spreading positivity and kindness wherever she goes. She engages in random acts of kindness, such as leaving encouraging notes for strangers, buying coffee for the person behind her in line, or volunteering at local charity events. These acts not only bring joy to others but also help alleviate her own anxiety by focusing on the well-being of others.

She is Christian and is very active in her church. Amélie believes in god, and following his word. She is very serious about her faith, however; she is open-minded to all others, too. She is not one track minded, and will always listen to what someone else has to say.

We all know she's a bloody virgin.

She loves vanilla latte coffees.

[amescastaignede]

— FOR: PRE-CEROMONY. The London Awards @ The Royal Albert Hall.

— WHEN: 31st of March, 2023.

— CLOSED: Vincenzo Vespucci. @vinnievespucci​

Amélie had considered texting him when she’d seen his name up for nominations. That contemplating may have gone on for an hour or more before finally coming to the conclusion that unfortunately the embarrasment of her actions and the chaos of that day had indeed had an impact on her as a person. She wasn’t that kind of girl. She didnt go around kissing people especially after they’d just murdered people to keep her alive. However, now they were in the same vicinity and she caught him in her line of vision. Before she could even scamper off it seemed every person around them had to disperse. 

Oh no. 

Amélie Castaignéde could honestly say she was at a fork road. One telling her that he was a Mob Boss and could not be trusted for they ruined lives just as they French had done to her brother. She wanted blood for that in the form of ink on paper, of course. So why was it so hard to put him into that same box? What was different about this man?

She’d seen him murder. But that had been to protect her. She probably seemed a far cry from the god-fearing stuttering mess that’d waltzed into his life for a completely different meaning to how it ended. She’d heard non-stop from Felicity about the risk she’d imposed on herself.

However, her mouth was moving before her brain.

‘’Vincenzo --- ‘‘ Amélie greeted, a glass of champagne in hand. ‘‘It’s, uh, been a while.’‘ 

[amescastaignede]

"Unless I trip over my own feet and accidentally bring something down with me," her cheeks flushed a dark shade of crimson. "That happened...before." Amélie Castaignéde was a walking catastrophe when anything of value was placed near or around her, and she'd learned not to think otherwise. Looking in the long mirror again, a heavy sigh falling from between parted lips, she pulled her shoulders back and held her head high, just as instructed. "Like this?"

If there was one thing Amélie was glad for, it was the beginning of this...friendship? Amélie had Alexis and Leyla, but sometimes it was nice to meet other people too, and with Yvonne being Gideon's sister, it felt...more familial. Her head snapped back when she realized that Yvonne was way ahead of her, eyeing the dress with a gasp. "So regal, and so...sophisticated."

It was modest, too. Impressed was the best word she could come up with at that moment. That's the kind of dress her mother would have loved, not that they spoke enough these days for her to tell her of such things. Mathias had built a bridge so broken she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to cross it again.

"Red lip, maybe? Oh, I completely...forgot about makeup." Yep, she wasn't ready at all. Thankfully, her hair had been pre-curled that morning and left in their rollers. "I think red lip, bold eye might....make me look like a goth." turning back to Yvonne, she narrowed her gaze. "You going for blush colors? I think whatever you go with, you'll look fierce."

"Exactly. Just hold your head up high and walk in like you belong. No one will question a thing." There was a certain irony in those words leaving her lips, when Yvonne had spent her entire life feeling like she didn't belong.

"I decided earlier." She held up a baby pink dress with a black panel at the midsection and a cut out on the back. The fact that it was looser in the bust than most of her other dresses was an added bonus. She surveyed the dresses laying out on her bed. Soon enough they'd all be put away and she'd be in maternity dresses once again. It was probably time to refresh her maternity wardrobe, before a bump snuck up on her.

"I think you're underestimating yourself. Now, the next important question is: do you want a bold eye, or a bold lip?"