#she disguises it with violence and rage but do not be fooled. she is so horribly afraid of what she's done to herself. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

redrobbingabank · 3 years

Text

Prison Break

Tw: lots of violence, blood

The white pastry box in her hands was heavy with the weight of the pie. Niki walked down the prime path the way she always did, smiling softly, sweater sleeves covering her hands. It had been a long time since she truly felt the way. She wasn’t sure when it had become a disguise, but it had, and everyone believed it without batting an eye. Beneath it, rage burned, hot but controlled. Always controlled. Her best weapon, she knew, was how she was perceived. Patience would pay off. Nothing but pain was coming for the people who’d locked her friend away.

She found Sam outside the museum. He leaned against the pillar, turning an unlit cigarette over and over in his fingers. He glanced up at her footsteps, then pushed himself off the pillar and pocketed the cigarette.

Niki smiled brightly. “Sam! I was just looking for you.” She hurried up the steps and under the awning outside the museum. The light rain a few feet away droned on.

“Hey, Niki.” Sam sounded tired. He looked it, too. Purple bags under his eyes were made starker by the unhealthy pallor of his face. “How are you?”

“I’m good. Are you okay?” she asked, arranging her features into a concerned look. “You look exhausted.”

Sam blinked a few times. “Yeah, I’m good. Just all the stuff that’s happened around the prison. Tommy, you know?”

No mention of Techno. Nothing about the lies, about how he and Quackity had pulled him away from his damn birthday party to lure him in. Niki nodded understandingly. “I’m sure it’ll all work out in the end,” she said. Then she held out the box. “I made you a pie. Felt like you might need a pick me up on guard duty so often.”

A small smile appeared on Sam’s face. “Thanks, Niki. I really appreciate that.” He took the box, opening it to find a pumpkin pie and cutlery taped to the side. “Pumpkin! My favorite.”

“I was hoping I remembered right.” Niki smiled again. There was a chance it wouldn’t work, she knew. That Sam would set it aside for later. But he had a parentlike streak. Niki had seen it in his interactions with Tommy. So she tweaked her gaze, made it subtly more hopeful and excited. Sam noticed, and freed the fork from the side of the box. He relaxed a little at the first bite of the comfort food and immediately ate more. “It’s good?” Niki asked sweetly.

Sam nodded. “It’s amazing. Thank you, Niki, really. I needed this.” He swallowed another bite, and two things that would oppose each other happened. First, his eyes widened with panic. Then they began turning glassy. “What…” his knees buckled, and he slowly slid down the pillar before falling sideways.

It had worked. Niki and Jack had been playing around for a while. Mixing potions together, testing the effects. They’d found a combination Jack had named Aurora’s Poison. Weakness, slowness, the scantest drop of harming, and a ground up petal from a wither rose. Death without stillness.

Sam’s face had taken on a bluish tinge, but his chest still moved up and down. His eyes were half open. “Niki… ” he mumbled, “help.”

Finally, the facade could fall. Niki’s smile turned into a cold smirk. She squatted beside him, strands of pink hair falling into her face. “Oh, Sam.” His lighter had fallen from his pocket. She picked it up and sparked it, studying the flame before looking back at him. “You don’t deserve my help.”

There was the faintest glimmer of realization in his eyes before they closed for good. “Sweet dreams, Warden. The Syndicate sends its regards,” Niki murmured. She stood. Let Quackity try to wake him. He was a living corpse.

She stepped back into the rain, her boots the only sound on the prime path as she returned to the underground bunker Techno had left in his instructions. Phil and Ranboo were already inside and suited up. There were two more pairs of netherite armor on stands against the back wall. One was for her. The second was for Techno.

“How’d it go?” Phil asked.

“Perfectly,” she replied, tying the straps of the chestplate. Phil’s armor had two bumps on the back, designed specifically to accommodate his wings. He had his sword in hand, shield leaning against his wall. A crossbow and quiver were slung across his back, and Techno’s sword hung from his belt. “Didn’t know what hit him.”

Ranboo looked the calmest Niki had ever seen him. Normally, he fidgeted constantly. Now, his hands were still, aside from the way they drifted to his axe handle. His face was set determinedly, and his crown hung from his armor stand, swapped out for a helmet. He’d been the one to get them the armor. It shone with the best enchantment the server could offer. Niki had known he was rich, but she hadn’t realized exactly how much he’d been sitting on. Her jaw had nearly dropped when, before they set out, he passed a totem to each of them.

“Need help?” he asked, taking half a step towards her when she started struggling with her gauntlets.

“I’ve got it.” Ranboo returned to the wall. He began tracing the blade of his axe lightly with his finger.

When she’d finally gotten all her armor in place, Niki crossed to the rack of weapons. She seized her bow and a quiver of harming arrows, slinging them across her back. She and Phil were the contingency plans if they were somehow pursued. Finally, she picked up her own axe. Its enchantments hummed, sending thrills up her arm. “Ready.”

“Ranboo?” Phil asked. The teenager nodded. “Alright, then.” He flicked the lever by the door. The sound of breaking glass filled the air as potion bottles broke. Niki felt the difference immediately, her bones strengthening with the magic. “Let’s go.”

Phil had known anger before. His life had been too long not to. There had been a time, before Techno, before Wilbur, that he let it consume him. Then Techno had arrived, and it was like impulse control had been installed. They were still formidable, of course, but Phil didn’t seek war anymore.

He knew grief, too. He knew the way it moved, the way it played with you until you wanted to sink beneath its waves and drown. It had consumed him after Wil’s death. He could hardly bring himself to clean his sword before he fell into a stupor in front of the fireplace. It had been Techno, again, who pulled him out of it. Who’d given him a new sword and convinced him to play war games until the sight of blood didn’t send him vomiting to the bathroom. There would be no Techno to pull him out if this went wrong. Phil might as well be dead too.

Ranboo and Niki followed him out of the bunker. The streets were empty as they silently made their way to the prison.

They didn’t bother to ring the bell. The three of them stood in the portal until reality straightened itself out. Phil had Techno’s will clutched in his hand. The bundle of papers had been empty, at first, until a few days ago. Writing had begun appearing, in Dream’s messy, spiked scrawl. Sam was a fool, Phil thought. He couldn’t take away Techno’s knowledge of spells.

He strode to the corner of the little room they were in. A loose tile was there, easily unnoticeable if you weren’t looking for it. Phil lifted it and threw it to the side. There was a loud crack when it hit the wall. He flipped the lever beneath it. “Thirty seconds before it resets,” he said, returning to the portal. Niki and Ranboo followed suit, and the prison constructed itself around them.

It was all so darkly decorated. Alright, edgelord, Phil thought sarcastically. They bypassed the waver on its lectern and the lockers to the side. Phil flicked the levers according to the code Techno had written. A door opened, and they took the tunnel Sam used into the next room.

Their way through the prison was marked by similar proceedings, and Phil’s mind was left to go on autopilot.

Techno knew it was a trap. He’d told him so a week ago, standing in the snow outside their houses. The moment he was out of sight, Phil had opened the will. He’d thought the message of the empty papers was clear: do what you want, lol.

So he’d gone to the stasis chambers and waited by the levers. Three days, he gave himself. Then he’d hit the lever, and Techno would be home safe.

Then it was four days, and Phil wasn’t sure why he’d waited longer. The pearls were a safety blanket. Using them would make things better. Unless what they revealed made it worse.

Then, on the fifth day, he’d woken up to a scratchy, crinkly noise from the will. Scrambling out of bed, he’d turned the pages over, and found the ink still wet. And what had Techno written, first thing?

PHIL, DON’T USE THE PEARLS. I NEED THE VIEWS FROM A COOL ESCAPE.

The dramatic little shit. But Techno had lain out his plan, and like always, it was smart. Phil had gathered the Syndicate, and they’d been ready.

A hint of nerves appeared in Ranboo’s eyes when they passed the iron door into the main cell area. Phil understood it. When they’d hung out, Ranboo told him how it was the point of no return, in a way. They all remembered what happened to Tommy. But Ranboo had three lives, Phil assured himself, and hoped the teen remembered too. He’d be fine. So would Niki. And Techno.

They travelled through the respawn checkpoints and extra rooms until they were in front of the lava wall. Ranboo glanced at the bed. “Should we set our spawn here?”

Phil shrugged. “I wouldn’t want to be spawn-trapped in here, but if you want to, go ahead.” Ranboo looked at the ground. Remorse tugged at Phil. “Sorry. Just a joke,” he said. Ranboo nodded.

Waiting for the lava to come down would take too long. Phil threw a few potions of fire resistance down on them and flipped the lever so the bridge would be safe when they returned. Then, with Ranboo and Niki standing on the bridge, he flipped the lever. He ran and leapt onto the bridge with the help of the jump boost pots from earlier.

The flames surrounded them in orange light. They couldn’t see each other. The lava tickled, almost, drying them off from the rain outside.

They came out the other side with a few blocks between them and the cell. Phil blinked a few times, readjusting to the low light, and froze. He hadn’t expected to be greeted by what was there.

Ranboo worried. It was in his nature. So of course, when he’d heard the plan, he took precautions for failure.

Tubbo was back in Snowchester with Jack by his request. They were in the control room, with a nuke armed and ready to hit the prison. Michael would be there too. Ranboo had made Tubbo promise not to let him out of his sight. Ranboo had never been more grateful for his husband’s habit of not asking questions.

His comms had been burning a hole in his pocket the whole way here. One message and it would all go up.

Now, though, he forgot all about the nukes as the bridge came to a stop at the cell block. Anger took its place. “Quackity,” he said in a near growl, “what are you doing.”

The scene before them looked like a horror movie. Blood, dry and fresh, coated the floor of the cell. Dream –– Dream –– was curled in the corner, shaking. Quackity stood in the middle of the room with a sword in his hand, grinning. And Techno.

Ranboo’s friend was standing by the back wall. His cape was torn. He was bleeding, too, but Ranboo couldn’t tell from where. He did, however, see the way Techno was just barely leaning against the wall behind him. His heart clenched.

“Oh, hey guys,” Techno said. Despite everything, his voice still came out strong and unbothered. “Nice timing.”

“Hey, guys.” Quackity flipped the sword in his grip so the point was against the ground, then leaned on the hilt. “Surprise seeing you here.” His easy grin didn’t reach his eye.

Ranboo vaguely remembered a day in old L’Manburg. He and Quackity had shared a pot of coffee and talked about Ranboo’s thoughts on people versus sides. He’d felt like Quackity understood. He’d thought he’d befriended someone who wouldn’t betray him. “Quackity,” he repeated, lifting his axe, “what are you doing.”

Behind him, Niki and Phil were moving. He didn’t pay attention to their movements, just trusting them to be ready.

“Ranboo,” Quackity said. “I get you’re probably mad. I saw you at Techno’s party, you two are friends. So first, I’m sorry you had to see this.” I bet you are, Ranboo thought. “Second, I’m only doing it because Techno’s a threat. I can’t let him be out in the world, causing problems.”

“You. Are. Torturing. Him,” Ranboo said. “Both of them!”

“Eh, Dream’s had it worse,” Techno shrugged.

“Shut up,” Quackity snapped. Ranboo’s temper snapped.

Of all the people in the room, Quackity probably hadn’t expected Ranboo to make the first move. It took him two steps to reach him, three more to shove him back against the wall. He held his axe to Quackity’s throat. “Who’s next on your list, huh?” he snarled. “Who’s the next ‘threat’ you’re gonna take out?”

Quackity’s eyes flashed. “Well, I hadn’t been thinking on it much,” he grinned, “but Tubbo and that outpost aren’t exactly making me feel comfortable.”

A furious scream built in Ranboo’s throat. He drew back his axe, to do what he didn’t know ––

“Ranboo?” It was Dream, looking up at him. For a moment, Ranboo was thrown into chaos. He couldn’t tell if it was really Dream, or all in his head. A small blade pierced the chink in his armor. He stumbled back, blinking, and the time it took for him to rip the cork from a Regen pot and pour it over the spot was all Quackity needed to ruin his advantage.

He launched himself at Ranboo. Phil intercepted him, netherite screaming as their swords collided. Niki was by Techno, offering him Healing and Regen while he leaned more heavily on the wall.

The moment the prickling in his gut subsided, Ranboo threw himself into the fight. Phil was quickly left out, which he seemed alright with. From the corner of his eye Ranboo saw him kneeling by Techno as well.

He hadn’t expected the fight to be so short, for his part. Anger fueled him, and something else. The Enderwalk, rising up in his unsteady mental state and giving him strength he didn’t know he had.

Cuts opened on Quackity’s limbs. His laughter turned to panting in the confined space. “This all you’ve got?” he yelled, out of breath. He tripped, stumbled, and fell against the wall near the lava.

Ranboo stood over him, axe in hand and red with blood. The natural course from here was to end it, right? Kill Quackity, kick him into lava? But the day in L’Manberg wouldn’t leave his head.

“You can’t do it, can you?” Quackity said. Somehow he managed to look relaxed, leaning against the obsidian as blood soaked his clothes. “I remember being that weak. It was awful. Really, Ranboo, don’t mess with me. The house always wins. You don’t want to start this.”

“Oh, shut up.” Ranboo swung his axe, and the handle collided with Quackity’s head. He slumped against the wall, eyes closed. Blood trickled from beneath his hair, but his chest still rose and fell. Ranboo left him there and returned to his friends.

Niki and Phil had taken care of most of Techno’s injuries, though he had his arms around their shoulders. “I can walk by myself, guys, seriously,” he said, but was immediately cut off by the two of them saying “bullshit” in unison. “Well, one of you needs to get Dream,” he said.

They paused. “Dream?” Niki asked incredulously.

“Yeah. Look at him, Quackity’s been giving him hell.” He glanced at Ranboo. “But hey, Syndicate rules, remember? You guys don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna. You can go ahead on the bridge and send it back to us.”

Ranboo and Niki shared a glance. They had both been citizens of L’Manberg. They had both been victims of Dream in some way. Ranboo knew Phil had helped destroy L’Manberg like it was a business deal, but he would agree with Techno. They wouldn’t follow Dream, but they’d help him. And as pathetic as the man looked in the corner of the cell, Ranboo couldn’t bring himself to do the same.

He looked Techno in the eye. “This doesn’t change my loyalty to the Syndicate. I just can’t justify helping Dream. I’ll still stand with you in other matters.”

“Got it.” Techno grinned. “Just don’t trap us in here again.”

Ranboo returned the smile, stepping onto the bridge. Niki followed him. “Sorry, Techno,” she said. “But I agree with Ranboo. He’s done too much to hurt me.”

Techno nodded. Niki knocked an arrow and shot it across the now empty pit. It hit the button on the other side, and the bridge began moving. When they reached the other side, Niki removed it from the button before hitting it once more.

“You can go ahead,” Ranboo said. “I’ll bring them back.”

Niki smiled at him. “Thanks. You fought well, Ranboo. See you at the next meeting.” She disappeared back into Sam’s tunnels, which Phil had left open.

Ranboo waited until Phil and Techno were safely on the bridge, Dream draped between them, to press the button one final time. Before it had reached full speed, he was traversing the tunnels himself, moving back towards Snowchester and his family. Quackity would find a way out of the prison, he knew. Tubbo and he would need to be ready.

#dream smp #dreamsmp #dsmp #dsmp fanfic #dsmp fic #dream smp fanfiction #dream smp fic #nihachu #philza minecraft #philza #ranboo #technoblade #dream #pandoras vault #awesamdude #quackity

95 notes · View notes

sirleviackerman · 3 years

Text

hc | aot characters as 90s alt/rock songs

genre: headcanon // SFW

warnings: none // this shit is kind of emo

a/n: you can listen to a playlist of these songs here. some of these songs ended up being more on the pop punk spectrum but I tried to keep it grunge/alt/soft rock. i’d love to do this with different genres so send me some suggestions and i’ll get to writing (bitch i’ll even do country try me nothing is off the table)

eren

flagpole sitta // harvey danger

“i was looking into the mirror to see a little bit clearer- the rottenness and evil in me”

basket case // green day

“i am one of those melodramatic fools, neurotic to the bone no doubt about it”

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

mikasa

everlong // foo fighters

“the only thing I'll ever ask of you- you've got to promise not to stop when I say when”

zombie // the cranberries

“the violence caused such silence who are we mistaken?”

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

armin

jumper // third eye blind

“everyone's got to face down the demons- maybe today, we can put the past away”

losing my religion // r.e.m.

“every whisper, of every waking hour- i'm choosing my confessions”

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

jean

self esteem // the offspring

“the more you suffer the more it shows you really care - right? yeah”

freak on a leash // korn

“can’t i take away all this pain? i try to every night- all in vain”

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

connie

my own worst enemy // lit

“every now and then i kick the living shit out of me”

loser // beck

“i’m a loser baby- so why don’t you kill me?”

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

sasha

learn to fly // foo fighters

“i’d give it all away if you give me one last try”

all the small things // blink 182

“the night will go on- my little windmill”

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

ymir

only happy when it rains // garbage

“i only smile in the dark, my only comfort is the night gone black- i didn't accidentally tell you that”

kool thing // sonic youth

“when you're a star, I know that you'll fix everything”

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

historia

champagne supernova // oasis

“wake up the dawn and ask her why- a dreamer dreams she never dies”

iris // goo goo dolls

“you’re the closest to heaven that i’ll ever be”

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

reiner

black hole sun // sound garden

“in disguises no one knows, hides the face, lies the snake- and the sun in my disgrace”

sorrow // bad religion

“will you guide me now, for I can't see a reason for the suffering and this long misery”

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

bertholdt

creep // radiohead

“i want you to notice when i’m not around”

bittersweet symphony // the verve

“i feel free now, but the airwaves are clean- and there's nobody singin' to me now”

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

annie

just a girl // no doubt

“don't you think I know exactly where I stand? this world is forcing me to hold your hand”

celebrity skin // hole

“have you ever felt so used up as this?”

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

levi

bullet with butterfly wings // the smashing pumpkins

“and what do I get for my pain? betrayed desires and a piece of the game”

killing in the name // rage against the machine

“fuck you, I won't do what you tell me”

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

hanji

drive // incubus

“whatever tomorrow brings i'll be there- with open arms and open eyes”

californication // red hot chili peppers

“destruction leads to a very rough road, but it also breeds creation”

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

erwin

kryptonite // 3 doors down

“you took for granted all the times i never let you down”

smells like teen spirit // nirvana

“our little group has always been, and always will until the end”

68 notes · View notes

xbunnybunz · 3 years

Text

The terrible, you. (4/5) [Wolf Keum x Reader]

Summary: After Wolf Keum unwittingly rescues you from seedy men in the dead of night, he can't shake you from his side. After a while, he's not sure if he wants to.

Genres: Romance

Date: December 12, 2020

-----

Yeongduengpo was a large district, imposing in it’s monotony. Steely-gazed windows and sky-high buildings plagued the skies, obscuring the sun and taking place of the clouds.

Perhaps to an outsider, who may perceive all the algae-covered brick houses and leaky underpasses as identical, it may even be confusing. But to the residents of Yeongduengpo who listen closely to the whistle of each wind tunnel, who grew up slipping their hands over the cracks of the local bakery window, who memorized the stains of each concrete tile leading to the arcade, Yeongduengpo was just an intricate system of secret passages and alleyway shortcuts.

Some areas were home to happy memories, a soccer field, a shopping strip, the street where you first learned how to ride your bike, and learned that there was a huge downward slope just past the stoplight.

Others avenues were oozing with shadows, a brief whisper here and there, “Don’t, that’s where they are.” Recollections of a first, second, and if unlucky—a third beating from high school thugs. Pickpocket corner, a hand on your shoulder like a gun pointed at your temple. “You remember your friend, right?”

To anyone who had lived in Yeongduengpo for their entire lives, the neighborhood was a map of their memories, an intricate web of do’s and don’ts that intermingled like sweet milk into a dark coffee. As familiar as their childhood, just as large as the palm of their hands.

This small yet insurmountable district thrummed a heartbeat within it, pumping through it’s chambers smog, smoke, and rumors. A brief hiss of a city train slowing to a stop, a wary gaze thrown into a wayward shadow, peering for an insatiable darkness.

This how rumors spread, sparking embers at bus stops and blazing it’s way across the city through texts and word of mouth in a matter of days.

Whispers of a certain dastardly Wolf Keum, one of Yeongduengpo’s most familiar names, and a shiny-eyed girl with lavish gifts overcame the streets, taking over the Shuttle Patch blog in an all-new post: “Is Wolf Keum Getting Too Comfortable?”

The heartbeat of the district became strong, alive and stirring with the commotion brought upon by a girl and her treacherous, Wolf Keum.

The news elicited varying emotions, though two of the most prominent were complete awe or poorly disguised fascination, caught on a censored cell phone camera interview for the Shuttle Patch blog.

“Wolf Keum? Ah man, there’s no way he would ever score a girl. But if he did…”

“That guy, a girlfriend? Is he even taking his spot in the Union seriously?”

“He’s a solid fighter, but anyone can be taken down when distracted.”

In a smaller room, tucked away into a quiet corner of a high school, a meeting begins.

“Fuck. That little brat.”

Red gelled hair shines in the luminous glow of fluorescent lightbulbs, and he shifts, crossing one leg across the other. An expensive sneaker bobs impatiently in the air, cheap mosaic tile squeaking underfoot the other. His fingers play at the cigarette in his hand, unlit and untouched.

“Who the fuck does he think he is?” He sneers, eyes latched onto the phone presented to him. He grows angrier at each successive image, brows furrowing and jaw tensing.

“Does he really think he can afford to let his guard down now? That motherfucker…”

A devious look comes across his eyes, mouth splitting into a toothy smile fit for a ravenous shark. He recalls the shame of bowing to Donald Na, recalls the manner in which Wolf gazed upon him like a pest.

“What do you think, Grape?”

A pair of dark eyes meet his. A bruise rings around Grape’s left socket and leaves a red and purple stain upon pale skin, evidence of Wolf Keum’s short temper and quick violence, but this does not deter the pride in his gaze.

“The fucker won’t even see it coming.” He says this resolutely, but with a shake in his voice, just as all those who speak of Wolf have. It is understandable, so Forrest Lee says nothing of it. Instead, he brushes away the phone and threads his hands together, knuckles still bandaged tightly from his last victory. Forrest sees the orange of dusk dripping into a dark horizon and begins to manifest a sinister plot.

It is wrath that Forrest possesses, clutches onto as a lifeline. But the way he refuses to lose face a second time, the anger in him curdling into something far unrecognizable as rage, becomes far more familiar as pride.

A bruised ego, and a plan to recover from the fall.

These are all things that Wolf Keum has fortified against, as a man who holds his own pride above all else, familiar with its sting and its gold-lined embrace. With pride comes the necessity for wealth and status, all embodied in Wolf’s latest designer clothing and hefty payoff from the Union. However, a man as acquainted with pride’s old habits as Wolf knew that luxury could ooze from his pores, spill from the heavens upon him—and it would mean nothing if he had no title to defend.

Hazel eyes watch the interviews on the Shuttle Patch with terrifying composure, purple hair standing stark against the orange backdrop of a sky behind him. His men shuffle about behind him, the chill of the rooftop breeze stirring them from stagnation, stirring them from peace.

A certain scent carried in the air, the scent of a storm brewing deep in the abyss.

Wolf hears the sounds of the city beneath him, pulsing like a living thing as cold as ice. He ponders upon the new information on him from the Shuttle Patch, upon his reputation and all he holds dear to him.

The beast keens, his unrelenting ego and insatiable yearning for reverence and fear will never, has never, been defeated.

Wolf approaches the edge of the roof and gazes down upon the district.

He has lived in Yeongduengpo all his life. He is familiar with the changing of the stoplights, like clockwork, on every block. He has memorized every divot in the sidewalk, every broken lock and each shattered window.

Tonight, the city is no longer as familiar as the palm of his hand. It shudders with a new life, streets splitting and laying flat for a new history to be written—and Wolf swears by all he knows, he will not have his title claimed.

A knock on the rooftop door sounds. When it opens, he sees a familiar face, a friendly smile that only a fool could adorn in his presence. She’s holding a bunch of colorful nonsense again, but he doesn’t turn her away. Instead, he approaches her, allows her to place her hand upon his arm.

The city stutters with exhaust and groaning rusty benches, homes brightening as families return home and switch on the lights, light spilling from the windows like liquid gold. With these windows, the old city gazes upon Wolf Keum and the mysterious girl. It heaves a heavy sigh, chimney smoke exuding from pipes before it is swept away with a passing train, far into the city night.

#weak hero #webtoon weak hero #wolf keum #wolf keum x reader #fanfiction #reader insert #the terrible you

66 notes · View notes

lordmomohismomoness · 3 years

Text

Plot Oriented Stories

So let us melt and make no noise by LittleLostStar

Rated M 69K words WIP last updated Jan 2021

When a mission to the South Pole goes awry, Prince Zuko awakens in the home of a healer named Katara and finds his heart is damaged and his bending has vanished. His quest to find the last waterbender of the Southern Water Tribe is his destiny-- the one chance to regain his honour and return home. But as time passes and Zuko's heart heals, it becomes clear that Katara is protecting an ancient secret of her own, and that both of their destinies are entwined in ways never before thought possible.

The Prince's Choice by FrostedGemstone22

Rated T 206K words Completed 2018

Katara is 18 and the Southern Water Tribe has held an uneasy allegiance with the Fire Nation for the last 100 or so years. When Katara's tribe goes through a food shortage, Katara takes it upon herself to make sure they survive. She agrees to enter a competition where the young Prince Zuko will choose a wife out of 35 women. Katara promises herself she only has to last a day until a truce she can't ignore is offered, and now Katara is in it for the long haul. A Zutara! Selection AU. More couple tags to be added as they appear.

Note: The first few chapters are not up to my standard of grammar, however the writer did enlist a beta reader shortly into the fic which made it much better.

Once Around The Sun by Eleventy7

Rated T 147K words Completed 2014

Later, Katara can see how it all fell apart. Azula in her cell, growing roses; Zuko surrounded by enemies, slowly dying; their friends in the Earth Kingdom, safely escaping. And herself at the centre of it, saving lives and breaking promises. Set after finale, eventual Zutara.

Warning: Tearbender

How to Lose Friends and Alienate People by Cyrene

Rated T 30K words WIP Last updated Nov 2020

A bunch of weirdos who frequent his uncle's diner invite "Lee" to play some stupid game with them called "Paragons of the Elements." Yeah, that's not happening, especially since one of them -- Katara -- already thinks he's a jerk. Except then it does, and he can't really get out of it. Then he doesn't WANT to. But can he really make friends with people who know nothing about who he really is? Is it possible for him to be the person they think he is, or will he always be weighed down by his past?

Long story short (too late!) this is the "Gaang plays D&D AU, with a healthy side of Zutara" you didn't know you needed, and Zuko's being a killjoy about it. It takes place in a modern world, with all bending or supernatural stuff relegated to the gaming table. Relationships are tagged by what occurs in each individual story, not the series as a whole.

Oceans Away by PearofAnons

Rated M 56K words WIP Last updated Dec 2020

The irony was not lost on him. The moment his wife told him he did not have her heart was the very moment he realized she had long captured his.

In their world many would mistaken their tale as some grand love story, but if you were to ask those close to them, they would say it was really quite simple. Family, duty, honor. With these two stubborn fools, love wasn't originally part of the plan, it just grew quietly along the way.

Contains Smut

His Majesty Prefers Blue by Shamelessliar

Rated M 212K words Completed 2012

A year after the war's end, the gaang returns to the Fire Nation for a week of diplomatic meetings. There, they hear rumors about a vigilante who wears a blue mask and Katara finds herself digging deeper into his identity and motives. Blue/Zutara Lemons

Trigger warnings: rape, torture (1 scene)

Subterfuge by Smylealong

Rated M 113K words WIP last updated Oct 2020

Thirty years ago, the Fire Nation attacked, throwing the world off balance. Katara entered the Fire Nation war camp at Ba Sing Se as a healer, prepared to do whatever it takes to play her part in stopping the war. Getting kidnapped with the Fire Prince and falling in love with him were not parts of the plan. AU. Zutara.

Trigger Warnings: Sexual Assault, Incest, Graphic Depiction of Violence

Call Me Katto by ShamelessLiar

Rated M 272K words Completed 2015

The Avatar awakens two years late, when only a token resistance still struggles against the Fire Nation. Katara disguises herself as a boy to follow Sokka into war. Not only must she hide her gender from her comrades, she has to help the Avatar while also dodging the creepy prince who’s taken such an intense interest in her. AU for timing.

Cursed Kiss by AlwaysZutarian

Rated E 136K words WIP Last Updated Feb 2021

Cursed to live with the body of a fearsome beast, Zuko hid from a cruel world that would not hesitate to destroy him, consumed with rage for those who had betrayed him, resigned to a lifetime of solitude. But then a ray of hope came in the form of a beautiful, blue-eyed woman. Could she look beyond his physical appearance and break his curse? Or would he forever remain alone?

The Dragon and the Siren (AO3) The Dragon and the Siren (ff.net) by CultofStrawberry

Rated M/T 147K+ words Completed 2012

Zutara, Hades x Persephone inspired. In a land of gods and spirits, Katara is the daughter of the Sea, and Zuko is the powerful and reclusive God of the Fire Realms. Zuko has been pining for her for too long... so he finally takes action.

23 notes · View notes

thematchmakeramethyst · 2 years

Text

Frisk Hart Clips #53

[Alphys is doing the finishing blue moonstone pendant. Just then, the rest of the Rainbow Kids and the Monster Family entered her lab.]

Toriel: Asriel, there’s no way we’re not allowing it.

Frisk: Toriel is right. Monster Exterminators will come after you quickly. You remembered what happened to Monster Kid, and let’s not forget about Flowey.

Flowey: Do I need to remind you that it was you who let me lose in your town?

Frisk: (reveals her eyes and shows her pure rage) THAT’S BECAUSE YOU FLIRTED ME INTO LETTING YOU PASS, YOU TEXAN BUMPKIN SPEAKING WEED!!! (realizing that everyone around her is backed against the walls in fear) Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to burst up like that.

Asgore: (as everyone went to Frisk when she calmed down) Honestly, Frisk, your anger is something that a fool would dare activate.

Chara: Heh, and that fool will be eliminated, which is an incredible sight to see.

Cyan: Chara, I’m beginning to wonder if your love of violence, emo-ness, and dark humor runs in your genes.

Chara: My parents were professional assassins.

Cyan: I see.

Alphys: Everyone, you’re just in time. Remember the 1st annual Blue Moon Festival?

Undyne: Oh, yeah. It was fun. Especially those blue mooncakes, and they were so good.

Blue: (jumps up and down happily) And let’s not forget that Cyan and I got new powers.

Purple: Yeah, lucky you two. Despite the part when Mr. Johanson tries to expose the existence of Monster Town. Anyway, why do you ask, Alphys?

Alphys: (holding the pendent) Well, I made a prototype of the necklaces that will make every Monster in Human disguise. I call this Phoebe Personate Pendant Prototype #10 or Triple P. P10.

Orange: (snickers) She said Triple P.

Sans: Hehehe. Yeah, Orangeboy. (high-fives Orange)

Papyrus: I think you just corrupted one of the Rainbow Kids, Sans. He was once so innocent…

Asriel: (goes over to Alphys and holds the pendant) Amazing, Alphys. I was actually planning to go to Ebbotburg to have a fun day with Rainbow Kids, and I can finally see Sparkle Meadows, Prismatic Delights, Sunny Seas, and Star Land.

Green: You know we show pictures during our visits to those places, Asriel.

Asriel: Yes, but I’m jealous you went somewhere fun without me.

Yellow: Yikes. Sorry, bro. We didn’t know you felt that way.

Asgore: Alphys, is this pendant safe for my son to wear?

Alphys: Well, after testing the other 9…(looks at a couple of pendant prototypes on Dummies that one is around the neck of a Dummy burned, another covered in scratches, another in bandage wrapping, and lastly Mettaton in his Humanoid Robot form with natural curve gorgeous Human lady legs)

Mettaton: Even though this one partially worked, I love these legs. (touching his legs happily)

[The Monsters cover the Rainbow Kids’ and Asriel’s eyes while Flowey wolf-whistles.]

Flowey: (wiggles his eyebrows seductively) Looking good, robot guy.

Alphys: You know you can take that pendant off, Mettaton.

Mettaton: Fine, but I’m keeping it. (takes off the pendant as the Monsters uncover the children’s eyes.)

Asriel: I want gorgeous legs now. I want to test it, please.

Chara: Woah, bro! Don’t you notice the consequences on the Dummies? I mean, what if it happens to…(paused in thought before pointing her eyes at Flowey)...you?

[As everyone but Frisk begins to have the same thought, they all make mischievous smiles while looking at Flowey.]

Alphys: (still smiling) Flowey, why don’t you try it first?

Flowey: What?! Me?! Why would I want to-(before Alphys puts the pendant)

[And with blue lighten, flashing, and sparkles, Flowey magically transformed into a human who looks like this(https://www.deviantart.com/channydraws/art/More-Flowey-floo-791121567). This shocks everyone, but Frisk is overjoyed with hearts in her eyes and drooled, and Chara is horrified to show her dark eyes and jaw dropped that he looks gorgeous. He then notices his hands and looks at a conveniently placed tall mirror, and he is starstruck by how he looked.]

Human Flowey: (moves his hair charmingly before doing a pose with a wink and daring smile) Well, how do I look?

Frisk: (before fainting in a daze) More beautiful than I thought!

Chara: (before fainting in horror) Worse than I expected!

Orange: (shouted while covering Cyan’s eyes) OH NO, HE’S HOT!!!

Yellow: (flustered and yelled with a blushing face) TAKE IT OFF OF HIM!!! TAKE IT OFF OF HIM!!!

Human Flowey: No way, I’m keeping this-(but Alphys takes it off of Flowey to turn back into his usual self magically) Aw, man.

Alphys: I wasn’t expecting it to work too well, but now I can download the process to the other necklaces to produce more. (Starts typing on a keyboard)

Asriel: (takes the pendant and puts it on) My turn!

[He then magically transform into a human like this(https://www.deviantart.com/temerohimitaki/art/confused-648529250).]

Toriel: (happily) Oh, Asriel. You look amazing.

Human Asriel: (smiled) Right on! Let’s have fun, Rainbow Kids!

Rainbow Kids: (happily shouted) Yeah!

#tswfby #frisk #chara #cyan #orange #blue #purple #green #yellow #asgore #asriel #flowey #sans #papyrus #undyne #alphys #mettaton #dummy undertale #humanized version

3 notes · View notes

sebastianshaw · 3 years

Conversation

RP meme from "Chapter Four: Aspects and Renown" in The World of Darkness Ratkin Breedbook

"What you can actually do is far more important."

"The experience is little more than a challenging contract to prove one’s mettle."

"Not everyone can stand so much isolation and seclusion."

"Along the way, they work whatever scams and schemes they can to survive."

"After all, mavericks are known just as much for their quick wits as their stealth and subterfuge."

"Some do this to escape lives they cannot stand; others quest for ideals they may never achieve."

"If there’s a great place nearby to find food, adventure, or perils that threaten the young, a wise scout or spy will find them quickly."

"Relationships on the road are temporary and superficial."

" A scout or wanderer who hasn’t seen an old friend or lover in years immediately picks up the relationship exactly where it left off."

"Each year, they move from city to city, use and discard temp jobs like old clothes, and evolve a series of personas for different situations."

"Not all of them are impoverished and homeless; as long as you know where to find crash space, you’re never really helpless."

"They are fascinated by places inhabited by other creatures, especially humans."

"Some are smart enough to emulate the people they live near; others come up with bizarre explanations to explain human activity."

"Instead of a straightforward military report on the strength of predators in the area, the data must be condensed into a format even a small child could understand."

"When problems with the physical world grow too great, it’s tempting to just vanish into the ephemeral realms for a while."

"These alternate identities aren’t very flashy, just the sort of quiet identity that no one questions."

"It can also draw attention from police officers, irate merchants, and hostile humans."

"This isn’t my world. I just hide in it. If you’re looking for a place to run, talk to me."

"This isn’t my world. I just hide in it."

"If you’re looking for a place to run, talk to me."

"Seers are the keepers of ancient secrets."

"A human is still a human, and can never be trusted."

"Just because they’re victims doesn’t mean they’re virtuous; they’ll still rip you off when you least expect it."

"They seek wisdom the human race has discarded or left behind."

"They make their lairs in areas where the police fear to go, where the only law in both physical and spirit worlds is survival."

"Her body remains in the physical world; her spirit watches what transpires around it in the spirit world."

"You worry about fighting what you can see. I’ll worry about fighting what you can’t see."

"If they feel strongly enough, they will enforce their beliefs as they best see fit."

"Unfortunately, when passing judgment on their own kind, they have restraints placed on their activities."

"These harsh practices have millennia of precedent."

"They reason that it’s better to have a few small, secure ratholes to hide your equipment and yourself than to go to the trouble of defending a larger turf."

"Many secretly enjoy “pronouncing sentence” on anyone who offends them thoroughly enough."

" Justice is far more important. . . and unfortunately, far more subjective."

"Most know they can’t change the world by openly practicing violence; if anything, they’ve got to be really secretive about their revenge."

"Epic carnage is best left to less sophisticated creatures."

"The threat of one of the local politicians getting killed is usually enough to dissuade them from disagreeing any further."

"They do not disguise themselves when pursuing an assassination, as they will not apologize for what they do best."

"We had a contract. You broke it. Now I’m going to make your life a living hell."

"When rage flows freely, violence reigns."

"Some have the wisdom to choose their battles carefully; others don’t care who dies when battle lust seizes them."

"Peace is nothing more than a temporary cessation of the ways of war."

"Developing martial skill involves far more than just killing things — sometimes it involves crippling them, weakening them, or demoralizing them.

"These soldiers don’t just slay; they also use their knowledge of chaos to confuse their enemies, striking in the night when madness reigns."

"All of them pride themselves on discipline and composure. . . until rage overwhelms reason."

"Warriors of both sexes are mildly insecure, and feel the need to show off their martial prowess."

"What? Just because you’ve got an army surplus jacket and a pipe bomb, that makes you a man?"

"Any fool can pull a trigger."

"Saving the world requires true warriors."

"Technology isn’t evil, after all. It’s just in the wrong paws."

"Many are convinced that if they don’t watch their actions carefully, someone from a local laboratory will capture them and experiment on them to find out why they’re so smart."

"Wherever technology thrives, these rats will move in to scavenge it."

"Humans have a fetish about continually acquiring more stuff, newer stuff and cutting-edge state-of-the-art tech."

"The struggle begins with fierce discussions about technological innovations, and rapidly breaks down into name calling and slander."

"Two machines enter; one machine leaves."

"Whether they tinker with ancient computers or rusting cars, they have an insatiable need to fix anything that’s considered unsalvageable."

"Sometimes, she’ll spend the whole day collecting knickknacks just to see what she can build out of them that evening."

"Genius has its price."

"Each one has a physiological trait that identifies him as the gene freak he is."

"Dark powers tutor them in forgotten arts of destruction."

"He’ll be deposed by forces he’s summoned up, but can’t put down."

"Turn your head and cough. Oooh! I’ve never seen it that color before."

"Not all of them are swashbuckling heroes, but all of them are delusional about their origins and their heroic prowess."

"The conflict of egos can become so intense that bystanders get hurt from the fallout."

"Dueling etiquette demands satisfaction."

"Anyone who hears this tale will swear that it is true."

"My good sir, adventure is my middle name!"

"What? You don't believe me?"

"Keep her pointed in the right direction, and she’ll masterfully eliminate your enemies."

"If you’re not careful, she’ll blow up right in your face."

"Any place populated by the desperate, frustrated or down-and-out is another good choice — not only does it make for a good place to hide, but it has its share of potential allies seeking vengeance. . . or potential victims at which to vent your anger."

"They’ll need a really powerful common enemy to unite them; otherwise, each will suspect the other of conspiracy."

"Many come from criminal backgrounds, broken homes, abject poverty or the sort of banal borderline existence that breeds cynicism and contempt for just about everyone."

"Each one has a surprising degree of truth to it."

"It controls all forces of order."

"The balance of the world will not be restored until we destroy everything that smells of stasis, stability or the status quo."

"Hey, nobody saw me do anything. Besides, he had it coming. . . he pissed me off. What? You talking to me? You talking to me?"

"Hey, nobody saw me do anything. Besides, he had it coming. . . he pissed me off."

"Hey, nobody saw me do anything."

"Besides, he had it coming. . . he pissed me off."

"What? You talking to me? You talking to me?"

"You want a piece of me?"

"Chant the creed, kid, and learn. . ."

"I shall seek revenge against those who prey upon my kind."

"I will survive so that I may breed."

"I must respect strength and exploit weakness."

"I shall grow stronger through conflict."

"I will learn from the mysteries of the spirit world."

"I will revel in the visions the spirits grant me."

"I shall nurture, instruct and aid the young."

"I will trust my own kind before I trust outsiders."

"When someone is responsible for injustice, I will make sure someone pays."

"Legality is a subjective concept at best."

"Fighting to survive is difficult enough."

"What else could heal the world?"

"They’re doomed to self-destruct."

"The day that the buildings come crashing down, I’ll dance in the streets."

"Survival comes first."

"Mankind’s days are numbered."

"The strong breed. The weak die. Does that sound harsh? That’s evolution."

"Instinct will tell you when to kill, so follow it."

"We need an army to overwhelm our enemies."

"I still do not know if this is wise."

"If only the strong breed, then you must prove your strength before you can reproduce."

"Don’t be some addle-witted wharf rat who breeds with any half-dead body in the sewers. You, soldier, are the paragon of your race."

"Such egotism!"

"That is nature's way."

"That is nature’s way. If the population of creatures in any one area is too high, a few can be killed or a great number will starve."

“Property is relative. If I can take it, it’s mine. If you can’t defend it, you don’t deserve to have it."

"They buy far more than they need, go to great lengths to defend what they have, and insist that they have the right to determine who owns what."

"If you own more than you can carry, you’re wasting what others can use."

"Betray others before you betray your own kind."

"We’re running into the world together, kid, so we’ve got

to stick together. You ready to go? Um. . . you first. . .”

"You ready to go? Um. . . you first. . .”

"We’re running into the world together, kid, so we’ve got

to stick together."

"I just feel this rage in my blood that’s been there since the dawn of time. And I just feel like acting on it."

"Show me your true face, and it’s my call whether I want to slash it off."

#rp memes #rp meme #rp starters #roleplay meme #roleplay memes #roleplay starters #ratkin #world of darkness #werewolf the apocalypse #out of shirt #okay to reblog #will answer in morning

21 notes · View notes

youseethingsandyouknow · 3 years

Text

Wayward

A/N: This initially was just suppose to be a quick oneshot but here we are. Thanks to my friend @avie for helping me sort out all my ideas. I hope you all enjoy!

Chapter 2

An infuriating high pitched alarm stirred Kakarot in his sleep. The blaring sound rang loudly in his ears as he groaned, annoyed and half asleep.

“Kakarot.” A familiar voice called to him. Kakarot turned onto his back, his breath quickening.

“Kakarot!” The voice screamed and Kakarot sprung up in his bed, his eyes wide and his chest heaving, startled awake by the memory.

Trying to get his bearings, Kakarot looked around and realized that he was still on Earth, in a small, unfurnished room. Gasping and taking a deep breath, Kakarto ran his hand through his wild hair, trying to get a hold of himself.

After a moment, Kakarot looked to the clock on the nightstand to his right. It was mid-morning, too late in the day for Kakarot’s liking. There was too much to do, and he wasn’t going to keep wasting his day thinking or dreaming about things that he shouldn’t.

Groaning, he stretched his arms over his head, cracking his joints. Finally, he slid his legs to the side of the bed and stood, taking another long stretch, willing his body to wake up with each movement. Yawning, Kakarot moved to the window, peering outside at the weather. The waves surrounding the small island he had been staying at for the last six weeks were hitting the beach roughly, a storm raging over the sky. Kakarot sighed and walked away. Slowly, he kneeled down and laid his body out to perform his usual morning pushups. After a few hundred, Kakarot stood, sweating and panting a bit. He then continues his morning routine and goes to his clothes.

Eyeing his armor and then the human clothes next to it on the small dresser across the room, Kakarot frowned. Deciding that it was better to blend in, Kakarot finally caved and made Yamcha give him human attire. It wasn’t nearly as sturdy as his armor, but the fabric was comfortable enough. Frustrated, he sighed and grabbed the white t-shirt. Quickly sliding it across his bare chest, Kakarot continued to get himself ready for the day. He was hoping that his next lead would be fruitful.

Once he was finished, Kakarot hurried down the stairs to the kitchen of the small beach house. Roshi was still passed out on the couch drunk and Kakarot shook his head at the old timer, not sure how the man was able to drink so much on a daily basis. Eyeing across the kitchen to see if there was anything to eat, Kakarot smirked. Taking the last sandwich, Kakarot walked outside, slamming the door. He didn’t care if he woke the old man up. He was too focused on the task at hand. Quickly finishing his sandwich, Kakarot slowly lifted himself up into the air before taking off to the city at lightning speed.

A few moments later, Kakarot found himself in front of a small run down bar. Landing carefully in the lot of the bar, Kakarot looked around, trying to see if his target was outside.

Thunder rumbled across the sky as rain continued to pour across the city. It was a gloomy, wet day and Kakarot trudged across the gravel parking lot. Since crash landing on Earth six weeks ago, Kakarot has barely had time to explore Earth much less a desire to do so. The humans he found were too emotional and weak for his taste, and he had hoped to be off this pathetic planet by now, but he hasn’t found anyone to repair his ship. Even though a vast majority of the humans annoyed him, some of them haven’t been so bad. Yamcha and Roshi found him almost dead after he crashed and nursed him back to health. Since then, they’ve been his only companions as he figured out his next move. But, all his plans had been ruined when he met Chi, and now his focus was on tracking her down and getting back what he needed.

She was good at covering her tracks, and for anyone else it would have been difficult to find her. But, as someone who started out as a low-level soldier and worked his way up to become a top warrior on the most elite Saiyan squad, finding a thief wasn’t too difficult. His search for her had taken him all over the city and beyond, discovering the darkest circles and even nastier humans. It wasn’t a problem for him though, and eventually, he found enough information to be right on her trail. Kakarot was ready to finish this.

Pulling up his dark grey hoodie to cover his head from the downpour, Kakarot looked up to look at the bar to see a woman in a jean jacket and white hoodie walking out the front door. Her long, wavy black hair was tied up in a ponytail with a light grey baseball hat on top of her head.

Chi-Chi. It was a decent disguise for anyone who didn’t know better, but she couldn’t fool him. Smiling, Kakarot’s eyes followed her as she went around black and Kakarot decided to make his move.

Her back was to him as she leaned against the bar well with a newly lit cigarette, and her shoulders exhaled as she sighed. Moving in quickly, Kakarot grabbed her shoulder and shoved Chi against the wall of the bar. Clinching the back of her neck, Kakarot kept his hold and pushed her harder against the wall as he whispered against her ear.

“I think you have something that belongs to me.”

Smirking against the wall, Chi replied, “It took you long enough.”

Frustrated, Kakarot pressed against her harder and said, “Don’t fuck with me. Where is it?”

A small giggle escaped from the wall as Chi responded, “I can’t help you if I can’t move.”

Letting his hold on her loosen, he stepped back and Chi turned to face him, rubbing her cheek a bit.

“Ouch.” She smirked.

“So, where is it?” Kakarot asked again, his patience thinning.

“Calm down. You Saiyans are all the same. Impulsive and impatient.”

Growling, Kakarot quickly stepped forward and slammed her up against the wall again, this time pressing his forearm into her neck. He leaned in close to her, inches from her lips and in an instant of fury, he punched the wall right next to her ear, Kakarot shouted, “WHERE IS IT!”

Silence passes between them as their heavy breathing, the rain, and thunder are the only thing that they can hear. At this point, their clothes and bodies are soaked from the downpour as the rain picks up a bit.

Finally, Chi says, “I’m sure King Vegeta would want to know where it is as well, Kakarot.”

Startled, Kakarot slightly loosened his hold on Chi and said, “What, how do you know him?”

Not realizing that his brief moment of shock left him open for an attack, Chi drives her knee hard into his gut, sending Kakarot stepping back away in pain. Huffing, Chi fixes her shirt and looks down at Kakarot as he is still wincing from her blow.

“Did you really think I didn’t know anything about you before I approached you at that bar? Please, I’ve been trailing you for weeks. I know everything about you, Kakarot. A fearless Saiyan who got his tail cut off, went crazy, stole from the king, and crashed landed on Earth. Now you’re on the run from King Vegeta, stuck on this,” Chi waved her hands around, “Stupid planet with no escape plan or next step. You’re making it too easy. If I was anyone else, you’d be screwed. Luckily for you, I have a need for a crazy Saiyan.”

Recovering from her cheap shot, Kakarot stood up, breathing heavily.

“What do you mean?”

Chi pulls out another cigarette, lights it and looks up at Kakarot while she blows a cloud of smoke towards him. Continuing she says, “Well, as you might have gathered from our last meeting, I’m a wanted woman. Not just from the space patrol, though. Lord Frieza would really like to see me dead.”

Shocked, Kakarot replies, “You messed with Lord Frieza? Are you insane?!”

Chi smirked, “It’s a long story but yes, he has a hit out on me and it's been really getting in my way. Now, here’s where I need your services, Kakarot. I know that he has been searching for what this map leads to for a while,” She pulls out the map from her chest and continues, “If I can entice him just enough to at least have a sit down with me, then I can get what I want.”

“And what do you want?” Kakarot asked and Chi exhaled another cloud of smoke and leaned against the wall of the bar.

“To kill Frieza.” She says with a deadly tone.

Kakarot looked at her incredulously. Sure, she was an attractive woman and for an Earthling, she was strong, and he’ll be the first one to admit that he liked that about her. But, she must have been hit in the head too many times if she thinks she can kill Frieza.

Kakarot tried to hold back his laughter but couldn't and started to crack up, laughing so much that tears welled in his eyes, his sides hurting. Realizing that she must be drunk or kidding, Kakarot caught his breath and held out his hand.

“Alright, stop messing around. Give me the map or I'll just take it from you.”

Chi frowned and crossed her arms, “I’m dead serious. I’m going to kill Frieza. And you’re going to help me.”

Kakarot rolled his eyes and cocked his head in response, “I’m not helping you with anything, sweetheart.”

Chi finished her cigarette and dropped the butt before walking over to Kakarot, “You sure about that? Well, the king will be very happy that I’ve found you. I’ll probably get a hefty reward for bringing the elusive Kakarot to him.”

“You’re bluffing.”

Pulling out a small circular device, Chi answered, “Oh, you want to test me? I’ve got his mistress on speed dial.”

“You know Bulma?” Kakarot shouted.

“Of course. We go far back. Now, let me give her a ring.”

Frustration gripped Kakarot. Sure, he was positive that he could take on King Vegeta and he wasn’t scared of him by any means. However, if he wanted to obtain is freedom, he could not let King Vegeta find him until he had everything he needed for leverage. Growling, Kakarot spat out.

“Don’t...just tell me what you want from me.”

“Good. I was hoping I didn’t have to resort to that. Blackmail or violence always seems to work better. But, I’d prefer not to hurt that gorgeous face again.” She smiled seductively as she looked Kakarot up and now, “I got to say, those human clothes look much better on you than your armour.”

Kakarot scoffed, “Please, like you could actually fight me.”

“That’s funny, didn’t I already get two blows in and I was even trying? I can try and we can do this the hard way if you’d prefer. I know you Saiyans do enjoy a good fight.” Chi teased and crossed her arms.

Tired of the suspense and his frustration building again, Kakarot spat out, “Just shut up and tell me what you want.”

Chi smiled and responded,” Excellent. Now, I need someone with your skills to help me collect the Dragon Balls. We then are going to entice Frieza with them and this map. I know he’s been searching for the Super Saiyan for years, and if this map can show us the Saiyan, and if we give him these two things and I act like I want to get back into his good graces, then he’ll have no choice but to hear me out. That’s when I’ll make my move.”

Kakarot looked at Chi confused. Sure, he’s heard of the Dragon Balls before, the Saiyans have been looking for them throughout the years but with no luck. He responds, “But the Dragon Balls are scattered throughout the galaxy. It’s impossible to find them.”

“Not entirely. I have something that can help us with that. But we need to get a move on. Frieza is hosting a gala at his palace at the end of the month, and I need to be there. I want to kill him right there.”

Sighing and wondering how he got himself in this mess, Kakarot runs a hand through his wet hair, his hood fell off his head after Chi’s blow. Sure, killing Frieza doesn’t bother him. He grew up hating Frieza and he’d be fine if he was dead but it was suicidal. Many Saiyans and others have tried and failed.

But, Kakarot couldn’t lie about how enticing this all was to him. Sure, he’s being black mailed into it but there could be worse things to be forced into, as he’s known from experience. This adventure and finally a purpose appeals to him more than he’d ever say. It also doesn’t hurt that he’d be traveling the galaxy with an attractive, feisty woman.

“Fine. I’ll do it. But as soon as Frieza is dead, I’m gone. I have my own plans.”

“Deal. Now, let’s go. Oh, and you’ll have to drive. I’m slightly buzzed.”

“Of course you are.” Kakarot grumbled and sighed. “Well how do you expect us to get out of here. I don’t have a ship, remember?”

Chi turned to her pocket and pulled out a white capsule. She clicked the top and threw it out in front of her. Seconds later, a large, grey ship appears in front of them. Grinning, Chi moves towards the ship and opens the door and walks onboard. Following her aboard, Kakarot looks around inside the ship and is surprised to see how large it is inside. The driver’s seat and controls were up left and to the right were sleeping quarters, a small kitchen and supplies. This was much bigger than his ship and Kakarot was impressed.

Sitting down in the driver’s seat, with Chi right next to him in the passenger seat, it takes Kakarot a moment to get a handle on everything before he figures out each button and their function. Each ship is similar, it just takes a second to get one’s bearings.

Turning to Chi, Kakarot asked, “Alright, it’s your show. Where are we going?”

Nodding, Chi pulls out a somewhat large white circular device and turns it on. The green grid glows and then shows a small blip with a few other circular objects around it.

“Alright, it’s in the sixth quadrant. Should take a day to get there if we stay on course.”

Kakarot started the ship’s engine and the craft hovered above the ground before blasting off to the sky.

As they are racing toward Earth’s atmosphere, Chi says, “This will be fun.”

Kakarot rolled his eyes and focused on the clouds ahead of them, “If you say so.”

Chi laughed and put her arms behind her head while propping her feet up on the ship’s dashboard.

“Just don’t fall in love with me, okay?”

Kakarot glanced at Chi and then turned back to the view in front of them.

“Not a chance.”

#goku x chichi #dbz #gochi #dbz goku #dbz vegeta #dbs goku #dbs #goku #kakarot #chi chi #frieza #my writing #dbz fanfiction #wasn’t expecting to write a full story for this #so much to write but idk where to go haha

11 notes · View notes

flyingupward · 3 years

Text

Venice the Musical Sentence Starters

all sentences taken from the lyrics to the musical venice. feel free to change pronouns, etc.

Act I

“All I hear is ‘left, right, left, right, left, right’.”

“I am your lifeline, your forward and hindsight.”

“To tell this story is a means of resistance.”

“Many no long living for not keeping themselves hidden.”

“This story needs a voice so I will oblige.”

“Once had freedom then we lost it.”

“What’s the price of living this life?”

“Darkness fell, our freedom taken.”

“We were taught to be proud to be from here.”

“The government dissolved and a corporation crept.”

“Twenty years of occupation has taught us better.”

“Left for dead, stuck here while the wealthy fled.”

“Bombs exploded round our heads. Get some rest.”

“If we don’t demand more from our lives, how can we expect our kids to thrive?”

“Separate, we are powerless, but together, we can rise.”

“After all of these years writing to you, I’ll finally be home by your side.”

“Is this the day that we can say you paved the way?”

“Today is the day that we find out our fate.”

“Home at last, our children reunite.”

“A divided nation torn in two demands reunion.”

“I hope you let us tell you a little story exploding onto the present.”

“I am alone, my own resistance.”

“Damned if I live this life waiting on the sidelines.”

“One time fool me and it’s shame on you. Two times fool me and it’s shame on me. Three times? There’s never three times.”

“I’ll be the last man standing when the world collapses.”

“Got them thinking my heart is gold.”

“I’ll never show what I’ll do to take the last stand.”

“She’s an illusion he’s choosing.”

“Peaceful revolution is always bound to be polluted.”

“Watch me stay focused, forever unnoticed.”

“The always obedient dog by your side’s got the worst bite.”

“The dream was better than the letters that we wrote would allow.”

“Could you believe those words could make us unite?”

“Is this our shared prayer to the morning light?

“Children write and hearts explode and dreams invite us to places we’d never go.”

“Someone so convicted in her beliefs, it can be hard to see.”

“The world was at war but this country doesn’t have to be.”

“We could be decent and generous. Don’t let hate better us.”

“Two worlds collide and fill his soul with wisdom we will never know.”

“This is the ballad of mismatched brothers.”

“I feel the void I left behind.”

“Am I strong enough to hold the weight of all their souls?

“From what I know this road is golden and I know I believe in you.”

“And so we sleep, hoping that the bombs don’t drop on our streets.”

“What you don’t see is the bomb that’s ticking.”

“I am hardly in step with your emotional dance.”

“Uninvited, unfound, in this hell of a home, opportunity knocks and it’s time to go.”

“There are many different weapons in this game called war.”

“The people who couldn’t leave, they were forced to accept whatever devil knocks at your door.”

“This is no fear of death if you never get old.”

“She was dropped on the city like a renegade, never with the promise of these better days.”

“Have you ever seen something like me?”

“You best believe I’ll haunt your dreams.”

“I can see the sunrise when I close my eyes.”

“As a kid you have a dream and it seems like nothing can come between what you dream and what you’re stuck in.”

“But when the moment’s there, will you rise up with your eyes up?”

“They look at me like I looked at her.”

“My blood trembles with desire to set the world on fire.”

“I feel the dark ahead of the dawn.”

“A spark of what I used to know stands before me all aglow.”

“Seen enough I’m not that blind.”

“They say she’ll bring us hope.”

“And are we all just children playing in our parents’ clothes?”

“And when the lights come on will we find out that we’re grown?”

“I would have done anything that you asked me to.”

“Where did I misstep? Where did I lose?”

“I wanna love and be loved.”

“I have all this money for nothing ‘cause what it buys is a disguise if you never loved me.”

“I’ve been waiting on that second chance.”

“It’s the lie of romance that over time it never stands.”

“Seen enough to make me blind.”

“I’m leaning on the brink of blazing a new path.”

“I know the dawn is coming.”

“We congregate freely, free from the evil.”

“Tonight we fucking party for a brand new tomorrow.”

“I know it’s been a long and brutal road.”

“Let me propose a toast and welcome in people who for years have been suffering.”

“Holding the weight of being held down, hell bound, lifted from the ashes, we naturally yell out.”

“I’ll give it one hundred and I’ll make you proud.”

“Imma be the remedy. Nah, I’m the elegy.”

“For all the pain, never again.”

“So the city is finally our own.”

“I’ll be free in my home.”

Act II

“People are frozen, pictures of panic painted onto their poses.”

“I am beholden for this mess.”

“All the people, they are screaming. I can hear my name.”

“Time slows and I know I don’t feel the same.”

“I’m running for a reason that I can’t explain.”

“Come and disappear with no fear.”

“My brain fails to explain the pictures I’m seeing.”

“Morning sky looking dreary like a painting painted by a guy whose demise was waiting.”

“Is _______________ lying dead when I should have been next to him?”

“I wish somebody else was lying there instead of him.”

“Vanish into air, come and stare into the light.”

“You never wish war on a people.”

“The seconds of your life just slow down.”

“My stomach eats itself. I see my own face.”

“Has something already determined my fate?”

“Time gives way. Am I too late?”

“I am death personified.”

“Your mind has been chosen. The lines have been drawn.”

“Take two steps, take one breath. Just accept your own death.”

“We will never forget and we’ll see you again.”

“Where’ve you gone, old friend, lately?”

“Have you left me here waiting to grow up on my own on this road all alone?”

“I am a desert of unfulfilled memories.”

“Death calls unspoken unseen.”

“If only we hadn’t listened to ambitions that were far beyond our reach.”

“If only there was a way to take back yesterday, you’d still be here with me.”

“If only you were a second late dreaming about yesterday.”

“If only you never came for me.”

“This morning I could feel the changes: Shadows on the wall laughing as we fall.”

“All of my moments are fractured behind me.”

“The toy of a girl has shattered inside of me.”

“Why does the silence emulate violence?”

“The cold and the quiet screams in defiance.”

“If only I had listened to the voices telling me to take it slow.”

“If only I had never wanted for better.”

“If only I didn’t stay up at night and miss you.”

“If only I didn’t feel like I feel when I’m with you.”

“If only I was never lonely.”

“If only I never came.”

“If only I never fell in love with you.”

“The air is scarily silent with the feeling any moment could explode into riots.”

“PTSD of twenty years of grief flooding heavy on the minds of those who never sleep.”

“Revenge is on the minds of the masses.”

“Ashes to ashes devolves into madness.”

“Have we reached the beginning of the end of peace?”

“Have we seen the end of out collective dreams?”

“There’s nothing that lasts forever. So we’ve discovered together.”

“What was white and black is now shades of gray.”

“They sit in the eye of the storm, looking at the city as it silently swarms.”

“Tell the people we are coming, declare a revolution.”

“Now it’s time somebody bled.”

“Is this the day that we can say you paved the way?”

“Alone, awake, her mind would race into her dreams.”

“Unsure of what the balance held, the girl grew up into herself.”

“When the man had got his way, he disappeared without a trace.”

“I dreamed a dream and so it seems that little girls have fantasies.”

“We are all the play things of men in this town.”

“What you’ll find, what you’ll see is that men could care less about your fantasy.”

“With flowers in their hands but pockets full of dust, ain’t no trust in a man.”

“Why am I stuck in this lie? I should’ve known better than to trust his eyes.”

“Should’ve read the signs ‘cause all my life I’ve been left behind.”

“See I had him, no denying that this love’s worth dying.”

“I’m as foolish as I ever was.”

“I came here because I believed in his love.”

“I thought the world had changed. It’s the same as it ever was.”

“How can I explain these mistakes I’ve made.”

“I wanted to love and be loved, but instead I’ve come undone.”

“How do I tell her that she has been deceived by me?”

“Our enemies showed us no mercy and we will show none in return.”

“When we needed you most, I watched you suburb.”

“Where’s all that wisdom that we saw in you, made us fall for you.”

“Is the world so fucked you’ve already given in?”

“Crumbled are the steps of the dream I stood upon.”

“As I stand dismayed by the mess that I’ve made, let me be.”

“Here you are stuck between us and them.”

“Maybe there’s a way, maybe there’s still hope, but I don’t recognize you.”

“Don’t understand how the same damn man who gave hope to the land can stand before us and command that we’re going back.”

“This monster is growing with every breath.”

“Here I stand, a shade of a man with peace in his hand.”

“Now that they’ve tasted your dream, they can’t go back to where we were.”

“Right in this moment, you’ll find me dreaming about yesterday.”

“The soul lingers long after you pass. That’s why we feel like we’re surrounded by our past.”

“The air drenched in a bath of memories, a constant reminder of our deathly legacy.”

“I never took a risk and I’m scared to admit that this is how I lived my life.”

“‘That’s __________________,’ they told me, ‘a princess in disguise.’”

“I wanna be great for one instant.”

“I’m gonna take a risk and maybe I can save her life.”

“I have waited all these years for your face to reappear.”

“I have waited all these years for you to see me here.”

“I don’t need an icon that’s bygone.”

“When I was little, you convinced me that I belonged, but you were wrong!”

“Inside, I feel rage, and you died in vain.”

“I’m only half your babe, the other half: disgraced.”

“You took their lives in your hands and it was wrong.”

“You led those people in their very own death song.”

“You gave up being my mother - for what?”

“I can use force like you never could.”

“From what I know, this road’s still golden and I’ll always believe in you.”

“What we’ve been through, we can’t undo.”

“I have always loved and believed in you.”

“She has never loved or believed in you.”

“I done with you and the war you provoke.”

“You would push it till it burned with no concern.”

“With you, I believed in love, but you never loved me. You only used me.”

“So why should I be stuck in this lie?”

“She certainly loved you from far away.”

“Little children, they ran away a ways away where they could be safe.”

“She believed that you could be something great, someone great.”

“We need to grow up now.”

“Stop praying for, wanting more, playing war.”

“We’re not children anymore.”

“Look at what we’ve lost, what love we’ve lost.”

“We haven’t begun to see the sun. We need to set it right.”

“Let’s start anew. It’s what she died for.”

“Now this tale of love has ended, our has just begun.”

“If we Shades have thee offended, then go out and see the sun.”

“The world in here is just a shadow. We hide in these imaginary lights.”

“The world out there is a shadow of everything that might be right.”

“Rise up, shake hands, resume our days. Because this is all a play.”

“Just make believe that makes belief.”

“Give us just one moment to shine.”

#MEME | incoming #SEND ME THESE PLS

5 notes · View notes

lorei-writes · 4 years

Text

Nobunaga x Witch! MC

Content Warnings:

Background: abusive relationship, violence, torture, murder

Nobunaga x Witch!MC: none

Background:

She was a noblewoman, born and raised in Japan, always reminded that her purpose was to serve, never to rule.

When still young, she was married off to solidify her clan’s political significance, her husband treating her like nothing more but a property.

Initially, she thought she could withstand the constant humiliation of being stripped from her personhood, yet it started to burden her more with the passing of time, her husband’s cruelty only adding to the long list of things she despised about him.

Yet as much as she was nothing more than object, she wasn’t a treasured asset - nobody noticed her brief disappearances, at the very least not from the very beginning.

In her misery, she found support in one of the elderly seamstresses. She’d sneak out to cry at the woman’s shoulder, seeking her reassuring words of understanding.

The woman, however, wasn’t just any other elderly grandma. She shared the stories that held great knowledge, even if the noble woman didn’t realise this at first.

Once her brief outings gained the attention of her husband, her friend was put into the dungeon. The elderly woman was not killed, but they did mutilate her hands, so that she couldn’t work anymore, and cast her out of the castle.

Blinded with rage, the noblewoman shouted at her husband, the very words her friend had conveyed to her. The man dropped to the floor, unable to swallow any air into his lungs.

Having seen her husband die, she flew, terrified of what she had done. She didn’t quite understand it and so, sought the elderly woman.

She found her in one of the villages, barely able to afford food. Fearing of the pursuit, she begged the woman to tell her more of the stories, promising to protect them both if needed be.

The woman agreed without a second thought.

One of the stories held the spell that could grant a person a single wish that could come true. The woman spent her wish on her friend, asking her to live as long as she wished, in whatever form she desired.

She stayed with the grandma until her death, disguised as a simple villager. After the burial was complete, she travelled deeper into the land, using her magic to gain influence. She became known as the saviour of the violated, the lady of the sparkling castle.

Nobunaga x Witch!MC

The tales of her powers reached Nobunaga and so, he travelled with Hideyoshi to see it with his own eyes.

They arrived at a small castle, which seemed to expand the further they wandered into it, the doors opening before them. Yet not a living soul welcomed them inside.

The building directed them straight to her. She sat on her throne, her long, black hair falling in shining waves to the very floor, her skin bright like porcelain, the fabric of her kimono enveloping her delicately, as it glistened in the colours they couldn’t even describe.

“What is it you seek?” she asked, her voice resembling thousands of bells. “ I’m here to find out whether the stories of your power are true.”

With a single flick of her finger, she sent powerful winds towards them, barely audible whispers leaving her lips. Hideyoshi clutched his sword, but Nobunaga stopped him with a single hand gesture. They turned around and left.

Nobunaga went to see her again a couple of days later, this time alone. The very first door he opened lead him to her throne room.

“ Wasn’t what I showed you last time enough?”

“ I came to play a game,” he simply stated.

They made a deal - whoever was to win in a game of Go, could ask the other person for a favor.

To Nobunaga’s disbelief, he lost all three games they had played in the following days. Before the fourth one started, she leaned towards him.

“ There’s no use in continuing this. I already know what you will do. I’ve seen plenty men of your calibre throughout the years. You are all the same: think of power and nothing else.”

Despite her poisonous words, he won this time. Nobunaga asked her to come with him to Azuchi.

However, she had not yet used her three favours. She asked as follows: for her own room, which nobody could enter against her will, for her to still hold a freedom and be able to decide of herself, and finally, to not be seen by anybody.

He obliged. Not only that, he made it so that her room had a private garden, where she could step out.

Perhaps she was his prisoner, yet she wasn’t ready to die yet - she assumed she’d just wait for him to perish and then leave the castle. However, her plans were stopped in their tracks.

Nobunaga didn’t enter her room, but did walk into the garden. He did not see her, as he kept his eyes closed.

Initially, she didn’t say a word, yet soon the frustration took hold of her. She yelled insults at him, but once her anger subsided, they started talking.

He came like that everyday. His defeat in Go humbled him - indeed, she was a fearsome opponent, due to both her abilities and mind alike. If anything, they were equal - equally confident and boastful at that.

The more they spoke, the closer they grew, their hopes and aspirations seemingly aligned.

“ I can grant one of your wishes, yet only the true one. You haven’t chosen yet. Think of it,” she claimed. Nobunaga, however, didn’t wait to answer her: “ I want to see your true self.” Her eyes widened. “ Out of everything in the world, that is what you wish for? Not for completion of your plans? Not for the power to accomplish them?” “ Indeed, that is the thing I desire most.” “ Fine, then open your eyes.”

She stood before him, not an otherworldly goddess, but a woman - a person made of flesh and bones.

“ Why are you staring? You’ve wasted your wish.” “ No, I did not. You are beautiful.” “ To be able to change the world and yet not do this - what is it, but a waste? Had I not been a mere tool, I’d crumble this universe to pieces. You have no idea how hard it is to live, when you’re nothing but an object.” “ I have enough power to accomplish my goals, yet if I didn’t ask, you’d never show yourself. If you want to change the world, then rule it by my side.” She crouched in front of him, cupping his face. “ Do you mean it?” “ I do.” “ You utter fool.”

He did not move an inch - she was the one who closed the distance between them. She kissed him.

“ I may be foolish, but taking this risk, that I do not regret.”

Dunno if it matches Nobunaga quite well, but hey. I tried, right? Do you want to see some other character next?

#nobunaga oda #ikesen nobunaga #ikemen sengoku nobunaga #ikemen sengoku #ikesen #ikemen series #cybird #my hc

93 notes · View notes

thatwitchrevan · 4 years

Text

‘at every moment’

summary: au scenes where Anakin does something different and better, changing his path. basically a bunch of mini fix-it fics. mild language, some canonical character death, and some mild non-canonical violence.

Anakin takes Padmé’s hand and smiles at her. The smile is pained and somehow hollow, even though he’s usually too sincere for his own good, and she gets the sense that despite how much pain he’s in, he doesn’t fully realize how terrible she feels. “Padmé, listen to me,” he implores her, drawing closer. “I can overthrow the Emperor and we can rule together.” He touches her cheek, soft and loving, but she wants to recoil. She can’t stop seeing the younglings he’s killed.

“It can be just like you want,” he promises her, and his voice is as sweet as ever, but she knows all his promises are empty.

“No.” She shakes her head, and she’s crying. She’s never been more afraid in her life - seeing everything else fall apart around her was one thing, but out of anyone she thought she at least knew him. “That’s not what I want. You have to know that.”

She shudders around a deep breath. She’s trying so hard to stay strong, to think of their future and not break down in this moment. “Come with me. Let’s get on the ship and run away. Let’s go have our baby in a safe place and just be together. We can worry about the Republic another day.”

It’s a compromise, and she hates compromise, but until now she didn’t realize just how desperately she needs this family.

Anakin is shaking his head; he looks as scared as she feels. “It’s too late, Padmé. I’ve done things I can’t fix. There’s no going back now.”

“No, we’re not going back. But we can get out of here. You have a choice, Ani. At every moment you have a choice.”

She pulls his hand against her stomach, where he can feel his child kicking wildly. “Do it for your child, Ani. They need you. I need you.”

With her eyes holding him steady, Anakin finally gives in. It breaks him, but he nods, crying now because he’s messed up and he doesn’t know if he can save her on his own. He’s lost, and all he has to guide him now is her voice. She leads him back to the ship.

Anakin watches Ahsoka walk away, but as she gets halfway to the steps he realizes he can’t just watch anymore. “Ahsoka!”

She stops and turns, but her eyes are hard and ready to fight as he runs to her. “You can’t stop me, Anakin.”

He reaches her and pulls her into his arms without hesitation. “I don’t want to stop you,” he says, and despite how tight he’s holding her she can hear in his voice that he means it. “I want to say goodbye.”

Ahsoka freezes, then hugs him back, sighing. “You’ll be alright without me.”

Anakin chuckles, a warm and familiar sound that causes her heart to clench again and almost changes her mind. “No, Snips, I really won’t. But you’ll be fine without me, and that’s what matters.” He pulls back, putting his hands on her shoulders and meeting her eyes with a soft, sincere smile. “You’re a better Jedi than any of us, and I’m so sorry we failed you.”

When Anakin sees her eyes fill for at least the third time, he hugs her again, but loosely this time, ready to let her go. “I love you, Ahsoka, and I’m so proud of you.”

She squeezes her eyes shut and buries her face in his chest, muttering ‘I love you, too’ against his robes.

“You have a twin sister,” Vader hisses, his mask hiding his surprise. He thinks out loud, tries to provoke his son out of hiding, but in his mind he’s reeling at the idea of having a daughter, wondering if she looks like Padmé. “If you will not be turned, perhaps she will.”

And that angers Luke like nothing ever has. All the threats against his life, all the attempt to subjugate him, all the betrayals of his father - that simmers quietly beneath the surface, a rage fueled by sadness. But his anger over his sister explodes into a star. Now he’s not only fighting Vader. He’s finally trying to kill him.

It would have made Anakin Skywalker proud to know his children loved each other so deeply, so fiercely, and would guard each other with the most fiery anger. He should have been there to guard them himself, rather than the one hunting them.

If only Obi-Wan hadn’t kept them from him - no. No, he reminds himself, this was his fault. He has to live with it.

But was it not his Master’s bidding that he attack his own son? He pauses, and Luke takes advantage of his hesitation, knocking him down and striking repeatedly, furiously. Anakin tries to block with his own lightsaber, but he's getting weaker, and Luke will still kill him. Perhaps he would deserve it.

His master laughs and makes his way down the stairs, coming to watch Vader die. Why should he give the bastard the satisfaction?

“Luke,” he cries, his brain not yet caught up with his heart on what he's doing.

He has to call out a second time before his son stops, tired and seething, and looks at him with a very familiar impatience. His eyes seem to be saying 'why should I listen to you now, when I’ve given you every chance?' But he says nothing.

“Luke,” Anakin begs again. “Will you help me?”

Luke is momentarily confused, but he seems to understand what his father means. He nods, his jaw set firm. Quickly he turns, facing the Emperor instead of Vader, his lightsaber humming ominously.

Vader forces himself to stand, his own lightsaber held in a defensive position, and they move toward the Emperor, who has realized now what they're doing and begins to laugh.

“Fools.”

Anakin's ears ring with the promise of power, the ability to prevent death. He could be sure Padmé wouldn't leave him - she could have the long, happy life she deserved and Anakin could finally get some fucking sleep.

But something's wrong, and he knows it. He respects Palpatine, admires him, but... The hungry look in the Chancellor's eye, the way he knows too much, exactly how to get Anakin's attention. It's all too deliberate.

Anakin's used to being controlled. Treated like an object, even. He'd thought Palpatine was one of the few who would encourage him to make his own choices, but in this moment at the opera he realizes it's a lie. He could go along with it, see what Palpatine can offer. Or he can refuse to be controlled.

Palpatine gives him a look that's meant to be reassuring, to say 'I know exactly what you need, and I can help you get it'.

But really, it's smug. It reminds Anakin of the day they'd met, what Palpatine had said to him that day when he'd become barely less of a slave. "We will watch your career with great interest."

Anakin is quiet for the rest of the performance, and then after he says goodnight to the Chancellor, he goes quietly to the Jedi Temple and meets with the Council to report on Palpatine.

Leia's eyes may as well be steel when she's looking at Tarkin. Vader thinks he's rarely seen a being with more hatred, more anger. She's dangerous, that's certain. And she's more use to them dead if she won't give up her fellow rebels.

Tarkin is insistent, though. The man is almost as stubborn as she is. He leans into her space, forcing her to back into Vader to get away. "I grow tired of asking, so this will be the last time. Where is your rebel base?"

Organa seems to break finally, looking out the viewport at calm, peaceful Alderaan. She's hardly more than a child, but as far as she knows the whole planet as well as her rebellion rest entirely on her shoulders.

"They're on Dantooine," she says, defeated. Tarkin nods, unable to disguise his smug triumph. "There, you see? That wasn't so hard, was it?"

He turns to the officers, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "You may fire when ready."

"What?" Whether it was hope or naivety that made the princess concede, the betrayal is palpable. Vader has been beyond caring for so long that even though to him, wasting an entire planet seems excessive, he's not about to protest. And yet there's something about Leia that cuts right to where his conscience used to be. Or maybe it's that he reminds her of someone he's forbidden himself to think about except when he's alone.

The weight of a world on her shoulders. The pain, the desperation to not let her people down.

He remembers a girl on Naboo who dressed like a servant but fought like a queen. Leia, though, is without recourse. She has no army, no bodyguards, no Jedi protectors, and she's all but dead.

Vader remembers a time he wanted to help that girl carrying the weight of a world. He wanted to save her. He steps forward, grabs Tarkin's arm instead of Leia's.

Tarkin looks at him like he's grown an extra head. "Vader, what are you doing?"

"Stop the attack." Vader looks at the officers, hoping the blankness of his mask is still imposing even in defiance of the Grand Moff. "Hold fire. Do not attack the planet."

Tarkin pulls away from him, glaring. "I am the one in power here. We will demonstrate the power of this station."

Vader looks at Leia. There is still so much anger in her eyes, but she's looking directly up into his helmet and Force, she really does remind him of Padmé. There's hope underneath that anger, fighting to the surface, waiting for a spark to ignite it. It surprises him to realize that he wants to give her that spark.

He ignites his saber. This isn't a time for any more words so he merely acts, killing Tarkin and every other Imperial on deck in the space of a minute - enough time for someone to set off an alarm and Leia's hard look to melt into slack-jawed, wide eyed wonder as he deactivates his saber and takes her binders off.

"Come with me," he says. "You're going home."

Shmi Skywalker lets out a final breath and goes limp in her son's arms. Anakin has never felt more lost in all his life.

Even through all these years away from her, he'd had the knowledge that his mother was out there somewhere, surviving as she always did. She had given him life, a name, and as much of a childhood as they could afford. She deserved so much better than dying in a desert. She deserved better than to be a slave in the first place.

She deserved a better son.

Anakin sobs as he holds her for an eternity. Only after he has no air left in his lungs and is simply too exhausted to cry does he start to move her. He lays her gently, reverently on the ground so he can stand and compose himself, think about what he's doing. He feels the burning in his heart, the anger. He wants to tear every being in this desert limb from limb, make it all pay for what's happened.

But even as his hand goes to his lightsaber, he knows there's only a few beings on this planet responsible for his mother's death, and killing any of them won't bring her back.

Anakin leaves his saber on his belt and does the very last thing he wants to do right now. He closes his eyes and he meditates.

The anger isn't going anywhere. To hells with what the Jedi say - it wouldn't be right if he wasn't angry. Nobody deserves his anger on their behalf more than Shmi. But if he kills everything he can find, it's going to change him in a way his mother wouldn't have wanted. Maybe the universe didn't care what she wanted or deserved, but Anakin does.

He takes a deep breath. Then he picks his mother up and holds her very close to his chest.

There are a few Tuskens who try to stop him as he walks out of the camp. He reflects their blaster fire back at them and keeps walking, leaving a few burning corpses instead of a whole village. Maybe that will be enough to balance the scales without ruining his soul. Either way, he's bringing his mother home.

#sw #star wars #sw fic #anakin #anakin skywalker #sw aus #my fic #griffin writes #this is the anakin fic i was talking about \o/#i like it. pls reblog it if you also like it. it is on my ao3 at theebonhawk #i will reblog with the ao3 link later #ty #happy star war

36 notes · View notes

anika-ann · 4 years

Text

Heart Too Cold, but Friends of Gold - Pt.3

Dead Woman Walking

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 3590

Summary: Avenger!reader AU. Part 2 of Melting Hearts series. Part 1 HERE.

Facing an enemy who took your parents was a challenge. Facing your parents, who had lived under the impression you had died was a other story entirely...Let’s just say that it was too much to handle... but punching you could do.

Warnings: swearing, violence, violence caused by superpowers… (if that’s a thing…Ice Ice Baby)

Story Masterlist

────── ·❆· ──────

You knew you were not ready to see your parents ever again.

You sure as fuck were not ready to see them with a knife at their throats, no matter how much you tried to brace yourself.

All remnants of your cool, all the confidence you had gained when fighting your way through, it all turned into ash.

You were a helpless kid again – helpless and ill, finally seeing their mother after an endless procedure and all you wished for was to curl up in her arms and let her cradle you in her warm and safe embrace, where everything got better.

You felt the air being knocked out of you, tears prickling your eyes. Your dad was right next to her, a huge man holding him in some sort of a headlock, blade on his throat. His expression was one of horror; the fact you might have been the true source of his fear stung your gut sharper than you anticipated.

Your mother was simply crying, watching you with mixture of healthy respect, fear and hesitant hope. It broke you even when you knew she could never ever recognize you like this.

You sprang in her direction first, but a man waiting behind the door on your left surprised you, lunging after you. You shushed the yelp and the pissed off ‘sloppy’ that sounded in your head and caught his arm on you, flipping him over, knocking him unconscious with your fist covered in ice.

The one appearing right behind him ended up with his feet frozen to the floor by two thick columns of ice, your sole in his abdomen. Also, his hand received a bit of a frostbite when he aimed his gun at you. And then you punched him in his face twice. He fell down.

“If I didn’t have my hands full, I would clap,” a sly voice commented, sending icy shivers down your spine.

You snapped your head to him, your ponytail flying with the swift movement.

Oh how you had learnt to hate and despise that voice in just few hours. Had you had fallen asleep during the time between receiving the phone call and your arrival here, you would have heard him in your nightmares.

You barely made a move towards him when the click of his tongue stopped you, his gaze focused on the blade of your mother’s skin. You froze in the middle of your step.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you, Snowflake.”

Your nails dug into your palm at the addressing, the action followed by his cheeky smile. God how much you craved for freezing that smile and punching all of his teeth out.

“Let them go,” you hissed, not caring if you sounded cliché or not.

He seemed to consider for long seconds, his gaze getting distant.

“Not exactly what I had in mind,” he replied in the end, meeting your eyes again.

You would swear you saw a flash of madness in them; your heart stopped at that. Mad people had nothing to lose. Who had nothing to lose did whatever they wanted.

You gulped. How do you get through to a psychopath?

You had no better plan than offering yourself in exchange – you were not afraid of showing your weakness, he had already known it after all, he had used it to get you here.

“Please. You don’t have to hurt them. You got my attention. I’m here. These people are innocent,” you pleaded in shaky voice, glancing at your parents’ faces again.

Their expressions twisted with fear made you want to cry and curl up in a ball.

Here I am, you fucking bastard. Here I am, so let them go. For god’s sake, just let them go. I was supposed to die years ago and if not that, than at least months ago. I am in relative peace with my death and so are they. But not with their own.

They were both crying, eyes puffy and their features worn. It seemed like the exhaustion they were used to was nothing compared to this, this time not settled into their bones; no, the weariness was now eating their bones like a disease.

Your mother was a kindergarten teacher and your dad was an accountant, after all. They were not built for this shit. They were never meant to go through this. They didn’t deserve it. And yet, here they were. Because of you. And because of him.

“Just one ‘please’? I would expect more from you…. After all, their lives should matter to you greatly. Don’t you think, Madam?” he whispered to your mom’s ear and your hand jerked their way. “Oh come on, don’t be stupid. She’ll be dead before you even try. That’s not how this works. Beg.”

The hate coiling in your abdomen mingled with fear. The instinct of being a good girl and do as he asked so your parents, the people you loved endlessly, wouldn’t be harmed any further, and the instinct of a fighter developed during your moths as an Avenger were in a furious battle… and no one was winning.

Except Michaels.

“Get on your knees. And beg.”

Your jaw clenched as he beckoned to his friend; the man added a bit of a pressure and suddenly the thinnest trickle of blood went down, sinking into your father’s collar. He wore a blue shirt – you didn’t think this could get any more ironic. You obediently sunk to your knees, your eyes locked with his.

The floor around you covered in black ice in perfect circle without you intending it. You ignored it and sought out their captor again. “Please. Please, don’t hurt them. I’m begging you.”

His lips spread in a smile. “Not bad, sweet-cheeks. Now, why don’t you take the eye-mask off? So they know why they’re gonna die?”

You glanced at your mother’s pale face and that was enough to bring tears into your eyes. Your hands shook as you placed them both on the edges of your mask, slowly, oh so slowly stripping it.

You raised your gaze hesitantly, not even faking the reluctance – you just gave up one barrier that was separating your true identity from your Avenger persona. Today, you had given your money on two more things – the voice disguiser and the skin-thin mask S.H.I.E.L.D. was using to conceal someone’s face so no one could suspect a thing. It was an incredible technology that worked all too well.

Unless your enemies knew for a fact that this was not what you looked like.

The man in charge clicked his tongue disapprovingly.

“Aww, Frosty, it’s cute that you think you can hide. But you’re forgetting I know who you are. Some fancy tech won’t fool me. Take off your mask… or she dies.”

He pressed the knife tighter to your mom’s skin and you would swear your heart stopped. Your hands instinctively went to prop up, so you could lunge forward; a warning tsk made you change your mind effectively.

“Uh-huh. Stay where you are and. Take. Off. Your. Fucking. Mask.”

“She’s not wearing a mask! What are you talking about?” your mother cried out, tears rolling down her cheeks and you swore that moment that you would fucking gut that bastard who had done this to her.

“Oh she is. Come on. Do I need to start a countdown?” he mocked you.

“Why are you doing this?” you whispered, icy fire sneaking through your body, filling your veins with unknown feeling as well as the room.

The walls started covering in thin ice too – you weren’t aware of doing it, it must have been a subconscious reaction of your powers to your mental state. You were losing control, but you didn’t give a fuck. You had no intention to spare this worm, the poor excuse for a human being.

“To make a show. But don’t worry, you’re gonna die too. I vowed to find a soft spot of each Avenger to detach them from the team and make them an easy target to kill… you were the easiest one really. Leaving the people you care about so much unprotected…” he teased you slyly and the unknown feeling suddenly blossomed into something much more familiar, only with yet unrecognized intensity.

Anger. Rage.

“You fucking bastard-“

“Ouch. You kiss your mother with that mouth?” That fucker! You gritted your teeth, your hands balling into tight fists against the floor. “I’m gonna slit her throat unless you reveal yourself in three…”

You were sure as hell that he wouldn’t hesitate to do as he was promising, even if it meant he wouldn’t get his big revelation – he was insane like that, no doubt.

You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling your tears running down the synthetic material imitating your skin. You held out one of your hands, asking for a moment, but you didn’t expect to get any.

“…two…”

You turned off the voice disguiser first – if you were about to reveal your face, there was no point in it. Then you brought your other hand to the levelled button to deactivate the advanced tech and started stripping it only a fraction of second later after pushing at the right place. You scrambled the thin film off your face, letting it fall.

You heard the astonished gasps, the breath of your name on your parent’s lips as loud as if they were screaming and you swallowed more tears that begged for release. You couldn’t make yourself to meet anyone’s eyes.

“That’s it, pretty girl. It’s a shame to hide a face like that, ain’t it?”

You breathed in sharply when you saw the steam coming out of his mouth peripherally. The temperature dropped significantly – your doing again, another sign of the powers acting on their own.

You lifted your gaze, piercing his eyes with yours with determination.

“Oh-ho, sweet. Never saw you change the colour of your eyes before. I guess the winter is coming.”

You had no fucking idea what he was talking about. Heavy snowflakes started falling down, but there was no gentleness in it – no, cold wind blew them, making them swirl around madly, making everyone in the room squint; except you. You felt something bubble inside you, something fighting its way out, crawling out and you had no need to try to shush it or push it back.

It made you feel strong. It made feel powerful enough to take these sons of bitches out.

“Whoa, now that’s new, Frosty-frost. What else you’ve got?” he mocked you with a victorious grin, his disgusting smugness in a stark contrast to your mother’s pale face.

You let go – you let go completely, allowing the burning energy to get loose. Your arms flew up in front of you intuitively as you jumped to your feet.

The sudden gust of wind threw the two remaining thugs against a wall, while your parents forms remained steady for some inexplicable reason – it was as if the energy acted instinctively again, its rage only focused on the people who had done you wrong.

The thug who had been holding your father’s head was knocked out by the blast; he slid down the icy wall as a rag doll, leaving a thin smudge of blood on its way, the ice cracked on the point of impact.

Michaels scrambled up, trying to catch his breath; behind him, the ice was broken as well. He chuckled a bit shakily, wiping blood from his fingertips to his trousers.

“Gotta admit, didn’t see that coming, Ice Queen.”

You walked to him slowly, having all the time in the world – he was barely standing and you felt the sprouts of energy at your hands that were just begging you to release them. So you did.

His body slammed against the wall once again, this time staying that way – invisible force was keeping him on place and he was stretching his neck so he could watch you approach.

“Why did you do this? The truth,” you demanded flatly, taking your time when erasing the distance between the two of you. You passed by your parents without a word; you had a monster to deal with now.

Michaels’ eyebrow rose – the gesture looked ridiculous since he still had to keep his eyes narrowed to see anything at all as the snowflakes was blowing into his face constantly.

“Big fan of family gathe-“

Your hand shot up to grab his throat before he could finish. He gasped for air.

“Tell. Me.”

Despite fighting for air and his limbs pinned to the wall, he grinned. “Look who’s— showing-- their true--- colours.”

You clenched your jaw and pressed tighter – you could feel your palm burning cold, itching to give a frostbite to his fucking vocal cords. The power was dizzying. You had never felt so strong and you were thanking heavens or hell – you didn’t care whose doing that was – for being able to fight like this now.

A solid weight of an icicle formed in your free hand unwittingly, rising to his neck.

You could see his eyes widen in shock before he composed his expression – you didn’t believe his fake bravery, you knew he was scared and it only fuelled the flame in you. You were the superior one. And this man needed a punishment.

“Frostbite— more like-- Killer Frost,” he choked out, tears rolling down his cheeks as he was fighting for air. His lips were slowly turning blue; you found it more interesting than his words, because he wasn’t saying what you wanted to hear. In fact, something stung your guts at the addressing, making your twitch, that something that felt important. But it wasn’t. “Why don’t--- you show---- mommy and dad-“

The sting was sharper this time. Something twisted your insides, something you couldn’t recognize, an inner voice whispering you to stop this madness; the freaking snowstorm in the room, the wind, the ice, the icy fire on your hands. The voice was shushed by a new rush of anger as you saw the man’s cocky smile, only growing when his hazy gaze looked behind you.

“-daddy— what a mur-murderer-- you are. Not your--- your first time---- ‘fter all.”

You gripped your weapon tighter and squeezed your eyes shut as the voice in your head got louder.

Spare him.

NO.

“Shut up,” you strained through your teeth, forcing yourself to look at him, to remember how much you hated him for what he had done and had tried to do. How much he deserved to die.

“ ’m sure Cap— ‘d be proud-- too.”

The mention of Steve did it.

You roared, burying the icicle in his body – it sank into his muscles as if he was made of butter, instantly covering in crimson liquid.

It was the most satisfying thing you had even done.

────── ·❆· ──────

Part 4

────── ·❆· ──────

Tags: @mermaidxatxheart, @murdermornings, @elisaa-shelby @ask-hellbent-tweek @cxptain, @kallafrench, @smilexcaptainx

────── ·❆· ──────

Thank you for reading! If anyone happens to want in or out of tags for Steve or this story, lemme know!

#marvel #fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #avenger reader #captain america imagine #captain america x reader #steve rogers x you #captain america x you #reader insert #mcu #captain america #steve roger #avengers #captain america fanfic #steve rogers fanfic #avengers fanfic #heart too cold but friends of gold #anika ann

34 notes · View notes

aion-rsa · 3 years

Text

Promising Young Woman and the Limits of Female Rage

https://ift.tt/3uVvRVp

This article contains Promising Young Woman spoilers.

Cinema is full of stories of righteously angry women who have suffered at the hands of wicked men. Invariably, these stories also see those women reclaim power over their own narratives by brutally punishing the men responsible. In Quentin Tarantino’s Kill Bill, The Bride stands triumphant, holding a katana over the mangled bodies of those who have tried to do her harm. Jennifer Cheek makes the boys of Jennifer’s Body pay for their misogynist behavior with their own blood, literally feasting on their souls. Revenge socialite Jen reinvents herself as a gory action hero as she literally hunts down the men who violated her.

There are power poses and triumphant musical chords, all acknowledging that justice has, in fact, been served, and that bad men have been disciplined—that a heroine has claimed her power and set the world to rights again. Usually, there’s also no small amount of death and blood along the way. (See also: All three movies mentioned above.)

Initially, it seems as though this is precisely the sort of film that Emerald Fennell’s Promising Young Woman intends to be. Its marketing strategy leans into the idea that Cassie Thomas is a sort of avenging angel in provocative dress, a candy-colored vision who tempts terrible men to their own well-deserved destruction, all set to the sound of a banging orchestral cover of Britney Spears’ “Toxic” in the trailer. But then, too often, that’s what audiences want: an easy solution to a complicated problem, wrapped in some brightly packaged Hollywoodized reassurance that there are, in fact, some sort of consequences for those who do harm to women.

But this isn’t that film, and Promising Young Woman doesn’t particularly care if that fact makes viewers uncomfortable. Instead this is a movie that pushes us to directly confront the harsh, deeply uncomfortable reality of such a situation rather than revel in the entertaining but empty catharsis of a blood-soaked fantasy romp. And that’s precisely what makes Promising Young Woman so incredible—and so difficult—to watch.

This is a feminist revenge movie that lives in the world as we know it today. Here, there is no final reckoning, no bloody triumph, no movie poster-ready stance from a woman who can, finally, put down the emotional burden she’s been carrying, and find the justice she’s been seeking. There’s no real sense that anything that Cassie’s done has made much of a difference at all, and though she does eventually manage to punish her best friend’s rapist, this one single clear victory comes at the cost of her own life.

Throughout its runtime, Promising Young Woman revels in bringing a particularly harsh and ugly truth to light: There’s only so much female rage can do in a world that’s not only set-up to constantly make women fail, but which fails them so utterly in turn.

Movies

Promising Young Woman: Director Emerald Fennell Breaks Down the Ending

By Rosie Fletcher

Movies

How Legally Blonde Created a Feminist Hero Ahead of Her Time

By Delia Harrington

The basics of Cassie’s story should feel pretty familiar to fans of similar female revenge thrillers. A former medical student who dropped out when her best friend killed herself after being raped, Cassie spends her nights wearing an assortment of colorful disguises to local bars and pretending to be falling down drunk. When she lures a seemingly nice guy to her rescue, only to learn that he’s exactly the sort of creep willing to take advantage of a girl who isn’t aware enough to say no, her sly, fourth-wall-breaking smirk clues the audience in on what’s next.

But what actually comes next is likely not what any viewer expected. One of the first surprises of this film—which has many—is that Cassie’s modus operandi isn’t what you’ve been led to believe, and no men are actually harmed on her nightly sojourns. Instead she confronts them directly, using the shock of her sudden sobriety to shame and humiliate these supposedly good guys who think terms like rape, assault, or sexual coercion couldn’t possibly apply to their activities. There’s no explicit punishment, just a few vague threats and the momentarily mortifying exposure of their own hypocrisy.

Yet in truth, that’s all Cassie can do: force these men to experience a tiny piece of the shock and trauma that she, her best friend, and women everywhere have all been through, and hope it’s somehow enough to guilt them into maybe changing their ways next time. Maybe. Or not. There’s every chance these men, convinced of their own nice guy status, will simply write her off as crazy or delusional, an unfortunate mistake that happened while they were really just trying to do the right thing. Promising Young Woman is nothing if not honest about the ways that rape culture works overtime to validate men like this and to reassure them that their actions are always justifiable.

On some level, the truth behind the list of names in Cassie’s little black book feels disappointing. Though, really, it shouldn’t. Far too often in movies like this, female protagonists are asked, even expected, to react to trauma in the same way male ones would: With violence. (Think John Wick, Memento, or even Gladiator.) But in the real world, women rarely resort to such actions, largely because they’re too difficult, and would probably result in injury, death, or imprisonment. (See also: The end of Promising Young Woman.)

Even the idea that Cassie gets to sail through these shamings unscathed, that none of the men she fools get angry enough for things to turn physical requires more than a little suspension of disbelief. It’s why the achingly long scene of her death feels so realistic and so tragic. Because as much as we don’t want to believe it, female rage can only do so much, and revenge fantasies can only get you so far.

Even as Promising Young Woman allows Cassie to “win” in the end, it’s a pyrrhic victory that comes at the cost of her own life. (And after a lot of preplanning that indicated Cassie herself didn’t expect to survive her visit to see Nina’s rapist.) But the bitter truth is that this film’s ending is much closer to reality than something like Kill Bill or Revenge could ever be. And, as a result, Promising Young Woman is a movie about female rage that acknowledges how inadequate our ways of both discussing and responding to the anger that women feel actually are.

After all, revenge movies, at their core, are really stories about pain. It’s just pain that’s been wrapped up in blood and fury, packaged as something ferocious and terrifying so that no one looks too closely at the broken pieces underneath. But Promising Young Woman isn’t afraid to look at the truth that films like this normally paper over, no matter how brutal and depressing it may be.

It asks us to not only reckon with what we want out of revenge movies, specifically, but the differences in what men can get away with and what women must be willing to die to achieve. Technically, Cassie triumphed in the end here, didn’t she? So why doesn’t it feel like a victory?

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

The post Promising Young Woman and the Limits of Female Rage appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/32lp9f7

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

1 note · View note

diveronarpg · 4 years

Photo

Congratulations, LISSA! You’ve been accepted for the role of BENVOLIO. Admin Minnie: Our Bellamy has come home at last, and I am so excited to welcome you as well, Lissa! Your application was, in a word, gorgeous. I could viscerally feel Bellamy’s heartache and his struggles with every line, and you mapped out a beautiful peacemaker who has yet to find peace within himself. While I read and reread your prose several times, it was your passion for Bellamy that really made this an easy decision. The level of thoughtfulness and care, Lissa, was next level, truly. It became very clear to us how deeply you loved Bellamy, and I’m so excited to see Bellamy blossom on our dash. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER .

ALIAS:

Lissa.

AGE:

21.

PREFERRED PRONOUNS:

She/her.

ACTIVITY LEVEL:

My time is limited because of university and my part-time internship. However, I’d say I’m able to pop up twice/thrice a week, more or less!

TIMEZONE:

GMT -3.

HOW DID YOU FIND THE RP?

I found this RP some time ago, so I can’t say for sure. Probably through the tags, though!

OTHER RP ACCOUNTS:

https://dantesinfcrno.tumblr.com/.

IN CHARACTER .

CHARACTER:

Benvolio as Bellamy Santo Domingo.

WHAT DREW YOU TO THIS CHARACTER?

“ WAR-BEGOTTEN. ” ╱ “ HIS KICKING A MEANS OF DEFENSE FROM CRUELTY. ”

NATURE VERSUS NURTURE, an undying question with no solutions, a concept with a spectrum that falters and crumbles in the hands of Bellamy: a boy, born amidst carnage, picking flowers in haunted fields and gifting beauty upon the world like a stolen flame only pertinent to deities. He wears no crown of laurels upon waves of untamed hair, but every spring spats thorns before his feet. Bellamy cradles them, plunges them against his veins, his chest, his neck, puncturing his flesh with words whispered by fated winds. Kindness is dangerous as a sharp blade, if wielded with enough precision. He refuses, time and time again, this visceral call from the woods, from the ivory castles that know of corpses and festering. He refuses, vices and sins unbecoming of him –– but they are already there, lurking in the shadows since air reached his lungs for the first time. Bellamy pretends not to see it, but those who stare deep into his eyes can recognize the Stygian darkness that swims underneath honeyed warmth. A flame is still scorching, no matter how domesticated.

IN AN INTERLUDE, he swears there will never be carmine stains in his fingers. He lays awake at night, however –– the blood his heart pumps might as well not be his own; might have been harvested off the bodies buried beneath Verona’s sacrilegious grounds. Bellamy wonders, a heavy conscience his first determining trait, if he is not punishment from the heavens to the Santo Domingo lineage, if he is not a life sentence determined by God to appease the remnant lambs saved from slaughter. As he moves through the Montagues, through his own people, Bellamy looks in a mirror, and sees nothing. He has always been a ghost, meant to carry what no one desires to hold close.

BELLAMY IS NOT A SLAUGHTERHOUSE of the likes of his father: he is a morgue, eerie place of eternal unrest. Battlecries do not linger in his tongue as prayers do; his knuckles suffer a lesser offense than his guts once a punch is thrown. Violence is a betrayal to the murdered saints that crawl through his spine, and once again–– Bellamy refuses to bow before his birthright. In a world of dog eats dog, he opts to remain alive until his last breath is stolen from his lungs, his canines and claws kept safely hidden underneath trained porcelain touch. To be made out of steel, and not crush all tender things that take root in his soul –– is it foolish, or is it admirable? The looks of pity are the only answer he has ever gotten.

“ POETIC AND PHILOSOPHICAL SOUL OF THE ANCIENT GREEKS. ” ╱ “ CURSED WITH GENTLENESS. ”

KINDNESS & WEAKNESS, he learns, are not the same. Mercy is a weapon like any other, and Bellamy learns how to use it. They do not see it ; and dismissal becomes a habit for this ruinous shrine Bellamy dares call his body. He supposes, amidst war, it’s a privilege to have surprise by one’s side: no one expects the quietest of children to strike with such ravenous fury, hellfire blazing against raw flesh. Bellamy doesn’t speak of grief, of this century-old wound that has found a nest inside of his lungs, of this monstrous butterfly learning how to morph itself into anger.

I YEARN FOR PEACE. I yield. I must provide diplomacy for a world eager to end in flames. He repeats such verses as if they’re the poetry he is so fond of –– because the truth is, gentle elegance is a decision he has taken much before he could stand on his own legs. He is an absurdity, an oxymoron, an anomaly. Is that such a terrible thing to be? Is he in the wrong, to still mourn over those who wished to see him dead? He prays, quietly into the dead of night. He prays, and the world listens, but only for a moment. This is all the hope he has, and is it not an exit wound worse than any other? Relentless wishing upon a star, begging for a deity to descend from paradise and provide salvation–– in the end of this path, Bellamy forces himself to become Pariah & Messiah (if not him, who else would find reason amongst blasphemous madness? who else would shamefully bow their head before the cross, and beg for their sins to be forgiven?).

THE CURSE THEY SPEAK OF IS A BLESSING IN DISGUISE, for Montagues & Capulets alike are far too consumed by the fiery flames of murderous passion to understand the gravity of each battle they initiate. Bellamy has run out of ways to explain the weight of the blood that paints cobbled streets red ; decides to act as a fortress for his people (this entire city, plagued by a tale of two selfish families). PEACEMAKER, they say, as if it’s an insult –– as if his loyalty doesn’t lie deeper than any other soldier’s ; as if he has not sworn down his life for the chance Verona might see the sun rise in shades of joyous amber ; as if he hasn’t halted his existence to serve & protect.

BELLAMY DOES NOT offer words enlaced with poison to those who subdue him –– his throat aches with screams locked in for too long, but he dares not speak unless he delivers alluring arguments that might lead all out of danger. This is what he has never chosen for himself, and yet–– he bears it. For his father, for his brothers, for Roman and Marcelo, for the warriors that spit on the paths he follows with religious diligence, for the mothers in this nightmarish town that provides no comfort to their sons but death.

THE MIND HE HAS CULTIVATED, albeit mocked by many, is a powerful companion to the tender heart he has crafted with mangled hands. Innocence is vulgar in a world like this –– but Bellamy’s good will is not one borne out of naiveté. This is what both armies do not understand: Bellamy is not moved by his kindness, nor is he propelled by volatile emotions –– what blooms underneath the tender facade is a deliberate choice he will take, time and time again, funded on principles that have raised Athens from the ground up. This is what he will not abdicate. This is what no one sees, for he is more ghost than man, more mind than matter: amidst wicked and tempestuous men, Bellamy raises himself above raging waves, an unmovable marble tower.

HE, OF COURSE, STILL PICKS UP A DAGGER ╱ a gun, infiltrating loveless troops in order to conquer peace. There is no other way, he has realized. Perhaps crumbling is necessary for rebirth ; perhaps some sins can only be washed out with blood. As Francis Butler once said, “the nation that will insist on drawing a broad line of demarcation between the fighting man and the thinking man is liable to find its fighting done by fools and its thinking done by cowards,” so Bellamy goes to the front lines ; not with the blind desire to create chaos ╱ but to make change. If the weight of the pen is not enough, he will find a way to be heard.

“ SINS OF OMISSION. ” ╱ “ PUT OUT THE FIRES. ” ╱

“ SELF-LOATHING. ”

BELLAMY DOES NOT REST, his mind unable to encounter a moment of quiet. When will this end? He could only ever sleep once he turned his back to Verona, bloodshed no longer marring his door –– but still, he woke up in a cold sweat at least once a week, and it felt like betrayal, deep down in his bones. ATLAS could never hide his true nature, for the Earth would still weigh heavily down his shoulders. He wasn’t missed, of course, too much of an oddity, with idealist visions that somehow disturbed the choleric landscape they lived in. And yet, as he traveled around the globe, as he became renowned for his grasp of law & justice, insatisfaction was in the back of his mind. What if–– they died? What if–– Marcelo disappeared one night? What if–– Roman could not handle life on his own? What if––. No amount of change was capable of drowning this out, when the city that has birthed him was still ablaze. You have become selfish. He would stare at open windows, and the desire to book a flight would bellow inside of his every vein. Embrace your fate, for cowardice is unbecoming of a Santo Domingo.

BITTER ONCE HE LEAVES, bitter once he returns. Is there anything he could do, to prevent this miserable tale of a prodigal child coming back to a nest they’d long forsaken? No matter how many books he has memorized, there are no words that can explain this feeling –– no one can comprehend him, for his scars are invisible to most. He stands, tall and proud, but darkness comes for him, and he howls to the moon, for it is the only being who understands his pain. You, too, fester in ruby shades against your will. You, too, become eclipsed by a purpose much larger you could ever hope to be. You, too, are still following the footsteps of the sun. Bellamy can no longer abstain from this war, so he wears adamantine armour (a brilliant mind, a beautiful smile, poignant words). Some days, it’s easier to pretend he is no longer holy. Some days, he drowns the taste of copper from his tongue with wine. Some days, he cries –– for those he killed ; for his own spirit, mutilated. Most days, he becomes a sacred image made out of steel: I am no angel, but I can try, I must try.

“ BELLAMY MAY BE BORN INTO WAR, MAY HAVE BEEN BRED INTO IT, BUT THAT DOES NOT MEAN HE WILL HAVE TO SUBMIT TO IT — NO, HE WILL FIGHT. ”

( ADDENDUM . ) In the novel, Benvolio is a static character, lacking much depth beyond his diplomatic role, as he is often the only voice of reason amidst a vicious crowd led by a herd mentality. I aim to translate his wish for peace as his primary motivation, but root it deeper –– the system in which Bellamy was raised in should have, in theory, destroyed all tenderness his nature would have provided him with. So where does it come from? How has he protected this piece of himself, even when surrounded by death? Bellamy is a strong character –– not only because of his physique, but because his mind is a fortress. I believe his philosophical spirit has always pushed Bellamy to see life beyond the walls of his own home. I believe the love he felt specifically for Roman and Marcelo urged him to value humanity much more than any other soldier of his kind. His gentleness has always been a choice: not always a conscious one, but a choice nonetheless. But no one has only one principle to follow, and morality is a grey and temptatious thing. Bellamy might not be easily led to a fight, but he has always been a protector –– his self-loathing and the ingrained idea that his life is worth less combine to form this selfless persona, sometimes to the point of toxicity, to the detriment of his own being, willing to do it all for whomever is in need.

What is most intriguing to me, concerning Bellamy, is that he is a paradox in more ways than one, which creates a multitude of paths he could take. He strives for peace, but is still fighting a war. In his core, he believes this conflict is useless and only acts as a catalyst for more pain, but since he desires to protect his loved ones (which includes the mob he was raised in, his family and friends, but might as well include a stranger in trouble) & honor his name, he came back to Verona as soon as he was summoned. He has been altruistic for so long it has worn him out, and now selfishness claws at his bones (he has left once, and perhaps he still thinks too often about doing so again –– Bellamy dreams of forgetting this city, wakes up and tries to repent for wishing to find an identity that goes beyond his occupation inside the Montague ranks). The kindness he chooses to exude is in high contrast to the anger that boils on his blood like a second skin –– he is tired of this game, he is exhausted of worrying and burying everyone that has once made him smile (and what does it take, for a guardian angel to turn his back on his people? What does it take, for a god to abandon his creations to bloodshed, and finally allow forgetfulness to consume his brain? I feel like Bellamy is constantly on the edge of an abyss, staring into the void, the point of no return daring him to step further). It almost feels like his body and his mind are disjointed, and his own wishes have been suppressed in order for him to fill in the shoes his family needs him to.

I don’t think Bellamy is moved by passion and intense emotions, even though his biggest motivators are linked to the people he cares about –– in fact, he cares so much about them, that he has always been willing to die by the sword if it meant his father and mother would be safe, if it meant Roman and Marcelo could enjoy a longer and happier life. He is not a cowardly man, never had the chance to be, even when the world became his home –– I envision that Bellamy has seen and lived many tragedies, probably had his hands on a few of them. It will weigh down on his back, on his shoulders. This type of character will always carry an omen on their bodies, no matter how hard they try to wash it out. I think this is a cycle that shackles Bellamy down and he still isn’t sure if he can break free from it (or even if he wants to do so, for being selfish has brought him unbearable guilt during his travels & Bellamy can’t forgive himself for straying away from the path delineated for him since birth): he was raised to be lethal, and he remains in this dark setting where flowers can not bloom, trying to force the petals to come out anyway, trying to grasp the sun and gift it to Verona, and the inevitable failing of this turns him disgusted by his own reflection, desperate to prove himself and justify his existence by doing his duty for the name Montague.

WHAT IS A FUTURE PLOT IDEA YOU HAVE IN MIND FOR THE CHARACTER?

GODHOOD. Verona is a city of sinners, and Bellamy’s hands are not devoid of their own –– however, in them, there is a gentleness carved out not from the absence of violence, but despite it ; a temple raised in the name of Agape, as Bellamy becomes a god, ready to purge & forgive, to kiss the feet of those who have walked upon a dirtied path & purify them. Odin Bello is not the first to use the Santo Domingo’s ears as a confessionary, and he certainly won’t be the last –– there is something in his eyes that prompts people to open up ; to make offerings and sacrifices in exchange of honeyed prayers, for it’s the holiest thing Verona has to offer (a boy still, whose halo is faded ╱ whose body’s a litany of mysteries and nocturnal waves). This is the closest to peace they can get, half-angel at their doorstep, wings bled dry, gunpowder on his hands –– it is sublime as it is terrifying, and some can not bear it (Rafaella, for one, seems to be terrorized by his very image, insistent on driving him away as he pleads for her to see the light: where in God’s name is the child I’ve met, don’t you wish to forge a kinder ending to us all?). In his search for peace, Bellamy has long forgotten his own humanity –– he’s always had to bury it in order to fulfill his role as a son, as a warrior, as a scholar, as a peacemaker (there is no space for him to simply be, and he often wanders around Verona, searching for an exit ╱ the world has not given him an answer, neither has the mob). What is he, but a weapon? What is he, but a forsaken deity? Bellamy has crossed oceans and continents, and still–– he isn’t seen. Is there one to embrace him fully, vices & virtues, blood moon & sunshine? Is there a way for Santo Domingo to dissolve himself of his own existence, but without guilt? The thoughts often haunt him –– but alas, he has to rise in the morning, for his own life is not the heaviest weight he has to carry.

( ADDENDUM . ) Unlike the two other plots I will lay out in the next sections, this one is directed inwards. Bellamy, in my perception, has always seen himself in relation to others –– how he can help, what can he do for them, how his existence can be a tool for others to improve their own lives. He has always filled in a role: his motivations are genuine, but how does one push forward, when dedicating all of their energies to everyone but themselves? I think Bellamy had his time away from home & from the traditional boxes he had to fit himself into, but still–– it was marred by so much guilt and the constant stress of receiving dire news, because Bellamy had always been aware Verona would not change its ways, especially not with him gone. So many of his frustrations are still boiling underneath his skin –– he is out of place, he hasn’t found himself, he doesn’t feel like he can fully pursue his dreams & wants because it would mean letting someone else down. He is still the soldier that put all of his desires on hold in the name of honouring his ancestors, and while he takes pride on this, on his family–– it is oh, so unfulfilling, to aim for peace and come back to war, to raise your voice and not be heard.

I’m very invested in my character’s psyches, and I fully believe every character has many layers that deserve to be explored with utmost dedication –– no one is merely one thing, and it would be quite sad to portray any fictional being as such. I want to explore Bellamy’s vision of the family he so loves, and for which he has given up so much for, how adoration balances itself out with the bitterness he tries to drown so desperately, how he dedicates himself to his job & position even though he feels disgusted by posing as a bodyguard, when the loyalty of those he protects is bought with money and not with the respect he preaches all living creatures should be deserving of. I want to see beyond his quest for peace –– will he ever let his guard down? Will there ever be someone he trusts, beyond the feud that extends over Verona? Will Bellamy find understanding, someone he can speak to, someone that crawls underneath his skin and finds he is so much more than a peacekeeper? Most importantly, will Bellamy discover himself? Will he find his strength to power through this reality he never wished to come back to? Where will he find it? How will it transform him? Is love capable of holding him up, moving him forward? Will the hunger for more break his heart, will the ugliness of bloodshed turn him sour at last?

BROTHERS IN ARMS. Bellamy is a man of the past –– his core survives on sweet memories of a flourishing spring that will never come back. Laughter, juvenile & booming, was something he could only share with Roman and Marcelo, the two friends he feels actually belong to him, with him. Bellamy has never dared to utter his adoration aloud to either of them, has never admitted he’d rather die than see them perish. The love he has given them was perhaps lukewarm, when compared to these two feisty demons with hellfire for hearts: Bellamy’s affection was a tender kiss to the temples, soft massages to erase their aches, a moment of quiet as he wiped the sweat from their foreheads. He never promised to remain by their side, but in his chest–– he knows his place is right beside them, perhaps below them, but still close. And Bellamy has thrown that to the wind once he up and left, consumed with a selfish desire to live as a person, and not a warrior born out of a patronym. He loves them, will always love them most of all –– but maybe that is not enough. Maybe there is an abyss in between them, an ocean separating their souls. Lucky for them, Bellamy is willing to cross it with undeterred determination –– anything to safely tuck them away inside his rib cage ; his drive to protect grows stronger when near them (is there anything he wouldn’t do for these remembrances of boyhood? He is scared of discovering there isn’t, so he blinds himself once Marcelo comes by, once Roman’s cologne reaches his nose). The tally of his sins would grow & grow, and the only ones that would make such fate bearable would be his brothers.

( ADDENDUM . ) Bellamy’s friendship with Roman and Marcelo is one of the things I’m extra eager to explore! First and foremost, because I am sure, beyond Bellamy’s immediate family, these two are his most important people & there is very little he wouldn’t do for them. And, boy, would I like to discover what the limits of this friendship are! Is there a line Bellamy, the loyal Patroclus to these two Achilles, would not cross, even when concerning the people closest to his heart? Would he ever forsake them in the name of his morals? Alternatively, what absurdities would he commit on their names? What lengths would he cover, to see both of them living a long and happy life?

In the book, Benvolio is in a lower position than Mercutio and Romeo –– which is mirrored here, so it opens up a myriad of possibilities. Italian mafias are known for a strict code of conduct & sense of hierarchy, and they also work as famiglias, obviously. So I picture that, although they were raised together, there was always a thin line separating them: Bellamy always considered himself less than Roman and Marcelo, and was satisfied to occupy this lower rank & serve them in any way he could. It interests me in the sense that, even though they’re his closest friends & probably the few people that have always accepted him (because this is another one of his struggles –– both his “softer” personality and his gender identity are probably strange concepts to his traditional family in the same manner, and acceptance is not something Bellamy has ever had plentiful of), I still think Bellamy tries and holds himself back with them –– there are parts of him that are occulted, and purposefully so, from the ones he loves most. So I’m thinking, once he left, it was probably a huge shock for Roman and Marcelo –– no one saw it coming. Of course Bellamy did his best to remain in contact, but still, dissidence is dissidence. So how do they receive him back? Have Roman and Marcelo ever actually seen Bellamy with the same eyes he sees himself with? How much of an abyss has originated in between them, after these four years of distance?

BLOODHOUND. Loyalty and obedience, when combined, are quite a dangerous threat to one’s honesty and commitment to good deeds, especially when an involvement with the mob is concerned. His continuous absence has not gone unnoticed –– and many have frowned upon his return. Bellamy, a soldier? he has heard them laugh. Bellamy, a fighter? he has felt their scorn from the weight of the stares that follow him as he steps into a room. It brings him sick nostalgia ; one that leaves his stomach turned upside down. The children that used to sneer at him for taking care of stray dogs & cats are now his companions in this senseless war (and yet they all seem too eager to see Bellamy fail –– they doubt him, untrust creating a wall between them. More than isolating, it’s demeaning to a man who is willing to give out his life to honor his father’s ╱ a man who has slashed all of his hopes & dreams to fulfill a path that does not belong to him). The bellicose bickering within the ranks, however, does not disturb him –– Benvolio does not get the credit he is deserving of, for hiding so well underneath porcelain features. These soldiers have nothing on the silent storm that builds inside of Benvolio –– his heritage has always been written out in shallow graves, tainted by fate ; by the numerous gods of Death. Now, he is forced to reach for it, to hold it (it scorches his fingers, it gifts him endless agony, but he lets it have its rightful place next to his beating heart). How far into umbriferous rivers can he sink? ╱ What is the limit of this painful allegiance to his own name? Bellamy does not sleep, for all his nights are wasted away in wondering –– what will I become? And that is perhaps the only murder he is not ready to commit.

( ADDENDUM . ) Concerning this point, I’d like to explore a few paths. Firstly, how was Bellamy received back by the Montagues? He was never a figure on the receiving end of much respect, since his quest for peace turned him into a black sheep of sorts, but surely leaving amidst a war was not an act appreciated by many. Are there suspicions of him? Is he a victim of something similar to military abuse from his peers? Trust was certainly lost, and Bellamy is willing to take the steps to conquer it back –– not for himself, but in the name of his poor father, who deserves as much. The point is, how far is he willing to go for this acceptance? Better yet, in order to show the loyalty that he has always cherished for his parents & for the Montagues, is Bellamy willing to go against his principles? Of course, he is wearing their armour while vouching for peace, but this is not a plan that can be considered definitive.

He is merely a soldier, but would he go against the hierarchy he was raised to respect, if he felt the orders given were unjust? Spoiler alert: I think he certainly would, which would only make the trust he is desperate to regain even more of a distant perspective. I think Bellamy would struggle to try to maintain the scales even, to find a balance between obedience and his principles –– but that won’t work forever, and, at some point, he will have to decide what reigns (and that is one more inner turmoil for him to face). This is something that will always be at the core of his development, in my opinion, and it can fluctuate.

For example, Bellamy is a scholar. I see him as the observing type, listening before he speaks. He tries to understand people to the best of his ability. So, of course, he will interact with Capulets and, instead of seeing them as the enemy, he will more likely take a humanist approach. These are individuals, with their own families & struggles, not beasts to be slaughtered –– this is where Odin Bello comes in, for I think he’ll be a very important piece for Bellamy’s development in this sense, because the Santo Domingo willfully trusts people, no matter their background (everyone should have a second chance, should they not?). He is not ignorant or unaware of how this can end, but he is certainly a character with the most disposition to understand someone coming from a different place than he is.

If the time comes where he has to end one of them (and I’d like him to –– whether because it’s a request from Roman or Marcelo themselves, or a decision Bellamy comes to in order to defend them, because his protective nature is not just for show, and it definitely has darker roots), it would be a large blow to his constitution as a person. I don’t think Bellamy would ever forgive himself, and guilt would consume him –– it’s a great source to explore the underlying shadows he has, his self-hatred, and where would those things lead him (would he leave? Would he consider himself, at one point, far too gone & take a leap into war? Would he take his own life? Would he ever betray the Montagues to save another?).

I think this is intriguing as well, because Bellamy’s motivations are directed outwardly –– to achieve peace for the city, to save his loved ones from pain, so on and so forth. So his relationships to others will be determinants to the paths he’d take –– because it’s an instinct of his, to think of others before himself. But, then again, can he be convinced to embrace his selfishness? Can he turn his back to them all, if enough buttons are pushed? Everyone has a breaking point, and Bellamy seems to outright neglect his needs and limitations in order to step in for others –– which means a breakdown is in order, but also that it will take plenty of build-up!

ARE YOU COMFORTABLE WITH KILLING OFF YOUR CHARACTER?

Yes, for sure, if it serves a purpose!

IN DEPTH .

IN-CHARACTER INTERVIEW:

› WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE PLACE IN VERONA? ‹

CARAMEL-HUED IRISES meet the ethereal roof of the Cathedral of Verona –– it used to be his favorite place, even when the Capulets reigned over it, for it raised Bellamy closer to a God he could hear ╱ could understand better than he could a war that tinged his family with nonsensical losses and burials, hollowed out spaces carved on their roots as the sunset started resembling more a battleground than a kingdom of beauty. Bellamy recalls the singing that used to echo inside luxurious walls, filling his heart with choirs of warm voices (the boy swore he could feel an angel’s grasp touching his hands, inviting him to reach higher ╱ he never did, terrified of the consequences of holiness, but perhaps he was gifted with a martyr’s heart, and was that not much heavier?). Now, however, the Montague mark has erased memories of saints & softness alike –– there is always a dulled tud to be heard ; a silent ache overflowing from his bones. Bellamy taps his pen against the question he posed against himself: it was a heavy blow too soon since his return, but the Santo Domingo only knows kindness to wounds that do not belong to him. There is a heavy sigh as mulls over his options –– even his home is a lie, one that bears a dismantled innocence he’d rather avoid. In the corner of his notebook, Bellamy writes down, cursive letters delineated with delicacy: “ the library. ” It is no different than the church, for the countless shelves boast about the Montague heritage –– in Verona, there is nowhere to turn, for every piece of the city tells a story not in ink, but with blood (he tries to tell himself he does not hate this, that a part of him does not fester once he walks outside, breathes in the air soaked with death). When Bellamy sinks into immeasurable knowledge, however, it’s easier to forget the reality that awaits him outside the Montague’s fortress –– even as a man, as a soldier, Bellamy lingers in empty rooms, a stack of books by his side as the hours come and go (he does not distract himself with the noises outside, with the possibilities with sharp claws, as poets and philosophers and theorists feed him sublime words). What else could he ask for, but this make-shift serenity?

› WHAT DOES YOUR TYPICAL DAY LOOK LIKE? ‹

IT IS PATHETIC OF HIM, to gather the unstopping questions he received upon his return & write them down to pin answers proper enough (underneath his skin, however, the truth lurks as a viper: you can only spit out honesty to yourself, face half-eclipsed, in secret ╱ no one desires to hear you once the pleasant river that flows down your tongue stanches ; once the corpses start floating up from the depths of your soul to the shore of your lips, disfigured & dismembered, like the crude words you never let out). His handwriting seems to stare into his soul, calloused fingers trembling as his mind splits –– the facade, his candor, the middle-ground that is as unsatisfying as what Bellamy has to offer. He is twenty-four, a degree in law under his belt with a specialization on international relations –– but he is a bodyguard ╱ a soldier (it all depends on who asks) ; and his most prized possession is no longer his mind, but the strength of his brawl. Bellamy finds it strange, even, that they trust his hands to protect –– most days are accompanied by the weighty stare of his peers, as if he is not a pacifist but instead a grenade. It is almost demeaning, for a man of the law to stand by people, but only for a price (as if any life can be monetized ; as if that is not a sin by itself). His mere stance inside the Montague ranks make him a corrupted figure, unclean –– it’s worth it, he mumbles under his breath, it’s what I was made for (his heart seems to rebel with the strength of a caged bird as he steps further into this organization).

His days are spent idly, almost –– his fists are always clenched ; bile is always clinging to his throat, acidic & nauseating. There is no beauty to uncover in Verona, no enthralling tales waiting to be discovered. –––– I spend all of my days trying to be heard, even though I am well aware soldiers are not supposed to have mouths. –––– he whispers to himself, a tender smile forming on his lips (it’s an instinct, more than a reflection of joy). One day, perhaps, his fight will be worth it –– at least, that’s what he tells himself, in order to have half an hour of rest every dawn.

› WHAT HAS BEEN YOUR BIGGEST MISTAKE THUS FAR? ‹

IT’S A QUESTION THAT HAUNTS HIM SINCE CHILDHOOD, for Bellamy often wonders what he could’ve done differently –– is there any choice he could’ve taken, that would spare him of these results? No matter the frequency with which he falls into these pits, the conclusion he comes to tends to be the same: fate would have been kinder only if he had been born under a different name, far away from the plagued streets of Italy –– but since he is a Santo Domingo, the list of his mistakes extends itself much further than the date of his genesis, going back to the first man to shed their skin in the honour of a Montague and not their own. Bellamy’s nails dig through the palms of his hands –– it throbs, but it’s the subdued ache that he is used to welcoming with open arms (he does not pity himself, for his low worth is a fact ingrained on the insides of his thighs and his teeth). –––– What mistake have I not made? –––– he wonders aloud, and his voice echoes and shatters inside this chamber of forgiveness (but even God has abandoned him, no glories to be bestowed upon Bellamy’s solitary altar). His eyes are closed once he starts scribbling, uninterrupted consciousness as he lists his regrets: tearing apart my mother’s womb ; surviving the trials humanity forced upon a frail child’s body ; laughing when I shouldn’t have ; refusing to smile when I should’ve ; abandoning the city that gifted me all I have ; returning to the place that crushed my hopes ; being too tender ╱ being too harsh ; simply being –– not a fleshed warrior, not a kinder deity (just Bellamy, a fine friend, and nothing more).

› WHAT HAS BEEN THE MOST DIFFICULT TASK ASKED OF YOU? ‹

TO STOP VALUING LIFE, is what he writes down, without much thought. As a combatant, one must first learn how to fall (how to perish) before picking up a sword or lifting their fists. As a protector, Bellamy grew up listening that his life was no more than a shield to his king –– and perhaps, he never truly learned how to give this up, this desire to become more than these red threads of fate ordered him to be (more than carnage, this was his reason for leaving, was it not? To find the parts of Bellamy Santo Domingo that extended beyond mob ranks & fancy nomenclatures for murderers). His dilemma was a sword with multiple edges, and it ended nested inside his chest, puncturing his heart –– no one seemed to mean a thing for the war that raged on, no matter how beloved ; entire families could be wiped clean and left without a proper ending ; kind strangers could become his next target (and, oh, perhaps the smile Bellamy had given them was more ominous than an act of docility ; perhaps he has more claws and canines than he wants to admit).

› WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS ON THE WAR BETWEEN THE CAPULETS AND THE MONTAGUES? ‹

I WANT IT TO END, and the words are furious, burning against paper –– his pulse seems to strike with force against his jugular (Bellamy feels every beat, and in his mind, there’s always the awareness it might be his last). –––– It has gone for far too long, it is not worth it –– it has never been. –––– he is a preacher to no one but himself in this moment, solitude providing him an outlet for the emotions he so adores to bottle up, muttering under his breath as the light inside his eyes flickers (it can’t go out, but God –– how to keep a candle ablaze when the winds blow harsher with each new day? How to maintain the warmth inside his muscles when winter consumes him whole? How, how, how?). Bellamy pushes against the current, but his legs are paralysed and frozen ╱ phantom limbs, as he tries not to succumb to the ghostly nature that has followed his every step. Bellamy writes, and writes, and writes –– he has also ran away, he has also tried to become someone else. But now, he is determined to fight –– he isn’t sure of the how or when, but the gun already weighs in the palm of his hand. Time is ticking ; eyes bore into his back. I WANT IT TO END, AND I WILL END IT (and, oh, Lord, what is the cost of this one more choice?).

IN-CHARACTER PARA SAMPLE:

EXTRAS:

Pinterest board.

#accepted #accepted: benvolio

4 notes · View notes