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wit laughed. a true, if a little bitter, chuckle escaped him. " overpriced being the operative term. i had a beer a few hours ago, and some guy bought me a glass of whiskey, but they don't really take cashapp here? sort of knocks me out completely. " he shook his head, swallowing hard as if to purge emotion from his breath.
" sometimes things are hard for me. i don't always feel like i make sense? so when things that aren't me also don't make sense, it just feels like the world is out of control. " wit tapped his fingernail on the railing, a hollow sound echoing into the night. " does that make sense? "
There she stands, just a breath away from the void's swirling currents, a realm that once cradled her like a womb and home, now lost to her grasp. Leaning against the ship's railing, she is an errant slant with slender fingers folded underneath her chin, her pale hair whipped into wild, windborne dances. Nights like these awaken a deep longing for her mother, for the warmth of her little coven nestled within a tourist haven, for days untouched by the stain of blood on her hands.
An eyebrow arches in concern. True, the seasick have been a common sight in the past hour, but his malaise seems marrow-deep. Sick of heart, as she is.
"No need. Ocean's big to harbor both of us, no?" Azusa offers a faint, curling smile, tinged with bemusement, intrigue, and a touch of pity. "I suppose something quite shitty must be weighing on you if even a bar brimming with overpriced cocktails and a sparring ring full of spit and blood couldn't lift your spirits."
She lifts her chin. "Might as well tell me. It's the next best thing to drowning."
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sometimes wit will practice lines a few times in his head before he says them. it helps, because if he speaks to fast words will blur and switch and tumble until they don't have any sense. sometimes he forgets that the people outside of his head can respond.
" oh, yeah, i mean. if it works, you know? " brow furrowed, he tried to hide the fact that he'd gone a bit red. fingers flitting over the wounds on his knuckles, the sharp jabs of pain grounded him. he closed his eyes as an exasperated sigh left him, restarting. " do you fight? " his voice pitched up in question.
her gaze shifted from the ring to wit, eyes dropping down to examine his hands and exposed skin for any trace of evidence that he had been down there and how he may have fared in his share of fights. she gets an answer to her unspoken question and raises an eyebrow, caught slightly off-guard by wit's comment for a moment before a slow smirk spreads on her face. no truer words have been said. nazira can still remember how it felt to have someone else's blood on her hands, the sound of them begging for her to stop. a training session gone a bit too far and she was reprimanded for it but it was truly one of the first times her head was quiet. that little voice in her head urging her to go further, hit harder, do something else. it was like pouring kerosene on fire and all she could do was sit and watch, mesmerised. "man after my own heart. it's like you read my mind. though, why choose when you can have both? beating a guy to pulp makes good foreplay."
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🗧* ⭒ ᣟᣟ 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 : YAMATO , @ofhurricanes
wit had never been inside his apartment. now, knowing the reason why, it seemed so obvious. he and yamato had often gone out for coffee, or dinner. or yamato would crash in his apartment, helping wit nurse a hangover. there was always an excuse for why he couldn't come in, and it was not because his sister may or may not be behind the door.
he was coming close to forgiving aranya. it annoyed him, but the joy of seeing her made the betrayal not hurt so much. yamato, unfortunately, didn't have this same effect. wit cried to him. he paddled through a rushing river of grief in front of the man, as he lied to his face. wit clinched his fist again in the darkness.
of course, he knew what happened. he imagined what yamato would look like, weak and covered in bruises, and it brought a sick sort of comfort. maybe they broke his nose just so, so it would always look a little crooked no matter how many years pass. it felt right. a hammurabian punishment. but he didn't have to come all this way to punish him.
yamato ishino was his brother, now more so than ever, and no matter what retribution he dreamed of, he was worried for him. he spent just as many years grieving for aranya as he had admiring yamato. on dark, dark nights he was more grateful for him than anything else in his life. he was angry, yes. but was also loved, and both of those feelings mattered.
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🗧* ⭒ ᣟᣟ 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 : TALOS , @descorts
what was that saying? it's only a gambling problem if you lose. since the fire at stoneage that killed one francesca, the other just can't keep out of trouble. she's supposed to be laying low. the pretender is a snake in the grass, not the girl wearing designer on 8th street.
it became a problem when she felt a weapon on her flank. she nearly gasped, her human proclivities kicking in, but she snapped her mouth shut. cameras were everything in new york. it's why muggings like this became a lot more ... interesting. her would - be robber was wearing a neon mask, and it projected many faces back at her, many voices demanded her purse.
" i don't carry physical money. " strange that stoneage had a training class for this situation. or, just sad, actually. " i am a replicant commissioned for use by stoneage industries. " but the faceless man stiffened. he was saying something she didn't quite hear, but she knew her approach wasn't working. " please. " her voice was higher than it was meant to be, and she flinched at herself. francesca knew she was afraid by the shaking of her pale fingertips in the moonlight, but she didn't know that she was so riled she would break character.
#ノ * ⭒ interactions ， francesca.#descorts#this is crazy terrible but we both know this just needed to be WRITTEN
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🗧* ⭒ ᣟᣟ 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 : AZUSA , @ofcruelheart
tw suicidal ideation
dark water. even though he hated small spaces, he was never a precipice guy. the call of the void was nearly universal, but wasn't one of stand on the edge of skyscraper. he was, however, known to spiral into the rush of waves.
the ocean heeled him like a dog, a siren's voice calling him out onto the deck. as he leaned over the side, his breathing deepened from the panicked shallow gasps he was taking inside. wit had learned a lot tonight, had experienced a lot more. they surrounded him in the void, stuck him on a boat in the middle of it.
but he had a lot to live for, he thought bitterly. nothing nice and lovely, like his friends or family, but things to live for anyways. " if you were gonna jump, i called dibs. " wit's voice was light, but he was still gripping the railing like a life preserver.
#tw / suicide mentions#ノ * ⭒ interactions ， wit.#ofcruelheart#lawlessevent002#wrote this to be on the faceless ship but it doesn't have to be?? i just thought WATER AZUSA LOVES WATER
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🗧* ⭒ ᣟᣟ 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 : HERMES , @ofhurricanes
sometimes she almost felt like the damned robot she pretended to be. computing. can't say this. must stand this way. programmed was the word. when she saw a familiar face, she instantly approached. humanishly, she smiled.
then francesca remembered that she wasn't the same girl she was on a playground in new york. she was the replication, the begrieved twin creation. the whole world knew francesca byrne was dead. and knew the frankenmodel in her louboutin's was the one left standing. she couldn't approach a friendly face in the hazed - out crowd of a party, that was utterly human.
so she backpedaled, ripped her hand away from where it was hovering over his shoulder and pushed past him. " excuse me, sir. " was all that left her mouth. but there wasn't much room to go. and a conga - line of partygoers had her awkwardly stuck right in the middle of her mistake.
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🕷️BladeRunner 2049, 2017🕷️
#ノ * ⭒ aesthetic ， francesca.#i stg there's like 3 of these of francesca around nyc#like advertising for a clothing brand or something#but just like giant holos of her
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⋅☆ DAISY JONES & THE SIX ☆⋅
TRACK 4: I SAW THE LIGHT
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touch, electrifying and forbidden. this was not the man he crafted, prostrate before a false idol, worship and sex on his mind. but it was all new to him, blindly chasing a feeling in the dark with only one lighthouse of warm and soft skin. it made him hold on tight, it made him stumble. it made his face redden, visible despite the mask by the tips of his ears.
still, wit stayed. burrowing in the feeling of intimacy, he swiped the tips of his fingers across her wrist, counting the seconds between her pulse. suki. he wasn't sure of her full name, but was sure she had one. it made him a little giddy that he wasn't allowed to know. she spoke in that way she did when she was about to laugh at him, and he was blinded again.
" they won't kick me out. lots of people paid lots of money tonight to see me bleed. " his tone was genial, though his eyes had a bitter stain as they, begrudgingly, left hers. vultures surrounded them, but he kind of liked it that way.
How strange it is, to know someone so intimately – to know every crevice of their body, to know the gaps in their teeth and the scent of their breath – to recognise the cadence of their voice and the lilt of their laugh, but to be unable to recall a single significant thing about them. To be as unfamiliar with their hopes and dreams as one would be with a stranger, to know where they keep their spare keys – but not the name on their mailbox.
Long, cold nights spent intertwined with WIT – what had started as a one-off and had quickly transformed into a vice for both of them. A poison that Suki would willingly drink, again and again, until it saved her or destroyed her. A hand snakes around her arm – flesh warm and soft and painfully familiar. Eyes that could never be forgotten meet her own, and, beneath the mask, a rare smile graces Suki's lips. "Do I know you?" She jokes, "Tonight is supposed to be about anonymity," Suki continues, a hand reaching up to run across Wit's chest. "Do you not think this is a little... familiar?"
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he had slipped a little when he spoke, so wit regarded the intruder with blood running from his brow. he smiled sheepishly. " ah, i think you overestimate me. can't swing on nothing anymore tonight, i'm exhausted. " it was a lie, but in good faith. he wouldn't start any kind of fight with her, but post - fight he was always wired. and he would always be down to go again.
" if you're offering, and not running to tell anyone i took off the damned mask? " wit moved back a little so she could fit with him, eyeing them for any sudden movement as they did. the mask made it difficult, so he wasn't sure if he should let his guard down yet.
wit learned not to trust kindness a long time ago. not to trust anything, really. but they couldn't move faster than him. very few could.
maybe she's just being NOSY ― who is she kidding ? of course she is ! ― when she decides to wander after the BATTERED figure she sees dancing around the security posted up around every corner of the ship. ( she'd say this level, but angel has explored enough of the ship by now to know the hired FORCE is nearly inescapable no matter where you stray. ) it's hard to believe, she knows, but angel is actually a BLEEDING HEART, okay ? she's actually got, like, a crippling soft spot for VULNERABILITY. okay, so maybe that's what lures her. so she's got a TYPE ― who doesn't ? and anyway, it's not like she's chasing after anybody because she's THIRSTY ― angel cardona does not pursue, okay ? she is the PRIZE to be sought ― it's just that, well, he's clearly just come stumbling from the ring, and angel . . . so angel's got a few TOYS that she wouldn't be surprised to learn were drawn to the FIGHT. and she's gotta protect her assets, doesn't she ?
so angel follows from a few yards back, cocktail in hand & curiosity in their gaze as they try to determine exactly where he's SKULKING off to. he carries himself with a CONFIDENCE only fueled by the glittering gems that melt from his limbs and rustle with each step ; he is not STOPPED. not so much, at least, until he arrives outside the door. and then ― then, angel hesitates, if only for a second. they are no stranger to RABID ANIMALS, and they know better than to startle one. shoulders back & head poised forward, they reach for the door ; they're more than halfway in the cramped space when angel finally stops because, wait . . . she doesn't actually know this man !
❝ oh, shit ! i am so sorry, honey, i thought you were one of mine ! here i am, barging in . . . ❞ angel begins quickly, one hand lifting to clutch at her chest in surprise. dark eyes narrow as she takes a second to give him a quick ONCE - OVER ; the click of a tongue echoes in the small space. ( just turn around, angel. you should just turn― ) against better judgment, she steps further inside. ❝ oh, baby, let me help you with that ! you can't even look at it in here. ❞ a pause, and the hand that isn't still curled around her drink moves to rest on her hip. ❝ you're not gonna start swinging if i try, are you ? ❞
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SUKI WATERHOUSE as KAREN SIRKO
DAISY JONES & THE SIX | S01E04, Fire
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* ◟ : 〔 suki waterhouse , cis woman + she / her 〕 FRANCESCA BYRNE , some say you’re a TWENTY9 YEAR OLD lost soul among the neon lights. known for being both CUNNING and ARROGANT, one can’t help but think of BRUTUS by THE BUTTRESS when you walk by. are you still a REPLICANT at STONEAGE INDUSTRIES, even with your reputation as the MODERN DAY CAIN? i think we’ll be seeing more of you and FORCING YOURSELF TO STAND STILL, EYES TARGETING THROUGH LASHES, A LIE AS A CLIFF EDGE, although we can’t help but think of MARCUS JUNIUS BRUTUS, KING CLAUDIUS, DON DRAPER whenever we see you down these rainy streets.
FULL NAME francesca anne byrne.
NICKNAME(S) absolutely none.
AGE twenty9.
GENDER cis woman.
PRONOUNS she/her.
SEXUALITY bisexual, kinsey scale 4.
BIRTHPLACE short hills, new jersey.
RESIDENCE loft in brooklyn.
OCCUPATION independently wealthy , model.
RELATIONSHIP STATUS single.
EDUCATION high school diploma.
FAMILY edward ward byrne iii , father. amelie byrne , mother.
LANGUAGES english. french , spoken with mother.
POSITIVES cunning, charismatic, adaptable, courageous.
NEGATIVES arrogant, judgemental, competitive .
HEIGHT 5′8.
ENNEAGRAM type 3 , the performer.
MBTI esfp , the entertainer.
&. backstory. tw: im STILL writing it
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* ◟ : 〔 nattawin wattanagitiphat , cis man + he / him 〕 WITTAYA ‘ WIT ’ NATHARUETAI , some say you’re a THIRTY 2 YEAR OLD lost soul among the neon lights. known for being both LOYAL and GULLIBLE, one can’t help but think of HARD SOMETIMES by RUEL when you walk by. are you still an UNDERGROUND FIGHTER at RALPH’S BOXING GYM, even with your reputation as the DISHONORED? i think we’ll be seeing more of you and CREASED WHITE BUTTON DOWNS WITH RIPS IN THE SEAMS, LEAVING NO SKIN UNBRUISED, THE THING HOLDING YOU UNDERWATER UNTIL YOU BEG, although we can’t help but think of FRANK CASTLE, SIMON RILEY, TYLER DURDEN whenever we see you down these rainy streets.
FULL NAME wittaya natharuetai.
NICKNAME(S) wit, taya.
AGE thirty2.
GENDER cis man.
PRONOUNS he/him.
SEXUALITY bisexual, kinsey scale 3.
BIRTHPLACE bangkok, thailand.
RESIDENCE apartment in east village.
OCCUPATION fighter at ralph's.
RELATIONSHIP STATUS divorced.
EDUCATION high school diploma.
FAMILY henrik peerenboom , adoptive father. chimlin yongwaree , mother. aranya natharuetai , younger sister. tbd , older brother.
SKILLS expert in mixed martial arts and boxing, trained in taekwondo, gunmanship, and military strategy. skilled in hostage negotiation and computer literacy.
LANGUAGES thai , first language. english , second language. german , spoken with adoptive father.
POSITIVES loyal, charismatic, honorable, determined, empathetic.
NEGATIVES short - tempered, curt, self - destructive, avoidant, stubborn.
HEIGHT 5′11.
ENNEAGRAM type 8 , the individualist.
MBTI isfj , the defender.
&. backstory. tw: death, alcohol abuse , mentioned violence
the first year of his childhood happened in thailand. he and his elder brother were born during the asian financial crisis, which epitomized their mother's stress. she made the difficult decision to go to america with her new husband, henrik. henrik loved her boys, more than anyone could ask for. he renamed them, taught them german, and when they had a third child, a girl, he didn't treat them any differently.
wit loved his siblings more than in the world. he and his elder brother bonded over their time in thailand, and their experiences immigrating. his elder brother told him stories of things he didn't quite remember. and wit adored their half-sister, aranya. he peeled her fruit for her, and he kept her safe. wit was very heavily affected by expectations. being quite a gifted child, everyone was always saying how far he would go, so he shouldered it. he shouldered everything.
upon graduation, wit went straight into the army. he wasn't a fan of senseless violence, but had a dream of a good, honorable soldier that he could never escape. his morals threatened to strangle him. his ideals were throwing him out the window.
he was a good soldier. it was only a few years before he was given his own command, and was stationed overseas to protect a smaller country from common enemies. with a stroke of luck, his experience was mostly saving lives.
when wit turned twenty - one, he met an english journalist named katherine hansen at a bar. he was enamored with her, with her ideas for articles, with her bravery in her reporting. a year later, they were married.
his sister died when he was off - duty. he was twenty - four, and in new york to see their parents. his mother's phone rang, but wit answered it. wit made it his job to watch his sister, so it only made sense that he'd be the one to identify her corpse.
it all fell down. he didn't believe their story immediately. sure, the body looked like aranya. but he would feel it, wouldn't he? he would know it in his bones that she was dead. katherine attempted to calm him, to convince him it was the grief talking, but wit marched right up to aranya's office and tore the place apart.
in return, it only took a few weeks for aranya's employers to ruin his life. he didn't know then, of course, that it was them who discharged him. who disqualified him from benefits. who set the ball rolling.
the discharge hit him hard. he started drinking, and wouldn't sleep. katherine knew she didn't have to put up with it. she left him the card for a therapist, and went to stay with her parents. wit responded with divorce papers.
wit didn't start fighting until he ran out of cash for whiskey. but when he did, it kind of helped. he had to stay sober for fights, and getting a few good hits in grounded him. the problem was that he got good. so good he's not sure they'd left him quite if he wanted to. a bet on wit is a sure one.
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the first role he was given in life was that of son. he learned and he laughed and he loved, and the promises he made were fulfilled. his parents didn't ask for much. a few years later, and he was older brother. his role became teach. guide. protect.
as an older brother, he failed. it was the first time he did. then, as a soldier. as a husband. as a man. was her death the pin setting the ball in motion, or simply a stop on a path he was already down? the neon - bathing, never - alone generation and he felt utterly abandoned from that moment onward.
with shaking hands he reached for her. an allowance not made lightly. with shaking hands he pulled her in by the shoulders, carefully wrapping his arms around her and shoving his face into the side of her head. " the family seems to carry a heft debt of apologies, hasenkind. " he whispered. still angry. still angry. but regret was heavier. the weight of blood is heavier still.
How quick the daughter could remind herself of how she borrowed all the parts that made her whole. How the father’s laugh was always low and hearty — like he had swallowed warm soup and had made sure to revere it in his voice. How the mother is always speaking as though she had lived underneath the sea and deep in the forests. How she burned with wisdom. Aranya doesn’t look up, she is squeezing her eyes shut — that shame stinging against her skull like a bullet. What did she take from the brother she wondered. Not a laugh, not wisdom. No, this gift was of the guilty variety. A lifetime without absolution. “I [ … ] I have many amends to make, Taya.” That background noise of a fight is not nearly as loud as her heartbeat. How it taunts. How it says that she is alive and for each thud of a pulse melody it is a cruelty to their parents. Her spine is aching. Good — she longs for it to snap. “It is more complicated than that.”
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🗧* ⭒ ᣟᣟ 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 : ANYONE
wit was accustomed to a certain amount of pain after his fights. not even pain in the physical sense. it was all around just a pain in the ass. still, he's never had to dodge security to clean his own wounds, breathing through his teeth like a rapid dog.
there was a nasty gash just above his eyebrow, the blow he was paid to let land. pain in the ass. but he got around the johnny bravo looking idiot that was there to ensure he followed the rules, and just about made it into the supply closet without ripping the mask that dug into his injury clean off.
and it did dig. the brass plating probably gave him a whole load of infections that he was struggling to clean with the alcohol he found— not rubbing alcohol, mind you, just straight house vodka. he would need to stitch it, and that would definitely be ( ʸᵒᵘ ᵍᵘᵉˢˢᵉᵈ ⁱᵗ ) a pain in the ass. so much so he nearly didn't notice the door creak open.
#ノ * ⭒ interactions.#lawlessevent002#lawlessstart#everyone ignore the completely irrelevant gif#also cliche starter idea ig you all love me anyways right
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