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knightprincess · 3 years

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In This Heart of Mine (Crosshair x Fem Reader) Oneshot

Words: 2336 Warning: Grief - Implied Character Death A/N - Not proof read also her/she pronouns used Description: Crosshair remembers how he lost his Runi.

If there was one thing Crosshair hated about the empire. It was how they look his love away. Despite it being months since the Republic and Jedi Order had fallen, it still hurt him to remember it, he still hadn't dealt with the grief, the brokenness he so often felt. Despite his best efforts to ignore it, it always caught up with him during the quiet moments. Even now he could swear he heard (Y/N)'s voice, so clear as if she was standing right beside him. Crosshair guessed in a way she was, she was still with him if not physically then in his heart, closer than ever.

"Wish you were here (Y/N)" whispered Crosshair, his barracks empty, his brothers having left him behind days after he lost (Y/N). Days after his life had been ripped to shreds. They had yet to come back for him, despite the obvious he still hoped they would, he hoped they hadn't given up on him, not now when he still needed them so much. His new squad members weren't his favorite people, if he was honest he hated them, to him it felt like they were replacing his brothers, or at least the empire was. They took away his (Y/N), now they were trying to replace his brothers with natural born soldiers, people he hoped would just leave him be.

Crosshair didn't know the name of his new squad members. He didn't bother trying to remember them, even more so when comments had been made about how miserable he was, how they could do a better job just because they were natural born and he was a clone. Every time they were sent on an assignment he found himself hoping they didn't come back, or if they did they wouldn't return to the barracks. He wanted his brothers, if he couldn't have that, then he'd rather be left alone to grieve and remember the better times of the past. Times that he wished he could go back to now. If only so he could tell (Y/N) he loved her one more time. Even now he could still remember how he had lost her.

Flashback

The snowy terrain of Kaller was a welcome sight compared to the normal battlefields. Although the thick black smoke bellowing towards the grey filled sky, was a good give away as to where the battlefield actually was. Tech had made a comment about needing to reach General Depa Billada and her Padawan Caleb Dume soon. Wrecker mentioning something about not being able to wait to get his hands on the droids and destroy something, it was clear the oldest of the special unit was getting impatient, perhaps more so than he was on the Marauder heading over to assist. Echo and Hunter continued on with their conversation, although both keeping an eye out for any battle droid that was roaming the area or stragglers from the battle to have already taken place in the area they walked quietly through.

Crosshair on the other hand was towards the back of the small group, walking just behind (Y/N), his Jedi General and lover. His normal smirk placed upon his lips, although shielded from everyone else by his helmet. The sniper not being able to help but look over her, to admire her beauty, even when she was determined to help those she considered friends. Her lightsabers attached to her belt, ready for when she needed them, a sure thing considering they were once again heading into the battlefield. At their current position at the top of some snow covered hills, they were in the calm before the storm.

Also on the large steep hill was Caleb Dume, he seemed hopeful yet confused to see them, as if he was expecting more. Although he seemed pleased even reassured to see one of those sent as reinforcements was (Y/N) (Y/L/N), one of the many Jedi Knights, although one whom was rather well known to the republic at this point. Her power alone made her famous. Although she had also become known for her skills in battle since the wars had began just over three years prior.

What would have been an ordinary reinforcements mission had quickly gone sideways. Crosshair could remember (Y/N) leading Hunter, Echo, Tech and Wrecker into the fight against the battle droids, blue lightsaber at the read. The young Padawan having returned to his master to keep them updated on what was going on. He had watched as they took out the enemy forces, how Wrecker was having the time of his life, even how Tech made a comment or two as if greeting an old friend. Even how Echo effortless took out the battle droids around him. Hunter using his knife and blaster as he always did, where as (Y/N) had effortlessly deflected laser bolts and helped destroy the tanks and spider droids. Crosshair had done his normal task and covering for those in the thick of it from his lofty perch. Shooting any and all droids who got to close to those he cared for and loved.

Yet it was after that when everything went wrong. (Y/N) had given them orders to take out what remained of the droids nearby, to help with the counter attack, agreeing to allow the Caleb to go with them. Only when they were a distance away did they all receive an order, especially from the Chancellor. Execute Order 66. Caleb sensing something turned back, seeing his master fighting against the clones surrounding her, already too many of them for her to handle alone, he was about to go back when he heard her yelling for him to run. Although he had been frozen to the spot. Only moving when (Y/N) grabbed hold of his arm and running, her other hand hold the side of her neck.

Crosshair had wished he didn't have enhanced sight that day. What he saw still haunted him. (Y/N) had appeared in shock, her eyes wide, one of her lightsabers missing. Yet the hand holding the left side of her neck, slowly turn crimson, as a trail of blood was left in her wake. Almost instantly Crosshair had felt fear, hate even. Yet none the less listened to the orders given by Hunter. Wrecker was stall the regs if any came searching for (Y/N) and the Padawan, Echo and Tech were sent to find out what was going on and why the regs and turned so suddenly? Why they fired on their commanding Jedi? Where as Crosshair was set to go with Hunter to find both (Y/N) and Caleb.

As order Crosshair veered off to follow the tail of crimson staining the snow. Finding himself getting more anxious as he continued to follow it, dreading what he would find at the end. His worst fears being met when he come to the end of the trail of blood. Finding (Y/N), lent against a tree, more pale than the snow she sat upon. Her hand still holding on to the wound to her neck, as if to stem the bleeding or hide it from others. Fear shone so brightly in her eyes, yet so did her sadness and pain.

Without a second thought Crosshair ran to her side, taking off his helmet as he did so. Ignoring the voice in his head yelling the same four words over and over again. Instead focusing on his lover. The moment he reached her, he reached for her hand, taking hold of it in a gentle grip, feeling as she weakly squeezed his hand in return, as if to reassure him he was still alive, all be it just. She still had some strength left. Within seconds Crosshair had pulled her into his lap, fighting back his tears, even more so when gently moved her bloody hand from her neck, seeing just how back to wound was. Instantly he knew there was nothing he could do to help her. Only make her comfortable in her final moments. Yet still he hoped his words would encourage her to fight a little longer, until help arrived at least.

"Don't you give up on me Mesh'la. Just hold on" quietly spoke Crosshair, his words seeming so loud in the quiet area. He soon placed his own hand over her neck wound, taking hold of her hands in the other. Only now when looking over her, did he see she had been hit more than just once. Another scorch mark on her lower leg, just beneath the knee and a third on her right shoulder. "Remember the plans we made for when the war was over. Finding a plot of land somewhere, somewhere quiet and off grid, somewhere away from all the chaos and hassle" started the silver haired sniper, recalling the many conversations he had with her about leaving everything behind when the war was finally over. Taking his brothers with them, only telling a few trusted ones where they were going. They had planned a life together.

"I love you" whispered (Y/N) in response, lying against him. Her back against his chest, his long legs either side of her. Tears soon come to her eyes, as the inevitability hit her, she was going to die. Just like the other Jedi who had already fallen. Yet she had something they didn't, her sniper at her side and the knowledge of knowing none of her unit had betrayed her. "Promise me, you'll go on, you'll keep living" choked (Y/N), as she began to cough up her own blood, her end fast approach, even Crosshair knew it, he could feel her hands growing colder and heaver as her body went numb.

"No" responded Crosshair, his voice as quiet as hers, as he fought the losing battle with his tears and heartbreak. "There's no living without you" added the sniper, showing how much he loved her, how much she meant to him. "I love you Cyar'ika, please just stay with me" begged Crosshair. Tears breaking through his barrier as her hand fell from his, as she let out her final waspy breaths. All Crosshair could do was hold on to her tightly, hugging her, protecting her as he struggled to see anything past the blurriness of his tears. A strangled yell ripping from his throat moments later. "Come back (Y/N), Please come back. I love you, please" cried Crosshair, hugging her as tightly as he could, not wanting to let her go. Not wanting to do anything other than be there with her.

Hunter had found him moment later, having heard his strangled yell. He lent down besides the pair, closing (Y/N)'s dull (E/C) eyes for the last time. Placing a hand on his brother's shoulder moments later, trying to be strong for his grieving young brother, knowing his heart had broken beyond repair. He couldn't bring himself to say anything to Crosshair, nor did he protest when Crosshair reached for her remaining lightsaber, tinted crimson with blood.

End of Flashback

Crosshair soon shifted, reaching for the box on the small shelf behind his pillow. With a heavy sigh he opened the box, (Y/N)'s lightsaber still inside. He'd made a point of preserving it, even more so when it was all he had left of her now. He cleaned it whenever he cleaned his rifle, it being part of his routine. If he was feeling down before a mission, he'd take the lightsaber with him, so how it always helped to make him feel a little better. Crosshair liked to believe (Y/N) was with him when he had the lightsaber.

"I'll make the galaxy a better place (Y/N). I'll make sure they don't forget you" whispered Crosshair, knowing his choice to stay with the empire, wasn't one he made easily. It was difficult, yet his brothers had helped with his choice. They had saved him when Kamino was destroyed, yet the distrust had been obvious. "One day I'll avenge you my runi" promised Crosshair, recalling when he had retrieved the (Y/N)'s lightsaber from his old barracks in Tipoca city, his determination had kicked in to save it. Hunter had put it in his pack, returning it once they reached the landing pad. Yet the real and only reason Crosshair had remained with the empire was revenge, they took his runi away from him, took his home away, turned his brothers against him and tried to kill him. His only motivation was to ensure the empire would fall, even if doing so cost him his life.

"We'll see each other again (Y/N). Reunited when its all over" whispered Crosshair, as he left his barracks on board the star destroyer he'd been assigned to. Determined to remind the oblivious imperials of what they had helped take away and destroy. Determined to do what he thought was right, in the name of his lost love. Determined to see through what he hoped would be his redemption, or at least that's what he believed he was doing by helping Rex located their brothers still within the empire, Wolffe, Cody, Howzer even Dogma, as well as passing on information regarding future plans for the remaining clones, besides being fazed out of service.

"In this heart of mine. You'll live for a lifetime" uttered Crosshair, his attention being drawn to the photo he held on to now. One taken during the war, it was clear it was during one of the many assignments. (Y/N) held on to her blue lightsabers, he was just behind her, his rifle one her shoulder as he aimed at something in his sights. (Y/N) actually looked like she was covering him while he destroyed something in the far distance. With that Crosshair returning his focus to the self given mission of bringing the empire down, no matter the cost.

Translation: Runi = Soul

#crosshair x jedi reader #crosshair #ct-9904 #star wars oneshot #oneshot #star wars #jedi reader #order 66 #implied death #grief #the bad batch

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aion-rsa · 5 years

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Marvel's 31 Best Monsters

https://ift.tt/3430jzo

Marvel is more than just superheroes, they've done their fare share of horror characters, too.

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Halloween isn't just for monsters anymore. For every Frankenstein Monster that comes to your door, there are probably sixteen Iron Men and a few Rocket Raccoons. It seems that Marvel (and DC) heroes have infringed on the monstrous monopoly of Halloween, but that’s OK, because to even things out, the Marvel Universe has its fair share of monsters dwelling under beds, behind walls, and in gothic mansions (mansions usually expertly drawn by Mike Ploog) to even things out.

Starting in the late Silver Age, the Comics Code became less restrictive (because Frederic Wertham was killed by a mummy...actually, no he wasn’t), and Marvel was able to bring in all sorts of boogeymen to share page time with the likes of Thor, Spider-Man, and the Fantastic Four. These new, Universal-inspired monsters joined the Kirby Kreatures like Fin Fang Foom and Googam as the Marvel Universe became a world where things that go bump in the night became as commonplace as superheroes.

Join us as we journey into the darkest realms of the Marvel Universe and celebrate the greatest monstrous creations that ever sprang from the nightmares of the House of Ideas.

31. The Glob

Listen, I’m not going to exclude a character named the Glob from this list, am I? The Glob was once Joe Timms, a petty criminal, who like every other comic book swamp character ever, was transformed into a muck encrusted monstrosity by a mysterious bog. Glob fought the Hulk a few times before Timms was recreated into the being known as the Golden Brain and used as a weapon by the villain Yagzan and the crazed Cult of Entropists (and holy shit, did I just get an almost sexual rush from typing that sentence).

read more: 13 Essential Werewolf Movies

In fact, none other than one of Marvel greatest monster hunters Moon Knight first appeared in the pages of Werewolf by Night as Russell’s title was once an essential part of the MU. At times, Russell is cut from the classic Lon Chaney mode of lycanthrope but at others, the kind and moral Russell is fully in control of his inner beast and operates as a classic super hero (albeit a hairy one). One can usually find issues of Werewolf by Night in dollar bins and that is one hell of a bargain because Werewolf by Night was one of the strangest, most surreal titles of the '70s.

Awooohhhh!!!!

5. Ghost Rider

What more can be said about Johnny Blaze or any of the other demonic bikers who have called themselves Ghost Riders?

The legacy of the Ghost Rider began in the pre-Marvel Age with a ghostly Western character who haunted the prairie of the American frontier. In the modern era, stunt biker Johnny Blaze was possessed by the demon Zarathos and became the flame headed spirit of vengeance of legend.

read more: The Weird History of Ghost Rider

At times, Ghost Rider has been a threat to the Marvel Universe and at others, he has been a stalwart hero, but the fact that Blaze has the power to burn the souls of evildoers makes him a featured part of this Halloween list. Arguably Mike Ploog’s greatest character design, Ghost Rider has gone through many incarnations over the years but somehow, the curse always comes back to Blaze, a man who treated with the devil and no rides the highway to Hell as the legendary Ghost Rider.

4. Blade

By all appearances, Blade isn't really a monster. In fact, he might be the greatest monster hunter in comics (sorry Buffy). But consider the fact that Blade is part vampire, and you have a heroic bloodsucker worthy of making our top 5.

read more: The Evolution of Marvel's Blade, Vampire Hunter

Blade's mother was turned into a vampire as she was giving birth to the future vampire hunter, making Blade a Daywalker, a man who is half mortal, half monster. Blade not only starred in many Bronze Age adventures in the pages of Marvel's black and white mags of the '70s, he was also a major player in Marvel's classic Tomb of Dracula, a part of the '90s Midnight Sons line of books, but he is also the reason we are living in the Golden Age of super hero cinema. Without Blade's cinematic success, a relatively obscure Marvel character before the films despite his monster hunting awesomeness, there would be no Hugh Jackman and the X-Men or Marvel Studios Avengers movies.

Speaking of which, Blade will finally join the MCU as played by Mahershala Ali.

3. Dracula

The granddaddy of them all, Dracula, is not only a cinema legend, he is not only a legend of literature and television, he is a comic book legend as well thanks to the premiere scare comic of the '70s, Tomb of Dracula. After writer Gerry Conway kicked off the title in grand fashion, the immortal creative team of Marv Wolfman and Gene Colan crafted arguably the greatest monster comic of all time.

read more: 14 Times Dracula Fought Marvel Superheroes

Somehow, Marvel made Dracula into a classic anti-hero that captured the atmosphere and pathos of Bram Stokers’ novel and the Universal Horror classic. Somehow, Marvel also managed to weave in some super hero craziness as well with Dracula serving as the sometime hero in a book that featured one of the richest supporting casts of any comic of the 1970s. So many characters on our list, Lilith, Blade, and Hannibal King to name but a few, got their starts in Tomb of Dracula. But it was Vlad the Impaler himself that outshined them all with his evil brand of nobility. Dracula went on to star in major arcs in books like the X-Men, Thor, Doctor Strange, and even Howard the Duck.

Dracula, in his modern incarnation, still stalks the Marvel Universe and remains Marvel's greatest classic monster.

. 2. The Thing

I almost feel bad calling Ben Grimm a monster; after all, he has saved the world with his pals the Fantastic Four countless times, but those early issues of Fantastic Four were filled with classic horror nods especially when it came to the Thing. Remember when Jack Kirby would draw Grimm in an oversized coat, with a classic fedora pulled down over his eyes? More often than not, Ben would go on angry rampages, lashing out at the world after his transformation into a hideous rock beast.

read more: The Best Modern Horror Movies

The early days of the Thing and the Fantastic Four borrow as much from the Phantom of Opera and the classic Dr. Jekyll Mr. Hyde as it did from Superman. So Aunt Petunia's favorite nephew makes our list. The horror tropes surrounding the Thing really didn't last too long, but seriously, read those early FFs, you can almost hear the classic eerie organ music when Ben steps onto the page - classic horror goodness.

1. Hulk

Like the Thing, the Hulk is way more superhero than horror icon, but in the character's year history, there were plenty of times that this titanic creature was cast in the role of classic monster. Again, particularly during the early days of the character, the Hulk had much in common with the classic monsters of old. The Hulk had an obvious connection to Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, in fact, Bruce Banner has been called the Atomic Age Dr. Jekyll many times. The Jade Giant had a great deal in common with Frankenstein's monster and even had some parallels to the classic Wolf Man.

read more: Universal Monsters Timeline Explained

If you'll remember, in the original Hulk series, when the Hulk was still a malevolently intelligent grey brute, the Hulk did not transform when he got angry, instead it was at nightfall, and if that ain't classic monster goodness we don't know what is. So even though Hulk has thrown down with some of Marvel's greatest heroes and villains, underneath the skin of this Avenger beats the heart of a classic lonely and misunderstood monster that would have been right at home in a Universal classic.

Read and download the Den of Geek NYCC 2019 Special Edition Magazine right here!

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The Lists Marc Buxton

Oct 25, 2019

Marvel

Dracula

Hulk

Frankenstein

Ghost Rider

31 Days of Horror

from Books https://ift.tt/2JoI9Aj

#aion-rsa #Books

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hvckleberried · 5 years

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yeah, he’s smoking inside. fucking sue him. miles leans back against the countertop and watches these idiots actually work. he takes a long drag. blinks. are you gonna, like, help at all, man? his exhale’s elongated; he watches his own breath fade into the rafters.

“ oh, does this bother you ? ” he asks, feigning concern. even cocks his head to the side for good measure. he lifts the cigarette in question to confirm their distaste. the other boy nods. miles’s forefinger taps against the cig and flicks ash onto his stupid west ham high shirt. and there it is. the smirk.

“ my. bad. ”

or, alternatively : ‘tis i, linc, with *dj khaled voice* anotha one !! greetings & salutations to huckleberry jeremiah vernon. call him MILES or he actually might kill you.

[ m i l e s v e r n o n –– OPEN FLAME .

✔ oc + wc┊❝ ( aria shahghasemi. he/him &. cismale ) eighteen year old huckleberry jeremiah vernon was listening to "paint it, black” by the rolling stones when the field trip buses turned around. rumor has it he spent two years in juvie & is the unbeknownst father of becca’s child, but who knows if that’s true? what we do know is that their friends describe them as alluring & deft, even if they’re known to be a little anarchic & noxious from time to time.

( &&. general information )

full name: huckleberry jeremiah miles vernon

nickname(s) or alias: miles, vernon, fuckleberry finn ( west ham football team, freshman year ), that asshole, the scary one, the kid ( his foster parents )

preferred name: miles. call him anything else and it’s your funeral, fuckface.

current age: eighteen

astrological sign: scorpio

gender: cismale

preferred pronouns: he/him

sexual preference: bisexual

romantic preference: biromantic

home environment: the kiersney household. a manor-like three-story at the edge of west ham’s easternmost woods. it looks like ikea ate pier 1 imports and fucking barfed up its bones the next day. statement walls. matching furniture. modern art on the walls. his foster parents have a motherfucking sculpture in the front foyer. it’s sickening. suburban. tame. tidy.

current occupation: student. delinquent.

language(s) spoken: english. i’ll-wring-your-neck-with-just-my-eyes. spanish, barely.

native language: english.

current relationship status: his knuckles kissing your face.

( &&. background )

reason behind name: huckleberry jeremiah vernon won his name in the lottery of misfortune: at least, that’s what his aunt used to say to the young boy. he doesn’t know a lot about his parents. enough to know they were royal fuck-ups, crackheads with nothing better to do than fuck and get high and have an accidental kid. they thought it’d be a hilarious form of payback: this monster takes nine months of their precious time, so they’d make his life hell. simple. so when his parents died when he was just an infant, his aunt had the opportunity to change his name. shift the tide. but she couldn’t bring herself to go against her dead sister’s wishes, however fucking twisted up she got because of her bad-news boyfriend. she took huckleberry in and insisted on calling him by his birth name until, at three years old, he was sent home from school with a drawing of his aunt with x’s for eyes. “ my auntie if she keeps saying it ”. from that day forward, he was jeremiah. then miles. only miles.

birth order: first and only for his biological family. the second-youngest of his cousins, when he lived with his aunt. they had a massive falling out after he returned from juvie. she chucked him out like he was rotten meat. the oldest ( or perhaps same age ) as his current foster brother.

ethnicity: what’s it to you. iranian-american

nationality: american.

religion ( tw: death, acts of violence ): fuck that shit. there’s no god. if there were a god, it’d be fucking him. this wasn’t always miles’s view; it started when he was 4, and accidentally killed his aunt’s cat in front of his cousins. they always hit people when they were doing something wrong in cartons! the cat was trying to steal his cheese stick. so... he hit it with a book. his aunt she made him go to bible camp that summer, where he was vilified for his name. “huckleberry’s a dingleberry! hahaha! where’s tom sawyer, huh?” whatever god there was wouldn’t let him have this name. or this life. he wouldn’t have let his parents die: huckleberry would later find the news clipping. “ bronx couple found shot dead in stolen vehicle, ruled double-suicide. ” religion’s the opiate of the masses. it’s how pansy people sleep at night. young huckleberry wasn’t allowed back at church after he dropped one of those big candles and watched the altar go up in flames. fine by him. he started playing with fire. messing with the wrong people. getting wrapped up in sketchy city boy shit. any shred of faith left in his body was torn away when he and his older buds planned to rob a bank: miles was 12; his cohorts ( ty & presley ) were 18. miles did most of the electronic work: hacking the cloud, derailing the security system. they stormed the fucking bank of america. one of them whipped out a gun. miles... stabbed somebody in the shoulder, to get them off of ty. he watched that security guard die, that day. but not before his bullet ripped through ty’s head. juvie happened. two years. aggravated manslaughter. he got off easy, as a minor. presley’s still behind bars. so, yeah. there’s no motherfuckin’ god out there. and if there is? he can kindly suck miles’s dick.

political views: politics. are. bullshit. go cry to somebody else about your opinions. there’s 7 fuckin’ billion people on this planet and you think your thoughts on zoning laws and gun control matter? cry him a fucking river.

financial status: he’s secure, because of his foster parents. he keeps testing ‘em, to see if they’ll fuckin’ send him back. broken merchandise; we want a refund. but they don’t, so he... just keeps taking. stealing money from their wallets. selling expensive shit from the house to buy good shit. pocket knives. lighters. alcohol. a gun.

hometown: bronx, new york city, new york. now it’s west ham. fuck that.

level of education: high school junior. because of his time in juvie, he entered school in west ham as a freshman at 15. he’ll turn nineteen before his senior year. not that it matters. he’s already planning his escape. he’s lifted enough money to skip town soon, go back to new york. avenge ty’s death. he’s got the other security guard’s details, from that day. it pays to be skilled with a keyboard. he’s brilliant, when he wants to be. sharp-witted. his idea of a prank last year was sending an anonymous tip in to the school saying the whole place might blow. hacking the database to make it look like it was sent from a real address. he’s still surprised people aren’t more fucking grateful. he secured them a stupid day off. he’s also known to hack into the cloud to get test answers, and sell ‘em to people that don’t completely make him want to punch them.

( &&. physical appearance )

looks like (or face claim, if applicable): aria shahghasemi. he’s got these midnight black curls. piercing gray eyes.

height: 5′10. but don’t let that get your guard down.

figure/build: lean and muscular. won’t be caught dead in west ham’s stupid gym, but he’s fit. his foster parents put in a whole boxing studio in their basement just for him. he’s been known to get into fights, throw punches. it was their way to kind of, like... get his anger out. joke’s on them; he’s not giving it up. that shit’s his.

hair colour: black.

hair length: mid-length. curly, so it looks shorter than it actually is.

eye colour: gray.

glasses?: no. just shades.

skin tone: olive. smooth.

tattoos: he got one in juvie, on the side of his right wrist. a cross. makes him laugh. irony. he’s in the process of self-tattooing fuck between his left forefinger and thumb, but only the jagged f is there right now. it’s a process. he can’t stomach the needle.

piercings: one diamond stud in his left ear. it’s about the side of a pencil eraser. stolen.

birthmarks/scars/distinguishing marks: a few faded cross-hatches near his hairline, from fights that resulted in stitches. a six-inch line across his chest. knife. a few patches of scar tissue from burns on his palms. all juvie.

dominant hand: left-handed. you can tell because that’s the hand he always uses to flick his lighter on and off, on and off. he’s always playing with that damned thing.

if painted, what color are their nails?: who do you think he is, fuckin’ bowie? jesus.

usual style of clothing: black on black on black. did i mention black? black t-shirts, leather jackets, denim jackets, dark jeans, boots. wouldn’t be caught dead in fuckin’ sneakers. failed gym because he wasn’t about to put on dowdy shorts and t-shirts just to run around a glorified prison for 30 minutes every day. oh, there’s a pep rally? we’re supposed to wear centurion colors? fuck you.

frequently worn jewelry: he wears a thin gold chain around his neck every day. sometimes he’s got rings.

describe their voice, what accent?: his voice is very punchy, low. cat-like. glimmers of some new york peppered in here and there.

what is their speaking style (fast, monotone, loquacious)?: clipped. acidic.

describe their scent: amber. tobacco. smoky.

describe their posture: he stands tall, defiant, aloof. chin always tipped up in the face of oncoming threats. his whole body’s a proverbial middle finger to the world: yeah, i’m here. bite me.

( &&. legal information )

any speeding tickets?: yep. went 80 in a 25 zone.

have they ever been arrested?: yes. at this point, the west ham police force is really tired of his shit.

do they have a criminal record?: absolutely. various misdemeanors. cybercrimes. property damage, breaking & entering. shoplifting. aggravated assault.

have they committed any violent crimes?: hAs He CoMiTtEd AnY vIoLeNt cRiMeS ??? ( he’s laughing. )

property crimes?: affirmative.

traffic crimes?: should be the least of your concern.

other crimes?: don’t even get me started. the moral compass on this kid is... nonexistent. the answer to the world’s problems is fuck ‘em. anarchy.

( &&. medical information )

blood type: o negative.

date/time of birth: december 3rd. 3:32am. witching hour. ha.

place of birth: shitty hole-in-the-wall crackhouse. his parents dropped him at his aunt’s before freewheeling.

vaginal birth or cesauren section?: vaginal birth.

sex: male.

smoker? / drinker? / drug user?: yes / yes / yes. what can he say? he’s an equal-opportunity employer.

allergies: grizz visser. fuckin’ ass. nosy people. pop music.

ever broken a bone?: his nose in second grade: the other kid got it worse. his hand in fifth grade. worth it. couple ribs in juvie. his arm, when he was a baby. his parents wanted to see if gravity was, like. real.

any physical ailments/illnesses/disabilities: nah. not that he’d tell you anyway.

any medication regularly taken: nyquil, sometimes. helps him sleep.

( &&. personality )

direct quote from them: *blinks at you like you’re speaking swahili*

positive traits: alluring, deft, crafty with computers. sly.

negative traits: anarchic, acerbic, explosive. heedless. noxious.

likes: the flick of the flame. beat poetry. darkroom photography. scared glances. messing with the system. sidestepping boundaries. wintergreen lifesavers. blueberry slushies. ac/dc, the stones, lynyrd skynyrd, sting, the offspring, kansas. buttered toast. milk duds. history. cigarettes: he’s always got one tucked behind his ear.

dislikes: fucking football team. working on yearbook ( detention punishment ). catch him taking photos of those morons with his middle finger in frame. his roots. his aunt, for casting him out. his foster family, for giving him so many chances. he doesn’t deserve them. his name. bright sunlight, hurts his eyes. pistachios. remembering. weak alcohol. fraternizing with the idiots of west ham.

strengths: he’ll figure out your nervous ticks within two minutes of talking to you. he can go hours watching someone ramble and not say a thing, and not break his expression. making others feel small. digging his fingers into your dirt. finding back doors, loopholes, and getting through cybersecurity like a hot knife through butter. baking – but tell anybody and he’ll end you. tying cherry stems with his tongue. making sense of ginsberg. remembering stupid historical facts. pope gregory ix executed cats and that allowed rats to spread the bubonic plague in masses. still fuckin’ like your religion, asshole?

weaknesses: vengeful. his definition of justice is very much based in vigilante action; an eye for an eye. he’s got an aloof disposition, but his past wounds are still seething. empathy. expressing emotions other than anger. patience. impulse control. he can’t hide that you’re pissing him the hell off. swears in front of kids, often. probably slept with your aunt two towns over. can’t lose an argument, ever. even with authority figures.

insecurities: what if he... caused ty’s death? what if that’s on him? is he worth shit? he’ll make himself worth something. he’ll get them back. all of ‘em. he’ll make ‘em pay.

fears/phobias: hates needles. but fucks with ‘em anyway. fears oblivion, but puts up a front like he’s chill with it. fears he’ll never muster up... a purpose. or whatever the fuck people call it. fears this is all he’ll ever be: an eighteen-year-old fuckup with a record, hands that itch to fight, to crush, to destroy.

habits: playing with his lighter. chewing on toothpicks. popping milk duds like pills. glaring at everyone, no one, nothing. everything. laughing in the face of authority. making unprecedented digs at people, just because he can. propping his feet up on the desk in front of him when his teachers ask him to answer questions, twirling a pencil in his hands like he’s god. grabbing a slushie from 7/11 just to have something to do with his hands. messing with the popular kids’ social medias, just for fun. hacking the online lunch menu to see his classmates get fuckin’ pissed when mozzarella sticks are served on friday, not today, sorry. driving to neighboring towns’ parties and hooking up with chicks there. masquerading as a man with a reason. hitting up college parties often. lingering in shadow. living in gray areas. writing his own notes in the front of library books, on the title page, in sharpie. “ fuck you ten thousand ” on the school’s copy of pride & prejudice. “ kindly die, thanks ” in gone with the wind. “ congrats, you’re literate ” in the front of catcher in the rye.

quirks: always sits in the back left corner of the room, near the window. he literally jumped out, sophomore year, when the school security officer tried to bust him for selling pills to a freshman in the hall earlier that day. popping his earbuds in during lectures. maintaining unbroken eye contact with teachers as he does so. getting ~very close~ and speaking ~very low~. purring threats. can never drink lightly. skipping school often, fabricating online attendance to avoid suspension. barely eating the food his foster parents prepare. leaving the table early, unexcused. digging into the leftovers after everyone’s gone to bed. severing ties. if he’s lucky, never makin’ ‘em in the first place. his new yorkisms come out when he’s drunk, or high, or tired.

hobbies: darkroom photography. reading poetry. burning shit. smoking. walking around the mini mart like he’s a hunter in the wild, just to make the clerks uncomfortable.

guilty pleasure: he listens to “lore” and “my favorite murder”. but he disguises that shit, saving the album covers of the podcasts as seether.

desires: to avenge ty’s death. get the fuck outta west ham. to find a reason to be here. a reason why.

wishes: his parents didn’t kill themselves. cowards. they deserved to deal with him. they deserved to be tortured, for doing this to him. he wishes he hadn’t pulled that knife on his aunt. then at least he’d still be in new york city, instead of here, with this stupid fuckin’ foster family that just won’t let him go.

secrets: killed a guy. the reason for his juvie sentence is redacted on his public record. he’s lonely, a lot of the time. and, oh yeah: he’s becca’s baby daddy.

turn ons: no bullshit. sarcasm. intellect. no strings.

turn offs: sentimentality. smileyness. too much perfume. caring.

lucky number: 1. he’s all he’s got.

pet peeves: chewing gum: fucking pellegrino and his damned bubbles. bubbly people. cassandra pressman and the tree-sized stick up her ass. foot tapping. prying. school involvement. slow drivers. slow walkers. slow thinkers.

their motto: “ fuck you very much. ”

( &&. favourites )

food: falafel. shut up.

drink: he brought vodka to school in a water bottle once. diet coke.

fast food restaurant: wendy’s. he likes the chocolate frosties.

flavour: chocolate.

word: fuck. for a vast array of reasons.

colour: black.

clothing: his most worn leather jacket. touch it and he’ll end you.

accessory: the gold chain ‘round his neck. it was ty’s.

candle scent: smoke. tobacco. whatever that shit is, patchouli.

game: fuck games. fuck fugitive. leave him alone.

animal: he has such a soft spot for caterpillars.

holiday: christmas. he likes baking shit. but if that ever gets out, he’ll flip.

weather: pouring rain, with patches of sun in between. it’s rare, but damn. it’s kind of beautiful.

season: summer. fast drives, windows down. no school. no bullshit.

book: on the road, jack kerouac.

artist: aerosmith.

band/group: ac/dc, kiss, guns ‘n roses, van halen, def leppard.

song: we’re not gonna take it, twisted sister.

movie/film: star wars. fuck off, it’s good.

tv show: history docs. he likes those decade pieces on the history channel.

sport: boxing.

possession: his lighter.

number: 1.

person: that’s the dumbest question he’s ever heard. himself. he’s lying.

( &&. skills )

talents: hacking. lying. breaking rules. testing limits. photography. playing people.

ability to drive a car?: yes. recklessly.

can they ride a bike?: yes, chooses not to.

do they play any sports?: tonsil hockey. heartbreaking. boxing.

anything they’re bad at?: empathizing. serenity.

do they have any combat training? why?: yep. his friends in grade school. juvie.

( &&. firsts )

childhood memory: crushing a handful of cheerios in his tiny hands and feeling... powerful.

crush: ava watson. she said she liked his eyes.

email address: [email protected]

job: reception at a local gym in west ham. lasted a day; he punched a guy.

phone: flip-phone. now he’s got an iphone.

kiss: hanna parler. 6th grade. said she’d miss him before he left for juvie.

love: HA. nice try, dick.

sexual experience: josie thwaites. 6th grade. they didn’t know what the fuck they were doing.

( &&. childhood )

best childhood memory?: try again.

worst childhood memory?: seeing ty’s eyes go dim.

what were they like as a child?: angry. electric. not easily tamed.

any crushes growing up?: some. he doesn’t do that now. crushing.

( &&. this or that )

expensive or inexpensive tastes?: expensive.

hygienic or unhygienic?: hygienic.

open-minded or close-minded?: close-minded. his way or bust.

introvert or extrovert?: introvert. buzz off.

optimistic or pessimistic?: pessimistic. optimism’s dead.

daredevil or cautious?: daredevil. caution’s an early grave.

logical or emotional?: emotional.

generous or stingy?: stingy.

polite or rude?: rude. so rude.

book smart or street smart?: both.

popular or loner?: loner. notorious, though. everyone knows who he is. wonders what his deal is. he’s got this... dark magnetism. if you’re smart, you’ll stay away.

leader or follower?: leader. follows his own path. likes disrupting order.

day or night person?: night.

cat or dog person?: cat. despite what his childhood mistakes might lead you to believe.

closet door open or closed while sleeping?: open. come get him.

( &&. social media )

do they have a facebook? twitter? instagram? vine? snapchat? tinder/grindr? tumblr? youtube? yes to facebook and instagram. no twitter, no vine. has a snapchat, rarely uses it. yes to tinder.

if so; name on facebook: miles vernon.

instagram user: milesvernon.

snapchat user: milesvernon.

( &&. musical tastes )

theme song: paint it, black –– the rolling stones.

makes them sad: anything by the beatles. makes him think of his aunt’s apartment. and then he gets angry.

makes them dance: nope. he wouldn’t be caught dead dancing in front of the likes of you. when he’s drunk, anything with a decent beat will make him sway his hips a little.

( &&. miscellaneous )

do they have a fake i.d.?: hell yeah. a couple.

are they a virgin?: ha. no.

describe their signature: chaos. barely legible.

how long would they survive in a zombie apocalypse?: he’d bite a zombie’s fuckin’ head off, if that answers your question.

do they travel?: nah.

one place they would like to live: anywhere but here.

one place they would like to visit: anywhere but here.

celebrity crush: camila mendes. tell anybody and he’ll hunt you down.

what can you find in their pockets/wallet/purse: cigs. lighter. some form of tic tac.

place(s) your character can always be found: in the shadows. on rooftops. places he shouldn’t be.

when does your character like to wake up?: 7:03am. he doesn’t like rounded numbers.

how does your character spend their free days?: reading. burning some stuff. driving out to other towns to do reckless shit.

what’s your character’s bedtime routine?: read some poems. have a cigarette. knock out.

what does your character wear to bed?: boxers, no shirt.

if your character can’t fall asleep, what are they thinking about?: ty’s brains. that knife. juvie. getting back. making them pay.

what is their idea of perfect happiness?: revenge.

on what occasions do they lie?: on what occasions don’t they lie ?

most marked characteristic: his ghost-gray eyes. his smirk. his hair.

what is one thing they’d most like to change about themselves?: only one?

how would they like to die?: in a blaze of fucking glory.

do they snore? no.

can they curl their tongue?: yes.

can they whistle?: yep. he likes doing that yoo-hoo kind of whistle. makes people uncomfortable.

do they believe in the supernatural?: nope. bullshit.

has anyone ever broken their heart?: no.

have they ever broken anyone’s heart?: yes. on purpose.

are they squeamish?: not at all.

have they ever seen anyone die? what happened?: see above: ty. that security guard. he’s sure they won’t be the last.

are they a lightweight?: not at all.

#newhamhq: intro

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angelimortisrp-blog · 6 years

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G L O R Y (&&) GORE — meet BENJAMIN TURNER; the BLACK POPE.

“don't mistake my kindness for weakness. i am kind to everyone, but when someone is unkind to me, weak is not what you are going to remember about me.”

{ ♚ AT A GLANCE }

name: Benjamin Turner

age: 47

gender & pronouns: UTP

occupation: Boss

loyalty: The Church

availability: Open

faceclaim: Idris Elba ( non-negotiable. )

{ ♚ A DEEPER LOOK }

Cornered, the walls of what they thought was their city closing in on them, that was Benjamin’s life work finally profiting. A spark had been ignited and chaos ensured. Betrayed by their own, divided and unsure who to trust, that was the karma the man known as The Black Pope had been waiting, and pushing, for. But this was only the beginning. The man was tired, there was no denying that, but a force stronger than anything had pushed him forward. Faith, they called it. And while the St. Agnes Church served mostly as a front, prayers Benjamin had said there hadn’t gone unheard. Footsteps echoed and Benjamin was torn from his reverie. “They found her, the Venturi girl. She’s dead too.” There was no rejoicing from Benjamin at the news. Juliet was young and her death was the result of kings playing a game of chess like none other. Not even a queen, only a pawn, dead.

{ ♚ A HISTORY LESSON }

Growing up in the slums of New York wasn’t easy for Benjamin. His father spent his time in and out of prison for minor criminal offences and his mother was more than often completely high on one thing or the other. There was also a lot of people in their home, from his father’s friends to other members of their family. By the time he was 8, Benjamin already knew the path that was traced for him. And he also knew that he could live the same kind of life as his parents. At least, not in the same way as them. Too many people ended in prison or dead. Too many of his neigh boors, friends, family or members of his community were getting ripped off on deals. Benjamin felt like everyone around were being exploited by bigger players and he dreamed of ending it. He knew that he had to be smart about it. But with patience and the right allies, he felt like it was something that could be accomplished.

From the moment he was 14, Benjamin worked hard. He took on every job he could, often working three to four of them at the same time. He lived poorly and put aside every dollar that he could. Every contact that he could make, he did. Benjamin knew all the key players in the Bronk and he started to do favours to a lot of people. By the time he was 25, he had enough people that owed him to start to collect and build the empire he had in mind. He wanted a better life for his people. Benjamin was realist about it all. He didn’t dream of getting crime out of the these parts. Crime was profitable for everyone, including himself. What he wanted was more protection and better deals for those around him. And he knew that the best way to get what he wanted was to be the one in charge of it all.

It’s been more than 30 years since Benjamin started his work and the dream he had as a child is now in front of him. The poor neighbourhoods of New York is not what it used to do. Every Sunday, Benjamin and his wife go to Church and around him, people smile. They shake his hand knowing that their sons and daughters are alive in part because of him. But this side of New York is no longer enough for the man and he knows that outside of it, other players are laying a very different law. He’s had his eyes on the Venturi and Romano for a while and he knows that the time is right to strike. Together, they were unbeatable. Divided, they are just another enemy that he can defeat.

{ ♚ NO TIME LIKE THE PRESENT }

A mean to a necessary end, the death of Juliet Venturi wasn’t something he ever wanted. The double hit wasn’t his doing but he can’t deny that it’s doing good to his side. He can’t help but wonder who’s responsible for the young woman’s death. It seems too cruel, to him, to go after Gregory’s daughter. Michael’s murder, that’s something else. But children shouldn’t have to pay for their parent’s crime. The tension can be felt all through the city and his territory is feeling it too, albeit in a different way. The fall of the Romano’s boss is something to celebrate and Benjamin intent on taking full advantage of the chaos surrounding New York’s most powerful families.

{ ♚ ABOUT THE PERSONALITY }

+: dedicated, generous, idealistic, sociable -: assertive, impulsive, possessive, scheming

In his parts of the city, Benjamin is well known and has been for decades. Hardworking and pleasant to be around, Benjamin, called the black pope by some, both because he operates from the back of a church to his desire to elevated the status of his own, is focused and generous. But one doesn’t get to the top with only qualities, as being ruthless is often needed to survive in this world and the msn is far from a Saint. A sharp mind, Benjamin is street smart more than anything else, du to his lack of higher education. It wasn’t for him as he knew from a very young age what his life’s mission would be, something he never derogated from even once.

{ ♚ FRIENDS & FOES }

♠ Aibileen Turner ( WIFE ) - “our bodies could be skin on skin and i’d still pull you closer.” ; She’s been the only one he ever saw, the only one he ever needed. He pursued her for months and months before he finally won and the victory has been something he’s been holding on to for years. They’ve had ups and downs, like all married couple, but giving up on them has never been on his mind. It’s the reason he never tried to have a relationship with Amara, too afraid that it would disturb the peacefulness of his family.

♠ Caleb Bianchi ( INFORMANT ) - “looking for an entirely reliable informant is like looking for a chaste mistress.” ; The man’s reputation precedes him and Benjamin has never been duped. Caleb Bianchi is in this for himself, a gambler offering himself to the highest bider. But his position among the Romano and his place rooted deeply into Delirium are making him a asset. Testing the man’s loyalty isn’t something Benjamin wants to do as he’s unsure who would come out alive, him or the Romano, but he plans on taking full advantage of Caleb.

♠ The Church ( ASSOCIATES ) - “i got your back if you got mine” ; These people have been following him either for years or more recently and Benjamin is putting all his good faith in them. He’s always on the lookout for traitors, but he treats everyone equally, as if they were part of the family. He’s been devoting his life to making the streets safer for people like him and them and all he asks in returns are that they follow his rules.

{ ♚ EXTRAS }

character teaser.

inspiration tag.

gif hunts.

BENJAMIN TURNER IS CURRENTLY AVAILABLE FOR AUDITIONS.

#crime rpg #mafia rpg #gang rpg #lsrpg #mature rpg #benjaminbio #church #open

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oxfordeliterp · 7 years

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CONGRATULATIONS, KITSON!

You have been accepted to play the role of ARIA BELLEFONTE with the faceclaim of PHOEBE TONKIN. Please create your account and send it to the main in the next 24 hours. From the ‘pinot noir painted lips’ to her thriving under bright lights, it’s clear in every line of your application just how much you understand Aria. It’s clear you know just how much important Elizabeth was to Aria and just how much of an impact her death has had, as beautifully shown in your sample. You managed to turn a sophisticated writing style into something so fluent and so cursive that every fancy word and every letter you picked for your application complete a complex feeling that represents Aria wholly. Your writing brings her to life in such vivid detail, capturing her magnetism and her grief in a wonderful balance. To quote what you wrote and adapt it to the context, damn this application for making us feel. We need to meet straightaway.

OUT OF CHARACTER INFORMATION

Name and pronouns:

Kitson &/or Kit

Age:

Time-zone:

I’m currently residing in the CST tz but once college starts back up again in the fall I’ll be switching to the EST tz.

Activity level:

Since it’s summer and I don’t have too much on my plate, my activity should be about a 7/10. I do babysit quite often but I still have a lot of free time on my hands

Triggers:

Whether my stomach of steel is a blessing or a curse is a question still unknown to myself. It takes a lot for something to truly unsettle me. So, with that being said I personally don’t have any triggers, but will take careful precautions to be mindful of others!

IN CHARACTER INFORMATION

Desired character:

Synonymous with BLACK. She is slanted. All pinot noir smeared lips and little baggies of cocaine spilling from a jeweled bustier. Cheap. The broken starlet, the tortured little princess, the whore.Spoilt, spoilt, spoilt and now she’s rotten. Decaying. A false god, Dionysus personified. Perhaps it had begun years ago, the decomposition. Perhaps it had been inherent. This anger within her thick, black, and pulsating. SHE HAD LOVED THE NIGHT SO MUCH , SHE BECAME IT. All fishnet stockings, ripped and glistening diamonds choking her perfumed neck. The degenerate and strange old hollywood starlet with porcelain flesh and eyes like death, cigarette ashes and slinky lingerie and cocaine powdered noses. A tragedy in its truest form of an angel fallen. A primordial being, dirtied, sullied. She is the void. Emptiness, darkness, loneliness personified. But she doesn’t mind. Not anymore.

You are a GIRL and you are a WOLF. A beast, they deemed you, ravenous, they said. Terrifyingly so, you agreed as you cut another line of cocaine. But once upon a time, you had been PUERILE & PURE, an unbroken doll composed of eager eyes and painted cheeks. Now, you thrive beneath BRIGHT LIGHTS and hot hands, solace found beneath a heavy touch against turning hips and nicotine sullied breaths mingling against your liquored lips. Perhaps you have lost yourself in the neon jungle, painted a doll-like exterior visceral shades of melancholic blue,

BUT YOUR NAME IS STILL ARIA BELLEFONTE AND YOU ARE A HAZY FEVER DREAM OF A GIRL.

( THAT IS ALL YOU HAVE EVER KNOWN TO BE TRUE. )

Gender and pronouns of the character:

Female. Uses she/her pronouns.

Changes:

If you’d accept it, I’d like to use Phoebe Tonkin as Aria’s faceclaim.

Traits:

( - J E A L O U S ) she sees others with their seemingly perfect family and their put together lives and yearns to drown cities with her tears. instead she laughs, mocks the malleable and obedient children, and tosses back another flute or two of champagne, snorts another line or two of pretty white party favors off her mother’s collection of vogue magazines or the bible she keeps hidden in a mahogany drawn from her brief religious stint her freshman year and thanks the lord above that she hadn’t become her parents. but all aria wanted was to be admired for more than her look, more than her last name, and she often wonders how different her life might’ve been had she continued murmuring her Hail Mary’s and Glory Be’s in the front pew of the church. Whether her parents could have loved her in the way she wanted them to love her, been proud of her accomplishments, no matter how small, like other parents were. She knew no family was perfect and that every one percenter had familial problems, but seeing them chatting casually over brunch made her blood boil. Watching the pretty and perfectly moulded girls introduce their gilded boyfriends of three years to their seemingly doting mothers made her want to scream.

( - O B S E S S I V E ) there is something so terrifying about an addictive woman with an addictive personality. & aria bellefonte is just that. she latches onto anything, whether it be drugs or booze or exploiting her sexuality, to keep herself from drowning in her thoughts. she obsesses to the point of it being hazardous, drinks herself into a drunken stupor all to forget the lack of parental adoration and approval. with no love from mommy, and all money and material belongings from daddy, aria had been spat out unto a man eats man world with nothing but ignorance and a need for fleeting bliss. almost childish and almost mature she’s stuck in between two conflicting personalities. she is both the addictive drug and the addicted.

( + P A S S I O N A T E ) aria was all late nights spent dancing across penthouse floors, body swaying to white noise and the deafening silence. far too glamorous, far too beautiful, far too free for anyone to truly tame. she wasn’t like the others, and preferred red rimmed eyes and distant recollections of nights spent with various different men and women to a traditional relationship. yet that didn’t stop her yearning. she is wild and fiercely independent. a beacon of passion dulled by prescription pills and excessive amounts of alcohol.

( + M A G N E T I C ) there is something so naturally compelling about aria. something so different. she’s exotic almost, yet entirely mundane. in a world of opulence, she is the woman across the room sipping beer from a champagne flute, puffing plumes of smoke from her father’s cigar into the air. she is the woman eating a cheeseburger amidst a crowd of calorie counters. she is late nights spent riding backseat in a cab, cigarette between pinot noir painted lips and a blunt tucked into her back pocket. there is something about her that draws you in and spits you out after a night of neon lights and adventure, dank bars and dirty sex. she had never been pristine nor pretty in the traditional sense, she is raw and unconventional— an enthralling enigma.

Extras:

It was so, so hard trying to decide on a major for Aria, and I’m still debating a bit between Sociology or Psychology. Both seem to fit her to a degree, I just can’t decide at this moment which is the more suitable option.

i. Aria has always associated flowers with death for reasons unknown. Maybe it was the pungent scent of yesterday’s plethora of floral harvests bringing to mind nothing but funeral parlors, adorned with already wilting flowers, their lives ending before their time for the sole reason of capturing their beauty. Or perhaps the affiliation had been made due to the lethal nature of countless plants. Belladonnas, lustrous and plump, yet waxed in fatal poison. Roses armored in thorns eager to impale wandering fingertips. There was something dangerous about flowers. Pretty and poisonous, much like herself. Perhaps that was what had roused the link between the two.

ii. Aria has a nasty habit of fingernail biting. Having developed it at a younger age, she is constantly going through spurts of recovery from her grotesque desire to gnaw at her thumbnail when under pressure to spiraling out of control and chewing off each and every nail when partaking in an especially enthralling conversation or viewing a particular intriguing movie.

iii. Aria drinks coffee like she breathes air. Excessively.

v. Perhaps a lifestyle of obedience had never been in the cards for the hardened shell of the already hardened exterior. Born unto the biting air and falling temperatures, Aria hadn’t been birthed to be warm and amicable. She had been meant to be a force of nature. Dangerous, sardonic, blatant, and honest. Yet she yearned to love and be loved in return. But a hurricane of a girl drowning past selves to make room for the newer, better, improved Aria’s could never truly be loved in the way she wanted to be. Yet she continued on in an attempt to please two expectant parents. A form of self destruction, natural selection at its finest as the girl shed skins to fit into certain habitations until the incessant adaptions had grown tiring. It hadn’t ever required new identities to disguise a broken past, and Aria had desired to become a simpler version of the intricate entanglements she had woven. Simply herself. Perhaps brazen, perhaps rash, but entirely true to the soul she had become. Never the beauteous woman draped over the hero’s arm nor the hero himself. Sutton the cunning villain, the serpent in the garden of Eden. For she deceived. She broke. She burned. She singed all those who treaded too close. She destroyed all good that came her way. Matured at such a young age, deprived, depraved, broken and mended and broken again. A work in progress, a listener but never willing to open herself up in return, a friend but never deeming many her own, an enigma in every sense of the word. The only connection she has to her parents and past is her last name. Nothing else.

vii. Elizabeth Pemberly. The girl she sought hard to forget. Yet she is lingering in nightmares, a stitch in her side. Inescapable. All the prescription pills popped, and champagne bottles chugged, and blunts rolled and each broken boy and girl made a home out of for the night and she still couldn’t forget. Damn her. Damn that Elizabeth Pemberly for making her feel.

vi. Born November 13, Aria is a Scorpio. “The Scorpio woman should never be taken lightly. They aren’t flaky, fluffy, or helpless creatures by any stretch of the imagination. Direct, and brilliantly sharp, Scorpio women only focus on the fundamental essence of any issue and disregard the superfluous. They like clear endings and beginnings, with no grey areas in between. A Scorpio woman wants her certainties to remain just so - absolutely rock steady and assured. She wants to understand everything and knows how to craft just the right question to obtain the answers she seeks. Scorpios are intuitive, controlling, and sometimes self-destructive, but in all this they have a certain deadly beauty to their personalities. They are fearless and stubborn and even when life gets a little tricky they merely take it on the chin and keep going. Self-confident, resourceful, and strong, Scorpios are driven to succeed; they work hard and are willing to sacrifice anything to get to their goals. They are also complex and secretive, choosing who they divulge their secrets to carefully.” [x]

vii. Aria’s alignment is chaotic neutral.

( I have bolded what I feel pertains especially to Aria’s personality and beliefs. )

A chaotic neutral character follows his whims. He is an individualist first and last. He values his own liberty but doesn’t strive to protect others’ freedom. He avoids authority, resents restrictions, and challenges traditions. A chaotic neutral character does not intentionally disrupt organizations as part of a campaign of anarchy. To do so, he would have to be motivated either by good (and a desire to liberate others) or evil (and a desire to make those different from himself suffer). A chaotic neutral character may be unpredictable, but his behavior is not totally random. He is not as likely to jump off a bridge as to cross it. Chaotic neutral is the best alignment you can be because it represents true freedom from both society’s restrictions and a do-gooder’s zeal. Chaotic neutral can be a dangerous alignment when it seeks to eliminate all authority, harmony, and order in society.

This type of character will at least consider doing anything if they can find enjoyment or amusement. Life has meaning, but theirs has the greatest meaning. According to chaotic neutrals, laws and rules infringe on personal freedom and were meant to be broken. This character is always looking for the best deal, and will work with good, neutral, or evil to get it; as long as he comes out of the situation on top. The chaotic neutral is constantly teetering between good and evil, rebelling, and bending the law to fit his needs. (3)Chaotic neutrals can also be completely random and unpredictable.

They may shift allegiances at a moment’s notice, or remain with a leader for years. The chaotic neutral character feels that there is no plan at all for the universe. Things just happen. They tend to believe in luck and chance, rather than fate or destiny. They don’t care what happens to others, yet will not necessarily go out of their way to harm others. If someone stands in the way of their happiness, they may kill that individual or move on to something else. Their priorities tend to change as they experience new things in life. They may even appear to adhere to another alignment for some length of time, only to switch at an inappropriate moment. They can be the worst tricksters, conning people, not for gain, but for sheer amusement. The chaotic neutral may not be driven by fame or wealth, but may only take actions just to see what happens.

A chaotic neutral character will keep his word if it serves his interests. He may attack an unarmed foe if he feels it necessary. He will not kill, but may harm an innocent. He may use torture to extract information, but never for pleasure. He may kill for pleasure, but is not likely to do so. A chaotic neutral character may use poison. He may help those in need and he prefers to work alone, as he values his freedom. He does not respond well to higher authority, is distrustful of organizations, and will disregard the law in pursuing his self-interest. He may betray a family member, comrade, or friend, but only in the most dire of situations. Chaotic neutral characters do not respect the concepts of self-discipline and honor, because they believe such concepts limit freedom to advance their self-interest.

PARA SAMPLE

The world didn’t stop for her broken heart— the clock kept on with its routine ticking and the earth didn’t cease to revolve. The erratic pulsating of jaded hearts incarcerated within uncompromising ribs sustained until one day its seemingly everlasting palpitations eventually ceased. Breathe, eat, party, sleep, and wake up. Tha-thump. Breathe, eat, party, sleep, and wake up. Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Breathe, eat, party, sleep, wake up. Again and again and again. Over and over again. Repeat. Until the perpetuity of existence no longer seemed so daunting anymore.

The world didn’t stop for her broken heart— people moved on and the earth didn’t cease to revolve. Yet she defied the consensus and took a cursory hiatus from her quotidian procedures to mourn the unforeseen death of the girl who had settled in her heart.

Inhale,

Exhale,

The air hung static and bore the lethal scent of melancholy and death like an intoxicatingly bitter fragrance. Hushed was the erratic surging of one stone heart intermingling with the motionless atmosphere. Silenced was the volatile screaming of her. Befallen was a certain sense of placidity. Submerged was the room as Aria Bellefonte with her white powdered nose listened impassively as the story had been told. Tongue swollen, lips bruised from keeping it all in. Although her battle wounds were inconsequential in comparison to the traumatic injuries that had been inflicted upon her Elizabeth, she was weakened. Paralyzed by apprehension.

The inferno, the fervor that momentarily raged within had gone compliant. The vitality and perseverance to keep herself ignited had been usurped by sorrow. It was tragic, truly, witnessing the happiness stone-cold Aria had momentarily possessed being expelled from her body like air from lungs the very moment she heard that Elizabeth Pemberly had breathed her final breath.

Inhale,

Exhale,

Forget and forgive.

But after such an unexpected tragedy, how could she truly be capable of overcoming her need to blame others and begin to do so?

Life became dull cycle that the bitter girl forcibly underwent everyday. Biting remarks and glassy gazes throughout the daylight hours and a typhoon of emotions in the dead of night. Breathe, eat, party, sleep, and wake up. Do it over again. Wake up, breathe, eat, party and sleep. Breathe, eat, party, sleep, and wake up. Again and again. Repetition was key to overcoming, right?

Of course it was.

Seconds passed with a certain lethargy. Minutes. Hours. Days. It was common knowledge that the world didn’t stop for her broken heart— the clock kept on with it’s routine ticking and the earth didn’t cease to revolve.

And maybe the world would never cease it’s incessant rotation for one measly broken heart, but Aria Bellefonte would. For she ceased to exist without the faulty tha-thump resonating within the hollow of her chest. Aria Bellefonte ceased to exist without the unbearable pain of her lover’s demise on her delicate shoulders.

Hazel hues swept throughout the room, fleeting from object to object before landing on the mirror. The facade had been eradicated long ago, she knew that now. Concealing the sorrow lurking within seemed futile. But she had spent the entirety of her life donning a caustic personality and a cold stare to match. She couldn’t stop now. She wouldn’t. And so Aria continued to spend her nights painting a bitter frown bright shades of red before slipping out into the night. Dead, like usual. But broken this time. For once upon a time, she had felt alive.

#aria bellefonte #accepted

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