I CANNOT BEAR THIS WORLD A MOMENT LONGER. / THEN CHILD, MAKE ANOTHER. . .  a private, low activity, dash only, mutually exclusive multi - muse featuring muses from jojo’s bizarre adventure, naruto, dc, final fantasy xv, & more! 

                 ⋆˙⟡♡    improvised by bella. she / her.  24.  ♡⟡˙⋆

ৎ୭  RULES. ৎ୭  MUSES. ( updated! )

💀

their childhood was a much easier era filled with sincere joy whenever the eldest returned. albeit, a mostly joyful crowd. even then, donnie proved to be stubborn at times, but that was usually a front. pouted lips, crossed arms, averting his gentle brother’s gaze until eventually it melted into something lukewarm. a scoff, fighting back a smile, murmuring with begrudging admittance ‘missed ya too’ at times.

such an era has long come to pass.

giorno left, and resentment’s weedy roots grew in his place. as did other emotions, watered by father’s instigations, such as jealousy and vindictiveness. giorno left, and everything got just peachy for him, didn’t it? he got his camelot and his crown and a newer, nicer family — well, what’s left of it — and, as always, it all works out for him.

the same cannot be said for donatello.

giorno embraces his brother warmly just as he always would before, but there is something amiss. something is missing. they are no longer the boys of before, and they have not been for quite some time. since the moment giorno returned -- and not returned home, it's quite clear he has made a home elsewhere, after all -- it is like trying to slip back on a pair of shoes that don't quite fit. nothing is the same. donatello usually ignores his golden presence, finding it to be blinding and overbearing. sometimes he is aversive to the other's attempts at affection. to be fair, he's like that with all his other siblings these days anyway. but with giorno, it's especially personal.

bad enough that he tolerated the hug, but the touch of the kiss feels acidic on his skin. donatello winces, jerking back before taking a step back entirely.

❝  hey!  ❞ it sounds angry, at first, but laughter laces itself into her voice. she sputters, struggling in vain against the other's unexpectedly aggressive front. silver chariot does not even offer advice to counter this predicament, he merely makes a comment about how she should have been better aware of her footing earlier -- your stance is sloppy and in dire need of retraining, to be precise -- and it always sounds harsher than intended thanks to his default, neutral tone.

excuse her for having relaxed a little bit in lieu of all they've endured. gone are the intrepid days of cairo, though she knows now more than ever, the danger overall has yet to be vanquished. perhaps she was selfish for stepping back to a degree, but her reason is one she thought charlie, of all people, would understand best.

❝  easy, mon pote.  ❞ she frowns, all patience and amusement from earlier quickly slipping away. ❝  i'm out of practice, okay? free time to train was a bit nonexistent for awhile.  ❞

rikiel is a good boy, and avdol is just about the most helpful partner one could ask for. but even with that, chaos meddles in their lives. she won't dare say that to charlie's face, not when she has a feeling that the other endured worse. regardless of that, and her original joy at being reunited with her friend, that isn't going to hold up for this current miserable experience.

the argument in question is perhaps their utmost childish one yet. one which she knowingly and willingly started. one which dante knew what the effect would be -- instantaneously turning him irate, all of his responses biting and his patience fading fast -- but it's one she wanted. why? because she enjoys riling him up. he was funnier that way with his features looking so cross with her, sapphire hues fixing a burning gaze and mouth turned to a petulant frown. it's all the little ways she'll forever attempt to jab at him, a revenge that she will never be able to properly claim otherwise, for having once ruined her life. no, it may no longer be true resentment, but she is still a brando -- and that means no one can be allowed to scorn or wrong her, and walk away unscathed afterwards. no, she will be a curse in her own right inflicted upon, bound together.

❝  fine then.  ❞ she concludes ominously, interrupting the back & forth tirade they'd been going on about before. a serene smile graces her lips, mirroring that of her own mother's each time before dishing a cleverly conjured insult back at her father when he would belittle her. ❝  if, as you claim, the victor in the fight with itachi still remains undecided. . .  ❞

the swift, split second handsign is conjured. time pauses to only her will, enabling her to seal the distance between the two. from an outsider's perspective such as his own, there is but a blink in between from the previous moment and now. anyone would be rightfully startled; but they seem to drive a deranged sort of enjoyment, teasing one another with their monstrous gifts. her emerald gaze is a siren's hypnotic lure, beckoning to certain death. and her warm, plump lips are covering his, sealing a promise that she then speaks into existence whilst pulling away;

there are a handful of books scattered around on the floor from where he lays, seemingly peering over each open one. it's not an ideal way to read anything, even for one who wishes to multitask, but then again, perhaps xiliens absorb information differently. besides, most of the books picked out this time happen to art books; scans of famous historical paintings, an overview of the italian renaissance, another on famous meiji era works, and many more. some of these books are in less desirable conditions, but these are the only ones that could be scrounged from a near decimated library.

miyuki kneels down, joining him on the ground. her eyes scan one of the pages and sees it is a scanned copy of the creation of adam.

❝  you mean to be human?  ❞ she asks, though she already knows the answer. her lips curve upward, a slight hint of a smile. ❝  well, i suppose i could best answer that on a biological level. but the difference between your anatomy and mine isn't that stark of a contrast, on the surface at least.  ❞

she pauses, taking a considerable amount of time to answer. he is so invested in all this artwork. there was a time, in the time of the xilien's first arrival and their deception, he was so invested in all earth had to offer. he was enraptured by their warm embrace, relishing in the pop culture and their fixation of him. was that all a farce? for all his arrogance and bravado, for all his attempts to once dismiss it, she would argue his enjoyment was sincere. he has so rarely alluded to what xilien society is like, but the little information gathered is so bleak. depleted resources, a militaristic dictatorship, a monochromatic society devoid of abstract things and joy.

❝  it also means to have emotions, a conscience, a personality. it means to take your life into your own hands and make choices for yourself, whether for good or evil, in the limited amount of time we have. ❞

she's leaning too close to him, as she speaks. her hand nearly brushes against one of his own that rests on one of the books. upon realizing her mistake, she slowly retracts it before he notices, before he may make an issue of it.

why indeed? why bother venturing to the depths of his prison cell, thousands of meters below the ground. it is a squeamish journey for those that are claustrophobic. but there are other, far more pressing matters on the mind that she can't be bothered to think about the implications. it's so concerning that she can't even be bothered about the discerning lack of usual security to accompany her in the isolation chamber. she can only operate on the assumption that because she's worked with him a number of times -- and work is putting it lightly -- that he'll be inclined to not react violently to her presence.

but he's not restrained to the maximum capacity like before. his hands are bound, like always, but they both know he's frighteningly creative. an unstimulated mind like his and a lifespan which is limitless compared to a human's means he has plenty of time to imagine ways he can weaponize anything he can get his hands on.

why bother, when he surely knows freedom is futile anyway, so he could take the chance to strangle her instead?

❝  because your knowledge on this subject matter is. . .  ❞ a moment's pause, knowing that what she's about to say is fuel to his maniacal pyre. ❝  invaluable.  ❞

if he'll flash her one of those arrogant smirks like always, she simply won't acknowledge it. but she can feel it, how he'll eat up that delicious description of a compliment.

❝  ozaki is ill.  ❞ she announces flatly, keeping her emotions in check. her hands rest atop the table, she resists the urge to nervously drum them. ❝  we don't know what it is nor how we can treat it. his biology has evolved beyond that of a regular human. our medicines don't work. our own blood samples aren't compatible to his. no resources on earth can work. ❞

now she dares to fix her gaze to his unblinking own. it could because of the painful fluorescent lights, but his face looks wretched and exhausted. does he not catch on to the implications just yet? she expected a celebration, a mockery, a jeer. not the usual petulant boredom. evidently, he doesn't seem to recognize the opportunity that they are begrudgingly offering. so she will have to spell it out for him.

because, frankly, she isn't sure what she was going to do next even if she had succeeded. even if she killed him -- the controller, the second - in - command, the son or so she's learned over time -- what then? there is no means of escape. security would inevitably learn. the oddly. . . kind ( as kind as captors can be ) commander would undoubtedly execute her. she has no way of sending out a distress signal, this xilien technology is too vast, too foreign.

is that why he laughs? besides the amusement, besides the fact that she's certain she just rocked his shit with that concussion, is it the knowledge that it was pointless?

he seizes the blunt object -- some broken off part of her cell, part of the ship, she isn't sure what its name is -- and with it, her wrist. there is a moment where she sincerely fears he will snap her wrist for this act. and when it turns out she's made him bleed, she wonders if her neck will be snapped instead. instead, like the lunatic that he is, his unblinking gaze locks in her and that devilishly smile widens, reminding her of all he intends to do. frustration builds within her, even though her heart quickens like a hunted rabbit's. her eyes are bulging from fear and adrenaline, she fights against his grasp. she fights against his words, his promise, his sickening desire.

❝  i hate you!  ❞