#entitledsorrow

[frostbled-blog]

“ exterior as cold as snow, heart hotter than the sun. “ bc you're a total bae and deserve to have everyone respect your rules

Snowpea. thank you dear for reading my rules!

[jauneybravo]

«~ℑ»    "Madame, I do not believe your father would take kindly to the sight of his daughter donning your guard's undershirt."

[jauneybravo]

entitledsorrow replied to your post:↝ Because I can

Wtf Mike, was that necessary?

//Absolutely it was. 

[jauneybravo]

↝ Because I can

My character is dead and yours is playing with a ouija board. Send me a "↝" for the short phrase my character would guide your character’s hands to spell.

               I c h  L i e b e  D i c h

[jauneybravo]

ღ {YOU CAN'T STOP ME}

Send ღ for my muses reaction to yours pinning them on a couch

   "U-h....oh...Frau W-Weiss....?"      Okay, there goes his        chest, gut,                and sense of reality.

They were close, and their breathing was found to be heavy after their rigorous tussle withing Weiss' penthouse.         

          "I--uh--Frau  Weiss.?" His voice became flustered. Sure, it was a part of his training, but was it really necessary for the girl to  

[jauneybravo]

Salt of the Earth (miscommunication au w/etitledsorrow)

“You are the salt of the earth. But remember that salt is useful when in association, but useless in isolation.” ― Israelmore Ayivor

--------------------------------------------------------------------

   A back stage pass, Jaune's first ever as a rookie bodyguard. To him, it was a sign that finally--after what seemed like years of bad luck--things were finally working out for him. He gave a smile as he slightly shook the pass in his fist before softly stowing it away in the pocket of his black slacks. His eyes then trailed up to the star's room door. It was white, fancy, and trimmed with what looked like gold. Centered upon the higher height of it's surface was a shiny silver plaque which read "Eiskonigin (Ice Queen)". That's when he was reminded to review the booklet he had brought along. Allemande pour les nuls ('German for Dummies').

   "Uh.......ah!" His fingers had flipped directly to his bookmarked page. "Gu-ten-tag. Ich heiße Jaune d'Arc. Ich bin Ihre neue Schutz.(I am your new protector)" He gave a confident nod after reading it aloud, and finally knocked on the solid white door.

   Knock knock knock! and a deep breath too.

   "Et ce est parti (Here we go)"  

             Queue the nervous suit straightening, and a brush of his blonde hair.  -ℑ 

[intrudingshadow-blog]

entitledsorrow replied to your post:40% Unity. promised myself I wouldn’t get DA:I...

{ Be strong, I can’t even get it until tomorrow because Europe }

((I'm also broke as fuck, too cheep to drop the 68 bucks on it)

[romanflares-archive-blog]

Release

Another day. Another week. Another month. Another year. Another day and night until it's day again. Another scratch up on the wall.

Every day was the same as the last. Starvation, abuse in all definitions of the word, and likely illegal interrogation. The higher ups had given the general permission to do whatever he found necessary to him to speak. Also being a scientist... quite a few interesting methods had been performed on the prisoner. However, only the same words would escape the mouth of mr. Torchwick. 

"Me."

As self-centered as he were, Cinder's name would not be spoken, even if it came at his own expense. Not because that woman was someone he loved or trusted, but because she was the only way to accomplishing his goals. A king of crime was one, yes, but only she could help him in tearing down the walls of society. Destroying the authority. Creating complete and utter anarchy. Roman sought destruction of the current way of things, and to rebuild it up in his own twisted image. And she was his best advantage. 

So day by day, when the general would enter with a new tray of items and toys to play with, the same single word would sputter under agonizing moments of torture. Truly, only someone with a lack of sanity to begin with could endure the daily tortures of the creative general. Interrogation Probes were among the newest inventions Ironwood had tried-little metallic hovering drones that shocked the skin with pulses of electricity, drilled into skin, and let rampant microspecks of pure dust into the body, racking Roman's veins with agonizing heat, chill, and other elements.

Yet, at the end of every session, Roman would only laugh-granted, more and more psychotically than the previous-and repeat the same word he'd claimed the two years he'd been placed in the cell in the first place. The very fact that Roman could withstand these tortures, these pains, these agonies, was what drew fear into the guards and the nearby prisoners. On more than one occasion had he nearly destroyed several mechanical robots out of a flurry of rage, and left the few humans stationed in a bloodied mess upon the floor until he was forced into stasis. 

They never cleaned the mess left behind, as a sick sort of punishment. The room stunk of blood. He stunk of blood. Violence, violence, and torture. Over, and over, and over. Perhaps it had begun to affect his condition. In turn he became more violent. Violent, and sadistic during the few moments of alone time with a guard or another poor inmate. He loved it, the sliding of a gripped tool against the throat of an inmate. The crushing sound a bone makes when fractured by a continuous barrage of kicking and shouting. It satisfied him, but only temporarily. 

By this point, Cinder, the White Fang, all of them were a long forgotten memory, lost behind a fog. From an outside glance, the criminal had become a shell of what he once was. An animal needing to be put down, but won't be until his owner was found. Me. Me. Me. Every day, for the last two years, he had only spoken it once a day. Me. Me. Me. It almost became a rhyme by now.

Once, he had overheard someone. A new voice, one less static than the robots, but neither masculine. Yet, familiar. Glynda had visited several times to meet with the general over his methods, but this voice was neither mature enough to be hers. 

No. No, this was the voice of an old friend. The perfume smell of a privileged princess. In two years, lips motioned to spell the letters of an old, un-used name-rather a nickname. Their escape was light. Gentle even, if not downright pleading. Begging for audience.

"...Ice Queen?"