sunsetfilmss - Tumblr blog

[sunsetfilmss]

Playboy's, y'ready or not?

bts + dystopian + other idols

description: THE NEWEST dystopian novel, where various youths - from different diversions - are drawn into the domains of the game - through the haunting invitations. They grow into adolescence together, secluded in the unknown, in the epicentre of danger and daring exploits, and with the repeated battle for existence. Each has their own history and a withering future that the game holds. Stray along in-between the brutal and agonising journeys of the protagonists, as each spiral into insanity in the arena. Each to their own. Further along in the battle for survival, hidden haunting memories flood back to them, reminding them of the reason why they're in there. The games tainted them but weren't they were already tainted?

pairing: mainy maknae line, but hyung line included interactions! ( btw this is a fanfic - mainly bts - but many other idols will be mentioned. ) x !reader

genre: dystopian ( e.g. hunger games, divergent, the maze runner) action-adventure, action-romance.

rating: 15- 18+ ( mainly 18+ due to the mentions of injuries or more sensitive topics!)

warnings: different warnings will be set with the different chapters!

------

Chapter 4 - Laughing Stock

warnings: bit of violence ig

WHY DO WE continue to live?

Because we hope that what awaits us is a life more favourable than death, so... would you live your life again?

Would you decide to live your life again if you was stirred from a slumber by a roaring audience, in the midst of an arena?

Would you, even if you was hanging in the air, swaying in the grips of the four thinning edges of the rope on a plank of wood that is accompanied by the coarse underfoot of grass, sprouting from the wood plank, consider dying all together and re-living your life?

Even if you progressively take in the chants, the applause, that seems to louden as you cover your ears, itch your eyes, wipe your mouth and scrunch your eyebrows, would you?

The turning point of this all, was when you sat up, tried to at least. The smallest movements made the plank sway, larger the movements the more vigorously the ropes tried to sustain a balance, mid air.

It was either the fact that you're floating in the air, on a plank of aesthetic wood, in the centre of an ancient Roman amphitheatre. Or the fact that there's twelve other people hanging, all at different levels and with different worded silk banners cascading from the edge of both sides of the planks.

Shock doesn't wash over you after you look up to see a couple contestants hanging nearby or above you, but when you look down, past the swaying silk banners, past the grass and past the small - sprouting flowers caught in the webbing of your fingers when you grasped the grass for balance, the odd few people slightly below you, to the side, but the distance from the ground, is the deciding factor.

You're a sky-scrapers height away from the rooted, tough and reedy grass beneath, you're floating at the top of the arena by just four strings and a rectangle patch of grass, soo small that everyone's legs and arms are lulled over the edge, full display.

Wavering your eyes away from the ground, you look upon a crowd of a whole city, all with their hands flaying above their heads, screaming with excitement at the awakening contestants.

You had only positioned your legs either side of the plank and arduously lifting your arm to hold on one of the four ropes when you had began to get frightened. People shouted, commented on the writings on the flailing silk, on you, and on your face. There was a continuous roar of catcalls, laughter, yells pierced occasionally by a scream.

Similar to the jarring sounds of the tedious capitol, a blustery screech, a speaker, a microphone and a keen voice set out a queue of silence.

"What a crowd! What a crowd!"

And if that didn't cause the slight stumble of the remaining planks, then the declaration after, did.

"Some of them must be soo tired!" With a maniac cluster of a laugh and a sudden accompanied series of laughs from the audience, he continues.

"I think Kim Taehyung needs a little wake up call, don't you! How typical for someone from Amity!" Another roar of laughter but what follows exceeds the the rest of the violent noise. A full blown chant.

"Kim Taehyung, Kim Taehyung, Kim Taehyung!"

It takes a glaze of the hanging decks, similar positioned bodies, shuddering banners, to see the boy. His deck is hanging below mine, to the left. I take the two ropes in-front, into my hands and peer down.

He doesn't take the collective chants calmly, instead with one sudden turn he rolls over, past the two ropes beside him and he hangs. Hangs with one hand finding security amongst the flowers and grass of the deck, and not long after, with both hands and a with a grunt ripping from his mouth.

The chants have died down but the sudden emerged laughs replace them. Seemingly louder.

Taehyung releases one of his trembling hands, and reaches for the rope near his left hand, similar motion for the right hand. Yet instead of the plank working in his favour, it tilts, and with a sudden drop, the grassy surface nearly faces him, the grass showcased the ground.

The audience in hand, were spotlight of this arena. The way they dressed was fascinating. Everyone has heard of them, the snobby, the entitled and the praised, they didn't belong to any of the five factions. They took the title of the rich and took a non- identifiable look, they were soo colourful.

The people of the capitol used their external appearances to express their money, their greed and their wealth. They dress up to express the capitol in itself.

The vibrancy of the colours all over the capitol contrast the dull lives of each and every faction. The factions ironically were created by the capitol for the segregated parts of the country. All the while, the capitol and the overly dressed citizens ruled themselves as non participants of this law, never knowing of the repeated suffering that was suppressed under this law. The law being to 'Choose faction before blood.'

Amity, being the peaceful, give freely knowing, hoping, that they're given what they need. They render themselves free of anger, as a whole. Amity follow key teachings, to follow up on the law accurately ; ' The opinions of others cannot damage you.' and ' Cruel thoughts lead to cruel words and hurt you as much as they wound their target... blah blah blah. They all grow into adolescence and grow into adulthood knowing to value peace and harmony above all else, they're all willing to serve, but not face-to-face, physically.

Its ironic really, such vulnerable individuals offering to help others, when they are the ones most in need. In all actuality, Taehyung had wished, and was angered, when he didn't receive help that he needed, he always helped, so why didn't he get help back? With both parents dead, with his sources of life, living and to live dead. God, it was unreal, the amount of anger he felt, disconnected from reality at times had rendered him with thoughts that shouldn't root from the typical mind of an amity.

Thoughts of killing the capitol, each and every leader that sat on the prestigious dias'. Each one that ate from the prestigious scrapped cutlery, those that ate those prestigious meals, when he couldn't. when no one in his village could. The ones that grew with a gold spoon to their mouths, the ones that their hair groomed, shortly after their last appointment - to merely kill time. The ones that held a ring, on the ring finger of their left hand, and yet as surrounded by the numerous desirable, all-good-for-nothing-women, he was going to kill each and every one.

Everyone told him that it was alright to feel lost, feel anger at such times, even if he was forbidden from feeling anger. Forbidden from feeling. But everyone is wrong. He knows they're wrong. He knows because, he doesn't feel lost, in fact, he has never felt better and he has his goals in line, he isn't lost, like they all say. He knows he's going to kill the capitol and he knows exactly how to do it.

He's not lost.

Being forbidden from feeling anger was rooted in his mind, yet didn't stop him, ever, from feeling it. He could say, that in all his time in amity, he began developing feelings of anger more than anything else. So when he was laughed at like an elephant, an outsider, at the centre of a circus , an arena, he felt beckoning wrath in the form of reddening skin, veins splurging and displaying themselves all around his body.

The laughs and being at the epicentre of the joke, was all it took for Taehyung to pull himself up, a swift movement between a mid-air pull up and a jump, onto the plank, but he wasn't done, and neither was the capitols laughter. Arms aching, he positioned himself to stand on the wavering plank, hands either side, a demolishing and veiny grip on the ropes.

Laughter seized. Speakers were succumbed to silence as he pulls a daring move. The daring move.

With the tilt of his body backwards, his head and elbows following, he swings the plank in its entirety. And it moves fast and faster after the third lunge, his right ropes moving fast towards the centre of your plank. That's when it hits you, quite literally, your body tilting off to the side, and instead of both your hands being on the ropes in front, there's two on one rope. The heavy breathing and the anger palpitating through him, doesn't shock only you it shocks everyone. Everyone. Your plank is rocking like his now, with you still straddling it.

There's nothing you can do about it, the stares, the shocked gasps and the peering eyes from the other hanging participants.

With a swift movement of you flipping yourself upside down, mid-air and still straddling the plank. There is something you can do, give him a taste of his own medicine. So when he keeps swinging towards your plank, and you swinging towards his, by his second swing you grip his plank, from the bottom. This stirs a more sudden swing, but with your planks now attached, you grab the back of his leg, trousers even, and pull, at first it causes his leg to hover over the edge.

But your nails didn't, with all your might you tugged, and he lost balance from already being mid air, and now he hovers again, but this time, his whole body, flailing arms and everything.

He let a series of grunts out, his plan of trying to make someone else a laughing stock, failing. Failig miserably at that. And he realises that ;

He couldn't and wouldn't kill the capitol, the capitol would kill him.

And if they didn't then you would.

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

+ woah a tiny bit of action buttt what do we think...

[sunsetfilmss]

Playboy's, y'ready or not?

bts + dystopian + other idols

description: THE NEWEST dystopian novel, where various youths - from different diversions - are drawn into the domains of the game - through the haunting invitations. They grow into adolescence together, secluded in the unknown, in the epicentre of danger and daring exploits, and with the repeated battle for existence. Each has their own history and a withering future that the game holds. Stray along in-between the brutal and agonising journeys of the protagonists, as each spiral into insanity in the arena. Each to their own. Further along in the battle for survival, hidden haunting memories flood back to them, reminding them of the reason why they're in there. The games tainted them but weren't they were already tainted?

pairing: mainy maknae line, but hyung line included interactions! ( btw this is a fanfic - mainly bts - but many other idols will be mentioned. )

genre: dystopian ( e.g. hunger games, divergent, the maze runner) action-adventure, action-romance.

rating: 15- 18+ ( mainly 18+ due to the mentions of injuries or more sensitive topics!)

warnings: different warnings will be set with the different chapters!

------

Chapter 3 - When the sun rises, lets start again.

warnings: abuse, drowning, bruises, daddy issues.

" No man ever steps into a river twice, for it is not the same man nor river."

CHANGE IS ONE OF LIFE'S ONLY CONSTANTS. Cold things turn hot, the wet dries, the parch moistens, everything is constantly becoming something other than what it was.

When the perpetual murky and bleakly golden rays filtered through the tattered holes of his curtains, he strained stay under the depths of his dream. The golden chariot rode proudly across the sky, horses of pure light leaping through the night - filtered clouds, lighting the empty highways. With an ounce of effort he turned and tumbled under the hues of the sun, throwing the blanket over his head, had been the conclusionary decision, though after a while his ears and body failed to work in harmony with his exhilarating breaths, his soreness.

With a hanging foot already positioned of the bed, he lifts the other to join it, body still stationary, as if to fall back asleep. It takes him a moment, a thought of the day ahead to actually pick himself up.

Financial struggles had deterred his family from affording the penthouses or the houses that their boss and employers own, that laid in front of their 2 bedroom house. And similarly to the sunrise being accompanied by hues of gentle passion, he was accompanied by his sister.

She lays shrivelled, with the hem of the blanket at the tips of her fingers yet sprawled over the floor. That's all it takes for him to walk over, take two or three steps to the other side of the crammed room and - ever so gently - lift the blanket from the floor, brushing the tips of her fingers and lay it on her cradled figure. She stirs and he stands awaiting momentarily, but its when her legs and arms are on display, that he grimaces.

On her legs are etchings, marks that spill out with an array of colours, yellow from green, blue from purple that will stay withering under the clothes she covers herself with, for weeks, months maybe. Her face is a landscape that's no different, just slightly smaller reminders of the beatings, an ugly bruise at the bridge of her eyebrows, a cut on her cheek.

Seeing hers made his feel small, seeing her bruised and battered body made yesterday and its consequences seem like a peck of dust.

The previous night, otherwise the night his father used Jeongguk as his outlet for his anger.

Jeongguk was breathless with anger, but quite literally breathless.

May have been the death grip on the spine of his neck or the small time intervals his dad would draw his head out of the encaging water.

Jeongguk expected to be like those movies. In movies drowning is loud and splashy, incoherent yells every now and then, flaying of arms. It's weird, because while Jeongguk was drowning he rendered silent, subtle movements, rare moments of noise.

And when his head was dragged up and rumbles of his fathers wrath ricochet down his ears, to only be dunked back into the water, he expects to come back up, he does. But as each chance to breathe becomes further apart, each breath less than the last. Thoughts turned murky, senses turned useless and darkness reigned.

And when he had seemingly stirred into consciousness, he wasn't far from the water that dissipated and toyed with his death, in fact, he was laid beside the bathtub, with bleak similarities of injuries that his sister held now.

The more he stood there observing, the scars that web the memory of his fathers wrath, burn marks, fresh, from the buts of his worsening addiction, his anger, tug at his heart, suppress his arteries.

The grief Jeongguk feels for his sister - for the evidence of last nights beating, the previous night and the many days before - doesn't come heavy.

In fact Jeongguk doesn't know how he feels.

Jeongguk doesn't know how he feels when his eyes follow the trajectory of the road, the punctuating train rails, the narrow row of parking spaces covered in fine gravel. It's when he's partway up a deteriorating cliff face, that Jeongguk knows exactly why he's here.

The mounds of earth don't seem to rest neat and in unity with each other, instead clustered together as if they all thrive to dissipate into the span of the sea.

There was soo much water, yet it was soo waterless and without feature.

But Jeongguk knew how he felt when he took daring steps to the edge, close enough for even the briskest of a draft to lull him into the abyss of the killer, the water.

Even after the involuntary jerks of his body when he hung in the air. Jeongguk knew how he felt when he plunged himself off the edge.

Jeongguk definitely knew how he felt when bubbles clouded his ears, when his hair clouded his eyes, salt clouded his taste and water clouded his nose, his lungs even.

But it wasn't when his back fled from the water or when water become one with oxygen that he didn't know how he felt.

But when he was grovelling in the sand, damp and dry, both near and further from the sea. He was being dragged out of the sea, even from the deepest abyss of the ocean, even from the distance he dove and drowned, and that's all it took for him to contemplate how he felt.

He didn't feel multiple manoeuvring hands but Jeongguk did feel the same grovelling grip as last night.

Under the arising sun and under the deepening water, had been the inescapable journey of the last of the thirteen, to visit the arena.

WE WEREN'T WHO WE USED TO BE and we won't forever be who we are.

——————————————- + i'm not sure if i like this chapter but it's something. + now that they're all in the arena... + vote or comment something please idk if people like this or find it boring or if they're improvements to be made, please judge. + none of these backstories anymore, we're going into their present experience, of the ...

[sunsetfilmss]

Playboy's, y'ready or not?

bts + dystopian + other idols

description: THE NEWEST dystopian novel, where various youths - from different diversions - are drawn into the domains of the game - through the haunting invitations. They grow into adolescence together, secluded in the unknown, in the epicentre of danger and daring exploits, and with the repeated battle for existence. Each has their own history and a withering future that the game holds. Stray along in-between the brutal and agonising journeys of the protagonists, as each spiral into insanity in the arena. Each to their own. Further along in the battle for survival, hidden haunting memories flood back to them, reminding them of the reason why they're in there. The games tainted them but weren't they were already tainted?

pairing: mainy maknae line, but hyung line included interactions! ( btw this is a fanfic - mainly bts - but many other idols will be mentioned. )

genre: dystopian ( e.g. hunger games, divergent, the maze runner) action-adventure, action-romance.

rating: 15- 18+ ( mainly 18+ due to the mentions of injuries or more sensitive topics!)

warnings: different warnings will be set with the different chapters!

------

Chapter 2 - There's a First Time For Everything

warnings: stalker-ish vibes again

#WHETHER people volunteered for the trails of the game or whether they received the forbidden invitations, in the end, everyone was left tainted the same way - garnet red pigment embedded in the tips of their fingers, hands maybe. All thirteen of them.

Five of those thirteen had chosen to discard the envelope, as expected. They came to a realisation that no matter the scale of their disinterest, it would return, obnoxiously, and without fail. Days would spiral into months when the letters would be stored as piles, stacks and even pyramids, due to the amount of letters that would filter through so suddenly and without a trace of how it even got there.

Whether it was Arras undying curiosity or the growing fear of unsafety, that the letters gave, she decided to stop turning her back on these alarming notes and to venture into the letters journey to her house, her room even or specifically the pillow under her windowsill. Late evening, she decided to indulge in the serendipity of the landscapes around her neighbourhood. Being forgetful was in Arras' nature, so she dug thoroughly through her small living space, in search for the embellished apartment keys. Throughout the search - and after she found the keys, she had made sure to stop at different points within the inexpensive rooms, to lock all the doors and windows. Conveniently, she didn't stop much, the two small windows shared between her room and the attached bathroom, and the one and only door, the main door.

The chaos in her mind intervened with the serenity of the walk had made the night creep up when she wasn't watching. First the sun had ducked behind the buildings, under the fence and hidden behind the ever-growing ivy. But the refracted golden hour had seared through the buildings, the fence and the ivy, though, illuminating this wall, that branch and the left side of Arras face. Not failing to showcase its beauty and remembrance, the rays were gone with one last tiny blaze of warmth and light on the darkening horizon.

She had taken the nights familiar blue breeze as a sign to make her way back. The small apartment - a tiny piece of land accessible by a bridge so narrow, it would admit just one car at a time - stood small but proud.

Whether it was the worsening weather or whether it was the idea of another letter sitting above her windowsill, she began to quicken her pace when jamming the key into its slot. Opening the wood framed door, she assessed her surroundings, feeling something on her. She took the keys out the exterior slot, preparing to lock the door from inside after she steps inside. Again, she felt something, something on her. She locked the door, even sliding the small chain across her door.

Again, she scanned the room, her eyes peering over her dishevelled blankets on the small sofa, glazing over the fire that seems to be too hazy, too warm, too frantic.

In fact she had started sweating, a lot, beads gathering at her temples, on her upper lip, on her neck moments before she felt something, again.

This time it felt heavy. Bigger even.

Arra raised her hand, before momentarily touching the base of her necklace, where the tips of her fingers, ever soo delicately met the single globule of a liquid. It burnt, and burnt bad. With her skin faltering beneath this vapour, she began to notice her thoughts ran incoherently. Arra suddenly took a on a pale look, a face of a china doll, as she stumbled towards her room.

It was then that she came to the realisation only after she saw the can, military green, sat once where the letters were, beneath the windowsill.

Then with one step backwards she crumpled like a puppet suddenly released of their strings, seeing incoherent blinks of red.

She'd been gassed.

And that's how the first person ended up intertwined in the games.

————————————— + do you guys know what the 'incoherent blinks of red' are? + also i want to say that Arra is a side character, NOT the main character or you, throughout this story. Also, i won't be going through everyone's journey into the arena. Please tell me what you think because idk if i should carry this on if people don't view this.

[sunsetfilmss]

Playboy's, y'ready or not?

bts + dystopian + other idols

description: THE NEWEST dystopian novel, where various youths - from different diversions - are drawn into the domains of the game - through the haunting invitations. They grow into adolescence together, secluded in the unknown, in the epicentre of danger and daring exploits, and with the repeated battle for existence. Each has their own history and a withering future that the game holds. Stray along in-between the brutal and agonising journeys of the protagonists, as each spiral into insanity in the arena. Each to their own. Further along in the battle for survival, hidden haunting memories flood back to them, reminding them of the reason why they're in there. The games tainted them but weren't they were already tainted?

pairing: mainy maknae line, but hyung line included interactions! ( btw this is a fanfic - mainly bts - but many other idols will be mentioned. )

genre: dystopian ( e.g. hunger games, divergent, the maze runner) action-adventure, action-romance.

rating: 15- 18+ ( mainly 18+ due to the mentions of injuries or more sensitive topics!)

warnings: different warnings will be set with the different chapters!

(lil note): This is my first fanfic I guess, point out any errors - without hesitation, because it seriously annoys me. uh just going to say what everyone else says, the scenes are all made up and I've wrote this purely out of boredom , don't take anything seriously the whole idea of the book, in itself is a joke. This is only a practice book i just want to see if anyone likes my pov on books and how I write my books, hope everyone enjoys this because, I've been looking for a good, non-cringey dystopian novel, fanfic or not so I've decided to make one myself, ahhh idk if i like this but just going to risk it bc yolo.

------

Chapter 1 - The Beginning To It All

warnings: mention of blood and chapter includes a stalker-ish vibe.

THE MESSAGES and BLOODY HANDS began to arrive just a few days short from the start of summer break.

Initially, the little encrypted, hand-written messages appeared in just one location: on the window sill, dashed by brilliantly rendered handwriting, sealed securely shut, and stamped with unintelligible letters.

The night I had rendered free of all my thoughts was the night I had seen it.

The ink. The stamp from the letter was in my palm when I had focused on the contents of the letter. Way before I had the chance to realise the mess unravelling in my palm - merely seconds before I finished deciphering the letter, the searing crimson beads bled through the thin invitation itself, smearing the handwritten notes until words couldn't be deciphered, ink and blood becoming one.

That night I scrubbed, shaved my skin, peeled the intricate layers off, in attempts of rid myself free of the tainting spree of colour. Through the journey of it climbing viciously up my arms, staining its path like vines - it became a part of me. A part of us.

No matter the effort, the aftermath of the letter was untraversable, with my skin red raw and the stains not faltering, I gave up. Leaving my hands bloody.

What we didn't know was that twelve other individuals - other than ourselves, underwent the same fate. Exactly the same fate. All left tainted with crimson on their hands, to symbolise that.

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

+ sooo theres a little insight on the beginning to all the mess, also an insight to the book I wish many come to enjoy... + probably one of my shortest chapters.