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Futuristic UTOPIA! ★°⭒𝕞𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕⭒°★

nova.the.alien

✩ space monarch ✩
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sentineltribune.com/news/2024/monolgue-time-bitches





Romera Bio- Technologies Celebrates 40yrs Anniversary
Rotech boasts several years of opening their industries up to citizens of Sentinel City, intention of many years to come.






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Since its establishment in 1957, Sentinel City has grown and flourished in ways that its original inhabitants never thought possible. What began as a beacon of hope—a shimmering sanctuary carved out of the sea—has evolved into a towering metropolis that defies gravity, reaching ever upwards in its unyielding ambition. With nowhere left to expand, the city grew skyward, its skyline now a labyrinth of gleaming skyscrapers, sky bridges, and neon-lit spires that stretch toward the heavens, tempting fate like Icarus reaching for the sun. This architectural marvel is a testament to the relentless drive and ingenuity of its citizens, built on the promise of safety and equality for all.

For mutants around the globe, Sentinel City offered something no other place could: a sanctuary from a world scarred by war, prejudice, and fear. Here, powers that were once seen as curses became celebrated gifts, and individuals who were once outcasts found a sense of belonging. Mutants and non-mutants alike work side by side, building a society that strives to rise above the failures of the past. Technology advanced at breakneck speeds, and with it, the dreams of an entire city grew. Cutting-edge innovations—many pioneered by mutant-led companies like RomeraTech—redefined what was possible, merging the extraordinary with the everyday. Bioengineered enhancements, nanotech-infused architecture, and AI-driven infrastructures are only a few examples of the city's ever-evolving landscape, all designed to support a harmonious coexistence.

Yet, beneath the city's gleaming facade lies a complex web of stories, each more unique than the next. It’s a place of stark contrasts: wealth and poverty, heroism and villainy, innovation and decay. For every soaring tower, there are dark alleyways where the shadows stretch long, and for every success story, there are those who fall through the cracks. In this city of infinite possibility, the line between savior and sinner often blurs, and ambition can be a double-edged sword.

Whether born amidst the glistening high-rises or drawn from far-off lands, each member of our cast has found their place within the ever-turning gears of Sentinel City’s grand machinery. They are the rebels, the dreamers, the warriors, and the wanderers. They each play a role in this sprawling urban symphony—some by choice, others by circumstance, and all driven by personal histories that shape their every move. What are their motives? What drives them forward, and what ghosts linger in their pasts? Are they architects of change, or simply players caught in the city's ever-evolving game?

Sentinel City is not just a backdrop but a living, breathing entity—dynamic, unpredictable, and brimming with potential. It's a place where dreams are born, and destinies are forged, but also where power struggles, hidden agendas, and deep-rooted tensions simmer just beneath the surface. Every citizen, from the lofty corporate magnate to the lowly street vendor, has their own narrative interwoven into the city’s complex tapestry. As we delve deeper into the lives of these inhabitants, we uncover a multitude of threads that define the city’s pulse. In the glittering skyline reflected in the bay or the hushed conversations in the underbelly of the city, countless stories are waiting to be told.

The question is, in this magnificent, ambitious city—what part will you play? Will you soar with the sun, or will you, too, find yourself plummeting as Icarus did, undone by the very dreams that once lifted you up? In Sentinel City, the possibilities are as limitless as the sky above, and every choice could tip the scales in a new direction.










/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.

 
CW: Implications of blood and death, kinda creepy too




Nikodem Wrona

Twenty-one voices overlap each other, whispering in frantic echoes. In a trance-like state, the Bone Witch passes a blood dipped hand over the hand bones of their ancestor. Burnished with ancient metahuman runes and stained pink with countless coats of thick red. The Witch's hand stings suddenly and the bones begin to scream.

“This one! Here!” the bones shout in a cacophony of high pitched, warbling voices. Cold blue eyes, the shade of raw chalcedony, flutter open in narrowed slats.

“Hush,” the Witch commands. A blanket of silence settles abruptly over the bones. A slow hand reaches for the bone that shakes, leaning forward from his position outside the scrying circle. As crimson fingers make contact with the bone, the excited vibrations cease and images radiate up the Witch's arm and into his waiting mind.

“Look at the Viper,” the voices speak in unsettling unison. “The last thing he sees. The Viper's teeth.”

“I do not wish to see it,” He demands the bones to move along. “Show me what I want to know.”

“The Judas, show the Judas. Show the Judas!” The voices scream, the Witch grits their teeth against the onslaught of demands. The bone his fingers touch begins to shake.

“Enough! Show me the Judas,” the witch demands softly of the bone. It relents, sending more images up the arm and to the brain.

He sees through the man's eyes. It is a vision of who his accomplice is. What the witch sees makes him sigh. They know him. They were acquainted with him. They suspected but now they know. They will remember.

“Show me the contract,” the witch says, watching through Judas’ eyes as he looks on at a simple set of papers. What a measly contract for someone who works at a law firm.

“No,” the one voice says quickly before the cacophony of screaming sounds again.

“Feed us,” the bones are wailing in their whispering high pitched screams. “FEED US.”

Their demands are met, viscous red slipping from a small glass jar. The bones are greedy, demanding. They caterwaul like cats in their otherworldly voices, each clamoring over the voice before. They quiet slowly as they're bathed in scarlet.

The Witch reaches for the bone again, growing weary of them.

“Now let me see the contract,” the Witch urges impatiently. Finally, they are allowed the image of the man peering over the contract. Ah. A name.

The Witch sighs in exhaustion, thanking the bones before he breaks the circle and steps away. He will let the bones be happy for a time before he cleans them.

The Witch stands, washing up before pulling stained hands into silky black gloves. Julian will want to hear what he's found.



 
— PARODY VS SILK !
in collaboration with Auda Auda .
01. Silk.
“Thank you for your donation benedict e.e.cummings for your donation! Are you related to Juice? Well first of all, just because I’m part Korean and have blonde hair, that doesn’t mean we’re related. Second of all, I came first. I was the blueprint of fuckin’...mutant streamers. 2014. That’s nine years on YouTube, three of which were on Demise. No one was doing it like me back then.”

Ann furrowed her brow and leaned back in her seat.

Maybe she should’ve dyed her hair blue last week. The next question rolled in, by one KappaKnight40. “Are you related to Parody?”

Is this really going to be tonight's theme? Are we really doing this? “No chat, I’m not related to him either.” She let out a huff as the queue finally popped for her game. It had been three weeks since her last bout of villainy and two weeks since she released something other than pithy stream highlights.

“Oh! Finally chat, a question that matters. What’s your plan going in the fight between you and your bro-Parody.” She pressed her lips, barely suppressing a snort

Okay, maybe the third time’s the charm.

“Nice try Parody, but I’m not giving up my secrets so easily.” She shot the camera a wink. “But since you’re here. Chat, what should my victory pose be?”

A: Pumping your fist!
B: Middle fingers up!
C: Teabag him!


The poll she set up lit with votes, fluctuating evenly between the three until the tackiest option came out supreme. The fight had been brewing for weeks, teased through subtweets, photos of herself at the gym and even a billboard she graffitied with “Winner, winner, chicken dinner.” She also lobbied the tag “#StringHimUp” but ultimately deemed it inappropriate and instead, settled on #StringSquad.

CHOOSE YOUR HERO!

Oh right, she was still playing a game. Much to her fans’ delight she locked in a rather interesting character if only because Ann refused to play him out of principle.

KappaKnight39: You fell off! OMEGALUL #PurelyParody
KappaKnight39: You fell off! OMEGALUL #PurelyParody
KappaKnight39: You fell off! OMEGALUL #PurelyParody
KappaKnight39: You fell off! OMEGALUL #PurelyParody
KappaKnight39: You fell off! OMEGALUL #PurelyParody
KappaKnight39: You fell off! OMEGALUL #PurelyParody


She eyed the chat before breaking out in laughter. “Seriously Parody? This is the best you can do?” The ban hammer came swiftly but so did dozens of other accounts, something she could only assume was the product of either his fan base or some shit stirring troll.

READY? FIGHT!

Shit, they’d already started and Ann was woefully underprepared. Glancing at her chat, the number only grew as she got into position. For each user that one of her mods banned another popped up, until her other monitor was nothing but shit.

“Sorry to do this to you guys, but mods please put this chat in sub only mode.” She sighed, her face exasperated and apologetic. “It’s just so hard to play when you’re getting spammed by one of your own team members.”



02. Parody.
Karl has barely begun his stream and he was already bombarded with donations and subscriptions. He didn’t have to wonder for too long why his viewers were being too generous as each message was about his upcoming fight with Silk. Karl guessed he shouldn’t be too surprised. Both him and Ann have been teasing it for weeks now and the day was nearly approaching.

“You guys need to let me breathe! I can’t even read your messages because a new one will just replace it immediately. At this point the entire stream will just be me going through them all.” Karl laughed, clearly not minding the influx of subscriptions he’s receiving.

“Also, what’s with all these donations mentioning String Theory?! I just started and you guys are already bringing my mood down~” He pouted. “Now I don’t feel like streaming anymore,” Karl let out a deep sigh, “guess there will be no stream today.”

‘Noooooo’
‘He’s obviously joking LMAO’
‘We’re sorry Orz’


“Hmmm… I guess a Hype train will help cheer me up~”

ParodysFootstool has gifted 25 subscriptions to the channel!
Dicksoutfordemise subscribed at Tier 3! They subscribed for 9 months, currently on a 9 month streak!

A hype train has started! Sub, Gift, or use Bits to get to the next level.


Karl covered his mouth with his hand, obviously pretending to be shocked. “I was just joking! You guys didn’t need to do all that.” Acting wasn’t his strongest suit and it showed. “But still, thank you for all your kind donations!”

‘What a bunch of simps’
‘Anything for u king’
‘< 3333’


“So for today’s stream, we’re gonna talk about my previous battle with ‘Nitro’! You guys have probably never heard of him before but he’s an upcoming vigilante and I have to be honest, he gave me a hard time.”

‘String Theory is talking shit about you LMAO’

“I mean what else can she do but talk about me? It’s the only way she’ll be relevant anyways.” Karl scoffed at the off-hand comment.

‘She made a poll for a pose when she beats your ass’

“When?! Brave of her to assume she’ll even land a hit on me!”

‘#StringSquad’

“Mods, someone’s asking for a ban~”

‘There’s a fight happening?!’

“Well someone has been living under a rock. Remember to type ‘Exclamation point Battle’ for more details”

Karl—well, it’s Parody now that he was live—leaned back in his chair, eyes creased with mischief as he stared directly at his camera. The chat on his second monitor was scrolling faster than he could read thanks to the constant flood of emotes from his fans. The only thing he could discern from the waves of nonsense was the occasional ‘#PurelyParody’ and ‘#StringSquad’ amidst the chaos.

“Alright, everyone,” Parody’s voice mirrored the mirth on his face, “since String Theory can’t keep my name off her mouth, why don’t we go ahead and give her a visit?” He closed the video and put up the ‘Ending Soon’ screen on his stream. “There goes my plan for today’s stream. Guess there’s no point since all of you are worked up and itching for some action.”

Parody didn’t check his viewer’s response or even bothered in making a poll as he’s sure it’ll be a resounding yes. They all live for the drama, him included, after all. With that being said, he quickly opened Ann’s channel—don’t ask why it was bookmarked—and quickly navigated through his dashboard before clicking the raid option. A notification popped up in his stream, indicating that the raid will begin in 30 seconds.

“That should do it! Now everyone, just a reminder to be respectful and follow TOS.” Parody’s voice was laced with sarcasm. “Also one of the mods has pinned a cute little message for String Theory. Make sure to copy it and greet her once the raid starts~”

The raid has begun. Changing channels shortly.

This should be fun.



03. Ann Akimiya.
5/12/16 and +2 Rank Points, oh she was going to crack his skull. What ought to have been a chill, promotional stream spiraled into a five game loss streak, no, a learning experience for herself and her viewers. “Well we can’t end on a loss” became her mantra as she careened off the face of the earth, finally ending with outstretched arms and an exaggerated yawn.

“Thank you to all you lovely viewers. Remember to check out our fight tomorrow night and subscribe. I stream every Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday at 8PM!”

There was no need to go raid for raid or even address Karl’s mean spirited behavior. She was the bigger person, the more mature streamer of the two.

Oh who was she kidding? Of course she wasn’t the bigger person–she barely reached his neck!

Scrolling through the chat, the bulk of it consisted of the same “You fell off”, “Dog champ”, and “#PurelyParody” shlock copy and pasted from his channel (she was nosy, what did you expect?).

However, there was always at least one gold nugget sifted from the dirt.

@StringTheory
1m .@Parody Some fanbase you got here tw: sexism
PaordysFootstool: yyour are fucken bitch get parodys dick out your mouth and get a real job (OF dont count)

And tweet. With popular creators it was hard to tell whether it was a legitimate fan or a set up account but given her own fan base’s…enthusiasm it wouldn’t be long before they dug up something else.

She put her phone down and stared at the calendar hanging on the wall. It felt like only yesterday that they discussed next year’s (tomorrow’s) venue, the terms, and the sponsors subsidizing their fake beef. The match was burned in red sharpie and surrounded by black ink crossing off noteworthy events. Unlike last year, she actually trained and reflected on his skills as a villain. Begrudgingly, she even watched some of his videos on an alt account (ad block on obviously). She couldn’t stand to lose another match to him, especially when last year’s punishment had been so…ugh she didn’t even dare speak it. She couldn’t fathom what he would ask for this year.

The year she won, she forced him to get her name tattooed and streamed the whole, painful process (because he so wisely chose his foot). She couldn’t repeat the punishment, but she also hesitated to choose anything that crossed into cruelty. It had to be funny, novel, and a good time for all (except maybe Karl).

Her eyes moved to the framed poster on her wall (memento of her debut) before a grin crossed her lips.



04. Karl Evans.
Karl was having the time of his life. He eagerly watched Ann try to keep her composure while his viewers spammed her chat. She quickly fixed it by enabling sub only mode, but he’ll also take credit for the loss streak she just had. It was a great appetizer for the fight tomorrow. If things were in his favor, the loss streak will affect her and maybe he’ll snatch the win like he did in the previous year. Perhaps he’s getting too ahead of himself but he was already thinking of a punishment to give Ann. His previous one of changing the bio on all of her socials so the link will be directed to his account was fun, but it wasn’t as impactful as he hoped. Though he did get an influx of followers right after.

Once Ann’s stream ended, Karl was about to message her regarding the venue for tomorrow when he was greeted by a wave of notifications. It was nothing new, it was even expected to be honest, but when he opened one of them the content of the tweet made his head throb in annoyance. He couldn’t handle another ‘cancellation’, especially so close to their fight tomorrow. Instead of retaliating and escalating like what he’d usually do, Karl instead opened up his drafts and scrolled until he found a fitting ‘apology’ tweet.

No. Too sincere.

Too wordy.

Why do I even have that in my drafts?

Oh that tweet is funny. I’ll post it later.

Pretty sure this one was made with AI

Ah! Perfect.


Without much thought, Karl opened the draft and edited out some key information to make it relevant. Something about he didn’t stand for what happened and how he’s not a reflection of his viewers and how he’ll do better. Blah blah blah. He didn’t bother to check for typos, it probably made it more sincere and notably, there wasn’t an apology directed to Ann. He might give her this small victory but that’s it. Karl could already see the drama youtubers going in on their little interaction and the humorous title they’ll name their videos. ‘Team Demise, not a team at all?!’, or maybe even ‘Has Parody gone too far?’. Whatever it was, he’s sure it’ll be irrelevant the following week. Probably replaced by another headline.

With the tweet sent, Karl turned off his phone and tossed it to the side. Guess he’ll figure out tomorrow if it was effective or if he had to make another one—or worse, an apology video. He won’t let Ann ruin the rest of his day however. He needed his beauty sleep to look his best for tomorrow’s fight. Karl couldn’t wait for Ann and the rest of Sentinel City to see his trump card.

I wonder what I’ll wear though.



05. Ann Akimiya.
When morning came the sun shone, the birds sang, and the flowers bloomed–yet the first thing Ann did was check her phone.

From: Ichabod Bouziane
To: You
8:00 am Looks like your tweet left the target audience.

From: Jouga Jonouchi
To: You
6:30 am Please, don’t do anything dumb. We don’t need this overshadowing the fight.


Yes, even without any other messages between them, the (partially manufactured) beef into the trending tab, nearly edging out the actual #ParodyvsSilk and #WhoWillWin tags.

She let out a raspberry and sent a dejected “okay” to her manager before rolling out of bed. Tooth brush, tooth paste, floss tongue scraper, cleanser, toner, serum, moisturizer, sunscreen. Two years ago it would have been torture but coupled with a long shower, it was an act of meditation. Save for the days she filmed a GRWM or stayed with a friend, her skincare routine–ritual was one of the few time slots spent by herself, focused solely on herself.

She would have loved to continue her foray into self-care, but she had bills to pay.

@StringTheory
1m GRWM before the fight via IG Live! Tell your friends. Tell your family. Cause we’ll be winning! #StringSquad #ParodyvsSilk #WhoWillWin


Ann affixed her mount to the bathroom mirror, testing it with a few tugs before setting her phone down and hitting the button to go live.

“Good morning everyone! Are we ready to fight? No, well that’s fine. Let’s get ready together~”

Compared to her skincare routine, her makeup regime was much simpler with a focus on a few big steps rather than her nightly checklist.

“So I first came to The Enrichment Center when I was around five years old because my powers came in early and apparently I was ‘too dangerous’ which was crazy because my dad could literally suppress powers. But whatever.”

She waved a tube of concealer in front of the camera before dabbing three drops beneath each eye.

“Around year…three I see this weird kid almost the same age as me blabbering about how much he hated the place. He even set fire to the teacher’s–well, the babysitter's pants using the guy’s own power.”

“Do I still talk to him?”

Her eyes flickered to a text notification before she took a tissue and wiped the edge of her eyeliner.

“The last I checked, he was still bullying other mutants.” Ann finished the look with a cherry-scented setting spray and an air kiss, reminding everyone to tune into the fight.

With her stream over, she sent a mass text to everyone in her contacts, politely requesting that they attend the big match. Due to the timing there was a low chance of everyone attending; however, a stream was just as good as attendance in her eyes.

That being said, Lucian would require a more personal message if she wanted him there.

To: Lucian (Luc on Tuesdays)
10:44am Come to the match or I'm never speaking to you again 💔
10:44am But if you can’t, you owe me a celebratory dinner!


Before she entered her closet however, she made time for one last message:

To: Carl (don’t pick up)
10:45am If you’re gonna stalk me, at least send some flowers.



06. Karl Evans.
The day has finally come. Their fight has already made headlines and it hasn’t even started. The entirety of Sentinel city was eagerly waiting for the clock to hit noon. Some clutched their respective merch in anticipation, while others were putting in their final bets on a sketchy website—Demise had nothing to do with it, or so they’ll say when confronted. While the world waited with bated breath, Karl in the meantime, was making his breakfast.

He took out a meal kit from the fridge—thanks to greenchef for today’s sponsor—before putting it in the microwave. While waiting for the food to heat up, he went ahead and checked on his twitter feed to check if the ‘drama’ had died down or if he needed to contact Casper for help—though he’s not sure if the guy’s help will do much. Thankfully, he wasn’t fully cancelled and he didn’t need to set up a camera in his living room for an impromptu apology video. The tweet did attract some randos outside their circle but their opinions didn’t matter anyways. The loud ‘DING’ of the microwave steered his attention away from his phone and he had a quick breakfast before moving on to prepare for his upcoming fight.

Karl grabbed a random shirt from his closet before booting up his PC to open a video compilation he made of Silk and her previous battles. He had been doing the same thing every day since they had decided on the date of this year’s fight. If Ann found out he spent this much time watching her, she wouldn’t let him hear the end of it. With one final recap, Karl focused his attention on the weathered shirt on his lap. It always felt weird using a new power for the first time. Almost like an extra limb with pins and needles, waiting for his body to get used to the new addition.

Still, he wouldn’t be in Team Demise if he couldn’t adapt quickly. Without much surprise the shirt on his lap began to tear itself apart to become a new form that Karl envisioned. He’d admit that it was crude, nothing like how Ann uses it in the videos he watched. Still, a small victory was still a victory. He spent more time practicing, making it as thin or as thick as he could, experimenting on how much he could push it in length before it starts to tear apart. Gaining confidence, he moved on to using it on his bed sheets, then onto his curtains, before trying to manipulate the threads on a small metal screw.

It took a couple more hours before Karl was confident enough to use his newfound ability against Ann. Much to the expense of multiple shirts, towels, curtains, and whatever piece of fabric he could get his hands on. Maybe he was a bit too excited. He didn’t plan on going head on against Ann with her own powers anyways. That’s just a recipe for a black eye and months worth of humiliation for him. He just needed to surprise her, even for a second.

Usually he’d still be streaming right now, but he already made an announcement beforehand that it’ll be moved to another day to give him time to prepare. Ann however, had other ideas as a notification alerted him that she just started streaming. With his curiosity piqued, Karl tuned in just in time to hear Ann talk about him during their time in the enrichment center.

Without much thought, Karl grabbed his phone in reflex and sent out a quick message.

To: StringCheese
10:33 am I’’m always in your mind, huh? 😉 (Also your eyeliner is crooked. You’re welcome!)


With the message sent, Karl followed Ann’s footsteps and started to freshen up. He needed to be presentable when he won, obviously. Karl just about finished his shower when his phone lit up with a response from Ann.

To: StringCheese
11:03 am I'll get you a wreath with your name on it once I beat you later~
Sent.

He debated on what to wear, even thinking of debuting a new look. How fast does hair dye dry anyway? Before ultimately settling on his usual techwear outfit: a sleek, black waterproof jacket with multiple pockets, tactical cargo pants with reinforced knees, and rugged, high-tech sneakers. It was comfortable, practical, and on brand. There was no point in changing something that worked, after all.

11:45 AM. The clock read.

More than enough time to make his way to the arena. If he was late, it’ll be intentional.



07. Silk.
By the clock hit twelve, the crowd reached a fever pitch. Cars lined nearly every block and attendees were practically spilling onto the streets. There was String Squad to the left, Pure Parody to the right, and the press trying to get an image of the snazzy Silk and provocative Parody. Among them was the owner of the venue, Nico la Cage.

A man who acts far younger than his face would suggest, he sauntered over to Ann and gave her a once over before removing his knock-off Ray Bans.

“Jeeesus Ann, this is an arena not a nunnery. What’s with the getup?”

Black lace unfurled, revealing a cheeky smile. “Do I at least look like a pretty nun?”

A trick question. Fashion had always been her other superpower.

Nico let out a hearty laugh before giving her a hug. “The last time I answered honestly, you nearly strung me up.”

“Yeah, but I still appreciate a good compliment.” She clicked her tongue before glancing around the array of cameras.

“Silk! Silk! Can we get a picture!” Ann turned over to see a few fans cosplaying last year’s outfit and shot them a “of course I’ll be right over!”

“I’ve gotta go, but seriously, thank you for making all of this happen!” she said before heading towards the group.

“Win for me and we’ll call it even!”


08. Parody.
“Nico! I love what you’ve done with the place.” Karl exclaimed, eyes taking in the extravagance of the arena around them. “I dare say, it’s the best this dump has looked in a while. Thanks to my face plastered on every screen, of course. Though I think everyone would’ve preferred it if there were less of Ann’s”

“Do you have any idea how many hours of sleep my men and I lost because of this? If these fights keep on being bigger than the last, I’d have to rent out half of the district!” Nico’s voice was as loud and as welcoming as ever.

“Just half? Why not make it the entire west district instead?” Karl chuckled in response.

“I don’t even want to think about it!” Despite Nico’s words, he could see the gleam of greed at the corner of the man’s eyes, almost like dollar signs waiting to burst forth. “Just hurry up! We’re already behind schedule.”

I’m always on time. Karl made his way towards the center of the arena. Along the way, fans and paparazzi were calling out his name and he made sure that a smile was ready for each flash of the camera as well as pleasantries for every eager audience. He’d occasionally approach someone wearing Silk’s merch, and being the ever generous person that he was, he offered the same amount of kindness. You know you’d look better with my colors.

It took some time and a couple more photos before Karl finally made his way in the center of the Arena where Ann was waiting. They’ve done this before, multiple times even, but his nerves still refused to calm down. He planned on wearing a poker face, a picture of elegance and composure against his adversity. But Karl couldn’t force his features to relax thanks to the sheer amount of excitement he was feeling. It almost looked like he was happy to see Ann standing on the opposite side of him.



09. SILK VS PARODY.
“Sorry if I kept you waiting!” Karl started, voice far from apologetic. “You know how it is, gotta show your supporters some appreciation for taking the time to watch the fight. Though you’re here awfully early. No one stopped by to say good luck?”

“Au contraire Karl”-god it felt weird to say that name-”I decided to come early to tend to my fans’ needs.” Her prior anger was spent and her nerves condensed into a single ball in the back of her mind. "You should try it sometime. They say the early bird gets the worm."

She shot him one last look as the horns signaled their entrance, a glint mischief in her eyes.

“The string with a STING! Ann ‘SILK’ Akimiya!”

A cheer so loud that it shook the stadium erupted. Banners with Ann’s face plastered all over started to soar, filling the stands with her signature color.

“The man, the mimic, the crazy asshole who made us wait for 30 minutes. KARL!”

Not to be outdone, chants of “PAR-O-DY! PAR-O-DY!” followed soon after with marquees and hand drawn signs. Amidst the chaos, one could barely pick up Parody yelling ‘Just Karl?!’

Black, blue, purple, gray, there was not an area left desaturated save for the battlefield where the two stood.

The screams and applause went on for a couple more seconds before everyone started settling down, preparing for the main event.

“Ladies and Gentlemen! Without further ado, the match will officially begin in…

5...
4...
3...
2...
1...
FIGHT!”



code by @leviathan.

01. SILK

“Thank you for your donation benedict e.e.cummings for your donation! Are you related to Juice? Well first of all, just because I’m part Korean and have blonde hair, that doesn’t mean we’re related. Second of all, I came first. I was the blueprint of fuckin’...mutant streamers. 2014. That’s nine years on YouTube, three of which were on Demise. No one was doing it like me back then.”

Ann furrowed her brow and leaned back in her seat.

Maybe she should’ve dyed her hair blue last week. The next question rolled in, by one KappaKnight40. “Are you related to Parody?”

Is this really going to be tonight's theme? Are we really doing this? “No chat, I’m not related to him either.” She let out a huff as the queue finally popped for her game. It had been three weeks since her last bout of villainy and two weeks since she released something other than pithy stream highlights.

“Oh! Finally chat, a question that matters. What’s your plan going in the fight between you and your bro-Parody.” She pressed her lips, barely suppressing a snort

Okay, maybe the third time’s the charm.

“Nice try Parody, but I’m not giving up my secrets so easily.” She shot the camera a wink. “But since you’re here. Chat, what should my victory pose be?”

A: Pumping your fist!
B: Middle fingers up!
C: Teabag him!

The poll she set up lit with votes, fluctuating evenly between the three until the tackiest option came out supreme. The fight had been brewing for weeks, teased through subtweets, photos of herself at the gym and even a billboard she graffitied with “Winner, winner, chicken dinner.” She also lobbied the tag “#StringHimUp” but ultimately deemed it inappropriate and instead, settled on #StringSquad.

CHOOSE YOUR HERO!

Oh right, she was still playing a game. Much to her fans’ delight she locked in a rather interesting character if only because Ann refused to play him out of principle.

KappaKnight39: You fell off! OMEGALUL #PurelyParody
KappaKnight39: You fell off! OMEGALUL #PurelyParody
KappaKnight39: You fell off! OMEGALUL #PurelyParody
KappaKnight39: You fell off! OMEGALUL #PurelyParody
KappaKnight39: You fell off! OMEGALUL #PurelyParody
KappaKnight39: You fell off! OMEGALUL #PurelyParody

She eyed the chat before breaking out in laughter. “Seriously Parody? This is the best you can do?” The ban hammer came swiftly but so did dozens of other accounts, something she could only assume was the product of either his fan base or some shit stirring troll.

READY? FIGHT!

Shit, they’d already started and Ann was woefully underprepared. Glancing at her chat, the number only grew as she got into position. For each user that one of her mods banned another popped up, until her other monitor was nothing but shit.

“Sorry to do this to you guys, but mods please put this chat in sub only mode.” She sighed, her face exasperated and apologetic. “It’s just so hard to play when you’re getting spammed by one of your own team members.”


02. PARODY

Karl has barely begun his stream and he was already bombarded with donations and subscriptions. He didn’t have to wonder for too long why his viewers were being too generous as each message was about his upcoming fight with Silk. Karl guessed he shouldn’t be too surprised. Both him and Ann have been teasing it for weeks now and the day was nearly approaching.

“You guys need to let me breathe! I can’t even read your messages because a new one will just replace it immediately. At this point the entire stream will just be me going through them all.” Karl laughed, clearly not minding the influx of subscriptions he’s receiving.

“Also, what’s with all these donations mentioning String Theory?! I just started and you guys are already bringing my mood down~” He pouted. “Now I don’t feel like streaming anymore,” Karl let out a deep sigh, “guess there will be no stream today.”

‘Noooooo’
‘He’s obviously joking LMAO’
‘We’re sorry Orz’

“Hmmm… I guess a Hype train will help cheer me up~”

ParodysFootstool has gifted 25 subscriptions to the channel!
Dicksoutfordemise subscribed at Tier 3! They subscribed for 9 months, currently on a 9 month streak!

A hype train has started! Sub, Gift, or use Bits to get to the next level.

Karl covered his mouth with his hand, obviously pretending to be shocked. “I was just joking! You guys didn’t need to do all that.” Acting wasn’t his strongest suit and it showed. “But still, thank you for all your kind donations!”

‘What a bunch of simps’
‘Anything for u king’
‘< 3333’

“So for today’s stream, we’re gonna talk about my previous battle with ‘Nitro’! You guys have probably never heard of him before but he’s an upcoming vigilante and I have to be honest, he gave me a hard time.”

‘String Theory is talking shit about you LMAO’

“I mean what else can she do but talk about me? It’s the only way she’ll be relevant anyways.” Karl scoffed at the off-hand comment.

‘She made a poll for a pose when she beats your ass’

“When?! Brave of her to assume she’ll even land a hit on me!”

‘#StringSquad’

“Mods, someone’s asking for a ban~”

‘There’s a fight happening?!’

“Well someone has been living under a rock. Remember to type ‘Exclamation point Battle’ for more details”

Karl—well, it’s Parody now that he was live—leaned back in his chair, eyes creased with mischief as he stared directly at his camera. The chat on his second monitor was scrolling faster than he could read thanks to the constant flood of emotes from his fans. The only thing he could discern from the waves of nonsense was the occasional ‘#PurelyParody’ and ‘#StringSquad’ amidst the chaos.

“Alright, everyone,” Parody’s voice mirrored the mirth on his face, “since String Theory can’t keep my name off her mouth, why don’t we go ahead and give her a visit?” He closed the video and put up the ‘Ending Soon’ screen on his stream. “There goes my plan for today’s stream. Guess there’s no point since all of you are worked up and itching for some action.”

Parody didn’t check his viewer’s response or even bothered in making a poll as he’s sure it’ll be a resounding yes. They all live for the drama, him included, after all. With that being said, he quickly opened Ann’s channel—don’t ask why it was bookmarked—and quickly navigated through his dashboard before clicking the raid option. A notification popped up in his stream, indicating that the raid will begin in 30 seconds.

“That should do it! Now everyone, just a reminder to be respectful and follow TOS.” Parody’s voice was laced with sarcasm. “Also one of the mods has pinned a cute little message for String Theory. Make sure to copy it and greet her once the raid starts~”

The raid has begun. Changing channels shortly.

This should be fun.

03. ANN AKIMIYA

5/12/16 and +2 Rank Points, oh she was going to crack his skull. What ought to have been a chill, promotional stream spiraled into a five game loss streak, no, a learning experience for herself and her viewers. “Well we can’t end on a loss” became her mantra as she careened off the face of the earth, finally ending with outstretched arms and an exaggerated yawn.

“Thank you to all you lovely viewers. Remember to check out our fight tomorrow night and subscribe. I stream every Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday at 8PM!”

There was no need to go raid for raid or even address Karl’s mean spirited behavior. She was the bigger person, the more mature streamer of the two.

Oh who was she kidding? Of course she wasn’t the bigger person–she barely reached his neck!

Scrolling through the chat, the bulk of it consisted of the same “You fell off”, “Dog champ”, and “#PurelyParody” shlock copy and pasted from his channel (she was nosy, what did you expect?).

However, there was always at least one gold nugget sifted from the dirt.

@StringTheory
1m .@Parody Some fanbase you got here tw: sexism
PaordysFootstool: yyour are fucken bitch get parodys dick out your mouth and get a real job (OF dont count)

And tweet. With popular creators it was hard to tell whether it was a legitimate fan or a set up account but given her own fan base’s…enthusiasm it wouldn’t be long before they dug up something else.

She put her phone down and stared at the calendar hanging on the wall. It felt like only yesterday that they discussed next year’s (tomorrow’s) venue, the terms, and the sponsors subsidizing their fake beef. The match was burned in red sharpie and surrounded by black ink crossing off noteworthy events. Unlike last year, she actually trained and reflected on his skills as a villain. Begrudgingly, she even watched some of his videos on an alt account (ad block on obviously). She couldn’t stand to lose another match to him, especially when last year’s punishment had been so…ugh she didn’t even dare speak it. She couldn’t fathom what he would ask for this year.

The year she won, she forced him to get her name tattooed and streamed the whole, painful process (because he so wisely chose his foot). She couldn’t repeat the punishment, but she also hesitated to choose anything that crossed into cruelty. It had to be funny, novel, and a good time for all (except maybe Karl).

Her eyes moved to the framed poster on her wall (memento of her debut) before a grin crossed her lips.

04. KARL EVANS

Karl was having the time of his life. He eagerly watched Ann try to keep her composure while his viewers spammed her chat. She quickly fixed it by enabling sub only mode, but he’ll also take credit for the loss streak she just had. It was a great appetizer for the fight tomorrow. If things were in his favor, the loss streak will affect her and maybe he’ll snatch the win like he did in the previous year. Perhaps he’s getting too ahead of himself but he was already thinking of a punishment to give Ann. His previous one of changing the bio on all of her socials so the link will be directed to his account was fun, but it wasn’t as impactful as he hoped. Though he did get an influx of followers right after.

Once Ann’s stream ended, Karl was about to message her regarding the venue for tomorrow when he was greeted by a wave of notifications. It was nothing new, it was even expected to be honest, but when he opened one of them the content of the tweet made his head throb in annoyance. He couldn’t handle another ‘cancellation’, especially so close to their fight tomorrow. Instead of retaliating and escalating like what he’d usually do, Karl instead opened up his drafts and scrolled until he found a fitting ‘apology’ tweet.

No. Too sincere.

Too wordy.

Why do I even have that in my drafts?

Oh that tweet is funny. I’ll post it later.

Pretty sure this one was made with AI

Ah! Perfect.

Without much thought, Karl opened the draft and edited out some key information to make it relevant. Something about he didn’t stand for what happened and how he’s not a reflection of his viewers and how he’ll do better. Blah blah blah. He didn’t bother to check for typos, it probably made it more sincere and notably, there wasn’t an apology directed to Ann. He might give her this small victory but that’s it. Karl could already see the drama youtubers going in on their little interaction and the humorous title they’ll name their videos. ‘Team Demise, not a team at all?!’, or maybe even ‘Has Parody gone too far?’. Whatever it was, he’s sure it’ll be irrelevant the following week. Probably replaced by another headline.

With the tweet sent, Karl turned off his phone and tossed it to the side. Guess he’ll figure out tomorrow if it was effective or if he had to make another one—or worse, an apology video. He won’t let Ann ruin the rest of his day however. He needed his beauty sleep to look his best for tomorrow’s fight. Karl couldn’t wait for Ann and the rest of Sentinel City to see his trump card.

I wonder what I’ll wear though.

05. ANN AKIMIYA

When morning came the sun shone, the birds sang, and the flowers bloomed–yet the first thing Ann did was check her phone.

From: Ichabod Bouziane
To: You
8:00 am Looks like your tweet left the target audience.

From: Jouga Jonouchi
To: You
6:30 am Please, don’t do anything dumb. We don’t need this overshadowing the fight.

Yes, even without any other messages between them, the (partially manufactured) beef into the trending tab, nearly edging out the actual #ParodyvsSilk and #WhoWillWin tags.

She let out a raspberry and sent a dejected “okay” to her manager before rolling out of bed. Tooth brush, tooth paste, floss tongue scraper, cleanser, toner, serum, moisturizer, sunscreen. Two years ago it would have been torture but coupled with a long shower, it was an act of meditation. Save for the days she filmed a GRWM or stayed with a friend, her skincare routine–ritual was one of the few time slots spent by herself, focused solely on herself.

She would have loved to continue her foray into self-care, but she had bills to pay.

@StringTheory
1m GRWM before the fight via IG Live! Tell your friends. Tell your family. Cause we’ll be winning! #StringSquad #ParodyvsSilk #WhoWillWin

Ann affixed her mount to the bathroom mirror, testing it with a few tugs before setting her phone down and hitting the button to go live.

“Good morning everyone! Are we ready to fight? No, well that’s fine. Let’s get ready together~”

Compared to her skincare routine, her makeup regime was much simpler with a focus on a few big steps rather than her nightly checklist.

“So I first came to The Enrichment Center when I was around five years old because my powers came in early and apparently I was ‘too dangerous’ which was crazy because my dad could literally suppress powers. But whatever.”

She waved a tube of concealer in front of the camera before dabbing three drops beneath each eye.

“Around year…three I see this weird kid almost the same age as me blabbering about how much he hated the place. He even set fire to the teacher’s–well, the babysitter's pants using the guy’s own power.”

“Do I still talk to him?”

Her eyes flickered to a text notification before she took a tissue and wiped the edge of her eyeliner.

“The last I checked, he was still bullying other mutants.” Ann finished the look with a cherry-scented setting spray and an air kiss, reminding everyone to tune into the fight.

With her stream over, she sent a mass text to everyone in her contacts, politely requesting that they attend the big match. Due to the timing there was a low chance of everyone attending; however, a stream was just as good as attendance in her eyes.

That being said, Lucian would require a more personal message if she wanted him there.

To: Lucian (Luc on Tuesdays)
10:44am Come to the match or I'm never speaking to you again! 💔
10:44am But if you can’t, you owe me a celebratory dinner!

Before she entered her closet however, she made time for one last message:

To: Carl (don’t pick up)
10:45am If you’re gonna stalk me, at least send some flowers.

06. KARL EVANS

The day has finally come. Their fight has already made headlines and it hasn’t even started. The entirety of Sentinel city was eagerly waiting for the clock to hit noon. Some clutched their respective merch in anticipation, while others were putting in their final bets on a sketchy website—Demise had nothing to do with it, or so they’ll say when confronted. While the world waited with bated breath, Karl in the meantime, was making his breakfast.

He took out a meal kit from the fridge—thanks to greenchef for today’s sponsor—before putting it in the microwave. While waiting for the food to heat up, he went ahead and checked on his twitter feed to check if the ‘drama’ had died down or if he needed to contact Casper for help—though he’s not sure if the guy’s help will do much. Thankfully, he wasn’t fully cancelled and he didn’t need to set up a camera in his living room for an impromptu apology video. The tweet did attract some randos outside their circle but their opinions didn’t matter anyways. The loud ‘DING’ of the microwave steered his attention away from his phone and he had a quick breakfast before moving on to prepare for his upcoming fight.

Karl grabbed a random shirt from his closet before booting up his PC to open a video compilation he made of Silk and her previous battles. He had been doing the same thing every day since they had decided on the date of this year’s fight. If Ann found out he spent this much time watching her, she wouldn’t let him hear the end of it. With one final recap, Karl focused his attention on the weathered shirt on his lap. It always felt weird using a new power for the first time. Almost like an extra limb with pins and needles, waiting for his body to get used to the new addition.

Still, he wouldn’t be in Team Demise if he couldn’t adapt quickly. Without much surprise the shirt on his lap began to tear itself apart to become a new form that Karl envisioned. He’d admit that it was crude, nothing like how Ann uses it in the videos he watched. Still, a small victory was still a victory. He spent more time practicing, making it as thin or as thick as he could, experimenting on how much he could push it in length before it starts to tear apart. Gaining confidence, he moved on to using it on his bed sheets, then onto his curtains, before trying to manipulate the threads on a small metal screw.

It took a couple more hours before Karl was confident enough to use his newfound ability against Ann. Much to the expense of multiple shirts, towels, curtains, and whatever piece of fabric he could get his hands on. Maybe he was a bit too excited. He didn’t plan on going head on against Ann with her own powers anyways. That’s just a recipe for a black eye and months worth of humiliation for him. He just needed to surprise her, even for a second.

Usually he’d still be streaming right now, but he already made an announcement beforehand that it’ll be moved to another day to give him time to prepare. Ann however, had other ideas as a notification alerted him that she just started streaming. With his curiosity piqued, Karl tuned in just in time to hear Ann talk about him during their time in the enrichment center.

Without much thought, Karl grabbed his phone in reflex and sent out a quick message.

To: StringCheese
10:33 am I’’m always in your mind, huh? 😉 (Also your eyeliner is crooked. You’re welcome!)

With the message sent, Karl followed Ann’s footsteps and started to freshen up. He needed to be presentable when he won, obviously. Karl just about finished his shower when his phone lit up with a response from Ann.

To: StringCheese
11:03 am I'll get you a wreath with your name on it once I beat you later~ Sent.

He debated on what to wear, even thinking of debuting a new look. How fast does hair dye dry anyway? Before ultimately settling on his usual techwear outfit: a sleek, black waterproof jacket with multiple pockets, tactical cargo pants with reinforced knees, and rugged, high-tech sneakers. It was comfortable, practical, and on brand. There was no point in changing something that worked, after all.

11:45 AM. The clock read.

More than enough time to make his way to the arena. If he was late, it’ll be intentional.

07. SILK

By the clock hit twelve, the crowd reached a fever pitch. Cars lined nearly every block and attendees were practically spilling onto the streets. There was String Squad to the left, Pure Parody to the right, and the press trying to get an image of the snazzy Silk and provocative Parody. Among them was the owner of the venue, Nico la Cage.

A man who acts far younger than his face would suggest, he sauntered over to Ann and gave her a once over before removing his knock-off Ray Bans.

“Jeeesus Ann, this is an arena not a nunnery. What’s with the getup?”

Black lace unfurled, revealing a cheeky smile. “Do I at least look like a pretty nun?”

A trick question. Fashion had always been her other superpower.

Nico let out a hearty laugh before giving her a hug. “The last time I answered honestly, you nearly strung me up.”

“Yeah, but I still appreciate a good compliment.” She clicked her tongue before glancing around the array of cameras.

“Silk! Silk! Can we get a picture!” Ann turned over to see a few fans cosplaying last year’s outfit and shot them a “of course I’ll be right over!”

“I’ve gotta go, but seriously, thank you for making all of this happen!” she said before heading towards the group.

“Win for me and we’ll call it even!”

08. PARODY

“Nico! I love what you’ve done with the place.” Karl exclaimed, eyes taking in the extravagance of the arena around them. “I dare say, it’s the best this dump has looked in a while. Thanks to my face plastered on every screen, of course. Though I think everyone would’ve preferred it if there were less of Ann’s”

“Do you have any idea how many hours of sleep my men and I lost because of this? If these fights keep on being bigger than the last, I’d have to rent out half of the district!” Nico’s voice was as loud and as welcoming as ever.

“Just half? Why not make it the entire west district instead?” Karl chuckled in response.

“I don’t even want to think about it!” Despite Nico’s words, he could see the gleam of greed at the corner of the man’s eyes, almost like dollar signs waiting to burst forth. “Just hurry up! We’re already behind schedule.”

I’m always on time. Karl made his way towards the center of the arena. Along the way, fans and paparazzi were calling out his name and he made sure that a smile was ready for each flash of the camera as well as pleasantries for every eager audience. He’d occasionally approach someone wearing Silk’s merch, and being the ever generous person that he was, he offered the same amount of kindness. You know you’d look better with my colors.

It took some time and a couple more photos before Karl finally made his way in the center of the Arena where Ann was waiting. They’ve done this before, multiple times even, but his nerves still refused to calm down. He planned on wearing a poker face, a picture of elegance and composure against his adversity. But Karl couldn’t force his features to relax thanks to the sheer amount of excitement he was feeling. It almost looked like he was happy to see Ann standing on the opposite side of him.

09. SILK VS PARODY

“Sorry if I kept you waiting!” Karl started, voice far from apologetic. “You know how it is, gotta show your supporters some appreciation for taking the time to watch the fight. Though you’re here awfully early. No one stopped by to say good luck?”

“Au contraire Karl”-god it felt weird to say that name-”I decided to come early to tend to my fans’ needs.” Her prior anger was spent and her nerves condensed into a single ball in the back of her mind. "You should try it sometime. They say the early bird gets the worm."

She shot him one last look as the horns signaled their entrance, a glint mischief in her eyes.

“The string with a STING! Ann ‘SILK’ Akimiya!”

A cheer so loud that it shook the stadium erupted. Banners with Ann’s face plastered all over started to soar, filling the stands with her signature color.

“The man, the mimic, the crazy asshole who made us wait for 30 minutes. KARL!”

Not to be outdone, chants of “PAR-O-DY! PAR-O-DY!” followed soon after with marquees and hand drawn signs. Amidst the chaos, one could barely pick up Parody yelling ‘Just Karl?!’

Black, blue, purple, gray, there was not an area left desaturated save for the battlefield where the two stood.

The screams and applause went on for a couple more seconds before everyone started settling down, preparing for the main event.

“Ladies and Gentlemen! Without further ado, the match will officially begin in…

5...
4...
3...
2...
1...
FIGHT!”
 
Last edited:



viviana knox.





































  • mood



    varying from anxious to joy


















TW for terrorism and bombing

"Viviana?"
A voice speaks over the music blasting at the club, Viviana turns around, preparing to take an order from a patron. The woman hands over a folded piece of paper, making sure it was secured in the bartender’s hand before slipping off into the crowd. Whoever it was, definitely wanted this exchange to remain private, so Viviana discreetly slips the paper into her apron before returning to work.

Hours had passed since the exchange, meaning the thought of the paper completely slipped Viv’s mind. She goes through her closing duties, leaving the club, and locking the door behind her. As she made her way to the train, she felt something in her apron. Perhaps she forgot some tips? Carefully reaching in, she wraps her hand around the paper, and the memory comes flooding back.

The trip home seemed to have lasted a lifetime, question after question flooded the girl’s head, wondering what exactly she was about to read. Almost as quickly as she hopped on, she left the train, speed walking home. Any after work rituals were put on hold, as she immediately sat down on her couch, unfolding the paper.

"You have been cordially invited to join The Red Court. Please arrive at The House of the Stygian Order at midnight to receive your initiation."


Initiation? The Red Court? Why would they want Viviana? Shock coursed through the girl's veins as these questions flew threw her mind, but she never second guessed going. Thankfully she had the next two days off, so there was no worry about whether she would have to call out of work or miss the expected arrival time. Viviana climbed off the couch and made her way to the bathroom to begin getting ready for bed.

Sunbeams lit up the room, despite having blackout curtains, throwing the duvet over her head and letting out a grumble, she decided it was probably time to get up. Throughout the whole day, Viv couldn't help but think about what The Red Court initiation could possibly consist of. Time seemed to pass unbearably slow, building up a sort of anxiety inside the girl. She truly did not know what to expect, but had her suspicious based off of the whispers she's heard around town about The Red Court.

MIDNIGHT.


Viviana approaches what looked like a church, knocking on the door right as the clock struck 12. They had been waiting, she knew they had been, especially with how quickly the door swung open. She looks around, the room was dimly lit, but she could see people standing around her, masks on their faces, and cloaks draped over their bodies. The process was relatively quick, receiving the initiation request on the same kind of paper as the invitation.

"Your task is exploding the hospital. Supplies will be found in the outdoor dumpster in two days. Do or die, that is your decision."


The task seemed a little extreme, but that's what The Red Court was known for. On one hand, Viviana didn't want to hurt the people she knew at the hospital. On the other, she didn't want to die, and having a group of people she belonged to, almost like a family, would be life changing. She had two days to make a decision, so she continued on with her usual routine, trying to make a decision. Most people would need the full two days to choose what to do, but it was mere hours later after the meeting that she had finalized her answer.

TWO DAYS LATER.


Gaining access to the hospital wasn't too difficult, she was a familiar face, and stopped by frequently, so nobody questioned her presence. Viviana tightened the straps on her backpack, explosives where surprisingly heavy, not to mention the extra janitor outfit she carried as well in order to access the basement. Slipping into a bathroom, she shapeshifts into one of the staff members, slipping into the jumpsuit, and packed away her own clothes.

Thankfully, security was dumb enough to accept the whole "I forgot my badge at home, can I get a temporary copy?" spiel, this would grant her access to every part of the hospital, but there was only one place she was interested in. She couldn't help but notice her feet pounding on the ground, it had been a while since she took the body of a male, did they always walk this loud? It was no matter though, just another thing to distract her from the task at hand. The basement door fell into her line of sight, time for the homestretch, when all of a sudden someone steps out from the elevator.

"Hey, Tim! I thought you were off today?" Viviana turned on her heel, facing the coworker and giving them a small smile, "Need the extra hours." followed by a shrug. That seemed to have been a satisfactory answer to the man, as he nodded his head in agreement and walked the opposite direction. She let out a sigh of relief, hopefully that would be the last interaction for the night. As she swings the doors open, she walks towards the left wing portion of the basement, carefully placing the explosives on each of the, what she could only assume were, load bearing walls.

Just as quickly as she made it in, Viv made her way back upstairs, quickly slipping into the women's restroom to shift back to herself. This left her feeling exhausted, on top of all the walking that she had just done. The last task was to leave the hospital with nobody stopping her, she wasn't in the mood to make any conversation, so everyone got a quick wave as she left the building. She boarded the train and made her way home, waiting for the right moment to press the detonate button.

BREAKING NEWS: EXPLOSION AT SENTINEL GENERAL HOSPITAL UNDER INVESTIGATION.


A grin spread across her face as she watched the news, helicopters circling the hospital, showing the many first responders, flames, and people rushing to escape. She had done it, now to wait and see if this was good enough for The Red Court. After what seemed like days, she got an unaddressed letter in the mail, revealing that she had been accepted and what was required of her to further show her dedication to the guild. There was a list of tattoo options, along with some of the most painful places to be tattooed, she had to choose what to get done, then make one last appearance to prove herself.

The tattoo took hours, the pain was almost unbearable, but it was all worth it in the end. She stood up from the table and admired the new ink, a snake wrapped around a knife on her sternum. Viv grinned once more, this was the beginning of a new life, one that would be worth all the trouble she went through to join.


































Eye for an Eye



Rina Sawayama










♡coded by uxie♡
 




"I will happily pay you to end your own life."

Viktor König












    • Viktor "Oneiros" König
      TW: Substance abuse, self harm, & death.
      The clock had just tolled half past ten-thirty as the city beneath stirred with a restless fervor, its citizens eagerly welcoming the weekend’s arrival. Perched high above the sprawling expanse of Sentinel City, Viktor’s penthouse loomed over the citizens beneath. Bathed in muted shades of black, grey, and steel, embodying a dark opulence that shunned warmth. Walls of polished concrete and vast windows framed a city that glimmered below like a distant dream, casting its neon glow through the gloom of the evening. While the furnishings, sparse and meticulously chosen, were harsh in their elegance - adorned with sharp lines of leather and metal dominating the living room. Technology blended seamlessly with the brutalist architecture, each corner alive with unseen mechanisms designed for both comfort and control. And yet, despite the wealth and innovation that surrounded him, the atmosphere remained cold. This was no home but a fortress. A solitary retreat, befitting a man who kept the world at arm’s length, with disdain for the clamor beneath him.

      In the dim glow of his penthouse, Viktor König sat leisurely in a leather chair, legs splayed comfortably as he sunk into its cushions. One hand cradling a glass of whisky, its amber warmth swirling in the glass, the other tapping a digit on the arm rest to the slow rhythm of the music lulling over the recessed sound system. His gaze surveyed the frame of the woman dancing provocatively before him, tracing the curves of her feminine physique - though her face was obscured by an elaborate mask. One that was carefully crafted with ornate materials, dripping in elegance and anonymity. She moved slowly with choreographed movements displaying her expertise in the performance. One of his own polished knives brandished in her hand, catching the light as she cut away pieces of fabric with deliberate precision. From behind the mask, suggested a mischievous smile while she also carved small lacerations against her fair skin, leaving thin crimson lines against her exposed flesh. With every stroke of the knife came a soft moan, a sound mingled with pleasure and pain.

      From across the room, a voice cut through the grim presentation, stern and insistent, "I want a baby."

      Viktor’s glare snapped to his wife, Maddie, sitting at the dining table. Adorned in a silken robe, glasses perched on her nose and hair carelessly thrown into a messy bun as she scrolled through her tekpad. She looked as domestic as ever, a portrayal of casual indifference in contrast to the chaos in his mind.

      “Go fucking buy one then,” Viktor groaned, barely containing his irritation. “I don’t care, but you’re not raising it here.” Taking a slow swig of his drink, as if to drown any further commentary on the matter.

      Having zero patience to await a response, his attention slowly flicked back to the dancer, now unmasking herself. His heart sank with contempt as the familiar face of Maddie stared back at him from the woman’s body. The internal frustration deepened within him as she grinned wickedly, but in turn he wielded an expression of sick curiosity. Crudely dragging the knife across her own throat, her lifeless body plummeted to the floor, lazily spilling dark red across the black marble. With a heavy sigh, Viktor rose from his seat with a languid grace, sauntering in a drunken stupor toward the dining area. Nonchalantly stepping through the bleeding woman, her form evaporating into a cloud of black dust as he passed - leaving no trace of her twisted performance.

      Resting his weight casually against the glass dining table, Viktor cast a steady gaze down at Maddie, who remained absorbed in her tekpad. Her disregard seemed to amuse him as much as it annoyed him. Yet, she remained resolute in her quiet detachment as if the grotesque hallucination hadn't unfolded in the same room, leaving Viktor to study her with the same calculating demeanor that defined his every move.

      “Why the hell are you here?” he asked bluntly, tempered with the exasperation of a man stretched too thin. Taking a final sip of his whisky, he glanced over at the now-empty living room, catching sight of a mirror on the couch that served a neat arrangement of white powder shaped into long, pristine lines. But when he looked back at Maddie, she too was gone, dissolving into black dust.

      Feeling his sanity tearing at the seams, Viktor hurled his glass across the room, the sound of shattering crystal filling the empty space. Followed by immediately closing his eyes for a moment of withdrawal, sucking in a long breath, while running hand through his tousled blonde hair. Condemning himself under his breath for mixing substances again. It was late, far too late to be slipping into these delusions.

      He strolled to the large, inviting sofa and slumped into its lavish cushions. Digging through the pocket of his slacks, he retrieved his own tekpad and scrolled lazily through his recent messages. Each contact being numbered rather than named. Some would consider it dehumanizing, while Viktor saw each digit as an investment. Pausing at the last opened message from “3”, Charlotte Falconer, with a thumb hovering over the screen. Then proceeded to type out a simple message: Come over. For a moment, Viktor contemplated hitting send. He glanced out at the vast city stretching before him, Sentinel’s glittering skyline offering no comfort, no distraction from the perverse emptiness that gnawed at him. Furrowing his brow while chewing at the inside of his cheek, he considered the decision. Finally, submitting to his own whims with a flick of his thumb, he sent the message. Dropping the tekpad on his chest, Viktor craned his stare back to the mirror adjacent to him with tepid consideration. Just one more.
      The Myriad / Asst. Captain






    a





© weldherwings.

 
Last edited:
ulysses lombardi

the prologue
TW
scene will contain descriptive contents of blood and obvious neglect/bodily injury to a person as well as implications of torture. all will be censored via spoiler ahead of time.

The air was thick with the stench of sweat, blood, and fear—a palpable aura of torment sealed within the confinements of four suffocating walls. Thin shafts of light filtered through cracks in the ceiling, casting streaks of dust into the stale air around him. And swinging back and forth in taunting slowness—a naked bulb hanging from frayed wires cast jagged shadows across the concrete floor.

Through obvious neglect, the room held haunting memories of every man's last breath and screams, his own etched into its history for two agonizing days and three lonely nights.

The 'Lombardi' name couldn't save him.

In the center of the oppressive silence, Ulysses sat disheveled and quiet amongst the cold, hard floor—arms twisted behind him, bound in rope that bit into his skin, leaving red, raw rings around his wrists. His t-shirt, once iron-pressed and a cleanly white, now a filthy rag clinging to his battered body, mottled with splatters of dried blood.

Even the sound of the door creaking open, along with leisurely footsteps, didn't coax him into looking up. Instead, he let his head hang low, chin resting on his chest, and breaths coming in a quiet, yet greedy consistency to match the hum of the bulb above. Ulysses knew what they were here for and he couldn't bare to face it again.

Their faces are obscured by his injuries, but their presence was felt—heavy, menacing, waiting. They watch him, unmoving, like wolves circling prey too weak to fight back, their breath steady and calm, in contrast to the broken man before them. Finally, one spoke, his voice causing Ulysses to stir.

"Could you look any more pathetic on my fuckin' floor?" on the brink of annoyance, Carmine stood impatient. In contrast to his battered nephew, the butcher was garbed in the finest silks to further accentuate his intimidating presence.

Even in his pummeled stupor, Ulysses felt it. Still, he said nothing.

"Answer me when I talk to you, boy." He was closer.

Time seemed to still before Ulysses brought up the nerve to say something. It hurt his jaw to even utter a sound, yet he was firm in his answer. "I won't do it.." he stated in a matter-of-fact tone, though slow and slurred as he spat bloody drool at the floor.

Much too fast to process, the young man felt rough digits snake into his matted curls and close around them in a fistful before a henchman yanked his head back to face Carmine. It was the most he ever said in days, but a torturous yelp escaped his chapped lips in response to the various (and overwhelming) pain signals.

"Say that again with the balls to look me in my face this time," his uncle sneered. Ulysses couldn't decipher the blurry image of the mob's founder gazing over his face, a grotesque contrast to the soft, unblemished skin he once possessed. "You look like shit."

His face was a canvas of pain. His eyes were swollen shut, one a mutilated, discolored shade of black and blue. Blood and grime dried in jagged streaks down his forehead, coagulating into dark patches along his cheeks and jaw. His bottom lip stuck out swollen and split from countless punches. Every sharp line of his cheekbones on the brink of starvation and suffering accentuation.

A shell of his former self, yet he still answered in confidence. "You should've just left me to die," he gulped and stammered, painful tremors coursing through his body as he used the last of his energy to answer.

But he continued: "You had enough love and care to take me in, and this is what you do with it. Beat me."

To this, Carmine scoffed. "Love you?"
"I just wanted to kill you myself."

Ulysses and Carmine stared at one another now, one displaying a face of disgust and the other displaying nothing at all. He knew that what his uncle had said in the countless press conferences about his successor was a lie, but it was different to hear that Carmine wanted him dead. It didn't hurt him any, but it changed the circumstances of his hostage.

"But then I thought.. 'What better way to get back at my piece of shit brother than to take his son?' 'S only fair for how he betrayed the Myriad for some ass that didn't even stick around for you." He didn't know why, but his mother was a sore subject. Absent or not, the mention of her caused Ulysses to turn his head away.

A hand came down and backhanded his attention up again.

"Fuck you, Carmine! I said I'm not doing it!" for a moment, a charged anger flared in Ulysses. It fled as quick as it exploded, but nonetheless, it existed.

"Not even for her?!" Carmine yelled back, his white-knuckled clench lay at his side, readied to strike him again.

In an instant, an image of Miranda Alighieri floated to the front of his mind—a brief yet sweet reprieve to distract him from his situation. A soft groan escaped his lips once she vanished from the forefront of his memory. It had only been a few days—maybe a week—since he last talked to her, but sitting alone had the tendency to stretch the fabric of time into a prison meant to last him forever. I hope you smiled today, Miri, he thought to himself, even in the midst of his pain. I love y- Ulysses' head went flying back as he now lay against the floor, uncomfortably angled with his hands still restrained behind his back. It was a hit that sent a ringing in his ears and whatever consciousness he was clinging onto dissipated into disoriented nothingness.

As his vision blurred and his head spun from the force of the blow, Carmine's voice continued, distant as if he stood in another room. The words slipped through Ulysses' mind in fragmented pieces—something about betrayal, something about a choice, but it all swirled together in a murky haze.

He fought to stay conscious, to catch the meaning behind the last few words, but it was like grasping at smoke. The cold, biting floor beneath him anchored him momentarily to reality, though the pain from the additional blows was nothing more than a dull throb now, numbed by his body’s surrender to sleep.

outfit:
location:
unknown

tags:
ERROR: NOT AVAILABLE
 
MOOD: Nostalgic, but not the good kind

OUTFIT: incognito

LOCATION: Team Majestic HQ -> Sentinel Proper
basics
MENTIONS: N/A


INT: N/A

tags
TL;DR Welcome to Rowan's brain
tl;dr
Rowan
you're better than the mistakes of those before you
A sigh escaped the captain's mouth. It had been another long day at the office; sorting through new member applications, running through tryouts, sorting through paper works and complaints, and of course fending off the media who had been hovering their obnoxious cameras and microphones all around Team Majestic's headquarters. There had been an uptick in crime in Sentinel City and a noticeable lack of action from a certain guild who was known to "Kick names and take ass". There was palpable anger radiating from those who usually looked towards Team Majestic for comfort and justice, they wanted answers. Why was nothing being done? Why were they sitting on their asses? Why was it when Sentinel City needed them most, they were appearing stagnant?

Rowan leaned back in her office chair, running her hands over her face before letting her chin rest in her hands. The media and their flashing lights, banging fists and yelling voices wouldn't have been too much of a problem, if it wasn't for the tradition of Majestic's captain living at HQ. Every night, Rowan was kept awake to the ruckus of paparazzi at least for the past month. She thought about asking someone if she could spend the night with them, but she certainly didn't have a good enough cover story for why regular ol' Rowan, Sentinel Botanical Gardens worker, would have paparazzi banging down her door.

The noise was driving her crazy, there was only so much music she could play before she couldn't even hear her own thoughts. She needed to sort through the new applicants tonight. When the sun came up, she and her assistant captain Iggy would have to try out a new batch of mutants. Being a guild who is known for being called into more dangerous and life-threatening situations, it was the captain and assistant captain's jobs to properly vet and "audition" new recruits before bringing them into the guild; It was a process that Rowan took very seriously. She already knew the lives of those within Team Majestic were her responsibility, she wasn't going to bring in anyone she didn't think was capable of handling themselves.

Rowan thought back to her own tryout, what made her stand out to her own captain, "Synth"; aka Jacob Wheeler. When Rowan initially inquired about applying, Jake immediately drew the connection from her to her mother, he had remembered hearing about a previous member tragically and unexpectedly dying. Even in the wonder of Rowan being a legacy, Jake told her straight that she had to prove herself capable enough for a guild like Team Majestic. The moment her reality manipulation powers peaked at her young age of 20. She sealed the deal on her title as a guild member, no questions asked; using her reality manipulation powers to make the "enemy" believe a car was dropped on them when in reality it was nothing more than a nearby throw pillow. It was then that Jake knew Rowan had what it took to be the next captain, once he retired. He accepted her to the guild on the spot, and privately told her how he would help train her and prepare her for captain duties.

Jake may have been only four years older than her, but he still showcased all the fatherly features she never experienced with her biological father. The nurture, the care, the attention, the healthy discipline and criticism that only a father could give; Rowan only experienced that through Jake. Soon enough, Jake was the person she trusted more than anyone in the world; Rowan had always been scared of her abilities and her potential, but it was Jacob who aided her in realizing she was capable and equipped to do good with her powers before harm. Jacob was never once afraid of Rowan, and that gave her hope and confidence.

What would he think of us now?

It wasn't an entirely new thing that the public thought Team Majestic was just sitting on their ass, it was something Jacob Wheeler definitely dealt with just three months ago. The Red Court had been growing in power steadily over the past twelve months, hurting more and more while Team Majestic just waited around to be "deployed". "Midnight Sun" couldn't bring herself to face the public when they had questions why their family wasn't worth saving, why Majestic wasn't doing anything. Jacob was always the one to remind her that they needed to have faith in the system, trust the process, and that they would step in when the time called for it.

But was that true? Because the louder the mob on her doorstep grew, the more Rowan questioned why that time was not now? A month before? Six? A year before? Rowan had joined Team Majestic in hopes of making a difference, helping those in need, following in her mother's footsteps. And yet, she couldn't help but feel like a failure of not only a captain, but as a superhero all together.

A large crash sound slowly had Rowan coming to her reality; the fading background music she put on was no longer muffled by her overthinking spiral. Now it was crisp and clear, almost a little too loud due to her senses being heightened by the startling crash. For a moment, Rowan thought the media mob had thrown something against one of the windows, but when she examined her own surroundings, she saw her bookshelf had fallen over. Whether it was an outburst of her magic or just a coincidence, a breath released itself from her lungs. A few flicks of her hands and the books and their shelf found themselves back in perfect order.

The interruption was one she didn't realize she needed. Her spirals were pretty dangerous for her morale; throughout the day, Iggy was there to lighten the mood and help cheer her up along with the rest of the guild. But at night? She was on her own. It was up to her to fight off her thoughts and she hadn't proven the best at it yet.

Regardless, Rowan needed to take a walk. Clear her head. It was the dead of night, and while she knew Sentinel City never slept, she figured now would be as calming of a walk as any. However, there was the large issue of the media mob right outside her door. Nothing could be easy could it?

Not wanting to draw attention to herself, Rowan actually dressed down; unusual to her normal wardrobe. Baggy pants and an even baggier sweatshirt, the typical disguise was complete with her hair thrown up into a sloppy ponytail and ball cap. Keeping all the light out, Rowan made her way to the first floor of HQ, somehow being familiar with the emptiness of the guild hall. With the building having almost completely glass walls, Rowan was extremely thankful for the charm she put on them when she first was initiated into the guild; basically acting as a one-way tint, no matter how much light shone through. To everyone inside, the windows were perfectly normal. To everyone outside? The windows might as well have been a solid brick wall. She was free to roam around the building freely, but it was the actuality of getting out of the door that proved the issue.

Without thinking, Rowan's reality manipulation kicked in, the shroud enveloping those surrounding the door she needed to exit from. To those within her power, absolutely nothing changed. They continued yelling and banging at a completely closed door. What actually happened was Rowan walked out the door and straight through the crowd. Even though she had somewhat dressed down to avoid unwanted attention, Rowan still felt the need to try and shrink herself. When she was far enough away from the building and the mob, she transferred her focus from the building to herself. She essentially cloaked herself in shadows, not necessarily making her invisible, just a shadow with a shimmering gold tint if anyone looked close enough.

Truth be told, Rowan's head was checked out. It was late, middle of the night, and even though she couldn't fall asleep she was exhausted. She hoped if she walked around enough that the media mob would be gone upon her return and she'd actually be able to get some sleep before the sun came up. Her feet essentially walked of their own volition, carrying her towards the center of the city. She could've found some kind of public transportation to take her to Sentinel Proper, but her feet knew the path all too well. Rowan's self may not have known right then and there where she was going, but her heart did.

She was going home.

Of course, not her current home, not HQ, but her childhood home. The house that used to be a home but quickly became a broken and heart-wrenching husk soon after the passing of Lyre Booker. It must've been fifteen or twenty minutes of her mindlessly walking through the sidewalks and streets of the eerily quiet streets before she arrived at the curb.

It was a nice house; very pretty and blended in with all the other houses on the street. All dolled up to hide the ugly truth that lay within; the house of horrors for Rowan was a wolf in sheep's clothing. Her feet, of course, had decided to stop walking themselves when her eyes landed on the front door. There were no lights on, the dark of night somehow making the scene frozen. It was quiet, it was still, she felt like she shouldn't even breathe in an attempt to not disturb the monster within.

Rowan hadn't seen her father in years. Not at least since she was a teenager trying to make it at The Enrichment Center. She was tired of the abuse, the hurt, the pain, the blame he tried to pin on her, the lack of any love and support. It broke Rowan's heart when she left, but she knew it was for her well being. If she kept herself in an environment where her father was constantly telling her she was worthless, constantly yelling at her to go die like her mother, that a piece of her would curl up and die. In order to save her spirit and her own wellbeing, Rowan left. And this, at the age of twenty-four, was the first time she had been back to the house.

The small, little child in her wanted to see her dad. She wanted to rush into the house and run into his room and give him the hug she's been dying for since she was about six years old. She wanted to tell him all about how she became the Captain of mom's guild and explain how proud she would've been of her. She wanted to talk his ear off for hours just to hear the words "I'm so proud of you, kiddo".

But the grown adult in her simply turn on her heel and walked back to HQ.
code by valen t.
 



Waverider





































  • mood



    Kicking ass and taking names

















Tw: violence, some gore, blood mentions

“Oh c’mon guys, you’re making it too easy for me!” Waverider smirked when a thug launched off their left leg and jumped for a forward punch and his arm came up to block and he slid under him with the aid of the wind and swiftly drove a sweeping leg into the left shin that caused the thug to fall forward.

And then rinse and repeat.

Thug two went for a kick and Waverider spun around, sidestepping out of the way and sweeping the leg. He planted a small gust of wind into the man’s chest to knock him out for good measure.

Thug three came from behind with a crowbar, aiming to slam it over Waverider’s head. He saw it coming jumped over and the crowbar had the unfortunate momentum as it came crashing between Thug two’s groin. Waverider understood that pain. Any man, no matter if they were a badguy or not, should never have to experience the very unique pain of getting your privates squashed by some heavy force.

“Oh you poor guy!” Waverider looked at the angry thug who seemed to blame him for that mishap. “Why are you looking at me? You’re the one who ended your buddy’s future of ever having kids.”

The thug just charged, ignoring what Waverider said. They tussled, exchanging failed hits as the wind-using hero blocked and dodged every kick, punch, and headbutt. It was a fair attempt. Waverider was a giving hero and maybe he played around too much, but he needed his morning workout and he opted to go solo this morning since Seawatch wasn’t around when he felt like some morning patrolling.

Thug Three landed a blow on Waverider in the lip and he felt the taste of blood in his mouth and spat it out. “Good job! You landed a hit!” Just as he was going ot clap, an alert within his visor showed up. It was almost time to watch Price is Right. “Oh it’s already 10:30?!”

The thug looked confused and ventured a question, “Why does that matter?”

Waverider grinned. “I just need to get home soon, so sorry but I’m gonna wrap this up my friend…well you’r enot my friend, but--ah, forget it!” Waverider promptly lifted his hand as air gathered under Thug Three and it lifted him up. At the same time, Waverider concentrated air into his other hand and thrusted that arm forward as it shot a concetrated blast of air right into the Thug’s stomach, sending him crashing into the brick wall behind him. It didn’t injure him, but he wouldn’t be moving anytime soon.

He would phone the cops. “Sentinel PD, this is Waverider of Ragtag. There’s a gang of five criminals in an alleyway. I caught them assaulting an old lady. Thankfully, she was able to get away but, come arrest them!”

Waverider spent the next few minutes walking the cop he was on the phone with about what happened and he would stick around the crime scene until they arrived, gave a statement. As it would turn out, this particular gang was someone the Sentinel PD was looking for, so Waverider did them a great service. He was happy to, but honestly he was just happy to not be delayed any longer.

Soon Waverider was off on his hoverboard and was flying as fast as he could to HQ.

“Just five minutes. Time to shift into turbo!” Waverider let out a wild scream as he pushed down on his hoverboard, his jet propulsion ability pushing him dangerously close to his limits. He needed to remember what happened last time he opted to go past his limits. He had to get major repairs on his board and couldn’t use it for a week. But when he needed to get somewhere fast, he could go just slightly over.

And it worked because with a minute to spare, he made it! Waverider hung up his mask of sorts, untying his hair and letting the silky brown locks fall freely, Kai emerged and plopped right on the couch. Nobody was around and he made it just in time.

“Anya Reynolds! Come on down! You’re the next contestant on the Price is Right!” The announcer from Kai’s favorite game show said and Kai let out a giddy dance in place, smiling widely.

This was a good day. He saved some people, kicked some ass, and now he gets to see if he’ll be able to guess how much this skateboard will go for retail price.


































cry for love



백현










♡coded by uxie♡
 
scroll !
Casey Hayashi

The crisp air was just cold enough to be biting on his skin. Casey liked winter, the cold kept him present, grounded. The heavy layers of clothing against his skin didn't always feel right, and he was likely to just wish he could peel himself out of them all day if he didn't wear a nice soft bottom layer, but the breeze on exposed skin was usually enough to keep him in the moment, and most days that was all he needed.

Ivina was already waiting for him. He spotted her bike parked along the street before he spotted her, warm enough in her riding gear and a scarf, sans helmet. She sat outside the little cafe at a metal bistro table, watching the activity on the street while she held a hot cup of coffee in gloved hands. He was exactly on time, which meant he was late by Ivy's standards. The train had been early and he'd missed the one he'd meant to catch. It wasn't the most efficient way around town by any means, but Casey would rather lose a limb than navigate the heavily trafficked ground streets of sentinel city in a car.

Ivy glanced up, and her face relaxed into a relieved smile when she saw him approaching. She always looked like that when it had been a while, like she was sort of surprised to see him still kicking. They'd both been through much worse than just trying to break in a new job, but her concern was touching.

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

Ivy's head snapped up at the sound of leaves crunching under foot, shoulders losing their tension at the sight of her younger brother approaching. She'd just wound tighter and tighter with every minute past their planned meeting time that had passed. Ivy never knew how or where she'd find Casey. Things had been better lately, but she didn't like him living alone. She didn't know if being in the same city again helped or hurt her mental state. A living, breathing relic from her past, determined to carve out a future, and undeniable reminder that she couldn't swipe the majority of her childhood under the rug and label it a bad dream. Casey was a demon she'd have to live with, but one she loved dearly. She looked him up and down, nice peacoat, clean fluffy hair, wasn't wearing the thick round glasses that he ought to be but that was nothing new. He looked fine. Ivy had quite a bit of nervous energy, but her fretting was often wasted these days.

Her next breath released the tension still held in her shoulders. "How are you?"

"I'm..." He trailed off for a second, avoiding eye contact by focusing on adjusting his sleeves and loosening the big soft scarf he had on as he sat down. "I'm ok, actually."

Ivy raised her eyebrows at that, it was the kind of question Casey would normally shrug off or dodge to avoid lying to her. But here they were, two people sitting down for coffee on a remarkably clear fall day, and everything was fine. It unnerved her as much as it soothed her, like she was still just waiting for another shoe to drop, like the street was too quiet or something lurked around the corner. They were ok. Dreaming about a day like this had gotten her though a lot of hard nights.

"So. How's TEC?" She asked, pushing a hot to-go cup of coffee and a pastry at him. He gave her a look as he sat down, but cradled the drink in his hands.

"You're already breaking the rule?" No talking about the past, and no talking about work. Rebuilding a relationship after going through hell with someone was surprisingly difficult, and it didn't help that Ivy sort of just defaulted to discussing work.

"The rule doesn't apply when you just up and left your guild, Casey." He took a long sip of his coffee, leaning back a little bit.

______________________________________

Casey loved Ivy like a sister, but he tended to be careful with what he shared with her sometimes. She could get overbearing, and barring that, just work herself into worrying about him needlessly. He also just didn't like talking about himself, even to Ivy. It gave him that itch crawling under his skin that being noticeably perceived always did. He hadn't even told her he'd applied for the opening. She'd gotten him the job with Greenfield, a low level case worker with the guild who believed in second chances and a position where he could be helpful without the ability to really fuck anything up.

Casey had liked Tatum and Archer well enough. They'd liked that he did his job, and they left him alone. There hadn't really been anything wrong with Greenfield, but talking to Naomi had changed things, made something click. Applying for TEC had been sort of spontaneous. He’d talked to Naomi about it, and put it on the backburner as a what if without intending to follow through, until he’d sort of accidentally mentioned it to Zethi.

He'd been silent for too long. It was getting weird. Ivy just patiently stared at him.

"TEC is good. I don't know, it's cheesy but" he answered, focusing on separating the pastry in front of him into flaky strips and consuming them very systematically. "It feels like I'm part of something. And not in the 'follow orders and hunt people down for the family' kind of way."

Ok that might have been too much. He paused and glanced around, trying to gauge how bad of a social misstep he'd made right in public, but the one occupied table nearby seemed absorbed in their phones. Casey had never really understood that, he'd have a flip phone if everything in the city didn't require an app these days.Ivy had hers hidden away, she’d ignored two soft buzzes coming from her coat pocket so far, never breaking her focus, just nodding intently, and letting the silence settle while Casey internally debated about what to actually tell her. It wasn’t even that he didn’t want her to know, it just felt weird to say these things out loud, overly sentimental, and like maybe acknowledging it might jinx it.

"I think. I might actually have friends now, Vee.”
coded by reveriee
 













roman








filler






filler






filler






filler






filler






filler












  • home (filler tab)






































































Leprous






Restless

















TW: substance use (smoking, drinking, implied other); implied violence; blood (mentions, light description)

Black curls unkempt on the man's head bounced about as he danced, emotionless, in the middle of the floor- the remainder of the rave having fizzled out a bit before. His eyes reflected the flashing lights in all of their technicolor glory, distorting them with their dullness- half here, half nowhere. He found himself borderline motionless, a translucent plastic cup sloshing the last of its lukewarm liquid on his knuckles before they found themselves dropping the cup into a trashcan and meandering outside the dark building. His voice grumbled, a little raspy, when he asked the outdoor bouncer if he could bum a cigarette in exchange for a dollar bill he found crumpled in his loose jacket's pocket. Roman made it halfway back to his apartment before he remembered what he'd done. And he flicked the cigarette into the storm drain across the street from his door before he cared.

Roman woke with a start, nestled deep into the bowels of the down-filled quilts with a seething headache threatening to break into nausea. He inhaled swiftly the notes of a cinnamon scented candle left burning all night until it was just a puddle of oil and a thin, short flame, sinking into that nauseated feeling. He threw the blankets off his heavy body and hesitated briefly before sitting up all the way, confirming his suspicions of having been out too late with little recollection of where he’d been. Too often this had been happening recently. Once more confirmed as he noticed the throbbing, bruising in his fists when running his hands through his tangled, greasy hair; still wearing his outfits from the night before.

Motherfucker. I gotta quit.

Thought this every time, though nothing ever changed. Roman half-flopped out of his bed, though it still remained just a mattress on the floor with a sheet that continually popped off of one corner or another. Half his life seemed lived on the floor. Thankfully, he never let anyone into his home that could waver or judge his sense of organization. That's what he'd call it-

Organization.

His nose throbbed a bit as he stood up, still a bit wobblier than he would have liked, confirming he hadn't just been drinking the night before. He checked his TekPad for the first time in what was definitely too many hours, proven by the missed messages and notifications he found. Whatever.

Catch phrase of the day is apparently whatever.

Roman hyperfixated on one or two words that felt they could fully encapsulate his feelings in that moment. Or two moments. Or even a few days. Helped center him, if all of him was thinking about the same phrase or words. Whatever. Everything bled together here recently, though he couldn't place a trigger on what could cause it. Nothing inherently bad had been going on for a while now. His system had been well regulated for a while now, too.

Lying to yourself again! C’mon, you gotta do better than that. Cass echoed, peeking just through the rest of the noise inside his spinning skull.

Felt weak enough to justify a cab to the bar, even though it was only a ten or so minute’s walk if he was quick enough. He recognized the cab driver- a thin woman in her middle years with thick, gray hair pulled back into a low tail. He hoped that she wouldn't recognize him, but he was met with disappointment on that front when she called him by name and asked how he had been doing since last Thursday. She never seemed to judge him for his incredibly short rides. The ones where he was too inebriated, too drunk, too whatever to care to walk a few blocks. He remembered seeing her fairly often in the last few weeks. And he always tipped her extremely well.

Maria.

Disassociated to the point of hardly remembering whether he handed Maria a twenty, fifty, or a hundred, he popped out of the car, wondering what time it was as he stalked into Kaleidoscope, plopped in a seat at the bar, and took a look at himself for the first time since he woke up. His TekPad and wallet were in his pocket, but he didn’t remember putting them there. His black jeans had a jagged new hole just above the left knee that he didn’t remember being there yesterday; khaki shirt splattered with crisping flakes of dark red.

Makes sense. Almost?

His hands. They matched his shirt. His knuckles were bruised and sore, so he tucked them up as high as he could into his long sleeves and tugged his zip-up jacket around his chest in an attempt to hide how unclean he felt. And was.

He wondered just for a second what the rest of him looked like; who he’d see in a reflection.

Roman hopped down from his chair, padding past a bartender. Asked for water and scotch on the rocks to be delivered to his seat while he was in the bathroom. And so he went, locking the door behind him with a jiggle of the handle and scrubbing the absolute hell out of his hands, under his fingernails, all of it. Taking just a glance at his face, nothing too bad. Scratch above his left eyebrow that had already been cleaned. Not that he remembered cleaning it. Little bit of a bruise around it.

Pacing back to his chair at the bar, now accompanied by some guy in a purple sweater in the chair beside him, he smacked the glass on the counter after drinking its contents, asked for another, drank the other, paid the bartender after a small-talk exchange, handed them a fifty-dollar bill before putting two fingers to his forehead in a salute with a smile and a wink. He stood up to leave. He noticed he hadn’t had any of the water yet and slurped as much as he could before the ice was licking at his lips and he left.

Kaleidoscope. Again. Same place as last night! Don’t shit where you eat, silly!

Cass tugged at the collar of the long sleeve shirt, the stains that had seeped around, most likely last night while he was listening to the tunes in the bar and Roman was getting himself into trouble. The roughness of the fabric made him feel a little claustrophobic, but that was okay. He’d pitter patter home soon enough, maybe eat a snack out of the fridge. He really should’ve eaten something by now but sometimes it was hard to remember.

As his thoughts wandered around what to eat and his body wandered around the chilly blocks of North Sentinel, he found his hand wrapping around a magical little scroll in a pocket of his jacket he’d forgotten about until just now. A lighter was found right thereafter, leaving Cass mindlessly ripping at the joint and staring off at the lights around him. They were distractingly beautiful, shining in some sort of glory. Not technicolor, though. That was last night.

A small group of people were wandering around all together, socializing, laughing. Having just a wonderful afternoon. It was late afternoon! He knew what time it was now. The sun setting, street lights starting to flick on. Hearing their conversations lifted a pervasive loneliness in him, even if they weren't acknowledging him, only each other.

The looseness in his footsteps tightened again, along with his grip around the joint now fading down to the filter. He flicked it into the storm drain across the street from his apartment before he walked over to the building. He didn’t realize how quickly he walked back to the building. He wasn’t quite ready to go back inside. He remembered he’d left the candle burning when he’d left in a bustle earlier, but that didn’t bother him. Clearly it hadn’t caught anything on fire yet, so why rush back home?

The warmth of the scotch was settling into Roman’s stomach as he dug around his pockets trying to find the lighter again. He knew it was somewhere… He found the pack of cigarettes first, the lighter followed, and he lit one up, leaning against the building. Watching it burn more than smoking it.











♡coded by uxie♡
 
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  • filler tab! ignore
















  • h


















mood



sick and regretful







location



romeratech







outfit



his new romeratech lab gear







interactions



n/a







mentions



rosaline












Doctor Plague








nine lives

 
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charlotte




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Billie Eilish



BLUE










"Like a butterfly, I am growing and changing and finding my true colors in life. I’m finding my wings so I can fly and soon be on my way."

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Soft blue eyes watched as Sentinel City slowly came to life from the comfort of the high rise luxury apartment, the city below looking like a small colony of ants bustling about the streets. Charlotte raised her mug to her lips, taking a deep inhale of the sweet aroma of coffee, slowly sipping on the much needed caffeine. Pushing her hip off the glass she leisurely strolled through the living room and made her way back to the kitchen. On the smooth white marble counter rested her planner, laptop, and book bag. The planner was open, appointments, to do list, and random notes were neatly written on the pages on display.

Hiking up one leg she slid onto one of the barstools that surrounded the large kitchen island, resting both her elbows on the cool marble as she drank her coffee. A content sigh poured from her lips as she sat in the quiet of the morning. Lottie cherished these small moments of peace, her days were typically hectic and fast paced from start to finish, so she always soaked in any pieces of calm that she could. Usually at this time she would be rushing off to the office, returning emails, scheduling meetings, reading over notes in the car. Even though her days off were still busy they paled in comparison to a day at the law firm.

Manicured fingers reached out and pulled the open planner closer to her so she could review the day she had laid out for her. Her first class started at nine-thirty, criminal law, followed by her legal research and writing later in the afternoon. Excitement fluttered in her stomach at the thought of sitting in for a lecture, it had been a few weeks since she was able to actually attend a class. Then to finish off her day, another grueling session at the Enrichment Center with Naomi. Even though her progress has been slow Lottie was starting to see the benefits of training with Naomi, and she was actually looking forward to today’s session.

“Good morning, Charlotte.” The cold, emotionless voice of her mother froze the young girl where she sat. Pressing her eyes tightly together she sharply inhaled, the excitement she once felt quickly turning to sick anxiety.

“Morning.” Charlotte greeted, forcing herself to stand in her mothers presence. Odette was dressed in an all black pantsuit, her hair was pinned up in her signature slick back bun, natural makeup to enhance her features, golden jewelry dripping from her neck and ears. Odette’s harsh eyes traveled along Charlotte’s attire, a look of disapproval creasing her features.

“What on earth are you wearing?” The woman folded her arms across her chest as her eyes bore into her daughters.

“I have today off. I’m going to class, then meeting with Naomi, I-I wanted to keep it casual.” Charlotte could feel herself growing smaller under her mothers withering stare. Unsteady hands smoothed out the cargo style pants and tugged nervously at the tight fitting crop top. She didn’t understand her mothers distaste with the outfit she put together, yes it was on the more casual side, but it was still nicely put together, trendy, and probably cost the same as her dated pantsuit.

“It’s…a choice.” Odette quipped, her nose scrunching as she gave her daughter one last look over. “You’re training with Naomi today? Good. She hasn’t mentioned much improvement, maybe you should increase the frequency in which you attend.” Her words were not a suggestion, they were a demand. Charlotte’s shoulders slumped forward slightly as her mothers words continued to suck the confidence from her like a leech.

“Yeah, of course, I’ll mention it when I see her later today.” Charlotte nodded, turning back to her planner and scribbling a note to discuss her training with Naomi.

“You’ll do more than mention it, make it happen.” Odette snapped as she turned and left the kitchen.

Charlotte sighed as her eyes floated to the ceiling, trying to regain the excitement for her day that her mother so selfishly pissed on. Shaking the negative thoughts swirling violently in her head she gathered her things and headed out the door to face the day.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·​

After a relaxing morning on campus, enjoying her lectures and catching up with a few classmates she entered The Enrichment Center. The building was humming with excitement, mutants of all kinds scattered throughout the expansive facility as each of them worked on honing their unique abilities. Charlotte could feel herself growing more nervous with each step she took, her eyes scanning the groups of mutants and watching as they worked. She felt so behind compared to the others around her, they all seemed to be excelling with their gift, surpassing her at every turn.

“Hey! Ready to get started?” Naomi’s bright voice broke through Charlotte’s darkening thoughts.

“As I’ll ever be.” Charlotte offered a small smile and followed Naomi to their training station.

Charlotte stood besides her instructor, sweat already beginning to bead on her brow from pushing herself over and over again. Her eyes locked back onto her target, a training dummy provided by the Enrichment Center. She hated that she was still having to use a training dummy, but she knew that her grasp on her ability was still too unstable to use on another person. In her mind she imagined the dummy to be a real person, taking in steady breaths of air, in and out, their lungs filling and deflating. Breathing in deeply she focused on the air surrounding the dummy, willing the oxygen to pull away and slip into her control. Her pupils dilating as the air began to tighten, bending to her will.

"You're doing great, Charlotte!" Naomi encouraged, her voice firm but kind.

She could feel it — the oxygen slipping away from the figure before her, causing it to metaphorically asphyxiate. Charlotte’s eyes flashed with determination as she pulled more air away from the it. As her control over the element increased, so did the physical toll on her own body. It was subtle at first, the lightheadedness creeping in almost undetected as all of her focus was on constricting the oxygen to her will. A sense of disorientation tickled at her subconscious, but she just pushed herself harder, trying to hold the power steady.

"You can stop whenever you want to, Lottie, it’s okay." Naomi urged, a slight twinge of concern lacing her words as she watched Charlotte.

The seconds dragged on, each one feeling like a lifetime as she battled against herself. Lottie’s vision began to blur, a desperate gasp leaving her lips as she outstretched a hand towards the dummy, curing her fingers as if physically holding onto her ability. She could feel her body fighting against her control, her lungs began to burn as if they were being deprived of oxygen.

“Charlotte, enough! Naomi’s voice broke through the haze, but Charlotte was already too far gone. Her head was spinning and her muscles began to feel weak as if they were losing their solidity. Her body was screaming for her to stop, the warning signs blaring, but she couldn’t afford to stop. Not yet.

“Stop!” Charlotte could barely make out the sound of Naomi’s voice as she struggled to hold on. Her knees buckled, her breath shallow as she crumpled. A sharp pain shooting through her skull as she fell face first onto the ground, a warm liquid trickling from her nose. Charlotte could feel herself slipping, the world spinning violently as she tried to speak, to say she was okay and brush it off. But, her voice failed her as the darkness closed in.

Slowly the darkness began to fade as her vision came back to her. She blinked a few times, trying to clear her mind of the thick confusion that clouded her thinking. A small circle of people stood over her, Naomi knelt down by her side with a look of concern etched in her beautiful features.

A mix of embarrassment, anger and disappointment flooded Lottie as she stared up at people surrounding her. Charlotte pushed herself up into a seated position, both her arms outstretched behind her, her palms pushing into the ground for support. She closed her eyes as she waited for the feeling of her brain swimming in her skull to subside.

“Are you okay?” Naomi asked, placing a gentle hand on her back.

“I’m fine.” Charlotte said through her teeth.

“I know this is tough, but so are you. Don’t give up yet.” Charlotte knew that Naomi was just trying to comfort and encourage her, but she didn’t want to hear it. She needed to get out of there, now. Charlotte forced herself to stand, almost regretting it as she took a few unsteady steps forward.

“Wait, wait! Stop for a second, Charlotte, you’re bleeding!” Naomi pressed and reached out to grab her arm.

“I said I’m fine!” Lottie snapped as she yanked her arm away and stormed out of the Enrichment Center.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·​

Charlotte stood in front of her bathroom mirror staring at her pitiful reflection. Tears streaked through her makeup, blood staining her nose and the front of her once pristine white shirt. Thankfully no one was home when Charlotte returned to the apartment and she was able to hide herself in her room without any further embarrassment.

Ding!

She flinched at the sudden high pitched noise, her tekpad lighting up as a text message rolled in. A dejected sigh filled the bathroom as she reached out to read the message.

Come over.

Her face brightened slightly as she read the message from Viktor. Her fingers hovered over the screen as her eyes went back to her reflection and she winced. She needed time to fix herself. Her fingers moved over the touch screen rapidly as she replied to his text.

Be there in 30.

Charlotte tossed the tekpad back down and got to work at erasing the evidence from her failure. She didn’t want him to see her in this state and she definitely didn’t want to have to relive that moment a second longer. Lightly dabbing away at the blood around her nose she couldn’t help but hear her mother’s voice in her head, “She hasn’t mentioned much improvement, maybe you should increase the frequency in which you attend.”

Her mother was right. Nothing has changed. She was still weak.



 
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  • medicine



    daughter


























    prologue.



    Vasariah Nightingale
    The apartment was unbearably silent as Vasariah stepped inside. Not even the hum of the city seemed to breach the walls of his small apartment. He closed the door behind him, shutting out the world, letting the small bag from the store dangle in his grip for a moment. Darkness flooded the room, spreading just as the silence had. The sun had long since parted from the sky, replaced by the gentle glow of the moon.

    Vasariah could have been home sooner. He could have let it all rest completely, but letting things go was never in his nature. Being comfortable in sitting with his emotions was never something he was good with either. No, it felt much too sick inside of him to ever feel with an ounce of normality.

    With a sigh, he made his way to the two-person dining table. One chair empty, never used, but kept just in case. He set the bag down, the soft rustle of plastic breaking the silence as he pulled out the small red velvet cupcake, carefully encased in its clear container. Topped with a generous swirl of cream cheese frosting. Not some frivolous sweet treat. Not a reward at all. It was his grandmother's favorite—at least, it used to be—and now it was his, too.

    He placed the cupcake on the table and reached for the pack of birthday candles, feeling a pang of nostalgia as he pulled one out. Unwrapping the cupcake, he set it down with a delicate touch. It was something sacred, in a way.

    Rummaging through the kitchen drawer, he searched for a lighter, his fingers brushing against old utensils and forgotten odds and ends. He found one—a small red lighter, its flame flickering to life as he struck it against the side. Just for a moment. Just to watch the glow of the flame.

    And perhaps fire wasn’t the thing to ponder as his mind drifted briefly. He could see his grandmother in their cramped kitchen, where not even the smell of baked goods good overcome the lingering odor of stale smoke and something sharper. The counters were cluttered with half empty bottles of nearly anything you could imagine.

    One thing always led to another. Nothing was ever enough. It was a search with no end.

    “Sometimes, the world gets too loud,” she had murmured one day, her voice barely a whisper. Raspy and frail. It was all she could manage. “And I just… need to quiet it down. I just need to remember what being happy feels like.” And he wanted nothing more than to help her. But how could he, when he himself couldn’t remember if he ever learned what happiness was?

    He remembered so clearly what he had told her the first scare they had. “I can make you happy, Grandma. I’ll find a way, I promise. Please…stay.” Followed by promises that he would stop keeping years ago. He couldn’t remember the last time he pulled out her cooking book and made himself something sweet. And he could never keep his room clean these days. He was just…too tired.

    He could tell you what that means, but he couldn’t tell you how to change it.

    Now, staring at the solitary cupcake in front of him, he let out a shaky breath. His eyes welled with tears as he sat down in his lone chair. It wasn’t a bad memory of her. There had been far worse to choose from, just as there had been better. It was all painful now, though.

    He sat down at the table, pulling the empty chair a little closer than usual. The cupcake sat between them, as if waiting for something—someone. His fingers brushed against the candle, lighting it aflame before resting his hand upon on the cool surface of the table. His eyes traced the flicker of the candle, watching as it danced in the faint breeze that drifted through the ventilation.

    It felt fragile, like it could go out at any moment.

    He began humming a song everyone knows. A celebration of life, one he would celebrate long after she had left. His voice was quiet, broken. Trying to ignore the burning sensation in his throat and the tears that blurred his vision.

    He leaned back in his chair, the silence thick around him as the old tune finished, and stared at the flame. It flickered again, and for just a moment, he could almost hear her voice calling to him from some forgotten corner of his mind.

    “Blow it out for me, little angel,” he could hear her say. “Make a wish.”

    He sat there, in the stillness, watching wax drip down the side of the candle. Pooling in the frosting. What could he wish for? He had been following what she wanted for him. Finish school, get a good job, don’t fall into substance abuse. There was that one thing. Love. Always the hopeless romantic she was, and he had taken after her in many ways.

    Love, though—it felt like a distant thing now, something unreachable. She used to talk about it constantly, regardless if her mind was clear or not. “You’ll find someone,” she’d say, leaning back in her worn chair with a dreamy smile. “Someone who makes everything lighter, someone who makes you smile. You’ll know it’s true when you don’t want to hide yourself away.”

    Vasariah ran his fingers through his hair, leaning forward, elbows resting on the table. She always made it sound so simple, like it was a matter of waiting for the right moment or the right person to come along. It wasn’t that easy. Not with everything else he carried, not with the memories that clung to him, with the blood on his hands.

    When he thought about it more, he had someone like that, hadn’t he? His little dream stalker. The only problem being that he wasn’t…real. But, there was something there. It was a feeling he couldn’t shake for as long as he’d dreamt of him.

    He glanced at the chair across from him and began to imagine that it wasn’t empty. If he was real, if he was here sitting in front of him… His throat tightened, and for a moment, he could almost feel his grandma there with him, urging him to make that wish, to believe in something for himself.

    And he did. Silently. He’d keep it close to his heart, wouldn’t tell a soul so it might come true.

    Vasariah leaned forward, letting out a slow breath as he blew out the candle. The flame flickered for a moment before it finally disappeared, leaving behind only the thin trail of smoke spiraling into the air.

    It felt silly. It felt embarrassing, to desire something so much you’re whispering quiet prayers to anything that might listen. Anything that might, for the first time, let him get what he wants.

    Vasariah watched the last tendrils of smoke fade into the still air before quietly pushing back his chair. The burden of the evening settled deeper into his bones as he stood, brushing crumbs from the table and carefully picking up the melted candle and wax-coated cupcake. He moved slowly, washing the plate and clearing the small remnants of the evening.

    The silence of the apartment was subduing, the faint hum of the refrigerator the only sound breaking through the quiet. As he wiped down the counter, he couldn’t shake the exhaustion creeping over him, both physical and emotional. There wasn’t much left to do. Just the empty apartment and the too-quiet night ahead.

    The apartment was chilling as he stepped into the bathroom, letting the door fall shut behind him with a soft click. Warm lights scattered around the corners of the bathroom rather than a big overhead light. As it cast a dim glow throughout the room, Vasariah gazed into the mirror. Dark circles he could never shake framed his tired eyes, his hair falling in frizzy curls, messy from the day.

    With a slow exhale, he stripped out of his clothes, letting them pile on the floor, and stepped into the shower. The water ran hot, steaming up the small bathroom, but it did little to soothe the knot of tension that seemed permanently lodged in his chest. He let the water run over his head, down his back, washing away the residue of the day. It felt cleansing, but only in the most literal sense. There was no baptism that could wash away his life.

    But he wasn’t here to lament about his life. He did that enough. Steam filled the small bathroom, his mind was already elsewhere, drifting to thoughts of the one constant in his dreams. The water cascaded over his face, blurring his vision, but it didn't matter. He had memorized his features long ago, every detail etched into his mind. He had memorized every intonation in his voice too.

    There was something comforting about being enveloped with warm water. Perhaps for a touch starved person such as himself, it felt almost like a hug. And just as embarrassingly as many of his other thoughts about the man, he let himself indulge in the fantasy of being hugged by McDreamface. Never further. Never more. He was too scared of what that might bring, if they invaded his dreams.

    The shower grew cold and he took it as a sign he should be getting in bed. He slipped into his usual sleepwear, an old band t-shirt and a pair of shorts, the worn fabric comforting in its familiarity. Outside the bathroom, the apartment was still and silent, waiting for him to rejoin the solitude. He sighed as he padded back to his room, switching off the lights and sinking into bed.

    His body ached for rest, but his mind wandered kept wandering. Too excited for a dreaming state. Vasariah pulled the covers up to his chest, closing his eyes. Vasariah hoped the other would visit him. At the end of the day, there was nothing he wanted more than to smile with him, to pester him about his name and hear the most heavenly voice reply with that playful little “You’re not ready for that yet.”


    Yeah. There was nothing he could want more.






























Vasariah Nightingale.










TW



substance abuse. grandparent death.







mood



depressed. yearning.







outfit



idk he's serving tho







location



apartment!







mentions



Dream McDreamface Clive.







interacts



N/A.








i'll meet judgement



by the
hounds











♡coded by uxie♡
 
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mute [archer]




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  • home (filler tab)






























munn



can you hear me?








Archer woke up, already feeling the weight of the world on him. It wasn't the weight of the world exactly, more like Thena laying on his chest. He groans as he looks directly into the face of his first bonded animal. She was giving him one of her best doggie smiles and he felt her excitement through their shared bond. Happy that her human partner was up finally. He chuckles softly as he motions her to move off of him so he could get up. Once she did (not without a few ear scratches from Archer of course), he begins to pull himself out of bed. Looking for his other bonded animal, Zona who was already at their food bowls.

Of course he was, that dog could eat through the whole house if he let him.

He grabbed their respective bags of food before starting to pour it in their bowls. Even though they were the same species of animals, they couldn't be more different. Zona hated the brand of food that Thena loved. Refusing to eat, sending waves of disgust through the bond. He once didn't eat for an entire three days before Archer was able to buy another brand that he liked. Once they were fed, he went to the cage that held the newest member of their family. A raven named Fawn. Now their bond wasn't quite as strong as the others as he was still working on bonding with her but it was well enough where he wasn't worried that she was going to run off if he let her out to have some freedom.

She crows at him as he pets her through the cage, he grabs some mealworms, and fruit and veggies to feed her. Once all the animals were taken care of, Archer went to change his clothes, knowing that it was nearing time for the dogs walk, and Fawn's morning flight. Every morning to help strengthen their bond and of course to make sure they were staying fit especially Zona cause of his huge appetite. He grabbed the leashes for the dogs, and a whistle for Raven to signal her back to him. He had worked hard on training her how to listen to the whistle and to come back when she heard it as their bond was still weak and he couldn't feel her as well as the others. So calling her back using that wasn't going to work.

Once everyone was ready to go, he walked out the door, watching as Fawn took off flying forward. Once he was sure that she wasn't too far from him, he began to walk with Zona and Thena. Waving hi to the neighbors and letting the kids pet the dogs once they had notice that they were around. Just a normal morning for him.






♡coded by uxie♡
 






miles choi




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  • home (filler tab)






























mgk



i think i'm okay








"You're a long way from home, aren't you, son?"

Miles blinked, confused as he stared at the man before him. He was crouching down, picking up the knife he'd discarded when he grabbed the thug that had been trying to rob the man in front of him.
"...I guess you could say that."
he murmured in response, a few moments later. Ever since he'd left home, Miles had grown used to the silence, but this was different. Unlike the quiet of solitude, this was a waiting game. The man before him was looking for something in him.

He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he hoped he was fine with what he found.

"I'm...Miles. By the way."
he added a moment later.
"You uh...you okay there sir?"


"Oh, I'm doing just fine." the man hummed, giving him a soft smile in response. Miles nodded, shuffling his feet as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"Right..."
he trailed off, rocking back on his heels. This was going...nowhere. And fast. He cleared his throat, preparing to speak, but what? He used to know how to talk to people, but not anymore. Awkward silences were now something he saw quite frequently, and this one was getting ready to take the cake.
"Did...did you need any-"


"My name is..."


Miles' eyes snapped open, his breath catching slightly. He lay still as stone, staring blankly at the ceiling above him. His arms remained at his side, though his fingers clenched as he remembered his dream. The moment his life changed for the second time. With a sigh, his eyes slid shut. Raising a hand to his head, he ran his fingers through his hair, ruffling the short strands. What was going on with him recently...

Rolling onto his side, he pushed himself up into a sitting position, swinging his legs off the couch and onto the floor. Standing, he walked across his office to the windows behind his desk. Staring out across the city covered by nightfall, Miles wondered when exactly he fell asleep. The couch in his office had never been particularly helpful when it came to trying to nap. Clearly he'd been exhausted enough that comfort didn't matter, seeing as the sun had still been out when he was last awake. He'd missed dinner of course, he'd better remember to stop down in the kitchen before he left.

However, hunger had to wait. He'd laid down because a headache had been building due to the paperwork scattered across his desk. Paperwork that he needed to finish before he could go home for the night. Sure, he could've left it for the morning, but then it would be tomorrow's problem, and he'd rather get it done sooner rather than later. Especially seeing as it would no doubt be replaced by more before he could even blink.

Miles pulled out his chair and took a seat, reaching for a pen with one hand and grabbing the first piece of paper off the stack. Twirling the pen between his fingers, he yawned. While the nap had felt nice, it had set him back and now he doubted he was going to end up going home any time soon. Maybe he should set a reminder to help him remember to go down to the kitchen for something to eat. But that was a later problem...

For now...paperwork.





♡coded by uxie♡
 









The camera feed of the livestream flickers as Juhee’s face fills the screen for a brief moment. As she moves further out, she can be seen hovering high up in the skies of North Sentinel city, an assortment of skyscrapers below and beside her a considerable distance away. She didn’t want to be too close to any of the buildings to allow herself some room to navigate should any unforeseen circumstances presented itself.

Her viewers slowly trickled in, and soon she was streaming to tens of thousands with more turning up every second. The scenic Sentinel city skyline stretches out in the background, and her highly recognisable cheerful voice fills the audio of the stream. “Hey, hey, everyone!! Juhee here, live from way up high today! Thought I’ll do something different today. You lot have been asking for another Q&A session, and instead of doing it at home, I thought why not do it in the skies of the North Sentinel itself!” She taps her TekPad, the screen showing a flood of comments, with more coming in every second.

“I’ve been getting so many questions lately, so let’s see what you’ve got for me!” But just as she’s about to start, her connection starts to dip, and the signal flickers. “Come on, seriously?” she says with an annoyed sigh, noticing the chat lagging. Without hesitation, Juhee remained one hand on the selfie stick on which her TekPad was securely fastened to, and used the other to send a pulse of electromagnetic energy through the device, stabilising the signal. “There we go—boosted the signal and we’re good to start!”

She glances at the screen, her fingers swiping through the flood of messages. “Alright, first question. 'How fast can you actually fly?’ Ooh, good one! So, I’ve clocked in just over the speed of sound—around 800 miles per hour on a good day. I try not to push it too often though, or you’d be hearing sonic booms every time I go anywhere a good distance away!” Juhee laughs, her smile wide as more questions continue to flood in. "Next up: How do you keep your TekPad working up so high and flying so fast?’ Oh, I’m so glad you asked!” She holds up her TekPad, the screen reflecting the sunlight as it hovers in front of her.

“See, I use my electromagnetic abilities to create a little shield around my TekPad to keep it from getting fried. Also, I can recharge it anytime it gets low. You’ll never catch me with a dead device during a stream!” She sends a small pulse of energy into the device, the battery icon percentage reflecting an increase of several percentage.








juhee



juice








  • filler tab!





♡coded by uxie♡
 



blaire kato.





































  • mood



    i'm over this (i'll never be over this)
















The girl that disappears.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ​

***TW: Occasional and mild depictions of bombing/explosion and very, very brief mentions of death

“And have you been taking your medication?”

The dull roar of a cacophony of monstrous sounds replaying the explosion and the rhythmic sound of a rabbit-hearted being in human skin beating all too fast, eyes shifted back and forth in a REM-like state despite a wide awake clarity. The visuals were nothing new, familiar yet unwelcoming like a distant relative during an uncomfortable holiday party. Blaire found herself wishing for the latter right now, the rattling of her brain bringing on a loom migraine.

“Ms. Kato?”

Unblinking and disturbed eyes continued their movement, though no longer a sporadic fluttering of gazes. Instead, they locked on an object of the room, a centering practice while she was still lost in a weave of thoughts. It was as if she didn’t hear the person speaking to her, and for all it was worth, she hadn’t registered the voice in the slightest. A flinch of quiet discomfort wrecked her features, pinching her brows together as the mutant snipped the strings of her memories to loosen the cobweb that had pulled her in.

“...Blaire?”

The sound of her name finally snapped her attention to the woman in front of her, a therapist she had found herself appointed to after the happening that she often referred to - if at all - as ‘The Incident.’ Only for now she was grounded back in the private room but as her face contorted once more it was obvious that she hadn’t the slightest clue how long she had been sitting in this spot on a particularly hard and ugly couch whose green color reminded her far too much of cartoon boogers.

Disgust could not even begin to cover how she felt.

Stomach churning with a sickness of the mind, the girl made a decision all on her own. Blaire rose to her feet, the grimace on her face wiped away cleanly as if it had never existed. In its place was a rosy smile instead.

“You know what, Dr. Garvin? I don’t think I need these sessions anymore.”


“Blaire, I actually don’t think–”

“Thank you for your time, Dr. Garvin,”
she interjected, an abrupt movement putting her even closer to the door. Her escape.

“Can I just ask… What brought this on?”

“Oh– Well. it’s just–”
The young mutant bounced on the balls of her feet, jostling her body to become a matching set with the inner workings of her mind. She was grasping for anything to ground her, bring her back to the present as a ringing greeted her ears.

Hearing loss, as it was. The doctors had pieced her back together at the scene of the crime and at the hospital after, and after she had been all stitched they had warned her of a possibility of hearing problems. If only they had been able to prepare her for the mind boggling chaos that would permeate her brain for what felt like the rest of eternity.

“I’m not getting any better, am I? No, actually, I can get out of bed now and that’s why I started these sessions but it’s just that I still relive it pretty often and no amount of talking about it will make me feel better because it just is what it is. The building blew up. I watched them go right in front of me and I couldn’t do anything and I just don’t really think I want to talk about it anymore than that so I’ll figure it out on my own. I’ll be okay, just gotta do it on my own, ya know? So I don’t need to come to these anymore, I won’t be coming after today. And no– I wasn’t taking my meds. They made the nightmares worse, so I stopped them after the first week.”


Her hand found the door, twisting the latch open with ease. She couldn’t be rid of this room fast enough, the beige walls around her enough to make her want to scream. It was a sort of unease that she had never been able to wash away, the inability to forget her first session where she was meant to spill herself onto the table and bare her emotions for the world - or rather, her therapist - to see. Always able to fix everyone else and never able to fix herself, it had been an out of body experience for her to rely on someone else to fix her, and clearly she had not taken kindly to the process.

As she held the door open just a crack, Blaire couldn’t help but carefully consider her actions in the almost aftermath. Acting on emotions first and rationality second, this was always the appropriate time that she would check herself. The advice that she often found herself slinging at people: that you can’t force someone to seek help, they have to want it – had come back full circle to slap a stinging force right into her face. Of course, she knew she was being rash. Her parents had stressed the use of therapy, the good it would do for her, but as she relived her horrible day over and over regardless of ‘talking things through’ it became vividly apparent that this was up to her. In her train of thought, she was transported once more to a far away place.

She was there again.

The screaming was a high pitched whistle in her eardrums, the crackling of flames leftover on walls and blown apart objects a mere nothing compared to the other sounds that berated her. Her vision had been shaky at best, an incapacity to make eye contact with any for longer than a second let alone see clearly past the ash that clung to her face.

It always came in waves. A brief one, the self-proclaimed failed Healer blinked herself back to current day.

The door still held open, Blaire turned slowly back to her former therapist.
“Please don’t offer to pro-rate my session, I have no idea how long I was here anyway so I’ll just pay in full for this last time. Thank you again, Dr. Garvin.”


It was then that she stepped from the confines of the drab room and shut the door behind her. An anticlimactic end to an all too plot heavy beginning of a new era in her life.

A disappearance act from her old self, eventually she would become something new entirely.

































rabbit heart (raise it up)



florence + the machine










♡coded by uxie♡
 






SILAS




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Hall of Fame



The Script








Silas had been at it for hours. Like always.

The flickering glow of his monitors cast long and eerie shadows across his office as his fingers darted across the holographic keyboard.
"Just one more iteration..."
he whispered to himself, though he had been repeating that line for the better part of four hours. The algorithm he was working on for Romeratech; a system designed to predict mutant power fluctuations, was nearing completion, but not quite there yet. He was basing an idea he had gotten from the readings he had experienced in while he was out on the field, outside of Sentinel City. He had picked up various levels of how the mutation gene was prominent in a mutant - in best efforts to combine all the studies that went through the prototype. It was like trying to piece together a thousand-piece puzzle where half the pieces were constantly changing shape and form. It was merely a draft, an idea but he was determined to showcase it to the rest of the team in hopes they could develop something out of it or even enhance current tech to follow through.

His mind raced to keep up with the data streams, but his body had other ideas. His eyes drooped, and his head began to bob, the screen's glow slowly blurring into indistinguishable blobs of light. Another hour had passed.

"Hmm, maybe if this.."
Silas’s voice trailed off mid-sentence, his head nodding once, twice, and then...THUD. His forehead made solid contact with the edge of his keyboard, and just like that, one of Sentinel City's most brilliant data analyst had entered dreamland. A rare place he barely gets to visit knowing very well his insomnia was his best friend more than the average healthy dose. His brain was always wired to work itself to completion before being able to relax. That is if he could manage that at all. Relaxing... yeah. If that was the case he would probably be with his girlfriend out and about rather than chasing the next best piece of work to keep himself more occupied than ever.

• • • • • • •​

Silas didn’t know how long he'd been out, but he was jarred awake not by an alarm or the ping of an urgent system alert which was his worst nightmare. However, his nose was taking the lead as he sniffed. Inhaling what was the unmistakable, life-saving aroma of coffee. Groggily lifting his head, he blinked a few times, squinting at the steaming take-away cup that had magically appeared at the edge of his desk.

"Coffee? Coffee..."
he muttered, rubbing the keyboard-shaped indentation on his forehead. Sure enough, a small note had been left under the cup from what he make up. He picked it up with his deft fingers and gave it a read; "Late night? Thought you'd need this. Didn't want to wake you. - A.".

She always knew.

The male smirked as he placed the note down in his drawer with the rest of the notes he got from her from time to time. Typical Antonia. Always watching out for him, whether he liked it or not. Gratefully, he took a sip. The bitter liquid hit his tongue, and instantly, the fog in his brain lifted. He could practically feel the neurons sparking back to life as the caffeine coursed through his system. A well needed recharge. He took a mental note to return the favor with one of he favorite caffeinated drinks which were often more sugar than coffee but it made her happy and charged - that was what mattered in the end.

Glancing at the time on his monitor, he winced. 7:00 a.m. Already? He’d pulled another all-nighter without even realizing it. The algorithm was still incomplete... his last progress report had been a typo-filled mess of gibberish where he'd fallen asleep mid-code.
"How professional, Silas..."
he grumbled, shaking his head in disbelief at his reckless work behavior. Some people might call it mentally scolding. Falling asleep on the job and having an error filled report was not the way to go.

As the coffee worked its magic, Silas straightened up in his chair, placing one leg under the other as he settled comfortably. He grimaced at the mess that called itself a desktop. He decided to give his desktop some much-needed attention. It was getting cluttered... even for his standards in organisation. Endless logs, subroutines, and files scattered like a digital junkyard. He began reorganizing the mess, moving old projects into folders, cleaning up redundant files. Each click feeling like a minor victory in a world of chaos.

He was halfway through his cleanup when he stumbled upon something that made him pause: a file simply named Training_Archive_01. The date on it was ancient by Romeratech standards.

Curious, Silas clicked on it, and his screen filled with old logs and video snippets from his earliest days at Romeratech. He hadn’t looked at these in years.

Suddenly, he was staring at a much younger version of himself, nervously fiddling with a fidget spinner as Malia, his guardian back then, stood by, watching him attempt to calibrate his powers. "Silas, you're not concentrating. Breathe, focus." Her voice was warm, patient. Silas smiled wistfully. "Focus," he whispered to himself, echoing her words. That voice. That sweet, angelic voice that used to keep him grounded whenever he felt alone after the loss of his parents. The voice he remembers till this day even though she was wrongfully murdered in cold blood by the hands of those terrorists. Just as he was feeling his blood boil, he heard it again... focus.

The footage showed a scrawny teenager who could barely keep his data-gathering abilities in check, let alone control the torrents of information he absorbed. In one clip, young Silas nearly fainted after pulling in too much digital noise from the city’s electromagnetic fields, his face pale and sweaty. He chuckled at the memory.
"What a disaster,"
he mumbled but more louder than intended, still smiling. It was remarkable how far he’d come. From the kid who couldn’t differentiate between Wi-Fi signals and radio waves, to Romeratech’s go-to guy for cybernetic security and mutant tech integration. The sheer volume of awkwardness and trial-and-error in those early days almost felt comforting now. Felt comforting that he was by his best friend and partner's side as her assistant leader, attempting to right the wrongs that their guild had endured. Creating their own beneficial future in their empire.

Shaking off the nostalgia, he minimized the archive and got back to work. He pulled up the algorithm he'd been hammering away at last night. Now that he was semi-rested, and properly caffeinated, he could see where he'd gone wrong. He had accidentally looped a section of the code, causing it to spiral into an endless calculation, which explained why it had been running all night.
"Great, my algorithm was dreaming too,"
he quipped dryly, adjusting the code. A few quick fixes later, the algorithm was back on track, its output far more stable than it had been when he had face-planted into the keyboard.

As he watched the code finally run smoothly, Silas leaned back in his chair, spinning the fidget spinner between his fingers, his mind wandering once again.

Malia. His parents... So many people who had shaped him, guided him, and who were now gone. And yet, here he was, still pushing forward, still working on systems meant to protect people, to safeguard mutants like him. Like his best friend and guildies. Whilst Silas was not the ultimate socialite, the way he worked silently and behind the scenes and sometimes on the field. As silent he may be, he was always overlooking his family's interests before anything or anyone else. Romeratech is his family after all those loses. He needed to keep what was left safe.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all connected somehow - the past, the present, even the algorithm he had been obsessing over. It was all data. It all left an imprint, even when the people behind it were no longer there.

Another faint ring was heard in the background as his tekpad alerted him of his wake-up alarm. A chuckle escaped his lips as he snoozed it... although he should really take a shower. It had been a long night.





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the viper








nine lives

 
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bone-wraith








nine lives

 
mood :
checked out/dejected. eventually... happy.

location :
samson family home -> urban district -> his apartment, sentinel proper
outfit :
mentions :
Vasariah

interactions :
Richard and Lilia Samson, Casper
Samson
;; Clive
CW: Emotional abuse, implied substance abuse

They were fighting again. Not that it was at all surprising, it was expected even. But boy was it annoying. Any time they were in the same proximity, Clive's brother and father were in conflict. Clive had no idea what they were fighting about this time. He'd been there the entire time, sitting quietly at the dinner table. But, he had checked out long ago, choosing to spend time with his own thoughts rather than the family sitting in front of him.

He truly wondered why they bothered with these dinners at all. They were rare, maybe occurring every other month or so, but never ended well. He'd rather spend his evening alone in his apartment. That was how he spent most of his evenings. Yeah, it sounded lonely and sad, and it was kind of lonely most of the time, but he'd gotten over the sadness over his situation a long time ago. The feeling was replaced by apathy. Besides, he didn't even like most people, he couldn't think of anyone he'd actually want to spend his evenings with.

Well- he could think of one person. But that person didn't even know he existed. So, loneliness it was.

Clive was drawn back to reality by the sound of his brother using his name. "... Clive. And you've never even fucking told the guy you so much as like him so-" Casper's voice rang out, but was swiftly cut off by their father. "Casper. That is enough." Richard Samson declared, firm, with no detectable hints of emotion.

Clive just sat back in his chair and rolled his eyes, a frown crossing his face. He wasn't even paying attention to get the context of the conversation. He just hated being dragged into arguments like this.

From her place at the table, his mother locked eyes with him and shot him a sympathetic glance. His eyebrows instinctively furrowed, leading to him accidentally giving her a confused glare with the frown that was already present on his face. Quickly though, he adjusted his expression, curving his mouth into a rather unenthusiastic smile.

He didn't want to upset his mother. It wasn't like she was cruel. Not intentionally cruel like his father was anyways. She was just absent and a bit clueless. When Clive needed someone's support, she sure as hell wasn't there. But she popped up once every few months to strike up events like this to absolve her of her guilt towards the situation, make herself feel like she was trying to make the Samsons one big happy family. At least she felt guilt about it.

"Fuck you. I can say whatever I want, Dick. I'm fucking out of here. Thank you for the lovely night, mom." Casper stood up from the table, filled with anger. His volume was uncontrolled, he'd clearly snuck away to the kitchen for an extra drink or so earlier. Clive didn't blame him for that, but he was judging him.

"Good. You're not welcome here with that kind of behavior." Their fathers voice remained cold. Clive wondered if it would've been better if he sounded angry, showed some indicator of at least caring about his children. He figured he'd never know. It had been like this for as long as he could remember. A brief second of silence passed. "Go make sure your brother doesn't end up embarrassing us all on his way home." Richard looked right at Clive, expression and tone demanding.

"Yeah, got it." Clive said, voice flat, tinted with exhaustion. He stood, but paused for a moment, mind stalling for what he wanted to say next. The three dreaded words crossed his mind, as they so often did. I love you. At this point in his life, he wasn't even sure that he did love his father, but he sure as hell wanted his father to love him. He wanted to test the waters again, see if he could get the reciprocal response he was looking for. He used to say it a lot, but he had never gotten those words back. A few years ago, he said it and his father had a talk with him. Said saying it made him seem weak, pathetic, desperate. Those words had not been uttered since.

Clive exhaled lightly before stepping away from the table. "Have a nice night. Good food, mom." He nodded towards the food that had been prepared by a professional. These family dinner nights, they pretended like it was a meal cooked with love by their mother. It was part of the happy family game.

"Thank you, Clive, honey. You take care of yourself," Lilia said, that fake sickly sweet tone Clive couldn't stand. She didn't care if Clive took care of himself or not. If she did he'd see her more than once a month. But, as she spoke, he couldn't take his eyes off his father. The disapproving stare, cold look in his eyes drilling through his soul. It made him feel sick. He lingered for a second, feeling like he should say something, anything. But he couldn't find the words. "... Bye." Clive muttered weakly, finally making strides out of the room, not looking back.

The second he exited the dining room and turned the corner he overheard his father's disappointed voice. "I don't know where I went wrong with those two." The words cut through his heart like a knife, twisting around to maximize his suffering.

He locked eyes with Casper, who was still in the hallway, leaning against the wall. He had waited for Clive. It was like a pact between them, whenever their family got together like this they always arrived together, and they always left together. It was never something they'd spoken about, but it was something they'd always adhered to.

Clive stoped walking for a moment, taking in his father's words. He saw the same pain he felt in Casper's eyes, and in that moment they completely understood each other. The brothers were by no means alike personality wise, they rarely got along, but they did understand each other. Especially when it came to their father. Clive nodded towards the front door, indicating that it was time to leave.

The walk outside was silent, both brothers stewing in their separate misery. Once they reached his car, Clive spoke up. "Need a ride?" He figured Casper didn't drive here, he usually got a ride, and even if he didn't he was in no shape to drive.

"Yeah, sure." Casper replied, wasting no time opening up the passenger door. "Why do you drive such a boring car? Surely you can afford something cooler."

Clive rolled his eyes as he sat down. "I don't know. Maybe because I'm not a massive fucking douchebag." He sighed, beginning to drive, heading for Caspers appointment.

"You're so fucking lame." Casper scoffed. Clive just rolled his eyes and nodded slightly. Yeah, he was lame. He could cope with that. There was a pause before Casper started speaking again. "I don't know how you can just take dad's shit. You know that man is probably incapable of love, right? Like, you could save his life and he'd maybe say thank you and give you a firm, business-like handshake at best. He's so fucked up."

For someone who was an idiot most of the time, Casper was right about a lot of things. Clive bit his bottom lip, trying to hold back any feelings he had about the situation. He really didn't want to think about this right now, it was far too overwhelming. "So, I really don't want to listen to you talk right now." Clive wouldn't have been so blunt with anyone else. He was the kind of person who kept the peace, didn't ruffle any feathers, even if it took a great toll on him. He'd have just checked out and allowed someone else to keep talking. As distant as they were, Casper really did understand him. He was clearly annoyed, but gave a quick sigh and stopped talking.

Clive turned up the volume on the radio and glanced at the clock in his car. It was getting late. He wanted nothing more than to be at home, cuddled into his bedsheets, escaped into a dream. One dream in particular, not his own, but Vasariah's. The only person he really wanted to spend time with. Would it be weird if he showed up again? He had just been there the previous night. He felt his unhappiness grow at the thought of not visiting. No, he had to go. Besides, as much as he overthought his frequent appearances, Vasariah never seemed to mind. He always felt welcome in his dreams. Safe even. It was something he was not used to, but he wanted to be.

"What was that?" Casper's voice interrupted his peaceful thoughts.

"What was what?" Clive glanced over, with a slightly annoyed look on his face. He was not too thrilled about his brother's interruption.

"That look on your face.”

“What look?” Clive asked, displaying a genuine confusion.

“The fucking… happy look.”

“What?” Clive let out a sudden, exasperated laugh. “Sorry, am I not allowed to look happy?”

“No. It’s just- you never look happy. At least not like that.”

“…Oh.” Clive muttered, thrown off guard. He paused for a second to process the statement. When was the last time he felt happy? Like, not just faking it to fit in happy. He knew the answer. It was in his dreams. Or rather, Vasariah’s dreams. And thinking about them only allowed that feeling to bubble up. Oh fuck, Casper was right.

“See? There it was again.” Casper said, tone accusatory.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“What’s going on? Something must be going on. Are you quitting your job? No, fuck, you’d never quit your job. Are you getting laid? Oh my god, you’re getting laid.”

“Yes, I am getting laid.” Clive rolled his eyes, a bitter sarcasm seeping into his tone. “You’re a pervert. Not everything has to be like that.”

“So what I’m hearing is, there’s something?”

“No.” Clive’s tone was as flat as he could make it, but he wavered slightly. He couldn’t say with confidence that there was nothing going on. He looked over at Casper as he pulled up to the curb next to his apartment. “Ok, bye now.”

“Rude.” Casper scoffed, remaining in his seat. “You’re really not going to tell me anything?”

“Nope.”

“Pleaseee. Tell me. Tell me. Tell me. Tell me. Tell me. Tell me. Tell me.” Casper went on and on, turning towards Clive and poking him with each demand.

Clive rolled his eyes and sighed. Leaning forward, he rested his forehead on the steering wheel. “Oh my god.” He groaned. “Stop please. You’re so fucking annoying.”

“Fine.” Casper huffed. “But one day I’ll find out what’s up with you. So you better watch your back.”

“Ok, sure, whatever.” Clive sat up and reached across Casper to open the passenger door, trying to speed up the process of him exiting. “Go do your detective work. Alone. Far away from me. Please.”

“I’m going to detective so fucking hard.” Casper said as he unbuckled his seatbelt and slid out of the car. He turned around and lingered in the door for a moment, bending down slightly to meet Clive’s eyes. “Hey, whatever it is, I’m happy for you. I see you torturing yourself pretty much every day, you deserve something good.”

A rare moment of earnesty between the brothers. A slight pause. "Thanks." A hint of a smile crossed Clive's face. "Have a good night, ok? If you ever need anything, I'm just a phone call away." He did worry about his brother sometimes. He knew what Casper's escapist tendencies involved, he just hoped that he wouldn't ever go too overboard.

"Yeah, you too." Casper nodded. "Have a good night... getting laid." His tone quickly shifted to playful, eyebrows wiggling suggestively.

"Ok I'm done with you now. Bye. Please close the door." Clive took his foot of the brake, the car now inching forward slightly as Casper closed the door.

"You're such a fucking grouch. Bye. See you soon!" Casper waved after he closed the door.

Clive just rolled his eyes, sticking up his middle finger and directing it as Casper as he drove away. He took a deep breath, relishing in the quiet now that Casper was gone. He looked at the clock again and drove faster. He just wanted to be in bed, asleep. A smile began to develop on his face, not the tiny one he had shot Casper earlier, but a full, genuine smile. The one that was reserved exclusively for Vasariah. Yeah, he was happy. And he was scared that he'd inevitably mess it up, happiness pulled from under him like it always had been. But for now, he'd allow himself to enjoy it.

He got back to his apartment and rushed inside. He went through his nightly routine quickly, but gave it enough time to be calming. After all, he was trying to get to sleep quickly. For the first time in years, he wasn't cursing his abilities for not allowing him to rest properly. Now, he felt grateful for them, that they allowed him to experience these moments, moments where he could be safe and at peace. He hurried into his bed, pulled his duvet up, allowing himself to get comfortable, and closed his eyes.

Sleep could not possibly come fast enough.
coded by reveriee.
 






VERA & VINCENT




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Blood//Water



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It was like any other night at the casino. The warm lights, sound of glasses clinking as guests toasted each other, offering well wishes for victory, though hardly any of them meant it. The hum of the crowd surrounded him as he weaved his way through, ducking under and around as needed, not wanting to bump into anyone. Vincent didn’t dare risk dirtying his precious uniform. He’d spent a lot of time perfecting it, after all.

He had an image to maintain after all. He was the Head of Security. Something he was actually very proud of. And to think, his mother used to yell at him in drunken rages about how he’d never amount to anything. He was doing quite well for himself, thank you very much. Stupid dead woman…

Clearing his throat, Vincent tipped his head in acknowledgement at the server as he passed, before returning to scanning the crowd. He’d gotten word that someone might have been looking to push their luck, and unfortunately for them, that was just not allowed.

He recognized a few guests, some of them being regulars, and of course there were plenty of newbies, and others that were just plain ol’ unimportant. There were plenty of those around. Despite just barely being off to the side of the main room, Vincent had a small circle of space to himself which he used to his advantage, spinning slowly in circles, eyes sharp as the tail end of his clothing spun around him.

Aha.

There he was. Little rat must have believed that a nose job and a bit of makeup could fool them? He wanted to laugh.

His target acquired, he strode forward, crossing the room in a matter of seconds. Coming up behind the weasel of a man who thought he could get away with pulling one over on them and then dare to come back, Vincent was more than excited for what was surely to come. Laying his hands down on the man’s shoulders, he leaned over him, hunching down so his mouth hovered next to his ear.

”Now darling…” he purred, a dangerous grin on his face. ”Did coming back really seem like the best idea after everything? Let’s take a walk shall we?” he laughed, a low chuckle, rumbling deep in his chest. Tightening his grip on the man, he pulled up on his shoulders, a clear indication of what he wanted. His eyes sparkled with mirth as he could see the sweat forming on his brow, the scent of fear growing stronger as the man gulped, already gaining an idea of what fate waited for him.

Oh yes. This was definitely going to be fun.

”Forgive me gentlemen, but I need to borrow your friend here. Carry on~” he grinned, his tone light as he smiled apologetically at the rest of the group. As the man stood, Vincent wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him tightly to his side before lowering his voice again. ”You on the other hand…well, let’s just say that someone’s excited to meet you~” he laughed though it almost seemed closer to a giggle.

”Let’s go see the boss, shall we?”

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The Wildcard Mirage Casino… an underground casino that often operated on carefully orchestrated dances of chaos and control. Deeply nestled beneath the Outskirts of Sentinel City, it was only accessible only through a series of hidden passages amongst the sewers only known by the most elite gamblers and criminals alike. Its dimly lit atmosphere added to the allure. The air was cut from the outside, every opening covered by red velvet curtain as freshly pure oxygen pumped from various hidden spots within the sewer walls to keep the company she had up and playing. The smoke air carries the smell of alcohol, sweat and adrenaline. The sound of shuffling cards, spinning roulette wheels and occasional outbursts of laughter and frustrations echoes through the sprawling and secluded place.

In her office, Wildcard was overseeing everything unfold like a queen surveying her kingdom.

Her office was a stark contrast from the chaos and ambiance outside in the main field. A small room at the end of the main sewer tunnel that was dim and intimate. Draped with crimson velvet, a large mahogany desk in the center, meticulously organized with several decks of cards at hands that find themselves in her hands, absentmindedly. Soft, jazz-like music hummed in the background, the air thick with the scent of gasoline. A peculiar comfort for her. A comfort she was desperately seeking tonight.

Seated back in her leather chair, her cherry-stained lips pursed in a playful smirk, watching the casino’s security feeds on several wall-mounted monitors. Tapping her fingers against her desk, the prosthetic glove on her left hand made a soft, yet barely audible sound as her eyes flickered across the screen in attempts to effortlessly read the room well. Her attention always went to the faces. Regular faces, new faces, others who love to visit the high-stakes section and often made it on her hit list. Yes. The hit list of gamblers who owed Wildcard a lot of money. Money she won’t refuse to keep out of her reach if it belonged to her, no?

Every now and then, her lips twitched into a wicked smile, watching player frustrations grow and unfold knowing fully well that the house always wins.

As much as she enjoyed watching everything unfold, there seemed to be an unusual weight pressing down her endlessly working mind. She had an inkling something was off, gnawing at her in a way she has not felt in a long time. Perhaps it was the creeping paranoia. The ever-present whisper in the back of her head reminding her that she will never be trusted. Painted as a betrayer like her rubbish of a parents were. A haunting feeling that the Red Court could off her like they assigned her to eliminate them. It has been two years since Vera stepped down the mantle of Assistant Leader of the Red Court. Ever since him. Ever since he was lost. She stepped down to care for her treasured possession. The Casino. It did not mean she was a traitor but simply present. It had crushed her in ways she never thought was possible. In ways she never thought she would feel.

Her mood darkened as her fingers started to fidget, shuffling the metal deck of cards in her hands faster and faster, movements sharp and precise. But it wasn’t enough. Her breath hitched slightly, and the subtle irritation buzzing beneath her skin began to flare into something more. With a sharp exhale, she pushes herself up from her desk, pacing like a caged animal, her eyes flicking from the monitor to monitor displaying the casino floor to the set of knives displayed on the wall. She’s barely aware of her hands tightening into fists, her nails digging into her palms. The darkness swirling inside her needs an outlet.

Just as she was about to entertain herself in self indulgent pain, reaching for the set of knives, her attention was caught at a familiar sight. A familiar figure caught her attention like he always did. Vincent. His sharp, tailored uniform glowing in dim lights as his movements cut through the crowd like a knife. There was something oddly comforting about seeing that bee line to something. No, someone. His presence has been a steady constant in the world she built. He was efficient, deadly when (or more) than necessary and most important of them all - he was loyal. He never disappointed.

Walking towards the monitor, she saw it. The reason Vincent has that familiar glint in his eye. The glint where he wanted to toy with his prey before attacking. She knew because she mirrored it. She was mirroring it right this moment.

She saw a face she had not seen in weeks. A Level 3. A rat who dared to cross her, skip out his debt and worse… believe he could get away with it? Unnoticed? With nothing more than a bit of cosmetic tweaks to the facade? It caused a maniacal laugh to rumble aloud from her.

A low growl bubbled in Vera's throat, her fingers tightening around the deck of cards until they bent slightly under her grip, even cutting through her skin without a mere flinch. How many times had she warned her patrons? How many examples had she made, leaving the unfortunate souls who betrayed her out for the others to see, Joker cards kissed with her blood-red lips resting on their lifeless bodies?

But there he was. The audacity. The insult.

Her blood boiled. For a brief moment, she considered storming out onto the floor herself. Letting her rage loose in the most visceral way. But no… no, she was too composed for that. It would be too easy. She would savor this, draw it out like one of her beloved games of chance. She let out a slow breath, forcing the anger to simmer just beneath the surface, not allowing it to take over entirely. Instead, she kept her eyes glued to the monitor, watching Vincent approach the man, calm and poised as ever, his wolfish grin appearing on the camera feed.

“Good boy,”
she whispered to herself as she watched Vincent's fingers curl around the man's shoulders, his head dipping down to purr something into the fool’s ear. The man's shoulders tensed, the shift in his body language telling Vera all she needed to know. He knew exactly what was coming for him. The anger she’d felt moments before cooled into something sharper. Excitement.

Vera stood, the cards slipping from her hand and scattering across the table. Her heels clicked on the polished floor as she moved towards the edge of her mahogany desk, leaning on it. The Joker card already in hand, twirling between her fingers. It was time to play her part.

Her heart thrummed with a familiar thrill; the rush of control, power, violence coiling tightly within as she heard the shuffling of footsteps inching closer. The door opened with the most dramatic creek she had yet to hear that almost made her chuckle. A subtle knock for courtesy’s sake was followed as she noticed her Head of Security with the smuggest of grins, beside him the man who made the unforgivable mistake returning to her casino, sweating like a pig in search of an escape route.

Only there was none.

“Well, well, well,”
her voice was silky and dangerous. Each word dripping with disdain disguised by foolish mockery.
“Look who decided to crawl back in the gutters, does the mouse want to play?”
she followed as the man stammered, words barely audible. Pathetic.

vtCsXBe.png

Within this illicit ring of games, debts weren’t taken lightly. There was no room for leniency in a place where fortunes are won and lost at the bat of an eye. Those who failed to pay what was owed to the casino faced a series of escalating consequences, each level a grim reminder of how far they had fallen into the depths of Wildcard’s twisted world. No sympathy for the weak, the failure. Her rules were clear and punishments even more. No second chances for when that threshold is crossed. Her contingency plan consisted of three clear levels.

Level 1: A slap on the wrist - figuratively speaking of course. Those who fell in minor debts, Vera was... merciful, at least by her standards. These were the gamblers who owed small amounts or missed a single payment due to bad luck, inexperience, or foolish bravado. Vera recognized that fear could be a powerful motivator, and she enjoyed reminding her patrons of the precarious line they walked when they played in her world.

The punishment for these offenses was more psychological than physical, but it always left a lasting impression. Vera would invite the debtor to her office; an invitation that came with an unmistakable weight of foreboding. Inside, they would find her seated casually, a deck of cards in hand, her eyes alight with a mischievous yet unsettling gleam. She would make them sit across from her, silently shuffling her cards as tension filled the air. Then, without warning, she’d slam her hand down on the table, leaning in close, her smile sharp as a blade. There were no threats made, at least not averted ones. Instead, Vera would toy with the gambler, talking in circles, casually mentioning horror stories of people who had once stood where they were sitting now and what had happened to them when they failed to pay their debts.

Level 2: Banishment till debt be paid. With debts growing larger, ignoring her or her worker’s warnings, came larger consequences. Vera made it clear they were no longer welcome in her casino until the debt was paid in full. No gambling, no entry, no exceptions. The only way they could get back through the door was by clearing their tab.

But simply being banned wasn’t enough of a punishment in Vera’s eyes. She enjoyed twisting the knife, making sure they knew just how much they had lost. Vera would send her enforcers, Vincent often among them, directly to the debtor’s home or workplace. There, they would deliver a formal “invitation” from Wildcard, summoning them to a meeting. If they refused, her enforcers would drag them to her office anyway, where Vera herself would deliver the news in person. Once again, she’d make them sit across from her, but this time, her demeanor would be icier, her smile more predatory. She’d remind them how their gambling addiction had cost them access to one of the most exclusive circles in the underground, and she’d lay out exactly how much they owed, down to the last coin. Then, she’d deliver the final blow; her voice was like a whip, each word cutting deeper than the last.

Level 3: If you show your face unannounced… well. For those foolish enough to show their faces after being banned without settling their debt, Vera’s mercy disappeared entirely. At this level, debt wasn’t just about money anymore. It was a matter of principle, loyalty, and fear. You didn’t cross Vera Bryant twice and walk away.

The punishment for a Level 3 offense was simple: payment in blood. Vera would orchestrate their demise with a terrifying level of precision and creativity, making their death as slow and painful as possible. She liked to have fun with it. The act of killing was never quick or clean. It was a twisted, macabre performance that Vera relished.

***TW: BRIEF MENTION OF TORTURE METHODS***

First, the debtor would be captured and dragged into her office - by force if necessary. Case in point. Once inside, Vera would take her time toying with them, circling like a predator sizing up its prey. She might start by mocking them, drawing out their fear, making them beg for mercy even though they both knew none would be given. From there, the real fun would begin. Vera had countless methods of making them suffer, each one more creative than the last. Sometimes, she would string them up in her private backroom, using tools designed for one purpose: pain. She might carve messages into their skin; reminders of their debt, of their betrayal before she finally ended their life.

Other times, she’d force them to play a final game. A deadly version of the casino games they once gambled with, where every lost hand meant another piece of them would be taken away, whether that be a finger, an eye, or their life itself. In the end, it didn’t matter how much they begged or pleaded. Vera never let them walk out alive. Once the debtor had been disposed of, Vera would make sure they were sent off with her signature flourish: a Joker card, kissed with her cherry-red lips, left on the body as her calling card. A warning to anyone else who might think of crossing her or her casino.

***TW END***

Speaking of which, time for the fun to begin…

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Vera let out a soft, dark laugh, her fingers tracing the edge of the Joker card in her hand.
"Did you think I’d forget?"
Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried the weight of a thousand threats.
"Or were you hoping I’d be merciful?"


She stepped forward, her eyes gleaming with cruel amusement.
"You know what happens to rats who show up after they've been exiled, don’t you?"
Her prosthetic fingers lifted his chin with a gentle nudge, forcing him to look at her.
"You pay your debt; with your blood."


The man’s knees buckled slightly, but Vincent held him steady, the grin on his face widening at the sight of his fear.

Vera tilted her head, studying the man as if deciding how best to begin. There were so many ways to make him suffer, so many delightful possibilities. Her lips curved into a smile as she pressed the Joker card to her lips, leaving her signature cherry-red mark on its surface.
"You had your chance to leave quietly. Now you’re ours,”
and with that, Vera turned back to her desk, signaling for Vincent to take him to sit him down. The game was over, and now, it was time for the real fun to begin.

Having guided the man to his seat, his teeth on full display as he grinned. Sharing a look with his boss, he couldn’t wait for the fun to begin. It had been a while since a level three had dared to show their face, meaning it had been a while since he could play with someone like this.

”Why so shy now?” he hummed, tilting his head. ”You were so happy earlier, playing with those men…But now you’re trembling like a little mouse in a trap.” he trailed a finger across the back of the man’s shoulders, smirking at the flinch he received in response.

”Oh, poor baby…don’t be scared.” he purred. ”We’re just going to have a little fun.”

Her wicked laugh radiated her office once more at her employee’s words.
“And we do love playing games for fun. The question remains, are you willing to play?”
The man, now seated before Vera, trembled uncontrollably, his once-arrogant posture reduced to a cowering mess. His wide, terrified eyes flickered between the two of them, searching for mercy, but finding only cruel amusement.

The man’s palpable fear was relishing. She could feel Vincent’s excitement emanating from him, his eagerness to unleash whatever sick game he had in mind. But Vera was in no rush. She wanted to savor this. To let it stretch out.

“Shy, indeed,”
Vera murmured, her voice low and sultry, barely louder than a whisper but enough to make the man’s breath hitch. Her eyes turned swirls as he started to feel him getting disoriented, inducing the slight feeling of nausea generated by the fear before letting it go…
“It’s almost like you didn’t plan this far ahead, darling.”


She stepped forward, her heels clicking rhythmically on the polished floor, each step heightening the tension in the room as she went behind the two men, to her desk, grabbing the metal cards at hand. Keeping the tension high. She stood just behind him now, watching as Vincent continued to play his part, circling the man like a predator toying with its prey.

***TW: MINOR SKIN PIERCING, MENTION OF BLOOD***

“And if I were you, I’d think fast,”
she let out in a sing-song voice before hurling forth the metal cards towards the two men, mainly aiming at the target. Her and Vince loved bloodplay so a little scraps won’t hurt him if accidentally hit. The metal edges sliced whatever flesh they hit on the man. His neck, his arms, his cheeks… all enough to let the scarlet liquid drip down from the ripped flesh caused by the deck. It was enough for her beloved companion to enjoy the catch.

The familiar slide of red liquid going down his cheek was always a euphoric experience. Here they were, punishing a rat and he was getting a reward. Truly, Vera was too good to him. Sticking his tongue out, bringing the blood into his mouth, Vincent couldn’t help the hum that escaped him. He was getting impatient.

***TW END***

The rat was shaking, stammering out excuses, and…was that?

’P-please…! S-spare me, I-I was wrong….ne-never again…! M-mercy!’

The man’s pitiful cries echoed through the room, his voice weak and broken, each word trembling with terror. Her lips curled into a subtle smirk as she observed her head of security, her playmate, so thoroughly enjoying himself. Mercy. What a ridiculous concept. Here, in her casino, mercy was a myth; one that desperate men like the one before her clung to in their final moments. As if begging could undo their mistakes, as if pleading could erase their debts.

”Mercy?” he purred, stopping his prowl. With a sigh, an indulgent smile creeping across his features as he reached out a hand to cup the man’s bloody cheek. ”What a cute little idea…Too bad there’s no such thing as mercy here.” he cooed, giving his face a heavy pat, grin sharpening at the whimper it brought forth. ”Isn’t that right, boss?”

"He wants mercy… Ah he’s hilarious. I thought my imagination was running wild,"
she echoed softly with a little laugh, her voice carrying a hint of amusement as she spoke more to herself than anyone else as she made her way just behind the captor opposing Vincent.
"Oh, darling. You should’ve thought of that before deciding to infiltrate my place with your filthy presence,"
she threatened as she spat on the man’s face from above as an answer to Vincent’s quip and loving pat to the man’s face. Her eyes looked at Vincent with a sharp glare. A glare that only meant one thing; ‘Finish him.’.

A quick glance over his shoulder to share a confirmation with the blonde was all it took for Vincent to understand. Play time was over.

***TW: TORTURE SCENE, BLOOD, DEATH***

Without turning his head, he let himself connect to the blood slowly dripping from their captive. He let the feeling of his connection wash over him as he commanded it to escape faster. To pour from his small wounds at a rate that shouldn’t have been physically possible. It was like he could feel it washing over his own skin, despite the fact that he had next to none covering him. The little cut on his cheek was nothing to the feeling of this man’s blood pouring down his face, neck, and arms. It was as close to heaven as Vincent ever imagined he could get.

Vera leaned forward slightly, arms resting on the back of the chair the rat was sitting on, her chin cradled on top of the rat’s head, feeling him shake underneath her, making her adrenaline rush as she soothed the poor soul with a mocking tone. She watched, fascinated, as Vincent began to manipulate the blood from the man’s wounds, letting it flow unnaturally fast. She loved watching Vincent when he was like this; his focus, his delight. It was artistry, really.

The man’s whimpering grew louder, his panic intensifying as he realized the blood pouring from him was no accident.
"Shh shh, you don’t realize how beautiful you look right now,"
Vera murmured, more to herself, her voice barely above a whisper as she continued grinning like a fool, turned on by the sight, nonetheless.. The sight of crimson against pale, terrified skin - it was mesmerizing. A sharp contrast between the life he was losing and the death waiting to claim him.

But unfortunately, all good things must come to an end.

”Game over.” he murmured.

With a twitch of his hand, it was done. The blood solidified in an instant, turning into a beautiful crystalized red, shining despite the low light. The man’s whimpers began to increase in pitch as he felt his own blood begin to cover and harden against his skin, his terror causing him to lose control of facilities as he tried to scream and plead further for his life. Vincent frowned, his brow furrowing as the noise began to intrude on his euphoria. That certainly wouldn’t do. A slight tilt to his head and the blood moved to cover his mouth, creating a beautiful gag with a color that gave tribute to the finest of rubies.

He snapped his fingers.

Right where the man’s mouth had been was a pointed spear, impaling him from the back of his neck and through his mouth. Vincent turned at the last moment, laughing as he watched the life drain from his wet eyes, watching as a tear managed to escape, falling gently down his cheek as his shaking came to a halt.

***TW END***

For a brief moment, the room was still, the tension hanging in the air like smoke. And then, Vincent laughed, his voice light and carefree, the contrast to the scene before them so jarring it nearly made Vera chuckle as well.

”What a beautiful picture…”

Vera couldn’t help but agree. It was beautiful. This perfect display of her power, her ruthlessness. And Vincent, ever the artist, had painted the scene just as she liked it. Just as she desired it even.

“Exquisite,”
Vera purred, still standing behind the now lifeless body. She ran a finger across the edge of the crystallized blood, admiring how the light caught the ruby-red hue. Her lips brushed into a faint, satisfied smile as her finger now collected the teardrop on her index.
"I think this will serve as a lovely reminder, don’t you think?"


Vera’s smile widened, her gaze lingering on the man’s lifeless form one last time before she turned back to Vincent.
“Dispose of him. And make sure it’s public. I want everyone to know what happens when you cross me,”
the owner stated before motioning towards her partner with quite a glint of wanted desire in her eyes.

She came to a stop just inches from him, tilting her head up slightly to meet his gaze. Slowly, with deliberate sensuality, she leaned in closer, her breath warm against his skin as she both hands cupped his cheeks, her thumb wiping the warm liquid from his cheeks - her eyes lingering on the splattered trails that covered both their faces.

“But before,”
the female leaned up closer as she closed the distance between their lips into a tender kiss they often shared after exterminating pests from the building in their twisted game of tortured fun. Her tongue trailed along his lips to capture the sharp iron taste that was coating his lips before parting with her wicked grin,
“I think the rat can wait a little bit more before we tend to business. It’s not like he is in a hurry to get somewhere else… oh wait…”
she joked on purpose accompanied by a hearty chuckle.

Vera took the card that was in her hands all this time and placed it in the corpse blazer’s front pocket, sticking out like a handkerchief would be. Couldn’t have a master piece finished without the artists endorsing it with their signature, no?

With that she happily made her way back to her chair, beckoning her partner towards her with a single motion of a finger. Without hesitation, Vincent dropped to his knees, his eyes never leaving hers as he began to crawl toward her like the obedient guard dog he was. Each movement was slow and deliberate, savoring the submission he willingly offered to her, his loyalty absolute. His grin remained in place, betraying just how much he enjoyed this ritual between them. How the act of submission only heightened his anticipation for the pleasure to come.

Reaching Vera’s side, he paused, head slightly bowed as if waiting for her to give him permission to rise as part of their roleplaying ritual if nothing more. But even in this position of supposed humility, there was something feral about him, his posture tense with barely contained energy, his devotion to her palpable much like hers was to him ever since they swore an oath to one another. Mutual agreement.

"Always at your disposal, Vera," he murmured, his voice a low, hungry growl. His grin widened, the playful flicker in his eyes betraying the eagerness behind his controlled demeanor, "Your loyal guard dog, ready to serve."

“Without a doubt, Vincent,”
she whispered, as she felt him lean forward, letting his lips rest against her leg for a brief moment, the gesture an odd mixture of reverence and hunger. When he finally raised his gaze to meet hers again, his lips hovered just inches from the skin of her neck as he proceeded to level with her as her features went from commanding to enduring with the snap of a finger.

"Shall we… celebrate?" he whispered, his voice thick with anticipation as his hands came to rest lightly on her legs, awaiting her command with a palpable eagerness, "I’m yours."

***Scene fades to black***

Those words were all it took for them to end in a rather well deserved celebration for the extermination of another rat who decided to one-up Wildcard.





♡coded by uxie♡
 






kaycee park




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onerepublic



sunshine








Step One. Wake up and get ready for the day. Quick and easy! An easy check off for his to-do list.

It never took Kaycee long to wake up and get ready for the day, and thankfully that was true on today of all days. It was a very Big and Important Day, and absolutely nothing was allowed to go wrong! Not that it would, but Kaycee liked to believe in positive thinking and manifesting good things for himself. It certainly couldn't hurt!

Having woken soon after the sun, the blonde was quick to dart to the bathroom after double checking the time on his phone. Getting dressed soon followed, and then, it would be time for Step Two.

One would think that for something as Big and Important as today, that Kaycee would be putting his all into looking extremely professional and put together. But no. Not this guy. He wholly believed in making a good impression, yes, however, he also believed in being true to himself. And that is something that he'd never betray. So why would he bother dressing in a way that was only going to make him uncomfortable? If you asked his parents, they'd probably say he should be wearing more formal or at least professional office wear. In fact, most would probably suggest such attire, but that just wasn't his style. And he wasn't about to change.

Now dressed, Step Two could officially commence.

Breakfast!

Not one to be too picky, he poured some cereal in a bowl, filling it with some milk before hurriedly stuffing his face. Not even wasting a moment by taking a seat at the small table in his little kitchenette, Kaycee hurried to get Step Three underway.

Swallowing his last mouthful and draining the bowl of the leftover milk, he placed them in the sink before grabbing his messenger bag off the back of a chair and darted for the door to his apartment. Slipping the strap over his head and onto his shoulder, he held it in a tight grip as he jogged down the stairs, taking them a few at a time. He wasn't late by any means, but an excited Kaycee was an energetic and early Kaycee. And as they say, the early bird gets the worm and all that.

Step Three had officially begun!

Arrive to his first day of work at Romera Technologies!

The blonde had just moved to the city upon receiving his acceptance to work at the famed Romera Tech, and he couldn't have been more excited. The entire time he spent moving, he was sure he probably drove his friends nuts - he should probably treat them to dinner or something. That would be the polite thing to do at least.

Making his way down the street, he was practically vibrating with excitement. He'd done so much research before he'd applied and the more he learned, the more his excitement and desire to work at such a company grew. The thought of being part of something as amazing as RoTech, and having a hand in their research was practically a dream come true. So to the blonde, having achieved what could basically be his dream, it felt like he was walking on a cloud. Nothing, absolutely nothing could bring him down!

"Morning!"
he called, darting between residents of his apartment building as he hurried to slip out the door before it closed. He just couldn't wait to start this new chapter of his life.

Practically bouncing down the street like he was powered by batteries, it took barely any time for Kaycee to reach the large building of his dreams. The commute that would normally take him ten to fifteen minutes most likely had been cut down to five in his frenzied state. Staring up at the building with hope and determination in his eyes, he took a deep breath, nodding to himself before making his way inside.

Clearly, this was going to be the best time of his life, by far.





♡coded by uxie♡
 
















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nine lives

 
mood :
wtf is wrong with my brain

location :
soto headquarters -> apartment
outfit :
mentions :
Cassandra

interactions :
none, thank god
Pierce
;; Audrey
CW: Audrey's mind is messed up bc of her powers- may be stressful, may somewhat resemble a panic attack, mention of death of parent, description of migraine, use of painkillers (appropriate medical use, but putting this here just in case)

Audrey had helped with the arrests of five people in the last 48 hours. Five days ago at 8:36AM the man in front of her tripped over his left shoelace. He was wearing lime green shoes. Ugly things. One lime can provide 32 percent of the vitamin c needed in a day. The average human adult has 32 teeth. 32 teeth. Her childhood dentist always scraped her teeth in a way that gave her a headache. Doctor Alisson Mitchell never seemed to care about her patients. Never gonna give you up. Never gonna let you down. Never gonna run around and desert you. Never gonna make you cry. Never gonna say goodbye. Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you. Rick Astley's "Never Gonna Give You Up" was released July 27, 1987. The first Starbucks in Canada opened on March 1, 1987. Starbucks in Canada, 1987. Vanilla latte with almond milk. Mia Pierce's coffee order. Mia Pierce. Her adoptive mother. She died six years ago. When Audrey was told, she was in so much pain, she felt like her body was burning. She remembered exactly how it felt. She could feel it now. It hurt. It hurt a lot. Now her heart felt like it was being torn apart. The average human heart beats around 100,000 times a day. The average human heart beats around 100,000 times a day. The average human heart beats around 100,000 times a day. The average human heart beats around 100,000 times a day. The average human heart beats around 100,000 times a day.

And she was back. She'd successfully wrangled her overflowing memories and gained control of her mind. Focusing on one thought generally worked to bring her back to reality. Audrey had been experiencing these episodes for a long time now, since her abilities began manifesting. They were difficult to get ahold of at first, and usually left her in tears as a kid. But now she was used to it. She knew how to manage her mind better. The episodes were even happening less and less as she got older, she hoped that one day she wouldn't experience them at all.

Although they were now easier to control, her episodes still took a toll on her. She felt her heart racing, she would likely be surpassing the number of average human heartbeats today. Plus, the migraines that occurred in her day to day life were exceptionally persistent after these episodes. She shut her eyes tightly as she felt her head throb, taking a deep breath. She opened her eyes and reached into a desk drawer, pulling out a bottle of painkillers. She placed one in her mouth, taking a swig of water from the glass on her desk to wash it down. Screwing her eyes shut once more she leaned her head back and sighed. Then, she leaned forward, lying her head on her desk for a few minutes.

Sometimes she wished she could just put her abilities on pause. Thinking like a normal person would be such a relief. But, it didn't work like that. And ultimately, she liked knowing that she always knew more than other people.

She checked the time on her TekPad. An hour and forty-two minutes until she was supposed to be off work. But really, what would be done in that time anyway? Non-urgent paperwork and files sat on Audrey's desk. Nothing that couldn't wait until tomorrow. She doubted anyone would even notice if she slipped out early. And if they did, they probably wouldn't care. The only person that would was Cassandra, and Audrey didn't give a fuck if that woman chewed her out over something as simple as leaving a little early. If she did, she needed to find something better to do with her life.

Mind made up, Audrey got up from her desk. She put on her blazer and grabbed her work bag before exiting her office. She walked through the halls of SOTO's headquarters with a look that screamed, "don't you dare talk to me, I have somewhere better to be." And no one stopped her. If they did, they would have had to face a beast, her naturally present attitude coupled with a bad mood from her migraine would not be fun for anyone around her.

She didn't want anyone to be around her. She made a beeline for her car and headed straight to her apartment, where she'd be alone. She'd been alone for a long time. That's how Audrey liked it really. As a child, she never had many friends. Other kids picked on her often. She honestly didn't blame them, she knew she was a bit of a bitch. But that's how she liked to live her life. Even now that she'd found friends that could withstand her know-it-all nature, she never let them get too close. People always ended up disappointing her or betraying her in some way, and if they didn't disappoint her... death was inevitable. She didn't want to deal with the pain that came from losing people. It just... didn't feel worth it.

Coming home to an empty, quiet apartment was a relief to Audrey. She could relax, have more control over the information that was coming to her. She slipped out of her shoes and blazer, getting more comfortable. She went to her kitchen and got a spoon and some chocolate ice cream from her freezer. Then, she headed to the living room to crash on the couch and watch something. She found some random documentary on bird migration and put it on. She knew she'd probably end up getting bored and doing something very much not normal later, test the boundaries of the universe. But for now... she'd have a normal person's night in.
coded by reveriee.
 

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