@someotherdog // soap x ingrid // original ( x )

It could be our destruction too, though.

And it very well could be.

We could still back out.

And they very well could.

But the expanse behind him was emptying, and it would be empty soon. The little food supply they had in their quadrant wouldn't last them more than a week, maybe two, if they rationed to the extreme. The power was practically limitless when put in the context of the duration of their survival. In other words, the lights and the bits and the electronic hums would definitely outlive them. If he could only tell her what he saw when he woke up and surveyed the area—the emptied, not empty cot—then maybe she would want to move forward, move away, as much as he did.

Soap decided to only nod, eyes flitting to the panel. Its interface of lines thrummed delicately, anticipating Ingrid's next movement.

When she did place her hand on it, the interface faded to white, now reading 'AUTHORIZING...' and blinking every so often. He half-wondered what would have happened if he did this when he first woke up. Would the entrance bot even recognize the map of his palm?

There was a hiss.

Then, that same artificial voice: "Access granted. Have a nice day, Ms. Sergeant."

The gargantuan white doors leading into the main bay groaned, as if they were a giant waking up after a long slumber. After a moment, they slid to one side, unveiling a dark chasm. There was no telling yet whether the main bay was empty, or emptied.

In a regular instance the main bay would be teeming with life, ship crew members moving about each quadrant checking on sleeping passengers. In the past there wouldn't be many members up, but that was before space travel was perfected and big wigs found out a way to bend time. To no longer need to put everyone in cryosleep for the length of the trip because they'd be there in a couple of weeks' time. Passengers were only under because for them, it was less about the journey and more about the destination. Ingrid and Soap didn't need to be awake, so they had the luxury of sleeping.

In his line of sight there was, first, a source of light coming from the left. He wasn't sure what it was, but it reflected on the dark steel interiors of the main bay, from the grates to the panels to the hard seating closer to the center of the bay. They must have opted for the opposite of the quadrants' stark white appearance because of the second source of light coming from above. Soap didn't stick his head in yet, but he just knew: There was a large, round window overhead that gave the main bay a glimpse of the space that surrounded them.

From experience, Soap also knew: When they were near a star, it felt like daytime. When they were traveling in nothingness, it felt like nighttime, and that's when the entire ship went to sleep. When they were near a moon, it was an in-between; a transitory part of day when all was quiet on the ship but no one was resting, except for the passengers.

Stepping out into nothing, Soap held his rifle firmly. It was the same thing as moving out with the squad on any other mission, except this time he was alone and he was the leader, not lingering behind. The weight of being at the front felt like a rock in his throat, but he wasn't scared. He just bore the responsibility.

He tried to map out, in his mind, just how big the main bay was. After days of sleep that memory of his was cloudy. It frustrated him. They had crossed enough of the bay, Soap silent, to see the source of light he'd noticed earlier on the left. It was a large, thick, snake-like cord dangling from the ceiling. Maybe at one point it was wiggling with life and electricity but now, it hung lifeless. It was cut in half, its fraying ends drooping onto the floor, a puddle of grease forming underneath it. Its ends dripped, perhaps once every five seconds like a leaky faucet, into the puddle. Every now and then it zapped with light as if a moth or fly had flown into it and became its prey.

"Don't touch it."

Suddenly a gurgling sound—as if someone was choking on something—came from behind them, interrupting the silence. Soap snapped around, holding his rifle up to the sound, which grew louder and louder as the seconds passed. And eventually, it sounded as if this something was choking on something thick, maybe their own blood, a material that could elicit a warbled gurgling. It wasn't hollow like the sound of someone choking on water or maybe being choked by an arm.

Its footsteps were equally wet. Slow and yet, purposeful. Walking towards them. Soap's grip on his gun and finger on the trigger were ready. The light from the sagging cord flashed. Then darkness. A flash. Then darkness.

A moment later the light gave way to a horrific vision: a human-like body with bones that seemed to outgrow its own shape. Mangled toes stuck out of its legs where its shins would be and in place of its feet were talon-shaped branches of bloated flesh. Then darkness. A flash. Its arms were no longer arms but instead resembled scythes, pointed right at Soap and Ingrid. They were covered in blood. Then darkness. A flash. Its face, was shifted where its right shoulder should be, leaving a headless neck bone fragmented and sprouting out of a 7-foot torso.

It seemed to have seen them. That was when its footsteps grew faster and, in place of its gurgling, it let out a shriek. A wretched screech that, at the same time, felt strained. At once it sounded like someone calling for help and someone wanting to rip them to pieces. Soap didn't want to wait to find out.

"Stay behind me!" he hollered to Ingrid as he fired a round into the creature's torso. When that didn't seem to stop it or even make it stumble in the slightest, Soap started walking backwards, not daring to take his eyes off it. He shot at the creature's feet, and there, the mutated tissue and weak cartilage blew off. The creature fell on its stomach on the floor and crawled at them, slowing down. They were almost backed into a corner now, but at this distance Soap had a clear view of the creature's head. He shot at its face, its blood splattering all over the floor. It slowed down almost completely, and from it came this rancid smell of rotten, rotting flesh.

Not wanting to waste another bullet, Soap dared to take a step closer. If only to see this thing up close. He brought his boot down roughly on the creature's skull and it squished under his sole. Its spine, exposed where its head was supposed to be, twitched ever so slightly.

Then it died.

jokethur asked: ❝ that's not the worst thing i've ever heard but it's certainly up there. ❞

one might argue that the way barton huffed through his nostrils in a wry sense of disbelief at what he heard come out of the other's mouth, rather than at the terrible thing that was just said through his own lips without an ounce of shame, told you everything you needed to know about him; that he was a brutal and very unfeeling person. but honestly, even if those things were the least bit true, barton thought... he was only saying what everyone would be thinking in their heads if they knew what was really going on behind the scenes. they just wouldn't want to say it aloud for one reason or another, whether that was due to the fear of being ostracized by their peers, or frowned down upon by society as a whole. kind of like how he was currently by the man standing beside him.

barton took a long drag out of his cigarette and averted his gaze from one of the big, bright displays that decorated the skyline to meet the others eyes. the displays were showcasing what looked like the latest news: and that was what barton seemingly was making a comment on, as the death of a cop that was rather infamous for being a ' pinnacle of kindness and care to their community ' was the main headline for that day. except that man was everything but in reality. it was just so rich to be seeing him regarded as some fantastic guy, when barton knew for a fact that he was a sleazeball who he had seen hanging around his old boss, as he was secretly in their pocket and doing their dirty work. and if there was one person that barton held contempt for more than anything... it was the man who used to treat him like he was something less than human. or, less than dirt, actually.

but of course, barton would never tell the gcpd of his corruption because he knew that rainer (you have to put a face to the name for these people) would realize that it was him who'd sold him out. and besides... since when did he have faith in the gcpd, or even like the police? they were all a bunch of pigs to him. so, barton let him continue on with his little game of playing the role of the well-beloved police officer while he was helping people get killed on the side. he rolled his eyes then, ❝ well, if i had known that you were such a big fan of the police, then i likely wouldn't have said anything. but i rest my case: a lot of people do deserve to die, stranger, and he was one of them. so i don't feel sorry for him or his family at all. ❞

barton stated this all in a very matter-of-fact manner, blowing smoke out through his nose from his cigarette before he continued, ❝ i mean, where was this guy if he was so good whenever the city got flooded? i didn't see him among the people who were helping other's whenever everything went to shit. in fact, i bet he was probably sitting in some place really safe and warm whenever it happened, because i knew the real kind of person that he was. a total prick who certainly wasn't the golden boy that the news is trying to make him out to be, ❞ he flicked his cigarette down on the ground and smushed it underneath his boot, successfully putting out the fire on its other end. barton turned to face arthur completely with an unamused look in his eyes.

❝ now, are you done preaching to me about how wrong it is that i said that? you don't really know the first thing about the pig after all. but i do. though you didn't hear that from me, alright? ❞

Closed Starter for @mayarparker Setting: The Morning After *****

This is not his phone.

It's the realization seeping far too slowly through his hungover, mildly dehydrated brain as he sits upright on the sofa where he'd passed out after getting home from yet another eventful night out a few hours ago. Asher blinks the groggy sleep from his eyes, head pounding as he turns the device over in his hand and tries to focus on the details. It's the same model as his phone; similar case, too. But this is not his phone. This is not his phone.

It buzzes again. Asher sits up a little more, pushing the tousled hair from his face as he tries to recall what drunken shenanigans last night might have led to such a predicament. He'd gone to that dive bar a few streets over after work. Not unusual. Shots were 2-for-1 on Thursdays. There was a woman partaking of the same, who had joked she could drink him under the table. That was how it started. Isn't it always? Somehow they had ended up in the bathroom together, and--Oh. His eyes go wide.

Oh...

"Fuck." Asher breathes, wincing as a flush of heat rises to his cheeks. Now he remembers. "Fuckin' Hell..." He feels the telltale churning in his stomach and reaches for the small garbage can he keeps beside the sofa, worried he's about to hurl. He's certain the nausea isn't only from the alcohol; this is not good. What if--were either of them sober enough to consider precautions? He doubts it. Fucking a stranger in a filthy bar bathroom is one thing. It happens. Potentially infecting an innocent woman with lycanthropy is entirely another. He doesn't even know her name. Panic sets in full-force, and Asher doubles over to retch into the garbage bin. There's a moment of clarity in the wake of it. They'd been in such a hurry as they scrambled to grab their things and go; the phones must have gotten mixed up...which means if he has her phone, then she has his.

Asher snatches the woman's phone off the cushion beside him and dials his own number. It rings, and rings, and rings, until finally he hears the receiver pick up the line.

"Hello?? Please don't hang up..."

{Closed starter for @pleinsdemuses.}

Warmth.

That was the first thing he noticed as he was thrust out of the portal leading to a spot somewhere outside the podunk town of Puente Antiguo. It was a strange thing to notice first, made stranger still by the fact that it contrasted so wholly with the frigid temperatures of that Between place that always consumed him between jump points. Portal-hopping was fairly high on the list of things he despised but, as a warning voice in the back of his mind reminded him, it was necessary. He had a mission, after all, and nothing could get in the way of it.

Looking down at himself, the god of mischief realized he was woefully overdressed for his intentions. Cloth tunic, leather pants and armor, a billowing cloak, golden horns. He'd arrived on Earth with all the splendor of an Asgardian Prince and while it was what made him most comfortable and felt the most natural, it was likely to draw too much attention. Then again...

Perhaps that was his way in.

The woman he sought-- that bright spot in the universe for his mad, fool brother, Thor-- would likely be drawn in by someone claiming to be Asgardian and dressed in the finery of that culture. The horns were a bit much, he supposed. He didn't want to frighten the mortal away, after all. So, it was the first to go, squirreled away into that place where all things go that were Hidden and Kept.

Bending to one knee, he spat into his palm and scooped a bit of the red earth beneath him into his moistened palm and mixed the two elements together. He took the first two fingers of his other hand and smeared the substance across his forehead, his right cheek, and down the right side of his neck. With just a touch of magic, the thin layer of mud turned redder until it appeared as blood. Satisfied that this disguise was passable enough for his purposes, he straightened and marched his way towards the little town.

It took less than hour for the first outcropping of buildings to rise against the horizon and less time than that for him to find himself just outside the view of the local diner. As he neared the establishment, he began dragging one leg in the dirt as though limping, stumbling his way through the front door. He looked around in a panic, breathing heavily as he dragged his way to the counter where a shocked server stared at him in confusion.

"Please..." He started, coloring his voice with pain and desperation. "I have to... find Jane." Collapsing onto his knees, he gripped an empty stool at the counter for dear life as one of the patrons ran to his aid. "Jane Foster... tell her..." He groaned weakly, stretching a pathetic hand out toward the server. "Tell her... Thor..." And with that, he collapsed entirely to the floor, eyes rolling into the back of his skull.

The tension from the chase still haven't left xyr shaken body, even though they are in a safe space together for the past few minutes. Back in Father Lucas' home, Micah closely analyzes the being who calls themself the Doctor. Their existence seems to be beyond Human or Supernatural─ ancient and celestial, a significant speck that holds the endless storms and stars of time and space. Micah is fascinated by them, though, finding that xe isn't the first Antigod that they have met, xe can't help but be cautious. Antigods is a covert species. Most beings don't just know. "Who were the first two Antigods that you met?" Micah softly inquires the Doctor, sipping xyr mug of hot chocolate that Father Lucas offered before leaving them alone, a seeking in comfort.

"Again, I deeply apologize about the trouble." The 3D sentient shadows that ran after both the Doctor and xemself before they've stumbled upon each other, Micah soon slaughtering them with xyr swords. Xe notices a quiver of xyr hand in anxiety and sets the mug on the kitchen table, takes a chocolate piece from the tray. The offer still stands for the Doctor if they wish to eat some sweets. "There's been a several months worth of ongoing incident in some countries where these shadows and reflections became sentient and engaged in invasive behaviours to their sources." Since the Doctor isn't a Human, xe can explain these confidential details to them. Xe isn't working with Break Beyond Force anymore, so xe can't always hide anymore.

"Then they became more malicious over time. It's... how that chase happened." Despite the fact that there's so much that xe can do in times like this, guilt bleeds into xyr voice, everywhere. Micah flinches at the burning in xyr eyes and wipes the tears. Xyr Awareness has been blocked so xe wouldn't know their origin out of respect. Yet, now, if the Doctor can sense what xe is, Micah can at least ask @tenfoldrage this.

"If I may ask, Doctor, what are you, exactly?"

// @lultimagoccia starter for you!

                       ✦• · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · •✦

        Ah, the land of the dead. The Underground, as they called it in Shibuya.

A plane of existence in which Reapers possessed superhuman strength and stamina. Where eating and sleeping could be performed on a whim, or never at all. Where functional wings could take any Reaper to the furthest reaches of the city (sky's the limit, baby!).

But now, reincarnated as a regular human, Nywe could no longer enjoy those otherworldly privileges. She was stuck again in a body that needed food and rest to function. A conglomeration of muscles, organs and bones that demanded her constant attention, from the growling of her stomach to her racing thoughts, impulses and nightmares.

        Oh God, the nightmares.

The last Reaper's Game Nywe participated in had been a monumental disaster. One in every two nights she would wake up with a start, her mind reeling from the horrifying things she had witnessed during those endless seven Days. If adjusting to a new body wasn't tiring enough, there was also her hectic life as an exchange student in Shibuya. Soon, Nywe started to lag behind on her studies, unable to keep up no matter how hard she tried. Despair eventually took over, and during a particularly intense moment of crisis Nywe had a epiphany:

        She had to get the hell outta there, and pronto.

So she packed her things, filled all required forms to take a sabbatical year, and embarked on a journey to reconnect with herself. Nywe visited one location after another with no clear goal in mind, until her travels brought her to a pizzeria on the edge of a small town.

Besides its logo, something else drew Nywe's attention: on the front door, there was a ❝ HELP WANTED ❞ sign. Curiosity got the better of her, and she stepped inside without a second thought; maybe she could start a new life far away from a city that threatened to devour her whole. ❝ Hello? ❞ Nywe spoke in a somewhat meek tone. ❝ I would like to apply for a job here—if you're still hiring, that is. ❞

Logical X-Tremes

@emmatriarchy

It had been - quite a time at the Mansion, to be intensely diplomatic.

Genosha. The U-Men. Cassandra Nova. Fantomex. The riot (oh, god, the riot). Whatever in the second, fifth and ninth circles of Hell was going on between Scott, Jean and Emma. And now . . . hmm.

Was this to be the greatest challenge of them all?

A fellow mutant that stood at five foot seven, weighed one hundred and thirty five pounds?

"Sage."

Piece 56371. A section of the pancreas. Quite essential, Emma would end up missing it rather badly if she . . . Hank put down the chunk of diamond flesh with the exact care of a jeweller, his broad shoulders doing their best to settle into the kind of mountain range that could bear the weight of the incoming conversation. He was doing quite an excellent job of hiding it, or so he liked to think, but there was an inhuman glow to his new eyes that would betray the intensity of his - feelings.

"I suppose I should welcome you back to the Mansion. We haven't had a chance to speak since Valencia." Had she run, knowing that he was going to be transcendent with rage, when he woke up with his old teeth swimming in his throat and none of his bones where he had left them the night before? Had she even thought about what it would do to him? Oh, it was well meaning, to be certain, but . . .

. . . Manners, Henry. You can think about wringing her neck all you like so long as you're polite while you do it.

"You've been well, I hope."

LOCATION — Their parent's home in Claret Park.

WHO — Elijah & Cynthia ( @cynthiafalvey ).

The (hopefully) permanent relocation of their youngest son to Providence Peak meant one simple thing for Erica and Rodney Falvey: they could finally try their hand at proper family dinners again. With all of their kids traveling in different directions around the globe — never slowing down, hardly taking a second to breathe — it was easy for Falvey get-togethers to land on the back burner of priorities over the years, save for big holidays like Thanksgiving and Christmas that they’d never dare to miss. Elijah could tell that their mother had been ecstatic about it at first, too, busting out truly unnecessary dishware and cutlery that he was surprised had made it to see the year 2024; their father was ecstatic in his own muted way, spending afternoons in the kitchen making sure that all the food was prepared perfectly for the newfound occasion.

In recent weeks, it turned into a much more casual affair. The shininess of weekly dinners wore off — sometimes, the term looser than usual as it meant pizza and a movie in the living room, where maybe one or two siblings were missing from the equation — and they were allowed to use plastic dishware and cutlery again, but it was still just as rewarding.

This week in particular, Elijah had been the first to arrive with Rhiannon in tow. He’d gotten her settled down for a quick nap in his old bedroom (that they turned into a nursery for her now, funnily enough) before he tried to join his parents in the kitchen, except he’d been shoo’d away by Dad who insisted he wasn’t of any help just standing there. After that, he wandered out to the garden, fiending for a cigarette to pass the time with until one of his other siblings happened to show up — or, well, realistically, Nikolas or Cynthia (he couldn’t count on Reggie to not be last, unless a miracle struck).

Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait long. He’d only been out there for maybe two minutes, tops, until he heard the latch of the gate unhook and he saw his sister pushing through the other side. “Took you long enough!” he chastised teasingly from where he stood on the porch, shaking his head in disapproval like he’d been there forever without company. “Woah, woah, woah — pause.” He sidestepped in front of the screen door, blocking her entrance. “First of all, Dad’s in a mood about the food again, so . . . you know, proceed with caution. He pushed me out of the kitchen for asking him if he put the salt in, which —” He held up both of his hands, as if to say ‘whatever’. “Second of all, have you heard from Reg at all? Do we know if he’s even coming? I brought Rhia as his replacement, just in case.”

@thebadtimewolf has stumbled upon the Lost Doctor...

It was quiet. Eerily quiet. The sort of quiet that rolled through a community with delicate fingers, making note of every crevice, every soul tucked safely away for the night, only to return with biting teeth with little to no warning. That was usually how the story went, he thought to himself, looking out onto the city below. Always when we least expect it.

His dominant hand, the right, fell to the hilt of his sword: one among them would not rest easy tonight, and he had chosen that mantle when he'd decided to guide these primitive people so many centuries ago (How many had passed since that day? He used to know that.)

They'd come far over the years: graduating from shelter in hollowed mountains to brick-and-mortar civilization. Still working on electricity and vaccines, but what was evolution without trial and error? Wasn't that what the Greats all said in that regard? Maybe...but something's wrong. Something he couldn't place.

The old doors and pathways rooting around his head had grown murky and dark, but he remembered basic history and this society he'd nurtured wasn't growing in the right direction. The jagged, angular buildings jutting up into the sky, the blueish-green fire lighting their homes--the language they spoke that didn't quite land as he remembered and the smoky sky swirling above in shades of midnight grey, and that was without listing off the way they'd physically evolved. He'd never met a gallifreyan whose eyes glowed in the dark.

A thin, hard line pressed into his mouth. He mumbled something in his native--sorry, in their native language, climbing down his perch. He dropped to the dusty roads on silent feet, the light armor he wore clacking together like wind chimes after a storm. That's a word for it, he thought bitterly, beginning the trek back to his own quarters. Ah well, he thought, trying as he always did to brush away his concerns. Every great planet underwent a period of hardship, did it not? Maybe he'd just...missed that history lesson.

It was when he'd gotten a couple of yards from his home (new home, current home, it would never be Home) that he stopped; instincts gathered from a life too long settling in. His own eyes scanned his surroundings now, sharp and keen despite the limited light--and then he saw it. A lone figure in the distance. His hand again fell to his hilt, but he didn't draw the blade, not yet. Not until he knew who (or what) he was up against. After all, he may not be the only one out for a stroll this evening (although hadn't he set up a curfew specifically to keep them all safe?)

"Halt," he said cautiously, the word framed in the echo of a northern accent. His step slowed, and a sliver of moonlight passed over him, illuminating his ghostly complexion: hollowed cheeks and dark circles under his eyes…eyes that glowed in the dark, though he'd be the first to deny it. “State your name and business."

cont. @smileduponyou

"Gregory!!!" Craig shouts, looking for his friend out in the rain while it was also dark out. Where could his friend have gone at this hour, specially in such a weather like this? He knew there was someone out there specifically wanting to target Gregory. Surely Gregory didn't go out looking for the guy, has he? No way. Gregory had better things to do, right? Craig also recalled telling the him to stay put for his own safety. He was also lucky to have someone like Christophe at his side, so if something were to happen to Gregory, surely Christophe would help take care of that. Craig hoped that nothing would happen to the two and that they would let Craig and the other members of the law enforcement take care of everything else for them. Craig knew the two could fight back, and he was also aware of the crazy journeys the two had gone on, but Craig couldn't help but feel more uneasy than usual about the entire situation of a specific person targeting his friend, even paying people and sending them to go after Gregory.

Where could that bastard be hiding and what did he want with Gregory? Did Christophe know anything about it? Maybe he should really ask him...

"Gregory!!!" He shouts again, hoping his friend would show up somewhere at least. Once he hears what sounded like a gunshot, Craig couldn't help but worry and panic, hoping his friend had not been involved in that sound of a gunshot. His first instinct was to follow where that sound of the gunshot had come from as it also echoed through, so that's what he did.

As soon as Craig arrived on the scene, he had briefly seen an unknown figure, smiling so sinisterly and soon took off from the scene as if they weren't there for anything. Craig wanted to go after that unknown figure, but his priority was Gregory, who he had found laying on the ground and bleeding.

"No way...!"

Craig's eyes widened, knees dropping to the ground as he listened to his friend's last words, though his last words were him singing a little song so faintly.

"Gregory..." Tears begun to roll from his eyes as he hesitated to pick his friend up. He didn't want to face the reality that his new friend was going to die.

"E-Everything's g-going t-to be okay, Gregory. Stay with me here...!" His voice begins to hiccup as he couldn't hold back on his tears. "You'll be okay. I'll get you help." Finally he picked the blond up, holding him close, only to feel that the other was only getting colder and colder.

"Say something, damn you...!" Once he realizes his friend has stopped breathing, Craig couldn't help but only cry and mourn for his dear friend. They were becoming so close like family. Craig admired and loved him like an older brother. The man was a brave and good leader, even helped him and the other students way back in elementary school start La Resistance to stop the war between South Park and Canada. To see that his brother-figure had gone so soon only broke his heart.

Everything soon faded to black. Craig found himself awake and in his own bed along with Tweek laying beside him, who was also awake now after all the groaning and sudden crying from Craig. Even Tweek has hardly seen ever really his boyfriend shed any tears before, so if Craig shedded any tears then that was concerning for Tweek. Not that he would ever think any different of Craig if he were to cry.

"Is everything okay, Craig? You were groaning and crying in your sleep, even calling for Gregory, so I woke up..." Tweek frowned, lightly trying to wipe his boyfriend's tears away with his thumb. He was aware of the situation about someone trying to assassinate their friend. As far as Tweek knew, there have been people working for somebody that someone who's been targeting Gregory for a while now, and now law enforcement had gotten involved which also included Craig.

Without much of a second thought, Craig forcefully lifted himself up from his bed, despite being so tired, especially since it was the dead of the night.

"I don't know what it is, but something tells me Gregory is in deep danger now, honey. I... I have to go."

Tweek perked himself up from the bed as well. "A-At this hour? S-Should I come too?" Tweek started to tremble at the thought of their friend being in deep danger, but soon he forcefully tries to shake off his feeling of anxiety, and he couldn't help but raise concern that Craig could possibly be in danger too if he were to go alone.

Craig shook his head. "Better for you to stay than to go with me. Who knows what trouble could be out there and I can't get you involved in it too." Craig couldn't bare the thought of losing his beloved next if someone were to go after him as soon as this criminal were about to make their next move for Gregory now.

Rushing to put some proper clothes on before heading on out, Craig wrapped his arms around his boyfriend. "For my sake, please stay put here. If I'm not back in a few hours..." Craig couldn't find the right words. Part of him wondered if Tweek should go looking for him or to leave him be.

"...Just stay out of the scene." He wanted Tweek to have nothing to do with the ongoing investigation, despite Tweek being aware of just about the whole situation with Gregory and those people that sounded like they were maybe hitmans.

Tweek returned the embrace and gave Craig a quick kiss on the lips, soon breaking the kiss and pressed his forehead against his, entwining their hands together. "For your sake I'll stay here. But if you're not back within a few hours, I'm going to go look for you."

"Fair enough." Craig was a little calm now, though still couldn't shake the feeling off that Gregory was in danger. Sure he's been in a lot of other danger before, but this... wasn't exactly the "normal" kind of danger for them.

Before leaving, Craig gave Tweek one last kiss on the lips and soon the two let go of each other and Craig had left the house, now on his way driving to Gregory's place in the dead of the night.

When Craig was getting close to Gregory's property, he started to speed up the driving. He's with the law, so it's okay for him to speed up bit, right? This was urgent and Craig had to make sure there was no suspicious activity going around Craig's property, also needing to make sure his friend is safe.

Once Craig arrived, he loaded his gun and placed it back in his holster then rushed out of his car. His first thought was to check up on Gregory and possibly try to get him out of here, so he rushed to the blond man's door and frantically knocked.

Edward has two cups, he pours some hot green tea into both and gives one of the cups to Copperhead. @question-marked

This is unexpected. Copperhead's tongue flickers as Edward sets one of the full cups in front of him, muttering a quiet "thank you," to his gracious host as he takes the cup into his hands. It's hot beneath his scales but he pays it no heed, relishing the warmth flooding down his wrists and up into his arms... He's not suspicious of being poisoned. The Riddler was unlikely to go around making enemies for no good reason, his schemes usually revolving around drawn-out plots to achieve a certain purpose over the Joker's brand of wanton mayhem. Between the two of them, Copperhead would trust the Prince of Puzzles over the Clown Prince of Crime any day, and that the prospect of a future alliance might work out in both of their favour. Raising the teacup to his mouth, Copperhead slowly allows a shallow flow to pour into his mouth, keeled lips careful not to spill a drop. It's good, rich earthy notes hitting his forked tongue and the metahuman lets out a rumbles a sound of appreciation, glad of the offering of refreshments at this hour. "Forgive me if I'm mistaken but I trust you're interested in more than just sharing tea together, Nigma?" Copperhead says quietly over a sip, slitted pupils quietly observing the man nursing his own beverage. Edward had always been, well... a bit of an enigma to the serpent-man, so it was a good opportunity to talk, maybe discuss their mutual problem regarding of a certain busybody resembling a bat.

“You’re not alone in this.”

- from Mina Murray Harker: Minas-Diary

@minas-diary

Would that he were more alone! In this place, in these walls with so many lives hanging in the balance he is a threat to all. And that has always been true of him in a way, as he takes with him wherever he goes the STAIN of his dark allegiance, but he never cared about that until her. It's really rather cruel, making him care all of a sudden. If he has been wrong about people all this time, and good souls like her really can exist, he'd have been better off not knowing it, bound as he is to the choices he's long since made.

But when his agitated, worried look meets hers, he does not think about what would be better, only that this woman is civil — kind, even — to him, and that he is going to hurt her for all the things he cannot say, and the one terrible thing he has already done.

Would that he were more alone... yes... in that way and... His eyes flicker over her face, her neck, and though His marks are out of sight, His power is apparent to Renfield in the loss of the lady's color, the tiredness she must be fighting so very hard. Renfield is not alone indeed. Mina's blood and his merge in that same web of the Master's design. In this way too, he wishes he were more alone. (More alone for her sake, more alone for his, so that he could have all the Master has to give, so that he would not be passed by, so that he would be held as she would hate to know she is... There is a sheen of JEALOUSY to his wishing.)

"Mrs. Harker, you cannot know how true your words are, nor how sinister their portent... And yet, while what you say is true, what you mean is not. There is no one whom I can trust, or who can trust me. Why? Because I am mad? Or because they know beyond knowing somehow that I have wronged them all...?" He strives to seem composed for this esteemed guest (both out of pride and out of self-preservation; if he appears to get violent in the presence of the lady he is sure it will be cause for worse punishment), but for a moment his resolve wavers, and he rocks forward, hunching in his seat, and draws his head into his hands as he holds back a small, unhappy moan from escaping him. It is in here, in his mind, the fatal knowledge, but woe is he, he cannot tell it. Even thinking that he wishes to, a sickness rises in the back of his throat and a droning buzz comes sneaking into his mind - his mouth could not make the words, surely. The words he finds to say instead are, "And yet you are kind to me. Why do you not feel it," he asks, voice darkening, "the shadow that hangs over us?"

PLOTTED STARTER FROM HERE // ( @sonofmikael. )

What had happened to her? Camille had woken up with blood all over her clothes and a cut on her neck that had healed almost entirely. The blonde sat up and laid her hand over the wound, noticing that the majority of blood had already dried up. She'd probably been here for a while then... She didn't know exactly how long, but something had changed - she no longer felt like she was herself. One moment, she was awake and the next, things had gone dark. Oh, my god. Did I die? Am I dead? What am I? The realization that she was now a vampire soon hit and it prompted Cami to freak out, desperately trying to find answers. There were only two choices now - to feed and complete her transition, or to let herself die.

Did she want to go down the same road as her uncle Kieran? It terrified her to even think about, but she didn't want to die. She wasn't ready to die and leave everyone behind. And the people who cared about her would be there to turn to for help if things went south, right? So the decision had been made, with the bartender feeding to complete her transition. It seemed like such a simple concept, but in reality, it was way more complex. Feeding triggered something within Cami, like a darkness that had been hidden away for so long was finally released. The taste of human blood was so addicting, she just wanted more of it now that she was a vampire. And if she had the option of compulsion, surely no one had to know that she was doing this?

Rousseau's had closed for the night, her shift was over and Camille had finished everything up. She was ready to head out through the back when she saw two young women walking through the alley. That should be nothing to worry about, yet their beating hearts were ringing in her ears and inviting her to have a taste of their blood. She had no idea how to deal with this, being around humans. There was this overwhelming pull towards them, like this little voice inside of her head telling her to go on and take what she wanted. The second they passed her, Camille stepped into the alley more to block their path and made eye contact.

Naturally, she received a flustered look from both, but that didn't stop her from using compulsion. "Please don't make a sound." she mused, her sharp fangs then sinking into the first woman's neck. And she just couldn't stop, even though the voice in the back of her mind was screaming at her do to just that - the other voice telling her that she needed to take what she wanted was dominating. Why couldn't it be easy? For her to just take some and let the humans leave? But no, she needed to have all of it.

@hxnger-unbcund was caught rummaging through the dumpster...

Scraping the still-warm leftovers into the wastebin, Khare frowns as she realizes it's already full. Her turn again to take out the trash again no doubt, but even so she can't bring herself to feel annoyed about it. Business had been pretty good tonight and some generous tips didn't hurt either, so it was with a hum she hauled the bin to the back room, fully prepared to launch the contents into the skip. At least, that had been her plan until finding the alleyway wasn't nearly as empty as it usually was. The sound of keys could be heard janging nervously as she stared in the direction of the open dumpster. It had been locked, she was sure of it what with being the last person to take the garbage out earlier that night when starting her shift but it was unmistakably open, with a very large, very dark creature standing hunched over the open container. Not a dog. It was far too big and muscular whatever it was, sleek black fur blending into even darker night as neon light reflected off it's glossy hide. Khare inhaled a shaky breath as she sized up her options - she could just... turn right around, shutting the door quietly and locking it behind her but then whatever it was might cause a bigger mess, or come after food that was warmer and fresher than the stuff already out there... Just go for it. Whatever it is might even run away, or just be happy enough to have extra food. Steeling up her every last nerve, Khare tightened her grip around the bag in her hands, knuckles white as a sheet as she dragged it along as calmly and quietly as she could. Fuck, the thing looked even bigger from this angle, front half completely hidden inside the dumpster that by now she could see had been wrenched open, the broken lock gleaming nearby. Smart move, Khare! Better hope you don't end up as part of his main course. "Don't mind me, just... uhh, throwing this in too." She said once she'd gotten as close as she dared, wishing she'd just stayed the fuck home tonight.

[ @scrrowblue​ , soft verse Soul ]

It was starting to become necessary. Whether it was intentional or not, the occasional exposure to supernatural beings and the building grief with no end in sight had been concocting a mix of sorts. A being that existed inside another, who grieved just as he did, who felt his pain, who wanted his wants.

But he wasn’t a separate being, was he? No, he was a being, but he was him. A boy, a boy who wanted relief, calmness, love, to live for once with someone so special to him. These energies, desires and emotions had been building up over time, making him stronger and stronger, something came to fruition. Something inadequate, but something alive and functional.

He needed more power, more emotions. But he also needed to talk, now that he were able to. It was only a matter of time until Benjamin would fall asleep.

And fall asleep he did...

. . .

Everything was comfortably warm. The scenery was hauntingly similar to Benjamin’s favourite place to be, wherever that was, but the colours weren’t exactly right. Everything, in some shape or form, appeared to be black.

Uncomfortably sharp claws touch his hair, before jostling him into ‘waking up’. A silhouette that looked ... hauntingly like that monster, and yet it was too small to be seemed to loom beside Benjamin, with a single glowing white eye. It just was too dark to see much about this creature other than its eye ... but unlike that monster, that never once chose to speak...

“You need to wake up now.”

Misery flourished in Gotham. It always had for as long as people could remember but few could recall a time of such hardship since the destruction of the city’s seawalls just a few months ago. Many had lost homes and businesses as a result of the floods, entire communities uprooted from places they’d lived in for generations. Now those streets were hollow shells of what they’d once been, rows of derelict buildings waiting to be condemned once structural repairs had been completed. A few pleas could be heard in a nearby alley, accompanied by the sound of angry gunshots then silence. Not everybody had left, some too attached to their homes to move on or having nowhere else to go. Others had arrived willingly to make a place for themselves amongst the decaying bones of the city, preying upon the weakest and most desperate in society. Tonight was a different story though, the homeless huddled away with their drugs and anything else that could soothe their troubles for one more evening while rival factions took advantage of the situation, competing for resources while the public eye focused elsewhere. “Over here. We want to make sure they see we’re leaving them a message.” A group of masked men emerged from the alleyway, faces identical as they carried the still body of yet another person between them. The one who’d spoken looked on in silence as they left the corpse in plain view, looking like any vagrant who’d overdosed were it not for the quality suit he was wearing that was now bloodied and full of holes.

The message was simple; this area was occupied and Penguin’s men would not be tolerated. The one who’d spoken earlier nodded in satisfaction, signalling for his men to retreat back into the shadows. With Falcone dead and his most prominent supporters equally dead or imprisoned, there was no better time than now to move up the food chain and claim what was rightfully his. Gotham was ripe for the picking, the attention of the police and other law enforcement agencies focused on cleaning up the city after the Riddler’s rampage which meant fresh opportunity for those left behind in the wake of his watery wrath. Black Mask was one such man, determined to capitalize on the situation and cut off the steady flow of contraband intended for Gotham East-Side. There was only one problem with his plan... that fat little bastard known as Oswald Cobblepot. If Penguin really thought he’d be able to rise up as the city’s new kingpin now that his boss was dead and gone, he had another thing coming. Penguin was no Falcone, and Roman Sionis wasn’t content to sit idly by and let him do as he pleased without a fight. There was no better time than now to kick the stool out from beneath his pudgy little feet before he could cement his foul grip around Gotham.

@chauvesourisnoire​