Futuristic — 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝟭𝟬𝟬.

[low fidelity]

[class=body] background-color: #000000; width: 100%; height: 400px; position: relative; [/class] [class=picture] position: relative; background: url('https://i.pinimg.com/originals/91/2f/82/912f8214449d625e8e3d4ba70c51416e.jpg'); background-size: cover; background-repeat: no-repeat; width: 100%; height: 100%; opacity: 1; [/class] [class=title] margin: auto; margin-top: 140px; position: absolute; font-size: 50px; font-family: Arial; color: #ffffff; text-align: center; width: 100%; text-shadow: 0 0 10px rgba(255, 255, 255,.3), 0 0 10px rgba(255, 255, 255,.3); padding: 25px 100px 50px 100px; width: auto; left: 300px; background-color: #000000; [/class] [class=chapter] margin: auto; margin-top: 180px; position: absolute; font-size: 15px; font-family: Arial; letter-spacing: 6px; color: #647585; text-align: center; width: 100%; text-shadow: 0 0 10px rgba(255,255,255,.3), 0 0 10px rgba(255,255,255,.3); opacity: 1; [/class] [div class=body][div class=picture][div class=title]THE ONE-HUNDRED[/div]


[div class=chapter]-CHAPTER 1: HOMECOMING[/div] [/div][/div]

 

[low fidelity]

[class=variables] --accent: #72271f; --image: url('https://i.ibb.co/pfBBGPc/maudeicpost.jpg'); --texture: url('https://www.transparenttextures.com/patterns/asfalt-light.png'); [/class] [div class=variables] [div class=back] [div class=poly][div class=poly2][/div][/div] [div class=bkg] [div class=container][div class=header]MAUDE MARLOWE.[/div] [div class=post][div class=scroll]Maude was faced with the idea of death each day. There was little hope for her case, she had thought throughout all of the days spent in the Skybox. Six hundred and seven days had been her exact count, each little line etched on the concrete wall of her cell. Being locked up for so long, so isolated from others, really fucked with a person's head. Maude was no exception to this. If she wasn't diligently keeping in shape, she was laid back in bed, staring through the little window at the view outside the Ark. In the vast of space, surrounded by small lights and stars, was Earth. Big, colorful, a sight she could never tire of even after hundreds of days of watching it slowly rotate. When she'd finally be able to sleep, Maude would dream of life on the ground. What life was like in the old movies they watched in school, or in the rec center with her friends. Houses tucked into areas like little boxes, people walking on the ground, basking in the sun, free to run and shout and do whatever they please. It was a fantasy, of course. Her fantasies of what human life was once was just her way of escapism. Her reality on the Ark was far more grim; Maude was certain she would be executed. When they look at me, they flinch. They must think I snapped and went crazy. That's reason enough They've floated people for much less. Dreaming of the ground was how she survived the Skybox. Her wish had come far sooner than expected. It started with shouting. Screams, sounds of struggle and electric batons, the heavy footfall of guards, it all echoed through the Skybox's hallways as each prisoner was pulled from their cell, early in the day before they even brought them their breakfast rations. Being locked in a box for so long, her sleep schedule was so out of wack, and she had been awake for almost twenty-four hours at that point. But Maude still sat up in her bed once the chaos began, alert and concerned. As the guards reached her section of the prison, Maude could see them pulling cellmates out from across the hall through the small barred window of her cell door. She was soon on her feet to watch what was happening through the little window, brow furrowed in confusion. A mass culling? It certainly wasn't everybody's damn birthday. The guards were outside her door only moments later. Maude stepped back as dread pooled in her gut, and the heavy door opened to reveal two armed guards with their stun batons at the ready. "Maude Marlowe, do not resist. Come along without force, and everything will be explained." One of the guards moved forward, holding up a pair of handcuffs. Both stepped through the door a moment later. Maude was a cornered animal, confused and certain the Ark was ready to kill her and the other undesirables. She wouldn't go down without a fight. "Don't fucking touch me," she snapped, "Tell me what's going on. Where's my mother?" Without another word, both guards moved forward to grab and cuff her. Maude was quick to react. All of the years she spent in guard training meant self-defense was second nature to her. She ducked low and sprinted forward before they could properly react, roughly shouldering the closest guard in the stomach and knocking him flat on his back. Maude stumbled forward over him, grabbing the baton out of his hand, and zapping the other guard directly on the neck as he lunged at her. The brunette scrambled to her feet and out of the door, shouts echoing behind her from her room. The sheer amount of noise in the Skybox was deafening, the yelling and anger and confusion of the other inmates making her ears ring. I need to go find my mom. Maude ran. Her bare feet stung on the cold floor, blood rushing in her ears as she ducked and weaved and desperately tried to outrun the growing amount of guards so close behind her. The girl skidded around a corner, closer and closer to the entrance, and there was a line of other prisoners being pulled from their cells and cuffed. A few even whooped and cheered her on. A skinny, pale boy she remembered so often in the visitation area yelled at her with both desperation and awe. "Run, Maude! Fucking go!" Zeke watched her fly by, trailed by half a dozen guards, before being dragged off. The main entrance to the Skybox was closed and heavily guarded. Wherever they were going, Maude had no clue. She simply skidded to a stop, chest heaving as she realized whatever they were doing, they couldn't see their parents again. Would her mom even know that she was going to die? What was going to happen to her? Immediately pulled out of her thoughts, the girl flinched as something flew directly past her ear, and Maude looked back to watch the guards finally catch up, and point a gun at her. A sharp pain blossomed on her shoulder - she glanced down at the tranquilizer dart, barely registering it before it kicked in and Maude dropped to the hard floor. The last thought on her mind was her mother's face, and then the world went dark.

​

The world must've been ending, Maude thought numbly. Whatever the noises meant, it couldn't have been good. Maybe a critical failure in the Ark's support systems. Or a resistance of angry, tired factory workers fighting back against the Chancellor. She had read up on her history, it had happened before, and Maude knew she would support the cause if it happened again. Straps dug into her chest as the world continued to shake around her, and Maude was smacked straight back into consciousness as the system powering the dropship failed and they entered the atmosphere. The inside of the dropship was dark and dusty, stuffed to the brim with other prisoners of the Skybox, unconscious and awake alike. As the metal protecting them from the outside wrenched and protested loudly, violently, she could see everybody else's scared faces. "What the fuck!" Maude flinched as a particularly bad shake made the hull of the ship screech against the sheer force of their descent. Screens on the ship repeated a message spoken by the Chancellor of the Ark. She could barely make it out through the chaos and cacophony around her. A few words jumped out at her. Earth. Survivable. Human race. As their descent continued, Maude looked over and realized she was sitting next to a familiar face. A face that immediately made her think of home, of boring school days and childhood mischief and detentions spent in each other's company. "Fucking hell, River." Maude couldn't even connect the memory of someone from her childhood to the rumors of the cold-blooded murderer they said he was. Her seat shook, and the girl held on to the straps holding her in place until her knuckles turned white. "They're really sending us down to die?"
[/div][/div] [/div] [div class=tagflex] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]interactions[/div]
other skybox delinquents[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]mentions[/div]
zeke, river[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]tags[/div]
timshel [/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]mood[/div]
absolutely terrified[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]location[/div]
the dropship, headed to earth [/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]song[/div]
eyes on fire - blue foundation[/div] [/div] [/div][/div][/div]

fated

[class=back] width: 99%; background: var(--texture); background-size: 20%; background-color: #060606; margin: auto; height: 400px; border: 1px solid #c5c5c5; cursor: url('http://i.imgur.com/ZOrzC.png'), auto !important; [/class] [class=bkg] width: 1100px; height: 400px; margin: auto; overflow: hidden; position: relative; top: -400px; [/class] [class=poly] height: 400px; width: 300px; clip-path: polygon(0% 0%, 75% 0%, 100% 50%, 75% 100%, 0% 100%); background: var(--accent); position: relative; [/class] [class=poly2] clip-path: polygon(0% 0%, 75% 0%, 100% 50%, 75% 100%, 0% 100%); height: 400px; width: 300px; background: var(--image); background-size: cover; background-position: center center; position: relative; left: -45px; [/class] [class=container] height: 300px; width: 600px; position: relative; top: 50px; margin: auto; [/class] [class=post] height: 250px; width: 570px; background: #f5f5f5; border: 1px solid #c5c5c5; position: relative; margin: auto; overflow: hidden; font-family: Inter; color: black; font-size: 12px; white-space: pre-wrap; text-align: justify; [/class] [class=header] font-family: Abril Fatface; font-size: 25px; text-transform: uppercase; color: #e5e5e5; position: relative; left: 15px; [/class] [class=tagflex] height: 251px; width: 350px; display: flex; content-justify: space-evenly; flex-wrap: wrap; position: relative; left: 850px; top: -192px; font-size: 12px; color: black; font-size: Inter; [/class] [class=tag] font-size: 15px; display: inline; font-family: Abril Fatface; color: var(--accent); [/class] [class=tagbox] height: max-content; width: 125px; text-align: center; [/class] [class=scroll] overflow-y: scroll; overflow-x: hidden; padding: 10px; padding-right: 25px; width: 99%; height: 100%; [/class] [class=dialogue] color: var(--accent); font-weight: bold; display: inline; [/class]

 

[idiot]

[class=variables] --accent: #9178b3; --image: url('https://i.ibb.co/9Z8TwMw/d9d109cea6d1c9076825f0967b86dc0f.jpg'); --texture: url('https://www.transparenttextures.com/patterns/asfalt-light.png'); [/class] [div class=variables] [div class=back] [div class=poly][div class=poly2][/div][/div] [div class=bkg] [div class=container][div class=header]KYRA WEAVER.[/div] [div class=post][div class=scroll]Kyra paced around the confined cell — clearly annoyed. He was late for his visit by at least an hour, she could feel it in her gut. Opting to slump down on the poor excuse of a mattress, Kyra let out a hefty sigh. Ash-blonde tendrils dangled in front of her face; most intertwined with pieces of scrap metal and trinkets she had found around the Ark. I'm going to kill you, Reggie, Kyra made a mental reminder to yell at him. The mechanical door finally opened, "I swear Reggie, I'm going— " Kyra's insult was cut short at the familiar figure standing in the doorway. "Dad?" unable to hide the utter shock from her face. The shock was only temporary; anger began bubbling to the surface. Kyra's razor-sharp tongue was at the ready for the onslaught but her father beat her to it. "Kyra honey, please. I don't have much time. Shortly you —" The chief medical officer was cut short. "What? You can't make time for your own daughter?" Kyra shot up like a rocket, her hands gesturing around the cell. "As you can see, I've got all the time in the world. Why don't you take a seat? Would you like some tea? Refreshments?" Brown eyes narrowed, jaw clenched — she had been waiting for this. "Look, I'm sorry. I blamed myself, alright? I couldn't look at you without thinking of...failing your mother." Damien Weaver gulped, eyes bloodshot and glassy. Had he been crying? Kyra wondered, her father never cried. The mention of her mother did make Kyra's face soften, her body losing its rigidness. Damien approached his daughter, steady and calloused hands grasping Kyra's shoulders. Despite only being a month, her father was unrecognisable upon closer inspection; his short hair had greyed significantly with dark rings underneath his eyes and furrowed lines etched into his forehead. "We didn't have a choice, I need you to know that beforehand. None of us wanted this to happen, but there is no future here." His grip faltered, beginning to pace around the room — a trait Kyra inherited when she was stressed and thinking out loud. "It started off as nothing more than a bizarre idea but with physical symptoms arising in the Ark's population, it became the only idea that made sense." "Physical symptoms? What idea, Dad?" Kyra's brain was churning, trying to piece together her father's rushed speech. "I approached the council a few months ago. My patients have been exhibiting symptoms of oxygen deprivation and I originally thought it was simply a ventilation issue...how wrong I was..." Her father exhaled loudly before continuing, "they let me in on the operation, I am one of the chief medical officers after all. I knew tough choices were ahead, but when you got arrested..." Damien's eyes welled up, as shouting and screaming erupted behind him. Licking his lips, his speech and movements became erratic, "I'm running out of time, they will be here shortly." "What is happening, Dad? What did you do?" Kyra could hear the chaos ensuing outside her cell, watching as other teenagers were dragged by; most kicking and screaming. A black-clad guard stook in the doorway, baton in hand. Damien reached into his pocket, fishing out an odd-looking wristband; needles jutting from the inside band. "Now what kind of horror device is that?" Kyra took a step backwards, her back meeting the ship's cold surface. Her father's posture straightened, clearing his throat. "A biometric wristband, it will keep us updated on your vitals once you land on Earth." Her father's voice was now cold and firm — more familiar to Kyra. Earth? Kyra's brain slotted the final piece of the puzzle as her father approached. "The guards were gracious enough to allow me to fit you with the wristband, so stay still, Kyra, please." Eyes darting around the cell, she tried to think of a viable exit strategy. "They need you down there, I've trained you for this without even knowing it. Reggie needs you." Kyra's eyes widened, gritting her teeth. "What did you do to Reg— " "I did nothing. He landed himself in the Skybox just an hour ago. I'll make sure he is floated if you resist." Despite his firm tone, his eyes were pleading. Kyra huffed as she held out her arm — she knew her father well enough to know he wasn't joking. "Fuck you!" Kyra spat before the wristband's teeth sunk into her wrist, the metal clasping tightly around her wrist. The sheer adrenaline rushing through her blood let the pain go unnoticed as the guard grasped Kyra's upper arm, practically dragging her. Her eyes burnt a hole in her father's head as a tear spilt from his bloodshot eyes. Kyra didn't even feel the baton jabbing into her side, knocking her out cold in the guard's arms.

***​

It wasn't long before Kyra awoke strapped into a seat; belts fastened tightly around her chest, tight enough to make it hard to breathe. Dazed and vision blurred, it took a moment for her to fully gain consciousness. Around her were other delinquents, a mix of emotions filling the dropship. A few familiar faces stuck out, but the only one that mattered right now was Reggie. Unlike a majority of the teens, he was smiling, offering a meagre wave to Kyra. She couldn't help but smile, a burning tear running down her face as the chaos of confusion filled the dropship.
[/div][/div] [/div] [div class=tagflex] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]interactions[/div]
damien weaver and other delinquents[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]mentions[/div]
reggie[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]tags[/div]
N/A.[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]mood[/div]
searing[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]location[/div]
the dropship, headed to earth [/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]song[/div]
thrill you kill you - thrill you kill you[/div] [/div] [/div][/div][/div]

fated

[class=back] width: 99%; background: var(--texture); background-size: 20%; background-color: #060606; margin: auto; height: 400px; border: 1px solid #c5c5c5; cursor: url('http://i.imgur.com/ZOrzC.png'), auto !important; [/class] [class=bkg] width: 1100px; height: 400px; margin: auto; overflow: hidden; position: relative; top: -400px; [/class] [class=poly] height: 400px; width: 300px; clip-path: polygon(0% 0%, 75% 0%, 100% 50%, 75% 100%, 0% 100%); background: var(--accent); position: relative; [/class] [class=poly2] clip-path: polygon(0% 0%, 75% 0%, 100% 50%, 75% 100%, 0% 100%); height: 400px; width: 300px; background: var(--image); background-size: cover; background-position: center center; position: relative; left: -45px; [/class] [class=container] height: 300px; width: 600px; position: relative; top: 50px; margin: auto; [/class] [class=post] height: 250px; width: 570px; background: #f5f5f5; border: 1px solid #c5c5c5; position: relative; margin: auto; overflow: hidden; font-family: Inter; color: black; font-size: 12px; white-space: pre-wrap; text-align: justify; [/class] [class=header] font-family: Abril Fatface; font-size: 25px; text-transform: uppercase; color: #9178b3; position: relative; left: 15px; [/class] [class=tagflex] height: 251px; width: 350px; display: flex; content-justify: space-evenly; flex-wrap: wrap; position: relative; left: 850px; top: -192px; font-size: 12px; color: black; font-size: Inter; [/class] [class=tag] font-size: 15px; display: inline; font-family: Abril Fatface; color: var(--accent); [/class] [class=tagbox] height: max-content; width: 125px; text-align: center; [/class] [class=scroll] overflow-y: scroll; overflow-x: hidden; padding: 10px; padding-right: 25px; width: 99%; height: 100%; [/class] [class=dialogue] color: var(--accent); font-weight: bold; display: inline; [/class]

 

[timshel]

[class=variables] --accent: #708090; --image: url('https://pbs.twimg.com/media/DtS91bAXcAAxqPS.jpg'); --texture: url('https://www.transparenttextures.com/patterns/asfalt-dark.png'); [/class] [div class=variables] [div class=back] [div class=poly][div class=poly2][/div][/div] [div class=bkg] [div class=container][div class=header]river calhoun.[/div] [div class=post][div class=scroll]No one really messed with him these days. Despite the rumors he’d grown up hearing about the Skybox, which was allegedly filled to the brim with the absolute dregs of society, and they scrapped and cursed and spat for a plate of rations, the young man’s stint here had been uneventful. Peaceful, even. Of course the guard staff that supervised them closely twenty four hours a day refused to let any kind of outburst from happening—when confrontations started, and they were rare due to the consequences, they shut them down quickly. He learned quite quickly that he no longer needed to throw his weight around much. River had to make a name for himself at first in the population of kids he’d seen floated first, the older kids who saw nothing but a gangly sixteen year old with an attitude. When people his age started joining him, trickling in slowly but surely, he could see right away that they knew something about him. They weren’t subtle: the more and more he utilized the Skybox gym, the easier he could clear a dining table or an entire hallway, when given the opportunity. Even guards were especially wary of him. And, in all honesty, he could live with the knowledge that these people didn’t know him in the slightest and never would. It barely bothered him. River had already lost everything about himself that he liked years ago, and with every day that passed where he didn’t speak to people, where he made snide quips at the wide-eyed and terrified youngsters who found themselves in some trouble, he didn’t like who he was becoming. All that really mattered was that he wasn’t getting picked on like some of these other delinquents, and that he finished fights before they could even start. But today, he knew something was gravely wrong when the Skybox guards actually stepped foot inside his cell. River had been watching them carefully, attentively out of the corner of his eye as he picked absentmindedly at his nails—he watched everyone who passed by his cell door, studying them for the half-second of time he had before they disappeared once more. When it was recreational time (and it wasn’t that time now), they opened his door, and he filed out without a comment, without a problem. He sat up in bed, tense, stone-faced as he watched one of the guards begin to untangle a pair of handcuffs from his utility belt. “Is there a problem?” The young man asked flatly, attempting to make eye contact with one of the three guards now sizing him up. Anxiety began to rise in his throat and chest, and when his question was met with silence, he spoke again. “What’s happening?” River slowly rose to his feet, maintaining a solid presence despite the nerves beginning to take over. “… I’m not eighteen yet, you know,” he added a moment later when the room was filled with the dull hum of an electrified baton. “River Calhoun, you’ve been ordered to come with us. Do not resist. Everything will be explained to you momentarily.” Fighting the urge to kick and scream and thrash and yell with every part of his being, feeling just as helpless, subdued, and trapped as he did years ago, River silently resigned and let himself be cuffed and led out of his cell. It felt like his soul was somewhere far away, watching but not really with muted disinterest as his body went through the motions of walking.

—​

Before he knew it, a very dazed, out-of-it River was strapped into a seat, in a mechanical mess of rust and dust, listening to instructions on a broken screen from their Chancellor. His surroundings were nothing but panic and movement, everyone speaking over each other at full volume, desperately trying to make sense of this whole situation. He felt a million miles away, shrouded in apathy: none of this felt quite real, and no one was talking to him. And then all of the sudden, the dropship groaned, shuddered, then rocketed off into the cold, unforgiving emptiness. All went quiet for a moment, and then the noise erupted once more, but more panicked, more urgent. River snapped back into himself that very moment the G force shot him back in his seat. He drew in a couple shallow breaths as he looked around, trying to make sense of the tumbling landscape through the only window in the ship—the image of Earth wobbled wildly, as if the planet was one of the panes in a magic eight ball. Except in reality, they were the ones twisting and turning, only subject to the laws of gravity. The young man paid just enough attention to physics in school to know the very basics of the situation he and ninety nine others were in right now, and the concept of it was terrifying: moving faster than they could even comprehend, through something so frigid and so empty, the smallest exposure would tear them to literal shreds. Hurdling towards a rock suspended in a sea of... what, exactly? Yet in the midst of all of this, a pair—two rowdy younger boys he’d seen a couple times in the free space of the Skybox—tussling freely? River squinted, and then grimaced. They were both somehow out of their restraints, blissfully enjoying zero gravity as they shouted and laughed. He couldn’t let this happen. “Hey.” His voice came out quieter than he thought it would—this space was loud, and he was drowned out by conversation and the physics happening through just a couple feet of metal. River cleared his throat, and tried a second time. “HEY.” Conversation waned again as the attention focused on him, and he fixed his unflinchingly fierce gaze on the zero gravity idiots. Before he spoke again, he felt aware of the power his visage held—these delinquents were only listening to him because of what they thought he did—and it filled him with a new, uneasy kind of confidence. “You’re gonna get one of us fucking killed,” River told them, voice firm, booming in the closed ship. “And your dumb asses aren’t gonna be the reason we don’t get to Earth. Now sit the fuck down.” The young man didn’t break eye contact with the two until they’d wriggled their way back into their restraints. He then sighed, somewhat satisfied, but the momentary power wasn’t enough to chase all his nerves away. And it was then that Maude came to, only a moment after they shook like a centrifuge. His knuckles turned white with how tightly he held onto his seat, but River’s face remained stoic, unreadable. He regarded the girl next to him with a shred of fondness. They never knew each other well at all, but having both grown up in Factory Station, he’d seen her face in classrooms, at work, and with friends of friends for his entire childhood and adolescence. She was someone he’d always privately thought of as alright—he recognized some grit deep inside her that they both shared, inexplicably, and he respected it in her from a distance. It was strange to again be reminded of Factory Station when she also graced the Skybox only a couple weeks after he was locked up. Seeing a friendly face now didn’t solve all of his problems, but it did certainly make him feel less alone. Please don’t say we’re going to die. River had been doing a good job keeping that very real possibility out of mind, but her acknowledging it out loud bothered him. He turned his gaze away from her, fixating blankly on some imaginary spot ahead of him. “They’re not that stupid, Maude,” he told her flatly. “You know that. There’s gotta be some… I dunno. Reason for all of this besides just saving air.” At least, that’s what he hoped.
[/div][/div] [/div] [div class=tagflex] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]interactions[/div]
skybox delinquents[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]mentions[/div]
maude[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]tags[/div]
low fidelity [/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]mood[/div]
restrained terror[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]song[/div]
river's edge - surf curse[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]location[/div]
a dropship hurdling through space[/div] [/div] [/div][/div][/div]

fated

[class=back] width: 99%; background: var(--texture); background-size: 20%; background-color: #f5f5f5; margin: auto; height: 400px; border: 1px solid #c5c5c5; cursor: url('http://i.imgur.com/ZOrzC.png'), auto !important; [/class] [class=bkg] width: 1100px; height: 400px; margin: auto; overflow: hidden; position: relative; top: -400px; [/class] [class=poly] height: 400px; width: 300px; clip-path: polygon(0% 0%, 75% 0%, 100% 50%, 75% 100%, 0% 100%); background: var(--accent); position: relative; [/class] [class=poly2] clip-path: polygon(0% 0%, 75% 0%, 100% 50%, 75% 100%, 0% 100%); height: 400px; width: 300px; background: var(--image); background-size: cover; background-position: center center; position: relative; left: -45px; [/class] [class=container] height: 300px; width: 600px; position: relative; top: 50px; margin: auto; [/class] [class=post] height: 250px; width: 570px; background: #f5f5f5; border: 1px solid #c5c5c5; position: relative; margin: auto; overflow: hidden; font-family: Arial; color: black; font-size: 12px; white-space: pre-wrap; text-align: justify; [/class] [class=header] font-family: Source Code Pro; font-size: 25px; text-transform: uppercase; color: #454545; position: relative; left: 15px; [/class] [class=tagflex] height: 251px; width: 350px; display: flex; content-justify: space-evenly; flex-wrap: wrap; position: relative; left: 850px; top: -192px; font-size: 12px; color: black; font-size: Inter; [/class] [class=tag] font-size: 15px; display: inline; font-family: Source Code Pro; color: var(--accent); [/class] [class=tagbox] height: max-content; width: 125px; text-align: center; [/class] [class=scroll] overflow-y: scroll; overflow-x: hidden; padding: 10px; padding-right: 25px; width: 99%; height: 100%; [/class] [class=dialogue] color: var(--accent); font-weight: bold; display: inline; [/class]

 

[birdgeoisie]

[class=variables] --accent: #e3b8bb; --image: url('https://imgur.com/l2vCWA5.png'); --texture: url('https://www.transparenttextures.com/patterns/asfalt-dark.png'); [/class] [div class=variables] [div class=back] [div class=poly][div class=poly2][/div][/div] [div class=bkg] [div class=container][div class=header]elsie rooker.[/div] [div class=post][div class=scroll]The Skybox was fine. No, really. Not nearly as bad as some of the things Rook had heard while a free citizen of the Ark. So long as one ignored all the doom and gloom of the delinquents’ impending deaths, or everyone running around high off adrenaline, or the alpha mentality of some of the prisoners. So long as a person did that, it was fine. They could survive. Surviving; easy. Living? Not so much. She had only been here for a few short weeks, yet Rook could already feel the novelty of being a prisoner wearing off. Oh sure, she was glad they weren’t mistreated- mostly -and that fighting was kept to a minimum- usually -and they were fed every day- at least once. There were plenty of things to be grateful for. But, she thought sullenly as she sat perched on the edge of her bed, things would have been much better if there were things to read, or watch, or fix, or create. Things to do. She tried working out in the makeshift gym a few times, after spending several days glancing within to decide whether or not it was worth the attempt. It turned out to be unfulfilling. Of course, she worked out anyway. There weren’t many activities in the Skybox after all, and she had to do something. But it certainly wasn’t what she wanted to be doing. And she spent the limited recreational hours, afforded to ensure the prisoners didn’t go insane from lack of social interaction, frightening off fellow delinquents with complex and flowery rants about the cleaning supplies used in the medical office, or how the sun would actually be screaming if there was atmosphere through which to hear it. The sorts of thoughts that kept her entertained were, as it turned out, not the sorts of things that her peers enjoyed. So when they were all dropped into courses teaching earth skills? Rook nearly fainted from sheer joy. Now this was the sort of prison that Rook could get behind. She ate up their teachings, hardly paying any mind to the other prisoners in the classes- hardly considering the implications of the classes. The door to her cell crashed open, causing Rook to jolt upright. She had been allowed to take one of the tablets, uploaded with a few textbooks, from the classroom and had been quite content. As a guard stepped within the room, Rook felt a modicum of fear find hold in her chest. She could feel it buzzing in her hands as she placed the tablet down. [div class=dialogue]“Hello,”[/div] She greeted in practiced, cheery tone, watching the guard approach with a wide gaze. “Elsie Rooker, you are to come with us. If you resist, we will respond with force.” The guard was followed by another, each striking an intimidatingly dark shape within the otherwise barren room. Rook swallowed a lump in her throat. This was… strange, to say the least. She wasn’t eighteen yet. [div class=dialogue]“Wh- What? Why?”[/div] She watched as the second guard flipped open the lid to a box, then extended it to the first. He gingerly retrieved whatever was within. It looked like a bracelet. But too bulky, and as he opened it- saying something that she didn’t pay attention to -she noticed that it had prongs inside. [div class=dialogue]“I’ve seen these. The schematics… they’re on the medical terminals.”[/div] The claustrophobic, fuzzy feeling in the air that came with the ignition of an electric baton forced Rook to become present again. She finally noticed the shouting outside of her room, and watched another prisoner sprint past. Whatever was going on was making people afraid. “Give me your right arm, prisoner,” the guard holding the wristband spoke in a demanding, exasperated tone. He wrenched her arm from her side without waiting for a response, causing Rook to flinch instinctually and try to pull away. [div class=dialogue]“Wait, wait wait, you can’t-”[/div]

---​

Rook didn’t dream. Her mind seemed to save that for the waking hours. So it was curious that the sight before her was completely dreamlike, in a sort of nightmarish way. The light of the ship was dim and yet felt intrusive, glaring off of hard angles and terrified faces. Not everyone was awake yet, but the ship was… moving? The fear that her floating was inevitable was quickly waning. Her mind was moving fast to make sense of her current situation. But there was a noticeable, new feeling in her chest. Her heart was pounding. Rook watched as two younger boys unlatched themselves from their shoddy restraints, floating up into the air. She grinned. Because there was something fantastical about this all that she couldn’t quite wrap her head around. But even she could connect these dots. Unhooking herself from her own seat, head still a little woozy from whatever tranquilizer they had hit her with, the blonde girl pushed off from her seat toward the only window they had. This was a feeling unlike any other; a sense of existential freedom that sent adrenaline through her veins. She savored it for a moment. Peering through the window, a grin slowly spread across her face. They really were headed to Earth. [div class=dialogue]“We have at least five minutes before we lose zero G. You know, it used to take astronauts two days to travel from Earth to the International Space Station,”[/div] Rook directed her ramblings to the one chastising the other two boys, though she didn’t bother to look at him, too enraptured by the image of Earth ahead. It was fast approaching. Something about looking at it through this window felt so much more tangible than it had been when viewed from on the Ark. [div class=dialogue]“The separate Ark stations could make return runs between thirty minutes to an hour. ” [/div] Now she bothered to turn around, kicking off the metal siding to float back toward her seat. [div class=dialogue]“Then again, they spent more time worrying about the survival of the occupants. Lots of safety procedures, and nice landing protocols that took time,”[/div] Rook continued, hooking herself back into the chair. “But you know the most exciting thing?” The girl leaned forward towards the boy, glancing between him and his friend. There was something of a wild look to her stare. She spoke now in a fake-hushed tone, almost conspiratorially, [div class=dialogue]“I don’t think they want us dead. These wristbands are using materials that are too valuable to just send us to our deaths. We all still have clothes on. This entire ship we’re in- Why would you fill a casket with gold?”[/div] She giggled. [div class=dialogue]“It's becauusee... They want us to live.”[/div]
[/div][/div] [/div] [div class=tagflex] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]interactions[/div]
other skybox delinquents[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]mentions[/div]
river, maude[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]tags[/div]
timshel , low fidelity [/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]mood[/div]
exhilarated[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]location[/div]
a dropship to freedom [/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]song[/div]
Raelle & Scylla - Brandon Roberts (Motherland: Fort Salem Original Score)[/div] [/div] [/div][/div][/div]

fated

[class=back] width: 99%; background: var(--texture); background-size: 20%; background-color: #f5f5f5; margin: auto; height: 400px; border: 1px solid #c5c5c5; cursor: url('http://i.imgur.com/ZOrzC.png'), auto !important; [/class] [class=bkg] width: 1100px; height: 400px; margin: auto; overflow: hidden; position: relative; top: -400px; [/class] [class=poly] height: 400px; width: 300px; clip-path: polygon(0% 0%, 75% 0%, 100% 50%, 75% 100%, 0% 100%); background: var(--accent); position: relative; [/class] [class=poly2] clip-path: polygon(0% 0%, 75% 0%, 100% 50%, 75% 100%, 0% 100%); height: 400px; width: 300px; background: var(--image); background-size: cover; background-position: center center; position: relative; left: -45px; [/class] [class=container] height: 300px; width: 600px; position: relative; top: 50px; margin: auto; [/class] [class=post] height: 250px; width: 570px; background: #f5f5f5; border: 1px solid #c5c5c5; position: relative; margin: auto; overflow: hidden; font-family: Inter; color: black; font-size: 12px; white-space: pre-wrap; text-align: justify; [/class] [class=header] font-family: Markazi Text; font-size: 35px; color: #ff6685; position: relative; left: 15px; [/class] [class=tagflex] height: 251px; width: 350px; display: flex; content-justify: space-evenly; flex-wrap: wrap; position: relative; left: 850px; top: -192px; font-size: 12px; color: black; font-size: Inter; [/class] [class=tag] font-size: 15px; display: inline; font-family: Markazi Text; color: var(--accent); [/class] [class=tagbox] height: max-content; width: 125px; text-align: center; [/class] [class=scroll] overflow-y: scroll; overflow-x: hidden; padding: 10px; padding-right: 25px; width: 99%; height: 100%; [/class] [class=dialogue] color: var(--accent); font-weight: bold; display: inline; [/class]

 

[idiot]

[class=variables] --accent: #6b9e60; --image: url('https://i.ibb.co/7nzsJjY/8d0004e8836d92344d525bf847881349.jpg'); --texture: url('https://www.transparenttextures.com/patterns/asfalt-light.png'); [/class] [div class=variables] [div class=back] [div class=poly][div class=poly2][/div][/div] [div class=bkg] [div class=container][div class=header]REGINALD GATES.[/div] [div class=post][div class=scroll]Resentment and hatred is all Reginald Gates had for the Ark. The space station was home to his abusive father and a council of people who decided to float his mother for trying to uncover his abuse. In their defence, charming and a silver-tongued liar, Reggie's father had no trouble painting his late mother as the bad guy. Reggie wasn't on the Ark no more though, instead, he was strapped tightly into a dropship that was hurdling down to Earth with dozens of other delinquents. Plummeting to Earth was a risky play but for Reggie, he couldn't have been more sure of himself at this moment. His hand still throbbed, knuckles bruised and skin split open — courtesy of his father. However, his father for once was on the other side of the fist. Eighteen years of pain and suffering was packed into one punch that sent his father to the ground like a sack of bricks. It was the least the man deserved, and if Reggie had the opportunity, he would do it all again. After what you did to our family, you deserve nothing but pain, old man... Reggie's broad shoulders brushed against the neighbouring delinquents as his dark eyes observed the dropship. Despite the chaos ensuing around him, Reggie couldn't wipe the excited smile off his angular face. In fact, Reggie was bustling with excitement and his smile only grew wider at the sight of blonde braids dangling in the seat across from him. Belonging to none other than the tan-brown smartass and Reggie's best friend, Kyra Weaver. Her head was slumped in the seat as though she had fallen asleep. She looks so peaceful, Reggie noted and knew if Kyra was awake she'd yell at him for staring. Her chestnut eyes fluttered open and Reggie made sure the first thing she saw was him waving. Locking eyes, he couldn't stop smiling as she weakly smiled back. The seat next to Kyra was empty, with multiple delinquents floating in the zero gravity. They were laughing and messing around before a booming voice sounded. The voice belonged to River, the infamous lanky teen who Reggie remembers hearing about around the Ark for killing his teacher. It seemed River's warning was enough for the teens as they returned to their seats. Yet a blonde-headed girl remained, a familiar one at that — Rook. He didn't know her personally, but he admired her free, bubbly spirit and knew her through Kyra. The two had shared some encounters, but it seemed Kyra preferred Rook's one-on-one time. The thought of Kyra and Rook alone together was interrupted by Rook speaking to River and another girl. This other girl was Maude, a tough cookie that Reggie had seen in guard training. “We have at least five minutes before we lose zero G. You know, it used to take astronauts two days to travel from Earth to the International Space Station" Rook stated and seemingly that was enough for Reggie as he unbuckled his harness. Reggie could feel the weight leave his body, floating into the air. Unable to help himself, Reggie let out a laugh. "I mean she has a point man. Plus, if we are hurdling to our deaths, we may as well enjoy it." Reggie directed towards River, slowly making his way to the other side of the dropship. He noticed Kyra's gaze on Rook as she spoke about the logistics of them being sent on the dropship. The seat next to her was empty, one of the delinquents floating around after Rook's statement on zero gravity. "You're an actual dumbass." Kyra shook her head, unable to hide the smile on her face as Reggie approached. "What did you do?" Kyra continued, her eyes on him as he buckled himself into the seat. The other delinquent didn't seem to care as he continued floating around. "A one-way ticket to Earth, how could I say no?" Reggie grinned, "plus I couldn't let you have all the fun." She scoffed, shaking her head at him. "The entry fee was punching my dad, which honestly was so worth it." Raising his injured hand to Kyra's dismay. "Wish I was there to see his face." Kyra finally said, and the two shared a laugh despite the chaos ensuing around them.
[/div][/div] [/div] [div class=tagflex] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]interactions[/div]
river, rook & kyra[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]mentions[/div]
maude[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]tags[/div]
timshel , birdgeoisie & low fidelity [/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]mood[/div]
eager & excited[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]location[/div]
the dropship[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]song[/div]
do you feel me - oliver tree[/div] [/div] [/div][/div][/div]

fated

[class=back] width: 99%; background: var(--texture); background-size: 20%; background-color: #060606; margin: auto; height: 400px; border: 1px solid #c5c5c5; cursor: url('http://i.imgur.com/ZOrzC.png'), auto !important; [/class] [class=bkg] width: 1100px; height: 400px; margin: auto; overflow: hidden; position: relative; top: -400px; [/class] [class=poly] height: 400px; width: 300px; clip-path: polygon(0% 0%, 75% 0%, 100% 50%, 75% 100%, 0% 100%); background: var(--accent); position: relative; [/class] [class=poly2] clip-path: polygon(0% 0%, 75% 0%, 100% 50%, 75% 100%, 0% 100%); height: 400px; width: 300px; background: var(--image); background-size: cover; background-position: center center; position: relative; left: -45px; [/class] [class=container] height: 300px; width: 600px; position: relative; top: 50px; margin: auto; [/class] [class=post] height: 250px; width: 570px; background: #f5f5f5; border: 1px solid #c5c5c5; position: relative; margin: auto; overflow: hidden; font-family: Inter; color: black; font-size: 12px; white-space: pre-wrap; text-align: justify; [/class] [class=header] font-family: Abril Fatface; font-size: 25px; text-transform: uppercase; color: #6b9e60; position: relative; left: 15px; [/class] [class=tagflex] height: 251px; width: 350px; display: flex; content-justify: space-evenly; flex-wrap: wrap; position: relative; left: 850px; top: -192px; font-size: 12px; color: black; font-size: Inter; [/class] [class=tag] font-size: 15px; display: inline; font-family: Abril Fatface; color: var(--accent); [/class] [class=tagbox] height: max-content; width: 125px; text-align: center; [/class] [class=scroll] overflow-y: scroll; overflow-x: hidden; padding: 10px; padding-right: 25px; width: 99%; height: 100%; [/class] [class=dialogue] color: var(--accent); font-weight: bold; display: inline; [/class]

 

[mangomilk]

[class=variables] --accent: #E9C171; --image: url('https://i.pinimg.com/564x/7d/ef/ed/7defedee60d8890c7612aead16871e46.jpg'); --texture: url('https://www.transparenttextures.com/patterns/stardust.png'); [/class] [div class=variables] [div class=back] [div class=poly][div class=poly2][/div][/div] [div class=bkg] [div class=container][div class=header]christian porter[/div] [div class=post][div class=scroll]It has been quiet these past days. The calm before the storm, Christian could feel it in his skin. This morning he woke up with shivers in his spine, feeling strangely uneasy. He knew his time was limited - to five remaining days exactly - but today was different, he felt nervous. With a slight sigh he watched the grey metal ceiling. It looked the same each day, yet every morning he would spend a few minutes staring at the blank surface as if this would be the only way to keep the sanity on a good level. Christian sat up on the squeaky bed and wiped his forehead. It’s been more than a year in this box. Days, weeks and months of staring down on the earth, working out and keeping himself busy with sudoku magazines that his mother brought every time she visited him. He could feel the sadness in Annalise Porter’s eyes each time she was here. Imprisoned for working on a plan he didn’t know anything about. What a waste of potential. Christian couldn’t develop a sensitivity for his mother’s feelings though. He knew it wasn’t pointless, which was all that mattered to him. It also gave him access to more knowledge about the wrongdoings on the ark that he wasn’t going to tolerate anyway. He wouldn’t do anything differently. Still he found it funny how he got caught for working on the escape pod rather than his illegal reparation businesses on the mecha station after working hours. He’d take that one to his grave then. He could hear noises around and they grew louder with each moment. Christian didn’t know what was happening out there but he expected it to be kind of a massacre. A mass killing? Why right now? He kept watching the earth hover in the massive void with the screams and electrical sounds of the stun batons in the background as the only music he heard in a while. When his door opened, he looked over his shoulder and observed the guards. "Christian Porter, face the wall. You will come with us and everything will be explained." Something peaked his interest. Wristbands. "Pull out your right arm." He wasn’t sure what this meant, but he'd rather not find out this time around. "I have five days left. I’ll gladly keep those." Christian was on alert. Sometimes his father told him stories about creatures on earth, like bears. That they were mighty predators but still humans dared to hunt them. His old man loved to watch the few national geographic documentaries that the ark had in stock. He always said: "Sometimes you’ll be the hunter, sometimes the bear, but if you have to be the bear, then fight." He always shrugged off that saying as if he’d ever need that one. But now he could feel how it applied and Christian was a grizzly now. "I’ll come with you", he said and slowly turned around just to kick one guard’s shin with force and using him in the moment of pain to push the guard against the second one. Both stumbling towards the inner wall of the box while yelling after him. But not without a fight, he thought. Christian exited his box and was met with the overwhelming image of many delinquents being dragged out of their cells with a lot of confusion and fear in the thin air. What is going on here... What a poor way of politics. Scaring all the dogs in their cages, no wonder they'll bite. Trying to get a glimpse of all this, he looked to his left as heavy steps approached him. A girl came running his way and with a closer look he saw it was no one less than Maude. He raised one eyebrow and backed away to the cold slippery wall to give her the space she needed to pass without slowing down. This gave him an idea. Guards were already following close after her, as Christian decided to casually block their way completely by crossing the floor with his body. With a wall of guards collapsing on him, he stumbled to the ground, being taken and electrocuted with the guard’s baton. A stinging pain hit his whole body making him unable to move. The world got more and more quiet after a while. ♘♙♔ Tightly strapped in a seat. The oh so lovely voice of the chancellor. How ironic. Christian’s head hurt a bit as he had received a smaller bleeding wound near his cheekbone from the crash with the guards. The air was dusty and and tasted like metal - but he liked it. It was the same as down on the mecha station while working. He was one of the first people waking up. His conclusions: • All of these people are prisoners on the ark • We all have those wristbands. • We are going down…to earth? In the remaining time, he scanned every inch of this ship, there wasn’t anything better to do really. With more time passing, Christian noticed that more kids were waking up. Following the conversations around quietly, he held himself back. Only a few meters away from him, he could see Maude’s face again. It would’ve surprised him if she actually got away. When another girl was unhooking herself from the seat, he pulled his brows together. But what she was saying made a lot of sense and it was corresponding with his own ideas of this situation. "She’s right", he said loud enough for the three to hear. "These wristband are made of copper and rhodium.", he flicked his fingers twice on the metals as they made a light sound. "Way too expensive, essential materials to waste those. They’ll need a good reason to get rid of us with these on." He could feel the turbulences all of a sudden as they were increasing. It felt like hitting meteors kicking the drop ship in all directions possible like a pinball machine. With the period of zero gravitation coming to an end, Christian held onto his seat. This time he wasn’t so sure to survive. But he’d be excited to find out what would await them though.
[/div][/div] [/div] [div class=tagflex] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]interactions[/div]
other delinquents[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]mentions[/div]
maude, river, elsie[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]tags[/div]
low fidelity timshel birdgeoisie [/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]mood[/div]
nervous but calm[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]song[/div]
fresh blood - eels [/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]location[/div]
in the drop ship through space[/div] [/div] [/div][/div][/div]

fated

[class=back] width: 99%; background: var(--texture); background-size: 20%; background-color: #101211; margin: auto; height: 400px; border: 1px solid #c5c5c5; cursor: url('http://i.imgur.com/ZOrzC.png'), auto !important; [/class] [class=bkg] width: 1100px; height: 400px; margin: auto; overflow: hidden; position: relative; top: -400px; [/class] [class=poly] height: 400px; width: 300px; clip-path: polygon(0% 0%, 75% 0%, 100% 50%, 75% 100%, 0% 100%); background: var(--accent); position: relative; [/class] [class=poly2] clip-path: polygon(0% 0%, 75% 0%, 100% 50%, 75% 100%, 0% 100%); height: 400px; width: 300px; background: var(--image); background-size: cover; background-position: center center; position: relative; left: -45px; [/class] [class=container] height: 300px; width: 600px; position: relative; top: 50px; margin: auto; [/class] [class=post] height: 250px; width: 570px; background: #f5f5f5; border: 1px solid #c5c5c5; position: relative; margin: auto; overflow: hidden; font-family: Inter; color: black; font-size: 12px; white-space: pre-wrap; text-align: justify; [/class] [class=header] font-family: Abril Fatface; font-size: 25px; text-transform: uppercase; color: #E9C171; position: relative; left: 15px; [/class] [class=tagflex] height: 251px; width: 350px; display: flex; content-justify: space-evenly; flex-wrap: wrap; position: relative; left: 850px; top: -192px; font-size: 12px; color: black; font-size: Inter; [/class] [class=tag] font-size: 15px; display: inline; font-family: Abril Fatface; color: var(--accent); [/class] [class=tagbox] height: max-content; width: 125px; text-align: center; [/class] [class=scroll] overflow-y: scroll; overflow-x: hidden; padding: 10px; padding-right: 25px; width: 99%; height: 100%; [/class] [class=dialogue] color: var(--accent); font-weight: bold; display: inline; [/class]

 

[adored]

[class=variables] --accent: #493032; --image: url('https://saucemonsters.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/07/Brianne-Tju-18.jpg'); --texture: url('https://www.transparenttextures.com/patterns/notebook-dark.png'); [/class] [div class=variables] [div class=back] [div class=poly][div class=poly2][/div][/div] [div class=bkg] [div class=container][div class=header]eden tjang.[/div] [div class=post][div class=scroll]Months pass, before Eden experiences sobriety, and the silence it welcomes. No longer are her thoughts jumbled and riddled with agony as her body combated the beast that lay within her. She’d spend days rambling incessant words hoping for the day this would all end, as she shivered in her cell, a chill clinging to her bones that would never leave. She could barely stomach food, not that they gave her much to eat, but she often sat cradled in a ball, awaiting the end. Death never came, but suddenly she could hear her thoughts and not the constant beating of her heart against her rib cage as if, in any moment it would take a leap of faith. She was no longer tormented by her addiction, yet a feeling had settled within her gut early on, that something was awaiting her, and it wouldn’t be death. Although being awake for more than a few hours was nice, being left alone in her cell wide awake, left with her own thoughts definitely put a damper on her mood. It hurt to realize her parents would never come to lay their eyes upon a criminal, such as herself—after all, she didn’t deserve her own last name or the role of being their daughter. She was all alone, and they made sure of that. Yet, she couldn’t help but spend nights with her eyes trained on the door of her cell, not wanting to miss the chance of possibly spotting her parents if they ever did come, even if she knew deep down they’d gladly forget of her existence. On one particular day, the gut feeling that settled had made her almost breathless. It was heavy, and no matter how much she tried to distract herself from whatever she was anticipating, it never let up. She over-analyzed every little move or sound that passed her cell, and even attempted getting information from a guard, but she was just as clueless as before. Hours would pass, before her answer finally came in the form of a guard, who called out to her. “Eden Tjang, you are to come with me. Resist and you will face the consequences.” Silence passes over them for only a moment, before shouts are heard, yet Eden only stares down her company with a frenzied intensity. She feels cornered–almost, as anxiety coils within her veins. All she can hear is the thudding of her heart, but she refuses to show the unease that brews beneath the mask of forced stoic. Slowly, she rises from her bed, pondering what her next actions would be. She knew the guard was getting impatient, and the longer she stood there, the more she knew her options were dwindling, before the guard crossed the threshold and yanked Eden from where she stood. “Don’t make this more difficult than it should be.” He claimed, so she didn’t. Even when her mind raced with ways to get out of her situation, she obeyed.

———​

Eden doesn’t know how much time has passed when she realizes she’s been strapped into a seat. Her head lolls from side to side, as she tries to distinguish her surroundings, but it’s all so unfamiliar and foggy. She can barely hear the words uttered from the screen, especially not over the loud voices from people all around her, as they tried to piece together everything. The fogginess in her brain finally subsides when she hears a booming voice that rises above all the others, commanding attention, as a pair of boys separate from each other. “What the fuck is going on?” She questions, moreso to herself and as if on cue a girl she recognized around The Ark rises from her seat, and begins to speak. Eden tries to listen, truly she does, but whatever the girl is saying, goes in one ear and out the other. It doesn’t interest her much, aside from the fact that they were heading to Earth and may or may not be heading towards their death. They mention something about wristbands, and some type of material it’s made of and yet all Eden could think about was when she’d get out of this uncomfortable chair. If she was gonna go out, the least she wanted was a comfortable death.
[/div][/div] [/div] [div class=tagflex] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]interactions[/div]
n/a[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]mentions[/div]
river, elise[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]tags[/div]
N/A [/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]mood[/div]
disinterested[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]song[/div]
forgiven - vancouver sleep clinic [/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]location[/div]
in the dropship[/div] [/div] [/div][/div][/div]

fated

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[KingHalliwell]

[class=variables] --accent: #00bfff; --image: url('https://s3.amazonaws.com/media-ima002.globaltalentsystems.com/14974/1200/14974_908093-105890-3-12-2019-1552415125185.jpg'); --texture: url('https://images.fineartamerica.com/images/artworkimages/mediumlarge/2/space-stars-texture-sololos.jpg'); [/class] [div class=variables] [div class=back] [div class=poly][div class=poly2][/div][/div] [div class=bkg] [div class=container][div class=header]Killian Embers[/div] [div class=post][div class=scroll]Ever since Killian was put in the Skybox his sleep schedule had been a mess, asleep while most were awake, awake while most were asleep. He didn’t mind though, he enjoyed the silence or as much of the silence that existed on a giant station floating through space. There wasn’t much to do so it was bound to happen sooner or later. When he was awake his time was spent with the few workouts he could manage in his cell or reading one of the few books he was allowed to have in his cell. Nothing major or impressive, just enough to keep his mind and body busy. But when he woke up today, he could sense something was going to happen. His mother used to say that when you spent enough time in one location, you could begin to sense the disruption in the air around him. For Killian it found it’s formed in a gut feeling that left him waiting on the edge of his seat, so to speak. The guards had increased in numbers and he has watched more and more apparent, well the best he could out of the small window that was his cell. His mind ran with possibilities as the day went on, but you can only think of so much before the possibilities become too crazy to be true. The guards came at some point, securing a metal band to his wrist that pushed him into unconsciousness before escorting him to the. Killian thought that facing possible death would be more terrifying or at least cause him some sort of anxiety. But he felt nothing strapped into the uncomfortable seat, knowing he was hurtling towards the possibility of death. He could see the fear on the faces of the countless other kids around him, but he couldn’t empathize with them. The rational part of his brain asked if this was what shock felt like. While the emotional side just stayed quiet, even though he should be freaking out. Even with the horrible shaking of the dropship. He tried to listen to the words of the Chancellor on screen, but he heard no words, just watched as his mouth moved silently with words. People talked around him but while he could hear the volume of their voice, it was as if they were talking in a different language and nothing was registering in his mind. Lights flickered as the rough shaking rocked the ship. He could feel the weightless feeling of the zero g’s lifting him ever so slightly against the straps of the seat. A feeling he wishes he had the emotions to enjoy knowing he would probably never feel it again. His eyes swept the faces of those he recognized. Their expression matched how he knew he should feel. Killian had always been afraid of the unknown, it was why he tried to analyze the situations he found himself in so he could ease that anxiety. But this trip to Earth was the greatest unknown of them all. The Ark knew one thing about the Earth, radiation soaked the planet, but no one knew if it was safe, and there was no way to tell.
[/div][/div] [/div] [div class=tagflex] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]interactions[/div]
Open[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]mentions[/div]
Everyone?[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]tags[/div]
[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]mood[/div]
Oddly Stoic[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]outfit[/div]
[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]location[/div]
Dropship[/div] [/div] [/div][/div][/div]

fated

[class=back] width: 99%; background: var(--texture); background-size: 20%; background-color: #f5f5f5; margin: auto; height: 400px; border: 1px solid #c5c5c5; cursor: url('http://i.imgur.com/ZOrzC.png'), auto !important; [/class] [class=bkg] width: 1100px; height: 400px; margin: auto; overflow: hidden; position: relative; top: -400px; [/class] [class=poly] height: 400px; width: 300px; clip-path: polygon(0% 0%, 75% 0%, 100% 50%, 75% 100%, 0% 100%); background: var(--accent); position: relative; [/class] [class=poly2] clip-path: polygon(0% 0%, 75% 0%, 100% 50%, 75% 100%, 0% 100%); height: 400px; width: 300px; background: var(--image); background-size: cover; background-position: center center; position: relative; left: -45px; [/class] [class=container] height: 300px; width: 600px; position: relative; top: 50px; margin: auto; [/class] [class=post] height: 250px; width: 570px; background: #f5f5f5; border: 1px solid #c5c5c5; position: relative; margin: auto; overflow: hidden; font-family: Inter; color: black; font-size: 12px; white-space: pre-wrap; text-align: justify; [/class] [class=header] font-family: Abril Fatface; font-size: 25px; text-transform: uppercase; color: #454545; position: relative; left: 15px; [/class] [class=tagflex] height: 251px; width: 350px; display: flex; content-justify: space-evenly; flex-wrap: wrap; position: relative; left: 850px; top: -192px; font-size: 12px; color: black; font-size: Inter; [/class] [class=tag] font-size: 15px; display: inline; font-family: Abril Fatface; color: var(--accent); [/class] [class=tagbox] height: max-content; width: 125px; text-align: center; [/class] [class=scroll] overflow-y: scroll; overflow-x: hidden; padding: 10px; padding-right: 25px; width: 99%; height: 100%; [/class] [class=dialogue] color: var(--accent); font-weight: bold; display: inline; [/class]

 

[lovers]

[class=variables] --accent: #9c9c9c; --image: url('https://i.pinimg.com/originals/9c/35/26/9c35267e8b87d63b4fa11d62ee5bfa99.jpg'); --texture: url('https://www.transparenttextures.com/patterns/notebook-dark.png'); [/class] [div class=variables] [div class=back] [div class=poly][div class=poly2][/div][/div] [div class=bkg] [div class=container][div class=header]levi drescher.[/div] [div class=post][div class=scroll]Levi wanted to relive it. To relive, or to experience something again. Whether a traumatic memory or a pleasant dream. To grip the screwdriver. To feel the warm rush of blood flow over your steady hand; to feel two hands around your neck, slacking as they try to thumb through your pulse. Cue release. Thump. Release dopamine. The tip of a loose thread hung out of his shirt hem. He coiled it around his finger, pulling it loose. When the hem grew tight, he clipped the thread with his teeth and spun it out to its full length. It could be long enough for a Jacob's Ladder. Loop the string. Loop the letters. Relive becomes revile. To revile. To accuse angrily. The words ring around dully in his head. "What are you doing, Levi? What the fuck are you doing? Stop! Stop! I don't want it! Jesus Christ, I-" To revile. Drop the thumbs, pull in the pinky, push over the pointer finger. The thin thread digs into his skin. In the distance, he can hear voices. Revile. On his arrival, he found his reputation to proceed him. The chancellor's son found crawling away from his murderous boyfriend, desperately shouting for help with blood painted past his wrists. Drop the pinkies, under the thumbs. On the floor, a man with his mouth open and not a word to say. He's formed Cat's Whiskers. His parents asked for special privileges. Keep him from danger. Keep him innocent. It was a rare and beautiful thing to be given nothing. In a place where sharp-toothed children ached for excitement, it was no surprise that watching eyes were spread thin. Some were predators born of fear, eager to pounce on the next spot on the food chain. Others took up the new hunting grounds with ease. Pull the thread over the ring finger, pinky, under the thumb. Upon his first day, he was well aware he made an easy target. Fresh, unblemished meat carved from a family of status. For a while, he played the part. Until people truly believed it. Then, he had to bare his teeth too. Cross the palms. Over the thumbs, over the pinkies. Done. Flip it over. One Jacob's Ladder, skinny as a spiderweb's thread. A fragile craft. One snap split it in half. He undid the skin-splitting coils around his fingers. Revile. Take two letters, loop the rest, and you have-- "Levi Drescher you are ordered to come with us. Do not resist. If you comply, everything will be explained to you shortly." He rolled his head back, peering at the opened door from his bed. Two guards stood at the doorway, one holding handcuffs out to him. The one with handcuffs looked familiar. Judging by his mouth parting and eyes widening slightly, Levi could guess the sense of familiarity was mutual. The man with the handcuffs surged forward, forcing Levi onto his feet and cuffing him without a moment's hesitation. Levi dropped his shoulders, allowing them to lead him out into the corridor. His mind considered the possibilities of their destination. Freedom? Unlikely. The mongrels who earned their stay in the skybox were also being escorted through the hallway. His mind toyed with the other possibility: execution. It seemed more likely, although he would have expected his mother and father to fight tooth and nail for a re-evaluation of his case. Wherever they were going, it was impossible to turn back now. Ahead of them, a girl had sped from the guards leading her away. Muttering curses beneath his breath, the unfamiliar guard raced to assist in her capture. "Are you taking me to be executed?" He asked the remaining guardsman. He kept marching rigidly, continuing to prod him along as if Levi had not said anything at all. "I'm not yet eighteen. Am I going to die?" Once again, no reaction. Levi grew annoyed with the passiveness of this man, especially as he was growingly aware of the nature of his familiarity. If he was going to die, he was not going to go down without somebody else. "I murdered him. I stabbed him in the throat as he was calling for help, you know," he whispered, light enough to only be caught by the ears of the other man. To an outside observer, it might have looked like Levi was murmuring his last rites. Playing the part, he chews his lip between his teeth. The guard tensed beside him. To Levi's delight, their pace grew slower with each stride. "Weren't you two close friends? I thought he was calling for you when he died. I think he could have survived, if you had gotten there sooner." They pulled to a stop. Levi could barely contain a smile when a look of pure, unadulterated fury lit up the man's face like a blazing sun. Guard beats former chancellor's son, unprovoked. There's only one end to this story. As he met the searing gaze of a damned man, he wondered if there was an afterlife. "I don't regret it. Kill me a thousand times. He'll never live again. Hit me, I fucking dare you." The first punch knocked him down. With the next, he blacked out. -- For a moment, he considered the possibility he was dead. But, upon blinking away the sleepiness of post-fainting, he was not met with pearly gates or flaming rivers. A burning sensation rippled in his ribs. He was spotted with blots of painful bruises shapeless as Magellanic clouds. It hurt to move, but he grimaced through the discomfort to view his surroundings. A small ship, packed with people he recognized as fellow delinquents. Above their discordant voices, a woman attempting to explain their situation. He didn't quite care. He focused his attention on his strange new wristband, inspecting the cold metal and ignoring just about everything else.
[/div][/div] [/div] [div class=tagflex] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]interactions[/div]
n/a.[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]mentions[/div]
n/a.[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]tags[/div]
n/a.[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]mood[/div]
i hate it here.[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]song[/div]
love and caring. [/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]location[/div]
dropship.[/div] [/div] [/div][/div][/div]

fated

[class=back] width: 99%; background: var(--texture); background-size: 20%; background-color: black; margin: auto; height: 400px; border: 1px solid #c5c5c5; cursor: url('http://i.imgur.com/ZOrzC.png'), auto !important; [/class] [class=bkg] width: 1100px; height: 400px; margin: auto; overflow: hidden; position: relative; top: -400px; [/class] [class=poly] height: 400px; width: 300px; clip-path: polygon(0% 0%, 75% 0%, 100% 50%, 75% 100%, 0% 100%); background: var(--accent); position: relative; [/class] [class=poly2] clip-path: polygon(0% 0%, 75% 0%, 100% 50%, 75% 100%, 0% 100%); height: 400px; width: 300px; background: var(--image); background-size: cover; background-position: center center; position: relative; left: -45px; [/class] [class=container] height: 300px; width: 600px; position: relative; top: 50px; margin: auto; [/class] [class=post] height: 250px; width: 570px; background: #8a8a8a; border: 1px solid #c5c5c5; position: relative; margin: auto; overflow: hidden; font-family: Inter; color: black; font-size: 12px; white-space: pre-wrap; text-align: justify; [/class] [class=header] font-family: Galada; font-size: 30px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #cccccc; position: relative; left: 15px; [/class] [class=tagflex] height: 251px; width: 350px; display: flex; content-justify: space-evenly; flex-wrap: wrap; position: relative; left: 850px; top: -192px; font-size: 12px; color: #9c9c9c; font-size: Inter; [/class] [class=tag] font-size: 15px; display: inline; font-family: Abril Fatface; color: var(--accent); [/class] [class=tagbox] height: max-content; width: 125px; text-align: center; [/class] [class=scroll] overflow-y: scroll; overflow-x: hidden; padding: 10px; padding-right: 25px; width: 99%; height: 100%; [/class] [class=dialogue] color: var(--accent); font-weight: bold; display: inline; [/class]

 

[oliver]

[class=variables] --accent: #63704C; --image: url('https://pm1.narvii.com/7498/164fe6a110363c93a8595441edb38ff64e2f313dr1-828-1016v2_00.jpg'); --texture: url('https://www.transparenttextures.com/patterns/asfalt-light.png'); [/class] [div class=variables] [div class=back] [div class=poly][div class=poly2][/div][/div] [div class=bkg] [div class=container][div class=header]Mickey Liakos[/div] [div class=post][div class=scroll]For the first time ever, their heart dropped into their stomach as the door to their cell was thrown open. It wasn’t on schedule and Mickey was right to fear for the worst. “Why the long face?” They prodded with a swift tilt to their head while trying to downplay their uneasiness. The guard they recognized and may have even considered their closest acquaintance at this point; It was six months after the arrest. “Nomiki Lia—” “Just call me Mickey.” “Nomiki Liakos, I regret to inform you, but your grandmother has passed away.” Time stopped. Mickey's eyes grew wide as their brain tried to process the words that had just been presented to them. It wasn't what they were expecting at all, that was for sure and the other's nonchalant tone almost convinced Mickey that he was lying or it was some sort of mistake. “What?” "I'm sorry for your loss." The guard began to say, backing out of the door frame. “Wait wait wait--” Mickey rose from the floor of their cell, rushing over to grab the handle and stick their foot in as a door stopper. The guard delivered a swift boot to their gut, knocking the breath out of them as they fell back down. "What?" The guard snapped, looking more than uncomfortable a little irritated the interaction had gone on longer than necessary. Recuperating from the unexpected aggression, Mickey drew in and pushed out several deep breaths before looking up to the guard with furrowed eyebrows. "When are you floating her body?" "They already did." A seething rage coursed throughout their entire body. Swiftly rising to their feet and heading towards the door again with the unjustly intention to punish the guard for something that was completely out of his control, Mickey opened their mouth to say something. Their threatening disposition was enough to urge the guard to procure his shock baton.

❧​

Sixteen years old and a fiery one at the time, Mickey was tossed into their cell like a sack of potatoes and kept there for nearly two years of their life. Prison wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened. Still, the barren walls of the cell certainly had them feeling worthless most of the time. They served as a daily reminder that Mickey would probably be floated once they turned eighteen and thus picked up anything to occupy their mind. Working out was a common outlet for them until the time came. But twice before then did a guard charge into their room off schedule, throwing their organs into a pit of swirling anxiety. The first was when they notified Mickey that their grandmother had died. And the second time?

❧​

"Mickey Liakos, come with us and we'll tell you what's going on. If you resist, we'll respond with force." One of the guards had said. The same dark-haired one that had notified Mickey of the unfortunate familial death. Talk about character development... Mickey thought. After Paraskevi Liakos kicked the bucket or opened the airlock, rather, Mickey was having an increasingly difficult time finding a reason not figure out how to creatively follow her out into the void of space and end the Liakos bloodline for good. Fortunately, a gut instinct convinced them not to. The snakes called guards could easily be killing all of the delinquents at the will of the higher ups meaning that Mickey would never get the chance to die big and bold like they really wanted to, but another gut instinct told them that wasn't it. Whatever the case, the only reason they had to resist was spite. And they usually had a fire revving and roaring. But, it had been slowly burning out over the past year. Standing up they gave a shrug. "What's happening out there?" Mickey asked, silently noting the noise filling up the skybox.

❧​

There was no abuses because for once in their life Mickey didn't fight back, even when the responses to their questions were minimal at best "shut ups" at worst. When they came to on the dropship, Mickey quickly realized that the delinquents weren't being sent out into space to die via the chancellor. They were being sent down to Earth. Suddenly, that previously dying fire within Mickey was blazing brightly once again. If they made it and it was habitable, they got their 'second chance'. And if the ark's occupants followed them down, they'd have 100 angry delinquents on their hands. Mickey, eyebrows furrowed with their lips pursed in a tight line, focused on the screen with the chancellor's face on it. To each word, they listened carefully but their face heated up with an uncontrollable rancor. It was unfair and had a similar anger bubbling inside them when they had found out they disposed of Mickey's grandma without telling them first. Then again, this time around it wasn't like this whole thing was much of an inconvenience to Mickey. There was no one on the ark left for them. No one to care for them and no one for them to fight for. For a while, Mickey simply watched the scene before them. People unstrapping to float only for the infamous River Calhoun shout at them. That's rich, coming from a murderer. And that piece of internal monologue had absolutely no value because Mickey had assaulted someone. People had their reasons. They shook off the entire string of thoughts and instead turned their attention to the Elsie. Mickey tried hard to understand what she was talking about but... Yeah, no. She lost them. Mickey tilted their head back, squeezing their eyes shut while sighing out. "Well this is one hell of a party."
[/div][/div] [/div] [div class=tagflex] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]interactions[/div]
n/a ; open[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]mentions[/div]
river, rook[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]tags[/div]
timshel birdgeoisie [/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]mood[/div]
annoyed[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]location[/div]
the dropship[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]song[/div]
hey geronimo - bad citizen [/div] [/div] [/div][/div][/div]

fated

[class=back] width: 99%; background: var(--texture); background-size: 20%; background-color: #060606; margin: auto; height: 400px; border: 1px solid #c5c5c5; cursor: url('http://i.imgur.com/ZOrzC.png'), auto !important; [/class] [class=bkg] width: 1100px; height: 400px; margin: auto; overflow: hidden; position: relative; top: -400px; [/class] [class=poly] height: 400px; width: 300px; clip-path: polygon(0% 0%, 75% 0%, 100% 50%, 75% 100%, 0% 100%); background: var(--accent); position: relative; [/class] [class=poly2] clip-path: polygon(0% 0%, 75% 0%, 100% 50%, 75% 100%, 0% 100%); height: 400px; width: 300px; background: var(--image); background-size: cover; background-position: center center; position: relative; left: -45px; [/class] [class=container] height: 300px; width: 600px; position: relative; top: 50px; margin: auto; [/class] [class=post] height: 250px; width: 570px; background: #f5f5f5; border: 1px solid #c5c5c5; position: relative; margin: auto; overflow: hidden; font-family: Inter; color: black; font-size: 12px; white-space: pre-wrap; text-align: justify; [/class] [class=header] font-family: Abril Fatface; font-size: 25px; text-transform: uppercase; color: #454545; position: relative; left: 15px; [/class] [class=tagflex] height: 251px; width: 350px; display: flex; content-justify: space-evenly; flex-wrap: wrap; position: relative; left: 850px; top: -192px; font-size: 12px; color: white; font-size: Inter; [/class] [class=tag] font-size: 15px; display: inline; font-family: Abril Fatface; color: var(--accent); [/class] [class=tagbox] height: max-content; width: 125px; text-align: center; [/class] [class=scroll] overflow-y: scroll; overflow-x: hidden; padding: 10px; padding-right: 25px; width: 99%; height: 100%; [/class] [class=dialogue] color: var(--accent); font-weight: bold; display: inline; [/class]

 

[blackout]

[class=variables] --accent: #70899e; --image: url('https://mediaslide-us.storage.googleapis.com/wilhelmina/pictures/4323/496/large-1575323462-4083638dc0bc2a96e318e7bec5eda1cd.jpg'); --texture: url('https://www.transparenttextures.com/patterns/asfalt-dark.png'); [/class] [div class=variables] [div class=back] [div class=poly][div class=poly2][/div][/div] [div class=bkg] [div class=container][div class=header]amber o'vey.[/div] [div class=post][div class=scroll]From the moment her existence was reduced to that of a pacing, caged animal, Amber had longed for the familiar rush of adrenaline that came with all things bad. It wasn't just habit: she needed it like the blood coursing through her veins. She needed the fiery red-hot thrill, the incessant path of destruction that it raged down carelessly. She wanted to breathe electricity, feel the crackling spark of hatred and the satisfaction that came when she spoke it like a command. Her meagre excuse for an existence in the Skybox was a picture of agony, and all Amber could do was dream and hold onto those fleeting desires. Never, not even in her feverish, starved thoughts, could Amber have imagined that one fateful day those desperate whispers would turn into an inescapable reality. When the metal door confining her to her very own circle of hell crashed open, Amber braced herself for the piercing finality she had awaited all these tireless days. An acrid smile spread on her face as she rose, the guard's brows settling into a harsh line as his eyes followed her careful movements. "Come to cull me, big man? You're early," she spat, lips twisting into a warped grin. As she stared him down, the silence between them crackling with tension and hatred, she could almost feel a soft thumping from the inside of her chest. And, like clockwork, it came. The tingling rush behind her palms. The sharpening of her vision. Even as the guard shook his head and grabbed her by the arm, euphoria rose inside Amber like a steady pendulum, twisting and relentless. It was this feeling that she lived for. Something was happening. "Amber O'vey, you are to come with me. Any attempts at resistance will yield punishment." She felt herself lurch forward at the guard's sharp tug, her feet struggling to regain hold on the frictionless floor. As he dragged her towards the door, a resounding notion repeated itself amongst the screams and chaos she heard — something was happening. She tilted her chin upwards as he thrust her out into the mass of bustling bodies, the panic reflecting in her eyes as pure and utter glee. The hall was packed with prisoners and guards, shouts and cries bouncing off the thick walls. Maybe, just maybe, the day was finally upon them. They were sheep to the slaughter, and their destiny was going to be fulfilled. They would die, and the tale of cruelty would live on without them. But as Amber gazed over the spinning crowd, her heart spiked again with something akin to opportunity. This, undoubtedly, was the end, and so Amber would get her final high. Her fist had barely finished tightening before it collided with the guard's jaw, the pain recoiling back through her as elation. It was like memory, the way her feet moved, arms instinctively shoved others aside to just get a little farther away. She knew there was no escape; she was playing a game with the reaper itself, but what was a greater punishment than her muddied existence confined to the Skybox? Just like always, there was no rhyme or reason shadowing Amber's actions, and it felt like nothing short of bliss. The adrenaline engulfing Amber was so absolute she almost didn't feel the searing pain that suddenly wracked through her. It crashed into her back like a bullet cast from lightning, sending her rolling to the ground breathlessly. It was like everything in her was falling apart, shredding from the electricity sent jolting from the guard's baton. Amber was helpless as everything faded away into screaming black, and she knew then that her last memory of life would be one of exacerbating pain.

​

When Amber rose from her fitful sleep, she found that by whatever volition the world had for them, the hell they were in now was objectively worse. The first thing her foggy senses came to realize was the acrid scent of burning and screaming pain that dragged against her shoulders with every movement. In an instant, she burst into vivacity, fingers digging into the thick straps that constrained her. The world around her was roiling in chaos unrivaled by anything she'd seen on the Ark, grating sounds of metal squealing and wind whistling past drowning her in panic. It was like instinct, the way her fingers fruitlessly searched for a way to free herself. She had wished for adrenaline, but what crushed her now was anything but. Amber was choking from her own nature, and being restrained was somehow thrice as terrifying as being thrust into a completely foreign reality. She could barely even see the others around her, feel the burning pain in her wrist, hear the cacophony of unnatural sounds. The throbbing in her head had cast reality into a single track, and the only thought Amber seemed to be able to decipher was that she was trapped. When her scrabbling fingers finally reached the clasp holding her down, it was nothing short of a need to free herself. But the moment she unhooked the clasp, a crippling sense of disorientation washed over her as she shot up into the air. In that moment, it was as if her mind had finally overloaded. She could hear everything, see everything, process everything. The faces around her were a motley of indiscernible, raw emotions, but what spread across Amber's was something in between delight and morbid fascination as she realized where they were. "We're..." She paused, even just the thought feeling too fantastical to utter. "We're free." It was only as she realized the person howling at them all to get down was quite possibly one of the most infamous people on the Ark that she paid him any heed. "Don't tell me the pretty boy is only starting to get some positivity just now," she cooed, voice pitched in false shock. Amber was fully aware that whatever was happening to them was likely just as much of a death sentence than life on the Ark, but she was determined to live out her final moments with as much grandeur as she could. The weightlessness that enveloped her was impossibly peaceful, and even as others started murmuring of parts and earth, the words only resounded numbly in the empty cavern that was her mind. From the moment she'd been imprisoned, Amber was forced to come to terms with her inevitable death. This, whatever desperate last-ditch attempt it was, was nothing different. No matter what the smart blonde said or River Calhoun hoped against, they were going to die, and maybe, just maybe, Amber was ok with that.
[/div][/div] [/div] [div class=tagflex] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]interactions[/div]
other delinquents, river calhoun[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]mentions[/div]
river calhoun, elsie rooker[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]tags[/div]
timshel [/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]mood[/div]
"finally, our story ends."[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]location[/div]
the dropship, space [/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]song[/div]
smilin - dbmk[/div] [/div] [/div][/div][/div] [class=back] width: 99%; background: var(--texture); background-size: 20%; background-color: #c9ced4; margin: auto; height: 400px; border: 1px solid #c5c5c5; cursor: url('http://i.imgur.com/ZOrzC.png'), auto !important; [/class] [class=bkg] width: 1100px; height: 400px; margin: auto; overflow: hidden; position: relative; top: -400px; [/class] [class=poly] height: 400px; width: 300px; clip-path: polygon(0% 0%, 75% 0%, 100% 50%, 75% 100%, 0% 100%); background: var(--accent); position: relative; [/class] [class=poly2] clip-path: polygon(0% 0%, 75% 0%, 100% 50%, 75% 100%, 0% 100%); height: 400px; width: 300px; background: var(--image); background-size: cover; background-position: center center; position: relative; left: -45px; [/class] [class=container] height: 300px; width: 600px; position: relative; top: 50px; margin: auto; [/class] [class=post] height: 250px; width: 570px; background: #f5f5f5; border: 1px solid #c5c5c5; position: relative; margin: auto; overflow: hidden; font-family: Inter; color: black; font-size: 12px; white-space: pre-wrap; text-align: justify; [/class] [class=header] font-family: Abril Fatface; font-size: 25px; text-transform: uppercase; color: #454545; position: relative; left: 15px; [/class] [class=tagflex] height: 251px; width: 350px; display: flex; content-justify: space-evenly; flex-wrap: wrap; position: relative; left: 850px; top: -192px; font-size: 12px; color: black; font-size: Inter; [/class] [class=tag] font-size: 15px; display: inline; font-family: Abril Fatface; color: var(--accent); [/class] [class=tagbox] height: max-content; width: 125px; text-align: center; [/class] [class=scroll] overflow-y: scroll; overflow-x: hidden; padding: 10px; padding-right: 25px; width: 99%; height: 100%; [/class] [class=dialogue] color: var(--accent); font-weight: bold; display: inline; [/class]

 

[kashbambi]

[class=variables] --accent: #D2B48C; --image: url('https://i.pinimg.com/originals/74/b1/d9/74b1d9c6ce5c2509416e8a92f811bced.jpg'); --texture: url('https://www.transparenttextures.com/patterns/asfalt-dark.png'); [/class] [div class=variables] [div class=back] [div class=poly][div class=poly2][/div][/div] [div class=bkg] [div class=container][div class=header]kenya shultze.[/div] [div class=post][div class=scroll]Three glass jugs freed from a compact cabinet, a crumpled piece of paper and the prideful gleam in Thomas’ DeVille’s eyes. Kenya’s lips subconsciously lifted into a bashful smile. She loved this dream. She stood at the door, keeping watch, failing at keeping watch. The only thing that caught her attention was the way Tommy’s pant legs were uneven, one sock hoisted up to cover the flaw. At nineteen, he had finally started to shift from a puppyish youth to someone slick and serpentine. He had always been a hellion, that Tommy, the bane of guards everywhere. Now it was starting to show. All around him were his boys, celebrating their successful heist as quietly as they could. Each hoorah was ended with a swig of moonshine and when a bottle was passed to Kenya, she knew she couldn’t deny it. She faced the task with pride, both hands holding the jug in front of her face while she eagerly drank down it’s contents. In reality, Kenya clutched the thin blanket covering her sleeping form. Everybody knew what happened when she put the bottle down. Hugo was at her front, his mouth an amalgamation of bloody white pearls. The official pushed her into Tommy, stanced behind her like a soldier. Tommy laid Kenya, who was suddenly stiff as a board, on the floor. Wordlessly, him and Hugo brought their boots down on her face. “GOD ! GOD! I’m dreaming. I’m dreaming” Her words were strangled with a cry, tears burning tunnels into her rosy cheeks. She hated that dream—but that’s all it was. “Look at me, a scaredy cat. There’s nothing to be afraid of” One look at the guard strutting into her cell said there was. “Kenya Shutlze, you are to come with me. Follow willingly or you will be forced to comply.” Not even a minute went by and all fear had flooded back. Only this time, the girl didn’t have the comfort of knowing what would happen. Other people, more brave people, would’ve fought the guards or offered some type of resistance. Kenya simply folded over, hands pressed to her heart. She couldn’t breathe—she couldn’t breathe. “You’re going to sedate me ? Could you—could you please do it now ? I won’t do anything bad, I just can’t—I can’t—” It wasn’t standard procedure but the guard looked upon her, panicked and faint, and uncapped the syringe. It’d be easier for both of them this way. ↳ Maybe the guard had taken pity on her and upped the dosage because when Kenya awoke, she felt no fear. What she felt was abrasive straps resttaining her against a metal seat. One look around at everyone, yelling, crying, staring, told her everything she needs to know. “Earth. We’re going to Earth.” For a second, Kenya heard rushing water and birds singing. The next, her heartbeat drowned out every sound and feeling but the acid in the back of her throat. “I think I’m going to throw up”.
[/div][/div] [/div] [div class=tagflex] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]interactions[/div]
the other delinquents [/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]mentions[/div]
n/a[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]tags[/div]
open [/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]mood[/div]
"i think i’m going to throw up."[/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]location[/div]
the dropship [/div] [div class=tagbox][div class=tag]song[/div]
bellyache - billie eilish[/div] [/div] [/div][/div][/div] [class=back] width: 99%; background: var(--texture); background-size: 20%; background-color: #ffffff; margin: auto; height: 400px; border: 1px solid #D2B48C; cursor: url('http://i.imgur.com/ZOrzC.png'), auto !important; [/class] [class=bkg] width: 1100px; height: 400px; margin: auto; overflow: hidden; position: relative; top: -400px; [/class] [class=poly] height: 400px; width: 300px; clip-path: polygon(0% 0%, 75% 0%, 100% 50%, 75% 100%, 0% 100%); background: var(--accent); position: relative; [/class] [class=poly2] clip-path: polygon(0% 0%, 75% 0%, 100% 50%, 75% 100%, 0% 100%); height: 400px; width: 300px; background: var(--image); background-size: cover; background-position: center center; position: relative; left: -45px; [/class] [class=container] height: 300px; width: 600px; position: relative; top: 50px; margin: auto; [/class] [class=post] height: 250px; width: 570px; background: #f5f5f5; border: 1px solid #D2B48C; position: relative; margin: auto; overflow: hidden; font-family: Inter; color: black; font-size: 12px; white-space: pre-wrap; text-align: justify; [/class] [class=header] font-family: Abril Fatface; font-size: 25px; text-transform: uppercase; color: #454545; position: relative; left: 15px; [/class] [class=tagflex] height: 251px; width: 350px; display: flex; content-justify: space-evenly; flex-wrap: wrap; position: relative; left: 850px; top: -192px; font-size: 12px; color: black; font-size: Inter; [/class] [class=tag] font-size: 15px; display: inline; font-family: Abril Fatface; color: var(--accent); [/class] [class=tagbox] height: max-content; width: 125px; text-align: center; [/class] [class=scroll] overflow-y: scroll; overflow-x: hidden; padding: 10px; padding-right: 25px; width: 99%; height: 100%; [/class] [class=dialogue] color: var(--accent); font-weight: bold; display: inline; [/class]