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KENJI MIYASAKI. SUGAR. THIRTY. HE/HIM. THE HITTER.

#( ϟ — ɪɴᴛʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴛɪᴏɴ. )#did i write up a quick facts sheet and wanted connections in 30 minutes bc i have no self control and wouldn't be able to focus on my final #papers otherwise? maybe

safiye.

●●●

“i’ve never liked you.” she answers quickly because they’re playing a game of spot-the-difference, running one finger along the things that don’t belong. it seemed she and kenji were always playing some type of game (or maybe it was the same one: do i look the same as you remember me?), with rules often guessed at but never fully disclosed. “thank-you.” safiye watches the spiral pattern of the spoon on her dough, ignoring kenji’s glance (that was another game, too) as the red sauce spreads. “that’s not true, is it? — i mean, i’m sure you wore his shirt, but you didn’t wear it better, did you?” there is a facetious searching quality in the way her eyes look between his, smiling, before her gaze is drawn downward. “they’re yours.” gently, with more intent than strength in the execution, she steps on the toe of his nearest shoe. “you don’t recognize them?”

“Damn, if I didn’t know that lying was literally in your job description, I might’ve believed you,” Kenji quips without missing a single beat, with no intention of being upstaged in their performance. “Not that you’re getting shabby or anything, I’ve seen you in action too many times to think that. Your actions just continue to prove otherwise.” He was still formulating his response when he feels a sharp pain jolt through his toe, but not enough to throw him completely off his game, as he chewed the inside of the lip to redirect the pain. He bends over slightly as if to get a better look at her footwear, his own feet glued in their place. “I’ve never owned a pair of shoes that nice in my entire life,” he responds with a snort. “But since you did say they’re mine, I’ll have to let you keep them— if it’ll mean I get to see you in them again.”

#( safiye — 001. )#( safiye — tbd. )#( location — apartment block. )#ok he looks kinda wild in this gif the more i keep looking at it oesrkgsoergk

ofvalentina

KENJI MIYASAKI && VALENTINA RICCI MOODBOARD / @miyasakis

for a pair that made for a formidable force out on mission, they certainly had an unusual relationship. often found upon the base bickering over anything and everything — they could easily be mistaken for an old married couple. perhaps deep down in her heart, there was a specific place that was labelled kenji. one that would dare say she was fond of the other. but for now, there was something rather satisfying when it came to criticising them at any given opportunity. not to mention that she rather enjoyed their training sessions that allowed for her to release her aggressions out upon them at any given time. (and maybe knock him down a peg or two).

#( valentina — tbd. )#love these two #seprgspergepsrgl still laughing at the sock

valentina.

♜

It had been a month of living at this apartment block, and although she had been reassured of its security and privacy from the public, Valentina couldn’t help but feel anxious that all the occupants of this building were members of the crew. Not to mention that she didn’t trust over three quarters of the members to have her back if a mission went south. But for now, she’d play along if only for the decent payout that was received from each time they were successful. And finding clients could be rather irritating at times. Reaching to her pocket to bring out her phone, she began to compose a message to Booker to let him know that she had escaped the compound in search of some sort of breakfast, and that he could join her if he woke up in time. Tapping her foot impatiently upon the floor as she awaited for the elevator to make its descent to the ground floor, Valentina wondered if she should have just taken the stairs to avoid having to make conversation at this hour.

A small sharp sigh escaping her lips the moment the elevator made a stop at one of the lower floors, she wondered who else was exactly awake at this time. And of course it wasn’t someone that she got along with. Folding her arms the moment she recognised the rather familiar raven haired locks of Kenji, Valentina rolled her eyes at the impertinent disdain upon the other’s features that probably mirrored her own. Irritated that she had to deal with Kenji at this time of the morning, Valentina decided to disregard his first statement even though a sharp retort almost made its way in reply to his quips. “I despise cooking in general, and the thought of playing master chef with the likes of you is enough to make me desire setting the kitchen on fire.” Valentina deadpanned as she reached over to press the button to make the elevator doors close. Anything that would allow for her to escape this conversation faster.

All it took was a roll of her eyes for understand what sort of day the pair would be having— an air of competition would fuel their every interaction, and Kenji didn’t like losing. Even when it came to something as trivial as annoying Valentina in the elevator more than she annoyed him. “Not sure if that’s the best idea— I don’t think I can afford to get any hotter,” Kenji muses with a knowing smirk, rocking back and forth smugly on his heels. He may not have known her well— but he knew her well enough to get under her skin with little to no effort, and she nearly always let him. “But at the same time, I’d pay good money to see Roman’s reaction to you setting his kitchen on fire. Are you a woman of your word, Valentina?”

His hand maneuvers to his pocket to check the time— before glancing impatiently at the elevator, and back to Valentina. “The hell are you doing up this early, anyway?” he inquires, his brows furrowing curiously. “Tell me you’re not in route to the gym.” Kenji knew there would always be one thing they had in common, and that’s their volatile social meter. Kenji was alone for so long— that readjusting to being in close proximity with people on a daily basis, ones whose faces he wasn’t pummeling in, was an interesting adjustment to say in the least. The gym was where Kenji recuperated after too much socialization— or where he went in preparation of such socialization. Oh well, he’d just have to make the most of their encounter. “For someone you dislike, you just can’t seem to get enough of me,” he states leaning forward ever so slightly, head tilted arrogantly on an axis, lips plastered with his signature smirk. Your move, his body language seems to say, as if in preparation for her counterattack.

#( valentina — 001. )#( valentina — tbd. )#( location — apartment block. )#these two #serogksekrg #\

angel.

𝚁𝙾𝙼𝙰𝙽'𝚂 𝙰𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃 : 𝙼𝙰𝚈 𝙵𝙾𝚄𝚁𝚃𝙴𝙴𝙽 : 𝙾𝙿𝙴𝙽 𝚃𝙾 𝙰𝙻𝙻 !

truth be told, angel was much more accustomed to ordering pizza, not making them fresh. hell, the closest she’d ever gotten is panfrying up some three day old leftover slices—which was truly the only good way to reheat old pizza. but this whole thing was fun! sprinkling over whatever toppings she felt like, the delicious smells filling up her nostrils, and sneaking pepperoni slices into her mouth as she waited for the oven alarm to go off. suddenly, a hand snuck up the counter, all the way to her little pile of snacks. ❝ HEY! don’t you fuckin’ dare! ❞ she swatted at the hand, turning to see who was trying to swipe her pepperoni, a look of over-dramatic indignation on her face. ❝ i’ve fought off giant subway rats trying to steal my takeout once, don’t think i’ll let YOU get away with it. ❞

sure— all of them were tasked with making a pizza, ensuring that all of them were guaranteed some sort of meal (some pizzas looked less edible than others), but angel’s snack pile looked irresistible. he’d done his best to time it perfectly, carefully lowering his hand when he thought she wasn’t looking— but the sudden swatting stopped him in his tracks. he brought his hand to his chest defeatedly, meeting angel’s gaze with his best attempt at looking wounded, knowing good and well the puppy eye shit wouldn’t work on her. “ouch— is that what you think of me? am i really on the same level as a subway rat?” kenji clutches his chest with increased intensity. “if you listen closely, you’ll be able to hear the sound of my heart breaking.” his eyes dart to the pile of snacks once more. “pleasssseeeeee. please. pretty please— for your partner in crime? for your absolute most favorite person in the world, or favorite person in roman’s kitchen— at least?”

#( angel — 001. )#( angel — tbd. )#( location — apartment block. )#he can't even beg w/out being a clown deny him everything!!!

tal.

14/04/21 21:02 +++ roman’s apartment {{ open }}

the first pizzas are in the oven, and tal is drying their hands on a towel tucked into the waistband of the apron they’d put on at some point, design on the front unknown, when there’s a flash and a clatter and the chips that were deep-frying are now aflame.

it’s instinct, at this point, so many meals gone the way of the crisp, for him to grab a spare backing tray with the towel, and slowly slide it across the top, pranks in chemistry showing him the hard way what happens when you use anything else to put out a grease fire. his other hand quickly turns off the hob, before he exhales, looking around to see if the fire had spread.

thankfully, not, and he gives it a few moments before drawing back the lid, and they sigh in relief to see the fire has gone out. still, for safety, they leave the pan on and move it to the back hob to cool down before dealing with it. ‘ tips, don’t set this apartment block on fire. it was very hard to find. ‘

it was a miracle that tal’s reflexes had been significantly faster than his own— for kenji’s initial reaction involved the faucet— no further elaboration needed. he moves toward them with a smirk and slow clap, before briefly scanning the food to determine if it was at all salvageable. “don’t you think we could set roman’s apartment on fire— just this once?” kenji suggests playfully, resting his weight against the counter. “while making sure my apartment remains unharmed, of course. and yours— because something tells me that if your apartment got burned down, the high speed wifi is going down with it.”

#( noah — 001. )#( noah — tbd. )#( location — apartment block. )#just clown o clock i guess

safiye.

location: roman’s kitchen. date: may 14th, 2021. status: open.

like men on the moon so many decades ago, safiye’s mere stance in roman’s kitchen acts as some small triumph to modern womanhood: upright and well-balanced in saint laurent heels, and entirely free from powdery spots of flour so far. a men’s shirt covers her upper half in lieu of an apron — oversized despite how it remains loose — but after surveying the next step of the meal she hooks a hand into the elbow of the person beside her.

“will you do my sauce for me?” the tug towards her space of the counter, like her inquiry, is at once gentle and insistent. “i borrowed roman’s shirt,” a gesture is made to her attempt at stain prevention. “but it looks better unbuttoned.”

to many people’s surprise, kenji had been a fantastic cook— something he’d picked up on from years of cooking the family dinners when his mother worked late nights. he’d been fast at work saucing his own pizza, when a velvety voice eased him out of his train of thought, as he turned ever so slightly meet her gaze. “no, I will not do your sauce for you,” kenji responds after several moments of feigned contemplation. despite his answer, he’d almost immediately transferred his attentions to the task of saucing safiye’s pizza. he continues saucing the pizza as his eyes registered the way roman’s shirt became something else entirely when draped across her form, the pizza long forgotten for a few silent seconds. “i mean, it looks fantastic on you, but i definitely wore it better.” he shrugs, returning back to his own pizza, after deciding her pizza was adequately sauced. “don’t ask him if i wore it better though, because he probably doesn’t know i wore it at all— i think.” his eyes dart briefly to what he found to be an unusual choice at cooking footwear— for safety reasons, of course. “did you borrow his shoes too?”

#( safiye — 001. )#( safiye — tbd. )#( location — apartment block. )#fooking clown x2

seraphina.

Where: Roman’s apartment When: 14th of May, 8:30 pm Whom: open for anyone

There is a comfort to the chaos, a soothing quality to the unintelligible yet tangible buzz that currently sparks the air. If they wanted, they could focus on the individual pieces of the atmosphere, pluck out someone’s protests against pineapple on pizza and then another’s impassioned defense of the sweet fruit. However, as she sits on her bar stool throne, a glass of white wine nestled into the curl of her gloved hand, she decides that it’s all the more enjoyable for her to simply…let it all mix; let the chaos wash over them like the tide, like resin poured over canvas.

Seraphina smiles into their glass and is about to tilt the liquid into their lips until—A stray catches their eye. A little sheep, wandering away from the herd—Or perhaps not even wandering; perhaps it’s not even intentional, the way the other person stands apart from the group, observing (just as she is observing) rather than partaking. Or, who knows, perhaps it is intentional. Either way, it’s not a part of Seraphina’s plan and that needs immediate correcting.

The Mastermind casually glides over to their side. Casual, like the way she’s dressed: perfectly fitted jeans and a cream blouse, loose tresses falling behind their back like an ink waterfall. An attempt at relatability, at humanity, a visage meant to disarm walls.

They smile, warm and teasing at the same time. “So, what’s your verdict? On pineapple, I mean. Crime against humanity or pleasant tropical topping?”

It did not matter how tolerable Kenji found the crew, nor did his budding fondness— all of the human interaction gradually chipped away at his social capacity meter, and now demanded several moments of isolation, if Kenji hoped to recover it at all. That’s all that he’d been asking— just a few moments of solitude, but he’d barely managed to ingest a second gulp of beer before sensing a new presence. He’d recognized the figure before processing who it was— and Kenji’s budding irritation was immediately subdued upon discovering who it was.

It was difficult to say no to Seraphina— simple as that. Not when they’d taken hold of his fate— a fate so dire that the general population recoiled at that the sight of it. They’d discarded Kenji away without a moment’s hesitation— a futile cause not worth any serious effort. And how could he blame them, when he’d fucked up so many times? But with Seraphina? Things were different. They’d rewritten what was thought to irrevocable— if he’d been religious, perhaps he’d deem her proposal as divine intervention.

He turns to her curiously, wondering what exactly her aim was in recreation of hell’s kitchen starring the motley crew. Though he presently was enjoying the fact that having this many people in Roman’s apartment was most likely irritating him to no end.

Their question had been peculiar, but easy enough to answer.

“Fruit does not belong as a pizza topping. Simple as that. What exactly is supposed to sound good about cheese soaking in pineapple juice?” he raises the beer to his mouth as if it offered some answers, before turning back to them with his usual, mischievous smirk. “You know, I figured we were too old to be playing 21 questions, but hey— what the hell. What’s your favorite color?”

#( seraphina — 001. )#( seraphina — tbd. )#( location — apartment block. )#this fookin clown

valentina.

where: apartment block. when: 11th of may, 6:24am. who: valentina ricci & anyone.

Roused up at the slightest hint of movement; the moment the envelope was unceremoniously placed pushed beneath her door, Valentina immediately advanced from her bed towards the unsuspecting scrupulous piece of paper. Recognising the calligraphy and penmanship of Seraphina immediately, Valentina rolled her eyes at the dramatic invitation before throwing the envelope on her desk, the details left forgotten till she left her apartment floor that morning, noticing the details of the invite again. As she moved towards the elevator shaft, a small grimace appeared upon Valentina’s features at the thought of socialising with the other crew members due to mandated time beneath Seraphina’s command. Not to mention the thoughts that arose of the potential chaos that would erupt from the dozen of them cooking in the same kitchen. She could foresee the building burning already.

A small sigh of relief escaping her lips the moment the elevator doors finally opened, Valentina moved forward to enter it, pressing her back against the glass and folding her arms as she awaited for the elevator to finally make its way down to the lobby. Tapping her foot impatiently as she expected the elevator to smooth sail its way to the bottom floor, it seemed that her plans for escaping the Apartment Block undisturbed were interrupted as she heard the unmistakable sound signalling that the elevator had stopped at another level. A small smirk materialising upon her lips as another crew member entered the lift, she remarked, “Let me guess — you decided to make your escape, the moment you saw that lovely invitation.”

— /

Kenji didn’t like letters. It was the 21st century, so letters nowadays meant bills, shitty credit card offers, or your dentist inquiring about why you’d miss your semiannual cleaning. When the envelope glided under his door, he retrieved it cautiously, as he recalled that he did have that one ex who had that weird obsession with the 2003 White House ricin letters. He holds the envelope vertically, tearing the pretty envelope on its side— nothing immediately appeared wrong with it. Further, inspection revealed that it was an invitation from Seraphina, and Kenji’s eyebrows fold together perplexedly? “The hell— is it somebody’s birthday?” he says under his breath, but even a birthday party would’ve been preferred to what Kenji was about to read. Cooking with the entire crew? Was their next big heist gonna be robbing Gordon Ramsay, or something? Kenji groans and tosses the letter aside, knowing that if he kept Tal waiting any longer, that they would start the Among Us match without him.

He liked to arrive at the gym bright and early— it meant that he could have it all to himself. Clad in a pair of worn-down Nike sweats, the black shirt that probably should’ve been on his body, was instead hanging across his shoulder— his gym bag in the other, as he groggily made his way to the elevator. He was an early riser naturally, but that didn’t mean he liked it. As the elevator lurched open, Kenji fought the urge to groan, but he was much too tired to put any real effort into disguising his disdain. It was too fucking early for this. Did it have to be Valentina, of all people? He’d simply have to be on his best behavior for the time being. Who the fuck knew how to properly hold a conversation this early in the morning, anyway? “I just need a nice morning at the gym to prepare myself mentally for dealing with all of you, is all,” Kenji explains without looking at her, eyes fixed on his reflection in the elevator panel. His eyes shift over to Val for several moments. “What, are not in the mood to play master chef, Tina?”

#( valentina — 001. )#( valentina — tbd. )#( location — apartment block. )#oskrgsoekrgoeskgr here we go

jcssiemeili

“You think the remedy for pain is always more pain. This too, I think, is a symptom”

— Yves Olade, from “Symptom” (via voirlvmer)

#u didnt see me #reasons this has no tags is bc its not rlly here

hacker, mastermind, getaway driver !

the hacker — are you good with technology or do you tend to just key smash until something works?

An unintelligible mutter tumbles from Kenji’s lips as his hand dived into his pocket to retrieve his phone. Why give an elaborate explanation when a visual allowed him to arrive at his answer way quicker? “I bought this phone off some guy selling unlocked phones on the street,” he adds, allowing the phone to be seen at all angles. Deep cracks were peppered across the phone’s foundation— blood and dirty permanently embedded in the crevices in which the paper towels and water in the club bathroom could not reach. “It would’ve looked perfectly fine if it weren’t that dumbass that tried to sneak me with a Crown Royal bottle.” It was out of pure instinct that Kenji’s phone became his weapon of choice, pummeling the man who’d snuck up on him with his fists and a phone. He didn’t see the point in fixing it— he never really was a phone guy as is, and it still worked perfectly fine. Who cares if he hasn’t seen a new emoji in years? The kissy face still works perfectly fine. Phones were never his thing, and neither were computers— he’s fairly decent at video games, though. “I can’t type for shit, but I can whoop your ass in Mortal Combat.” His Animal Crossing island was finally starting to come together, but he chose to leave this detail out.

the mastermind — what is your biggest regret? what would you have done differently?

He can’t help but chuckle upon being met with this question. In his life, he’d known nothing but regret. It was difficult to pinpoint a singular moment. Shame, guilt, and regret began making a home in the confines of his mind long ago— but it wasn’t until he was older that it became to fester, nestling itself so deep that it would eventually become unrecognizable beneath Kenji’s brewing and blinding rage. Him fucking up at practically every point of his life since his youth? This was something he’d learn to live and deal with— it came easily when he didn’t hold himself to any particular standard— he’d accepted being a fuck up, it was simply something that was. It was recognizing all the hurt that he’d cause that he had difficulty dealing with. People who were hurt directly or indirectly by his actions— and how little he’d regarded them— how causing them pain hadn’t been enough for him to stop or change in those individual moments. How even to this day, it’s only as a collective that their presence truly weighs on him, with Kenji not even possessing the decency to care about their individual hurts. There’d simply been so many, some he cannot remember, and some he cannot forget. But he regrets hurting each and every one of them— though that matters little in the long run. “For not choosing the good guys sooner.” For not choosing goodness till it was presented to him on a golden platter— for being perfectly content with being havoc that the world had always called you to be.

getaway driver — Do you runaway from your problems or face them head on? Are you scared to put yourself in the thick of it all?

“If I have a problem, I have a problem. No point in wallowing in it. Lets solve it then and there.” That was his usual approach to conflict— to deal with it immediately and head-on— when the conflict was ruled by lust or anger, that is. These were emotions that Kenji understood without question, emotions he’d been unafraid to embrace and indulge in— emotions that became a guide for him, ones he relished in, and foolishly so. You have a problem with Kenji? A real problem? Your point is best expressed through your fists. He is best accessed in a nonverbal language, one unregulated and undefined— meanings and associations muddled and lost in the midst of the chaos— a hand coiling around his neck could be someone who grew discontent at the rate at which Death pursued him, decidedly taking matters into their own hands, just as easily as it could’ve belonged to a not-so-stranger as they ushered each other into the peak point of pleasure. This was conflict Kenji could settle with hedonism. It was the love and sadness he could not bear. They weren’t as simple and straightforward— they could not easily be assigned to a single action— and Kenji did not like what was not easily understood. He loathed complexity— so much so that he was almost able to forget how he reduced himself to the rawest, carnal and most straightforward of emotions long ago. His continued inability to silence the pounding of his heart mattered little. It mattered little that at the worst of times it procured control of all his senses— the beating was present in everything he touches, the off-tempo pounding is all he can hear— it wets and blurs his vision— the familiar taste of blood thrusting him back into reality as he suddenly realizes how hard he’d been chewing on the inside of his cheek a bit too hard. These were the moments he avoided at all costs— the moments where he cared so much that he couldn’t bear to be alive.

#well.... well i guess u guys were gonna find out eventually #hi i'm lia and idk how to be concise (:#( ϟ — ᴀɴsᴡᴇʀᴇᴅ. )#blood mentions tw #violence tw #kinda nsfw?#ok the more i tag the more i feel perceived i'm stopping sierjgesigj #oh btw i have asks w/ the thief grifter apprentice #and infiltrations specialist if u were thinking of sending me more asks (;#THESE QUESTIONS WERE FANTASTIC THX FOR MAKING ME THINK!!

rpmememaker

Send “✆” for a MORNING text. Send “✉” for a text that WASN’T SENT. Send “☎” for a RUSHED text. Send “⁇” for a DRUNK text. Send “✿” for a SUGGESTIVE text. Send “ø” for a LATE NIGHT text. Send “✘” for a HATEFUL text. Send “#” for a RANDOM text. Send “@” for a SCARED text. Send “&” for a LOVING text. Send “%” for a CURIOUS text. Send “ツ” for an EXCITED text. Send “$” for an ACCIDENTAL text. Send “♀” for a HEARTBREAKING text.

#cjskdkskdksk Kenji is probably terrible at texting so this will be fun

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#( ϟ — ᴀsᴋ ᴍᴇᴍᴇ. )#my totally original ask meme post