#00078292

[lilsupe-arc]

starter call [ @00078292

life seemingly always has a way of fucking emma, just like one of her many dildos do. and today is no exception. if it isn’t her own self-hatred that leads to some inevitable form of a mental spiral, godolkin university wanted to be next one in line to cause it.

or, perhaps more melodramatically, they wanted to be the cause of her death. [the jury is still determining the verdict on that one.]

when she went to attend her three o’clock class today — INTRO TO CLOUTONOMICS, she hadn’t expected to be paired up with her ex-situationship to make a five minute long video discussing how they could turn their current "online clout" into an economic payday, complete with a matching powerpoint presentation on how their brands could synergize with one another in the process.

she lingers at her desk for a beat too long, fingers grabbing the arms of her chair for dear life until her knuckles turn white. her brain screams to fake food poisoning and bolt out the door, or to shrink and sneak out using the door's gap. emma knows she's being dramatic — as is her right after everything that's occurred between them. acting like a baby, however, isn't.

rising from seat, she finally necessitates herself to move across the lecture room. sneakers squeaking quietly against the recently polished floor, emma stops a step too close to sam's desk, nearly bumping into it.

clearing her throat, she forces her voice to sound steady. even if her pulse is roaring like a war drum inside her ears. ‘so, uh ... do you even, like, know how to fucking use powerpoint?’

[thinkbrink]

⤷ @00078292 : everything is going to get worse from here.

a reflexive groan hit the moment smoke left once-full lungs, features contorted at the abysmal aftertaste and resonant throat burn. they'd hardly registered sam's words until at least a half-minute passed, part-inebriation, part-exhaustion — what a shitshow this all was — but even then, post-processing, jordan couldn't do much but agree. even stone cold sober, they still probably would. they've been teetering the line between hopelessness and confidence, troughs and peaks in confidence largely depending on the day, with the latter only appearing after marie's long-winded convincing. it, admittedly, made it hard for them to just wallow, rot in despondence just enough to let it out.

this is probably what they needed now — the best course of action after a week of mindfucks, sam's incident included — to be blasted out of their own mind, dwindled into a fit of shoulders that vibrated with laughter, no pretenses, no bullshit, just being. " yeah, man, " harsh truth taken in stride, with a slow nod to follow. they set the bong down, freed hands rubbing at heavy eyelids, most likely exaggerating its redness, but c'est la vie ! " sooooo much fuckin' worse. can't even think about how royally fucked we are, but hey ? this isn't bad for an end of the world kick-off. " and yet, a smile, sloppy and half-drooped, but still a smile, as if acceptance was at the forefront. " i like this show. 's cute. really fuckin' weird, but kind of cute ? "

[godunlap]

(GOD U) 𝓢aturday, 12:43am. @ the ΓΕΔ frat party.

The thumping of the speaker on the opposite wall is sure to drive you insane by the time you make it out of here. SLIPPING THROUGH THE CRUSH OF BODIES UNNOTICED has been your favored method so far this semester. you're only ever really here for Sam these days, a watchful eye / the whisper of control. it's better this way, each of you close at hand. it doesn't hurt appearances either that you both seem to be diving into Greek life. NOT THAT YOU HAVEN'T TRIED BEFORE. stepping past the threshold of God U's top sorority just to see them avert their eyes, practically cowering in fear. pathetic.

❝ talking to you always makes me feel better. ❞ @00078292, FROM.

REFOCUSING YOUR ATTENTION, you smile at the notion -- though there's no hiding the flicker of pain in your eyes. only slightly red now after soothing Sam's re-emerging anxieties. you shouldn't be surprised he found out about Andre so quickly, but you seem to HAVE IT ALL UNDER CONTROL-

For now, at least. but they always come back, don't they? the feelings, the guilt, the hallucinations (yours too) ❝ Good, I just want to help you. ❞ both reassurance and a confession. an acknowledgment that your manipulations are founded on the best of intentions, despite how gruesome the result may be at times. ❝ Honestly, I don't know what I'd do if you weren't here. ❞ in a pit of vipers, he is the loyal dog. UNAWARE THAT HE TOO IS CAUGHT IN THE BITE OF YOUR VENOMOUS FANGS. all too used to the numbing.

[incompare]

> @00078292 — ‘how strange i used to worship you.’

he's there, but he's not really. the sound of sam's voice borders on whimsical, fascinated by the peculiarity of ever really loving her at all. it is more brutal than any bruise that sam could grant her, both absent and extant in ways that emma could not fathom, as though he had procured the most simplest of thoughts. perhaps it is stranger still that she ever thought the thing between them real. [she of all people should know that worship required extraordinaire— men did not fall to their knees for just anyone, building their altars to service a name with no face. or rather, an idea; a concept, an invisible impossibility that managed little else but alleviate the artificial woes of the abstract man.] did emma truly think herself worthy of such deification, when her abilities withered under the light— as unremarkable as one could be among a divine sea of super-beings. she was little cricket after all. just a girl who could get small. and yet, emma had felt it all so intensely— every word, every laugh, the static that buzzed between them that seemed to boom through touch alone. under his gallant gaze, she tripled in size. now? emma felt smaller than ever, as though she could rival an atom beneath the agonising indifference of his stare, her skin cold as though he were capable of freezing the air around them.

‘you— i don't understand any of this.’ her face is pinched and blooming red with some scarcely-contained tears; her pain outweighing her strength. there's a banal thought pulsing inside her eye socket that sam was supposed to be different, not like other boys, that he would never make her feel small in all the ways high school puts a teenage girl down. but sam was worse, digging into her insecurities and ripping them out like entrails, unspooling them before her in an untimed, leisurely manner, like a magician pulling an endless supply of scarves from his sleeve. [and still, her mind convinces her the fault is none but her own. maybe she'd been too pushy, that she'd tricked him somehow into loving her. that she'd kept too much from him, kept him outside secrets in the worry of what he could do.] nausea tickles the warmth in her cheeks and suddenly emma feels an overwhelming urge to kneel down in the nearest bathroom stall. ‘why are you doing this?’

[deweaponize-arc]

@00078292: i'm doing what you won't.

          𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚒𝚕𝚝 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏. layers of adamantium and scars, survival instincts honed sharper than your claws. he doesn't see the full canvas at all. he can't. how could sam understand the battles you've fought —– you've never told him. you also never knew the decisions came from upstairs. to send you places, force a smile on your face until you were close enough to strike a target —– thousands dead by you from higher-up's decisions. annie had shown you that. she had painted a clearer picture for you, for your life —– for everything. the scientists of the woods were only one piece of the broader puzzle; they made you into a weapon / vought had purchased the weapon to do their bidding. they had created your essence. the more you think about it, the more flames roar inside your chest —– their heat threatening to burn through the calm facade you're already struggling to maintain. it's not about what you won't do / it's about what you've had to do, time and time again. you've slaughtered, you've maimed, you've destroyed —– enough blood has been spilled by your claws to fill a valley's lake. you refuse to do it again; to waltz into a cage after being handed your freedom. and, if the cage is open —– why is sam going back inside?

hands clenching at your sides, your nails dig into palms hard enough to draw blood. they heal nearly instantly. ❝ killing innocent people? i have done enough of that. ❞ you'll never be free from the blood that stains your hands —– the ghosts that haunt your past. with every choice in life comes a diverging path for a person's destiny: you've chosen freedom. sam has chosen vengeance. a choice in destiny that often results in failure —– and more pain than you started with. ❝ you were once my friend, sam. if i choose my freedom over my death —– will you still be my friend? ❞ there's a part of you, deep down, that already knows the answer. your claws prepare themselves.

[lilsupe-arc]

"Actually all of my systems are nervous." [sam]

@00078292

there's an attempt to bite back the laugh, but it slips out anyway—— a nervous, choked sound that matches the jittery energy coursing through your veins. his words are a cracked mirror into your own thoughts: scattered, sharp, and a little too close to the truth. you tilt your head, trying to meet his gaze as you attempt to keep things light. (it doesn't help that everything inside you feels like it's spiraling to rock bottom. help!) "you and me both." the corners of your mouth curve into a wry grin. "i mean, honestly, if there's one thing i've got going for me—— it's being a fucking wreck. so, like, solidarity or whatever." the truth is, you don't know how to fit this. you don't know how to fix him, yourself, or any of the other twisted fucked up shit that's been thrown your way as recently. but, you're here, and that has to count for something. right?

"but, hey—" you nudge his shoulder lightly with your own, the grin across your face softening into a smile. a genuine one. "don't worry about it. we'll figure this all out. maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but... i'm not going anywhere, okay?" a fragile promise, but you hope— god, you hope— they're enough. you don't know what you're doing—— sam surely doesn't know what he's doing. all the thoughts could make you puke. "you're basically stuck with me now, is what i'm trying to say."

[deweaponize-arc]

—–      𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 @00078292 :

          𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚎  —– a destroyer, an unwilling weapon. some may argue with the sentiment of unwilling but when scent takes all consideration away, enveloping you into something primal and undeniable, you are unwilling. you become taken. a monster. 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚙𝚘𝚗 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚜 𝚊 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎. before you, there was the w56, the b41, and even the tsar bomba. you are x-23. it had taken vought twenty-three attempts to successfully breed a clone of weapon x. and you had defied their every expectation. the irony even sticks with your appearance   —– more often than not, the most dangerous things don't always appear as frightening up close. 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞. sam's question pools discomfort in the pits of your stomach, emerald eyes dropping to your knuckles. the flesh remains black and blue, a testament to the constant emergence of your claws. your weapons of mass destruction. ❝ i do not know. it is what they named me. x-23. ❞

in front of you, 𝚊 𝚐𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚞𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚜. your fingers pick up a yellow token, surveying your options. no claws are needed here. there are no threats in these woods, as long as you follow the rules. one wrong sentence to the wrong pair of ears, you know what happens next. for you, a visit from kimura / for sam, another set of fifty needles shoved into his spine / for anyone else, a potential death sentence. ❝ sometimes doctor sarah calls me laura. ❞ you drop the token above a red one. one more yellow token in the odd row and you win. exactly what you had been bred for. ❝ laura, x-23 —– is there a difference? ❞

[rejectory]

@00078292: “it’s a fucking nightmare world, and the worst thing is it’s real and we’re living in it.”

❛too deep, man.❜

this babysitting shtick’s bouncing his knee like a basketball, not least 'cause it’s luke’s eyes staring back. he and jordan used to take turns roasting that patrick bateman psycho look.

andre’s been dreaming about that shit like a homesick dog ever since luke sprayed himself all over campus.

-— he means it. every little thing out sam’s mouth just about skins him where it hurts.

he wants luke. here, guilt-free. or the next best thing... he wants cate, he wants a kiss, something easy and slow-cooked. a hit ain’t a hit anymore in the wrong state of mind. he becomes one of those steam trains as he exhales, one through four. he thought building up tolerance was a myth, but he’s not so sure anymore.

it was him and marie who stuffed sam back in that box in the first place. that’s his bad, his fucking bad. must’ve made his piece of shit dad so proud for once. andre grimaces.

❛what helps me with that,❜ help is an oversell. he takes out his fun packet. his throat sounds stepped-on, ❛you ever had one of these?❜