#aliias

[skyglubs]

I present my shitpost drawing of Level 5 Pidgey's server and the people on it and Lady Baby Aliias

[aliias-blog1]

AKA ; ALIIAS

ɪ'ᴍ ᴍᴇᴀɴᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴍᴏɴs                  ɪ'ᴍ ʙɪɢɢᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇsᴇ ʙᴏɴᴇs

                                                 I II III

                                  ᴡʜᴏ ɪs ɪɴ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ?

[halfasith]

a moment of weakness

@aliias || Number 18 || crap-ass luck ||

Months had passed since Fisk’s arrest. Safely put behind bars but that didn’t completely stop the disease. Little pockets of infested areas still thrived in the city. Small and fading, but still a dark presence wreaking havoc. They lost their leader; they lost control; volatile and grasping at straws, remnants of their kingdom that once stood tall. Crumbling, crumbling. 

Claire was forced out of her old apartment, lost it do to ‘disturbances’ caused by...a particular special friend. Sometimes when she looked down, she could still see his blood covering her hands. And in short-lived quiet moments---eyes closed---often times facing the sun, warm and on fire, behind her eyelids: she could relive the past and feel his calloused and bruised skin under neath her finger tips, still taste his metallic and yet sweet lips on her own. But those where on flares that quickly died off when reality came barging in; screaming and begging for her help. 

Helpful. Caring. It was in her nature. Part of who she was. Maybe that’s why she kept running into special; kept being dragged into all this shit. Maybe that’s why she got she got the beating of a lifetime and was left wheezing and bloody in the alley floor. She just couldn’t help herself...you don’t need powers to make yourself useful, she told Malcom in Jessica’s apartment. 

“But they sure would help now,” she noted, wincing as she slowly sat up, back against a chain link fence. It felt like every nerve in her body was on fire. Sharp stinging pain and bursts of nausea inducing throbbing. Trembling hands dabbed at a particular sore part of her head. Wet. Bleeding. She let out a resounding groan as her fingers surveyed the extent of the damage dealt. 

At least I’m safe, she thought naively, just before footsteps approached her hiding spot. Shit. Shit,shit,shit. She thought she lost them. And there was no way in hell she was in any position to fight. Biting her tongue to not scream, she tried moving backwards, away from the entrance. Anywhere. Her muscles screamed in protest. Her bruises cried, aching. Her brain was static growing agonizingly louder by the second. Yet still she fought on; going stark still as the footsteps stopped, somewhere near her. 

[i-am-the-agonist]

❖

Send a symbol for a headcanon about my muse.

❖: What is the attitude and appearance that your muse presents in public? How does this differ from the attitude they have in private, when they are alone?

((oh boy lol))

Amy takes on a lot of different personas; partly because she likes to adapt and partly because she’s still trying to figure herself out in the world. In public people view her as rather outgoing, bubbly, and quirky. Amy strives to appear confident, cool and collect, while most of the time she’s flying by the seat of her pants.

And while she is very much all of those things, She hides the parts of her which are fearful, insecure and uncertain. Those are the traits one might see behind closed doors.