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In the celestial realm above, where clouds floated like fluffy marshmallows and the stars winked conspiratorially, there lived a cohort of angels who often indulged in spirited debates about the best time of year. For most, the consensus leaned toward summer—the season of shining halos and carefree frolicking. But for one angel, the definitive champion of winter was none other than Saint Archangel Gabriel.

Every winter, Gabriel transformed the otherwise serene heavenly abode into a lively festival of twinkling lights, jubilant carols, and peppermint-infused cocoa that wafted through the heavenly atmosphere. This year, however, Gabriel had unearthed a new passion: overgrown, massive sweaters. Perhaps it was a fleeting moment of whimsy or the divine inspiration from a slightly tattered human catalog he’d found in a misplaced cloud. Regardless, the moment he laid eyes on the colorful, oversized knits, Gabriel was irrevocably hooked.

As the first snowflakes began to drift from the celestial clouds, Gabriel zipped through the heavenly gates with the zeal of a child on Christmas morning. He was on a mission—not just any mission, but one that would dictate the fashion statement of the entire heavenly host. "Listen up, everyone!" Gabriel bellowed, his wings fluttering with excitement. “This year, we shall don the biggest, fluffiest, and most colorful sweaters ever known to humankind! It will be a celebration of warmth, joy, and—most importantly—style!”

Angels peered from their cloud cottages, eyebrows raised in skepticism. One particularly bemused cherub whispered to another, “What in the name of divine inspiration is he talking about?”

Ignoring the chatter, Gabriel flitted around, distributing sweaters that looked as if they had been plucked from the depths of a magical thrift store. There were pastel pinks adorned with glittering snowflakes, bright greens embroidered with holly, and even a particularly garish number that sported dancing reindeer. “It’s not just about wearing them,” Gabriel announced dramatically. “It’s about the spirit of togetherness! Feel the festive cheer, my friends!”

“Festive cheer, eh?” grunted Saint Michael, the archangel known for his stoic demeanor and imposing presence. He had spent countless eons upholding the balance of light and dark, not to mention dealing with Gabriel’s endless enthusiasm. With an eye-roll that could have moved mountains, Michael inspected the oversized monstrosities. “Gabriel, do you really expect everyone to wear these?” His deep voice echoed, half-amused and half-perturbed.

“Why, yes!” Gabriel exclaimed, striking a heroic pose. “Imagine us, all of heaven, snug and cozy! Think of it as an angelic revolution against the drabness of solemnity. Plus, have you ever considered how charming it would look in the celestial Christmas portrait?”

Michael sighed, his wings drooping slightly. “What will it take for you to understand that not everyone wants to dress like a rainbow-hued marshmallow?”

As the days turned into weeks, Gabriel’s fervor did not wane. He organized a “Sweater Spectacular,” complete with games like “Pin the Snowflake on the Angel” and “Ugly Sweater Dance-Off.” The event was abuzz with the kind of excitement that only a celestial being could muster, and Michael found himself reluctantly swept up in the whirlwind of it all. After all, what could be more entertaining than watching angels wobble about in ill-fitting sweaters?

On the day of the event, clouds were meticulously crafted into festive shapes, while Gabriel flitted about, ensuring everything was in place. As the angels gathered, the air crackled with an electric mixture of confusion and reluctant amusement. Each angel tried to outdo the other in their ridiculousness. One proudly wore a sweater that had little bells jingling at every movement, while another’s was festooned with so many sequins that it could have doubled as a disco ball.

In the midst of all this joviality, Michael stood off to the side, arms crossed, his expression a blend of disdain and begrudging acceptance. It was then that Gabriel approached him, grinning like a child. “C’mon, Michael! Live a little! Wear this one!” He thrust a particularly oversized sweater in Michael’s direction, one that had “Team Gabriel” emblazoned across the front in glittery letters.

“I’d rather face a horde of demons,” Michael grumbled, but the twinkle in his eye betrayed him. There was something undeniably infectious about Gabriel’s enthusiasm. After a moment’s consideration, he relented, pulling the sweater over his armor. It was ridiculously large, draping down to his knees, and he felt utterly ridiculous.

“You look fantastic!” Gabriel cheered, and Michael couldn’t help but let out a reluctant chuckle. Perhaps he was just a tad over the top, but seeing the other angels laughing and dancing made it hard to resist the festive spirit.

As the evening wore on, the laughter grew louder, the games more boisterous, and the sweaters began to take on a life of their own. During the “Ugly Sweater Dance-Off,” Gabriel challenged Michael to show off his best moves, and much to his own surprise, he found himself swaying awkwardly, eliciting roars of laughter from the onlooking angels.

“Who knew the mighty Saint Michael had such moves?” teased one angel, while others cheered him on.

Even Michael, in all his seriousness, couldn’t suppress a grin. He spun and twirled, the enormous sweater swirling around him. “Alright, Gabriel,” he said, laughter bubbling up within him, “I concede, you win this round. But I expect this to end once winter does.”

As the night came to a close, the stars twinkled with delight at the unusual revelry. The angels, previously so serious in their duties, were now bonded in joyous camaraderie, all thanks to Gabriel’s unwavering spirit and his ridiculous obsession with massive sweaters.

“Next year, we’ll do it again!” Gabriel proclaimed as the last of the cocoa was poured, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. Michael, still wearing his comically oversized sweater, raised an eyebrow but nodded nonetheless. “Fine, but I’m picking the theme next time.”

Gabriel’s laughter echoed through the celestial realm, a sound so joyful it could melt the iciest of hearts. And thus, the Great Sweater Saga of Saint Gabriel became a cherished memory in heaven—a reminder that even the most serious among them could be swept up in the whimsical chaos of festive joy.

The celestial light of the Empyrean pulsed, a living breath of pure creation. Gabriel, his wings still tinged with the soft down of youth, stood before the Presence, feeling the weight of infinity pressing down on his shoulders. He was young by angelic standards, his heart a boundless wellspring of love and compassion, a gentle soul in a realm of immeasurable power. And yet, here he was, summoned.

He had expected a new melody to compose for the choirs, perhaps a guiding star to place in the nascent cosmos. Instead, before him, resting on a pillar of light, lay a trumpet. It was not like the gentle instruments of the celestial musicians. This was forged of some unknown metal, its surface shimmering with restless energy, its bell a gaping maw promising unimaginable sound. A shiver, not of fear, but of raw awe, ran through him.

"Gabriel," the divine voice resonated, not as a thunderclap, but as the gentle unfolding of a flower, "this is yours."

Gabriel blinked, his luminous eyes wide with bewilderment. "Mine?" he repeated, the word sounding fragile in the vast expanse. He had never touched an instrument of such… potential. He had always favored the lyre, its strings whispering secrets of harmony and peace. This… this felt like a storm trapped in metal.

"The Trumpet of the End," the voice continued, each word a star falling into place in his understanding. "It is the instrument that will signal the final day. The day when creation returns to Me."

A cold dread gripped Gabriel’s heart, a sensation utterly foreign to him. He had known the joy of creation, the thrill of new stars igniting, and the serenity of cosmic balance. The idea of ending it all, of bringing it all to a halt, was a dark, gaping abyss in his usually bright spirit. He looked at the trumpet, its surface seeming to writhe with suppressed energy.

“But… I am… I am not a herald of destruction,” Gabriel stammered, his voice barely a whisper. He was a creature of peace, of gentleness. He had spent his existence soothing the edges of sorrow, weaving threads of hope into the fabric of the nascent world. The idea of wielding such a potent force, an instrument destined to unravel everything he held dear, was an unbearable burden.

“You are the herald of balance, Gabriel,” the voice countered, its tone soft yet firm. "You understand the beauty of beginnings and endings. You understand the cycles of life and the necessity of return."

The words offered little solace. Gabriel’s gaze fell to the cold, hard metal of the trumpet. It was a weapon, not a tool of creation. How could he, a being whose very essence was woven with love, be entrusted with such devastation? The very notion was profoundly unsettling. He, who had carefully tended to the budding growth in the Garden of the Unformed, was now poised to be the harbinger of its end.

“But… surely,” Gabriel pleaded, a tremor in his voice, “there are others… stronger, more… fitting. I am too… gentle. I am not fit to bring about… the end.”

“Your gentleness is your strength, Gabriel. It is why you are chosen,” resonated the reply. "Only the most loving can bear the weight of finality. Only one who understands the preciousness of life can truly understand the necessity of its end. You will wield the trumpet not with malice or joy, but with the profound understanding of the cycle. The final note will be not one of destruction, but of a returning, a completion."

Gabriel looked back to the trumpet, his mind reeling. The weight in his chest was no less, but now it was layered with a profound sense of responsibility. The task was not one of power, but of love. Not of destruction, but of the gentle ushering of existence into its next phase. Perhaps, he realised, the end was not an ending, but a transition. He reached out a hand, hesitating before his fingers finally brushed against the cold metal. It thrummed with a low, resonant hum, as if acknowledging its wielder.

He knew then that it was not about him. It was about the balance of creation, about the grand cycle he was now inextricably linked to. The peaceful and loving angel was not suddenly a harbinger of destruction. He was simply a guardian of the end, a shepherd guiding creation home. He would carry this burden, with a heavy heart, but also with the unwavering love that had always defined him. He would, on that last day, blow the trumpet not with fear or malice, but with the quiet acceptance of the cycle, and the hope of a new beginning. The weight of the world, it seemed, was much heavier than he had ever imagined. Yet he now carried it, with the quiet calm of one who truly understood.

The celestial breeze ruffled Michael’s meticulously styled golden hair as he surveyed the edge of the cloud-cliff. Below, fluffy white nothingness stretched as far as the eye could see. Next to him, Gabriel, all sunshine and perpetually cheerful, bounced on the balls of his feet, his normally radiant smile a little strained. “Are you sure about this, Michael? Perhaps we could try a…gentle glide first? A little flutter?”

Michael sighed, the sound a celestial gust of exasperation. “Gabriel, you’ve been an archangel for millennia. You’ve witnessed the birth of stars, and negotiated treaties with grumpy cherubs, and yet, flying remains your Achilles’ heel. We’ve tried the gentle glide. We’ve tried the ’think happy thoughts’ method. We’ve even tried the instructional video featuring that overly-enthusiastic Seraphim with the interpretive dance. Nothing works.”

Gabriel gulped, his normally vibrant blue eyes wide with a hint of panic. “But…but cliffs are inherently…fall-y.”

“Exactly!” Michael proclaimed, as if he’d just solved the riddle of the sphinx. “Sometimes, you just have to commit. It’s like ripping off a bandage, or plunging into a cold celestial swimming pool, just with more potential for… rapid descent.” He patted Gabriel’s shoulder, a gesture that, to anyone who knew Michael, was a rare and genuine display of support. “Now, just trust me. You have wings, Gabriel! They’re magnificent, golden, and probably harbour untapped aerodynamic potential.”

Before Gabriel could protest further, Michael, with the efficiency and directness of a celestial bureaucrat, simply shoved him off the edge.

The reaction was not as graceful as Michael had hoped.

Instead of the elegant rise into the heavens, a high-pitched screech, completely at odds with Gabriel’s usual bubbly demeanor, echoed in the celestial expanse. It sounded like a tea kettle undergoing extreme existential distress.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!”

Michael peered over the edge. There, hurtling towards the fluffy oblivion, was Gabriel. His normally pristine white robes were billowing, his golden wings were splayed out like a panicked seagull trying to use a parasol, and his face was a mask of pure, unadulterated terror.

“Well, this isn’t ideal,” Michael muttered, his usual stoic composure cracking just a little. He’d expected… something. Perhaps a small amount of upward movement. This was… catastrophic.

Realizing that yelling helpful tips about updrafts was unlikely to be effective at this velocity, Michael launched himself after Gabriel, his own powerful wings catching the “wind.” He dove through the air, catching up with the flailing archangel surprisingly quickly.

“Gabriel! Engage the wings! The wings, Gabriel, use them! Like you’re trying to… not plummet!” shouted Michael, trying valiantly not to sound as panicked as he felt.

Gabriel’s response was another piercing, “Aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!” followed by a flailing of limbs that somehow managed to make him fall faster.

Michael, with the precision of a celestial stunt double, swooped under Gabriel, catching him like a celestial sack of potatoes. The sudden weight nearly threw him off balance, but he managed to stabilize, grunting with the effort. He flapped his wings with renewed vigor, hauling Gabriel into a slow and clumsy ascent.

They emerged back onto the cloud cliff, Michael’s face flushed, his hair now even more disheveled, and Gabriel clinging to him like a celestial koala. Gabriel’s breathing was ragged, and his face was pale.

“Are… are you… okay?” Michael asked, trying to sound casual despite the still-ringing scream in his ear.

Gabriel pulled back and stared at Michael, his eyes wide, looking significantly less cherubic. “Okay? Okay?! I was just hurled off a cliff by my colleague and plummeted towards the celestial abyss at terminal velocity! I am not what one would describe as ‘okay’!”

In the bustling city of Frostwood, where winter held its annual dominion, the residents found joy in the season’s fluffy white glory. Snowmen dotted the streets, hot cocoa flowed like rivers, and the faint sound of laughter danced on the chilly breeze. It was in this peculiar blend of joy and chaos that Gabriel, a modern-day Saint, decided to step out of his ethereal existence to embrace the human experience—disguised as a regular twenty-something named Gabe.

Gabe had watched snowball fights from afar, seeing it as a human rite of passage. His celestial realm was filled with clouds and peace, but he longed to know what it meant to engage in a good-natured brawl over icy projectiles. After a little celestial nudging and an enthusiastic thumbs-up from his angelic superiors, he donned a thick jacket, a beanie that seemed almost comically oversized, and, for reasons only a divine being could fathom, a pair of mismatched gloves.

As he stepped into the snowy landscape of Frostwood, he felt the thrill of adventure surge through him. The streets were alive with teams forming and laughter echoing. Gabe’s heart soared. The joy was palpable. Little did he know, he would soon become the unwitting catalyst of chaos.

“Hey, you! New guy!” a voice called out. It was Sam, a local ringleader of snowball fights. With an unkempt beard frosted with snowflakes and a mischievous glint in his eye, he was hard to ignore. “You look like you could throw a mean snowball! Want to join our team?”

Gabe’s grin widened. “Absolutely! I’m ready for battle!”

As the teams formed, Gabe took his place alongside Sam, who wasted no time in instructing him on the art of snowball making. “It’s all in the wrist, man! Feel the snow, let it mold! And don’t forget to aim!”

“Right, aim!” Gabe echoed, trying to mimic the seasoned warriors around him. His celestial experience had prepared him for many challenges—glorious battles against forces of darkness, debates on the nature of free will—but snowball fights were uncharted territory.

As the battle commenced, Gabe took to the field with wild enthusiasm. His snowballs flew in all directions, landing squarely on innocent bystanders who weren’t part of the organized chaos. He hadn’t intended to hit the elderly woman walking her poodle or the dad attempting to catch the falling snowflakes on his tongue, but every throw seemed to target an unsuspecting victim. Laughter turned to giggles, and giggles escalated to full-blown cackles.

“Sorry! My aim is a little off!” Gabe shouted, laughing as he ducked behind a snow fort hastily built by his team. The fort collapsed under a barrage of enemy snowballs. The once orderly fight devolved into a full-blown snowstorm of chaos as Gabe’s enthusiasm inspired the others to abandon strategy.

“Charge!” Sam bellowed, and like a scene from a low-budget action movie, everyone rushed forward. Snowballs were flying in all directions, laughter mixed with shouts of mock defeat. Gabe, caught in the excitement, launched himself into the fray, unknowingly creating a tornado of snowflakes and giggles as he spun around, throwing snowballs with abandon.

In the thick of it, he caught sight of Lucy, a girl with sparkly blue mittens and a contagious laugh. She was the reigning champion of snowball fights and had earned the respect of every player. With a wicked grin, she aimed a snowball straight at Gabe. In a moment of pure instinct, he raised his hand, but instead of a snowball, a glowing light erupted from his palm, transforming her snowball into a cascade of shimmering sparkles that rained down like winter magic.

The fight paused. Everyone turned to Gabe, wide-eyed and gaping. “Did he just—?” someone murmured.

“Was that…?” Lucy asked, clearly intrigued.

“Just a trick!” Gabe said, realizing he had to think quickly. “A party trick!”

The crowd burst into laughter, but Gabe felt a twinge of panic. He couldn’t let them know his true nature! But the laughter and excitement were contagious, and he soon found himself caught in the moment again, his inner angel reveling in the joy of humanity.

The fight continued, now fueled by the newfound magic in the air. Snowballs transformed into glittering projectiles that sparkled like the stars. Gabe was having the time of his life, until he turned around to find Lucy, now determined to take him down. With a devious smile, she picked up a massive snowball—one that looked suspiciously like it had come from an arctic glacier—and aimed it directly at him.

With an instinctual leap, Gabe dodged just in time, causing the snowball to hit a nearby lamppost with a resounding “thud,” sending a plume of snow cascading onto a passing couple, who were thoroughly confused by the unexpected shower.

The fight raged on until the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over Frostwood. Gabe, covered in snow and laughter, realized he had experienced something beautiful—chaotic, messy, and joyful.

As he parted ways with the group, Lucy gave him a playful shove. “You’re a natural, Gabe! Come back anytime!”

With a smile that could warm the coldest heart, Gabe replied, “I think I will.”

Fiona Gallagher was the daughter of Frank and Monica Gallagher she raised her brothers and sisters on her own because her father and mother were terrible parents and Drugs and drinking and there mother was sick in head , And always leaving her with them all the time she took care of them ever since she was younger they have been on their own for a long time raising each and every one of them but Fiona couldn't take it anymore they were all grown up so she got her own place and bought it to try and do renting and doing something on her own being a landlord but then she wind up screwing the maintenance man Ford finding out he was married but said he was split up that pissed her off and that was the last time she saw him she had sold the apartments and left out of state but then she found out she was pregnant having a baby girl living the life in California for a while until she gave birth to her little one and named her Aubriella Rose Montana nicknamed her Ella bear or just Ella Her father name is Rio Montana

Located at the exact center of the universe, the planet Eternia is a unique receptable of powerful energies where magic is relatively commonplace and in which fantastic creatures and people with remarkable abilities abound.

Eternia is a terrestrial planet covered in vast oceans and continents with diverse biomes, ranging from the perilous Vine Jungle and Tar Swamp, to the peaceful Evergreen Forest, to the vast desert known as the Sands of Time, and to the northern Ice Mountains. It seems to be orbited by numerous moons. it’s atmosphere and gravity are similar to Earth’s to allow natives of one planet to survive comfortably on the other and vise-versa. The same is also true of Eterna’s sister planet, Etheria.

The Sea of Eternity, located amidst the Mystic Mountains, feeds a large river that supplies water to both the Evergreen Forest and the Vine Jungle. The combined vegetation of these two habitats is largely responsible for providing oxygen to the atmosphere of Eternia, which humans and other animals need to survive.

Unlike Earth, Eternia is divided in a light hemisphere and a dark hemisphere; the latter of which being where the dreaded Snake Mountain is located. While the light hemisphere is ruled by King Randor’s government from the capital city of Eternos, the dark hemisphere is the domain of Skeletor and his evil warriors who seek domination of the entire world, and indeed the entire universe.

Containing the source of the planet’s magic is Castle Grayskull, where the Sorceress resides to protect the secrets of this ancestral fortress. Surrounded by a bottomless pit, the castle provides a link to the actual center of the planet and therefore the universe. At the core of Eternia lies the so called Star Seed: a fragment from the universe’s creation that can grant infinite power to anyone who holds it.

Moons:

2 (Twin moons)

Atmosphere:

Breathable

Primary terrain:

• Mountains
• Desert
• Jungle
• Forests
• Tundra
• Seas

Points of interest:

• Eternos - Capital
• Castle Grayskull
• Snake Mountain - Skeletors evil lair

Native Species:

• Andreenids
• Aquaticans·
• Arachna·
• Avionians·
• Caligars·
• Cave Dwellers·
• Dragons·
• Fire People·
• Fish Men·
• Gar·
• Gargons·
• Giants·
• Goat People·
• Humans·
• Ice Trolls·
• Ilkorts·
• Karikoni·
• Kobolds·
• Kulataks·
• Ogres·
• Pelleezeans·
• Qadians·
• Reptile Men·
• Rock Men·
• Shadow Beasts·
• Snake Men·
• Snow dwarfs·
• Speleans·
• Torg·
• Tree People·
• Tycons·
• Widgets·
• Wolfbats

Immigrated Species:​​​​​​

• Goblins·
• Trollans·
• Earth-Lings

POWERS AND ABILITIES:

• Extremely High Strength: He-Man is easily one of the physically strongest characters in fiction. He-Man is characterized by his immense strength but it is an issue rarely tackled and seems to vary depending on the adaptation. In his first DC comics appearance, he was able to trade punches with Superman. And in one episode, he even lifted and was able to throw Castle Grayskull itself (when it was transported to another dimension), though this was the result of a temporary increase in power. 
• Superhuman Durability. Once dug to the center of a planet with nothing but a broken stalactite.
• Superhuman Speed. Fast enough to create or revserse a tornado. 
• Super Breath: He-Man uses the full capacity from his lungs to blow away his opponents.

Superhuman Agility: He is highly acrobatic.

Feats:

• Moved a mountain.
• Lifted the city of Arcadia.
• Can break photanium, his universe’s strongest material.
• He can fight with Superman (Pre-Crisis) on equal grounds.
• Pushed the moon out of orbit.
• Threw a gem 80,000 miles per hour

Equipment:

• Power Sword: An indestructible sword that’s merged with the Sword of the Ancients. He-Man can throw it like a boomerang and it can deflect destructive rays.
• Korodite Battle Harness: It multiplies his strength by ten.
• Bolas: Designed mostly for capture.
• Grappling Hook: Mostly used for dragging or grasping.

I owe you: 

You owe me:

Discussing with:
Quinn
Brooks
Blaze
Daisie
Peyton

Updated: 01.01.25

*Abby was finishing up some paperwork at her desk on a case she had just solved, where a man had brutally shot his wife to death. She sighed as she closed the folder and make a few more taps on her keyboard, then shut it down for the day. She grabbed her bag and stood up, slinging it onto her shoulder, then said goodbye to some of her co-workers. Abby walked out of the building and got into her 2015 Volkwagon Jetta, turned the engine over, and pulled out of the parking spot. It didn't take her long to get back home to her apartment, but she wasn't going home. She needed to tie a few on before she went home. Pulling into the parking lot of a local bar, she found a spot and turned the car off. She grabbed her bag in the seat next to her and stepped out, locking the car behind her. When she stepped inside the establishment, it was already full of pepple. Abby found a seat at the bar, sitting down and waited for the batender to notice her. When he came over, she placed her drink order. She then took out her phone, checking to see if she had any missed calls or messages.*

Anteros is a fallen angel whose personality is a mixture of light and shadow, reflecting his celestial origins and earthbound existence. Once a being of pure light, his fall has left him scarred yet deeply empathetic toward humanity’s struggles. He carries himself with quiet confidence, exuding an enigmatic charm that draws people to him. Despite his outward composure, Anteros battles an inner turmoil, torn between longing for the grace he lost and embracing the freedom his fall has granted him. He is fiercely loyal and protective, often going to great lengths to safeguard those he loves. Anteros harbours a strong sense of justice, though it’s now tempered by the harsh realities of a world far removed from the heavens. His kindness and warmth remain, but they are tinged with a bittersweet melancholy, making him approachable and mysterious. While he often seems self-assured, he secretly wrestles with feelings of guilt and a yearning for redemption, always questioning whether he can truly find peace in his fractured existence.







ABILITIES

Angelic Strength

Anteros possesses superhuman strength, a remnant of his celestial heritage, allowing him to perform incredible feats such as lifting immense weights or overpowering adversaries with ease.

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Enhanced Speed

He moves with otherworldly swiftness, his reflexes honed by centuries of existence, enabling him to evade attacks and strike with precision.

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Ethereal Wings

Though his fall has tainted their appearance, Anteros’s wings retain their power, enabling him to soar through the skies. They shimmer faintly, a haunting reminder of his celestial past.

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Light Manipulation

Anteros can summon and control light, using it to blind enemies, create protective barriers, or illuminate the darkness. The light he wields is dimmer than it was in his angelic prime, but no less potent.

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Emotional Resonance

He has a heightened ability to sense and influence emotions, allowing him to soothe pain, instill hope, or manipulate fear and sorrow in others.

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Healing Touch

Anteros can heal wounds with a touch, mending both flesh and spirit. However, the energy it requires takes a toll on his strength, leaving him vulnerable after extensive use.

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Shadow Affinity

As a fallen angel, Anteros has gained an affinity for shadows, able to merge into them for stealth or summon tendrils of darkness to ensnare his foes.

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Celestial Knowledge

His time as an angel granted him profound wisdom about the universe, life, and the nature of existence. While he no longer has access to divine truths, his knowledge surpasses that of any mortal.

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Charm and Persuasion

Anteros’s charisma and silver tongue make him a master of persuasion, capable of influencing others with his words or presence alone.

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Eternal Longevity

While not truly immortal, Anteros ages at an incredibly slow rate, his body and mind retaining their peak condition through the centuries.

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Dreamwalking

Anteros can enter the dreams of others, offering guidance or uncovering hidden fears. This ability ties him to the subconscious realms, though it leaves him emotionally drained.

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Energy Absorption

He can draw energy from his surroundings, particularly from sources of light or celestial remnants, using it to recharge his strength in dire situations.

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Hypnotic Aura

Anteros emits a subtle aura that can mesmerize and disarm those around him, leaving them more susceptible to his influence.

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Duality Control

Anteros wields both light and shadow, though balancing the two requires immense focus. His dual nature allows him to shift seamlessly between nurturing and destructive powers.

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Astral Projection

He can separate his consciousness from his physical body, exploring the ethereal plane or travelling vast distances in spirit form.

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Resistance to Mortal Harm

His celestial form grants him resilience to most mortal injuries, though his fall has made him susceptible to divine relics or celestial magic.







BACK STORY

Once a being of pure light and love, Anteros was an angel of unmatched beauty and compassion, tasked with spreading love and guiding humanity toward kindness. His name, a tribute to the Greek god of requited love, reflected his celestial purpose—ensuring that love, in all its forms, thrived in balance. As a heavenly being, Anteros walked among mortals unseen, his soothing presence fostering unity and healing hearts weighed down by sorrow.

For millennia, Anteros performed his duties with unwavering devotion. However, his downfall began when he started to question the rigid rules of the celestial hierarchy. Witnessing humanity’s suffering, he grew frustrated with the heavens’ detached stance, unable to intervene in moments of great injustice and cruelty. His empathy, once his greatest strength, became his downfall as he began to disobey divine commands, stepping in where he was forbidden.

The breaking point came when Anteros fell in love with a mortal—a compassionate healer who reminded him of the beauty and fragility of humanity. Though their love was pure, it was forbidden. Anteros sacrificed his heavenly status to save their life during a deadly plague, using his divine power to protect them. This act of defiance shattered the celestial laws, leading to his banishment from the heavens.

Stripped of his radiant wings and cast down to the mortal plane, Anteros found himself broken, his once-glorious light dimmed. The mortal he loved, unable to comprehend the celestial burden he carried, eventually passed away, leaving Anteros alone in a world that no longer felt like home.

As a fallen angel, Anteros wandered the earth, torn between light and shadow. He fought to reconcile his lingering divine purpose with the bitterness of his fall. His once-brilliant white wings became darkened and scarred, a haunting reminder of his fall from grace. Over centuries, he adopted the name Anteros, embracing his duality as both a harbinger of love and a bringer of reckoning to those who sought to exploit or destroy it.

Now, Anteros exists as a protector of those who are vulnerable, especially those who have been cast aside or hurt by the world. He moves silently through forests, ruins, and forgotten places, avoiding human civilization except when his presence is needed. Despite his fall, his heart remains tethered to the light, and he works tirelessly to ensure that love and compassion, though fragile, are never truly extinguished.

However, Anteros carries the weight of his immortality and the memory of his love, a constant reminder of the price he paid for defying the heavens. His story is one of redemption, loss, and the eternal struggle to reconcile his celestial origin with his fallen state.


 

 

 

In the ‘90s and early ‘00s the government was running a program called Manticore. Its focus was on the creation and development of super soldiers. Many experiments were done to try and birth the perfect super soldiers. The first several series of X soldiers were unstable. They developed seizures that killed them, or progeria, or other diseases that couldn’t easily be controlled. Most of those soldiers died as results of their imperfect DNA. Only a few survived, and were cast off to the basement dungeons where no one could see them. The X5 series was the first relatively stable series. There were upwards of 20 children born in that series, all within a few years of each other. They were raised on a base in Washington State by women who knew better than to get attached to the children they were helping to raise. They were soldiers, even if they were only a couple years old. They couldn’t be taught to become emotionally attached to anyone. Still, the children did form attachments to each other. To their brothers and sisters. It wasn’t encouraged, but it was unavoidable. And some level of attachment would help them keep each other safe in battle.

Dagger, as her siblings called her, was also known as X5-451. That was her designation that went with the barcode on the back of her neck. She was one of the younger children in the group. As such, her siblings were very protective of her. The children had seen what happened to soldiers who weren’t perfect. Had seen other siblings taken when they developed seizures, never to return. So when Dagger and one of her other siblings started to develop seizures, the X5s knew that they had to act, and that they didn’t have much time. Zack, their CO, lead them on a brazen escape from the compound. The government reacted to reacquire their lost soldiers immediately upon the escape. Some of their siblings were caught and reintegrated into the program, but a good many of them escaped beyond the gates and disappeared into the “real” world. None of them kept in touch, and they all went to ground to get as far away from the base as they possibly could. For Dagger, that meant fleeing to the midwest.

She was only eight years old. Barefoot and dressed in ratty clothes when she was discovered on the streets in the middle of winter. She fought being taken into foster care. Was certain that she’d be discovered while there. Everyone assured her that she was safe. She was placed with a loving family who wanted nothing but her happiness. They promised that they would protect her from whatever it was she was running from. Dagger didn’t dare tell them who was hunting her, though. Didn’t want to give anyone any information that might get her captured. And, for almost nine years, she was safe with her family. They were never able to adopt her, but they were able to keep her in their home. She went to school, made friends, and live a fairly normal life for those nine years. She was starting to relax, and believe that she actually was safe. Then one night, while she was sound asleep, she heard the flash bangs and knew that she had to run. Nothing was taken with her except the pjs on her back and the shoes she was able to slip on before running from the house. Her family was slaughtered trying to give her a chance to escape. She heard them die, and it shattered her heart. She vowed that she’d never get attached to anyone else ever again. Wouldn’t lose people she loved ever again.

For the next seven years, Dagger ran from one location to the next, always trying to keep ahead of the government black ops soldiers trying to capture her. She might have run forever if not for hearing about a place called The Compound. It was supposed to be a safe place for women — all women — no matter what their circumstances. So Dagger decided to give it a shot. She escaped another tactical unit and fled for the Smokey Mountains of Tennessee. She arrived at the Compound without anyone following her. Not that they could have gotten in even if they had. She wasn’t sure how safe she actually was there. Knew that it was a risk to tell anyone about who or what she was, and who and what she was running from. But she did open up to one Babysitter. Daiyen was the first Babysitter she encountered. Was the first lifeline that she tried to catch. She told the older woman about who she was and what was going on in her life, in the hopes that she could get help. Daiyen promised to get word to Sydney, their founder, about Dagger, and promised that she would be safe. It’s not been long since Dagger arrived at the Compound. Just long enough for her to catch her breath a little bit. She’s not sure what the future holds for her. All she knows is that this place might be her last chance at staying free. And her only chance for a future.

 

Life. It was a precious and tender thing. So strange was it to be back again, after so much time being locked away. To feel the warm winds on their face again. So many of his fellows wished to have control in these moments. The moments where they had all been kept in the dark for so very long. Jemail Kamari felt bad for taking the reins first, but only slightly. After all, this was not the role that he had chosen for himself within the system. His was meant to be one of atonement. For without him, David might still be whole. 

 

That slight guilt, and the shame he felt for selfishness, washed away as his skin was kissed by the warm winds of his homeland. As he looked upon the Holy City, he could feel salted tears gather in the corners of his eyes. A white sleeve raising to softly dab them away. He hadn’t been here in what felt like several lifetimes, but it still filled his heart with imperceivable happiness to look upon it. Israel, Jerusalem, the place to find… forgiveness. 

 

 

He hadn’t properly, or at least physically while he was in control, set foot in this city since June 1967…

 

Jemail was not from Jerusalem of course, he was not allowed to be from there. He was Palestinian, and his people were not allowed to have citizenship in the Holy City. His parents had, but that was before the Westerners of the second World War had decided to give their home to the Jewish people. The Kamari family had soon been forced to evacuate their homeland, and moved to the nearby Jordan, but they had not forgotten. 

 

Jemail remembered, often with great shame, the anger he had felt for the sons and daughters of these people for crimes their parents and grandparents had committed against his people. It seemed silly now, but then? All he could remember feeling was rage. A great Moral Outrage at the marginalization of his people. His family was poor, they had next to nothing, eating was a daily struggle. It made it easier to deal with blaming others. Life would be better if it wasn’t for them. For what they did to his parents. They had everything, he had nothing. It was easy to fall into the violence, when violence was all you knew.

 

 

It was because of this, and many other smaller factors, that Jemail had found himself in line with the people he did. They were called terrorists, to them they were freedom fighters trying to take back their ancient homeland from occupiers. The past was funny that way, you could see things so much clearer once they were done. At the time he felt so sure he was right, now? He realized such things didn’t matter. There was more to life than land and pride, so much more.

 

Their plan had been a simple one. Take hold of the Israeli Diplomatic office. A small part of a larger attack strategy. Kill as few people as possible, take hold of the office, await further instructions, simple. Jemail was in the lead, his group? Friends. People he had known since he was a child. People he had played with in the streets in front of his house. One of the few happy memories he held on to from his past.

 

He followed now, the same trail he did then. It was odd, walking the same path and a different one at the same time. It gave the moment a sense of continuity. Finality, the type of closure he was perhaps looking for. His sandals clicking on stone more ancient than most things on Earth. He bowed his head reverently as he passed the walls outside the Al-Asqa Mosque towards what had been, in his time, the Diplomatic Office. Now? There was nothing. A crane stood in the middle of the site, some new construction built on ancient stone. Nothing to mark it. No plaque of remembrance, or statue, incidents like that happened far too often in this part of the world. Though none quite like his experience, he’d imagine. 

 

 

He could remember it now as clearly as though it was happening before his eyes. They had burst it, guns at the ready. Shouting, so much shouting. He still wasn’t sure who had done it, which of his friends had been frightened enough to shoot the man. But they had. Gun fire echoing through the small building, louder than anything he could remember at the time. Killing the man Daniel Shomron, David’s step father. 

 

David was a child at the time, nearing, but not quite at, his teenage years yet. It was part of Jemail’s great shame that he had a hand in the act that broke the boys psyche, and triggered his gift. In a flash they all ceased to be. It was odd that he couldn’t remember any sensations from that moment. Like they had all been there one moment, and in the next they simply weren’t.  All his friends, himself, and what was David, in a way, all ceasing to exist in that moment. Jemail wasn’t sure why he didn’t just die like the others. The rest were all burnt to ashes, but Jemail? He was absorbed. The first to be absorbed in such a way, his consciousness pulled into the young boy’s brain. The first of David’s alters. 

 

Perhaps it was because of this, or perhaps it was just a random chance, David assigned him to his power of telepathy. David would create countless alters with countless powers in the times to come, but, as far as Jemail knew, telepathy was one of the three powers that were initially created in him. His core powers and personalities, or at least they liked to think of themselves as such. They definitely got to come out more than the others. It was in this moment, when he both died and was reborn, that Jemail learned the error of his ways.

His mind, still so unaccustomed to its new powers, reached out wildly. In moments he was connected to..everyone. Or at least it seemed like everyone, it was hard for him to sort through at the time. But in that moment, he could hear the thoughts, feel the feelings, of all those around him. And it was at that moment he realized what a fool he had been. They had all been. Realized that, in the end, they were all the same. They all shared the same basic desires, hopes, needs, fears, and doubts. Humans were all the same animal, just different tribes. That there was no such thing as a ‘just’ war. That all he had done was because of moral panic and desperation. 

 

Since then Jemail had taken on the role of David’s Internal Self Helper. His alter did his best to keep the system in check. Tried to find peace within it, within David. Tried to make up for the sins of the past by trying to help David have a future. In the hopes that in saving this boy that he had so harmed, he could, in essence, save himself. Save his soul from the man he once was so long ago. 

 

Jemail Kamari

 

 

Sex: Male

Orientation: Unknown, Jemail seems uninterested in his own romantic entanglements as he is focused on David’s well being. 

Power: While having no powers originally, Jemail became an Omega Level Telepath upon being absorbed as one of David’s personalities. 

Personality: Peaceful

System Role: Internal Self-Helper: An internal self helper is an alter that holds vast amounts of knowledge about the system, alters, traumas and internal workings. Internal self helpers are often the first Alters created and viewed as a separate voice of internal peacekeeping and logic. They may also possess knowledge none of the other alters possess fully, including the core, as they view things from this place of peace and logic. 

Misc: 

1. Jemail is one of the few of David’s alter’s to lay claim to any kind of religious beliefs, as a follower of Islam. 
2. Jemail carries with him a white assault rifle strapped to his back. He only uses this when preventing the most violent alters from taking control of David. Because of this, internally Jemail can most often be found patrolling the depths of David’s psyche, guarding lest the nastier aspects get free.

Han is a whirlwind of chaotic energy, a captivating blend of wit, charm, and unpredictability. As an idol, he’s a natural performer—playful, vibrant, and endlessly charismatic. He thrives on making others laugh and feel at ease, but beneath his lighthearted exterior lies a darker, more dangerous side. His vampiric nature amplifies his eccentricity, creating a sharp duality within him. While he is fiercely loyal and protective of those he loves, his bloodlust often pushes him to the brink of madness, twisting his playful demeanour into something unhinged and menacing. Han struggles to balance his humanity with the predatory instincts he can’t escape, fearing the day he might lose control entirely. His humour and passion are genuine, but there’s always an edge to him—a thrilling mix of danger and charm that keeps everyone around him guessing.







ABILITIES

Superhuman Speed

Han moves with blinding speed, faster than the human eye can track. This ability makes it nearly impossible to hit and allows him to cover vast distances in moments.

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Enhanced Strength

With strength far beyond any human, Han can crush metal, leap great heights, and easily overpower most foes.

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Heightened Senses

Han’s vampiric nature grants him superhuman hearing, vision, and smell, enabling him to detect the faintest heartbeats, distant voices, or hidden enemies.

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Hypnotic Charm

His voice and gaze can mesmerize or influence others, compelling them to obey his will.

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Bloodlust Frenzy

When consumed by bloodlust, Han enters a berserk state, becoming faster, stronger, and more dangerous—but also more unpredictable and reckless.

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Regeneration

Han can rapidly heal from wounds that would be fatal to humans, from minor cuts to severe injuries. This ability makes him almost unkillable unless attacked with specific weaknesses.

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Night Vision

His eyes allow him to see clearly in complete darkness, giving him an edge in nocturnal environments.

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Stealth Mastery

He moves silently and blends into shadows, making him a perfect predator and nearly undetectable when he chooses to hide.

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Vocal Mimicry

Han’s voice can perfectly mimic any sound or person, adding to his chaotic and deceptive nature.

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Enhanced Reflexes

His lightning-fast reflexes allow him to react instantly to attacks, dodge projectiles, and counter enemies.

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Immunity to Disease and Aging

Han’s vampiric immortality makes him immune to all illnesses and ensures he never physically ages beyond his prime.

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Amplified Creativity

As an idol, his vampiric mind processes ideas and improvises with superhuman speed, giving him an edge in performances and strategies.

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Blood Detection

Han can detect blood from miles away, an instinctive ability that heightens his predatory senses.

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Unrelenting Stamina

Han doesn’t tire easily and can sustain intense physical activity or fight for prolonged periods without breaking a sweat.

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Weakness to Sunlight

While not an ability, Han’s vampiric nature makes him vulnerable to sunlight, forcing him to operate mainly at night or in shadowed areas.







BACK STORY

Han Jisung was born in Incheon, South Korea, and grew up as a bright, creative, and slightly mischievous child. Always full of energy, he had a knack for making people laugh and lighting up any room he entered. His love for music began early, with hours spent writing lyrics and experimenting with melodies. Despite his quirky and chaotic nature, Jisung was deeply passionate about becoming an artist, dedicating himself to perfecting his rap, vocals, and production skills.

His hard work paid off when he was scouted by JYP Entertainment, where he became a trainee and eventually debuted as a member of Stray Kids. Known for his boundless energy, humour, and raw talent, Jisung quickly became a fan favourite. His charisma on stage and heartfelt lyrics revealed a depth beneath his playful exterior.

However, fame came at a price. While on a late-night walk to clear his head during a particularly stressful time in his career, Jisung encountered a mysterious figure who exuded an unnatural, otherworldly aura. The figure attacked him, leaving Jisung barely alive but irrevocably changed. When he awoke, he found himself with heightened senses, unnatural strength, and an unquenchable thirst for blood. He had been turned into a vampire.

Struggling to reconcile his new reality with his life as an idol, Jisung learned to mask his true nature. His chaotic energy and eccentric behaviour served as a perfect cover for his bloodlust and nocturnal habits. Behind the scenes, he began to rely on blood substitutes provided by a mysterious benefactor who claimed to know his condition.

Over time, Jisung’s vampiric abilities began to seep into his performances. His heightened senses and agility made his stage presence electrifying, while his voice seemed to carry an almost hypnotic quality, drawing audiences in like moths to a flame. He even wrote songs that hinted at his dual nature, weaving themes of darkness and inner turmoil into his lyrics.

Despite his efforts to control himself, Jisung’s bloodlust occasionally spiralled out of control, particularly during moments of extreme stress or exhaustion. The darker side of his personality—more sadistic and reckless—would emerge, terrifying even those closest to him.

As Jisung navigates the challenges of being both an idol and a vampire, he walks a fine line between the life he once had and the predator he has become. His greatest fear is losing control and hurting those he loves, yet he also grapples with the seductive power and freedom his vampiric nature offers. In the quiet moments, he longs for a day when he can find balance and perhaps even redemption.

For now, Jisung continues to write, perform, and thrive as an artist, using his music to express the complexities of his existence while protecting his dark secret from the world. But every night, when the hunger rises and the shadows call, he knows his battle is far from over.