--first thread for keeping track of stuff, edit later--

I'm Ants in My Eyes Johnson here at Ants in My Eyes Johnson's Electronics! I mean, there's so many ants in my eyes! And there's so many TVs! Microwaves! Radios, I think! I can't, I'm not 100 percent sure what we have here in stock, because I can't see anything! Our prices, I hope, aren't too low! Check out this refrigerator! Only $200! What about this microwave? Only $100, that's fair! I'm Ants in My Eyes Johnson! Everything's black! I can't see a thing! And also, I can't feel anything either,

-fire-

did I mention that? But that's not as catchy, as having ants in your eyes, so... that always goes... y'know, off by the wayside! I can't feel, it's a very rare disease, all my se— all my nerves, they don't allow for the sensation of touch! So I never know what's going on! Am I standing, sitting? I don't know!

When she'd been a really little kid, Mrs. Summers told her that she'd been borne on the back of the Sandman before they had her, that she was made of dreams and drivel, and that the reason why she slept so much was because she still had the urge to return to the place where she'd been born, where nothing made sense--

It was a line of bull, of course, but it had helped her accept her sleepy, cat-like existence as something unique and beautiful, rather than the reason why she didn't have any friends back then.

She was on a vaguely cartoonish pirate ship in the middle of a technicolor sea, the horizon unobstructed by neither land nor vessel, and the dark, cobalt sky was filled with start clusters so close that it was hard to tell where heaven met water. The sea itself was teeming with life, squids and fish glowing faintly bright and smiling at her. Also, The Monkees were playing from an unknown source, so, if she had to guess--she was either asleep or very, very high.

Aware that she was dreaming, Summers steered of course, using the stars as a map, before arriving at an island filled with (hopefully) cats and models--and was that a tiki bar? Oh hell yes. Before she could ditch the Black Pearl, however, someone elbowed her in the side.


In the real world, she'd been asleep for all of twenty minutes.

Snrrrrrrkk--kh-snnrrrrrrrrk--

She was face-first in an uneaten hamburger bun which had long since over-saturated, and now the drool was overflowing the tray and creeping towards one of her fellow punk's sharpie work. The girl--who looked something like a lizard got freaky with a nightjar bird--could deal with the obscenely loud snoring easily, but Summers' copious amounts of saliva were smearing the ink and enough was enough.

Summers groaned and turned her head to crack an eye at the offending elbow, half her face still in her mushy bread. Pulling herself from her tray, pushing it away, and wiping the dough off her cheek, she sent a dirty look towards the lizjard punk and made a silent promise to her to do it again next time in thicker quantities of drool. Then she stared at the remaining fishbowel's worth of fluid on her table.

She shrugged off her sweater and tugged the bottoms of her wifebeater down before wiping the table half-assedly with the former, and promptly smacked her face back onto the fake wood.

In about ten seconds she'd be out like a light, again, if but for the fact that she had only picked at the burger before she fell asleep and how incredulously hungry she became within the last twenty minutes.

"...Food?" She grumbled to herself, unsure if it was worth staying awake. And then, in affirmation: "...Food."

Name: Ukyo

Species: Bakenekko

Age: 14

Gender: Male

Appearance: Ukyo looks like every other cat on the block, except that he walks on his hind legs and is prone to wearing clothes. While he believes himself to be a purebred Russian Blue he's really just a domestic shorthair with blue-grey fur, and heterochromic blue and red eyes. Starting at the base of his long, long tail, the fur fades into a silvery white. Regardless of the season or weather, when you pet him there's a 1/10 chance that you'll get shocked.
He physically cannot write, open jars, or turn round doorknobs. Please help him.
Though he doesn't like shifting into a human form because he thinks he's fine the way he is and it's more tiring than it's worth, when he does he looks like so: (x).

Faction: Entertainer, pretty soon.

Personality: He fits the stereotypical trickster archetype: he's charismatic, silver-tongued, and ever the prankster. He's a very happy person who's willing to be friends with just about anyone, even if they screw him over—they'll reap what they sow in time, after all. It's not his problem!
He has the terrible habit of taking nothing seriously, and uses his sense of humor to hide hurt feelings and/or anger and it's made him somewhat jittery and anxious over the years. He raps his claws a lot and when he's stressed he has a habit of running back and forth around the room like a speed-demon with his fur standing on end and his claws extended.
He loves ripping up furniture.
His favorite food is sardines and he'll love you forever if you'll open a can for him (he has a hard time doing it with his paws).
He's very punny, and very bad at it.
He likes jazz, blues, classical, ambient, and game/movie soundtracks.

Biography: Ukyo was born to relatively normal housecats, but blessed with a rather gifted intelligence that set him apart as a sentient being early on. His parents' owners were well aware what he was, but since it wasn't the 1700's anymore, were too liberal to chop his tail off to dampen his yōkai magic.
Rather, Ukyo was taken in as their child and raised to be a normal person, going to normal (albeit expensive and upper class) schools and playing pranks on his friends.
He lacked the characteristic dancing talents of his kind save for his uncanny Charleston, though he does enjoy dancing and doesn't care if he looks silly, but developed a talent for music.
He's a new student here, so he has no faction yet—I think I know where he's going to end up, though.

Powers: A very talented shapeshifter, Ukyo is able to take on the appearance of people much larger or smaller than he. He can even mimic someone's fingerprints, with the exceptions of this ability being that he 1.) cannot become something with a non-functioning brain, 2.) he cannot reproduce his target's supernatural or physical abilities, 3.) it fatigues him to shift, and he can only do it maybe three or four times a day.
He also has the uncanny ability to walk without making a sound and can get shit past the radar with ease. You know how a cat can move across the room in a minute if you turn your back? Yeah, that shit's a superpower and he has it.

Abilities: He knows English and Feline fluently, and tidbits of Japanese from his "grandparents".
He's an excellent liar and charmer, able to swashbuckle his way out of trouble (most of the time).
Enhanced agility, y'know, because he's a cat. He can also talk to other cats, as mentioned above.
He can play a few miscellaneous string and wind instruments, including the windpipes, the sax, and the electric bass, though trying to find them in his size are difficult.
He knows swing but can't dance anything else.
He can pass as a regular, low-intelligence feline if he walks on all fours, but that would, like, require getting naked and he's not doing that.

Weapons: His claws do finely, thank you.

Other: Is that Prince Lune from The Cat Returns? Yes it is Prince Lune from The Cat Returns, thank you for asking! Is that Yato from Noragami? Yes. Yes it is. Speaks in Thistle. Char theme: (x)

_{i'm the most open person in the universe}

I'm any number of nicknames, so you can pick anything feel comfortable with. My Brit. Lit. teacher calls me Bartemius.

17, birthday is 3/16/98. I'm currently in Pennsylvania--so est, but my schedule fluctuates a lot

Typically I roleplay in the free section for comfort, but I think I'm at a casual level. Maybe?

I've been roleplaying off and on for four years.

My average post is around 200-300 words, but I'll give what I get (or a little more for the sake of characterization or plot progression).

My grammar is 'ok' I guess, I tend to write like I talk and I use a lot of contractions when I narrate. It's not, like, atrocious or anything.

I'll roleplay romance, friendship, survival, pretty much anything. I'm not so great at action, but I'm learning (slowly) so you'll have to forgive me. But please tell me your age before we roleplay romance or anything further, I'm not so comfortable with roleplaying nsfw shit with 20-year-olds who I don't know or 13-year-olds in general.

I'll roleplay any gender combination, poly relationships, inter-species¹, literally anything.

If we're playing a crossover 9/10 I will be playing some variation of Marvel's Toad. There has to be a support group for people with emotional attachments to content-lacking minor characters somewhere, right?

My skype is apocalick and I'd love it if you'd add me.

[sub][sup]1[/sup- both must be sentient, pls[/sub]




So, interested?

The world was blurring, the grainy textures in the table (what wasn't shadowed by her head) melting into an array of fantastic colors--greens and purples and blues. Lots and lots of blues. Her island was coming back into focus, though distant and obscured every two seconds by navy waves.

As her body became lighter and she lost her sense of balance, Summers was rather suddenly swimming. There wasn't much of current; land was growing closer by the second. The current was pulling her in.

Tiki Bar, Ahoy!

"Ssss--"

What.

"Ssssstatic."



"Snrrrrrkkk--murr?"

Summers groaned into the table, a silent 'fuck off' muffled by the laminated fiberboard in her face. She batted weakly at Tixhol--missing, she couldn't see what she was doing--she'd get that girl yet. Damn lizard and her damn sharpies....



Vaguely aware that a conversation was going on around her, she drifted in a dreamy sea of thoughts. Having only eaten bits and pieces of her burger, she was still hungry; she'd like to see if that bar sold anything besides coconut concoctions. This was a dream after all, so maybe she'd be able to imagine herself a pizzeria.

A rapping from elsewhere rattled the shore just as she crawled onto a coast-line boulder, and her island blurred out once more--she had been so close this time! Feeling a little bit murderous, Summers roused slowly and put a hand on the table to steady herself when she sat up.



"Eeeey Mama," She wiped and an eye and yawned, then turned towards the person to blame for her state of consciousness with a withering glare, eyes like a lamprey's mouth.

Charro, all copper and olive tones, had put on the cocky guise of a 1970's, pompadoured John Travolta, and was directing that grin towards her. So, flirt mode. Payback could wait, it's better when they're not expecting it anyways--this was a rare opportunity to play.

She returned with her own lopsided grin, the rows of teeth in her eyes softening into a Babushka doll of yellow and orange hearts, and winked. "Well then, coppa', better get the handcuffs."

Full Name: Olivia Summers
Nicknames: Static, Summers, Via
Gender: Female

Age: 18
Birthday: January 14^th
Astrological Sign: Capricorn

Romantic Preference: Leans towards homosexuality.

Species: Dream Demon
Origin: Earth, where one's appearance is a physical representation of their personality

Reason: With no family to speak of and a notable lack of ambition, Summers has found herself homeless. She just wishes she was eight again, when she didn't have to worry about anything.

Personality: Lazy, capricious, and aimless, Summers has made sleeping into an artform--she can do it whenever and however. Some of her favorite spots include places where it's inconvenient for you. Regardless, she's an easy-going girl who'll be friends with anyone, unless they look down their nose on her, and she's a firm believer in not considering what other's think of your actions; it gets in the way of living. She's highly independent and strangely self-sufficient for someone who's such a duty-shirker. She's prone to falling asleep at inconvenient...Zz_ZzZzzzzzZzzz
Biography: Born to a sweet-hearted, well-read pharmacist (a minotaur) and a washed-out wannabe rockstar (sort of a squid type creature), the first few years of Summer's life were uneventful and stable. She lived in a two story home in Maine with a medium sized backyard and had a dog named Grover, went to kindergarten through third grade in Wilson Pass Elementary, made a few friends despite being sleepy and kind of a brat--all the normal things you'd expect from a child. Unfortunately, trouble in paradise came in the form of a housefire and her parent passed away, leaving Olivia with a sufficient inheritance but no available relatives.
Bounced around from foster home to foster home for the next decade, Summers developed the concept that if she didn't love and help herself, no one else would. When she turned eighteen, having graduated high school with an impressive 1.5, there were many reasonable options presented to her by the state as to what her next step in life would be, but Summers turned them down. She moved out of her foster parents of two years' little New England house and has been sleeping on an old mattress in an alleyway for the last few nights (and days).
She was taking a walk down 24^th when she came across the crossroads, and followed them to the Cafe. Having some money on her and nothing better to do, we approximate with the current state of things.

Other --

• Her eyes aren't really typical eyes, but more like rounded, old-timey tellies in her head. Usually they display static and colorful lines, but sometimes the image will clear into a pattern, and image, a video, or so on. (x)
• When she opens her mouth, her tongue seems to be tentacles, and she has sharp, shark-like teeth. (x) (x)
• Speaks in yellow.

TCHNCLR14

Some people are born lucky, while others--well, some of us are born anomalous. They call us Aberrates.

About 15 years ago the first of us was born, and within five months there were some 200 more of us. Something triggered the birth of a new era for humanity. Our population has been rising steadily ever since, and frankly, it terrifies the adults; when your baby comes out covered in scales or with gills, you'd be surprised how willing you'd be to hand them over to the government, where they're "safe".

That's how some kids ended up in the boot camps, being trained until their eighteenth so they can have their superpowered ass carted off to war--these are the kinds of kids who end up cold-hearted and all...messed up in the head. To them, their trainers are their parents, and they're disgustingly loyal to them. The concept's hard to swallow.

Some Abberate parents kept us, but really had no idea how to take care of us.

Where is my Mind? --Crossover



{This morning, we all woke up on an island in...well, hell if I know. I don't even know my name, and--wait, you don't either? What the fuck?}

Heyo.

Okay, so back in November-ish of 2014 I ran a relatively active crossover rp called Multiverse Exhibit on my old account. It was loads of puppies and weird conflicts and all that other fun jazz, and while I became too busy to continue it (sorry about that but I won't be starting it up again) I had such a great time with it that I'd like to do something like that on a smaller scale.

Basic premise is that everybody's stuck in hot, sweaty, tropical island hell with no civilization to be found. Also, they're all amnesiacs. As they interact their memories will come back to them in small ways--déjà vu from their own habits, maybe something someone else said, and they'll have to deal with whoever they were in their life before the island whilst trying to create shelter and survive.

- This time I'm going to be strict about ten player slots. I'm not bumping it up to sixteen.
- Have as many characters as you want. Don't matter.
- No OC's, apologies.
- Grammar and thought-out sentences and all that malarkey would be nice. Also, try to practice etiquette--don't take control of another person's character or attack w/out permission.
- If your character is too op they'll have to be nerfed.
- I just started my senior year of highschool and I'm probably a lil bit busy, so don't heckle me.
- Three strikes, you're out.
- The song that inspired the nonsense.

DIBS:
- Toad / Marvel, for RS as if someone was planning on playing my bae anyways
- Noodle / Gorillaz, for RS

Any interest? Also if you'd like to call dibs on anything I'm all there for that.

INTRO

Like the thousand or so crossover/multifandom/multiverse rp's before it, this will most likely be a shitstorm. But it could be a fun shitstorm, yeah?

A canonical character of your choosing wakes up to find themselves in an uninhabited tropical island. Alarmingly, they're surrounded by an array of people and creatures they've most likely never seen before except in stories and so forth, so that's a thing. Even more alarming, they can't even remember their own name.

It's up to the players to flesh out a pack order IC and get the roleplay going, if a character that isn't mine or a co-gm ends up taking the lead that's fine. There won't be any NPC's, but if you'd like to have a fandom monster attack the group or something run it by me OOC and it might be a thing. My suggestion is to emphasize survival 'cos, y'know, for a lot of the flesh bags it's concern no. 1.

Their memories may come back to them in time, when and how is up to you. Of course, I'm not going to be pleased if you give them back their memories as soon as this starts...I'd wait like, at least a week IC.

If there's any questions asked I'll answer them and add them to a list up here.

SETTING

OGYIA: this island is 93 miles long and has an area of 3,495 square miles. While largely tropical, it can be oddly cold at the summit. The group wakes up along its northernmost tip, which is quite beachy and home to colonies of hermit crabs. It can be seen from the header image. The Ogyian Jungle is a thick canopy of strange noises and unseen beasts, framed with beach and palms on three of its sides. The trees can grow to the size of the five-story building at its deepest. The jungle dissolves into the centerpiece of the island on its fourth side: the summit. A rocky expanse of 90 degree angles and nesting birds, the summit is tallest at the center of the island but forms a plateau at lower altitudes that only ends at the southern tip. In other words, half of the island is rock, half is tree.

More sites on Ogyia may be discovered by exploring the Jungle && the Summit.

IONIAN: the ocean is a clear blue and stretches on for miles, with no other landmass on the horizon. The fish are oddly large and alien, and their scales gleam like polished gemstones.

RULES

- Read all of these and pay attention to texts in this color from myself or other co-gm's. that's the official shit like warnings and updates, all serious business.
- Conflict in and out of character is unavoidable. settle it peacefully and don't be rude.
- No oc's, all of my apologies.
- I retain the right to reject a character for whatever reason. if you'd like to know why, pm me and I'll attempt to explain, but this decision is considered, reserved, and final.
- OP characters or ones that don't mesh with the plot will have to be nerfed, but if you need help with that just ask.
- I'm fine with action, but keep the focus on character development and interaction.
- Keep your posts to three sentences or more.
- Wait for two people to post in between yours.
- Good grammar and spelling would be cool, but I can understand if you struggle with it for whatever reason.
- DO NOT take control of another person's character in any way at all.
- Leave an ⚓ somewhere on your character app.
- Ask before you physically attack someone. Make sure that you're wording your attacks as 'swung at' rather than 'punched' so the other person can decide how their character responds to this.
- If you're on the other side of an attack, play responsibly while considering your character's abilities. You can't evade every aggression and you can't shrug off a stab wound if you're Wolverine (well maybe you CAN but it's not much fun).
- Post all apps in the OOC first, and when they're accepted post them in the CHAR. Have a separate post for each character, pls.
- Violations of certain rules result in strikes. Strike one, and you'll get a gentle warning, strike two equals a more stern warning, and strike three gets you kicked.

PLAYERS 1/10

• Rick Sanchez

CHARACTERS

• None, yet!

Reserved

• Toad from Marvel 8069, for Rick Sanchez
• The Joxter from Moomins, for Rick Sanchez
• Chell from Portal, for CLIW

APPLICATION

Image, try to keep small-sh or under a hider if large resolution.
Name (or at least something to refer to them by)
Age (if applicable)
Species
Gender (if applicable)
Origin (what series or source they're from)
Appearance
Personality
Abilities (meta and non-meta)
Inventory (clothes, bags, weapons, cigs, etc.)

-as you can see, there's no bio option. that's on purpose. they can't remember it anyways, so you'll have to play it out.

Appearance: Amphibian-like in appearance and ability, Toynbee would stand at about 5'9" if it weren't for the curve of his spine; as is, he stands at about 5'6" and weighs 130lb. His frame is wirey and thin, and it's slightly difficult to gain weight due to a mutated metabolism. His skin is a dull green dappled with darker green spots on his upper arms, legs, and back, his teeth are shark-like and jagged, his eyes are buggy and yellow with cat-like pupils, and he possesses eight webbed, clawed fingers and six webbed, clawed toes in total. The real kicker's the 10 foot long tongue.

Being bipedal can be slightly difficult with his anatomy, so Mort's more likely to crouch and hop than stand or walk. Similarly, his clawed, flipper-like feet make it very difficult to find shoes in the right size (or shape) so he usually forgoes them in favor of wraps.

His typical outfit that isn't spandex consists of hoodies, v-necks, and skinny jeans in varying combinations of navy blue and grey. His dreads are decorated with metal beads and usually either tied back in a ponytail or with a bandanna. His speaking voice is high-pitched, and he's been told, a little bit like what Shaggy would sound like if he was a stoner from the early 2000's rather than the 60's.

Personality: Infamously cowardly, Mort's flight instinct is much, much, much more developed than his fight instinct; because of this, he's usually branded as pathetic, inadequate, and more trouble than he's worth. One minute, he's faking (over)confidence and coming off as slimy as his abilities, the next he's hiding behind the nearest person-sized object.

That description isn't actually fair, however. Even if he's terrified, even if he'll most likely die, Toynbee won't abandon those he's loyal to. And he's not a bad fighter; he can hold his own in a fight with any old mac off the streets. It's just when there's three or four macs, or one combat-trained, super-soldier-esque X-Man, it makes more sense to use his powers to get away. That doesn't mean he's brave by any stretch of the imagination but he's not without principles.

Mort despises himself and lacks confidence and it shows; he tends to bend over backwards for anyone he thinks cares about him, doesn't argue unless actually enraged (or scared, but that's more appeasing than arguing), and his body language is nearly always submissive when he's in neutral or allied company. With a tongue like that, boot-licking is easy.

Abilities: His mutations aren't on the prettier side, and none of them are actually heavy hitters. He has a lot of them, though: superhuman agility, balance, and strength, a 10' long prehensile tongue, corrosive or adhesive saliva, and wallcrawling (if he licks his hands). He can jump upwards about twenty-five feet and thirty across, and his kick is strong enough to dent steel. He's better adapted for water than land. Asides from mutations, Mortimer has an untapped talent for machines.

Inventory: He has a pack of cigarettes, a flick blade, and a cellphone with no service in his pockets, and in an old satchel he has a bag of doritos, a lighter, a stolen wallet with $40:35, a lock-pick set, and a pack of cat stickers. Just...just shut up, they make him happy.

Name: Simon Zheng-Addario

Age: 11

Appearance: Simon is short and thin at 4'11", with the beginnings of stringy muscles. His body language drips anxiety. Casual wear usually consists of a brown hoodie and skinny khakis.

Personality: Easily spooked, Simon's something of a survivor and something of a storyteller. Above all else he's self preservative; he and his wellbeing comes first. But, y'know, his friends are a close second. While kind and understanding, he's candid, and very down-to-earth. He cries a lot. He won't start fights, but he'll end them. He also likes spinning yarns and telling fantastic stories (blatant lies) and he wants to write stories someday.

History: Simon came from an abusive household; his father (a muggle) used his existence to trap his mother and guilt her, and his mother, in turn, used Simon as a shoulder to cry on. Having taken care of his mother more than she took care of him the past 9 or so years, he's happy to leave home. (Will be fleshed out IC).

Blood Status: Half blood

Wand: Black Palm with a Dragon Heartstring core, 9 inches, very brittle. (view)

Pet: A palm-sized gecko named Regan. They're very temperamental and nervous, and seemingly intelligent for a creature with a brain the size of a pea. Doesn't seem to like being handled by strangers. (view)

Noodle // 19 // Female // Genetically-Modified Human

(Gorillaz)

~ Powers ~

Do her musical abilities count? Kidding, of course, but she is a god of rhythm. Noodle's designated purpose was to be a super-soldier, and super-soldier she became (among many, many other hats). She possesses inhuman strength and agility, having been able to suplex 300lb drummers and frog-leap over 6'2" singers when they weren't even slouching at age ten, and this ability has matured. As is, she can bench press 3 tons--impressive, for her stick-thin arms. She's also an impossibly excellent shot and possesses heightened senses and a modified intelligence, leaving her with the hearing and eyesight of a feline and a mind that processes information much faster than other humans...in other words, she can learn nearly anything in a very short amount of time.

~ Skills ~
- Music -- considered one of the most gifted guitarists in the world, Noodle can play 23 string instruments, 12 wind, and a slew of percussion, and is adding more to the list every year. Her singing voice is haunting (and really cool).
- Omniglot -- her mind was programmed with knowledge of every known human dialect, and she's fluent in most of them. It couldn't take her more than five weeks to learn a language if she focuses.
-

Name: Entropsy diFarce
Alias(s): Hell, call her shithead for all she cares.
Age: 17
Height: 5'4"
Weight: 152
Hair Color: Three-toned blue.
Eye Color: Ha...ha.

Race: Illusion Demon

Job Role: (Soldier, Researcher or Medic)

Physical Appearance:

(Write a description of your Character)

Attire:

(Describe your Character's usual dress style)

Personality:

(Describe your Character's personality)

Weapons & Equipment:


Ability:

(Abilities aren't going to be massive, havoc-wreaking powers. They're racially inherited or specially trained perks that aid in your job role. Please try to pick an ability that suits the role you are planning to play. I.E. Someone who can read minds, isn't likely to be sent out on a patrol in the Spam Section. Time/Space Abilities are excluded with the exception of Minor Teleportation)

Brief History:

(Give a brief history of your Character from before the Catastrophic Events right up until the present time.)

Relationships:

(Tell us about your character's relationships with the other survivors. Do they get on well a certain member or is there a special rivalry with someone? Who do they admire and look up to? Is there a certain someone they're in love with?)

Name ‣ Clement Reid
Age ‣ 15
Level ‣ 1

Appearance ‣ A short boy with wiry, whip-like muscles and a sharp grin, he has a boxer's physique.

Biography ‣ Clem was born on March 23, 1979 in Cincinnati, Ohio. A few months prior to his birth, his mother, Judy Kozlowski-Reid, was forced to move in with her parents after being evicted from her apartment in Pittsburgh. She'd also had another child with Clem's father; Tabitha Reid, born in 1975.

❮ 1979 - 1986 ❯ Clem was considered a problem child who talked too loud and thought too little. His grandparents insisted on sending him and Tabby to a private school when they came of age, and while his sister did very well in school, Clem did not.

Between his sister's apparent dislike of him, his mother's lack of time, and his problems understanding basic materials, Clem resorted to playing practical jokes to stave off boredom (and hurt feelings). From kindergarten to third grade, his try-hard approach to socializing didn't win him any friends during recess.

❮ 1986 - 1991 ❯ Judy graduates college and ushers her tiny family away from their overbearing, hypocritical grandparents, sparing Clem from his private school angst. They move into what Clem believes to be "half a house" in the downtown neighborhood and Clem's room is on the second floor, where his window opens up onto the roof. It becomes his favorite spot.

When they move, Judy starts working long hours to support them and pay back her parents what she owes them. Clem and Tabby get home around three-thirty-ish, eat whatever their mother left for them before she gets back (usually around eight). By the time she gets home, Clem's already supposed to be asleep, but Tabby's lead on him is weak and waits anyway. Judy's usually too tired to do much, but makes him go to bed at nine.

Public education is much kinder to him. The classrooms are over-populated and everyone's so talkative that he blends in seamlessly, and during the fourth grade he makes quite a few friends. The best part is that he never has to see Tabby during the day--there's way too many kids.

His group of friends (they call themselves the "Ocecats" and join bloodied hands while they're hanging out at Joey's after school, claim they're all brothers now, and Clem's happy because the seven of them are so much better than Tabitha would ever be) become his only focus during school days, seeing as how he doesn't understand anything his teachers give him anyway.

During the fifth grade, they fight kids over a few tables in the cafeteria and suddenly they have a territory, and Clem feels like he's apart of something important. In the sixth grade, the majority of their clique has moved to the middle school and they start arguing over their collective moniker like it's a band name--first Ocecats, but then someone says it sounds kiddish, and then it's Ocelots, then that'd be submitting to a rival if they were called "Snakes" or something so they change it to Bobcats, then Cougars, then Kit-Kats. Finally, McNeil, who's in the seventh grade and is the oldest, tells them they're all being stupid.

Sometimes, Clem stays over at his friends' houses for days, not wanting to go home where his family ignores him unless he messes something up. When he's staying with Nikki or Shiloh, someone's always in the house because they have too many siblings to count. And when he's at Morty's, the shorter boy (the only one in the gang to be so who's not a girl) talks to him all night and doesn't roll his eyes when he says something stupid.

❮ 1991 - 1994 ❯ Their mother dies in a car accident when he's twelve. It happens so quickly, all Clem has time to think about is how her funeral costs more money than her house did, and how stiff and tired-looking (he can see the resemblance to her daughter, this way) his grandma is when she tells them they'll be moving back in.

His sister graduates her sophomore year with honors but she cries all night. It's the last night he sees her, either; he runs away the next morning. He doesn't want to leave his friends behind for his holier-than-thou, racist relatives.

For the next four years, Clem's been rotating between different friends' houses. He stays at Morty's the most, because Morty's parents are the only ones who know the details of his situation, and agreed to let him stay as long as he keeps going to school (and stays off the streets).

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Looks super cool, I'm always a slut for crossovers and I've been chafing at the bit to play this specific version of my favorite marvel char anyways. I have a problem.