's Soundtrack.

𝕂𝕒𝕣𝕞𝕒's soundtrack.

Starting off bold, catchy, belonging to someone truly headturning when she walks into the room or rides through town. Then after the first minute the music opens a glimpse behind the adrenaline fueled mask, the first crack. Sharply dropping, mellowing out to a sensitive and soft sensual tone before turning seductive, burningly so, than back to the gentle lull. This time it sounds more...lonely, detached from everything, vulnerable. Aching, as if an outsider was watching the lively saloon from the pouring rain and deciding to ride past. The guitar accenting her never ending drifter lifestyle and exactly how hollow she feels along with adding a touch of danger. And the touch of something not quite right, high, sharp, a little unnerving & full of mystique right before the sorrowful longing. Lingering loss of a wounded soul.

A city was built in the sunkissed desert. Karma, seemingly eternally frozen in time only watched from her ebony mare as it grew, more vibrant, loud, populated, suffocating in crime. Witnessing its advancing was among her most surreal experiences. Her own realm, the unforgiving heated sandy wastelands were getting smaller, the city's thrum reaching far. With the ever growing crime rate more hastily or not even buried dead littered the outskirts.

Karma setting a foot in this town was a rarity, especially this deep but the shadows kept whispering, urging her to come. She had left Villám long before entering, thankfully the intelligent horse understood well why she had to stay behind.

The gunfighter's clothing barely changed throughout centuries, only she allowed more prominent metal chain fringes on her jacket, the decorations chiming with a soft finality with each move. The shadows led her to a museum, by then she also could feel it. Not sparing much attention to the displays nor the people; few, probably around closing time, that was good. She didn't know yet what would happen.

The aura was akin to a harsh push when she sensed it full force. Close, not too much but already enough for her eyes to morph even more. Her stainless steel heels a steady thunder of something unavoidable approaching.

Burgundy was a stark contrast against her bone white hair and skin, the chain fringes giving one final clink as she stopped at the entrance.

“This shithole is your doing.”

A statement bold and sure, the modern disguise of the demon incapable of fooling her senses. Poison eyes flicked to the criminal decorated wall.

“Along with other deeds indirectly leading to deaths of the undeserving.”

Sin City

Every now and then, Astaroth liked to don a human disguise and take a vacation to the surface. During these vacations, he would travel the world, checking in on the various cults that worshipped him, before settling in one spot for a few days and simply enjoying himself. He never stayed up for too long, lest anyone on Earth or up in Heaven figure out who he was.

A popular spot for him was Las Vegas, the city that gave him the idea to open a casino himself. He loved this city, so full of sin and vice, a true demon's paradise. So many casinos to see, so many other attractions, he never felt like he gave himself enough time for anything.

Today he was at the Mob Museum, somewhere he'd been meaning to visit for many years now. More than a few crime lords whose reach extended to Las Vegas had their blessing from Astaroth; his ability to lead men to treasure was a powerful one, and so often led people here. The blue-haired disguised human was grinning as he browsed the Wall of Mobsters, recognizing plenty of the photographs on the wall, some from reputation, some from meeting them personally.

@deathshadowed

how do you need to be loved?

like the snow melts

you need to be loved patiently. you need to feel the love slowly creeping in, a warning, a way to back away if you’re too scared. you need to be loved cautiously, as if you’re fragile. you need to be loved gently, because love is messy and muddy and makes your socks wet and hurts if the sun gets too close. but you need to let yourself be loved, because when you do, it’ll feel like spring.

what kind of tragedy are you?

wrong place, wrong time

it shouldn’t have been you. oh my love, you should have lived. if only. if only you had made a right instead of a left. if only your friend hadn’t had so much to drink. if only it hadn’t rained last night. then everything would be fine. a butterfly could have flapped its wings at another time and you would have have been fine. safety was so close, and yet so far. but alas, the stars just had to align.

I don't remember where, but I've written that ‘Spiderverse Karma is who canon Striker desperately wants to be, but fails miserably.’

And it's probably the sickest burn I've ever came up with.

“Humans can be more than vile without any intervention.” when did she start speaking like she isn't one of them anymore?

Inky lips curled into a sneer at the so blatant display of control over the mind; subtlety was certainly lost on this one. Soon the corner of her mouth quirked up at the now visible crack of the mask, the gunslinger unmoving from her previous stand. Her trustworthy Colts by her sides a comforting weight as always.

“Death.”

Her expression briefly contorting into confusion after the immediate, confident reply...she never could quite name exactly what was she. Or maybe she never wanted to dig deeper in fear of what she might find. This felt frighteningly fitting.

“Therefore I don't give a fuck where you crawled out of. You've done more enough here. Leave to ruin an another place; your time here is up.” Karma always warned once, only fair this way.

His shadow was overlapping hers, better said the ever growing shadows accompanying her. She easily could've read the past from it, yet her gut advised against it. Especially after spelling ‘get the fuck out’ to the demon who apparently had himself on a high pedestal of vile glory.

Sin City

Every now and then, Astaroth liked to don a human disguise and take a vacation to the surface. During these vacations, he would travel the world, checking in on the various cults that worshipped him, before settling in one spot for a few days and simply enjoying himself. He never stayed up for too long, lest anyone on Earth or up in Heaven figure out who he was.

A popular spot for him was Las Vegas, the city that gave him the idea to open a casino himself. He loved this city, so full of sin and vice, a true demon's paradise. So many casinos to see, so many other attractions, he never felt like he gave himself enough time for anything.

Today he was at the Mob Museum, somewhere he'd been meaning to visit for many years now. More than a few crime lords whose reach extended to Las Vegas had their blessing from Astaroth; his ability to lead men to treasure was a powerful one, and so often led people here. The blue-haired disguised human was grinning as he browsed the Wall of Mobsters, recognizing plenty of the photographs on the wall, some from reputation, some from meeting them personally.

@deathshadowed