#hq:earth616

[heroes-hq-blog1]

it’s the middle of the night when the missiles hit. no warning signs, no alarms–the academy is bombed to rubble. the barrier is damaged, the streets are cracked and the lights are broken by nuclear monsters reigning down from the night sky that had seemed empty just moments ago. confused and shocked, teachers and staff hurry to evacuate students from their dormitories and get them to the teleportation pods at the basement of the avengers building, but when they arrive, they find that the pods have been reduced to ashes, too.

“get the stones!” the director yells, and immediately, six of the academy’s most well-known students are brought to her. in the midst of the missiles and the noise, she says to them, “join hands and close your eyes.”

with a snap of her fingers, the academy disappears, the bombs disappear, the sky disappears. the six students fall to the floor, unconscious; staff and students immediately rush to help them.

you open your eyes to a quiet room. it looks an awful lot like the lobby of the avengers academy, only abandoned and desolate, lit up only by the faint red lights flashing from outside.

“where are we?” a student asks.

“earth six one six,” the director answers.

MECHANICS! welcome to our first main event! this three-part event will explore the origins of the avengers academy. three consecutive writing prompts related to this event will be posted after this. writing prompts will contain more information and further instructions about the event. wait for the first prompt to be posted before starting threads/writing anything for this event.

the academy has been attacked and, in a desperate attempt to save the staff and the students, the director has gathered the infinity stones and transported everyone to the earth from which the academy’s founder, nick fury, is originally from. (yes! the multiverse does exist.)

what lies beyond the doors of the academy in this new world?

NOTE! though, canonically, all students experience these events, it is completely optional to write for this event.

[avjinho-blog]

impermanence

@avyongil / @avjihyun

( / talk about being stuck between a rock and a hard place, though with these two and their lack of a relationship now involved, the terms are interchangeable ) ( / new york is quiet in its post-apocalyptic devastation, but somehow the silence cemented between them is pricklier in its chill. ) ( / jinho only notes it, but makes no move to dispel it nor talk reason into either of them. not when moving half the head of a dismantled statue takes up all of his focus. ) ( / steps ahead by a foot, palm extended in the direction of the obstacle—still one second, then it quivers, lifting with a groan before it’s pushed far and away to their left. ) ( / sighs and blinks to where the sun (or what little they can see of it) bleeds out below some unseen horizon. ) guess we’re staying the night. 

[sgnolivia]

one in nine lives

@avxiao

from the increasingly loud shouts across the grounds, olivia gathers that a, some people are trying on their Big Kid Hero Pants and b, they are to convene in the escape pods. olivia is no goddamn hero and honestly, she doesn’t remember where the escape pods are. the whole orientation was pretty hazy. dissociation can do that. 

her main objective is to find a pair of shoes with a sole.

the faster she moves, the faster her brain works. so it’s cool to blow up government buildings now? she wishes someone would have told her that eight months ago when she spent three weeks, six broken bones, and enough ammunition to put fort knox to shame blowing up the facility she was kept in. all she had to do was send some missiles raining down from the sky. why didn’t she think of that?

it doesn’t make sense. olivia may be decommissioned, but she doesn’t think assassin etiquette has changed that much. jobs like this don’t come from private sectors—at least not ones that aren’t heavily funded by government money. 

this was someone else. 

curiosity killed the cat! lizard sings to her, and olivia snorts. she’s already half-dead anyway, what’s another life out of nine? 

the boots she finds are a size too big, but she ties them so tight she can’t feel her ankles and straps more weapons to the ones she always wears. if she’s going to commandeer her own train at conspiracy theorist station, she’s sure as shit going to do it armed to the eyes. 

and, she hates to admit, it feels nice to be strapped like this. it feels like andy has finally returned home to play with the toys and olivia’s alive again. 

[avjumi-blog]

im rlly a snail... i have no words... but i live and i bring with me a few plots for the event which you’ll find under the cut! smash that like button if you’re interested <3

would’ve been alert as heck and also annoyed as hell when the missiles hit, zooming through the falling debris so:

she yanks you off the ground and a giant chunk of ceiling falls right where you were standing. she takes thank you’s in form of free drinks the next time they get to a club. are there clubs in earth 616??

prompt 1: so jumi is probably relatively unscathed, quick reflexes and wings and all. given that she has enhanced strength, she can:

carry you since you got a broken leg/ankle and entertain you with her commentary of the whole thing tryin to make things a little less dark

prompt 1: definitely is making the most of the whole fiasco and being somewhat optimistic, making room for some of these interactions:

you snap at her for not being ~serious~ and she’s just 😒😒😒

let’s follow the yellow brick road and stray from the path and get lost bc neither of us have ever been to new york before

prompt 2: after returning to the Proper path, they’re now in the academy which means jumi is glad the rumours r true that faeries don’t age and:

yeah i got nothing i’m gonna post a solo mayhaps! stay tuned for prompt 3 plots!

[xgodkiller]

becoming a nightmare | part 1

this isn’t the first time hyun habaek has looked into his own face without a mirror.

this isn’t the first time he has watched in morbid fascination, in vague disgust, in trembling horror, the way his own eyelashes blink, his own irises staring up and outward, his own throat bob, his own arms shift, his own collar bones sticking out like razors against the threadbare fabric of his tank top. everything about the face is worn but nothing is as aged as his atmosphere, nothing is as shredded as the air that shivers around him, a silence that emanates through the space wretched, like a shell that protects him, that announces him, that beholds him, and habaek is reminded-- ridiculously-- of old religious paintings hung in museums around the world, the way holy things and unholy things carry with them halos upon their heads. he must be the latter version.

he’s seen his own face before on the body of another. he’s had to kill himself before in the body of another, had to let it die, let it bleed out across his bedroom floor, had to wrap it like a gift to the gods of war and bury it in the woods, in the earth, wherever deepest. he’s created himself before, attempted to restructure the lining of his life, put a piece of him there in the academy so he could go off, so he could disappear without actually disappearing, so that he could learn to live a life that is wholly his.

but the only thing worse than creating a dream clone of yourself, is creating it wrong, and having to deal with those consequences; eyes that dribble, bones fused together poorly, pleas and sobs locked behind unfinished lips. hyun habaek’s hands are drenched in blood and too much of it is his own.

but this… this is entirely new. this is not a recreation, not a clone, not a myth. no deficits, no deformities, no fissures-- a boy king in humming skin and blackhole eyes, his hair cropped shorter than habaek’s is, his face harder somehow, crueler, colder. jet leather jacket, steel-toed boots, too many rings on his fingers, sitting in a backwards chair as though nothing is amiss about this type of engagement. as though he’s been waiting for hours.

habaek steps up to the older version of himself, not scared or apprehensive, but thoughtful. careful. he has to remember that this is himself, only… worse. “what have you done?” his voice breathes out like a whisper, although it doesn’t shake. it seems like the only appropriate question, given the circumstances and the way the other version looks around himself as though everything is putty and he’s the only one with hands. he thinks about the monsters he’s created, the demons he’s killed, the ones who have killed him in his dreams. this version of him will have killed many more.

the other him only smiles-- except it’s not a smile. it’s something cutting, something razored, something with claws and teeth and too much appetite, as though there is something just behind him, just beyond him, that growls. “whatever the fuck i needed to. you will too. don’t worry about it.” he shifts. “heard this was being set up, so i got you a small gift, little brother.”

he holds out his arm, scarred and tattooed, something stashed in his palm, but habaek makes no move to take it. “is this a trick?”

“isn’t everything?” the older version chuckles. “relax. it wouldn’t do me any good to kill myself now, would it?”

“we’re not technically the same.” he pauses. “and it’s not like that would be super surprising if you did.”

“trust me.” a corner of his lips seems permanently pinned upwards in a not-quite-sneer. “if i wanted you dead, i wouldn’t just be handing something to you. there are lots of different ways to kill a greywarren.”

the way he says that word, ‘greywarren,’ speaks to something inside habaek, a jealousy, an ache, as though this imposter has managed to own a name belonging solely to habaek himself, as though the title were a nice car that habaek hasn’t driven around yet but still hates to see anyone else riding in.

instead of waiting for habaek to reach out though, his older version finally relents and simply opens his hand, palm up, revealing a small pill, half white, half black, and something shining about it, something fuzzy and bright. habaek squints as he slowly reaches out to pick it up, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “get high? is that your suggestion for all this?” the entire academy in ruins, all of dimensional laws upturned and his older self wants him to go crazy?

“it’s not a drug, dumbass,” is the reply. “it’s the Answer.”

“to what?”

“everyone’s got questions.”

habaek gives him a skeptical look. “fucking christ, are you some sort of fortune cookie now?”

the other him stands up, steps up, leans in, brings the whole room in with him, the walls curving, bending, pulling inside the tightening space between them, the world squeezing breathlessly and habaek can feel nature straining against the gravity of it, the inevitability of it. “you have a question, kiddo. i dreamt it. i know it.” again, there’s that feeling, that sense, that something-- larger, darker, hungrier, is hovering, standing, sweating, bleeding, just behind the older version of himself. as though he is only a puppet, pretending to be a human. “don’t take it now. there’s too many heroes around.”

again, the snarl. definitely a villain then. got it.

habaek looks down at the pill in his hand, thinking of wonderlands and dreamscapes he’s done his damnest to stay out of, nightmare realms that have never felt safe enough to drown in, too baseline at the bottom of his psyche. there is a question in him, a great big glaring mark across his chest that burns through his skin and brands his life, a question that haunts his steps and infects his blood, a question he’s been asking for years and years, to any gods or daemons that could answer.

“only way to find out what’s at the bottom of the rabbit hole, little brother, is to jump in.”

[avryujin-blog]

solo. | just another day.

It should be known that Ryujin dealt with a lot of shit. And when he said a lot of shit, he meant A LOT OF SHIT. Getting transported to some bullshit new world ( because he had sense for this sort of bullshit and he totally called this being some new universe ) he could only think “Damn, this is going to go down to shit real quick.” When they exited and he saw how the world around them was like some aftermath of a war, he just sighed. Taking out his bottle of moonshine ( and boy, his whole luck was wasted on bringing his strongest drink with him on this occasion ) he took one big gulp from it before putting it back to where it belonged. Looking at the desolate land, the horrifying sights of the aftermath of war, he merely recalled the time of war in Death’s realm. A pretty similar sight, but that hellhole was worse than this. Kicking up the ground, he hummed in thought at how this story was going to go. Plus, the fact that his usually as nonchalant buddy is knocked out after chilling under the disaster that were missiles coming right after their asses, he was feeling pretty done with life. He wasn’t also really wanting to help anyone out in the moment. Other kids and teachers could do it, he’ll just wallow in the center all done with this shit. Let’s see how things go first, hopefully nothing kills him just yet—or worse, break his bottle of moonshine. God, kill him but don’t ruin the moonshine. He didn’t think anyone else got alcohol on them right now but him. Fucking depressing. Just in case, he took another sip. Gotta’ savor what you have in hand for now after all.

[avadam]

i know i’ve been mia but !!! i’m still down to write something esp for the event! adam’s a new yorker so seeing his home city looking like this is ??? really weird and scary but its time to tough it out like any cool kid avenger would 

if you wanna plot please like this and i’ll nyoom into your ims! 

[avhex]

press forward | earth-616

There was nothing. Again. The recurring darkness have placed her in a state of unease. A dreamless dream for a night sounded heavenly, but when this occurrence happened more than once, it became worrying for Mari. Sure, she has rendered her skills on oneiromancy useless, a quick escape to diminish any traces of CHAOS within her, but when her only method of concealment slowly withered from her grasp, she was in distress.

When the ground started erupting and deafening blasts surrounded the place she reputed as a haven for the wayward souls like her, it was the last straw for Mari. The academy was reduced into rubble and her blindness didn’t manage to stop any of it. She was merely a part of the cattle, herded together with others to safely get away from the pack of wolves. A buried trauma clawed itself out of its coffin, snarling at her. She can feel it staring with disgust and hate, probing her existence, and cackling at her ineptness.

You cannot save them. You are no hero. She can hear its distorted voice, mocking her. How can you defeat them? You don’t even know how to use your powers. Pathetic. “Please, not now,” she muttered to herself. The instability of her mind won’t aid to subdue the havoc around her. The last thing Mari wanted is to explode. Her bare feet have grown numb. The attacks have pulled her from her comfort zone and dragged her across the rubble and glass.

Let it out. "No." It wants to come out. "No!" Let i-

She settled the chipped porcelain cup on the mahogany desk. One of its legs was missing and have been supported by a stack of books instead. One thing to pull out from this mess was that people have become more resourceful. There is indeed a bout of creativity from tragedy. The bitter taste of coffee still lingered on her lips. She had a cigarette stick dangling between her nicotine-stained fingers, a lighter ready to blaze when she heard the news. Visitors have arrived.

There was a collective gasp once she reached the end of the stairs. A group of young people, disheveled and weary, peered at her with curiosity and wonder. They felt familiar to her and perhaps she was, in a way, acquainted with them. Then, the faces became connected with names, and the names tugged strings she once thought have been cut. Eyes stared back at her, full of sentience. The last time she saw some of those set of eyes were devoid of life or have collapsed into specks of dust, fluttering away from her grasp and into the harsh wind.

The hushed whispers continued. Fleeting glances were exchanged. They were looking at her and at… the other her. The ruckus was understandable. They both bore similarities, albeit her features were more jagged and venerable as opposed to the other's softer and frail facade. However, there is a certainty on the source of the pandemonium at the decrepit hall of the academy. The visitor's locks were charcoal. Hers were carmine.

Once soft blankets and warm beverages were offered to their sudden guests, the crowd dispersed and went on to their own devices. But the two remained standing still. She felt like she was standing before a mirror. A reflection from the past. She has the ability to mask her own emotions, and judging with the other's hazy eyes and trembling silhouette, the younger version of her from an alternate world doesn't seem to have in their best head space.

"Let's go get some air," she urged the other to follow her. She can feel that the young woman was curious about her. The red-headed woman shared the same sentiments as well, but kept it to herself. Perhaps her companion needed more guidance than her. They eventually reached what was once to be the academy's greenhouse. Plants were overgrown all over the place and there was a gaping hole above that featured a starless sky. After Thanos's success, everything went down into an endless void. Those who remained after having half of the population vanish have also lost their own strive to live.

"Is it now gone within you?" The stillness of the night was pierced with a quiet voice. Was this the reason of her gloom? "What? CHAOS? No, it’s still here," she replied before producing a red sphere as she made her lithe yet calloused fingers dance. Soon, the other mimicked her but quickly extinguish it as small sparks began to emanate from her orb. Once again, she huddled close to herself. "What? But how did you manage to control it?" The inquiry continued. "I befriended it," she answered with complete honesty. Confusion has settled in, she can sense that. She admits that it was too simple of an answer for such a complex process that she has gone through.

"You just have to accept its power. You can't run away from it. I never managed to," she let out a bitter chuckle. It doesn't need any denial that she has lost people along the way because of her talent. However, she had the chance to helm it to become her own. This privilege must have overlooked by the younger. Both of them have devices to learn how to discipline their powers, they are just waiting out there to be used.

"I don't want them to be scared of me," her companion mumbled. It was almost a whisper, yet she can feel her faltering. She wanted to reach out, to tell her that it may be a difficult journey, but it is going to be very rewarding in the end. She can see herself on her. No, she was her. A terrified young girl. Was she this fragile before? She wanted the other to turn her attention to her. She wanted to shout, Look at me! Look at what you can achieve in the future! But the funny thing about alternate universes was that certain situations won't happen in a similar manner and may bear contradictory outcomes. They are the same yet also different in many ways. Old and young. Red and black.

"You can't control their fear, but you can quell yours," she spoke with clemency. Fear. She used to be held back by it as well. "You are going to be fine," she wiped away the tears of her younger counterpart. "I believe in you," she continued. Those were the words that she always wanted to hear when she was young and having this opportunity to relay that to the other have calmed the waves within her.

"Mari! It's time to go."

They both nodded to each other as a farewell and she quietly watched the other walk away with she assumed was a friend of hers. Indeed, they are the same yet so different. She was lucky. So lucky to have a name.

Mari.

Perhaps it was better this way. Her curiosity towards the other wasn't sated, but knowing that she might haven't gone through what she had experienced in the past and the possibility of her having a happy family was enough.

No screams. No fires. No deaths. No windowless rooms.

The witch is now at peace.

[avjericho]

maybe this time.

solo. earth 616: prompt 2.

he’s feeling too much and for once, it’s not because of all of those around him. looking up at his face, this face that is so familiar and yet not all at once. the features are the same, the same large eyes, the same angular jaw, the same pouty lips. but it’s not his eyes. these eyes are deep, heavy; they’ve seen too much, haven’t slept enough. the jaw is set in place, out of anger from what’s happened to him over the years possibly. the mouth is downturned and sharp, less cherry red and more dehydrated beige. this face isn’t him, and yet, it is.

the one thing that majorly sets off this new face from hanbyul’s own are the lines mapped across his forehead, clustered around the corners of his eyes, the corners of his lips. with one look at this face, he knows that the person before him has done more with his life than hanbyul ever has. he wonders if this hanbyul is as helpless as he is. 

“can you feel it?” the older one asks, the angle of his jaw changing as he bites down at seemingly nothing other than the questions he wants to ask this other self. he smirks. “do you feel everyone right now? feel the desperation?” for a while, hanbyul can’t answer. he does feel, he feels it all. the anger and the confusion and the agony of everything that has happened with his world of people and the new ones. it overwhelms him, washing over him in thick sheets and each new wave is a layer on top of the other. he feels heavy like the smoke filled air that encompasses this earth, burnt out and drifting away. hanbyul lets his gaze find the other’s before a wave of undeniable calm pushes out any other thing he was feeling. 

“you don’t have a handle on them yet, do you?” the other version asks, and if hanbyul wasn’t so relieved at the moment, he would have taken offense to the snarky tone this other hanbyul had used. he was mocking him. “i’ve been trying,” he finally manages to squeak out, feeling unimaginably small in front of this one who has seen more than hanbyul has ever dreamt of. “it’s, uhh,” he trails off, forces himself not to look down and sets his eyes back on the eerily similar ones in front of him, “it’s been hard.” he wonders if this hanbyul has an areum, has the same upbringing, has the same self-hatred and feeling of uselessness that he does. “no shit it’s hard,” his other self growls out. hanbyul knows that it’s him that’s giving him this calming effect. there’s no other way that he would be able to only feel one thing when just moments before he could feel everything. he wants to know how this one does it, how this hanbyul manages to keep everyone out and be able to project an emotion onto someone else. 

he takes in a deep breath and forces a small smile onto his face. maybe this is the perfect way for him to get past everything that blocks him from his powers and the things that set him back. maybe this is, in some twisted way, the way he can finally feel like a hero and not some mutated mistake. he wonders if he’ll have time to learn. 

“hi hanbyul, i’m also hanbyul. it’s nice to meet me,” he says with a grin. maybe this will be good.

[heroes-hq-blog1]

SECOND PROMPT --- THE PRESENT: ONLY THE STRONG SURVIVE

if you stayed with the academy, you find yourself in front of a large metal gate. the director presses a button on an intercom that looks broken, and she says, “assemble.”

the gate creaks open, and all of you funnel in through the small opening on the side. inside is what can only be a resistance. hospital beds and makeshift chairs scattered around a concrete room with a low ceiling. it looks like it used to be a parking lot. now, it’s the home of people who look like they’ve been running from something for too long.

before you go further inside, the director explains that in this version of earth, a mad titan named thanos used the infinity stones and succeeded in obliterating half of all life in the universe. after his disappearance, anti-avenger and anti-mutant sentiment skyrocketed, and the superhuman registration act was enforced more strictly instead of abolished.

mutants tried to rebel and failed at the hands of sentinels that the government created to fight against them and contain them. she explains that in this post-apocalyptic world, mutants are in hiding. they are being hunted by sentinels to be locked away and injected with the cure, which will either kill them or rid them of their powers.

she explains that in this version of earth, nick fury used a reality stone that he’d obtained from another dimension to enter an alternate reality. he found himself in a world that was yet to be destroyed by thanos, a world where the avengers he knew on earth-616 were still children. whether he created this world or simply happened upon it is uncertain, however, he created the avengers academy to train these young heroes to fight thanos in this new earth and on earth-616.

“however, as you very well know, thanos never arrived on our earth,” the director says, “and, no one knows why, but nick fury never went back to earth-616 with his new avengers. he spent the few of his remaining days collecting the remaining infinity stones, hiding them and establishing avengers academies around the world, including the one we lost. he used the infinity stones to change what history books say about our earth’s history. the world is younger than you’ve been made to believe.

he said our two earths aren’t supposed to collide, but desperate times call for desperate measures. i was told that if the day comes when the academies are attacked, i should come here with the stones, and the rest would be taken care of.

you might find yourselves in here,” she tells you, “a different version of you.”

sure enough, when she sends you off, it’s not long before you find a familiar face in the crowd–it’s your own face, only older and more weary.

MECHANICS!

write about your avenger’s reaction to this news, and to meeting the older version of themselves. you can write from the perspective of the earth-616 version of your avenger, as well!

tag all event related threads as #hq:earth616. if you have any questions, direct them to the main blog.

[avhaera-blog]

Okay this is actually such an amazing prompt like oof but also, probably literal hell for Haera :’) I wrote some prompts down, if you’re interested in them or want to do your own plots, you can like this and I’ll gently slide into your im’s lmao 

Honestly Haera is so confused as to what happens and she really doesn’t know how to react and what to do. Her first reaction is to help other students, but with the number of spirits skyrocketing around her, she is frozen in place and possibly needs help from muse. So that she won’t end up as one of the new spirits.

You lost one of the people you know and can’t find them. Scared that they might have died, you see Haera and beg her to look around to see if there is any spirits that matches the description you give. (If she’ll see the spirit or not is up to you)

Haera lost her necklace, that she held so close to her heart. Instead of trying to find safety or something, she just keeps on searching for that necklace. You notice her, not leaving her room, no matter what happens, so you are about to basically drag her out of the room. Just before she gets dragged out, she get’s a grip of the necklace and takes it with her. And now she is lowkey indebted to you because you saved her life and she doesn’t know what to do.

After things have somewhat calmed down, Haera decided to help the spirits, either come to terms with what had happened or help them find their way too the spirit realm, and the students, who did lose someone, communicate with their friends one last time. After she had finished that, you decide to join her and she’s ready to do the things she’d done for hours now again, but instead you just want to take this time to take a breath and try to sort your mind, about what had happened.

[avxsungjin]

solo ; i am you

“glad to finally see you awake! still writing on that thing huh?”

sungjin looks up from his journal and almost thinks he’s hallucinating, almost thinks it’s sungmin in front of him but then it hits him — right, they may find ourselves here.

“don’t worry, i still write on mine too!”

it’s odd, it was him yet he was so different, felt different. he stood up tall, held head high. gone are the feelings of self-doubt, self-pity. there was a glint in his eyes that was far from those in his. the way he carried himself, the way he talked. it was nothing like sungjin.

“s-so, do you mean… we never got to?” the younger of the two bit his lip, not wanting to say it nor think about it.

sungjin-616 plops down beside him, sitting on the edge of the bed and ruffles his hair, much like how his brother would.

“on the contrary, we do actually,” he sighs contently, reminiscing on the memory, “we find a way to get him back.”

sungjin scoots on the bed to give the other some space, hugging his knees close to his chest.

“then… why? why do you still write?”

the older looks at him fondly, a sweet yet dreary smile forming on his lips.

“when the snap happened, he was part of those who fell into ashes. so i write — in hopes that one day he’ll be able to read it again,” his voice was sad, but it was determined as if he knows that he’ll be able to bring the other back once more.

sungjin honestly doesn’t know how he should feel, he should really be ecstatic knowing that there’s a way for him to bring sungmin back, but the other side of him is crushed knowing that the other him, sungjin-616, loses his brother all over again. just the thought of it makes him shudder and shrink, losing his twin again.

“you know, we’ve always had a nick for being so negative,” he laughs loudly and couldn’t help himself ruffle the other's hair once more, “you need to stop blaming yourself sungjin, you need to let that go. i know you feel like you can’t do anything anymore but look at it this way. minnie? there are other people like him, other people who’re being hurt, who’re being taken advantage off. we couldn’t save minnie then, but we can save the others just like him now.”

the older smiles and lies down beside him, “you’re not as weak as you think jinnie. you’re more powerful than you think. you just have to figure that out and soon you’ll see what i mean.”

sungjin let’s out a breath of happiness before closing his eyes, “i should know. after all, i am you.”

plots !

YOU FIND THE OLDER SUNGJIN FINEEEE AND H O T AF AND WANT TO GET ON THAT RIDE!!!! AYEEEE LMFAOOOOOO

someone to talk with older sungjin and find out what he does in the resistance.

you thought sungjin-616 is your sungjin and 616 ver is completely weirded out but doesn’t have the heart to tell you that he’s not who you think he is.

[sgnolivia]

‘cause you had a bad day

there is a lot to be said for prioritizing things over people, and olivia’s pretty sure someone with their brainstem screwed tightly into place has already said them. this leaves olivia free to not give a shit and commence her breakdown with vigor. 

there is a lot to be said for prioritizing things over people, and olivia’s pretty sure someone with their brainstem screwed tightly into place has already said them. this leaves olivia free to not give a shit and commence her breakdown with vigor. 

“no,” she whispers, out loud, as if commanding time to reset the last thirty seconds so none of this had happened. no. no!

buried under the rubble of the nice archway that marks the entrance to the gardens, tattered by shattered glass from the greenhouse, are olivia’s brand new jelly sandals. their color shines from under the ruins. they look like watermelons someone’s tossed off the side of a building. 

if she’s still hovering at eighty percent thing and twenty percent garbage-compacted-into-a-human-body, what makes her so different from her watermelon plastic-rubber shoes? 

she’s well aware that this is a stupid thing to cry over. of all the things she could be mourning right now, this isn’t the hill she should die on. the shoes are replaceable, it isn’t the end of the world— at least, not as far as colorful shoes are concerned. 

but it isn’t fair. 

olivia bought them just three days ago, all on her own, with no help and no murderous stares or panic attacks. she even told the cashier, albeit in a tiny voice and while looking at the floor, that her ice cream cone earrings were nice. she was doing well. she was trying new things. she ate three whole jolly ranchers that day.

she doesn’t want new sandals. she wants her old ones to go through whatever the opposite of a hydraulic press is. she wants this not to have happened. 

the urge to cry is there. olivia debates giving into it since she now knows that sometimes crying is good. sometimes it’s good to feel the full weight of an emotion and then move on, but olivia doesn’t feel like she’s capable of moving on. crying might just send her barreling into a panic attack of epic proportions and there isn’t time for that, right now. 

she does exactly what her therapist says not to do. she sniffles once, scrubs at her eyes, and resolves to add it to the growing pile of shit-i-shouldn’t-have-to-deal-with-but-do. 

the bigger problem now is that olivia is wearing thin socks with a funky psychedelic pattern on them and the ground is covered in glass. the sky is falling. people are dead. there’s been intermittent screaming the entire time she’s been having a one-man funeral. 

some people just have no goddamn respect.

[avmone]

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ⁺

    ⁺       𝐬𝐨𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 .

         the moment feet land against distorted gravel, mone knows there’s a difference in the air. it’s heavier ; accompanied by a feeling of dread as eyes scatter to the remains of a land that looks eerily familiar and also not. she hears the whispers, the strange feeling is mutual among the masses, and mone can’t help the terror that creeps up her spine at the darkness that shrouds them. the remains of what once was stuck in a memory. of the screams, the destruction, of a world of their own no longer for them to imagine. 

         what was was no longer. it’s an unspoken truth as they hear the director announce their location, and a spark of confusion overrides her panic. the momentary questionability clouds her judgement before she’s reminded once more of the manic she had faced just moments earlier. where was he? her brother was still no where to be seen and suddenly she feels her heart begin to race once more; it gets a little hard to breathe and the tears begin again as she’s pushing past students in search of someone, anyone, who looked familiar to her. all but running into the arms of the one person she knows the most, “soyu!” she cries, “i can’t find him -- i can’t ..” she breathes heavily, 

         “he’s not here.”  ₊

[xgodkiller]

becoming a nightmare | part 2

when he wakes up, it’s a different sort of wake up. the world has shifted, stiffened, coalesced around him, and he feels it, feels the reality of it settling in like a baking pie, like playdough in the oven, like paint on a mural; some sort of masterpiece, half-assed. because if there’s anyone who knows a half-assed creation, a printing of an almost pessimistic hope, it’s hyun fucking habaek, thank you very much. his dream powers bring fluctuations on in his reality on a regular basis, the world a constantly changing thing, fickle and feckless and grotesque, and although he’s not entirely sure what’s just happened, or how or why, he recognizes the tilt, the lull, the ache.

the universe yawns and this time habaek isn’t the one in stasis, locked inside his own skin.

this time habaek leans up from his bed, all the normal oddities clustering around his room, the black hole in the corner swirling, the dancing lights, the tree blanket-- even the mirror fulls of owns, the creatures he has kept about his surroundings-- everything is ridiculously familiar. his space is messy and disorganized as usual, chaotic and homespun as usual, his hair disheveled, his mind a haze, the dream magic still lurking through his veins. hyun habaek as he’s always been, as he always will be. if he can’t notice the difference at all, has the world truly changed?

slowly, as though he worries his hands will fall away if he rushes himself, as though he worries everything will drain out of existence the way everything did back on the farm, back when the animals howled in dusty silence, back when the trees and the barnyard walls greyed and hollowed out, hollow like his bones, hollow like his heart-- slowly, slowly, he lifts his left hand up in front of himself, at eye level.

when he opens his palm, a small half-black, half-white pill sits in the center, calm and quiet in the morning cadence of light. he holds it up to the sunshine to watch it glimmer, and whispers to himself, “the answer.”

[avryujin-blog]

solo. | alternate selves doesn’t mean being the same person.

The news of a new world that gone down to shit reached his ears and he could frankly give less of a damn. It wasn’t like this was his world. And even if others were dying and the world was going down to shit, Ryujin was a person that had gone through so much that all this just seemed like another day. Yeah, sure, maybe he’s going to lose someone he cared for in this mess but would that even be the first? But another self? Another him? He’d seen glimpses from Death, who wanted to show him how ‘special’ he was. So many versions, all living more normal lives than he did. Which meant that whoever he saw wasn’t really him, not really, because that man did not suffer the things he did. No, he had an easier life. He probably still had people with him. Maybe. Whatever. He then spot a man in his thirties, locks longer than his own and tied into a low ponytail. Deep eye bags, scars riddling him, decked in a suit ready to go to war. The sniper rifle case by his back, the guns and knives holstered to his side. But when they locked gazes the differences were much more stark. A blazing determination, the straight and vigilant way he held himself, and the lips thinned to a line—a contrast to his own calm blues, lazy slouch, and a lopsided grin holding a cigarette in between teeth.

“‘Ello there, nice to see I do age fine. But that’s to be expected ‘cuz, I’m hot—duh.” He began, a light chuckle out of his lips as he looked at the other, an air of nonchalance enveloping him as per usual. By the corner of his eyes he could see some more startled people, probably NPCs of the 616 land. Maybe they were shooketh because he could already tell this other him was a total hard ass.

Heck, other him was looking at him with wide eyes. But he seemed to snap out of it, but before he could say anything, Ryujin raised a hand and took his moonshine out to take a gulp, before putting it back with a refreshing sigh “Oops, sorry there, you were taking your sweet ass time and the moonshine was calling for me.” “You—.” 616 him choked out, and Ryujin merely charmingly smiled. “Are you really the other me? How could you be so...” “Hot? Amazing? Completely wonderful to be around with?” He butts in, walking up to the stranger who shared a similar face, smirking up to the other he gave out a puff of smoke right at his face which cause the other man to cough and step back, glaring at Ryujin. “Listen kiddo, we may be alternate versions but we’re not each other. So, I’m Ryujin, Kazuki Ryujin. Just in case you have a different name ‘cuz I was adopted thanks.” The other him sputtered a bit, before pointing out “I’m older than you! You look like you’re in your twenties and I’m in my thirties. And you were—” The man paused, a conflicted expression in his face before he continued with a heavy sigh. “I’m Jinseok, Shin Jinseok.” “Ooh~ we share the Jin syllable!” He chirped, rocking on his heels instead of adopting the stiff position that Jinseok held. “And cute, you weren’t adopted! And even more adorable, you think you’re older! Honey, I look like I’m in my twenties but your 6700 years too young to tell me that you’re older than me, ‘kay sweetie?” Jinseok gaped, and Ryujin merely laughed. The scarred man stumbled a bit, weakly mentioning “But I have enhanced marksmanship so how did you...?” Ryujin rolled his eyes, taking another drag from his cigarette but being more polite as he puffed out the toxic smoke away from the other’s face. Looking down at the shadows, he knew that even if he was in this new world, she’s watching. Grinning bitterly down at the darkness under his feet, he looked back with a shrug “Immortality’s a bitch. And didn’t I tell you already? We may be another version of each other but I’m one of a kind.” “You’re...immortal...?” Another conflicted expression, before it steeled into that of steeliness and realization “Can’t you do something more then? You don’t have to fear death and you can go help others out but all you’ve been doing is standing about doing...nothing!” “Yeah, so?” Was Ryujin’s bland response, not caring how offended the other looked. “Dude, I joined this dumb academy for the free bed. I’ll help when I want to help. And I don’t fear Death, I despise Death.”  The easy-going demeanor momentarily changed to one of venom, one that even caused Jinseok to flinch. And Ryujin lets loos a bark of hollow laughter, taking the other’s face by the chin with his hand. He wondered if he’s been hanging out with Death too much, or maybe that seeing a face like his own just caused his self-loathing to fester and be vindictive “But you’re afraid of Death aren’t you? And you must have such a good heart wanting to save everyone. But that’s ‘cuz they’re your people and you care for them all huh? Now, let me just repeat this: I’m not you. I went through my own shit. This whole bullshit you’re dealing with? Not my problem. The kids that are suffering now? Hm, maybe I care enough for some but you know what they aren’t? People from my time. My world’s been long gone already, had been for four years. And now I just want my time to chill and not give a fuck.” His hold tightened, he didn’t care if he made an audience. Ryujin would help people when he wanted to which was more often than not what goes on, but he also just could care for so much less. Because Ryujin’s tired. He’s exhausted, had been since he was 14. And now this asshole thinks he can walk up to him and tell him what to do? Just because they were another version of each other didn’t make them the same. This kid didn’t have to deal with Death after all. “You’re lucky you can die, I’m jealous of that.” He sighed in the end, letting go of Jinseok who drew back, disbelieving, wide eyes looking at him. He must be horrified to know that there was a him that existed which went so much against his morals. But Ryujin didn’t really care what Jinseok thinks. He took out his cigarette, killing it under his feet. “You’re still so young and foolish, but when you lose everything you’ll realize the end was the best peace one could ever gain.” He smiled at the other, at ease once again. With a wave, he left the stunned Jinseok without a care. In the end, Ryujin will always be aware that no matter what would happen—he’d remain standing alone. Truly, Jinseok was a lucky fool.

I could make this longer, I could make a version from Jinseok’s pov, but ajsndad so much to write OTL. Anyways some plots if interested:

interactions with jinseok. but also wtf he’s so different from ryujin? like an actual decently lucky guy, super serious, very determined to be a good hero and has enhanced marksmanship instead of immortality. overall, completely different down to the name and life they had.

you saw this shit go down and decide to talk to ryujin. maybe it’s just the whole not my problem spiel that got to you. or maybe it’s like dude that was the other you? tf.

maybe some gun/sniper training from jinseok.

idk but like so i can get to ur ims and we can discuss more???