#para: shifting tides

[thunderstroked]

Shifting Tides || Mona & Isa

TIMING: current. LOCATION: the woods! PARTIES: @poisonousdelights & @thunderstroked SUMMARY: mona runs into isa while trying to find her way out of the woods that seem to be never ending. together, they run into a hunter who knows exactly what mona is. CONTENT: none.

How many entrances to the woods were there in this godforsaken town? How come every turn she took, the woods seemed ready to swallow her up? It was devastating, especially given how many traps were lingering, either seen or unseen. Unlike the last time she’d managed to find her way through the underbrush, she was more careful this time. At least these woods were unfamiliar– she was far from where she’d started. The fox wandered forward, and she was starting to get hungry, and really she just wanted to go home. But as if in some film about comedic timing, everything seemed to thwart her advances to doing just that. 

The fox stayed still as the sound of leaves crunching beneath feet echoed. She was barely into the trail, just on the outside of it– she could still see the parking lot, the number of houses that lined the trail entrance. And then she saw her, an unrecognizable face. It was too late to hide, she realized. The other girl had already caught a glimpse of her. She stared at the girl, hackles rising slightly, challenging her to step closer. If she were to be called Regina again, or shoved into some small twisted metal thing, she was going to be pissed. 

______

She hated being cooped up in her apartment most days. It was, for the lack of a better word, a dump but it was all she could afford by herself so Isa always found herself looking for things to do outside. It was a good thing she loved the outdoors so much or else she would be screwed. That day she’d felt like going for a run but halfway through she’d decided that a trip through the woods might be beneficial. If she could find a cryptid and take it to Maggie, her best friend would be over the moon. It was something she did often, always keeping an eye out for one of the coveted creatures, especially when she was in her other form. 

A two tailed and discolored fox was not on Maggie’s list of cryptids though, at least not as far as Isa’s memory was concerned. As soon as she’d spotted the animal, she slowed her movements until she’d come to a stop, eyes roaming over the tails with curiosity. Not a cryptid but still so interesting to her. It was clearly scared though and the snake really didn’t want to deal with a mad fox trying to bite her but she wanted so badly for it to calm down and trust her. She’d always been that person willing to make friends with a wild animal if she could regardless of that fear of an attack.

So, she slowly crouched down to get as close to its eye line as she could, trying to emanate a very calm energy. “Hi beautiful…it’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you.” Her voice had dropped to a lower tone as Isa held out a hand, palm up and open, in hopes that it wouldn’t sink its teeth into her. She started to click her tongue, not knowing if that would help or aggravate it more but feeling the instinct to keep it up until she spoke again. “I just want to be friends, that’s all.”

______

It was interesting to her that every single time somebody came across a fox of her stature, their immediate reaction was to coo at her as if she were some baby. It was better than the alternative, though, and she knew it. The fox could be running instead, could be fending for her life. Instead, she was dealing with the majority of those who just seemed to be confused by her visuals. It didn’t seem like this person recognized her to be anything other than a minutely deformed fox. 

The fox watched the girl carefully, gaze slipping past her to see if anyone might be behind her, but there was nothing. It was just the two of them, and whatever else lived near. She thought back to the woman who called her Regina, how she’d been stupid enough to get scooped up, and while she didn’t want that to happen again, she figured she had a better chance of escaping than before– though she had managed it. 

The fox took a small step forward, paw digging into the dirt, tails straight up behind her. She had her abilities still, at least, and so if she needed to use them, she would. She took a careful step forward, nose twitching in response to the noise that the girl made. Maybe she could get a free ride back to where she needed– she could possibly possess this girl, guide her to where she needed to go. But it’d been so long since she had tried, and she wasn’t keen on getting stuck both in body, or in her fox form, so she opted for approaching the human in a friendly manner, still carefully watching her. 

______

To Isa’s amazement, it seemed the fox was ready to check her out. She stayed still as it stepped forward, understandably cautious, and her hand stayed in place so it could sniff her if it wanted. That was how it worked with dogs so this should work for a fox too…right? Her smile broadened when it got closer, the snake slowly turning her hand so that she could run gentle fingers through its fur. 

She was petting a fox. Nobody was going to believe that a two tailed fox was allowing her to pet it, giving her the trust that she had asked for, and not immediately attacking her hand. Isa could barely believe it herself. A breath of disbelief rang out around the quiet forest but she stayed as still as she could, her fingers still gently running over the animal while it continued to check her out. She didn’t want to push it too far.

She had been planning to let the fox sniff at her for a minute or two, let it familiarize itself with her, until her ears pricked up the sound of an unamused chuckle. Isa’s head snapped up to find a man staring at the two of them, his head tilted while he took them both in. Something was off about him, and the snake instinctively straightened up, tension filling her entire body. “Sweet, almost gave me a toothache. Lucky girl stumbling upon such a creature.” 

Her nose wrinkled at his words, immediately deciding she didn’t like this man and whatever he was saying didn’t matter to her. She kept a protective hand on the fox, not yet grabbing it because the lamia feared it would run off and this man would go after it with the way he was eyeing the animal. There was a gleam, a desire that she’d never seen before, and she could tell that he had bad intentions. “Maybe I was meant to…” Meant to keep it away from him and whatever plans were forming in his mind. She gently pulled the fox a little closer, naively hoping he would just pass them by and leave them be. 

______

For a moment, the fox thought that maybe she could get this girl to help her– communicate with her in a way she had tried with the animal control officer. But instead, there was another sound, another scent. Must, dirt, petrichor. The fox’s head swiveled, golden eyes narrowing in on the newcomer. The way he spoke about her instantly set off red flags, and her hackles rose in response. 

She was careful not to create electricity, as the girl still had one hand on her. A couple of years ago and the fox might think the two were working together, but she felt as though she was getting better at discerning these types of things. She hoped she was right, at least. The girl didn’t seem amused by the onlooker, and she felt herself being cooed forward, the feeling of a hand on her side. 

The fox watched the man intently, watching for any signs that he might advance. “You really have no clue what you’ve found, do you? I can show you.” He extended a hand and the fox had half a mind to send an orb flashing against it, but she waited, attempting to muster up some patience. “Let me show you what it really is.” The man took another step forward, unsheathing a blade from his belt. “Do you know how much a tail is worth? We can split it.” 

______

Of course he wouldn’t move along. If that were his intention he would have already done that. The dream of being left in peace with her new friend was shattered as he went on about what she’d found, her eyes locked on his every movement. ‘Oh, hell no’. The thought was abrupt as the man started to advance and unsheath a blade. It made Isa nervous, not only for herself, but for the poor creature next to her. She didn’t care what it was or how much it was worth, there was no excuse for cutting its tail off. “I don’t care what it is, you’re not touching it.” 

Her voice held more resolve than she felt, the snake glad that she sounded so confident as opposed to allowing the nerves twisting inside of her stomach to be voiced. She stood to her full height of five foot two, wishing so badly that it was night time and she could easily handle this man by looking into his eyes. But Isa stood her ground, moving in front of the fox to create a barrier between him and the beautiful animal. 

He wasn’t intimidated, another bark of laughter being her first clue, and he took another step towards the two of them. ‘You gotta be kidding me, girly.’ Her skin crawled at the nickname but Isa took another step forward, half hoping the fox would run off so neither of them could get their hands on it again. ‘Look, if you don’t want a piece of it, then that’s fine. But I do, so I’m gonna need you to step aside so I can do my job. Don’t make me tell you again.’

Isa felt herself bristle, the short fuse that her snake held starting to infiltrate her own mind and the girl actually hissed in the man’s direction causing him to stop in his tracks. That surprised him enough to keep his attention off the fox but now his sights were set on her. “Get away from us…don’t make me tell you again.”

______

The blade had the fox’s heart pounding– small, fragile, she felt uneasy. She stared up at the man, gold eyes narrowed in response to the audacity that the man put forward. The girl had other plans in mind– she was stepping forward, and the fox felt a little astonished by her bravery. If the roles were reversed, she wasn’t so sure she’d be so keen on putting herself between the endangered and the dangerous. That was the difference between them, though. 

This girl was nothing but a girl– quickly proven wrong by the noise that vibrated from her frame. It even caused the fox to stir, taking a step back in anticipation for what might erupt from the girl’s frame. There was nothing, though, but the man continued to stare at them, gaze now lingering on the girl. 

“You’re not what you seem, are you?” His words reverberated in the fox’s skull. She had had enough– what if he tried to hurt her savior now? Lack of desire to die be damned– the fox sprang forward, an orb of hot light shooting from her tail as it hit the man square in the chest. Another shot forward, this one aimed at the hand that held the knife. It fell to the floor as the man yowled in pain, his hand now pressed to his chest. Electricity crackled over the fox’s frame as she stomped her feet into the ground, baring her teeth. Her heart hammered in her chest, and in the back of her mind she knew that she might come to regret these actions, but she couldn’t just let the girl get hurt on her behalf. 

______

She was prepared for a fight, the man’s words clearly showing Isa that he wasn’t backing down either. Now he wanted her as well as the fox but in her mind he wouldn’t be able to take two more steps before she allowed her inner animal to take over. Cute clothes be damned. Maybe it was time to start taking her mentor's advice. Humans were nothing but trouble that could be handled with one bite of her unhinged jaw if she really wanted and he was the perfect specimen to try this out on. Never had she considered the teachings before, never had she wanted to sink her teeth into human flesh, but her anger was being fueled by the viper inside. It was a good thing she hadn’t eaten in a little while.

But before she’d fully made the decision to take this man’s life, eyes now the slits of the viper’s, something unexpected drew her attention. Heat hit the man square in the chest, the flash of light causing her to close her eyes as she turned her head away. She changed them back to normal before they blinked open, dots flashing in front of her vision until they cleared and showed Isa the fox now surrounded by what looked like little bolts of electricity. “Woah…” So she wasn't the only one with special abilities here, huh? If only Maggie could see this now.

She looked back to the vile man as he grunted, noticing that his weapon was on the ground while he tried to shake off the pain. It wouldn’t be long before he was ready to go after them again when the split second decision was made. Isa ran forward, sliding through the leaves to grab the knife (thank you soccer) before springing back to her feet, narrowly avoiding the man grabbing her by her shirt's collar. ‘You don’t know what you’re doing, little girl. Why don’t you give that back to me and we can talk this out.’ Her eyes rolled, Isa holding out the knife as a warning. “Looks to me like you’re the one who was bested by a little fox.” She could have sworn he growled at her but she didn’t care. They had the upper hand right now. 

“If you uh…you know, get rid of that lighting I can get you out of here.” The words were meant for the fox but she was still staring at the guy who seemed ready to charge them both. His face was purple with anger, or pain, which Isa couldn’t tell nor did she care. “But you’ll have to be okay with me carrying you.”

______

The fox watched as the girl sprang forward, leaves scattering in her wake as she grabbed the knife from the ground. She was ready to send another blast towards the man if he so much as reached for her, but she slipped through his grip easily. He spoke, and the fox’s ears flattened as she exposed more teeth, a warning sign to shut his mouth. It was especially clear to her now that he knew she could understand him, because something shifted in his expression. Maybe he was just some idiot who didn’t know what he was getting himself into– had seen her photo on a board and thought to himself that he’d get money, or maybe he really was a ranger. She wasn’t sure, but her attention shifted from him to the girl as she spoke. 

She wanted to carry her? The fox was surprised by that, especially considering she’d just shot fire at the man– coiled and blue. She didn’t necessarily need this girl’s help any longer, but something told her not to leave her here– what if the man had other means? Another weapon? The fox relaxed, the electricity quickly dissipating, as if being turned off with a switch. She took a careful step back, committing the man’s face to memory. She’d find him again, make Inge haunt him. If he weren’t a hunter, then he’d have no idea what was happening. If he were, then at least they’d be able to be wary of him. The fox considered letting it just remain as that– the man on the ground without his knife, but she sent another ball of fox fire at his ankle, burning it through the cuff of his jeans. He wouldn’t be able to follow them anytime soon. As he screamed in pain, the fox trotted over to where the girl was, standing as some kind of protective barrier. 

______

Eyes flitting back and forth between the bastard and the fox, Isa had to stifle a giggle when the fox sent another blast the man's way. It was clear as to why the animal did it, it wanted to make sure he couldn’t come after them, but the extra blow was still amusing to her. This was a smart creature, it thought like a person more than an animal, and for a brief moment Isa wondered if maybe a human was in there somewhere. Apparently there were different types of shifters after all, could this possibly be another? If so, how fucking cool it must be to be able to shoot lighting from your tail. She was a little jealous since all she could do was bite people and make them rot…not even mentioning the stone thing.

When the fox was in front of her, some sort of protective wave coming from her, Isa smiled and squatted down to be as level with it as she could be. It was tiny after all. ‘’I think me and you could be good friends. Thank you for helping me out, little one.” How weird would it have been if she reached out and scratched under its chin. If it was human the lamia imagined it wouldn’t be too pleased with the action. Isa would have bitten someone for it if it were her. So, she kept her hands to herself for the moment. “We have to take care of each other, you know? People like this…I don’t understand them.” 

As she finished her sentence there was another crack of a branch making her head snap up. Was there somebody else coming? Did this man have friends with him? “Okay, we should probably get out of here. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not take down another asshole today. One is usually my limit.”

______

The girl was talking and the fox forced her attention back towards her, knowing well enough that the man was in pain and focused on the burning flesh of his ankle now. She wished she could communicate with the girl, let her know that if she saw the man again to immediately let her know, but there was little she could actually do. The fox chirped in response at her words, unaware of how true they were. To her, the girl was a girl, and nothing else. 

The fox’s ears rotated slightly at the sound of a newcomer. She tilted her head to the wind, inhaling the scent of something new– cyprus and cigarette smoke. Not unlike the man that laid before them, now mixed with singed flesh. Her hackles rose as she bared her teeth, but the girl was already on it, giving them a course of action. 

As the fox went to lead the way in the opposite direction of the noise, shouting ensued. The individual who was fast approaching was looking for the man, and so the fox looked up at the girl, fear palpable. They needed to separate– staying together would only bring more harm than good. The footsteps were closer now, and the fox shot off in the direction furthest from where they were arriving, and she hoped the girl would do the same. 

[myparadoxicalself]

“What if I’m one of those who enjoy generational wealth?”

These days, madalas kong naiisip na, “What if I’m one of those who enjoy generational wealth?” I have never been a materialistic person who splurge on shopping and buying branded items, but I never seem to save money despite working 12 hours a day. How does it feel to have the privilege to take a rest when you’re sick? to take a break when you’re unstable? to take time for yourself to just actually “live”?

Last April 25, I had to have me molar tooth extracted, the one that’s been bothering my for YEARS. I thought it was gonna be okay afterwards and still be able to work, kasi makakapahinga pa naman ako ng few hours. Pero the pain didn’t stop. I was crying on my bed, being consoled by my husband. It was too painful. I can say I am a strong-willed person na kahit masakit, I can set my mind to turn the tides. Pero this time, I couldn’t. I took two tablets of painkillers even if I shouldn’t para lang mawala. When I realized na hindi ko na kayang ituloy mag turo, I informed our shift head na hindi ko kayang pumasok because of my condition, I was told na dapat sinabi ko a day before. Pero they accepted, but as per company rules, they would close my schedule for three days. THREE DAYS! Suddenly, my heart ached a bit more than the gum wound kasi I know na wala akong choice kundi pumasok. What are three days of no work for me? That’s already a month’s worth of grocery, or half of the money I set aside to pay rent. Then the thought of having generational wealth came to my mind: If only I could afford to take three days off to allow myself to comfortably soothe the pain, that would’ve been nice. If only I could have the privilege to skip buying groceries and still have food on my table. If only I had a roof over my head that I could call my own, then I wouldn’t have forced myself to still go to work even after being a human and feeling agonizing pain.

If only.....

[marvelslegacies]

Jarome, Cass, Noah & Biron | Happy Thanksg- D'you Remember How We Brought Over Polio? | Bonus Para

‘Thanksgiving Eve’ had been a quiet night filled with smoking, television, and card games at the kitchen table. Biron and Noah played cards as loudly as they could, they were unified in this singular goal: to be boisterous and rowdy. Cass and Jarome, who sat themselves on opposite ends of the couch, took turns barking at the pair to quiet down and settle down, commands which Noah and Biron yielded to momentarily before gradually returning to their previous state of chaos. And the energy in the room shifted like rolling waves between the four of them, a social tide pool. Four corners of the room synchronizing their ebbs and flows.

Between Jarome and Cassius, much was to be discussed about tomorrow’s prep and cooking. Jarome and Cassius had declared themselves as responsible for Thanksgiving dinner, Biron and Noah were given the reasonable responsibility of consuming it. Biron’s contribution would be a single-serving meal everyone would feel compelled to try just one bite of which involved hot fries, a pack of beef ramen, and some seasoning. Something he picked up in prison, having served a little over four years before joining them. Noah, for one, was over-eager to try the prison food. Cassius figured he should try it in order to further empathize with Biron. Jarome simply felt the need to accept any food offered to him- something he learned in Tibet. As Cass and Jarome negotiated dishes to be made and navigated the processes mentally to account for timing, appliances used, and space needed for prep, they became further attuned with one another.

If Noah and Biron were bonding over card games, by comparison, Cass and Jarome were building a beautiful bridge to unify two unique souls.

Still, they all found peace amidst the ups and down that came from their personalities bouncing around the house freely.

“Yo,” Noah laid down a 4 of spades over a queen of hearts, “Remember how we actually slaughtered all the Native Americans? And, like, infected them with diseases we knew would kill them?” He snorted with laughter.

“You cut my damn queen. I’m watching the board, mother fucker.” Biron shot back, effectively ignoring Noah’s stupid comment about the dark truths of history- nothing more than a distraction, Biron knew.

“I didn’t have any hearts, mother fucker.” Noah bluffed blatantly, throwing down a 2 of diamonds over Biron’s 6 of hearts.

“You’re making a fucking mess of a game, Noah.” Biron said warningly. Noah had reneged but didn’t even have three books to lose. Biron took his two books, cleaning him out.

“Noah plays dirty.” Cass interjected, tossing the words over his shoulder, keeping his back turned away from the two at the table.

Noah flashed an award-winning smile, “That’s why you love me.” He told Biron knowingly.

“Shut the fuck up.” Biron said, his eyes dropping down to see a 4 of hearts on the table, laid by Noah’s hand. “Oh, you lyin’ ass bitch.” Noah laughed and so did Biron after a beat.

“The turkey won’t be ready for 25 minutes after that so…” Jarome trailed off, overcome by his thoughts.

“So then all that will be left by noon will be the…” Cass continued for him.

“Ice cream to go with the pie.” Jarome finished.

“Perfect.” Cass said, feeling satisfied. Jarome put up his hand and Cass gave him a sturdy high five. The two of them turned in unison towards the television and relaxed into the couch.

With a tilt of his head, Cass offered, “Westworld?”

Jarome gave a stiff nod, countered, “I was thinking…” he paused as if to ponder his words, “Black Mirror?”

Cass’ eyes drifted over to Jarome’s now. They shared a gaze for a moment then Jarome yielded, “Westworld first. Black Mirror: Bandersnatch after.”

“Fair negotiations. I accept your terms.” Cassius concurred, reaching for the remote. For a moment, as the tv lit up to a bright new screen, Noah and Biron were quiet for the moment. The house was still. Everyone was at rest.

[viola-zephyr]

instinct; a self para

The tablet screen shattered when it hit the floor, but Viola couldn’t move to pick it up. Her hands had stopped working, her entire body rigid as she watched the scene unfold on the screen before her. She didn’t care about Ollie or Vix in that moment. She couldn’t care about them. There was no room for them, not when Lysander Vultur’s blood speckled the camera feed in front of her.

Was a rebellion starting again? Was this recompense for Thirteen’s reaping? Was Lysander the ultimate target, or was this bomb part of a larger plan or action, or meant to be some sort of catalyst for inspiration? How would this affect the current Games? Who would be the new Head Gamemaker?

On the other screen in the viewing room came a tick, tick, tick of a wordless countdown. In the silence between ticks were memories of body parts strewn across an ice rink. They’d been Careers. They’d been teenagers. There’d been a tick, tick, tick then too, but the bomb had gone off after, not before.

The Arena was in space, Viola realized as she remembered where she was. Actual space, above the earth. It was truly an accomplishment, more grandiose than any Arena Viola had ever seen. Lysander must be so pleased with his work.

Must have been. Past tense.

Lysander was dead.

Viola had loved him. Not romantically, but in the way that nearly three decades of knowing someone would endear a person to them. If he was to live in her memories now, then he was to exist both as the man she’d spoken with the other day and the kid she’d babysat when she was seventeen, up past his bedtime. He hadn’t been burdened by legacy, then, but neither had she, not yet. That would come later, for each of them on their own time, though still in each other’s orbit. Lysander was a constant in her life in the way few others were. But consistency was the true confidence trick of life, Viola supposed.

Everyone Viola loved had died in one way or another, subjected not to the cruel hand of fate but to the cruel hand of humanity. She wished to whatever God or Gods might be listening that for once she could be numb to death, numb to the necrotizing beat of her broken heart. But Viola would never be so lucky.

Ollie was dead by the time Viola finally moved to pick up her tablet. Flatlined vitals glared at her behind fractaled glass. She could add another body to the list of the people she didn’t save. And who would be next? Vix, certainly, but afterward, if this was another rebellion, who would be targets? Who would be innocent casualties?

It was Viola’s own fault. She typically kept her ear to the ground for stirrings of rebellion, but she had been so caught up in her own sorrows about Harley, a girl she’d barely known, that she hadn’t paid attention. If she’d been listening, perhaps she could have involved herself, adjusted the plans, let the horrors of the rebels’ plans broadcast to every home but without the deaths that accompanied them. Or perhaps with deaths, but not Lysander’s. It never should have been Lysander’s.

Bile had risen into Viola’s throat like the tide of grief rising in her chest, keeping her breathing staggered and her vision shifting in and out of focus. She swallowed it down.

It had been a minute since Viola’s fight or flight response had kicked in with the latter option. She hadn’t felt the urge to run this strongly since she stood in Citra Odell’s home as the women learned that Lyric’s father was dead. Citra had been calm, putting all of her grief aside in that moment to put her children first. It was exactly what Viola would have done, and she’d fought every instinct, every twitch of muscle or acceleration of pulse, to be able to stay and help. But Viola had had guilt to ground her then. She had none to ground her now.

She put down the tablet on a nearby table, and left the viewing room.

Down the hall, third corridor, make a right. Then a left. Pass Capitol Coffee, another left. Viola kept moving. Motion was finally allowing her breath to even out. Motion was taking her to safety. If she was in motion, she was less likely to be a target if an attack came for her next.

She was out the door of the Tower when that particular thought hit her, and she stopped dead in her tracks. Well, not dead. Lysander was dead. She was still very much alive.

The twins. Viola needed to find the twins. If the rebels were bold enough to attack those directly involved in supporting the Games, there was every possibility that they’d attack the families of the loyalists as well. Viola hadn’t gotten involved in whatever this rebellion was. She hadn’t known. And so they had no way of knowing that she would do everything in her power to take down Battenberg if she could. Well, everything except kill Lysander. But that didn’t matter, because Lysander was dead. Lysander was dead, but the twins weren’t, and she needed to make sure they got to safety.

Viola kept moving. There were very few people on the streets with her, and those that were seemed in just as much of a hurry to get to their loved ones. Viola didn’t have any trouble making her way through the city, headed far from the Tower to her townhouse.

Lights were flickering through the living room window - the television, most likely, being flicked back and forth between the two feeds, one of the Bloodbath and the other of the carnage of the bomb. Viola wondered if they’d wiped the blood off of the camera lens yet as she registered that the lights in the window meant that her children were home. Her children were watching.

Viola’s hand hovered over the knob, shaky and unsure. In this moment she didn’t know what was truth and what was fiction of the Games, of the Gamemakers, of the Capitol, or even of herself. And was it selfish of her to come here and let her children see her grieving but not be able to explain any of it, not truly?

They would comfort her through all of it, she knew. If she asked, they would be there for her, as she’d always been for them. But children weren’t supposed to be the ones comforting parents. Viola had promised nearly a decade ago that her children would never have to know anything but a mother who was happy and supportive and there for them. She lied to them every day, yes, but she never broke that promise, and she wouldn’t now.

Viola walked back down the steps of her townhouse and onto the sidewalk. Then, once again, she ran.

[morgana-ren]

Sic Infit

“Si vis pacem, para bellum.’ Fight me if you will, courier. You can have your little war. If a power struggle is what you desire, I will deliver one-- and you will lose.”

Vulpes Inculta/Courier

Yes, I am acutely aware no one gives a shit about this horrible, despicable man on here (and we are better for it), but I know there’s one or two folks who enjoy him, so here you go. Had this one kicking around for a while. It sucks, it’s wordy, and I wrote it high off my gourd. Enjoy.

Warnings: Dubcon, cruelty, sadism, noncon mentions, typical legion dickery, forced kissing, sexual harassment, bad bargaining and as per the usual, dreadful writing. Reader is courier or your OC is courier or whatever you want, I left it vague. Fuck I hate this guy.

Thin, cruel fingers dig into the hollow of her cheeks, a bruising hold on her jaw as she struggles against his iron grip; He yanks her head to the West- to the glittering city of New Vegas- forcing her eyes to the tide of crimson that advances like an endless wave against the gates of the strip. Their arrival is a harbinger of ruthless slaughter and carnage. This is only the calm before the storm-- A preemptive death rattle.

They haven’t broken the gate yet, but the courier has seen enough to know it is an inevitability. Only a matter of time with a slight tilt on sheer luck. Legion vanguard are felled by the Securitron defenses but for each that sacrifices himself, two more take his place until the machines are dogpiled and hacked into scrap metal by freshly sharpened machetes and spears.

The silence of it all from the tower he’s trapped her on is deafening. Fear is tangible across the landscape, the air stagnant and rotten and vibrating the low, dreadful hum of unmistakable terror. Behind the wall, civilians chant their prayers to lost Gods that long ago turned their back on the wasteland and cower behind pleas of mercy that will fall on deaf Legionary ears.

No, it won’t be a battle. A battle implies there are two sides in a war-- That there is, in some form, a fairness to it. A chance.

It will be a massacre.

Death comes on a pale horse but his armor is red.

To her back, Vulpes Inculta inhales hard, nostrils flaring as his mouth slashes a jackal’s grin. “Do you smell it too, little courier? Of course you do. You’ve been on the opposite side of it enough to be familiar, haven’t you?” He hisses into the shell of her ear the way a lover might, and a shudder rolls her spine at the sheer malevolence of it. “The scent of a war already won.”

The gaudy Caesar’s armor that adorns his chest digs into her back as he holds flush against him and the warm breath that moistens on her nape curdles her stomach into blossoming nausea. She doesn’t need to see him to know the smug expression he wears. The same snarling smirk he presses against her temple now is the very same he donned at Nipton: Cruel in his ill-gotten victory and every bit as arrogant in it.

“The dying screams of your city will be the death groan of the West. A town of ghosts and spectres--” He muses beneath a slight chuckle. “--that are already dead but too foolish to know it.”

She offers him no banter. He always did like to hear himself talk.

“The arrival of my Legion heralds the swan song of your little attempt at civilization.” He continues, undeterred by her lack of engagement. “This absurd little experiment you’ve spent years protecting is no sturdier than the shifting sands of the Mojave, courier. While you and your little friends were playing at greatness, I was rising to it. These heretical monuments to greed and lust you fought so vehemently defend will crumble all the same as the rubble beneath the boots of my army. You know it to be true as well as I do.” He twists her arm when she doesn’t respond once again, practically purring at her quickly stifled cry of pain. Hate burns an agonizing hole in her throat and the urge to tear him apart with her bare hands is overwhelming, her vision blinking black with bloodlust. Frustration sits thick in the fog of it all because no matter how she struggles, he is bigger and stronger and faster than she is, and he has no qualms about using that against her. Without her gun, she’s as helpless as a babe in his arms. Close quarter combat is not her strong suit; It’s his specialty.

“You are despicable.” She spits, if only so he will stop abusing her arm. She’s no use to anyone with crippled limbs. “Don’t talk to me about shit like greed and the ‘sins of the dissolute' as your army murders a clear cut path through the land and enslaves the innocent. Your Legion is nothing but indoctrinated boys running rampant under the guise of some twisted take on manifest destiny, and you yet another despotic, tyrannical man doing what men have always done best! Watering the ground with blood and then wondering why nothing will grow!”

“Innocent?” His chest bubbles with cold laughter as his hand finally releases her forearm, sliding up to plant firmly around her neck. “My sweet courier, how can you call anything raised in the brutality of the waste innocent? The Mojave makes monsters out of men. This is an immutable truth that you cannot deny. The difference is I give those monsters a duty-- A true purpose. I use their destructive urges for the betterment of man while you encourage them and let them fester and putrefy behind your glimmering walls of vice and sin.”

“New Vegas has its faults, but how dare you pretend you’re better than me when we all know what happens behind the gate at Fortification Hill. The violence, the brutality, the rape-”

“My officers are given wives. It’s not wanton debauchery like you believe it is.” “Yes it is! You take women as slaves and throw them to your officers like a piece of meat! And those are the lucky ones! I’ve seen your slave pens, seen what happens after you take a town! You crucify the men and let your contubernio run rampant on the women! Some of them don’t even make it out alive!”

“I cannot deny my men the spoils of war from a victory hard earned. As the blood of your people runs cold on the streets, ours pumps hotter than ever, just as Mars intended.”

“You might be able to fool your men with that bullshit about Mars and the divine right to conquer, but drop the act with me, Vulpes. You and I both know you’re too smart to actually believe old Caesar’s Roman gimmick. He’s dead now.”

“Perhaps.” He considers. “Maybe it all is a lie, but the sight before you isn’t. It raised the finest military the new world has known, and will give way to the most successful empire in history. You judge me, courier, but the ends justify the means. Finis coronat opus.”

“Oh, fuck that--” “And what of your lies? You’ve spent the better part of the last five years batting away the NCR and telling your beloved New Vegas that you could keep them safe; They could be independent and free despite being beset on all sides by threats. You knew this day would come, you simply didn’t know if it would be the bear or the bull with blood on its teeth.”

“I--” She starts, the dam breaking open with the swelling of guilt. “I had a plan! I--” “You know what they say about good intentions, and I think it’s fair to say you’ve paved the path to Hell in pearls.”

“The Legion was supposed to die!” Her voice breaks, cracking in the face of her failure. “After Caesar-- After Lanius--” “But it didn’t, did it?” He sets her jaw loose, brushing away a strand of hair from her face as she tries to crane away. “It united under me. ”

“I should have killed you at Nipton when I first laid eyes on you.” “But you didn’t. You showed mercy-- Weakness . And here we are.”

“No matter.” She shoves it down deep into the pits of her gut, stoppering the emotion before it can crest. “Don’t talk down to me when your damned empire is built on the backs of boy-soldiers and the women they violate to breed your disgusting slave army.”

“Their desire is righteous, dear girl, as is mine--” Vulpes tightens his grip on her throat, constricting her airway just enough to assert his dominance over her. “--and I will take what is rightfully mine. Just as I have taken the Legion, just as I am about to take your precious city. There is so much that is ripe for the taking--”  His thumb caresses her pulse-point and he revels in the spike in her heartbeat as she realizes the soft lull of his voice does not lend itself to a swift and merciful end, but rather something much more sinister. “--including you.”

Her adrenaline skyrockets, her vision whirling into a black-edged tunnel that feeds on the pooling dread of his implication. She claws at his grip, tallies of flesh that trail her fingers flushing white and into red as she rakes her nails down the pallid skin of his hand in an effort to pry herself free. He doesn’t relent, even as little bubbles of blood begin to form in her wake. Instead, he laughs as if it’s the most adorable thing in the world.

A wandering hand brushes against the hem of her pants in a manner purely meant to taunt and it breathes new life into her struggle. “I would rather fling myself from this goddamned tower than let you have me, you filthy fucking Legion mongrel!”

“If you intended to do so, you should have done it the moment the sun rose above the horizon on the day of my grand victory. I warned you that this fight was futile, yet-- stubborn little thing that you are-- here you stand. Though soon, you will kneel before your new lord.”

Her gut churns as she contemplates his words, realizing now that his lingering gazes and suggestive threats over the years were more than a simple gambit to make her uncomfortable and knock her off her game. Under the late Caesar, he was a rabid dog, but he yielded obediently to the master who kept him tight on a leash pulled taut and firm by a heavy hand. He would not act without the permission of his Caesar, no matter how he wanted to; No matter how he longed .

She had freed him from this final cage of restraint by hunting down his overlords and now she and the entire Mojave would pay the price for it.

“You will be my consort.” He strokes the rounds of her neck possessively, saying the words matter-of-factly as if simply speaking them is enough will them into existence. “And then, when you learn to behave-- and you will-- you will take your proper place at my side as my wife.”

“I would rather die than marry you!”

“And how many will die too, courier? How many sacrificed at the altar of your pride? Your hubris will bring so much unnecessary bloodshed.” He leans closer, coaxing her again toward the city with a nudge of his chin. “You’re a smart girl-- it’s part of why I chose you-- so think about this pragmatically. You can save them-- Save them the anguish and humiliation of defeat and the cruel fate of the cross.”

This gives her pause. Legion men swarm the gates, and it’s only a matter of time before his army overruns the city. Her heart pounds in her chest; She is running out of time.

“The profligates listen to you. Convince them to lay down their arms and yield to the Legion.” He sings his blasphemous whispers into her ear, silken voice soft and seductive. “Be my Venus; Sit by my side and be the voice of my mercy. Spare your people much unnecessary misery and keep their blood off of your hands. You are responsible for the surge of hope they feel. You must be the one to snuff it out for their sake.”

He inhales sharply against her scalp, taking in the scent of her, desire pulsing a hot course through his veins. She recoils away, her disgust only serving to amplify his need. “Or has the beloved courier finally run short of that legendary selflessness?”

“Spare them death only to usher them into slavery? They trust me and you ask me to hand-deliver them into servitude and tell them to be grateful for it after I promised them freedom and then add insult to injury by pledging myself to the very man who enslaves them.”

“That was your folly, and a mistake you must own. You have my word they will be fed and sheltered.” He vows. “I cannot spare them pain, but it is more than you could ask of any other invading army, and more favor than I give to most because of my fondness for you.”

“You ask me to deliver them to a fate worse than death!”

“Is it truly worse than death?” He asks, motioning toward his great army once more. “You have seen the death the Legion offers. The crows will pick from their carrion, the sun bleaching their bones. I will leave them rotting in the streets as a lesson to anyone else who defies me. My men will ravage the weak and leave them to bleed. The strong will be bent until they break. I will adopt the young into our army and raise them as my warriors, brought up to revere Legion values.”

She had seen the children of the Legion army. They trained with machetes from the age they were old enough to hold one and were ruthless and single-minded in their devotion to the cause by the time they reached adulthood, already adapting to the cruelty of war before the onset of puberty. She has seen the slaves they take with their blackened eyes and broken, bloody bodies. The empty stares and blank expressions, devoid of all light or hope. This is the salvation he extends to her as an olive branch.

Yes, they would be fed and sheltered because he is true to his word, but at what cost? Perhaps the mercy of death, even a prolonged one, was better than the hospitality the Legion offers.

“I can’t, Vulpes. I won’t. I won’t do that to them.”

“Then they will die.” He states without a hint of remorse. “Senselessly and violently and without mercy. I will let loose the hounds of hell from their leashes and you will see what a devil war makes of men. I will take you into the throng of death and you will be made to watch and forced to listen to their screams and you can tell them as the light leaves their eyes that they suffered because of you .”

Vulpes is a monster, but he is a monster of his word. If he tells her he’ll do something, he will see to it that it’s done. If he says he’ll make her watch, he will pry open her eyes with his own hands.

“Kill me with my people, then. When your bloodlust is satisfied, end me with them. I won’t betray them. Or just throw me off of this damn tower right now.”

He does something akin to a giggle and it is extremely disconcerting. “Oh, I don’t think so. Your fate is sealed, no matter which path you choose. I’d have you willingly, but I welcome a challenge all the same.”

Revulsion curdles her gut. “I’ll not be your whore, Vulpes! Kill me-- Shoot me, stab me, nail me to the dam, whatever. But I will not idly by your side while you rip a new hell and ravage my city.”

“You will obey me because you have no other choice.”

“There is always a choice, and I am telling you no!”

“It is not your choice to make.” His arms enclose around her, slipping to her waist and squeezing her against him even as she tries to squirm free.

“They’ll fight you-- They will!” She snarls, all ferocity and iron will. “You will get nothing from us. The people of New Vegas would rather die on their feet than serve on their knees.”

“Lucky you.” He chuckles at his own morbid humor. “You get to serve on your knees.”

“You foul, repugnant, repressed little cunt of a man!”

“You should be honored by my proposal, courier.” His voice is liquid velvet cloying down her throat: Suffocating and smooth. “I find you worthy.”

He arches over her, hands sliding down to grip ominously at the low of her stomach. “Your body will bear the sons of a God-King. Demigods-- Conquerors. From your womb, the rise of a new nation. A powerful, unending empire-- The warriors birthed from your hips and my seed will be legendary--”

Bile rises in her throat as she is forced to imagine bearing Vulpes’ children. His spawn, every part the cunning, cutthroat killer their father is-- Being made to watch as they grow up ruthless and amoral and cruel, practically born with a machete in one hand and the throat of the world in the other. “You’ll not touch me or I’ll cut you from navel to neck--”

“You are most certainly welcome to try. I always liked a bit of fight in my women. Yet another reason I’ve wanted you-- Why I turned down every wife Caesar tried to cast my way. I have waited for years for you. To have you; To taste the woman behind all the sand and armor. I will not be denied now that I finally have you.”

“You do not have me! I said I’d rather die and I meant it!”

“Si vis pacem, para bellum.’ Fight me if you will, courier. You can have your little war. If a power struggle is what you desire, I will deliver one-- and you will lose.”

“Fuck--” “You will bend for me, or you will break .

He whirls her around to face him, grating her back to the wall and pressing himself firm against her in a show of force. He is so close that he can breathe her air, smell her, inhale her rage and righteous indignation and sate himself on it. His feral warrior woman; His courier. She is the mercy of the Mojave, a swift death incarnate trapped in a cage of his limbs and she is all fangs and fury and fear as he backs her into a corner.

“I will have you. This is inevitable and there is nothing you can do to stop it. I will have you when and where I want, when I want, and how I want. I have been patient and plotted every move painstakingly over years at the mere memory of you and today my plan culminates in a glorious triumph, and you will be my prize. There is no other way. You belong to me. You have always belonged to me. Since the moment I laid eyes on you, you have been mine.”

“You are out of your fucking mind--” “Call me what you will. It does not change the truth.”

“Saying something is true doesn’t make it so!”

“Acta non verba.”

He shoves his mouth against hers so hard it hurts-- a clash of teeth and bone that leaves them both aching. She tastes of blood and rage and scalding hatred that sings to him, passionate and unrelenting. The promise of her was enough to keep his fire burning in the dark years that followed Caesar’s death and now that she is finally his , he refuses to waste a moment of it, relishing in every little bit she offers up to him.

Her kiss is as raw as the desert sand and twice as unforgiving. Brutality unrivaled: Snapping and biting and fighting him every step of the way in a heated expression of her hatred until her energy runs dry and she relents to his advances. Somewhere along the way, her disgust transforms into a beast of a different breed and she finally lets his tongue slip past her teeth, allowing him inside of her to indulge in her taste. She absolutely despises him but she was made to be his and on some level she must understand this, he thinks, because she eventually melts into him, mewling in the low of her throat.

Her infuriated hits against his chest with her furled fists slowly lose their strength until she is clawing him closer, her fingers twisting into the cloth of his tunic to draw him near and devour him whole with equal fervor. Her teeth sink into the swell of his bottom lip until he tastes copper in her wake and he groans, primal and animalistic against her. He returns the favor but a few seconds later and she exhales a ragged moan into his open mouth, chest heaving and puffing for air.

“I’ve waited so long for you--” He growls deep in his chest between sloppy, open mouthed assaults . “--Needed you-- Dreamed of you-- And now you are finally mine--”

“Not yours--” She shakes her head vehemently, still dragging him near as he wraps his hands around the back of her thighs to hike her legs up around his hips. “--Never yours--”

“ Yes -- You are-- Give in to me, woman--” He pants against her, the pressure building at the base of his spine to unbearable levels. “You have-- no-- other-- choice--”

She whines as he pulses his hips to emphasize, silencing whatever protest she may have been forming. It doesn’t stop her trying to pull her head away, but he doesn’t allow for it.

Two titans locked in a struggle for dominance with each other overlooking the blood red horizon at the crossroads of impending battle of their conflicting worlds: The Monster of the Mojave and its Caesar’s Wife. “Call off your army.” She heaves, whooping in air as she pulls away from him. “Call off your men and I’m-- I’m yours. Take the Mojave, take the Nevada, I don’t care-- But leave New Vegas and the freeside. Let me keep my promise and I’ll keep one to you in turn.”

“A beacon of freedom in a sea of Legion red-- My sweet little courier, I thought you were so much smarter than that. You must learn to think more than two steps ahead if you are to be my equal.” He coos derisively, trying to tame the fire thrumming in his blood and regain control of himself once more. If he doesn’t, he’ll have her here and now. “Do you intend for your people to live packed atop one another? Because once the Legion advances beyond New Vegas, vagrants and stragglers will come from near and far to seek shelter behind your walls, and you are too wea-- soft hearted to turn them away. Resources will run thin and quality of life will drop, people suffering and dying because of your shortsightedness.” “I’d find a way--” She tries to unweave her legs from around him but he doesn’t allow for it, keeping her tangled against her will. “On top of attending to your wifely duties?” He practically purrs. “I think not. I don’t need your attention divided from me.” “Wifely duties? Are you mad?” She shoves at him hard and he crows as he stumbles back, dropping her back to her feet.

“New Vegas exists in its current form because it is exclusive. It carries a high price to even walk the streets, and that isn’t counting the caps needed to enjoy the services. When you let everyone in, you destroy the illusion that separates the elite from the common, and New Vegas becomes another filthy hovel refugee camp.”

“So be it!” “Those at the top of your totem will not take kindly to that, and you’ll have a civil war on your hands. A war you will not be present to preside over, as you will be at my side at the capital where you belong. Your streets will run red with blood until your untethered beast tears itself apart with its own teeth and claws with me. I’ll not even have to lift a finger to destroy it.”

“I--”

“But hypothetically, for the sake of argument, let’s say you somehow do manage it through some miracle of fate. You think I could stand for a profligate capital in the middle of my territory? The men are faithful and strong, but they are still men . The temptations of your New Vegas would prove too much to resist. They would sneak inside and corrupt their bodies and minds, causing cracks in the foundation of my army that I cannot abide.” Her eyes on him are sharp and calculating, but he does not miss the sheen of helplessness to them. She already knows. She is railing against the inevitable. Howling her sorrow to an uncaring and cruel moon. “If your men are as disciplined as you claim them to be--” “Men are human, and to be human is to be imperfect by nature. There are many that would stay true, but even a single soldier is not a price I am willing to pay for your foolish play at anarchy.”

“It’s a city of free people and you would destroy it! And for what? Pride? Glory? What, Vulpes, explain it to me! Make me understand!” “For the sake of progress and the only true chance at civilization. It’s a small price to pay, my dear wife, and in time, you will come to see I am right. You are a clever sort, and once you see the true power of my Legion-- the life and the fulfillment only I can offer you-- You will devote yourself to me wholeheartedly and unquestioningly.”

“You’ve lost your fucking mind! You’d enslave countless people-- families, women, children, everyone in New Vegas and beyond-- for your bullshit delusions of grandeur, and you’ll murder them if I refuse you! I could never understand such a sadistic, greedy need for power and I don’t want to! You-- You are a monster! A despicable, empty shell of a human. I could never--” “In time you will. You will see. As I’ve said, you don’t have another choice.”

“Like hell! Not good enough, Inculta. No deal.” She spits clean at his feet, wiping angrily across her mouth as if she could erase him from her flesh. Her lips rise in a vicious snarl; A whirlwind of disgust and self loathing and impotent rage as she glowers at him with a renewed contempt. “First chance I get, Vulpes, the very first and I am bolting. You look away even once and I am gone and you can send all the goddamned Frumentarii after me that you’d like, I will die rather than come back to you. You might be able to manhandle me off of this tower and let’s suppose you even manage to get me back to your shitty capital and chain me to your fucking throne. I will never be your wife in more than title and I will never-- could never-- love you. Never. ”

“We will see.” He says, sounding so certain in it that it rattles her to the core. His eyes are aflame with lust, heart pounding behind his ribs as he reaches for her again, unable to stop himself any longer. A cacophony of screams begins to rise to the west as the gates of New Vegas finally crumble at the hands of the Legion bombardment. The sounds of his warriors' battlecries reaches his ears and his very soul sings with delight. As with all things he wants, his will becomes real.

“And I suppose--” He pinches her chin straight back to him as she turns in abject horror to witness the slaughter, kissing her softly once again as the tears slip down the curve of her ruddy cheeks. The sliver of hope she held so dear falls in defeat at his hands and so too does her beloved city. “--I best not look away then.”

[ofjcnnys]

self para: honey im not doing so well.mp4 when: day 19 where: beach, odessa’s body, cave

tw: depression, death, odessa lmao, psychosis

tldr; after the rain starts, jenny goes to check on odessa before going to camp. they find themselves a spot in the cave, they lie down, and probably don’t move the rest of the day.

Move. 

You have to move.

When the rain starts, they don’t move. Not for a long time. They see the rain falling and feel the weight of clothes growing wet before they ever feel the drops hit them. They think maybe they don’t have to move. Maybe they could stay there. Let themselves sink into wet sand, let cold overtake them. In many ways it was the easier option. 

Move.

They think of the others. They think of their family, they think of Shane and the people here that they were closer to than people they’d known most of their life. And they push themselves up. Feeling weight that had been pressing down on the centre of their chest shift to their shoulders as they sat, hunched over, and forcing themselves to stay there instead of lying back down again. They felt the heavy rain sting the top of their head and their exposed legs. They squeezed their eyes shut, and pulled in a deep breath. Letting it out slowly. It would be so easy to just lie down again. Let their body become numb from cold and pelting raindrops. The temptation gripped them for another long moment. In the same way they’d laid in their bed for months after breaking their arm. They remembered the way their family had looked at them. How they’d whispered outside their door like they’d forgotten the walls were paper thin. Them only moving around like a robot when they absolutely had to, not present in their own body.

This wasn’t like that. They were horrifically present. Every movement was aching and challenging and they were having to think about it and force their body to do it. They didn’t want to be that person that people worried about, they didn’t like being that person. Though they worried that maybe it was just ingrained in them. A part of them they couldn’t get away from. 

They breathed in again, and they wanted to move again. They wanted to stand up. They had to. They had to. Next big breath, they promised themselves. Taking another second to breathe calmly, or as close to calmly as they were capable of before they steadied their hands either side of them. You have to get up. They breathed in deeply, pushing themselves to their feet as they did. They wobbled initially, their body stiff from their lack of movement in the last 12 hours, but they steadied quickly. Blinking rapidly and breathing in and out. They were up now, the option of staying in the sand no longer available. They had to move. 

They turned, knowing where they were going before they even did. It wasn’t shelter, not yet. There was something they had to do, something they had to see. They had allowed themselves to avoid it yesterday, but now they thought if they didn’t do it, they might never. They walked up the beach, not long before they were making a direct path for Odessa’s body. It wasn’t just selfish reasons, they thought. Make sure it’s real, make sure it really happened. For everyone else. Because what if the tide took her too? If that was what they were believing happened to Jill’s body. Which they didn’t really. But whatever, right? What mattered was Jill’s body had been buried, then it rained, and she was gone. They worried the same thing might happen to Odessa, and while they didn’t have it in them to move her (physically or emotionally) they could make sure she was really there. So if she wasn’t when the rain stopped, they could be sure of it. 

It’s not as hard as they imagine it to be, walking up to her. They thought once they started to see her that they would have to stop but they just kept walking until they were standing beside her. Their hands shoved into hoodie pockets as they looked down at her, trying not to think of how strange it was to see her like this. There was just nothing in her. No life. Which, obviously. But it still shook them a little. They remembered the things they had asked Leo to look for when he had been allowed to go to Mia’s funeral. The proof that the body they had on display wasn’t really her, the proof they were so sure had to be there. But he’d probably just looked at her and seen something similar to what Jenny was seeing now. Just death. Just nothing. 

You should do something. For her.

They took another breath, lips pursed together in thought. They didn’t know if the desire to do something was for them or for Odessa. They didn’t know if the her in their thoughts was Odessa or Mia. All those things tangled so easily. They moved at last, pushing wet curls out of their face and sniffing back and tears that threatened to show in that moment. They didn’t deserve to cry for Odessa, they hadn’t even been able to say they were friends. Wasn’t that what you were supposed to do when people died? Say nice things about how close you had been? They crinkled their nose for a moment, holding their hands into tights fists as they urged themselves to move again. Another moment, letting that energy collect uselessly in their hands before they let it go and moved. They kneeled beside her, feeling the cold of her arm against their skin as they reached over her. First they moved her arms closer to her body, as much as they could without feeling like they were forcing her body in a way it wasn’t supposed to move. After that, reaching over so they could pull edge of the raft over her. Trying to protect her from the rain as much as they could. They shuffled backwards, holding material in place with their hand until they could scoop some wet sand to hold it instead. 

They shuffled back again but didn’t stand immediately. Wiping their hands on their legs though given the rain and the sticky nature of wet sand it didn’t do a whole lot. They sat for a moment longer, looking at their work, looking at where they knew Odessa was laying. A moment of reverence, they thought. A moment they hadn’t been able to give her the day before after pulling her from the water. They sat there, in silence, and they could swear they were trying to think of Odessa and her memory and just honour her but they couldn’t. They kept thinking of Mia. Just when they thought they had distanced themselves from her, she was back. They thought of the way they made Leo describe her to them. And he had. He had done that for them. How cruel of a sibling were they to ask that of him? And how cruel of a person were they to scream in his face and call him a liar when he tried to do it?

They lower their head, feeling their breath shake with the threat of tears. They hold it for a second, as if emptying their lungs would empty their head too. Pressing eyes closed as they tried to stop themselves from imagining Mia and her body and how those bruises had looked before someone covered them in make up. How she would look if she was just here, like Odessa was. No way to preserve her body for her family, make her easier to remember. Just faced with the awful truth that she was dead. They try to focus on the rain again. Better that then Mia. Better that than Odessa. Better that than the way their hands hurt from holding their fists so tightly. The rain. The sound it made against the sand, against the raft, against them. The sound of the ocean in the distance, the way it grew rougher and less forgiving in the weather. 

They breathe again at last but as they do, they hear something unexpected. Two distinct crunches in the sand. Not unlike the ones they heard yesterday, like they heard every day on this island. They looked behind them instinctively, to see who made the sound, to see who was walking towards them. They were already cold from the rain, but they felt freezing chill spread over their body when they turned and no one was there. No footprints but their own.

They look further, turning their head the other way, praying to whoever the fuck would listen to them that there would be someone, fucking anyone around that made that noise. But nothing. No one. They forced themselves to finish breathing out rather than holding the breath any longer. Their hands moving slightly in the sand as they continued looking for a moment longer. They were sure they’d heard it. But no one was there. 

They try not to give into the impulse to start breathing quickly. They’d imagined the sound. It was reasonable. And not a warning sign of something worse. They’d heard it multiple times yesterday, and the rain was so loud anyway. They could explain it away in their own head as they forced their breath to stay steady, even if it felt like they were holding their breath at times. 

Move.

Before it happens again.

They swallowed, because they knew what they had to do. They pushed themselves to their feet, it wasn’t as hard as it had been before. Maybe because it felt as though they were running from something now. They pushed wet hair out of their face again as they started moving away from Odessa. There was a temptation to look back at her, make sure she was properly covered, but they couldn’t do it. They stared at the ground as they walked, at the sand that moved with their weight in each step. What if it was different when they looked back? Then all of that would have been a waste. They wouldn’t be reliable anymore. They weren’t reliable now, but pretending they weren’t aware of that was something they were well practiced in. Pushing it to the back of their mind, allowing swirling whirlpool to retake its place front and centre. 

They dipped their head as they finally entered the Eves cave. They realised then just how wet they were, how long they’d stayed in the rain, how heavy and cold their clothes were. But they kept moving. They didn’t want to talk. They didn’t believe they could. Their thoughts were jumbled enough, how could they possibly say anything? Speak to anyone? No. Instead they weaved between Eves, head down as they passed them. Finding a place for themselves against the side wall of the cave and settling there. They’d intended on taking off hoodie, using it as a pillow now they had it again but they couldn’t. They didn’t have it in them. They were so fucking exhausted. They just sat and then laid down in a swift movement before they could think about it. Curling up on their side, comforting, secure position. It felt protective. Just like it felt protective to be in the cave with the others instead of searching for who had made the crunch in the sand. 

One final movement, one final thing to protect themselves: They pulled hood up lazily, lifting their head only enough for it to enclose their hair before they rested against the ground again. Letting fabric cover part of their face, letting them fade into the background. They wished they would sleep, but they knew they wouldn’t. They knew it wouldn’t come. They’d just lie there. They’d just lie there and let the time pass. As if holding still, holding completely still, would help them at all. Like they could escape their own head by just holding completely still. 

[hiddenwashington]

the city is still and quiet. the only sounds coming from the wind blowing through the trees as the city sleeps; perfectly at peace. for months now, there has been nothing. no brutal murders, no magical poisons, life has been… almost dull. but as the magic in washington tends to work, the moment you get comfortable, disaster strikes.

as the sun begins to rise, the citizens of washington are awoken by a crash of lightning, a blinding light that quickly engulfs the city. as the light fades, people begin searching their homes, trying to find their roommates, spouses, and friends who have seemingly vanished into thin air. before worry can fully set in, the snarls and growls of something inhuman fill the air. those remaining in the city realize they have far bigger worries than missing loved ones.

as they look out their windows and run into the streets, they see beasts and monsters completely foreign to dc. if one looks closely, they may recognize some of the creatures from the world they were born in, creatures they thought they’d never see again. enchanted corpses crawl up from the river, hellish monsters tear through the streets, soldiers armored in white march across the white house lawn, and creatures cloaked in black float over the rooftops, spreading despair wherever they go. those remaining in dc will need to fight to survive if they wish to see their loved ones again at the end of this storm. it’s time to prepare to fight creatures that most had never experienced before, or ones they were trusting to be locked away in their home worlds. will you team up with fellow citizens to fight? hunker down and pray for it to end? or enter the streets to save those who have never seen these monsters before? whatever your choice is, just make sure you make it through the storm.

for those who vanished, they wake to find themselves on a deserted island. there’s no civilization in sight, no land in the distance, and no way off the island. those who attempt to escape the island by swimming or using their abilities are thrown back to shore by a forcefield manifesting as powerful wind. at first, it seems they’ll be fine, stranded and trapped but, they’ve dealt with worse. seemingly, all they need to do is wait until whatever magical surge the city has conjured up this time runs out. but then it begins to rain, clear droplets that, at first, are easily mistaken as water, but it burns as they touch your skin. as the trapped citizens take shelter from the growing storm, they wonder what exactly they’ve gotten themselves sucked into this time.

after some time, it stops, but the relief is once again short lived as a new disaster begins. every hour, the island is plagued by some new horror. as if on a timer, it cycles through storms, fires, and magical surges, keeping those trapped just as much on their toes as the ones fighting for their lives back home. can they beat the clock, surviving on the island with nothing but each other and the trees to protect them?

once again, the magic of dc has turned dark and frightening; surging at an uncontrollable speed. the more time passes, the longer the storm rages on, the clearer it becomes that the city is changing. allowing unknown entities, and perhaps even more to pass through to this world. the tides are changing, perhaps for the worse.

                                                           ~~~~~

-- the city of dc is once more plagued by a surge of magic, separating the residents from their loved ones all over again. half the city has been transported to a deserted island off the coast, trying to beat the clock as each hour on the hour a new plague hits them. it can be anything from acid rain to poison fog coming through the trees. they must survive long enough to make it off the island, unable to escape and swim to shore. while the other half is stuck in dc, trapped in the city with no word of their family being safe or not as creatures and beings both familiar and not begin to swarm the streets. they must make it through the storm as these creatures are set on making this city run red with blood. can they outlast the monsters from home and afar? can their loved ones return all in one piece? these questions remain unanswered as the magic surges on, the tides are forever changing. only time will tell what it will look like as the storm finally calms.

OOC INFORMATION

hello, hi, welcome friends!! welcome to hidden’s 12th !! event !! we are beyond excited to be able to bring you yet another labor of love, and chaos from us!! it has been such a blessing to come up with twelve amazing events for all of you and we cannot wait to see how you guys take this one and run! we absolutely love the energy behind it and we hope you guys will as well!! there’s going to be so much to do on both ends of this, and it’s going to be hard hitting from beginning to end!! please read on for all of the rules and information surrounding the event and please as always have fun friends!! we hope you enjoy this as much as we did putting it together!! ♥

DATES :

july 10th - july 20th july 24th

this event will last for one week in character, ten days for us !!

CHARACTER GROUPING :

your characters have been split up randomly between both dc and the island

you can find where you will be on the list here 

if you find that too many of your characters are in one group, please let us know and we will break you up !!

LOCATION INFORMATION :

washington dc --

all the information you’re going to need to know while trapped in the city of washington dc

here your characters will face monsters both familiar and not. there is a long list of them that we have taken from a multitude of different fandoms to give a mix of difficulty but also variety. 

you can find the full list of creatures here 

your characters will have full run of the city as always, they are free to make safe houses, try and save people, run head first into a horde of zombies for the thrill of it. anything you can really think of. 

these monsters will not rest, making the streets everyone has learned to call home unsafe and filled with chaos. try to outlast, to out run, and survive long enough to find your loved ones in the fray.

these monsters will not just attack people from the fandoms they are from, they are free game to attack and be attacked by any and all citizens whether you have seen them or not. so be prepared to fight things you’ve never heard of!

the island --

all the information you’re going to need to know while trapped on the island in the sea

your characters have all woken up on a deserted beach, no sign of the city in sight, the only think they hear is the crashing waves against the ocean. it seems safe enough, except for the barrier keeping them all here, trapped with no way off. 

through out their time here, the island is a ticking clock, slowly getting ready for it’s next surge, it’s next wave of disasters to strike. 

each hour a new trial will happen, you can find the full list of them here

we admins will not be making a post for each time the disasters shift, so, please make use of the random number generator found on the doc. use this to decide which disaster will be taking place during each of your threads. you are free to decide any which one just so long as you use a variety throughout your time on the island.

if we see you only writing with one disaster we will come message you to ask you to shift gears to a different option. we want everyone to enjoy but also get the full experience!!

your characters are going to have to outlast these disasters and survive as they attempt to cause harm to you and those around. stay safe, protect your fellow citizens and best of luck!!

CHARACTER DEATHS / INJURIES :

this island and these creatures are not here for a fun vacation or to be friends. this surge is dangerous and we want to make sure you all are prepared for such. of course, it is always completely optional for your characters to get hurt or die, but we want to give the information in case your characters get into a bind either from the ticking clock of the island or from some monster taking a swipe at them!

as far as injuries go, you are more than welcome to have any of your characters become injured. if it is something minor like a sprained ankle or some cuts, you do not have to message us admins about it. but if it’s more major, like broken bones or major cuts, please make sure you message us admins so we can keep track of it! 

now, for anyone looking for death plots, we are going to be limiting the number of character deaths per mun, that way we can keep track of the updates on the main and make sure that people are branching out with different plots beyond death!

the limit will be if you have 5 and under characters, you are limited to 2 characters. if you have 5 or over, you are able to kill 3-4 characters!

if you do plan to kill anyone, please remember to message the main, that way we are able to update the memories statuses of your characters post event!

QUICK HOUSEKEEPING :

one stop shop for all your plotting, posting and tagging questions !!

feel free to begin plotting now! you can post plotting calls, starter calls or anything of the like !! just remember to keep any in character posts saved for the 10th!

please hold any and all non event threads until the event has concluded on the 20th! you are free to pick them up again after, or start fresh with your characters adjusting to yet another magical surge.

you are welcome to have your characters text each other if they are in different groups, but remember the connection is spotty and unreliable. we also want to make sure everyone is focusing mainly on their groups so please, do not over do it. if we see too many text threads, we will have to remove this feature.

please tag all posts (in character , out of character , para , etc ) with hwevent12 

please make sure you tag all interactions with which group your character is in : examples like ‘ event : the island ‘ , ‘ the city group ‘ , even just ‘ the island ‘. this way people know which group you are in when interacting!

keep your eyes on the main for any information pertaining to the event as the days trek on!!

as always, this event is mandatory for all members !!

please remember that not everyone has to have their memories altered, and you are free to keep your character either aware/unaware !! but be sure to remember that if they do have their memories altered, this will affect them in the long run after the event as well !!

and as always, have fun, get creative, think outside the box and enjoy the chaos of our twelfth event!!! we cannot wait to see what you all do with this during the event and beyond !! please don’t hesitate to ask any questions, we know this is a lot of information to take in, so let us know if you need any help! and again, as always, please like this when you have read it all! ♥

[kenjourns]

𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐎 𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐔𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐎𝐃 𝐍𝐀 𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐆(𝐆)𝐔𝐋𝐎?

𝑃𝑜𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑐𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑃𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑚𝑖𝑐

Aling pagbabalat-kayo ang hihigit kaya, sa pagka-ganid na akala mo’y dakila? Minimithing pamunuan itong ating Inang Bansa; sa asul, dilaw, puti, o pula, meron ba? Mukhang wala. – PARA SA AKING MGA MAKABAGONG KABATA.

October is just around the corner, and the next thing we know – all of us are divided by our political beliefs and principles. And as I work deeper in the shallow political domains of our society, where I get to be exposed on the profound spectacles and cynic sceptics, there ought to be a prevalent idiom that seeps down the flesh of those in the barangayan – “zoon politikon.”

Conversely, as the current fascist-populist administration meet its term-limit, we can observe how our country’s politicians subtly or abruptly drift their way apart from the Davao Boys’ Squad, and how some maintain neutrality, while others became a much more die-hard fanatic. I mean its politics, what’s new?

In my workplace experience, as the presidentiables announced their bids, and how others still play around the bush, I have heard words that describe their bets and their hates: ISKORAP? LENI? NANI? BONG BONG O BANG-BANG? PACMAN O PAC-SHEET! PING IS HIGH. So, where do we stand here, what can we do to make a difference, where do we play in this make-or-break shift of power?

Never underestimate the power of the youth! The US 2020 Presidential Elections proved how the youth had a quintessential role. The 5-million vote deficit may seem to appeal to a close fight for leadership, but in the United States’ policies, it is about who had at least 270 Electoral College votes to decide who sits in power. Demographically speaking, Biden had a powerhouse of voters behind him. Grouping the voters by age, along with its corresponding bracket percentage in the 150 million votes, the two parties gained a close divide for voters among the working and older people: for ages 30-44, with 23% or 34.5 million voters 52% are in favor of Biden; ages 45-64, with 38% or 57 million voters were close, with 50% in favor of Trump; while ages 65 and above, with 22% or 33 million voters, shown 52% to 47% parts, in favor of Trump.

However, in the age bracket of 18-29, it was a 61% to 36% voter turnout, favoring the democratic candidate; securing this remaining 17% or roughly 25.5 million voters. This demographic, which comprised the 15.3 million of the 60% of the blue side, profoundly contributed to Biden’s presidential win. On statistical speculation, if the young voters had not yet registered and cast their votes it would lead to a drastic shift in voter turnout, which could have turned the table and enabled Trump to win his second term.

That too can be seen in our own demographics, on how the elderly usually leans on the right-wing conservatism, and how we new gens appeal to left-wing liberalism. We are no stranger to a tyrannical leadership that divides the nation’s people into a bipartisan state - the pro-government, and anti-bad governance. And such division causes nothing but havoc, and public feud on views and opinion, that had been said, may we - the young voters - seek a leader who has compassion, sense of leadership and accountability, and whose purpose is to unite and not divide the Filipino people.

The youth has long been monikered as the ‘hope of our motherland.’ And with the youth turning the tide of the US presidential elections, its implications cannot be seen as a mere propaganda for politics, rather, it is a call for a movement for a much engaging, participative, and empowered youth.

Kaya sa pagpili ng susunod na pang(g)ulo ng bayan, isaalang-alang natin ang kinabukasan, dahil ang 'di bumoto sa darating na halalan, ay mahigit pa sa hayop at malansang isda.

[wildshub]

As there is a time skip for the boys from Day 3 to Day 10, here is a general outline of the events that occurred during those missing days to help guide your headcanons.

DAY 4:

A plane axe washes up on the island. Lukas finds it. The boys have a shelter building competition now that they can cut things. Liam is chosen to act as the impartial judge for both teams as he cannot do much with his injured ankle.

DAY 5:

Like the girls, the boys are rocked by an unexpected rainstorm. Luckily for the boys, they can ride out the rain in their newly built shelter. As they wait for the storm to pass, they play a game of:

DAY 6:

The boys go in the jungle to find food because inventory is very low. They get really close to coming across Oona but thankfully, the fallen tree keeps them separated. Deterred by the fallen tree, the boys wander off in another direction and come across a small crowd of bananas trees. They carry back a few bundles in good spirits as this discovery will keep them sustained for a good while.

DAY 7:

Searching the shoreline for potential finds, the boys come across a bright pink suitcase. Upon opening it, they discover a myriad of pushup bras and rhinestone crop tops amongst other things. A strange find but they’ll take it. A children’s explorer kit containing shitty kid binoculars, a tiny compass, and a small magnifying glass also washes up on the shore. The boys cheer as they can now use the magnifying glass to start fires, eliminating the stress of them having to take shifts to stay up and keep the fire going while the rest sleep.

DAY 8:

The tide becomes incredibly high while they boys are asleep and takes them by surprise, washing away their food supply. Come morning light, the boys discover it has also washed away Warren’s grave and body. Stressed by continued mishaps, a fight breaks out amongst the boys as tensions boil over. Pushed into the sand, one of the boys spot a bag of Cheetos that have washed up on the island. This distracts the boys enough to quell their argument. After sharing the bag of junk food, the boys come to the realization that they have to work together if they want to survive. In need of more food, they go into the jungle and manage to find some berries but it’s not enough to sustain them.

DAY 9:

The boys are incredibly hungry and go on a hunt for more food. In the jungle, they come across an anaconda. It is slithering on a tree behind Callum. Sawyer spots it and pushes him out of the way. One of the boys mentions it would be enough food to keep them alive for a while. By a stroke of luck and teamwork, the boys work as a unit and manage decapitate the animal using Lukas’ axe. They celebrate with a bonfire and barbecued meat.

NOTE: You’re more than welcome to do closed flashback threads of any of these days on the dash if you’d like. I, for one, would love the content. 🤲😌

Other than this, feel free to drop your headcanons or discuss them with the other members in the #toa-headcanons channel under the IN-CHARACTER category on Discord.

If you’re in the writing mood, you could also do self-paras. It’s all up to you.😘 

[thestrandedrpg]

TASK 4: FIELDS OF GOLD

Whether your character is a new arrival or a long time resident, they’ve heard commentary about the Golden Trio. Of course, first comes Matthew Alphonsus, older than anything here save the land itself, who holds the group aloft with his knowledge, strength, and goodness. Then fiery, tactical Seamus Hayes who keeps the fires lit beneath people’s feet in more ways than one. Finally, there’s Esther Achebe, a noble protector and a steady presence in these shifting seas. Their guidance has kept the people of Meridium – and perhaps your character specifically – afloat through the uncertainty of living on this island. Where trouble goes the Golden Trio is there to present solutions.

Tell us of a time when a member of the Golden Trio has helped your character. Or maybe a time when they interacted with a member the Trio that changed their experience or perspective on the island. Did their prodding interview upon arrival put your character off from interacting? Has your character’s opinions of them shifted and changed as the tides do?

As always, writers, you’re welcome to use any medium you would like to paint this picture. Whether through a self para, a photoset, a playlist, a video… whatever you think best displays the Golden Trio as your muse knows them. And just a reminder: while tasks are always encouraged, they are never mandatory.

Please tag any posted tasks with ‘stranded task 4‘ and link them in the task channels on the Discord. Happy creating!

[padawanlost]

Sorry if this is a dumb question, but why was it called order 66? Were there 65 other orders before it? Is it ever explained why the name is order 66?

No such thing as a dumb question :) Here are order 1 to 65:

SORRY!! I couldn’t resist! DON’T HATE ME!! LOL

Seriously now, Order 66 was one of the 150 Contingency Orders for the Grand Army of the Republic. Here are some known ones:

Order 4: In the event of the Supreme Commander (Chancellor) being incapacitated, overall GAR command shall fall to the vice chair of the Senate until a successor is appointed or alternative authority identified as outlined in Section 6 (iv). 

Order 5: In the event of the Supreme Commander (Chancellor) being declared unfit to issue orders, as defined in Section 6 (ii), the chief of the defense staff shall assume GAR command and form a strategic cell of senior officers (see page 1173, para 4) until a successor is appointed or alternative authority identified. —From Contingency Orders for the Grand Army of the Republic: Order Initiation, Orders 1 Through 150, GAR document CO(CL) 56–95 [Karen Traviss. True Colors]

Order 65: In the event of either (i) a majority in the Senate declaring the Supreme Commander (Chancellor) to be unfit to issue orders, or (ii) the Security Council declaring him to be unfit to issue orders, and an authenticated order being received by the GAR, commanders shall be authorized to detain the Supreme Commander, with lethal force if necessary, and command of the GAR shall fall to the acting Chancellor until a successor is appointed or alternative authority identified as outlined in Section 6 (iv). 

Order 66: In the event of Jedi officers acting against the interests of the Republic, and after receiving specific orders verified as coming directly from the Supreme Commander (Chancellor), GAR commanders will remove those officers by lethal force, and command of the GAR will revert to the Supreme Commander (Chancellor) until a new command structure is established. —From Contingency Orders for the Grand Army of the Republic: Order Initiation, Orders 1 Through 150, GAR document CO(CL) 56–95 [Karen Traviss. True Colors]

A clanging noise came over the speakers. A voice announced, "Order Thirty-Seven has begun. Please report to your stations. Repeat: Order Thirty-Seven has begun." The hallways were suddenly flooded with storm-troopers. Obi-Wan was swept along in the tide. He burst out of the garrison. He stayed with the troopers as they marched across the Commons and spilled into the streets, patrols splitting off from each other to cover more ground. A few people stopped to stare while others began to hurry, trying to outwalk the stomping boots. An elder Bellassan stopped to watch the stormtroopers, concern on his face. To Obi-Wan's shock, a stormtrooper hit him with a stun baton. He fell, writhing, to the ground. The baton was set for a severe shock. Obi-Wan started forward, but he knew he could not help. A woman stopped to try, and another stormtrooper hit her with the baton. She fell over the paralyzed man. Holding pens with repulsorlift engines streamed from the garrison, piloted by more troopers. One after another they rumbled through the streets. As the stormtroopers moved through, striking down any pedestrian in their way, the carts picked up the bodies. Screams filled the air. Rage and helplessness made Obi-Wan shake. There was nothing he could do. Never had he felt so alone. Once he could have done something, could have used his position as a Jedi to interfere, to call for reinforcements. Now he could only watch. Cries rolled up from the streets, from the buildings, as entire families were taken. Anyone who protested was struck down. Children, elders, women, men. [Jude Watson. The Last of the Jedi: The Desperate Mission]

"The troops are mobilized and ready for his order. Yes, sir. Garrison has been shifted to Order Thirty-Seven. Delegation is making plans to depart, but they are still quartered in the tower." Thirty-seven. Ferus knew that directive from his time on Bellassa. It meant that mass arrests were planned. Ferus reversed direction again and headed for the exit, his heart pounding. Vader had lied to him. He had already given an order to his battalion. They were standing by. But who was he targeting? [Jude Watson. The Last of the Jedi: Return of the Dark Side]

[obsidivns]

divine intervention | self para

Etonalia was come and gone, and with it, a revelation that should have come as a shock. It certainly had upset the balance of Ireyne to see Militant Grace and Darshan Modi tumble out of the heavens bearing dire tidings. The gods themselves, the Divines to whom they turned for guidance, had caused The Doom. Their protectors had cursed them all.

For Mirza, this was no revelation. Just confirmation of what he had firmly believed all along.

In fact, by contrast to many who were taking this news rather harshly, he was feeling quite vindicated. Had he not said for months now that the Doom and all it had wrought were of divine provenance? That Cesus themself had blessed him as an escura? It was baffling to the justicar that so many people were utterly appalled at this revelation. It should be a comfort to know that the Divines were responsible, that all of this was part of some grand plan they did not yet comprehend.

Oh well. Let the masses flap their hands in panic. He had more important things to do, now that the frivolous festival was at an end.

In the safety and quiet of his quarters in the temple, Mirza’s fingers traced delicately over the fine script of the vellum before him. An ancient thing, and written in the blood of a Divine, no less. How it had come to be buried in the archives of the temple was a mystery, and one he fully intended to solve. But that would come in due time. For now, he was once again about the business of translating and comprehending the text before him. At first, it had seemed to be merely a treatise on magic of some kind, but the more he delved, the more he’d come to realize he was barely scratching the surface. Elemental magic, it spoke of, and the ability to imbue those powers into something. He just needed to be sure he was reading correctly.

The justicar’s eyes ached in the light of the candles surrounding his desk, but he had never felt more alive or awake than he did now as he reached for a tome to cross-reference. His mind was on fire, and his pen scrawled across his notes with the feverish pace of a man possessed.

Weapons. This was an instructional on enchanting weapons. A disbelieving, joyous chuckle erupted from him as he stared at the scroll and his notes, comprehension washing over him like a balm. Well. This certainly changed things. With this knowledge, he and his associates could find a new market in these trying times, and ensure that the people they protected were truly prepared for whatever was about to hit the city next.

As he sat, breathing deeply and marveling at his discovery, Mirza’s eyes were drawn back to the scroll. It was... changing, the words shifting before his eyes. New letters and sentences bloomed out of the vellum, causing him to sit forward in his seat and watch with rapt attention as they settled. Something new. Something more to learn. Every instinct in him ached to continue his studies for the night, to start deciphering this new text immediately. But his vision was blurring too much from lack of sleep. Against his wishes, he tucked the scroll away in its hiding place and settled in for the night. Tomorrow, he would truly begin to make the world anew. The recipe for enchanted weaponry would change the face of Ezia forever. And whatever other secrets this scroll possessed... he would uncover those as well.

[pxppinmolly-archived]

✔

Plot Stuff

Do I know your muse(s):  yes | no | a little | tell me about your muse

Setting: our verse | my verse | your verse | modern | alternate universe | other

Pre-established relationships? yes | no | depends on the relationship

Possible relationships: friends | classmate | co-worker | roommate | family, real or adopted | dating or blind date | married | friends with benefits | unrequited love | lending a hand | teacher - student | rivals | allies | partner-in-crime | enemies | protecter - guarded | business partners | spy - infiltrated | manipulator - manipulated | star-crossed | first meeting | other

I’m in the mood for: fluff | angst | horror | romance | humor | crime | hurt / comfort | action | supernatural | slice of life | crack | dark threads | light threads | any genre | multi-para | shorter para | one-line | any length | plotted threads | unplotted threads | other

Feel free to: message me ooc | message me ic | tell me your ideas | write a starter | answer one of my opens | send a meme | reblog this with your preferences - let’s find common interests!

We have like. So much going on- LKASJDF

Alright first of all - always down for main verse shenanigans going on! We also dabbled briefly in her Overlord verse and I’m always of course down with doing more stuff with that. Especially with how comfy and cozy Molly has been with Vox esp lately - whether Molly and Alastor are together or not, which they aren’t yet in her overlord verse I believe so. Wiggles fingers.

THEN we got the modern verse ball rolling briefly. I remember we had some discussions about stuff going on with that! If I recall they aren’t dating in that verse either and still have potential to just fuck around and find out. Explore more in the mystique of Molly’s crime family and trying to cover that on top of Edward trying to keep his serial killer...ness.. out of Molly’s eyes as well. LOL

AND ALSO the Bioshock verse which I would LOVE to do more with as well - I just love the setting man. ;__; That also again Molly’s family slowly climbing the ranks in Rapture as they make a name for themselves? The tides shifting and the tensions rising in Rapture with Fontaine and Ryan going at each other - hell yeah.

There’s also handful of stuff in my wishlist I feel we could do with them - I have nothing off the top of my head HOWEVER if here’s anything in YOUR lil wishlist you feel could fit with them I’m always all ears on it!

[juno-dearborn]

visions of what could be// Self-Para

Jubilee spent the better part of her hallucinogenic nightmare running, falling, spitting sand from her mouth, then running again. The run-in with the figures on the beach had sent her spiraling, convinced that every shadow, every moving creature, was something sinister concocted of her deepest fears here to cut her open, swallow her whole.

The landscape shifted from something glaringly bright, rocky, to more muted colors, a watercolor of blues and greens. It closed in around her at all sides, closer and closer. She tripped over her own feet again, stumbled, dropped to her knees and felt something fall against her thigh again. The mask. In a moment of paranoid desperation, she tugged it on over her head, pushing it into her mouth. Surely she could breathe if the walls closed in with this on, right? She rolled onto her back, staring up at the endless blue around her, called it to her now. Take me under. She soon succumbed to sleep or death or both. She wasn’t sure.

The next thing she was aware of was the sun beating down on her. She awoke to see ocean peeling away overhead to reveal a loudless blue sky, the sun’s unforgiving rays blazing gloriously onto her face and skin. Her head felt full, her throat and chest ached, but she felt bizarrely rested, considering. Her memories were fuzzy, impossible to interpret, but her cleared mind landed on the simple answer easily: drugged.

Hallucinations, fear, disorientation. A classic Gamemaker move, she was surprised it wasn’t considered tired by now, though she supposed it remained ever effective and entertaining. No two sets of tributes were alike, therefore no two would react the same.  As she pushed herself upright, her hand smarted against the sand, and she lifted it to examine a wide cut across her palm with a grimace. Great. So that part hadn’t been imagined. She had very little on her, she couldn’t patch it up now. She looked to her left, her right- water. Almost like-- “Tunnels,” she said aloud, almost in a gleeful tone. The rock tunnels were a clue to what lay beneath the water, and she almost hated herself for not having thought of it before. Jubilee heaved herself to her feet, picking up the mask discarded a few feet away, noting a “003″ on the wheeled hour counter. She didn’t have time to worry about that now- curiosity overtook her as she approached the water. Cautiously, she pressed a finger to the wall, then another, then stuck her whole hand through with a joyous peal of laughter.  Holy shit. This was amazing. The amount of engineering, innovation, pure unadulterated creativity that went into something like this... she’d never considered Gamemaking, still rather considered it an abhorrent occupation, but if she were able to have the freedom to create something as awe-inspiring as this and run wild with where her imagination took her? She might be tempted. 

Maybe it was a carried over side-effect of whatever they’d managed to drug her with, but it lifted her mood. It reminded her that there was a world outside of this Arena that she needed to get back to, that needed her to get back to it. 

She took stock of what she had left. Her cup and flashlight were long abandoned to the caves, she’d wandered away from Pearl and Soleil in the first place just to search for some food. She’d had every intention of coming back. Her mask was still intact, if half-used, and her knife was still tucked securely in the makeshift incision she’d made in her suit to holster it, thank God. 

Her stomach growled, reminding her that she was, after all, human, and the burn in her throat would only worsen with the beating sun. Thankfully, her footprints remained in the sand, so she set to retrace them, hopeful it would lead her back to Pearl, or better, what she was pretty sure was Ellie and Darby, the girl from Ten she’d met in the hallway her first night. 

The water in the walls continued to lower as the tide receded, the sun climbed higher in the sky. Just as the last of the water reached no more than ankle height, it all sucked back out toward the deep ocean at once. She frowned, but perhaps it always did this? Wasn’t like she had any real frame of reference. Besides, she could see the cliffs now, and they’d provide shelter and water, so she kept moving. She didn’t make it three more minutes before she heard it. It sounded like the rumble of an oncoming train, first distant, then drawing nearer. She turned, stomach plummeting toward her feet as she stared down a wall of water, tall like the skyscrapers at home or in the Capitol, bearing down on her.  Quickly, panicked, she snagged her mask off of her waist and strapped it to her face again with shaking fingers as she ran, ran, ran, trying to reach the caves, the cliffs, a sturdy boulder, anything. She swore she saw the cave entrance she found with Pearl in the distance, and she locked her attention on it, forced her legs to strike the earth harder, faster, then--

There was a percussive crash of water at her back, knocking all the air from her lungs, and everything went dark for the second time.

[masterofmagnetism]

Monster || Self Para

“He had become a monster, happily, for just a moment of having his head above water.” -Ian St. Martin, Lucius: The Faultless Blade

WHO: @master-of-magnetism, mentions of @burdenedxtelepath, @jeanelcinegrey,@mistressxfmagnetism, @jameslogans, @apoisontouch, @shakeandquake, @firstxman,@mysteriousmutant

WHAT: In the aftermath of finding out about the firebird that’s taken up residence in Erik’s mind, Charles grows wary of his old friend.  Erik sees him flinch and starts down a spiral that changes how he thinks of himself and those he holds dearest.

WHEN: After Lorna’s visit to see Charles at the Institute.

WHERE: The Institute and one of Erik’s safehouses.

WORDS: 4k

WARNINGS: Holocaust mention, depression, anxiety, PTSD, child abuse, child death, paranoia, smoking, guns, manipulative behavior.

He’d been a fool.  A blind, naïve, sentimental, stupid fool.  

Even with how sudden the shift in the tides was, the abrupt influx of old enemies and estranged family alike returning to his side in the aftermath of Central Park and the Raft, the thought to examine why hadn’t crossed his mind.  It seemed self-evident, at the time—they had finally seen what he’d seen for decades, from the humans.  They had seen the inevitability of the war, the atrocities humans were willing to commit against their people.  

How very uncharacteristically optimistic of him that belief had been.  As always, the truth was far less pleasant to entertain.  Perhaps Charles had rubbed off on him rather more than he’d thought he had; Charles always was prone to telling people pretty half-truths as opposed to what Erik had thought of as ugly truths.  

At least one of the other man’s half-truths had clearly made a home in his mind, and he was paying for it now.

That day years ago in the gardens outside the Institute, Erik had let Charles into his head further than he’d trusted anyone--even himself.  There were ghosts in the corners of his mind that he’d always thought best to let lie as much as he could; they haunted him enough on the hard days that he saw no reason to try and wake them on the easy ones. But he’d let Charles in, and the man had reached into his mind and dredged up a memory from the depths where he’d buried the thoughts of the first family he’d lost all those decades ago.  The point between rage and serenity, he’d said, and used that precious memory of his mother to coax Erik into turning the satellite for him.  Like a performing show dog.  Pathetic, that that was all it had taken, but even more pathetic was how quickly he’d internalized the words the man told him after.  There's so much more to you than you know. Not just pain and anger. There’s good too, I felt it.

And that had been all it took—Charles saying those words, looking at him like that.  Having his mind opened and being reintroduced to the most invaluable memories had flayed him open and soothed the sting all at once, and in such a state, he’d taken the words in like air to a drowning man.  They had wrapped their roots around the fragile parts of his psyche and taken hold, may as well have shifted the world on its axis.  

Erik hadn’t thought of himself as a good man since he’d lived in Ukraine.  Not since the day Anya died, when in the ensuing surge of anger he’d swept away the lives of twenty people as easily as drawing breath.  That single moment had sent his wife, who he loved as dearly as the daughter he dug out of the ashes that day, fleeing from him with terror in her eyes.  He’d never laid a hand on her, never dreamt of it.  But when she had seen that side of him, she had decided that it outweighed all else.  She had decided that she couldn’t stay in the presence of a monster like him, even to bury her own daughter.

It wasn’t the first time someone had thought as much of him—Sonderkommando hadn’t been well-regarded in the camps.  They had always been kept separate from the rest of the camp, put up in dormitories isolated from everyone else.  Some people thought they got special privileges. Others dismissed that as rightfully laughable, and hated them anyway for the jobs they imagined they were made to do.  The camp administrators kept that secret, and accordingly rumors had abounded of what atrocities they may have been made to help perpetuate.  That had stung in his throat: the hatred of his own people being directed at him.  It didn’t need to be everyone—it was enough, those few glares that they got when they did come into contact with the others in the camp, to make him feel nauseous and guilty anyway. Those stares were unavoidable if he wanted to see Magda.  But they’d been at least tolerable, so long as she never looked at him that way.

And then she had, that day in Vinnitsa, and Erik had lost everything in one fell swoop.  His daughter, his wife, and any idea he’d had that doing what it took to survive and protect her had made him a good man.  

Maybe Schmidt had taken out what made him good, in all those days at the camp, and turned him into something else.

That thought had lingered for decades.  When he went to Israel, when he started hunting Nazis, the idea was only reinforced.  Everyone he ever worked with had signed up to do the very same thing as he had, but stared at him like there was something wrong for the ease with which he would end the lives of their quarries.  Left to his own devices, Erik never let them die swiftly.  He thought it righteous retribution, justice, to let them feel a fraction of what he and so many others had.

( He never had quite seen the difference, between the two things: what was justice if not balancing the scales?  If not an eye for an eye?  There were other teachings, of course, later teachings about turning the other cheek, but as far as Erik was concerned, they’d had it right the first time.  His family had turned the other cheek, when all this started, and all they’d gotten for their troubles were torture and unmarked graves.  That wasn’t justice.  Justice was making their enemies feel for even just a few hours what he and six million of his kinsmen had suffered for years.  The scales would never be righted, but he would be damned if he wouldn’t try. Leaving their punishments to a G-d who had watched as the camps were built and his chosen people were slaughtered didn’t seem enough to even things out as much as what he could accomplish with his own two hands.  Maybe it was blasphemous to think that way.  He rather thought that if it was, he’d earned a bit of leeway. )

The others were afraid of how easily the cruelty came—maybe they thought he’d been one of the unfortunates made to perform such acts on his own people, in the camps, or maybe they had sorted out that difference he’d never seen. Either way, eventually the partnerships had stopped coming.  They’d never pulled him back from the field, probably because he was efficient if nothing else, but he’d stopped getting others assigned to help back in the seventies.  It’d been fine.  He worked better alone, without their stares upon his back and the green tint to their faces when he’d finished with his target.  When, in showing his partners the meticulous pins that could sometimes fill the walls of entire rooms he was staying in, he didn’t have to hear the whispers under their breath calling him a blood-fueled machine.  

( If only they knew the half of it. )

And then he’d met Charles, and the man hadn’t looked at him like that, despite the situation he’d found him in.  Erik had been prepared to kill Shaw on that yacht, and this little Oxford professor-type had dragged him out of the water, knew it, and still looked at him like he was a marvel.

Like he was worth saving.  

After so many years, it’d been intoxicating, the way that Charles looked at him.  The way the man relaxed around him—even when he was curt and abrasive, Charles never went tense or looked at him like he was the cold-blooded hunter that he’d become.  More than that, Charles had asked Erik to stay, to set aside the mission and help him help others like them.  He’d spoken about his vision, about wanting to build a safe haven, had been willing to trust Erik in the care of children.  And as much as the thought terrified him, it was everything that he’d ever wanted, and Erik couldn’t say no.  He knew from a lifetime of experience that inevitably, Charles and whoever they brought under their roof would pay for their association with him the same way both of his families had.  The same way Suzanna had just years before.  The same way everyone always did.  But Erik was a selfish man, and Charles’ optimism was in some ways contagious, and Erik couldn’t leave that acceptance behind to go back to working alone when he’d had a taste of what a partnership was supposed to be like.

Monsters didn’t get happy endings, though.  And surely enough, Charles had paid for it.

They’d planned Cuba for weeks.  Charles had never liked Erik’s goal of killing Shaw, though he had come in recent months to understand the necessity of taking the man out of action.  The telepath thought they could hand him over to law enforcement.  That the combined efforts of the entire team would be enough to overpower Shaw and his allies, enough to let the worlds’ governments step in and take care of him in the legal way.  The humane way.  

It was the most severe in a line of miscalculations Erik had been quietly cataloguing for months, the worst of the times that Charles let his idealism get in the way of his brilliant intellect.  Erik didn’t trust any government to be competent enough to take care of Shaw, especially when it seemed the man had been manipulating the Americans and the Russians to the brink of war for years.  He knew all too well the effects that Shaw could have on a person--how the man’s madness and cruelty could be dressed up in charisma and the air of power that seemed to suck the air out of any room he was in.  Charles wanted to believe that mutants and humans could work together against greater threats, but there was no amount of reasoning Erik could try that would convince his dearest friend that the humans would never see them as any better than the worst amongst them.  They couldn’t even respect their fellow humans that much, let alone another species.  Their differences would be enough to earn the humans’ contempt, even if not all of them made the leap that Charles himself had in his genetics thesis--that they were the next step of evolution that would wipe homo sapiens out if nature ran its course.  

Charles was dangerously wrong, and it was going to get him and the whole team killed.  So Erik had made his own plans, like he was used to.  He had willfully and shamelessly tricked Charles into being an accessory to murder, and while he regretted the pain it had caused the man, he would do it again in a heartbeat, because this was bigger than one man’s pain.  Charles could take it, had taken it seemingly no worse for the wear by the time he’d gotten out to the sand to see the evidence that Erik was right pointed at them.  And even then, even with a hundred missiles pointed at them threatening to blow the island into so much rearranged sand, Charles had argued for the humans.  Had said those most hated words, that the men on the ships were just following orders like every single man in the camps who marched after Hitler’s vision over the corpses of his people, and Erik had seen red.

The next minute had passed in a blur of thrown fists and metal singing to him as it hurtled across the sea towards its targets--and then Moira had shot at him.  Shot metal bullets at a metallokinetic.  And Charles, in all his eternal wisdom, had not hit the ground like everyone with sense and without Erik’s powers should when a gun went off, but had stood behind him while Erik’s attention was a million places at once, the past included.  It didn’t matter that Moira and Charles both had been stupid, though--Erik had been the one to curve the bullet.

Laying there in the sand, Charles had told him that he didn’t want to be by Erik’s side.  That they did not want the same things, despite months of conversation indicating otherwise in all senses but for the one.  In less than an hour, Erik had made a murderer and a cripple both of Charles, and so he had finally done what the man seemed to want, what he should have done from the beginning, and left.

The guilt for the bullet never went away.  The guilt for tricking Charles into violating his beliefs was worse and more complicated because he didn’t feel guilty enough that he would change it.  The bullet, of course.  But not that.  It had eaten him, that he was willing to use someone he truly cared about like that and not want to take it back.  Surely a good person wouldn’t be.

Erik had been content to leave it there: that Charles had been wrong about him the same way he’d been wrong about so many other things.  But no--he hadn’t been wrong at all, Erik knew now.  

He’d simply been lying.

Because today, when he’d been at the Institute, when he’d been trying to care for the man, Charles had been perpetually watching him out of the corner of his eye.  The telepath had made excuses for why they needed to go somewhere around other people, despite his studious avoidance of contact with anyone who wasn’t Jean, Hank, or himself for weeks.  Erik had been sitting at his bedside taking care of Charles since the rescue without issue. But then Hank had said something, when they were all together in the kitchen, and Charles had flinched when Erik’s voice got harder when he snapped his response.  

The first moment after, Erik had thought that perhaps it had just triggered memories from the kidnapping, but then the pieces fell into place with a sickening clarity that made his chest feel like it was caving in.

Hank had raised his voice, first, and not gotten a flinch.  Charles had been trying to keep from being alone with him all day, had been watching him like a bomb in the corner of the room.  He was afraid--not of the raised voice, but of what he must have somehow found out despite Erik’s efforts to hide it.  Charles knew he had the Phoenix, and he was afraid of it.  

But, had prompted that little voice in his mind, he isn’t afraid of Jean, is he?

No.  Even when Jean had nearly taken apart rooms of the house in fits of frustration or anger or sadness, Charles had never looked at Jean once in anything like fear.  Charles didn’t tiptoe around her, didn’t hate being alone with her—he enjoyed it, being with their daughter alone.  Even when said daughter was the living conduit of the Phoenix force.

Which meant it wasn’t a Phoenix problem.  It was Erik.  

Charles was afraid of him.  And all at once, Erik had felt the dizzying vertigo of familiarity—the rug being pulled from under his feet as someone he loved, someone he thought loved and trusted him, looked at him like he was feral.

Erik had made his excuses and left immediately, because he knew the emotion welling up in him was dangerous. Just like Charles thought he was—he was right, Erik was a time bomb, and he refused to go off at the Institute.  

His safehouse hadn’t been so lucky.  The place was a mess, but Erik had a few feet of clearance around himself where he sat against the wall, staring at the opposite wall absently as his mind twisted, reconciled itself with a reality he’d refused to consider before.

Charles was afraid of him.  Not the Phoenix.  If that was the case, it couldn’t be new—maybe more pronounced, now, but not new. And the more Erik considered it, the more he realized it had to have been true.

The near-nightly chess games had been more than simple friendship, they’d been check-ins.  The constant brush of Charles’ mind that he’d found so comforting for his months at the Institute wasn’t out of intimacy, it was monitoring.  

There’s good too.  Not a statement of fact, but wishful thinking.  Trying to make him something good, through the access Erik had given him to his mind and heart rather than through fists and fear as Schmidt had. And Erik hadn’t ever even considered it. He’d welcomed the man into his head after a few short weeks, let him set up an outpost, let him see things Erik had never—

So fucking stupid.

Of course that had been what it was.  Erik had known he wasn’t a good man, but had believed from the moment that he met Charles that the telepath was one. He’d thought that the man chose to associate with him because maybe, maybe Erik had been wrong about himself, but no.

Charles had seen what he was.  It’d been an exercise in containment. He’d seen that Erik wasn’t a good person and lured him to the Institute to keep him contained in a cage dressed up far nicer than the one Schmidt had used.  He had put him under him in the X-Men because he had seen that Erik needed to be controlled, and Erik had gone along with it because he’d been following orders his whole life and because he had trusted Charles.  

How useful that was for him, in recruitment, in boosting his ego.  The telepath had been right, on that beach when he'd told Erik that they didn't want the same thing.  Erik had always wanted freedom.  Charles wanted control.  Charles wanted to fix people, to trot them out and say look what I did.  He’d made Raven stay in a skin not her own for years around other people.  He'd hidden himself as a telepath from others, Raven said, and simply done whatever it took to win them over until Moira McTaggert.  Always about being liked.  Always about hiding the things that didn't fit the picture.  Always about the people around him keeping up the all-important image Charles cared so much about, cultivated so carefully.  Why, then, associate with Erik?  Erik, who was rough around the edges, who was sharp and dangerous and too hot-headed for his own good and nothing at all like the type of person Charles would’ve associated with in Oxford.  Erik, who Charles believed with every fiber of his being was fundamentally wrong about the world.  Why bother with him?

Certainly only for the satisfaction of a job well done.  What an image boost that would be, wouldn’t it?  The man who trained a housepet was nothing compared to the man who brought a feral animal to heel.  Rehabilitation was a lofty ideal, one that Charles could say he’d accomplished with someone as fucked up as Erik at his back.  Look, I can bring even the worst down to settle.

Erik had been too broken even for that.

And Jean—

Jean was afraid of him, too.  Oh, he had no doubt that she loved him, because she had been too young to fake it then and he still felt it now, when he let her into his head.  But she was afraid, too. She did what Charles had done, dressed it up in concern about his well-being, but it’d slipped through in her conversations with him, too, even if he’d been too stupid to see it at the time.  

That’s a fantastic idea, Erik. Lose your inhibitions even more.  

Sober up before you hurt someone not on our hit list, would you?

The chosen avatar of the Phoenix force was afraid of him—his daughter was afraid of him.  Of what he was willing to do.  Of what he would do if he wasn’t kept on a leash. She wasn’t here to help.  She was here to do damage control.  Just like the father she’d chosen years ago.  

Jean had said, time and time again, when he talked to her about the force running through both of them, now, that the Phoenix cuts through lies.  The Phoenix shows the truth.

The next hour was spent wrapped in smoke as he made his way steadily through nearly a whole pack of cigarettes, carefully cataloguing all the data he’d gotten but ignored regarding the people he surrounded himself with.  He stepped back, looked at it from out of himself, from the Phoenix that apparently could see what he would not, and evaluated all the little details he’d disregarded out of fear of disturbing the fragile self-image he’d started to repair all those years ago.  

They were all afraid of him.

When he’d tried to talk to Logan about Terry, the man had jumped immediately to telling Erik to stay away from her, threatening to kill him if he hurt the woman.  As if Erik would.

Daisy had been surprised, the morning after, because she hadn’t expected he would do something so basically polite, something he considered baseline etiquette. She’d expected something meaner.

Lorna had balked, during the rescue, at the lack of care he’d had for torturing the man for information about his leader.  She’d been disgusted, had avoided looking him in the eye for hours after.

Anna had left him once already because she was afraid of what he was willing to do.  He’d thought that they were getting back on track.  But she had been appalled, he vaguely remembered, when he’d told her about the plan while drunk and devastated against her side. She’d covered it with agreement, but he’d felt the way she shifted beneath him.  He hadn’t wanted to look at anything from that night, when he’d woken up the morning after, but now?  Now he saw.

And Raven.  Raven, who he thought might know him better than nearly anyone.  She’d told him flat out that she was afraid of him, too, that he sparked the same fear she’d been fighting as a child.  He’d felt so betrayed when he found out about the Park, but maybe she’d been right.  Maybe she’d seen in him what he wouldn’t see in himself.

One by one, he felt the rocks that he’d been braced against slipping under the water.  Charles, Jean, Logan, Daisy, Lorna, Anna, Raven.  All but one.

Scott—Scott wasn’t afraid of him, he was certain of that.  When Scott had been a student, Erik had noted quietly the similarities between himself and the boy.  When he’d found out years later that Jean and Scott had fallen together, he’d felt almost relieved, because Scott was like him--Scott would do anything to protect Jean, he knew.  ( And if Jean liked Scott, maybe they were similar enough that she didn’t hate Erik as she had every right to, now. )

When they’d teamed up that handful of times before Scott had formally come to his side after the Park, Scott had never once been afraid of what Erik did to those who got in his way.  Scott knew what he could do, what he would do, surely enough, but hadn’t hated him.  Scott had looked at him in exasperation, irritation, concern, amusement, but never fear. Not once. Not even as an X-Man.  

He could trust Scott.  The other one who’d had the Phoenix force pressed upon him, the one Erik had long thought was more similar to himself than the younger man would admit to himself, who he now realized Jean clung to because she had the best parts of himself without the rest, without the parts that terrified her and everyone else he’d ever loved.

Scott was a good man--the best of himself and of Charles.  Scott hadn’t lied to him.  Scott hadn’t tried to control him.  He could trust Scott.

If no one else.

He needed space, needed a few days to sort through what was true and what wasn’t.  Seeing things with clear eyes would be essential, in the coming weeks, and he wasn’t there. Not yet.  But he was getting there.

He left the safehouse he’d been staying in in its state without bothering to straighten anything.  He would come back in a few days.  For now, he left the contents scattered around the room in pieces, alongside the lie of what he’d pretended to be.  He was right, in that bar years ago, when the Nazis he’d left to choke on their own blood asked him what he was.

A monster.  

[katlaaronsdottir]

Trapped | Self-para

The last of the day’s light was fading and Katla needed some space. The festivities that the Tulachs had planned for the solstice were a great deal of fun, but she hadn’t anticipated how homesick it would all make her. She made her way down to the beach, walking along the rocky coves, just wandering until she found the perfect spot to just sit and think for a while. She spotted her favorite of the coves and headed inside, thankful for the cool air inside and the comfort of having somewhere truly private to sit. She sat down on a boulder, and closed her eyes, letting her mind wander and relax. 

Of course she knew the tides would be coming in, but she’d been on the island long enough to know that even at high tide, it was nothing she couldn’t easily wade through, and the hassle seemed more than worth it, but something in the atmosphere shifted and she felt humidity start to settle in, feeling stifling in even the coolness of the cove. She opened her eyes to see the tide already much higher than it should have been at this time of night. Don’t panic, she urged herself. Don’t assume the worst. Use your head. Cautiously, she laid down on the boulder, stretching her arm down into the water, trying to get a sense of the tide, the strength of it tugged her arm, threatening to drag her off of the boulder she was perched on. She pulled her arm out, taking a moment to rest her back against the wall of the cove, thinking. She pulled out her phone, no reception. Fuck. 

She tried desperately not to obsessively watch the water as it continued to rise, or the rumble of thunder in the distance. Every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was herself five years ago, floating alone in the middle of the Atlantic with no idea how far from land she was. Stop it, she told herself. This is entirely different. You know where you are. No matter what happens you will not freeze. Someone will notice you’re missing. They have to notice you’re missing. “Help!” she shouted, hearing her voice echo around the cove. “Help! Help!” she yelled. As the tide inched closer to the top of the boulder where she sat, her cries for help grew more desperate. She knew enough about the ocean to know that with the tide as strong as it was, she stood little chance if she got swept away with it before she got anywhere near where someone would find her. “Help!!” she screamed until she was hoarse, slumping back against the wall of the cove, hot tears streaming down her face, body shaking with sobs.