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Entry tags:
- #event,
- arthur stuart (velvet goldmine),
- aymeric de borel (final fantasy xiv),
- jace herondale (shadowhunters),
- jughead jones (riverdale),
- kenzi malikov (lost girl),
- kurt wagner (xmcu),
- loki (mcu),
- marcus wright (tsfb),
- mikaela hyakuya (sote),
- nico di angelo (chb),
- private joker (full metal jacket),
- rafaello d’este (oc),
- will solace (chb),
- wyatt lawson (oc)
War with D.E.S.T.I.N.Y.
Characters: Ensemble cast, any/all characters of Xistentia!
Summary: D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. comes to Xistentia for the first time, bringing with it violence and havoc. Combat against enemy agents, healing, emergency sanctuary, and "Drift Compatibility" happen here. Refer to the OOC plotting post and the mod announcement!
Date(s): November 4-18
Warnings/Notes: Violence, death, psychological themes, trauma. Please warn for anything else in your subject headers!
Everything is, in short, super fucked. Era Ra's warning came at the right time, forewarning of some of the weapons and fighting styles that could be expected from D.E.S.T.I.N.Y.'s agents, but still, the people of Xistentia have not faced a force like this before. The ragtag combination of fighting styles and tactics promises both versatility and confusion.
For better or worse, D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. is in similar chaos.
The first to come are ships from the Western sea, bearing a mix of warriors in and monsters. Some wield old-fashioned steel swords and others bear laser blasters, and their armor is just as varied. Some creatures appear domesticated, while others are feral and snap at their own. However, one primary feature identifies the enemy: their war color is red, which adorns flags and uniforms. Interestingly, the sea and sky of Xistentia seem to be fighting back in their own way, massive waves and a storm, even animals pestering them as they attempt to land the beach. However, it's only a matter of time before the mainstay of their forces reach land, some two hundred fighters. It's then that sentient fires start to whirl into the forests, leaping from tree to tree. You have the home court advantage. Even the foliage itself seems to cooperate with you, aiding in efforts for stealth by keeping you downwind, twigs failing to crack when you misstep. Soon, you're joined by Xistentia's other forces-- a handful of battered ships taking air, an odd assortment of elves and talking dogs, demons and aliens from outer-space, coordinating counter-attacks.
You're locked in combat with a woman who seems oddly familiar, though you don't know her face and can't think of her name. You hit her in the head, and now a narrow slice of her face shows through her red-rimmed helm. She wields a rifle tipped with a heavy blade, though it crackles with electrical energy. She is a proficient swordswoman, deftly parrying and striking against you, her face eerily expressionless. Her blade has a switch that, when activated, will send out a net that numbs your limbs and drags you to the floor. Here's hoping you won't face this demon alone.
She's not your only problem. You may have noticed, that in every epic battle with evil wizards, there's always some kind of a problematically gigantic elephant. This is one of those days. At least, there's only one, its trunk as wide as a car, its feet moving slow, so that it might crush the trees rather than trip over them.
Fight one or both, or fight the hordes of nameless minions around them. Either way: there's plenty to do. Those of you who thought things were too quiet here? You'll be busy today.
Fighting isn't for you? Well, you'll want to get out of the way, then. The "wards" protecting the city are failing, and people are heading toward The Temple where the protections remain the strongest. Here, the injured need healing in the stone beds. The civilians do their best, comforting children, cooking food, trading intelligence, repairing weapons and armor where possible. Feel free to pitch in; they need all the help they can get.
And here, you've reached the Temple, you've laid yourself down on one of the many glass-and-stone beds within the safety of its stone walls. You know what the other Xistentia residents have told you about it— this is the next phase, after the memory share had raised shields against the psychotropic rain. This is the PsyLink. Through this bond, you are said to be able to activate special defenses. No one seems to know exactly what they are, but desperate times call for desperate measures. And beyond the Temple walls, times are desperate indeed.
Each drift requires at least two people. Your daemons will find and connect you, seemingly at random— and you may find yourself with the unlikeliest of partners.
The Kissing Booth participants find it easiest. Everyone else-- it's a wild jumble, finding yourself caught up in a firehose of not only your own memories, but that of someone else. Everything they think, everything they feel, is intertwined with your mind.
You can't get caught up in it. You have to let the memories of the past, your predictions for the future, and the terror of war flow in and out of you, without neither resistance or pursuit, gently tuning them out. And in this serenity, this psychic silence, this acceptance of not only yourself but the other other, you find perfect connectivity— harmony with your PsyLink partner.
In this space, you find yourself having strange conversations. You and your partner will share ghostly images, some of which seem to be images from the past— while others seem to be present-day moments from the battle outside, fighting the enemy, as if you are somehow in two places at once. You must find traction and stay in the now and stay calm, but it's harder than you think.
The instant you latch onto that memory or emotion, it's a mistake... but you forget.
Your shadow is here. Whether out-of-context, or right here where it was meant to be, it's trying to kill you.
But you're not trapped here alone. Someone is calling your name, a familiar voice in the pandemonium. That voice comes from your drift partner. It's up to them to pull you back, remind you of who you are, and balance you. Hold on to them - they're your anchor, but you'll have to do the same for them. A successful drift means helping each other. Do it well, and you'll help to power the temple's defences. Fail, and there'll be trouble for everyone seeking sanctuary here.
Summary: D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. comes to Xistentia for the first time, bringing with it violence and havoc. Combat against enemy agents, healing, emergency sanctuary, and "Drift Compatibility" happen here. Refer to the OOC plotting post and the mod announcement!
Date(s): November 4-18
Warnings/Notes: Violence, death, psychological themes, trauma. Please warn for anything else in your subject headers!
WAR WITH DESTINY
By headsman's blade or battle-axe
Fight For Your Life
Everything is, in short, super fucked. Era Ra's warning came at the right time, forewarning of some of the weapons and fighting styles that could be expected from D.E.S.T.I.N.Y.'s agents, but still, the people of Xistentia have not faced a force like this before. The ragtag combination of fighting styles and tactics promises both versatility and confusion.
For better or worse, D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. is in similar chaos.
The first to come are ships from the Western sea, bearing a mix of warriors in and monsters. Some wield old-fashioned steel swords and others bear laser blasters, and their armor is just as varied. Some creatures appear domesticated, while others are feral and snap at their own. However, one primary feature identifies the enemy: their war color is red, which adorns flags and uniforms. Interestingly, the sea and sky of Xistentia seem to be fighting back in their own way, massive waves and a storm, even animals pestering them as they attempt to land the beach. However, it's only a matter of time before the mainstay of their forces reach land, some two hundred fighters. It's then that sentient fires start to whirl into the forests, leaping from tree to tree. You have the home court advantage. Even the foliage itself seems to cooperate with you, aiding in efforts for stealth by keeping you downwind, twigs failing to crack when you misstep. Soon, you're joined by Xistentia's other forces-- a handful of battered ships taking air, an odd assortment of elves and talking dogs, demons and aliens from outer-space, coordinating counter-attacks.
BATTLE MODE: ATTACK
You're locked in combat with a woman who seems oddly familiar, though you don't know her face and can't think of her name. You hit her in the head, and now a narrow slice of her face shows through her red-rimmed helm. She wields a rifle tipped with a heavy blade, though it crackles with electrical energy. She is a proficient swordswoman, deftly parrying and striking against you, her face eerily expressionless. Her blade has a switch that, when activated, will send out a net that numbs your limbs and drags you to the floor. Here's hoping you won't face this demon alone.
She's not your only problem. You may have noticed, that in every epic battle with evil wizards, there's always some kind of a problematically gigantic elephant. This is one of those days. At least, there's only one, its trunk as wide as a car, its feet moving slow, so that it might crush the trees rather than trip over them.
Fight one or both, or fight the hordes of nameless minions around them. Either way: there's plenty to do. Those of you who thought things were too quiet here? You'll be busy today.
SEEK SANCTUARY
Fighting isn't for you? Well, you'll want to get out of the way, then. The "wards" protecting the city are failing, and people are heading toward The Temple where the protections remain the strongest. Here, the injured need healing in the stone beds. The civilians do their best, comforting children, cooking food, trading intelligence, repairing weapons and armor where possible. Feel free to pitch in; they need all the help they can get.
BATTLE MODE: SUPPORT (PSYLINK)
And here, you've reached the Temple, you've laid yourself down on one of the many glass-and-stone beds within the safety of its stone walls. You know what the other Xistentia residents have told you about it— this is the next phase, after the memory share had raised shields against the psychotropic rain. This is the PsyLink. Through this bond, you are said to be able to activate special defenses. No one seems to know exactly what they are, but desperate times call for desperate measures. And beyond the Temple walls, times are desperate indeed.
Each drift requires at least two people. Your daemons will find and connect you, seemingly at random— and you may find yourself with the unlikeliest of partners.
Drift Compatible
The Kissing Booth participants find it easiest. Everyone else-- it's a wild jumble, finding yourself caught up in a firehose of not only your own memories, but that of someone else. Everything they think, everything they feel, is intertwined with your mind.
You can't get caught up in it. You have to let the memories of the past, your predictions for the future, and the terror of war flow in and out of you, without neither resistance or pursuit, gently tuning them out. And in this serenity, this psychic silence, this acceptance of not only yourself but the other other, you find perfect connectivity— harmony with your PsyLink partner.
In this space, you find yourself having strange conversations. You and your partner will share ghostly images, some of which seem to be images from the past— while others seem to be present-day moments from the battle outside, fighting the enemy, as if you are somehow in two places at once. You must find traction and stay in the now and stay calm, but it's harder than you think.
The instant you latch onto that memory or emotion, it's a mistake... but you forget.
Your shadow is here. Whether out-of-context, or right here where it was meant to be, it's trying to kill you.
But you're not trapped here alone. Someone is calling your name, a familiar voice in the pandemonium. That voice comes from your drift partner. It's up to them to pull you back, remind you of who you are, and balance you. Hold on to them - they're your anchor, but you'll have to do the same for them. A successful drift means helping each other. Do it well, and you'll help to power the temple's defences. Fail, and there'll be trouble for everyone seeking sanctuary here.
no subject
(But there's some small part of Tony's very big brain that does notice and wonder what the fucking fuck. What this representation of Thor means. How it is Loki could see his brother this way, big and blond, the only one who'd mourned him.)]
He isn't real, [Tony tells him.] None of this is. You aren't on Asgard, you aren't being hunted. We're using mind meld tech that's been hijacked by your... whatever this is. [There's an ounce too much respect for Thor to apply an insulting label to it.] It's like one of those illusions you like so much, kiddo. [An instant of assessment tells him it's probably right, what Loki's doing, holding his ground, fighting the instincts that have told him to run. But Tony has labored a long damn time under the terror of being killed by overpowered enemies, and he gives in to the pretend for a moment-- reading his pistol in both hands, turning his head to listen to the advancement of heavy feet down the hallway.
Closer and closer.]
Hell. The principle might be pretty close to your magic tricks.
no subject
I cannot break this — meld as you so quaintly put it.
[ Loki sounds more like himself at least. Whatever little colour had left was returning back. Fear continued to pump through his veins, but Loki lived his entire life in fear. It has been both a blessing and a curse, and ultimately, a tool Loki can use to ensure his survival.
Loki can see Thor's shadow and with a snarl, he covers the space with his illusions, grinning, mocking copies. ]
Get behind, Stark. It seems I must settle things with my brother.
[ Your brother is trying to kill you, he's going to hunt the monsters down like you, he's going to kill you — Loki bares his teeth.
Let them try. ]
no subject
Despite his own lucidity, this is not exactly his favorite thing. Pain is one of those things that's equally bad whether it's imaginary or not. Like sadness, like joy. Then the Jotun speaks again and
it's kind of unexpected. He jerks his head, looking quickly at Loki. Just in time to see— him multiply, like fucking daisies in an ungroomed lawn. Row after row of pale, vulpine faces, the same one, the same smile and flinty— Tony once would have said, inhuman-- stare. It takes exactly this duress, in this bizarre-ass time, for Tony to feel grateful for a hundred and one Loki Laufeysons, this once.]
Did you read Freud? [he asks, hastening to scrabble behind Loki.] Or Jung. I feel like if you try to take kind of a psychodynamic tack with beating this dude up, instead of dealing with him like he's your real brother, that could work better. Maybe?
[Helpfully, he pokes one of the nearest Lokillusions with the muzzle of his handgun.]
no subject
Don't touch them, you fool!
[ Thor skids to a halt in front of the illusions. Wildly, he swings his hammer at them as they spin around in maddening circles. Loki creeps around his brother, his daggers' hilts digging into his sweaty palms. Already he can feel the wrongness of this battle. He knows Thor, knows how he fights and this wild brutish thing is nothing like Thor, who can control the power of his swing, make it swerve in the air and how that hammer can land gently on one's chest.
( when they were young, thor would throw his hammer at loki as loki could dart close enough for spell his breeches and thor would swing his arm around his shoulders, dragging him closer, i've got you now brother — )
— He blinks it away with ease. He's gotten better at that. ]
I've got you now.
[ It's a whisper rather than a war cry as he lets the dagger fly to Thor's side. Thor bellows, his hammer curving in an arc around the space. Loki ducks again, but not fast enough as his brother's free arm lunges for his throat and pins him to the wall. Loki grunts, clawing at the hand as Thor's attention is solely focused on his, those blue eyes dark and pitiless. Did you really think you were worthy?
The grip tightens and Loki gasps. Thor lets out a dark chuckle.
Come now, brother. I will give you a worthy end. Though . . . they do not let monsters into Valhalla, do they?
At that, Loki grits his teeth, vicious and sharp. ]
I am not your brother.
[ Quick as a flash, Loki's dagger appears, cleaving through Thor's arm smoothly. His brother screams as Loki drops to the floor, coughing. ]
no subject
But Thor is trying to murder them here, tonight, and that's. Different from the usual, at least from their first ensemble movie.]
You need to work on your comeback game, Loki, [he tells the ice giant, but only when the Jotun tears his way free of the grip against the wall that Tony is certain would have powdered his ribs. In the meantime, he's running through the negative space where the illusory Lokis had vanished, taking advantage of Thor's distraction. He looks at the blood spattering down the false Asgardian's hip.
Tony definitely doesn't know Thor or his fighting style nearly as well as the god of thunder's own brother does, but still, he doesn't suffer any sense of misplaced loyalty to this rampaging creature. Thor had always held himself like a man who knew his size— and knew to contain it, rather than impose his will and the intimidating prospect of his physique on people. He'd expressed fierce anger, bright humor, and terrible depths of fear with his big shoulders and blond head, but if he'd ever thirsted to see someone die in fear and shame and prolonged pain, Tony had never seen it. This isn't his friend.]
Stay low!
[So he levels the pistol at the wound in Thor's side, where Loki's dagger had found its first mark, and he pulls the trigger. Bang bang. Two shots. The third bullet, he puts in the side of the Agardian's head, pitting the orbital bone by his eye with an olive-sized bullet.
And the false Asgardian is enraged. Blood spurts, clouding his vision. He swings his hammer-- grabs at Loki, by his depth of vision is off now, making him try for a second grab. He'll grasp the Jotun if he can, hurl him toward Tony, a twisted and absurd reimagining of Get Help.] YOU TRAITOROUS WRETCHES. YOU DARE DEFY A TRUE-BLOODED ASGARDIAN.
no subject
But Thor has never been that kind of fighter. And so, Loki whirls around, finally burying the knife in Thor's chest. His knife slides in, cutting through the armor like butter and for a moment, Loki can scarcely breathe. His eyes have gone wide, matching Thor's expression utterly as his brother slides onto the floor. The knife falls with a clatter. But Loki doesn't hear it. All he can hear are the quiet dying puffs of his brother's breath, like a ticking clock. This was not his brother. His brother would not die. Not like this, not so easily, not through Loki's hand.
This was not Thor, but Loki kneels as if all the energy has been sapped away, leaving him young and along on a rainbow bridge once more. ]
Thor.
[ Thor's smile is bloodied as he raises his hand, trailing red stains on Loki's cheek. I could have saved you. By my hand, you would have been worthy.
( It comes like a jolt to his system that Loki had wanted that. Had wanted Thor to save, to fix what was wrong underneath Loki and make him better. There was nothing Thor couldn't do, so why hadn't he saved Loki from himself, why couldn't he do that, Thor could do anything and Loki had needed that, needed him — )
And turned him, in his mind, into this. A paragon of Asgard, violent, bright and terrible. And nothing of what he is now. Stripped completely of what made him Thor.
What made him Loki's. Loki smiles faintly, pressing a kiss to the inside of Thor's palm. He was free of Asgard. Free of Odin. Perhaps, now, is time to set other demons to sleep. ]
No, Thor. You really couldn't have done that.
[ Thor's grip goes slack and Loki lets his hand fall. ]
x((((((((((((((((((((
He doesn't see it in the way Asgardians do, of course. He's not an Asgardian. You could try to draw an analogy to the way that he doesn't value pet dogs the way others do, and he still wouldn't get it. He's human. It'll always feel different, with humans. And perhaps he couldn't entirely understand anyway, because he is and always has been an only child, because he's never truly struggled to define himself as exceptional from any single person, because an extra thousand years is bound to change a relationship, but
But, for a moment, what he sees between Thor and Loki feels human, in some unquantifiable, lonely, gut-wrenching way. It's a crooked mirror of the way he lost Steve, a dim parallel of the Scarlet Witch's hallucination implanted in his head-- when the Leviathan came to life and all the Avengers had died before him. Of the day Pepper left, a month before the Accords, realizing that he could sooner give her up than he could give up the Iron Man.
Choices. Changes. Symbolic monsters. Symbolic acts of injury to the ones you love, that you'd never intended, though it doesn't change the fact of what happened. Expectations and disappointment. Being dogged by ghosts of family.
He grips his gun, staring. Some argument rises in his throat, clenches in his teeth.
He would like to point out to Thor that killing doesn't save anybody, that being worthy was in no one's hands but Loki's— and in no one's eyes, either. But the near-spoken retort makes him stop, makes him realize, that it had been Loki's subconscious speaking otherwise.]
Listen, Loki, [he starts to say—
and then he wakes up.
actually, it's probably not as abrupt as that-- there's probably some time in psychic merge-space, free from the labyrinth, where he and loki operate the city's defenses in telepathic tandem. but when he opens his eyes, it's with a gasp, and bolt upright. he puts his hand to his face, beard scuffing against the heel of his hand.]
no subject
Loki has always had difficulty parsing what was real or not, so the minutes tick by, coupled with harsh stuttered breathing. He looks anywhere but at Stark, Stark who will surely say something, mock Loki for his weakness, his weak monstrous heart. Sentiment. ]
Do not say it.
[ Loki doesn't know what he will say. But Loki doesn't want it, doesn't need it. He doesn't ]
no subject
He sort of hesitates. Or he's just recovering, sitting up, hunching slightly on the stone bed. He's going to need a few hours before going back in, with the uneasy realization that -- as exposed and vulnerable and wounded as Loki had been, that could be him, next time. He's dimly grateful that it wasn't, this time.]
It only hurt because there was something left to hurt, [he says finally, pitching his voice over the stone. His own daemon, the robotic woman standing at the console, looks up and around, reaching out wirelessly to check in with Loki's own daemon.]
There is at least one thing we both don't want. You set the bar low enough to roll over it, we all get through eventually.
no subject
The glow fades away as his hands drop to his sides. With that, Loki turns on his heel to leave, Sabella scampering at his feet. ]