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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 of course it's nothing that compartively gentle. And while she'd seen this violence inflicted on her friends by drunken strangers more times than she'd like to count, it had never been personal the way this is. Which is why it makes her blood boil differently than those encounters had. She was used to stepping between friends reeling from broken noses and the cocky asshole who had done it, startling them with the fact a girl was suddenly in their face and swinging her bag at them. She'd never actually been the witness to what had left some kids hanging near the Sombrero with barely-packed bags slung over their shoulders and fresh bruises, and knowing about it and seeing it were entirely different things.
Her reflex reaction is nearly the same, though, which is good because all her mind is capable of is an inarticulate string of curses she'd really like to scream at this spectre even knowing it wouldn't change a thing. But her body moves on its own, catching Arthur and just barely touching her hand against the back of his head, dropping her voice in a way very few people ever get to hear]
He's wrong. There's nothing you could have possibly done that could have harmed anyone, particularly him, unless he was already that damn insecure in who he is.
no subject
He'd tried to shove it all down, tried to convince itself that it wouldn't do to dwell on something that wasn't a part of his life anymore--and for a while, it had worked. Surrounding himself with like-minded friends, nearly all of whom shared a similar story, but none of them had been able to bring themselves to talk about it with each other. For a while, knowing had been enough.
But it seems that all of the time he's spent avoiding this particular memory is coming back with a furious vengeance. Every detail seems to stand out in vicious clarity, oversaturated and nearly cartoonish, and he wonders if Mandy sees it the same way or if it's just his own mind torturing him with details he'd tried to forget.
Mandy. Mandy's here with him--the thought blinks up at him like a beacon as he lands, not hunched over by himself with his trousers open, but against her. His knees sag and before he can think about it, he's winding his arms around her neck and burying his face in her shoulder. The blood isn't real; it won't stain her clothes, and he feels like he might go underwater if he doesn't hold onto that one piece of brightness.
There's a derisive scoffing sound from behind him, right when Mandy says the word nothing; Arthur clings to the reassurance, but it's not enough, not with that voice still ringing in his ears.]
Am I wrong? Is it nothing that your poor mother can't go to the grocer without the neighbors whispering about you? Is it nothing that you've destroyed this family's reputation with your filth?
[He's wrong. He's wrong. He's not real. He's wrong.
She's not even there, but Arthur can still remember the look on his mum's face when she'd come running at the shouts. Shock, grief, smoothed over with a detached numbness.
But Mandy's still there, her hand gentle against the back of his head, and he takes in a shaky breath.]
I was--I was just--I was just having a bloody wank, by myself, with my door shut and the music playing. That's all I was doing.
[It feels a little more like a plea than he'd intended, but with the panic and the pain in his nose and the humiliation trying to claw it back down and keep it from his mouth, he can't manage to say it with any confidence.]
no subject
She's more aware of his unreal bleeding than her own, and it makes it harder not to whirl on that awful thing that she's sure is a more realistic represenation than what her mind had turned Brian into, but this is one time when egging the bastard on by asking if he'd do the same thing to a girl wouldn't do a damn thing. So instead, she bites her tongue for a second before nodding, resting her head against Arthur's]
I know. You're more than any prick like that could ever be. If this could ruin his reputation, what was it worth before? And you've got a hell of a lot more guts, going out there the way you want to be instead of what all of them think you should be. That's hardly the sort of thing anyone does on a whim. And who would have known what you were doing in your own home, if he hadn't said anything about it? This says more about him than it ever could about you.
[if it weren't their own damn lives, Mandy would laugh at the ridiculous symmetry of their respective shadows, what she knows they're saying. As it is, she's fairly certain that she'll still come to back in the temple with, at the very least, marks in her palms where she's been digging in her nails and face sore from grinding her teeth]
no subject
And with that, there's a sudden rage that swells up inside him. Still clinging to Mandy like a drowning man, he turns and glares at his father through the haze of his tears.]
I didn't just decide one day to play around with it. This wasn't a choice.
[His not-father snarls, advancing a step--much more menacing than his frail build would suggest, but Arthur hangs onto Mandy and refuses to look away.]
Of course it was a bloody choice! Nobody forced you to--[Lip curling in disgust, it seems the shadow, like Arthur's father, is still too British to actually say the words.] You chose to throw your lot in with these ponced-up queers!
[Arthur feels sick, but keeps looking over his shoulder, staring down the shadow. All of the anger he'd never let himself feel seems to lap at him, eager for a chance to be unleashed, and he takes a steadying breath--or tries to, anyway.]
No, I didn't. I knew when I was ten, you just thought you could beat it out of me. Well, it didn't work. It just made me hate you.
[As he speaks, the warmth of this woman he'd never dreamed would care about him like this bolsters him, and he can feel his hands clenching into fists. He's still crying, but the primal fear is starting to ebb away.
He knows, now, the kind of unconditional support he'd missed when he was young, and for the first time, it's making him angry.]
I was a ponced-up queer before I'd even heard of Curt Wild, certainly before he fucked me--[and he spits out that word, as clearly as he can, just to see the shadow flinch--] and I'm
still one now.
[It's stupid, and he knows it's stupid. Rage, after all, doesn't really qualify as staying grounded in the present moment. But there are years of resentment he's swallowed down and kept under wraps, and the floodgates are open now.]
Fuck you and your judgmental shite! I was a bloody child, and you made me feel like wanting--like loving another man was the worst thing anyone had ever done!
no subject
She'd faced Brian with comparative calm because in reality she hadn't and she knew that was the point, that in the past he'd made her lose control, lose herself and she was still ashamed of that, so much that the sensation of him probably threatening to tear out her heart with those claws hadn't even hurt. But she's not sure she could have remembered that without Arthur's presence and reassurance that Brian's goading was only that. And she has a feeling the reason Arthur is lashing out is sort of the flip side, that he couldn't do this before. And she realizes it's also the first time she's seen him like this, and she understands a little better why he'd been drawn to Curt especially on taht particular night, and that is a pain she'll deal with later.
And fuck, she wishes she could let the bastard have it. But from what she sort of understands about what's going on there, that could be a whole hell of a lot worse than what Arthur might have faced in reality if he'd done that. It takes every single bit of almost detached calm she has--the mask that can be as suffocating as it is protecting--to just slide her hand down Arthur's arm in what she hopes is a reassuring gesture]
It won't make you feel better to hurt him, you'll just remember that he made you lose control, that he tried to rile you up just to prove a fucked up point. [yeah, she's definitely not speaking from experience]