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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.
tw suicidal ideation
maybe it's the sheer size of it. the magnetic pull of apocalypse's hatred, the power of him. maybe it reminds kavinsky of the dragon he made, the one built to kill himself with. maybe he just doesn't like to think someone as kind and generous as kurt wagner survived something like this, with all of his heart intact. enough of his heart, anyway.
kavinsky's been growing his own heart back, though. since eudio. he's been getting it back in pinched, misshapen bits and pieces, peeling back layers of sarcasm and grandiose, pessimistic announcements of himself and the world, goth flames drawn up it, turning down the noisy rap music that used to play in the background, so he could sit and hear the quiet voice of his own foolish, awful mess. these days, he knows when he's afraid.
it's not actually any better, if you ask him. except that it means he's alive. and that when someone like kurt says be careful, he is.]
Time to get some motherfuckers, [he mutters under his breath.
and the next minute, he launches. a hundred fifty pounds of post-teenage vampire, fangs out, his brand name sneakers squeaking across the doomsday palace floors, the shadows of glittering columns striping across his calvin klein tanktop. he doesn't belong here at all, but he throws himself into the mutant drama with all of his old mad abandon and all of his new painful courage.
he knocks the slow-armoring figure askew. then butts him in the head, hits him with his elbow. it's like hitting a piece of granite, and his stomach drops when he sees the ancient mutant's eyes flick toward him.]
tw for im...paling?
Kurt, of course, has no clue about this. He was unconscious during the whole epic finale where Jean unleashed Hell on the first mutant and while he's been told the story many times before, there's still the barest hint of hope that he and Kavinsky will be enough.
Baring everything in mind, he has to remember: Kavinsky's not even a mutant and he's thrown himself into the fray with a recklessness that can only be described as blind gallantry. The least Nightcrawler can do is use the distraction, ram this weapon through his nightmare's heart, and (hopefully) bring an end to this.
The fledgling charges, throws all of himself toward Apocalypse, which results in a fleeting expression of shock. He hasn't got time to be distracted, though, and the attack really does prove to be a perfect diversion because once the archaic man's focus is on his attacker, he won't see Kurt coming. It's a blink of the eye teleport, then with all the strength he can muster, he thrusts the spear toward the shadow's chest, legs bracing for more leverage. There's absolutely no way he can lift him, but he has no need to when he's short enough to duck, bend and twist in any particular way he needs to gain better force.
A sickening shlick warns him of the weapon's penetration. He never found out if Apocalypse bled; the heat that pours over his hands feels plenty real, but regardless, he continues forcing the handle forward, until the blade pops out through on the other side. ]
Oh my God, [he whispers-- for himself, for his partner during this battle.] Please.
[Let this work.]
not the sexy kind, either.
crunch. the head of the spear bites into bone, then pries it apart, grinds in deeper, the shaft sliding a wider opening through purple flesh. the ancient mutant twists his head to stare at kurt. funnily enough, the growth of his armor doesn't stop entirely though it does slow down, crawling up his body still like a time-lapsed video of moss growing for a documentary. it even closes around the spear, climbing around the sides of it, linking over the top of the shaft where it pierces into the monster's body.
and then
and then apocalypse's eyes roll back in his skull and he begins to fall.
fall
fa l l
and there's another rush of energy, a confusion of light, disruption of space and time. kurt doesn't know where he is; he has only the most blurred, the briefest and vaguest impression of kavinsky with him, somewhere and somehow, fighting enemies. but the next moment, when kurt comes back to himself, he feels the chilly gnaw of stone beneath his back. his body prone in space. and he hears the grumble and mutter of kavinsky waking not far away.]
Jesus fucking Christ, kid, [the boy vampire says, sitting up.] You got some shit in your head, you know that?
oh my god china lmfafdsfg
the monster falls and everything comes surging back, distorting his vision, but through the haze, he can vaguely glimpse kavinsky. then, silence, the cold press of the rock slab beneath him, making his eyes open with a sense of urgency he's never felt before, except.
he can't move right away.
nightcrawler can hear kavinsky, breaking up the lingering fog on his drift-scattered brain. he rises onto an elbow, lifts the free hand to rub the nape of his neck, head leaning and eyes blinking.] ... I know, [he says simply, trying to comprehend what exactly he'd experienced. a memory, the rush of fear he felt during that moment, then relief when the threat was eliminated for a second time.
blue's head turns in kavinsky's direction, lips quirked with the slightest bit of mirth, an attempt to hide his unease.] Guess it isn't just my appearance that makes me a freak.
steering this to fade since we have current day unease to rp out :D
Guess not, sweetheart.
[and then he's beside kurt in the blink of an eye, blurring into place with vampire speed. tattooed fingers reaching over, pinching the other boy on the hip. up close, his smile is feral, fangy, nightmare fresh.] Takes one to know one, [he says.] I'll see you on the streets, devil boy. [and just as quick, he's gone, his daemon scrambling after him.]
yes this is a perf spot to fade
Ah— [kavinsky's at his side so suddenly; it always surprises him how quickly the other boy moves. for a minute, he's briefly reminded of quicksilver because that's all he has to compare to vampire speed.
he opens his mouth to retort, releases a yelp of bewilderment instead when his side is tweaked, hand promptly reaching over to rub the spot. then, just like that, he's left watching joseph's retreating backside, blinking dazedly because takes one to know one? devil boy? his own companion nudges beneath his chin, drawing him from his stupor.] ... see you, [he responds to the now empty room.]