A Spacemas Carol: December's Mod Event Log

[savmods]

Who: Anyone and Everyone
When: December 19 onwards
Where: Avagi... and beyond?
What: Your past, someone's present, and potential futures.
Warnings: Body horror and an associated image in the second part. Otherwise, label your content.

While the Ingress may have been destroyed, the energy powering it remains alive and well. The residents of Avagi know this intimately: from their own arrivals, from the portals that have appeared, and the short-lived changes (as well as longer-lived possessions) that have cluttered the station over the last few months. Recently, whatever force is manipulating this has even gone so far as to revive the dead—demonstrating, perhaps, an unwillingness to relinquish those it has brought to this place. To say this entity is seasonal would probably be a mistake. In the heart of Avagi's storms, there are no stars to mark the seasons, much less connect them to a certain planet's holidays—or the literature thereon. Still, from luck or from intention, the current fluctuations comes with a certain theme...

Past

It starts at the turn of the station clock's midnight. Flickers at the edge of one's vision. Indistinct whispers, ghosting through walls and down corridors. Those who are sleeping will be untroubled, but the wakeful and wary can watch the light build: from flickers to pulses, from pulses to pools. Over several hours, silver mist fills rooms and corridors, varying from a thin veil to dense, obscuring fog. If you step into the mist, you'll feel a sense of displacement; of sound and color, energy and a shift of life. Ingress travel. Except... not quite. Shortly after entering the mist, you'll find yourself free of disorientation and apparently free of physical form, unable to interact with your surroundings. As a quasi-ghost, you've been transported to somewhere and somewhen—a location from the past, back on a world of someone’s origin or from any place you've been since first arriving through the Ingress. While these experiences can vary wildly, some things remain consistent: The past matters: These visits to the past are not repeats of idle afternoons—each has emotional significance to someone currently on Avagi. The past cannot be changed: As real as any given scenario seems, you're fundamentally incapable of altering it. The past event will play out as it did in real life and dissipate when it reaches an ending. Trying has consequences: Attempting too hard to interfere increases the emotional significance, and will consequently draw onlookers further into the scene. You may find yourself anchored to any participant in the scene: first physically (experiencing the scene through their eyes) and then emotionally (experiencing their emotions and thoughts). If drawn in too deeply, you may lose track of your own nature during the experience, drowning in the sense of being someone else.. You are not alone: While immersed in a scene, you'll see nothing but the history playing out. However, at the its conclusion, the fog will once again displace the world around. As it melts away, you'll find themselves back in Avagi's halls—and face to face with whoever else was also viewing that piece of the past.

Present

Whether through one memory or several, eventually, the fog disperses. Only a faint mist remains, gathered in corners of the station's halls. It's simple enough to avoid, and nothing obstructs efforts to return to your rooms, your friends, or any other destination. Nothing, that is, except finding them. The layout of the halls has shifted. The clutter you so painstakingly cleared is back. The GPS on your ACE mistakenly reports that you are floating off in space far outside the station, and any efforts to locate or call your companions results in glitchy static. Something is interfering with your calls—more effectively than the distance between worlds. Inference and intuition are all you have to put together the pieces. The layout has changed, but the construction stayed the same. You're still on the former Ingress station. But not the same area that you called home. This is a different section of Avagi. An inhabited one. Dank, warm air pulses in and out of the vents in odd rhythms. Water damage stains the walls, and some seep dark liquid. There's an odd symphony in the distance: four notes, hummed to a pattern that buzzes in the back of your head. It's possible to wait it out. But if you do explore, you might come across your friends. And together, you might find the source. Further in, a wall of flesh fills the pathways, rising and falling with intermittent, massive draws of air. A fluid wash of features glues it to the bulkheads. Claws and eyes, hands and faces: half-made bodies shifting in and out of recognition with each pulse of breath. And always with the same gold glow beneath the skin. It's a familiar shade, to those who witnessed Thisavrou's destruction. It's the being who destroyed it. Those who flee will escape her notice. Those who wait may watch in secret for a time. Mother's focus seems to be elsewhere...or, perhaps, something else is hiding your presence here from her. Any attack on Mother's flesh shape, or any overt effort to draw her attention, will meet violent, immediate reprisal. You'll experience an immobilizing psychic force before the flesh consumes you. But whether you hide or fight or run, your time on this section of the station will end in the same way: a burst of brilliant, clear light providing transport back home.

Future

You flash back to reality amidst a burst of light—but this time, you recognize your surroundings. You have returned to the Avagi you know, and the silver mist that filled the halls has cleared. Over the next few days, most of Avagi will settle back into a state of normalcy. The ACEs are working properly, and station residents will have all the time they need to compare notes on their experiences—and, perhaps, on any plans to act on what they've learned. Avagi is not as empty as it seemed. And one place in particular will remain changed in the wake of the event. The Ingress Memorial, once inactive, has come to life, emitting a swirl of silver light that shifts and flickers, like the light of the portal it once contained. For the next five days, it will offer a vision to anyone approaching it: a single, brief scene from their potential future. Players have the following options: Canon future: Your character catches a glimpse of their future if they were to return from Avagi to their own world. This consists of a canon event. Avagi future: Your character catches a glimpse of their own future on Avagi. This can be a short-term future (i.e. an actual vision of a future scene you plan to play out), or a potential longer-term one in which they stayed on Avagi for months or years. Storm future: Your character catches a glimpse of themselves as a Mirtos—a desiccated husk and incarnation of the storm's hunger. As seen in Thisavrou's destruction, these creatures are carried by the storms and destroy all they come across. The visions can observed by any present when the Memorial is approached. And while the past is fixed, the future is always capable of being altered. What will you do regarding yours?

---

[OOC: Check out the OOC post for more information!]

Comments

eddie kaspbrak | past | cw: contains a lot of canon typical triggers. proceed w/caution.

[clussy]

ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴇᴘᴇʀ
CW: Sexual suggestions towards a child. Body horror. General horror. The quotes from the leper are taken directly from the book, whereas the scene itself is summarized from the book to be less long.

(A train was screeching by, whistling as it took off down the tracks just beyond the fence. The sunflowers in front of the old, decrepit house were bobbing their heads up and down. There was a sort of magnetism felt towards the house with its boarded up windows. The house had taken a certain glow to Eddie, making him obsessed with it for reasons he couldn't seem to fathom. This was not an Eddie in control. There was this pushing at his mind, putting one step ahead of the other as he walked towards the porch of the house.

He crouched down low and peeked into the yawning dark. It smelled as foul as it looked with its littering of broken beer bottles left behind by the homeless people who often slept there. Rotten leaves piled up from the years, and an old blanket that at first glance looked like a dead dog slumped against a supporting beam of the porch. Whoever was in Eddie's head right then would no doubt be able to hear how loudly his heartbeat was slamming, how his vision was dotting white with panic, but he crawled under the porch all the same, drawn into it, incapable of doing anything but move forward. Crawling on his hands and knees through the filth, the smell suffocating and worse as he moved. Eddie hysterically thought that he was a hobo right then, a hobo infected with some disease that was rotting him from the inside out. It was such a chaotic thought, gripping at him that he didn't even seem to realize he'd crawled all the way over to that heap of musty blanket. He pushed it aside, pinched between two shaking fingers, and sitting behind it was a window into the basement.

Then Eddie leaned towards that window. Like a moth hovering towards the flame. It held some irresistible presence in his mind, despite his rapid heartbeat and wild animal fear. But as he grew closer, his lungs began to seize from the overwhelming rot and smell. He pulled back, hand covering his mouth, and that's when the leper's face jutted out of the window. A scream was drowned in the press of his lungs and what was in front of him could hardly be considered human at all. The skin was hardly in tact, white bone showing through its forehead, and yellow mucus clung to different cracks and crevices. One of its eyes rolled blue in its skull, and the other was rotted out, nothing but a sponge of blood brown. There was no upper lip to be seen, its teeth gnashing together and it lunged a hand out, shattering open the window.

"How about a blowjob, Eddie?" And the leper grinned foully. "Bobby does it for a dime, he will do it anytime, fifteen cents for overtime." It winked. "That's me, Eddie-Bob Gray....And now that we've been properly introduced..." It slapped a hand against Eddie's shoulder and finally Eddie screamed, a thin rasping sound. Eddie scarcely could crawl backwards, and sheer terror filled into him as the leper began to crawl out of the window. It looked like it was wearing a silver...clownsuit of sorts? The blue eye never once left Eddie's face as it crawled out of the window, crawling through the filth towards Eddie.

"Here I come, Eddie, that's all right," it croaked. "You'll like it down here with us. Some of your friends are down here."

It was the fear of being touched by this creature to his bare skin that saved Eddie Kaspbrak. It broke through whatever mental cage his mind had been put in, and he skittered backwards across his hands and feet, crab walking through the filth.

"It won't do you any good to run, Eddie," it called, but Eddie had reached the far end of the porch. He broke through the latticework skirt there without so much as hesitating, the wood splintering open across his head. He fell through a rosebush, feeling the pinpricks of the thorns scraping his arms, his legs, his face, but he was already on his feet and sprinting, his inhaler being set off in his mouth and he ran--but something pulled him to a stop, and he slowly turned around. The leper had crawled out from under the porch, and when it opened its mouth, a three foot long tongue rolled out from between its lips like a party favor.

"Blowjob," he whispered, yellow foam swathed over his tongue. Eddie doesn't remember getting to his bike, but he made it, climbing onto it and shooting off down the street.)

ʜᴇɴʀʏ ʙᴏᴡᴇʀs ʙʀᴇᴀᴋs ᴇᴅᴅɪᴇ's ᴀʀᴍ
CW: Obvious child abuse. Eddie getting physically and violently bullied. General caution of gore. Scene is hella summarized.

(Henry Bowers, Victor Criss, Moose Sadler, and Patrick Hocksetter were looking directly at him. He'd just left the store, bag swinging in hand, when he realized they were just outside of it down in the gravel. It was Victor who saw him first.

"Come on down here, asshole," Henry said, eerily calm. Eddie was holding onto the screen door to the store, up on the steps. He did think to go back inside, to go back to where a grownup could help. But as he went to do that, Henry rushed forward and yanked Eddie away from the door, wrenching him down the stairs. He would have flat out fallen had Victor not grabbed him roughly. Victor threw him aside, but Eddie somehow managed to catch his footing, skidding through the gravel. Panic was beginning to rev up inside of him, swallowing around him. These boys were huge in comparison to Eddie, and Eddie gave a very weak "Leave me alone"- his voice trembling.

Henry automatically mimicked him, pitching his voice: "Leave me alone."

Eddie instantly wanted to cry, his eyes burning, but he knew better than to start crying now. They'd give him hell for it, and Bill wouldn't cry if he were in Eddie's shoes. Not even as the boys began to circle him. It was Victor who gave Eddie a shove, one that slammed Eddie so hard into the ground that the breath was knocked clean out of him. Before he could comprehend it, Henry was on top of him.

"Got any rocks, Rock Man?" There was something off about this big boy on top of him, a manic gleam to his eyes that wasn't the usual for an average school yard bully. This kid was ready to break Eddie's neck and snuff the light from him.

"You want rocks? I'll give ya some rocks." Henry grabbed a handful of gravel and slammed it down into Eddie's face. Eddie gave a screech, the gravels rubbed into his face, cutting into his eyes, his lips, his cheeks. He could feel the blood start to spill.

Eddie could scarcely see as an adult began to yell, his eyes filled with tears and dirt, and a hand came out to grab Henry and wrench him off Eddie. Henry had three inches on the man now glaring him down. "You get outta here. I don't stand for bullying. I don't hold with four against one. What would your mothers think?"

But something was wrong. That crazy gleam in Henry was turned on this adult, this adult who had bulled up to square off against some shitty kid. Suddenly the man looked doubtful, suddenly he was looking at Eddie, looking at Henry. Henry gave the man an abrupt shove, and the man looked so taken aback, so startled, and again, his head screwed around. The man gave one last look to Eddie, before escaping inside with a faint, shaking "I'm calling the cops!"

Realizing Eddie had been abandoned, that the adult had left him here to defend himself, Eddie took his chance to dart away. He sprinted, and on his heels, he could hear the Bowers gang roaring after him. But Eddie was fast. He was so fast and his fear made him even faster. He sprinted his way into a neighborhood, and maybe that was his mistake. Because little fucking Richard Cowan came riding down his driveway on his trike just as Eddie was sprinting through. Eddie tried to give a leap, tried to get around the kid, but his foot caught and the two boys went tumbling. Eddie hit face first, his nose splitting on the concrete and blood splattered the cement.

Not even a second later, Henry was laying the hand of wrath on him. A hand grabbed at his neck and the other his right wrist. Everything was a blurr, Henry hissing words at Eddie as he wrenched his arm up high and higher behind his back. Even though Eddie was sobbing by now, bleeding all over, he started to laugh hysterically. It scared the shit out of Henry. Worse yet, it made Henry retaliate, feeling angered by Eddie's laughing. The distraction was enough that Eddie tried to get away- but as he did, Henry wrench his arm from where it was, and Eddie hear a splintering crack like dried wood being snapped over a knee.

Pain flooded into Eddie and he began to shriek, his world going immeasurably white. Then he was floating on the sensation, Henry abandoning his ruined body there on the sidewalk. Eddie barely moved, shifting across the pavement, when he looked and saw a swirling hopscotch drawn out in front of him. In the fog of his pain, the chalk drawing looked like something else. It looked like a turtle.)

ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴀ ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛ/ɢɪᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ
Can pick something else from the book to give as a memory. Or feel free to write up something for your character to share- though I will be tagging around for people. As always, feel free to PM me here or message me @clussy on plurk for plotting/questions. I was gonna have Mr. Keene's scene but it got too long so if you want that feel free to make a request.

Bowers

[shipsandsealingwax]

[Bill has no form as he watches the scene unfold with a steadily building horror and a sense of helplessness. They had all seen Henry losing it more than ever, but being forced to watch as his friend is terrorized by Bowers, unable to do anything is a nightmare. He can feel Eddie's fear as he follows the scene helplessly,

When it fades away he's left standing there, pain filtering through the anger to make him realize his fists are clenched. And then there's Eddie, standing there in front of him with his arm in a cast once more. It's beginning to feel like the universe is trying to tell him something.

He stumbles forward on uncertain feet for a moment and without pausing to consider whether or not Eddie has any idea what is going on or if he had just seen and lived through all of that again, he throws his good arm around Eddie and pulls the smaller boy to him. They seem to be doing this a lot lately, but Bill feels the need to be strong for Eddie right now, to be there for him even more than usual, and he hugs him tightly like the fog might come back and try to rip his friend away from him.]

karna | past | cw: death and tl;dr

[vaikartana]

PAST 1 : YOU ASK FOR FACTS. (MOON CELL)

[ Set scene: a metaphysical space in a virtual world, far removed from a tangible planet earth. An illusory coliseum, flanked on all sides by an empty space that shifts as if the floor is falling, twinkles in an oppressive blue-black of a well without a bottom. It's a stage with no audience. An island floating in the middle of nowhere.

For a while, Karna is alone. Bare heels on cold tiling, posture upright. Counting absences.

(Even here, trapped together, his Master doesn't have the courage to stand beside him. Even here, waiting for salvation or punishment (or both), his Master refuses to speak to her Servant about the things that are really plaguing her soul. Even nearing the end of his tenure as her guardian and protector, she remains closed to him.

That's fine, he thinks. She can only be herself, after all.)

Time passes, and fresh faces join the fray— a taciturn young woman and her own golden Servant. This is an intervention, they say. They've come here to find Karna's Master, to right the wrongs that she'd presented. To straighten the facts. Settle the score.

And of course, Karna does his best to explain his Master's shortcomings. How the other duo's persistence will frighten her. How the thought of penance or forgiveness is abhorrent to her. But he's interrupted by his Master's sudden appearance from her perpetual state of hiding, by a flurry of fists against his chest. Hummingbird-light and hurricane-fierce. ]

"Stop it! What are you doing?!

—Can’t you just hurry up and do what a Servant’s supposed to?! You’re really really really such a failure of a Servant!"

[ He passes his next few minutes in silence, even as the interrogation by the other duo blazes on. Intensifies, really, now that the accused has shown her face. The situation is incontrovertibly against their favor; his Master won't fight sense with sense. She knows when to cut her losses, so she follows her gut. She condemns herself. ]

"—You're right, I'm hopeless! You should just kill me! I’m not scared— I mean, everyone dies in the end!"

[ His Master doesn't look to him for counsel, so Karna says nothing.

The debate crescendos without him. His lips are still knit, even when his Master slumps and her breathing turns ragged, desperate. ]

"No matter what— no matter what we do, we won’t be saved! Even if we regret things now, nothing and no one, not my papa, not my mama, not my time, will ever come back! ...I don’t need anything, anyway!"

[ That's a lie. Karna can see it in the tremors that shake her, her downcast gaze, her blown-wide pupils. But he stays where he is, waiting for her to say the inevitable. ]

"...Karna! Throw them out! Erase them from the world so they never come here again!!"

[ And Karna, in all his infinite acceptance, draws his spear.

(he doesn't regret many things, but he know that this— his silence and his acquiescence, regardless of the outcome— must have hurt her, must have pained her, only made her detest herself further.

but she asked, and he answered.) ]


PAST 2 : WELL, I'LL GIVE YOU PROOF. (MAHABHARATA)

[ Okay, that other scene might be a little devoid of context, so here's something quick and straightforward: a battlefield, two chariots, and two men engaged in combat.

The progression of events is quick. One chariot gets stuck in mud. Two men understand the terms of a fair fight. One man steps off his chariot to dislodge its half-sunk wheel from the mire. One man breaks the terms of the fair fight. One arrow flies into one man's neck while he's knelt in dirt.

Karna is the one who bleeds enough for two. The look on his face before his half-brother kills him is a gentle smile. ]


WILDCARD : (HERE'S THE TRUTH.)
[ wwwwwildcard! are these overdramatic and dumb and hard to work with?? let me know here: deuil! i'll be more than happy to set up something more lighthearted/enjoyable for you! ]

2

[ascendit]

[When the rules get broken, Nate tries to react, tries to draw a gunblade that isn't actually on his hip, tries to cast a spell -

[And instead, he anchors to the one who got shot.

[When the memory fades, Nate is left touching his own neck, remembering pain that wasn't his, remembering:] That was your brother?

Calla | Past | OTA

[callamities]

oh, these sour times (past, cw: veiled discussion of sexual assault)
[When the strange silver fog clears and he finds himself in the backroom of the Gardens, Calla’s first reaction is panic. He can’t be here. If he’s here, then he’s on Earth, and if he’s on Earth, then he’s on borrowed time. The Creators here aren’t nearly so permissive of glitches and if he’s recognized as the Created who attacked a Creator, he’ll be deleted on sight. But as the scene comes into focus, he realizes he’s not alone—just unseen. The brief elation he feels when he sees his fellow Created standing around the room is quickly replaced with perplexment when he notices that even the ones directly facing seem to look right through him. Is he invisible? He’s about to try and speak when the face of one Program in particular silences him: it’s him, standing there with an expression just as tense as those on the faces of his brothers and sisters.

Anyone sharing in this memory will see what looks like eleven young men and women standing around a darkened room. They all wear glowing circuits on their faces, colors ranging across the rainbow. For a moment, all is still. Then, the memory begins to unfurl.

A female program with orange circuits—Marigold—crosses her arms, expression grim.] What do you propose we do, then, Calla? Pretend it never happened?

No, [says a white-circuited Program, shoulders hunched defensively.] I’m not proposing anything. I’m telling all of you that if we don’t want to be deleted, we have to play their game. It’s still better than being replaced.

You don’t know that they replaced her, [a brittle voice interjects, this one belonging to a male program with pink circuits—Talinum.] They could’ve just reset her.

Is there really a difference? [Calla snaps.] Reset, deleted, replaced, it doesn’t matter. I don’t want it happening to me and I don’t want it happening to any of you.

[For a few moments, it seems like Calla has had the last word. Silence descends over the group, though their expressions range from resigned to furious.

Finally, a female program who shares Calla’s white circuitry breaks the silence.] If I were assured that this was a one-time event, I would be inclined to agree with you Calla, [she says carefully,] But you saw how they dealt with the Creator. A simple admonishment won’t stop him or any others from doing the same again. [A few nod in agreement.] What happened to Azalea could happen to any of us.

What happened to Azalea, will, [Talinum echoes darkly.]

Maybe, [Calla concedes.] But we don’t have to do what she did. We don’t have to lose anyone else.

She shouldn’t have fought back, [Aster, with violet circuits, agrees.] No wonder they thought she was glitched. But there must be laws against what the Creator did as well. Maybe the security here doesn’t want to do anything about it, but if we send someone to find a Creator from the outside, maybe they’d—

‘The outside?’ [Calla interrupts. He laughs, a humorless, incredulous sound.] Where do you think he came from? Where do you think they all come from? [He looks around the room, eyes resting on each of them in turn. Desperation edges into his voice.] If you go out looking for a helpful Creator, they will helpfully bring you to the CCOA where they will helpfully get rid of you and replace you with someone who won’t make the same mistake. And that’s if they don’t decide that we’re all a bad batch and just wipe every one of us. [He feels sick saying it but he knows it’s true, knows that no matter how much he wishes otherwise, he’s right.] If we want to survive, ‘nothing’ is the only thing we can do.

[From an outside perspective, it’s easy enough to observe the emotional toll the words have on all the Created in the room—Calla included. Anger, sadness, disgust, and frustration show through their expressions as clear as day. For those drawn in close enough to feel what Calla felt in this moment, however, one emotion will rise sharply above all others: hatred, caustic and raw.

That same hatred is still etched into his expression when the memory fades, fists white-knuckled by his sides as he relives that moment of collective awakening. He had hated himself in that moment—had hated being the voice of reason, telling everyone else to grin and bear it so he wouldn’t lose them. But most of all, he had hated the Creators and their lies. In that moment, every Creator on Earth could have burned and he would have only felt relief.

The moment he realizes he’s not alone in the hallway, that loathing shutters itself behind an expression of harmless apprehension. The only manifestation it leaves behind is in Calla’s sound, the usually gentle tick now so fast and loud that the beats blend into each other. Now, it sounds far more like a growl.]

[a_shadow]

[ But Calla should know there's nothing to fear from Tex. She's told him about what she is. She nods slightly, stepping toward him. ]

I've been partially reset. I know what it's like to live with the aftermath of that.

[ She looks frustrated briefly. ]

Sometimes I feel like if I try hard enough I'll remember those things on my own. But they've been erased. There's no coming back from that. When I found out it had happened, I felt so...violated.

The Big Sister | Past + Future | OTA

[handofrapture]

my name is never-was (past, cw: violence, gore)
In the crumbling apartment, a little girl screams.

Amidst the sounds, a man’s distorted pleas can be heard. “Sweetheart, you have to stop that noise, please… Be quiet for me, okay?”

There are sounds of a scuffle and then the screaming stops. As the scene becomes clearer through the silver fog, you can see a man, his face a ruin of tumorous growths. His hand is clamped tight over the mouth of a young girl, perhaps eight years of age. Her skin is pallid, her black hair matted, and her terrified eyes a luminous yellow.

“Shhh, shhh. Don’t you remember me?” the man murmurs, his voice tearful now. “That thing isn’t your dad. I am. You know that, June.” The girl starts to struggle in earnest now, legs kicking wildly at him. The man’s voice grows even more desperate. “You know that name, don’t you? June. June Rosenwald. Your name—” He cries out suddenly, yanking his hand off of the girl’s mouth. Blood stains his fingers where she’s bitten him.

“Come unzip him, Mr. B!” she yells, still kicking at him furiously. “Come unzip the bad man!”

“June, no—” But it’s too late. A low, inhuman baying sounds from the hall, followed by a rush of ground-shaking footsteps. The man is already on his feet by the time the behemoth rips through the door, but there’s no way past the hulking monster of steel and angry red light. It knocks him to the ground with one massive arm, while on the other, a drill as big as a man begins to spin. There is a scream, the grinding roar of heavy machinery, and then silence—at least for a moment. You can hear the high, delighted giggle of a child before the vision disappears with the mist.

In its place stands the same girl, older now and impossibly tall, staring wide-eyed at her fellow witness to the past.

blood in the water (future, cw: character death)
It’s been about a week since the Big Sister saw the troubling vision in the halls. Though she hasn’t had much luck putting it out of her head, there are at least a number of ways to distract herself on the station—such as investigating the reports of something strange happening at the Ingress Memorial.

When she gets there, for a moment she thinks someone has repaired the machine. It’s filled with the same silver light as the Ingress on Thisavrou. However, when she comes closer, that silver light changes. To her surprise, she’s suddenly staring into Rapture.

What happens next is a rush of information. She sees herself, fully armored and sent to take out a Delta-series Protector gone haywire. She sees the battle, watches the Delta-series use weapons and plasmids she’s never seen any Protector use before. She watches herself blasted with fire and ice, shot and gored, until she finally lies still, the light of her faceplate still burning red. And then she watches all of Rapture sink to the bottom of the ocean, the only survivors the Delta-series, Lamb, and a handful of her sisters.

She watches it all, feeling sick with confusion and rage, before it all finally boils over with a fireball cast straight through the center of the portal. The vision fades—leaving nothing but the acrid smell of burnt metal in its place.

Past

[notglitching]

Users fighting hardly rates unusual. The threat that shreds one is less common, but still not an unknown. Rinzler knows by now the pattern of these replays, and nothing he sees prompts him to involve himself further. He watches the conflict unfold. The mist clear. And when the silver light fades away to a familiar silhouette—

—Rinzler stills, noise catching in surprise.

This, he hadn't anticipated. But now that the data is here, it parses well enough. This user was rectified. Before, she would have had a name. A voice. Had people, who cared enough to fight for what she had been. And of course (of course) those efforts could only ever end one way.

He understands this.

Her wide stare flags a different metric. The enforcer watches, sound ticking out softly, before his helmet angles to one side.

chara dreemurr | ota, will match whatever format

[inconsequence]

[Prompts will be in the subheaders for ease of content/collapsibility. A generalized content warning: there will be references to child abuse, child death, poisoning/illness, suicide/suicide ideation, extreme self-loathing, injury/violence, and mass genocide. As always, feel free to give my opt-out a look if you want to steer clear of such topics in the future.]

past ; but i always liked the thought of maybe being a runaway

[inconsequence]

[cw: bodily injury, suicide ideation, references to child abuse]

The breath in your lungs hurts almost as much as every step you need to take - one, and then the other, too slow and too sluggish and too painful with each dragging, limping motion. You can't help the uneven bend to your body; if you move too quickly, you'll be reminded of why you're like this. You'd reached to the center of your abdomen earlier, and things had moved. Things had pushed up against other things, floating and disconnected and fragile. The hot-penny cling of your own blood to the roof of your mouth tacks your gums. The mask of drying brown-red mats some of your hair in a peculiar formation. The front of your sweater, discolored and distended beneath the rusted brown stains, is a wreck.

You don't have a choice in this. You've done something terrible, and there is no escaping that. There is no evading consequences. You'd just really prefer to be the one to choose your consequences as they come.

This is your back door.

And they do come. Inevitably, they do come.

The slope of the mountain is gentle, but with the way your body has been snapped and broken in odd places, the trek is agony. There's something ahead - the dark mound of something that might be shelter, or might be a cave.

Your pace quickens. A tiny sound forms and dies in the back of your throat. No one would hear you, if you cried out. But in case anyone might be listening, in case anyone might have surmised where you were headed and taken after you for some just retribution, you keep quiet.

There are all sorts of stories about Mt. Ebott. Some say that a great monster hungers beneath the earth's crust, pressing against the thin veil of magma. Some say they used to sacrifice children to sate its greed, marching them to the top of the mountain and letting them slip-fall down. Some say that's why the mountain is the way it is, an imposing silhouette lumped up against the horizon, positioned in such a way that, at dusk, it looked like it was swallowing the sun.

You're not going to last very long up here, on a mountain from which travelers are rumored never to return. This is your ending.

The part of you that's still lucid can think with wet, bubbling amusement: How good. It's better than thinking about the ease with which blade slid into flesh, and the sting of flesh on flesh, the swollen ripe-plum of battered flesh like tenderized meat at your middle, at your cheek.

Your head was already spinning before you started to climb. You hardly realize that the world has shifted, when your foot catches a root and you're sent hurtling down, down, down, your hair whipping up behind your ears in a streaming fan of dirty, clotted brown.

The speck of shadowed ground races to greet you. Faster, faster, faster.

Still, you can think, muzzily, with a coarse satisfaction that's richer than the taste of your own filth in your throat:

How good.

Richie Tozier | past | injury, violence, horror franchise stuff

[beeped]

ʀɪᴄʜɪᴇ ᴛᴏᴢɪᴇʀ ɢᴏᴇs ᴀᴍɪss

[A feeling of dread washes over him as he enters the Neibolt house with Bill and Eddie. Richie regrets drawing the short stick, says at much, but he follows through anyway. The house is filthy; dirt and debris is everywhere, the air is musty and filled with the stench of decay, and the floor cracks beneath their feet as they step further inside.]

Don't breathe through your mouth. ['How come?'] Because then you're eating it.

[Eddie gags and immediately reaches for his inhaler. One of the rooms to the side draws Richie in. An old sofa remains with vines dropping down over it, both covered in spiderwebs. Nestled among the branches is a crumpled piece of paper. Curiosity gets the best of him, and panic takes hold as Richie reads it.

Missing
Richie Tozier
13 Years Old
Last Seen July 4

He looks up briefly, which catches Bill and Eddie's attention, and they immediately enter the room. Bill's voice is soft as he inquires, 'what?']

It--it says I'm missing. ['Y-you're not missing, Richie.' Richie can hardly hear him.] 'Police Department, City of Derry.' That's my shirt. That's my hair. That's my face. [Richie's voice shakes, and he's all but yelling as Bill attempts to take the flyer away. 'Calm down Richie, it's not real.'] That's my name. That's my age! That's the date!

['It can't be real, Richie.' Richie clenches the flyer, and the boys struggle for possession of it. Richie's voice rises several octaves as he shrieks.] No, it says it! What the fuck? Am I missing? Am I going to go missing?


ᴇᴅᴅɪᴇ ᴋᴀsᴘʙʀᴀᴋ ᴄᴀᴛᴄʜᴇs ᴀ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋ

[Richie's heart hadn't stopped racing, and it feels like it might burst out of his chest. A lot had happened over the past few minutes alone: discovering a rotting doll of himself with worms wriggling its cheeks; a confrontation with It directly; seeing Betty Ripsom hanging from the ceiling with everything below her torso missing, screaming.

The worst of it is hearing Eddie scream for help. That's the one thing that's actually been real since the boys entered the house. Richie and Bill race down the hall, downstairs, and burst into the kitchen Eddie had fallen into just moments before.]

Eddie!

[And there It is. Crouching between them and Eddie whose arm is so broken that it's bent in an unnatural way. Its oversized, clawlike hand covers Eddie's face, and as the clown turns to stare the other boys down, Its hand grips Eddie's throat.]

Holy fuck. Eddie!

[The fear is consuming and all Richie wants is for all of them to get out of there. But It has put Its sights on Bill, taunting him. Then It's screaming and seemingly gliding over, swiftly, with far too many teeth. The only thing Richie can do is hold fast to Bill and brace for impact.

They're spared by Bev--suddenly appearing from outside with the rest of the Losers--stabbing It through the skull. The clown isn't put down, but for the moment It is incapacitated, limited to its demonic wailing. Someone yells to get Eddie, and the Losers rush forth to their friend, whose panic has become such that he's finally capable of screaming.

Richie's immediately on his knees, peering over Eddie, hands resting against his neck. There's not even a chance to get off of the floor before It starts moving again. Eddie's screaming intensifies.]

Eddie! Look at me. [He steers Eddie's gaze toward him, attempting to get the deformed clown who's approaching them out of his line of sight. The shouting from all of the Losers is so raucous that words are hardly intelligible. It is weakened, though. After slashing Ben's torso with its razor sharp claws, It makes a retreat. Bill chases after it, leaving the other Losers in a panic about Eddie.

Richie's panic hasn't subsided, but he has to do something. He has to help Eddie.]

I'm gonna--I'm gonna snap your arm into place! ['Rich, do not fucking touch me!'] Okay, one- ['Do not touch me!'] -two, three. [The sound of bone snapping is deafening.]

ʙɪʟʟ ᴅᴇɴʙʀᴏᴜɢʜ's ʙɪɢ ʜɪᴛ

['I saw the well. W--w-we know there It is, a-a-and next time we'll be better prepared.' Stan immediately objects to Bill's suggestion, and Richie doesn't even slightly disagree. Beverly is immediately at Bill's defense, insisting that they have to face It again. No one else is going to.

That's where Richie loses it.]

Eddie was nearly killed! And look at this motherfucker. He's leaking Hamburger Helper! [To his credit, Ben Hascom takes bleeding from his torso for the second time in a single summer like a champ.

It doesn't take long for tensions to escalate in the middle of the street in front of Eddie's house.]

I'm just saying, let's face facts. Real world. [Richie looks directly at Bill.] Georgie is dead. Stop trying to get us killed too. [Richie moves to storm past Bill to get his bike out of Eddie's yard, but the taller boy stops him.

'Georgie's not dead.']

You couldn't save him, but you can still save yourself. [He tries to move past Bill again, but Bill stops him once more. 'N-no, t-take it back. Y-you're scared and we all are, but take it back!'

Bill shoves Richie, forcing him a couple paces back. Richie charges forth and returns the favor. Bill pulls his arm back, and when his fist collides with Richie's face, the boy falls to the ground on his back.

He's hurt, he's scared, and he's more angry at Bill than he's ever been in his life. Mike and Stan help Richie to his feet and prevent him from lunging at Bill while Ben pulls Bill back.]

You're just a bunch of losers! [Stan tells Richie to stop. Richie ignores him.] Fuck off! You're just a bunch of losers and you'll get yourselves trying to catch a stupid fucking clown!

catchin' a break

[clussy]

(There were a lot of things about Richie Tozier that Eddie understood on a fundamental level. He understood that Richie was a lot smarter than people ever seemed to remember. His grades were actually probably the best of any of the Losers, but his behavior in class was easy to peg him as both the class clown and idiot. He knew that Richie sometimes got going so bad because he needed the attention. That he never got enough of it at home where sometimes it mattered the most. Eddie knew that Richie would never want to hurt anyone with his jokes, that sometimes he just got going and forgot himself.

Eddie knew that Richie would never let anything bad happen to him if he could help it.

What Eddie did not know was to what extent exactly, nor was he able to comprehend how deep that ran. Being inside of Richie's mind, seeing through his eyes, was something else entirely. He could feel the horrid worry Richie felt as he sprinted towards the sound of his own (weird) screaming. He could feel Richie's horror, but marvelously enough, how none of that horror had anything to do with Richie himself.

It was all for Eddie. He could feel his best friend's set determination as he got down and tried to pull Eddie's attention away from It (Eddie doesn't remember this ever happening- but maybe it's one of their differences). It's horrifying, and they could die any fucking second, but there Richie was. Ignoring It in favor of trying to get Eddie to look at him, focusing on keeping Eddie there, hands all over him, and then the break-.

Eddie's in front of Richie all of a sudden, his hands covering his mouth, his heart practically in his throat. There's this completely raw expression on his face as he stares at his best friend, and he surges forward at once. The hug is tight, his face burying into Richie's shoulder, and he gives a small whine.)

Richie.

Stan Uris | past OTA, future closed

[stantheman]

( The Past Matters, Open )

[ It's Stan's Bar Mitzvah and he'd studied well for it or at least he'd done his best. But everything that had happened before it is weighing on his mind. There was his experiences with It that he still doesn't want to believe are real but what had happened in the Niebolt house is much harder to explain away as being all in their head. Eddie had broken his arm and their friendships had splintered.

Stan's not sure he made the right decision, that's where some of his frustration and anger come from. He looks out at those gathered, seeing Richie, the only friend that came -- not that he could blame anyone else for not showing up. He'd been a vocal proponent for the decision that had sent them on their separate ways for the rest of the summer. But they'd all known that they were alone in it that none of their parents would listen to what really happened -- Sonia's reaction to Eddie's injury had been enough to sour even an attempt otherwise.

So while he'd started off the ceremony properly something had snapped in him. He'd started off correctly but then holding the mic with both hands and stepping away from his father, and ignoring the feedback of the mic and the awkward embarrassment as he hits the end of it's length while saying: ]

Becoming an adult, according to the holy scripture, Derry, is learning not to give a shit.

[ He looks up at his father as he says the rebellious words that are probably embarrassing his father even more than Stan will feel later and let the mic drop. He only vaguely registers the sound of Richie clapping as he storms off. ]

( Canon Future, Closed to Natasha )

cw: suicide, dialogue taken directly from the book

[ Stan had a good life. He was a successful accountant and he had a loving wife, Patricia. There was always a shadow in the back of his mind, like a fire you forgot to put out before you went to bed and waking up knowing the risk that it could have engulfed your home in flames. Their only apparent problem was their difficulty in getting pregnant -- deep inside, despite all the medical tests and consultations Stan had always known it was his fault. He'd never quite known how or why or what he could possibly do to fix it.

But it all came to a screeching halt one evening. One phone call from Mike to let him know that It had returned to Derry and a carefully constructed safe life had come down around him. The memories had come back swift and overpowering, every moment of fear, every memory of being dirty and lost. It was all right there and he couldn't. He manages to get through that fated phone call with Mike but he doesn't manage to return to Derry.

After he gets off the phone, there's a short exchange with his wife.

"Who was that, Stan?"

"Hmmmm?"

"Who was that on the phone?"

"No one. No one, really. I think I'll take a bath."

"What, at seven o'clock?"

There's no fuss as he goes to the bathroom upstairs. There's maybe a thought that he wishes Patricia won't be the one to have to find him but the fear is really what's in control now. So in the bathtub of the good home that he's made with Patricia he cuts his wrists in the shape of a T and before he dies he writes 'It' on the bathroom wall.

---

Stan barely remembers leaving the area with Eddie or Eddie leaving again with the other guys. He stays in his room for a little but then he leaves. He wanders toward the direction of where Erik has the Hanukkah celebration set up but then he turns. It feels wrong to go there and so he heads to the library instead. He'll find a book about...anything... and a quite place to hide amongst the stacks. ]

( Avagi Future, Closed to Laura )

[ Somehow, Stan ends up back there with Laura. Luckily, he can't see his own future again but when she gets a vision he does spy a glance of it. What he sees is Laura but older (and gosh she is even prettier if that's possible!) and himself. It looks like they're working together but he's not sure exactly what they're doing. Laura looks happy though and maybe he does too. As they finish the task that they're working on, Future Stan's hand drops over Future Laura's and he kisses the tip of her nose and then pecks her lips.

Then they started on the next task and the possible future fades and the present reasserts itself and Stan's face and ears are burning and pink. ]

( Wildcard )

[ Feel free to message me if you'd like to plot something else at poetanarchy or by journal PM! ]

[coercive]

[Laura's cheeks are pink and she's very, very still. Once the vision of their older selves fade away, they're left standing in the Ingress Memorial. Her hand is resting against his, twitching with the restraint it takes for her to stay still. The urge to run away is strong, embarrassment and uncertainty filling her. But when she slowly turns her head to look up at him, she realizes he's just as embarrassed as she is.

In a possible version of the future, she smiles. She's happy here, and is productive. And they're in the kind of relationship where she lets him kiss her that way. Her nose wrinkles up before she softly exhales, and her hand moves over to lightly press over his.

She can't lash out in anger at him over something he had no control over. And running away isn't as tempting as it was only a few seconds ago.]

We will be here when we're older.

[She thinks that maybe, that's a good thing.]

...would you like that?

Asriel Dreemurr | ota

[pleasereset]

[Prompts will be in the comments.]

Past | cw: slavery, abuse

[pleasereset]

[You're standing in the middle of a ship, in the middle of a loading area. While it seems the place is busy with a few people unloading cargo and carrying it away, Asriel's standing among them.

He's fitted with a metal collar, looking dirty, worn, and weak. There's a sway to his movements, like being here in this ship is taking a toll on him. He's carrying a heavy box of some kind, but at some point he stumbles, and falls forward.

A man with a cruel expression walks up to him, demanding that he gets back up. When Asriel doesn't move, the man grabs him roughly by the ear - earning him a squeak of pain.]

I said get back to work.

I - I can't...

Do you wanna know what happens to animals around here that I don't have a use for? Get back to work.

[He pulls on Asriel's ears until he's standing upright again, but it doesn't look like he'll stay standing for long.]

Shiro | ota

[shiro2hero]

( Putting prompts in comments and opting out of anything with present, please. )

PAST | the Garrison King

[shiro2hero]

[You're in a hallway. It could be any sort of hallway -- but it has the feel of somewhere long-lived in. Somewhere hundreds of people have walked, will walk, old and worn and somehow brand new. Metal and linoleum tiles. Rounded rectangular windows into rooms with rows of metal desks.]

[It's some kind of school.]

[With people in uniforms. Orange ones, to be precise. Some in grey. They're all human, ranging between early teenage years to adulthood.]

[Somewhere, in this mess of humanity is this guy. Who probably looks fairly familiar to people on Avagi. But less dorito-shaped, his hair entirely one color, and no scar across his face.]

[You'll... probably find him in the cafeteria, surrounded by other students, making a game attempt at inhaling what appears to be a fifth bowl of macaroni. The others are chanting, cheering. He's going for a record. And looks excited about it. Laughing with the other students, digging elbows into them, too.]

[The general air is relaxation. Is ease. He's happy, life is, for once, good.]

[It changes when the vision shifts. When he's standing, staring up at a space shuttle. Instead of ease and relaxation, it's excitement. Anticipation. That's his ship. He's going to fly that. And he couldn't possibly look prouder of the fact. Couldn't be more excited -- they're going further than any human being before. They're going to be great.]

diana prince | dceu | ota

[monomachy]

[past and future prompts will be in two separate comments in the interest of saving space. hit me up @watchet if you want a prompt not listed here!]

past;

[monomachy]

little girl don't be so blue [memory 1: i & ii]

[Mischief and stubbornness ran deep in Diana's blood, and as a child she had exuded both qualities so much that tutor after tutor had abruptly quit their positions. Until she'd gotten older, Diana had never realized that she'd driven her teachers to do so on purpose--perhaps if she wasn't busy studying books, she thought, she could learn to fight like the rest of the Amazons. Her mother told her every day that she was safe, that she would never have to fight; but she had refused to accept that as fact. She longed for the glory of battle, to be just like the heroes in the stories Antiope told her when Mother wasn't around.

She remembers the day, warm like all the others, when her latest tutor had given up on her. The exhilaration of seeing her aunt's warriors train, trying to imitate them, had put a new swiftness in her steps as she ran for the ledge she thought would take her straight to the ocean. She'd miscalculated, her childish mind too preoccupied with visions of grand battles and wonderful victory, and had her mother not caught her, well. That could have been disastrous. But Hippolyta had made a grave mistake that night in telling her daughter the story of the Amazons' rebellion against Ares' enslavement, and in showing her the God-Killer the next morning. It had only fanned the flame of Diana's desire to be a great hero like the Amazons before her, setting her on the path to disobeying her mother's wishes and beginning to train with Antiope.]

i know what you're goin' through [memory 2: i]

[The wonder felt by seeing a man for the first time quickly wanes when the ships appear on the horizon. She has so many questions just on the tip of her tongue, but before she can get any of them out, she hears her mother's shout from the cliff above.

When the battle begins, she is frozen in fear.

This is what she had dreamed of for millennia; the fervor of combat, enemies falling before a blade, triumph inevitable. But when the time has finally arrived, all her years of training flees her mind and all she can do is hide like a scared child. She watches one of her sisters die and is shocked out of her stupor. When she makes to join the fray, the strange man tells her to stay where she is, and she obeys--she has no reason to, should not, but she does. Everything is so overwhelming, and her hesitation means another one of her sisters meets her end.

Diana picks up a bow, killing her first enemy with an arrow that finds its home in his heart, and it is both exhilarating and terrifying.

Before she knows what's happening, a sword is in her hand. She slashes, killing another man. She sees her fellow warriors fighting around her, some falling, many slaying those that oppose them. Her heart pounds with the thrill of it all, with horror and panic. Adrenaline courses through her, and she doesn't know where to go next. She pauses where she stands, trying to figure out what to do.

The next thing she knows, Antiope is bleeding out in her arms.

A sob escapes her, a strangle noise. The pain of her heart being torn in two is so ferocious that she thinks she might die from it. Her general's last words haunt her, make her feel lost and, again, afraid.]

don't let it beat you up [memory 3: i & ii]

[Anger fills her, eclipsed only by her determination to prove Steve wrong. Without the will to even try, how could they end this war at all? The decision is simple for her to make. She hears him scream her name, but she ignores him. She will not fail these people. She will not fail Antiope.

The bullets mean nothing to her. She keeps her focus on the point ahead, on the tower she can see just over the German trenches. When the machine gun pins her down, she feels a moment of hopelessness--and then her comrades are there with her, covering her and allowing her to make it to the enemy line. All she feels is pride as she begins to tear through the German troops; she's done it, and she can hear the shout of her fellow soldiers following her into battle.

The city of Veld is small, and it's easy to pick out the best points for enemies to be hiding. She throws herself into combat, men falling before her, their weapons useless against her armor and skill. When she makes it to the town square and sees the tank opening fire with civilians still there, rage fills her. These men are cowards, killing people with no way to defend themselves. Soldiers swarm around her, and a single gunshot behind her catches her attention.

Steve is there, fighting alongside her. Even in the midst of battle, warmth floods her heart at the sight of him. They defeat the rest of the soldiers on the ground with ease, and the sniper's nest is gone soon after. The cheers and applause from the townspeople as she emerges from the wreckage of the bell tower engulfs her, and Diana knows that this is what she was meant to do.]

hittin' walls and gettin' scars [memory 4: i (to 3:24)]

[For this single night in Veld, Diana feels what true peace might be. Dancing with Steve makes her heart race, and she has a suspicion as to why. They've fought together, joked together, disobeyed direct orders together. A bond has formed between them that she never expected, but doesn't exactly find unwelcome.

The intensity between them, the silent introspection they both experience, is broken by Charlie's singing and the snowfall, but not for long.

He tries to make light of her question, and she rolls her eyes, wondering why it is so difficult for him to be serious. But the longer he talks, the more serious his suggestions become, and she's left breathless for a moment. There's something behind his words she can't quite put her finger on; as if he's never considered any of these things as a real possibility for himself.

Until now.

For Diana, the preparation for war had become a lifestyle. Even if Queen Hippolyta had said it would never happened, the young Amazon had sided with General Antiope on the issue. Every moment of every day was spent training in some way for the inevitable war. Anything beyond that had been irrelevant or an impossibility. Steve, she thinks, shouldn't feel that way. He should know the answer to her question, a real answer. But... he doesn't. And there's a certain surprise in his eyes, she decides, mixed with just a little fear. Neither of them know what they'll do after this war ends. It's a question that hangs in the air between them, one that can't just be brushed aside like her hair.]

only makes you who you are [memory 5: i (to 1:43)]

[London is just as ugly as she remembers, even if the celebrating crowds hide the worst parts of it from view. People kiss, children sing, everyone shows their pride for the victorious nation in some way or another. Diana looks at them, wanting to share in their happiness, but finds herself unable to do so.

Steve Trevor is dead, and she knows that a part of her heart has gone with him.

He is younger in his picture than when she met him, but the cocky smile is exactly as she remembers it. Their time together had been so short, but he had affected her in a way she could never have expected. Though she wants to take the photo with her (because she cannot stay in London, there is too much of him here), she leaves it in place. Perhaps someone else will come to mourn the war's greatest hero, even if the world may never know exactly what he had done.]

Sideswipe | OTA

[redshitlord]

PAST ; YEEEHAW
[That's a flying whale.]

[A giant, flying whale. One that looks, somehow, incredibly agitated. It bucks and twists and somehow, the viewer is on top of it. Riding it. Because so is Sideswipe. He's holding on with one hand, throwing his other up in the air with a delighted whoop of triumph. Two other bots are with him, a big blue one and a small white one.]

[Everything seems to be all well and good until, predictably, the whale bucks.]

[And all of them go hurtling down to the planet miles below.]



PAST ; RIGHT KIND OF WRONG
[It starts in a darkened room. The hum of a ship's engines in the background. It's Sideswipe, easing inside. Him standing, talking earnestly to a much larger bot. Eventually, holding onto him in an effort to console him. The same blue bot from the first memory. They end up listening to music, quiet. Companionable.]

[Another moment. In the cargo hold of the same ship. Supporting the big blue robot as best he can, while Riptide reels, confesses. Sideswipe just holds him up, even as the big guy gets sick. Almost a mirror image to what he'd gone through with Lavellan...]

[And they just... keep right on coming. Little flashes of awkward, but sincere embraces, the occasional kiss, a long, held out moment of Riptide defending a wounded, curled-up Sideswipe from invaders.]

[Ending... in nothing left but a message.]

[I had to go. You get it, right?]


REALITY ; post past flashes
[It all ends in Sideswipe sinking down wherever he'd been standing, hands pulled over his head. Curled in on himself. Swearing quietly, vehemently. It's not fair. It's so unfair.]

[He's all alone here, isn't he?]

[It's not fair.]

REALITY

[notyetsore]

[For a moment, Ginko hesitates, not sure if there's anything he can do. If he should even try.

But he can't stand to just watch from a distance. So, slow and hesitant, he walks over to Sideswipe, and kind of... hovers a hand by his arm for a moment before giving up and dropping it by his side again, never actually touching him.

He looks away, his mouth twisting as he tries to think of what to say. He might not know the details, but...]

...I'm sorry.

[It feels like a pointless expression of sympathy. But what else can he do?]

Agent Washington | OTA

[notyourrookie]

[Putting prompts in the comments.]

Past

[notyourrookie]

Shattered into Ash
[There's the beep of medical equipment, the sharp odor of disinfectant.

And the screaming.

There's a crash, and the medical table jolts with the impact of the person on it falling to the ground. He's screaming, agonised shrieks. Something about Allison? Begging, begging for it to stop, please stop Epsilon, Alpha, just make it stop more time he just needs more time.

The closer you get, the more it hurts, the world flickering and glitching around you, like a broken screen, code flashing through your mind, tinged electric blue, twisting and falling apart, collapsing around you and you just want it to stop stop make it stop can't save them never good enough and it hurts so much. Tearing at your neck until your fingers become bloody and they drag them away and there are needles and then...

oblivion.



Tenderly they turned to dust all I adored
[There's blood leaking into his suit. The wound burns and he can feel it seeping beneath the kevlar bodysuit. But it can't dim the feeling of triumph as he faces them down. He can hear the flicker of concern in the Counsellor's voice, the anger in the Director's as they talk over the speakers, alternately cajoling and demanding.

He keeps his back to the control panel, and his eyes on the Meta; the white armoured monster that used to be his friend, and the AIs hovering around it, their voices raised.

There's a buzzing in his head that is almost comforting, filling in the hollow circuit-grooves of his mind. It doesn't quite fit, but close enough, close enough for this.

And then it's gone and there's a moment of exhilaration and rage and relief that finally it's going to end and the world turns white.]

Wanda Maximoff | MCU | ota

[seeingscarlet]

i. Past
[The mist clears to a scene of disaster: there are sounds of battle in the distance and the entire city looks like several bombs went off. And is just you or do the clouds seem too close?

Wanda's walking towards a derailed train with singular purpose, eyes burning red and unrestrained scarlet wisps twining around her fingers. No matter how angry you've seen her in the past, nothing compares to this level of hate and pain. Spite and revenge are the only things keeping her standing; she'd collapse if she didn't have this one last thing to do.

She strides into one of the train cars, making her way down the aisle towards a damaged robot who apparently fell through the ceiling. The same power that brought you here supplies the name: Ultron.

She kneels beside him and despite the damage, Ultron's still able to see her and speak. "Wanda." Her anger flares. How dare he say her name. "If you stay here, you'll die."

False concern. More lies.

"I just did. Do you know how it felt?" You certainly do, as the Ingress has made her pain your own, but before Ultron can reply, Wanda gestures and scarlet surrounds his chest. The metal creaks and groans and finally his power core breaks free and flies into her hand.

Wanda spares it a glance and leans closer, even though the red's gone out of Ultron's eyes and he clearly can't hear her. "It felt like that."

A long moment later the red flickers out of her eyes and the despair and loss come crashing back in. Wanda feels like she's drowning in it and can't summon enough will to get to her feet. What's the point? No one knows to come for her and she'd never make it to safety in time. And does she even want to without Pietro?

Eventually she dissolves back into sobbing and still makes no attempt to save herself after another huge explosion. Suddenly you realize what's happening here: the city is falling.

Wanda's accepted her death - her tears are for Pietro and her people. She doesn't expect to be saved. But just before the mist brings you back to Avagi, someone (Vision) swoops through the ceiling and scoops her out of the air. She's safe.

But her diminished reaction isn't the fading connection - she had little ability to feel true relief at that point. Not after this much loss.]

ii. Present
[Maybe you've already booked it away from Mother and the fear on Wanda's face makes perfect sense. Maybe you've just arrived. Either way, she's grabbing your arm and trying to steer you in the opposite direction. Don't go that way. That way leads to Very Bad Things.]

Not that way. I saw her. She's here.

i. Present

[magneticfields]

[ Erik finds himself in an unfamiliar part of the station. At first he thinks he somehow got pushed back in time, but only two months. To right when he arrived, and would be forced to live through all of it all over again. But when he sees the skin walls he realizes that no, this is a different situation. Potentially a worse one.

Seeing Wanda brings no relief. Clearly this is a dangerous place, and while he's confident that he can handle whatever might threaten him. But she obviously does not share his confidence, which concerns him. ]

What are you talking about? Who is "she"?

[ He doesn't let her lead him anywhere, but peers in the direction that she just came from. ]

Agent Texas ⋆ OTA ⋆ Will match format

[a_shadow]

[ Prompts in comments below. Want something different from what I posted here, or want to make specific plans? Contact me via PM or on plurk @texelations. ]

Past

[a_shadow]

⋆ I was a blind fool, never complained [ Memory 1: I & II ]

Tex didn't know the agents she was fighting. As far as she was concerned, she was just another new agent, a potential teammate, and would be fighting by these agents' sides as soon as she started running missions. She held no ill will against them, even as they brought live ammo onto the training room floor. A stupid decision, but not because she was in any danger from it.

The one in gold was different from the other two, and though she chastised him for turning against his team, she did tuck the information away for future reference. He had a certain sense of fairness that might be trouble in the field. But it set him apart.

She had to think fast when Maine's grenade landed by his side. She couldn't fire the lockdown paint with both guns, not with the malfunction in her shoulder, but she did what she could. York might have lost a lot more than part of his vision if she hadn't. She didn't know him at the time to feel guilty about it, and she had no way of knowing how close they would eventually become. She just knows she needs the Director now. She needs his help.

⋆ All the survivors singing in the rain [ Memory 2 ]

The moment that Connie's evidence opened her eyes to who and what she really was changed her focus—a lot. She needed to save Carolina from what was happening here in the Project, and she needed to get the Alpha out of there. Those were her two main objectives, and she knew she wouldn't have to tell York too much in order to secure his help. She had told him enough, and that was all that mattered.

And then, point by point, she failed. Carolina refused to be persuaded to come with her. Alpha was too damaged to leave. And the ship crashed, all because of the way she'd gone about trying to rescue them. She had to run away when Sigma targeted her—something that had haunted her for years afterward. She had needed to bide her time, but she ran.

⋆ I was the one with the world at my feet [ Memory 3 ]

She'd spent so much time after finding Church in Blood Gulch trying to defeat Omega, that when she made the choice to team back up with him, she had to be sure it was the right decision. There was no other option. She knew what she was saying when she told Church goodbye. She didn't expect ever to see him again. It had been the same the last time she'd told him goodbye, of course—she didn't say that word unless she really meant it—but this time seemed really weighty. She was going forth to defeat the alien race, and she truly expected never to return.

⋆ Got us a battle, leave it up to me [ Memory 4 ]

She'd never expected to reunite with Church, and even so, she'd definitely never expected their final meeting to be like this. For one thing, she'd never expected him to learn who and what he really was. But here they were, both having been captured in the capacity of their AI abilities. The reunion was brief, and she'd found herself on the Moira straight afterward. The fact that she'd seen him 3 times since arriving in this universe didn't seem to make a difference to how she thought of this reunion. It cut her deeply. She'd never been able to protect him, and now he knew all the details.

She thinks now it would have been better if he'd never learned.

Bill Denbrough | Past | CW: Violence, Child Death, Overly long memories

[shipsandsealingwax]

George Learns to Float
[Bill & George's mother can be heard faintly over the patter of rain on the windows, playing Für Elise on the piano. George Denbrough stands close by his big brother Bill as he works. Bill looks like hell, his room a mess of kleenex and his eyes dark, red, and sunken.

"Got to waterproof the boat or it’ll just get wet and sink," He explains, his stutter light, nearly absent when it is just him and Georgie. He tests the melted paraffin with his finger, pulling it back with a hiss and a softly, apologetic "Hot," toward Georgie. A few seconds later he dipps his finger in the wax again and begins to cover the sides of the little newspaper boat he made for his brother, the wax drying milky wherever he leaves it.

“Can I do some?” George asks from beside Bill, and Bill nods, moving a little out of the way.

“Okay. Just don’t get any on the blankets or Mom’ll kill you." Bill watches Georgie closely as he spreads the wax on the boat's other side.

When the boat is finished, Georgie cradles it in his hands. “Too cool. I’m gonna go out and sail it.”

“Yeah, you do that,” Bill's voice is tired, and he looks drained as Georgie hesitates.

“I wish you could come," the younger boy's voice is soft and sad. "It’s your boat, really."

"She" Bill corrects him, "You call boats sh-she." Which earns a nod from his little brother. "She, then." Georgie responds, as Bill glumly admits he wishes he could come as well.

"You put on your rain-stuff or you’ll wind up with the fl-flu like me. Probably catch it anyway, from my g-germs." The older boy warns, and as Georgie thanks him for the boat, the younger brother leans over and gives Bill a kiss on the cheek, Bill's face breaking into a small smile before gesturing to their water-proofing equipment.

"Put all this stuff back, too. Or Mom’ll have a b-bird." Georgie starts to do as he's told when Bill speaks up again. "G-g-georgie?" His younger brother turns to look, and Bill smiles, but there's worry behind the exhaustion in his eyes. "Be c-careful."

Georgie responds with a confused "Sure I will." And Bill watches from his window as his little brother leaves the house and chases the boat along the water racing down the side of the street until Georgie's happy form disappears from sight. For a while he sits by the window, sick and tired but watching and waiting for Georgie to come back. Knowing his brother will want to triumphantly tell him all about the little boat's adventures.

But Georgie never comes back.

Instead, it's the cops who show up, taking Bill's mom with them to the hospital. Mrs. Denbrough, it's your son. There are fragments of words. A lot of blood... Dave Gardener... We're sorry ma'am... We need you to come with us.. His mother's hysterical screaming disappears with the cops and Bill is left to the near silence of the house and the dying rain. He can hear his father sobbing from downstairs as Bill sits on his bed, pale as a ghost, silent, and stunned.]

Richie's Wild Ride

[Two boys stand before Twenty-nine Neibolt Street, a dirty old house with washed out pink paint peeling off the siding and boarded up windows, overgrown with weeds. "Y-y-you r-r-ready?" Bill asks, making Richie jump slightly. He gives the house another look before turning to Bill.

"You know, I was just thinking that maybe the last bunch of library books I took out are due today, Maybe I ought to...”

"C-c-cut the c-crap, R-R-Richie. Are y-you ready or n-n-not?" Bill interrupts, and reluctantly, Richie responds with "I guess I am." The boys were on a mission, and Bill's eyes were stony and shining, his face creased with lines as they studied the broken lattice of the house's porch.

“You don’t really want to go under there, do you?” Richie asks, and Bill, with conviction, shook his head.

"N-n-no, but I'm g-gonna." He squats to look under the porch, and Bill pulls his father's walther out, loading four bullets into the clip as Richie watches. Both boys crawl under the porch, avoiding the shards of broken glass and trying to ignore the smell of leaf decay. Bill crawls into the basement through a broken window under the porch, as Richie's voice hisses out. “Bill! Chrissake, what are you doing? Get outta there! Bill, you gone out of your mind?”

"You c-c-can stay up th-there if you w-want, R-R-Richie." Bill replies, his stutter hard in the stress of it all. "St-Stand g-g-guard." But Richie shoves himself through the window as well.

Together the boys search the basement for a while, until a crash from the door at the top of the stairs startles them both, daylight suddenly streaking down into the dark basement. Both boys scream, and over their screams a snarling sound fills the basement. Loafers, faded jeans, and furred arms ending in misshapen paws appear, descending the steps, and Bill screams at Richie to climb the coal as his friend freezes in fear.

"There's a w-w-window at the top of the c-coal! G-G-Go!" Bill shouts, shoving Richie toward the coal, his friend in a daze, goes sprawling into the rough pile before he starts scrambling his way up.

Bill fires the gun at the werewolf wearing a Derry High School jacket as Riche struggles with the window latch frantically. A second shot rings out, and Bill's voice echoes in a deafening scream.

"YOU KILLED MY BROTHER, YOU FUCKER!" The creature seems to laugh at this, and then snarl-barks back I’m going to kill you, too.

"Richie!" Bill screams again, as the creature continues to snarl and roar. The window gives and Richie wriggles out as fast as he can into the side yard as Bill faces the werewolf, firing the gun a third time, down to just one bullet now. He scrambles for the window, but It grabs him, and Bill cries as it howls in rage.

"It’s g-got me, Richie! Help! It’s g-g-got me." He grabs for purchase as It pulls him back, the gun still in one hand. Richie grabs for Bill's hands, and the werewolf and Richie fight over Bill, one holding his hands, the other his ankles, in a horrifying game of tug-of-war. Seeing the threat clearly, Bill looks to Richie, wide-eyed, his voice a hoarse scream.

"G-G-Get out of h-here, Richie! G-Get—" But the werewolf, foaming at it's tooth-filled mouth, roars with its eyes locked on Richie. Bill takes the opportunity to scramble upward as Richie pulls, and for the briefest moment it looks like they might escape, and then the werewolf yanks Bill back into the darkness, harder than Richie can pull, and Richie's voice takes on that of every Irish beat-cop to have ever lived as he reacts on instinct.

"Let go of him, boyo, or I’ll crack yer thick head! I swear to Jaysus! Leave go of him now or I’ll serve ye yer own arse on a platter!" For whatever reason, the creature in the basement roars in pain, and almost fear, and with a hard tug on his arm, Bill finds himself flying out of the window and into the grass, terror in his dark eyes. He grabs at Richie's shirt, stumbling up and panting.

"Qu-Qu-Quick! W-W-We g-g-gotta-" Before Bill can finish, the werewolf's head emerges from the window, its paws clawing into the grass, and Bill raises his gun and pulls the trigger for the fourth time, shooting a chunk of the werewolf's skull and face off, and causing blood to rush down and over it. It roars and keeps climbing. Bill watches a dazed Richie pulls a packet of sneezing powder from his pocket and the Irish beat-cop comes back.

"Git back in yer place, boyo!” To Bill's surprise, the werewolf stops as Richie squeezes the puff of powder at its face, and it sneezes, again and again, its face contorted in anger and pain. Bill grabs Richie by the collar, jerking him out of the way as the werewolf stops sneezing and lunges for the boy. He pulls his friend stumbling after him, the werewolf in pursuit, and jumps onto his trusty old Silver. Richie throws himself on the bike as well, the werewolf pursuing them, nearly catching them as Bill was slow to get his bike going with both boys on it. The stained jacket of the creature read Richie Tozier, and it lunged for them again, one paw grabbing Richie. His friend screams and Bill, at the top of his voice, screams back.

"Hi-yo Silver AWAYYY!" He pumped the pedals as hard and fast as he could as they moved down a shallow hill, the werewolf catching up to them and grabbing Richie by his shirt and jacket, choking him, his arm tightening around Bill's middle. Bill tilts back with the bike but keeps pushing forward until a rip sounds, Richie behind him, with barely a voice howling his name. Bill pedaled like the devil itself was on their heels, kicking Silver into a speed so fast it might as well have been flying. Again and again he repeated his scream. "Hi-Yo Silver! AWAY!" Bill can feel it. He is racing to beat the devil again. The devil that wore a clown face. Come on, boy, he thought. Give me everything now! Everything you got! Go, Silver! GO! The world passes like a blur, the footfalls of It falling behind, Richie's arms a death grip around him making it hard to breathe, but he says nothing, pushing through the exhaustion and terror.

When he looks back, he skids to a stop, nothing behind them and Richie's head slamming painfully forward into him. Richie goes limp, sliding off the bike, his eyes rolled back into his head and his glasses askew. Bill grabs him by the arm, Silver toppling and them with it in a painful tangle of limbs.

Richie speaks nonsense in his Pancho Vanilla voice, his words disjointed and floating, and a concerned and terrified Bill smacks him upside the head. Richie cries out, eyes opening wide and normal again.

"What are you hittin me for, Big Bill? You’ll break my glasses. They ain’t in very good shape anyway, just in case you didn’t notice." He huffs, and Bill nearly cries from the relief.

"I th-th-thought you w-w-were d-d-dying or s-s-something." Richie starts to ask Bill what happened, and then his eyes go wide and he scrambles away, gasping and in a panic again.

"D-D-Don't." Bill says, painfully climbing to his feet. "I-it's g-g-gone. R-R-Richie. It's gone." Richie looks down the street before bursting into tears, and Bill puts his arms around his friend, hugging him as Richie clutches at him in response. He tries to speak but nothing but sobs come out. "D-don't, R-Richie. D-d-d" Bill tries but bursts into tears as well, and both boys kneel in the street beside Bill's toppled bike, crying in each others arms. ]

Georgie Learns to Float

[clussy]

(Eddie knew all about Georgie. He remembered when Bill first told him what happened, and he knew instantly afterwards that Georgie became something that Bill did not want to talk about. Eddie wasn't so sure if 'denial' was the best word, since there was no real denying putting that little boy into the ground. Eddie had been there at the funeral, had stood by Bill's side as they lowered that eerily tiny casket (smaller than Eddie, even) into the earth. It had stayed closed the entire time. Eddie knew why.

He had hugged Bill so tight that day. He had seen the way that Bill's parents had looked like someone had glazed over their minds and put them up on a shelf out of reach of their own remaining child. Eddie doesn't know if they had even said a single word to Bill that day. It was beyond him, truthfully, but all it did was make him stick by Bill's side until late that same night.

This was a lot different. Seeing Georgie again after having been used to the idea of him dead was startling. Like seeing a ghost, sitting inside of Bill's head and watching Georgie's cute face smiling at Bill. The worst part wasn't that though. It was feeling everything Bill felt. How he watched Georgie leave, and God, Eddie wanted to cry out a warning. Tell Bill to stop Georgie!

He tries to even, can hear his own voice in his head louder than even his mind-mother's screaming for Bill to stop Georgie. Crush that boat, pull his little brother back into his room and tell him to never go outside to play alone. Jesus- Georgie don't leave....!

But Georgie left.

And Georgie died.

Georgie hadn't been his little brother, but Eddie felt a strange connection to him that he had never quite understood. Maybe it was purely through Bill. Either way, he felt not only his pain flaring in his chest, but the pain of Bill when Bill finally discovered what had come to be for his little brother. The anguish crashed into it, and Eddie thought fleetingly of his own father's sunken face in the hospital bed before he died, and then it was nothing but a cacophony of a child's death . The screaming wail of all those dead children that It had taken from the world, all of that pain, all of that suffering. God why had no one in Derry ever cared about any of them? Why were children so easy to forget?

By the time Eddie surfaces from the memory, his face is wet with tears. Tears for Georgie, tears for poor Eddie Corcoran, and most of all, tears for Bill Denbrough.

He covers his mouth, feeling his lungs squeezing into wrinkled, useless things, and he thinks hysterically for a moment that he needed his inhaler. His fingers spread apart, getting wet on his tears, and he stares at Bill shaking. That's when everything had begun. With one little boy in his yellow raincoat getting ripped apart.

Eddie throws himself into Bill with all the ferocity in his small body, and he squeezes him tightly, his face pressed into Bill's chest.)

God, Bill. Jesus I am so-.

('Sorry' felt shallow. 'Sorry' didn't bring back Georgie, didn't bring back their childhood, the other children who died. It didn't bring back all those nights that Bill had spent hurting over Georgie, how he had been isolated in his own room.)

76 | ota get at me

[mylawn]

i. the past

[This is a war zone—that much is clear from the level of destruction just beyond the confines of the safe house, visible from the windows that are barely large enough to fir the muzzle of a gun. The horizon is orange, and the lack of trees suggests a razing, smoke from distant fires still burning. For now, however, the fighting is over, and the feeling in the room is one of relief, rather than the tense anxiety that might accompany preparation for battle.

The room isn’t the height of luxury, but it seems like an adequate place to recuperate. There are three people in the room, in various states of injury and exhaustion, but they seem good-natured in spite of that. Two of them might be recognizable—if you squint, or subtract thirty years.

76 (or the man who will be him, anyway, after a long and convoluted series of events) takes inventory of ammunition while Ana tries to get him to look at a gash on his arm. She eventually gives up after he waves her off, assuring that he’ll take care of it in a minute. The other man, pouring over maps and dossiers, offers a sardonic quip about how he might prefer to die of infection, rather than killer robots, and it gets a laugh out of all three of them. Jack crumples a piece of paper and throws it across the room, beaning him in the face. Ana gets up to make tea.

It’s a quiet, intimate moment that plays out slowly, though subtle jokes and even subtler touches as Still, there’s something futile about it just under the surface, like all of these people live with the knowledge that they might not survive the next day. Victories are hard to come by and even harder fought in a place like this, so sometimes the most you can do is be grateful that you survived.]

ii. the present

[76 knows this. He knows it perhaps a little more intimately than some of the other residents of the space station do, if only because he’d been one of the group to help Mother attack the Ingress Complex. Though he tries not to dwell too much on the choice (it was going to be her or the Intermediaries, in the end), he still knows what they did—how she might not have been fully unleashed if they hadn’t given her assistance.

As he makes his way through the darkened, cluttered halls, he can’t help but feel the same kind of uncertainty that took up residence in the pit of his stomach. He knows she’s still out there, somewhere, and that they’re all going to be powerless if she decides to come back for them.

His gun is up and raised at the first sign of movement, even if it’s someone he recognizes. 76 isn’t sure what this is, exactly, but he’s not going to take any chances.]

Don’t move.

[Don’t do anything sudden is more like it, at least until 76 can discern just what, exactly, is going on.]

I don't think we're supposed to be here.

iii. aftermath

[No matter what the vision, 76 seems a little disoriented when he finds himself back in the hallways of Avagi as they should be. It takes him a moment to get his bearings, and though his face is covered with a visor, it’s easy to imagine that he appears somewhat bewildered underneath it.

The next thing he does is take a quick look around him, as if to make sure he’s alone. When that’s not the case, he straightens, clearly trying to shrug it off. He’s not sure what you, perhaps a stranger, perhaps not, might have seen, but he doesn’t like the idea of any of it being on display.

For a moment, it looks like he might say something, but it’s much easier to turn on his heel and start to walk away, as if none of this happened at all.]

iv. wildcard

[I’ll do whatever you want! Hit me up on plurk at whitticus]

past;

[desynched]

[ The mist sets her on edge, and Lena walks the halls with her hands gripping her guns as she waits for something. Her time here has taught her that it's never something as harmless as it seems. The other shoe drops not long after she makes her way through the mist. She trusts that her Accelerator will light the way as she enters the thick fog.

Suddenly, the world turns upside down and she finds herself half-staggering into an unfamiliar room. It takes her a moment too long to realize where... no, when she is. She stands stock-still, staring at the familiar people and feeling a familiar pang in her chest as her eyes cross each one. ]

rey | star wars: tfa | ota

[ventifact]

feelin' like a ten, the best i ever been [memory 1: i]

[Adrenaline and fear course through her veins, pushing her to run faster than she's ever run towards the quad jumper. Ships scream in the air around them, sending Niima Outpost up in flames. If they can just get to the ship--

--which has just blown up.

Rey freezes where she stands, having to make a split-second decision or else she and Finn are dust. The garbage ship will have to do. Rey's heart pounds as she takes the captain's chair, palms sweating and hands shaking as she urges the ship to life. The engines sputter and roar to life, and she thinks she's got it. But her elation is cut short by the ship dropping off to one side. It's all she can do to get it righted again, and then the chase is on. The scavenger is focused only on her flying, on escaping. Her life, Finn's life, and the Resistance depend on it. She knows the destroyer like the back of her hand, but the First Order pilots are skilled as well. The first ship is blown out of the air, and she thinks they've got this. When the gun gets stuck, only on idea presents itself.

The garbage ship goes into freefall, Finn makes the shot, and Rey hopes against hope that the engines will start again. They do, and they're home free, and euphoria floods her.]

and yeah, i know how bad it must hurt [memory 2: i]

[Rey wakes up in an uncomfortable chair in a cold, sterile room. The man in the mask is sitting in front of her, and a cold dread fills her stomach. She doesn't let it show. Fear is weakness on Jakku, fear will get you killed. Her face is stone, even as her heart beats nearly out of her chest.

The knowledge that he has no idea where Finn and BB-8 are is her only comfort.

She spits out an insult as a defense, but her thoughts take pause when he removes his helmet. He's... not at all what she expected. Younger. Softer, somehow. But the moment he begins to speak, the illusion is wiped away. She hides her terror behind a smartass answer about the droid, but he doesn't bite. He insults her, threatens her. I can take whatever I want.

Rey realizes, fully, how entirely vulnerable she is.

She flinches away from his hand, but realizes he isn't going to touch her. Not physically, anyway. At first, it's like needles--sharp and precise, pricking away at her mind. It's all calculated, planned. He's looking for what hurts her most, and he finds it without even seeming to try. Shame, pain, regret--they all well up until she thinks she'll burst.

And then the needles turn into what can only be described as daggers. He digs into her mind, no longer taking care, no longer caring about breaking her down before he roots around in her psyche. She grits her teeth, tasting blood. Sweat beads on her brow. The only thing that makes her keep fighting is that she can see the strain on his face. This isn't so easy, not when she's pushing back. Minutes pass, feeling like hours, and then finally, there's a moment when she breaks through--into his mind.

Rey doesn't know how this happened, or why. But she sees something there, something he's tried to buried but she's somehow dug up. The words fly from her lips without a thought. His darkest fear.

He retreats from her mind, and she realizes, shocked, that she's claimed a victory she was never meant to have.]

to see me like this, but it gets worse [memory 3: i]

[When she finally regains consciousness, it's to the sound of Finn's screams.

She watches with horror as Kylo Ren, even injured as he is, slashes up Finn's back. Her friend falls into the snow, and she can't tell whether or not he's dead. Fear wells up, but it's soon replaced by determination. They've come so far, they've done so much for the Resistance. This cannot be the end of them. She will not allow it.

Ren turns away, reaching out for the lightsaber. Her lightsaber. She knows that now. So she reaches out too, hoping and praying to whatever power is out there, Force or not, that it will answer her call. The weapon flies to her hand, and she does the only thing that feels right: she ignites it. The weapon is awkward in her hands, so much lighter than her quarterstaff, but it will have to do. She makes the first move, and immediately realizes that she is outmatched. Finn, at least, has all kinds of combat experience. She does not. But she will not give up.

The planet is falling apart around them, and he pushes her back to the edge of a newly-formed cliff. He looms over her, and it's all she can do to keep her guard up. Clarity comes when he mentions the Force--of course. That's the answer. It's the only one she has. Rey closes her eyes, tries to reach for it, to draw on its power, and somehow, it works. There's a newfound determination in her eyes.

Rey pushes him back, each swing holding a new kind of power behind it, one she doesn't understand but clings to desperately. He's tiring, making missteps, and finally, she lands one blow. Then another. Kylo Ren falls before her, and she is intoxicated by the power she feels. Rey stalks around him, teeth bared, merciless. She forces his saber from his hand and immediately swings again, striking him across the face. He lies in the snow, defeated, and for a brief moment, she thinks that she can end it here. She can kill him, and cripple the First Order. The look on his face tells her that he knows she could, too.

But the earth shakes again, and she is snapped from her thoughts. There's no time, she has to go. She has to save Finn.

As she flees, leaving him there to bleed in the cold, she knows they will meet again. And next time, she will not run.]

now you're out here lookin' like regret [wildcard]

[hit me up at watchet if you wanna do anything specific! i didn't post any future prompts to avoid spoilers, but i'm willing to do some closed threads if anyone is interested!]

memory 2

[redshitlord]

Rey-!

[It doesn't matter if the vision has ended. Or that he's not actually present in the room she'd been in. Because all he can think of, seeing that play out, is how much he needs to do something. He's got to. She's the only one who never left him, never gave up on him.]

[What kind of friend is he if he doesn't do something for her?]

[He actually almost runs into a wall in an effort to take a swing at the man in black. It doesn't occur to him that he should not, ever, strike a human being. This is his friend. Someone who means everything these days.]

Get away from her!

[The vision has already faded. But he's standing there, in an effort to protect her, regardless.]

Alan Bradley | Past | OTA

[alan_1]

the days of a life still permanent (past)
[The silver fog clears on a mundane enough scene. A man knocks on a door and waits, eyes framed by a thick pair of glasses looking down at something held in his hand. He looks to be in his 30s and is dressed for business in a practical grey suit. His expression is strange: a vexed smile as if both amused and perplexed.

After a moment, the door swings open. Another man in a t-shirt and jeans greets him with a sly grin.] Alan! What are you doing here, man?

[He opens the door wider and the two men walk into the foyer, still talking.]

I just wanted to congratulate you on the press conference today, [Alan says, though his pointed tone says otherwise.] Seems like the board really ate it up.

[The other man chuckles.] I knew they would. They’ve been hounding me for a new franchise for ages and this one’s gonna be big. You saw the toys, right?

Yeah, of course. And the posters and the concept art for the game. [His voice is sounding progressively less pleased as he goes on.] There’s just one thing you still need to explain… [With that, Alan produces the item in his hand with a flourish. It’s one of the promotional stickers from Flynn’s presentation, emblazoned with the title “TRON” and an illustration of the titular hero. Alan holds it level with his own face.

The man looks between Alan and the sticker with a bemused smile.] Yeah?

Flynn, he looks like me.

Yeah.

Why?

Well, what did you think I needed your headshot for?

I thought you were joking, [Alan says, exasperated.] I mean, the name was one thing, but this? [He shakes the sticker a little for emphasis.] I don’t think many people look at me and think— [A glance at the sticker.] Cyber… knight… Or whatever this guy’s deal is!

I don’t know, Alan. You can look pretty intimidating when you’re angry. [Alan gives him a withering stare. Flynn only laughs.] See? Just like that.

I’m serious, Flynn. What on Earth were you thinking?

[Flynn’s grin grows a little more subdued at Alan’s tone.] You really want to know?

Obviously, [Alan grumbles.

There’s a brief silence between them and for a moment, Flynn actually looks serious.] Well, if you're sure… [He looks down, brow furrowed. Then, he gives a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head. When he looks back up, he’s wearing the same mischievous smile as before.] The truth is, I wanted to make sure we’d only need a costume if we ever want “Tron” to make any promotional appearances. By the way, what are your measurements again?

Flynn!

Alan! [A child’s voice breaks into the discussion as a small, curly-haired boy barrels into the foyer.] Alan, you didn’t tell me you were Tron! [He thrusts a small object up at Alan’s face—meaning Alan still has to look down to see it. It’s one of the prototype toys from Flynn’s presentation, a little action figure Tron wearing Alan’s face in miniature.]

It’s his secret identity, [Flynn says, barely suppressing a laugh. Alan shoots him another look, though when he looks back at the boy, he’s all smiles.] That’s right, Sam. And you’re one of the first people to know about it.

[The awe on Sam’s face is nearly palpable.] Really? [he says breathlessly,] What about your disk? Can I see it? Can you show me how to fight with it?

[Alan makes a heroic effort not to let his confusion show.] You know, I do believe I left it at the office today. Maybe some other time.

—and your lightcycle and your lightjet, [Sam continues, expression deadly serious.]

...Okay, [Alan says, scooping the child up and carrying him to the living room where he won’t be so acutely aware of Flynn standing behind him trying not to laugh.] Just so I’m sure you really know your stuff, why don’t you tell me all about my adventures in…

The Grid, [Sam finishes.]

Right. The Grid.

[On those words, the silver fog begins to clear. The two men and the boy are gone, and in their place stands a solitary man, gray with age and smiling wistfully.

The Grid had been far more forgiving as a fairytale.]

Re: Alan Bradley | Past | OTA

[actuaryonline]

[After calling out the wrong name to who he had soon after deduced to be Alan-1, somehow younger, and not getting any response, Ram had watched the scene unfurl before him. Perhaps this was how programs saw User's memories, like how Flynn had checked his disk last week. This seems much more immersive though. Ram doesn't quite dare try to touch anything, there's a shift to it that makes him wonder if it would dissolve upon contact.

Flynn, when he appears, lacks the worried lines and grey hairs he's seen since coming to Avagi. He could have left ENCOM last microcycle. Glitch it, he might have done.

He watches quietly, though he has many building questions. It's already been made clear that he can't be heard, logical as this has already happened without his input.

As the vision fades, the Alan who looks so painfully like Tron seems to melt back into the older version Ram has become familiar with. He blinks, looks around. They're in the halls of Avagi, right where he had been before the silver smoke had overcome his vision.]

Did you see that too? [The smoke has mostly faded, but Ram steps out of the patch curling around his feet.]

I'm not sure I understand. If the purpose of those items was to introduce Tron to the User world, why would Flynn not tell you about him?

siegfried // past // cw: death

[gerechtigkeit]

[I. Is there a hero somewhere, someone who appears and saves the day?

To a child, the world can seem like a very, very large place.

Tiny legs kick against the open air, a young boy of seven sitting on a stone bench. He's snuck out of sight of his caretakers again, and has chosen to come here. Spiky and short silver hair are reminiscent of a certain tall and broad knight who resides in Avagi, but this child wears no vivid sigil on his chest or his face. That part of him won't come for many, many years. The green eyes are familiar, though, as is his determined desire to always help people as much as he can. He should be inside and being taken care of, or being taught some type of education for the day. Instead, he's out here.

And what is in this courtyard that has him so interested? It's simple- there are knights training.

Siegfried watches them with awe, his small fists balling together and pretending to hold a sword as they do. He swings it up and down, mimicking them as best he can, and imagines himself saving people and others being happy. He watches them fight in their armor, throwing each other into the ground, clashing with their weapons and braving difficult obstacles. Over and over and over again, without stopping, without ceasing. To be a knight must be the greatest honor to ever exist, and he wants to be one very much. Wrapped up in the excitement of it all, Siegfried swings wide again, yelling out a little ha, ha! for every strike he makes, turning to face the other wall-

And immediately squeaks upon seeing one of the knights staring right back at him. Oh no. Oh no, he's in trouble, isn't he? Siegfried scuttles away and hides poorly behind the bench he was sitting on earlier, half a head peeking over the edge in curiosity.

Caught in the act, his perpetrator can't help but begin to laugh, approaching and kneeling down to see him eye to eye.]

My lord-

You won't tell anyone, right? [The knight grins widely and gently, shaking his head.]

No, young prince, though I think it's time you began acting rather than simply watching. [Siegfried blinks for a moment, headtilting in an incredibly familiar way, before it clicks.]

You mean you'll teach me how to be a knight?

[There's a nod, and the knight pulls himself up at that.] Prince Siegfried, at some point in your life you must know how to defend yourself, regardless if you have your men by your side.

[That's not as important to him, not really.] I'm going to help anyone who asks me for help! I want to help people! [Defiantly, he puffs up his chest as if he's an adult and speaks loudly, much to the amusement of the other knight.] Teach me! Teach me everything! I want to be the best knight there ever was! I want to protect everyone!

[II. Someone who holds out a hand and turns back time?

The forest surrounding the area is vast and gentle, and there's sunlight that seeps through the trees. Birds chirp quietly in the silence, and everything seems relatively normal. Two men with horses are by a stream, talking about something- it's in German. Archaic German, at that, but German nevertheless. It's mostly chatter about nothing, simply the talk between two friends. Moving closer proves that one of them is Siegfried, and he seems pleased to be speaking with this other person. Hagen. The other hands him a water skin, and the hero smiles, moving to the water and kneeling to get a drink.

As he does, Hagen quietly pulls out a blade, unique in its shape, and drives it straight into Siegfried's back.

Siegfried, caught unaware, yells out in surprise, but makes no move to resist. Blood pours far too fast from the weapon, like a fire spreading through a dry bush. Still, he does not resist. He could easily kill Hagen if he so desired. Break his neck, take Balmung and slay him, he knows of so many ways. But Hagen is his best friend. So Siegfried stays, accepting and knowing that this must come to pass, for the safety of everyone else, and does not strike back. Not even as the blade twists further into him and he coughs up blood, clearly in pain. If anything, his hands curl into the ground as if to steady himself, and simply accept his death. This is what he wanted, after all- if he died, the problem he had caused would end, and his people would be safe. That is what he truly believed.

There is a weak but audible sentence as he speaks- "Thank you, my friend"- and Siegfried collapses facefirst into the stream, blood beginning to pour into the water as Hagen gazes at him, tears vividly streaming down his face. Siegfried's hair sways like a silver lining along the stream, a eulogy of his cowardice and his regret- a man whose death was by the weight of his own kindness.

He does not move. He will never get up again.]

((want something else? hmu @ chromadestino and we can hash something out :>))

2

[lavelly]

[It's not the first time he's encountered this, the idea that people can somehow survive death. Hell, it's even happened with him, even if he still doesn't understand how.

But it doesn't shake him any less. Even if survived somehow, death isn't an easy thing. Especially not this kind of death.

And then there is the matter of his final words. Lavellan can't bring himself to simply walk away from this one.]

Why did you thank him?

Ginko | past and future

[notyetsore]

A - Past (cw: body horror, eye horror, suicidal ideation)

Late at night, at the edge of a towering mountain, a small boy clambers down a rocky cliff face. The craggy surface digs into his hands, catches the edges of his threadbare kimono, but he doesn’t stop or even slow down. Not until he drops to the forest floor.

He kneels, shaking, and lifts a small object in his hands - an egg, pulsing with a soft golden light from inside. But its shell is cracked, the light flickering, and the boy stares down at it in abject horror.

“...What should I do? What should I...” His voice comes out in a shaky whisper. His breath catches, and he looks up, searching his surroundings desperately for something, or someone. “Suguro. Suguro!”

His call goes unanswered, and he starts walking, cradling the egg in his hands. The light within starts to dim, and he moves faster - then slows to a stop when he catches sight of something up ahead. A large deer stands among the trees ahead, its fur peppered with grasses and weeds that seem to grow from the creature itself, its eyes locked on Ginko.

It takes him a moment to catch his breath before he speaks up. “...Mountain god. Y-you’re alive... Please-- tell me what to do!”

He takes another step toward the deer, but it turns away, and starts to walk back into the trees. Ginko gasps and speeds up, trying to catch up to it.

“Wait-- hey! You know everything, right?! I’ll do anything!” He’s running now, stumbling over roots and stones, his voice desperate as he chases after the retreating mountain god. “If you can fix this, I don’t care what happens to me!”

No sooner does he finish that sentiment than the ground seems to vanish from under his feet.

And he falls.



The space Ginko wakes up in has no sky, and, if it weren’t for the surface holding him up, seemingly no ground. It’s wide open, dark, and featureless - except for the river. A pulsing, constantly-flowing stream of light, countless particles of something golden and gleaming, winding through the darkness.

He rises to his feet, carefully, still cradling the dying god-egg in his hands, and sees that he’s not alone. Some distance away stands the old god, the deer covered in grasses, its hooves submerged in the glowing stream. Ginko watches helplessly as the mountain god wades slowly into the light, deeper and deeper until its head is submerged, vanishing completely in the harsh golden-green glow.

“Wait-- please…” It’s too late. But he stays where he is, and his gaze rises slowly to the only other thing on the other side - a ring of pale, flickering lights, these ones larger than those in the river, evenly spaced but for a single, rather prominent gap.

Ginko watches as another bright light rises from the river, where the mountain god had disappeared, coiling and swimming through the air until it settles into the empty space in the ring.

The god’s body does not emerge.

He stands there, for a moment, understanding of something slowly dawning on his face. He takes a step forward, then another, still gently cradling the fading, dying egg, because if he can just get it to the river--

Ginko cries out in pain and drops to his knees, right at the edge of the river. He clasps a hand over the empty black space where his left eye should be, choking out a protest one word at a time as blood slides between his fingers. “Stop--! Why do you always get in my way...?”

Once he stops moving forward, the pain seems to recede, the threat of the river less imminent. He lifts his head, looking slowly up - to a pair of faintly luminous white hands, suspended, bodiless, in front of him, their flesh separating just behind the wrists into a mass of squirming tendrils. The constructed hands simply hang in the air, gently cupped, the same way Ginko had been carrying the egg before he moved it to just one hand.

The hands reach out, and Ginko reaches up in turn, depositing the egg into their hold. With the egg cradled in one hand, the other gestures, gently, over Ginko’s shoulder, back the way he came.

Then those hands dissolve, and the egg with them, and that mass of light swirls away to join the ring.

Ginko stands in place, stunned, disbelieving - then a distant voice calls his name.

Just like that, he’s back in the woods.

B - Future

Ginko is taller than before, broader-shouldered but still not muscular enough to fill his frame, making him look gangly. His long legs are folded under him as he kneels in the greenhouse, his hands occupied with weeding a bed of plants even as he glances over his shoulder every so often to talk to an unseen person behind him.

“That’s just it, though - normally I don’t mind, y’know? Gives the animals some more food, gives me something to do.” His voice carries the shaky scratchiness of adolescence, but is still steadier and more confident than it’s ever been in his childhood.

He stops his work for a moment and sits back on his heels, twisting to face his conversational partner, gesturing for a moment with a handful of weeds, and his mouth twists into a wry grin. “But, let’s be real, after last month I’m kinda burnt out on weeding-- okay, don’t give me that look, you know what I meant.”

The vision fades after that, only a few seconds’ snippet of half a mundane, un-notable conversation. By all accounts, it was nothing particularly important, not very telling of any future dangers or adventures the inhabitants of the station might face.

Back in the present, in reality, Ginko stands frozen in place, his good eye fixed on the Ingress memorial. Then tears start welling up in that eye, spilling down just one side of his face, and he still doesn’t move.

Rogue | X-Men | OTA, cw

[notmarieanymore]

[past and future prompts in separate headers. Want anything specific? I'm sheakespeare!]

[notmarieanymore]

There’s a Little Girl Lost Out in the Woods— childhood, cw: violence, child abuse

[The flashback starts with the sound of a car door slamming shut and two cops hauling a young girl, no more than fourteen, out of the back of their cruiser. The girl, with brown hair and green eyes, a familiar looking gap tooth, kept her eyes down on her dirty Converse, at the bottom of her worn-out jeans. Her hands are behind her back, and she can feel the cold metal of the handcuffs they’d put her in.

She knew these men- Officer Quincy and Officer McKay. They were her father’s friends from work, and she knew them well enough that she knew the handcuffs were just to scare her.

“Let’s get this over with, Marie,” Quincy chides as he and McKay march her up the rickety porch to knock on the front door of her home. It doesn’t take more than thirty seconds for the door to open at her mother, Priscilla- a rather plain looking woman with a round face and long dark wavy hair that was once more dark brown than white, and her father Owen, a gruff man with his beard, tall, and small dark eyes- were there in an instant.

“Oh thank god you found her, Kyle,” Owen says making a big deal of welcoming Marie back home, ushering her into the home. He shakes the hands of the officers, promising to buy the next round of beer after their next shift. Priscilla frets over her daughter, wanting to know if she’s okay. But the second their front door shuts and the cops head off to deal with the next sap, Owen gives Priscilla a dark look and at once she steps away.

“Marie.” Owen says. “Where the hell did you think you was going late last night?”

They knew the answer, that much was clear in the bag she’d packed. She doesn’t move to answer.

“Anna Marie, baby, we want you to be happy here, your father and I-“ Owen clears his throat and Priscilla falls silent again.

“You want to run wild and make a fool out of me?” Owen asks, his deceivingly calm. Marie shakes her head. “D’you want to make a fool out of me?” He asks again louder, and when she doesn’t answer a second time, he reaches out and grabs on to her bare neck. He squeezes just enough and she starts to cry. “No- No, daddy- I don’t wanna make a fool out of you!”

That satisfies him and he lets her go.

“You wanna act like some rogue, then you’re gonna get treated like one.” He reaches down with one hand and starts unbuckling his belt. “You know what to do, Marie. Shirt up- c’mon.” Closing her eyes, Marie turns her back on her father. With trembling hands she lifts up the back of her shirt, exposing a myriad of scars in various stages of healing.

Owen pulls the belt out of his belt loops and folds it in half. Marie can tell he’s smiling from behind her, as he raises the belt and bringing it down cracking across her skin. The sickening sound of leather on flesh is only drowned out by the young girl’s tears.]


There’s a Breeze in the Trees— super heroics

[This time, it’s an explosion that starts the scene. The explosion is right behind Rogue’s head, and the result is instantaneous. The roof of the jet she was in- a fancy, military grade jet- blew off with the impact of the missile. Dr. Grey, Jean, had managed to lessen some of the damage, but it’s no good.

There’s no warning as Rogue feels herself lifted up. There’s chaos in the jet as they begin to spiral downward, and she clambers for her seatbelt. It’s too late. Her grip on the chair is no use for the air pressure and Rogue is ripped, screaming, from the seat on the plane. She reaches desperately for the hands of her boyfriend, even when she can’t see him anymore.

Compared to the loudness of the jet, it’s surprisingly silent as she falls. It’s peaceful, almost, if you ignore the fact that she was headed for the ground and headed fast. There was no chance, no chance at all the X-Men could save her this time. She was dead. And now she had nothing but time to think about it until impact.

She closes her eyes, and as she does so, her savior arrives. He smells like brimstone, but his touch is warm. All five of his limbs (five?) wrap around her and hold her close. It takes only a moment for him to pull her close, and the next thing she knows there’s smoke and that brimstone smell again and she’s on the floor of the jet.

Shaking, she looks up to see the face of the man who saved her: Kurt Wagner.]

Your Black Heart Needs A Transplant— Kidnapping stories

[It’s cold here, out on the Hudson River. She’s got her jacket on still, but her arms are bound in front of her, and huddled up in the corner. Rogue is missing her white streaks still, her knees up to her chest. Occasionally, she looks at her companions: a blue naked woman, a man that looked like a feral cat, another that was supposed to be a Toad? And then the man in front of her. Older than any grandparent she might have had, she reasoned, and far too old to be wearing a cape.

Far too old to be in the business of kidnapping teenage girls.

The boat moves softly across the water, bringing the Statue of Liberty into view.

“Magnificent, isn't she?” The man asks.

Rogue bites back a sneer as she manages: “I’ve seen it.” There’s no reason to be polite when this man has kidnapped her. Besides, the Statue of Liberty wasn’t even that big of a deal anymore, right? Anyway, she’d seen it. In books.

“I first saw her in 1949. America was going to be the land of tolerance. Peace.” He continues to muse, gazing over the water and the woman looming in front of them. There’s something melancholy in the way that he talks.

She can’t let him keep talking like this, she needs answers. There re far too many and she doesn’t know where do start, so she goes with the most pressing question on her mind. She looks at this man who could be a grandpa, with warm kind blue eyes, and asks him, “Are you going to kill me?”

To his credit, he look her in the eyes when he responds: “Yes.”

But Rogue pushes on. If he’s going to kill her, there’s something she needs to know. “Why?” She challenges, trying not to let tears rise in her eyes.

“Because there is no land of tolerance. There is no peace. Not here, or anywhere else.”]

There’s A Little Toy Lost Out In The Woods
wildcard!

Lavellan | OTA

[lavelly]

[ 1. thanks i hate it ]

[There's a castle, or maybe a fortress. Lavellan stands on a rampart next to two womem; one, dressed modestly in cloth and mail, holds an ornate sword. The other is severe and imposing, with short hair and in a full suit of armor. Below them, a crowd gathers.

The woman in armor speaks: "The Inquisition requires a leader. The one who has already been leading it. You."

Lavellan stiffens, looks between the two of them, then down to the people below. They look back up at him, expectantly, even adoringly. He can't meet their gaze for long, and he turns back to the women with a mix of accusation and panic in his eyes. "What if I don't want this?"

Cassandra purses her lips, displeased. "There would be no Inquisition without you. How it will serve, how you lead, must be yours to decide."

Lavellan turns from her to Leliana, but his back remains to the crowd; even now, he balks at showing the people who follow them his uncertainty. He says nothing for long moments, his face impassive. Then, he reaches out and takes the sword.]

[ 2. jsyk lavellan sees a giant spider ]

[Three people stand in a void. No--not a void; there is land, or something like it, pieces of world that twist below them and around them with no regard to logic or order. Before them lies--well. Whatever your deepest, most primal fear, whatever might represent an acute and visceral revulvsion--it's that. Except really, really big. Suffice to say, what they're staring down is very unpleasant. And, most certainly, it cannot be fought.

One of the people, for those who might recognize her, is Marian Hawke. Another is a large brown-haired man in armor, and the two of them are arguing about who should stay and distract the thing so the other two can escape, like fools.

They can't agree, because of course they can't. So they turn to Lavellan to choose for them. Lavellan, who is not truly divine or chosen by anything, who only has prestige and authority because of the arbitrary agreement of a religion he doesn't believe in. And all he can do is gape at them.

Eventually, his gaze swings to the left like the arm of a judge. "Alistair." He can't finish the sentence.

And that's enough. All it takes is Lavellan's own decree and Alistair's fate is sealed. There's no further time to discuss. Alistair stays; Hawke and Lavellan run. They run and Alistair dies.]

[ 3. i've already been to orlais and after five minutes i was like let's go ]

[It's a ball, or a party. Everywhere people are overdressed, gilded to excess, and to a one wearing a mask like it can hide the shame of their own transparent overindulgence, if they had any. In the middle of them all, two people--Lavellan and a handsome blond man--speak in hushed tones.

Lavellan says, "Wait for for her to strike, then grab her."

Cullen, bless him, hesitates only a split-second before he responds, "As you command."

Empress Celene speaks to her congregation of guests. It's a pretty speech, mostly empty, meant to reassure her constituents while promising nothing in particular. Through the crowd, Duchess Florianne weaves her way through, a knife hidden up her sleeve. From below, Lavellan's eyes track her, his entire body tense, scarcely daring to breathe.

Florianne reaches her goal, and the knife goes straight into Celene's back. Only then does Lavellan move, as if he'd just noticed the coup at the same time as everyone else. But of course he is too late. And so Celene dies, the way Lavellan had wanted, and with no suspicion falling on the Inquisition at all--and nobody will ever know it had happened that way exactly on purpose.

That's fine. It's for the greater good, after all.]

[ 4. never ever getting back together ]

[This one is in a clearing, populated mostly by stone statues, all of horned giants in various states of battle. In the middle of them all are two men and a mirror. Lavellan kneels, clutching his left arm, doubled over in pain. Solas stands before him and simply looks endlessly sad.

"I would treasure the chance to be wrong once again, my friend," he says.

He takes Lavellan's hand in his, and an eerie green energy spreads up to Lavellan's elbow. Then Solas steps through the mirror and disappears, and Lavellan can only stare at the space where he just stood, desperate, stricken; he's bent forward like he can try to drag Solas backwards if only he can find the right words. But he can't.

Instead he faints. When he comes to again, his arm is gone.]

[ 5. probable cw for brainwashing mention in this one ]

[Two people, at night, in front of a strange machine--anything with the knowlege might recognize it as the Ingress, before its destruction by Mother. There's evidence of some spectacular fight around them: craters and burn marks, sparking and electrical fires where the exchange of magical blows damaged the wiring. Lavellan braces himself against a panel with the casing hanging off, bruised and panting. The woman near him is Hawke, again, looking only slightly better for wear.

Lavellan struggles upright, an ethereal blade in his free hand, his body angled toward where the Ingress has already been damaged. His expression, oddly, is confident, even haughty. It's obvious from the layout of the scene what's going on: Lavellan is trying to break the Ingress, and Hawke is trying to stop him. And Lavellan doesn't seem to fee any shame about it.

In fact, as soon as it seems like Hawke might be subdued, he returns his attention to the task at hand--with a single-minded purpose. He knows exactly what it is he's doing--whatever that is.]

4

[shiro2hero]

--Lavellan!

[Because, of course, he hasn't learned his lesson. Hasn't learned these are just visions. That nothing can be changed by charging in. By trying to stop or save or protect anyone. He doesn't run into a wall, this time. He skids to a stop, instead, near empty air where there had been a mirror.]

[What even had he intended to do here? Drag the bald guy back by the ears? Would that have even helped?]

[He turns, quickly enough, toward the elf, looking at him a little wide-eyed and worried.]

Are you hurt?

Frisk ♥ OTA

[gainedlove]

i: PAST; BEGIN AGAIN

You are walking home, the sun still high in the sky but clearly beginning to dip. It's mid-afternoon, and other children rush down the street around you with laughs and shouts. You take a slower pace, but smile all the same. Mom won't be home for a while, so you're on your way over to Undyne's for now. She promised she would show you and Papyrus how to make bread this time, and you're looking forward to the inevitable mess. Everything is good and right, and as you look up and down the street there fills you a feeling of accomplishment, a knowledge that this time, this time it will--

--it will--

It feels like breaking. A shattering, something deep and eternal and both beyond and integral to you ripped apart and put together again. The world is nothing for a few bare moments, before suddenly you are flat on your back in a cave, staring up at distant, fading sunlight. The flowers around you fill the chamber with a floral scent, and you are so utterly, terribly alone.

You know exactly what this means. And it makes you want to scream.

You don't, of course. You can't, it's not right for you to cry and scream in frustration and anger and mourning--you have not reason to, at the beginning of things. Your throat closes tight and your vision blurs, and you roll over to cover your eyes and pull at your hair until the pain of it all fades to a dull ache. Only then to you push yourself up and grab the stick on the ground beside you. Only then do you turn to walk down the path to the next room, a dark chamber with only one source of light--one with a small yellow flower, smiling at you with no recognition at all.

"Howdy!"

There is a faint stirring in your mind. Again, again, and again...

ii: PAST; YOU THINK YOU ARE ABOVE CONSEQUENCES

This isn't right.

That much is obvious from the start, the way this memory rips at the edges, feels wholly and entirely unreal. Like a bad recording of a film, it plays on nonetheless. It is night, the moonlight shining into a small room furnished for a child: a bed, a nightstand, a small desk and a box of toys that sits in the corner. You are curled up in the bed, back faced to the door, and all is still.

Very, very still.

Something watches.

The door creaks open, and you shift just barely to look over. Toriel's large, furry form blocks most of the light coming in from the doorway. Her expression is soft, fond...she doesn't seem to have noticed that you are awake. She walks in carefully, paws cradling a small plate that she sets hear the bed. You don't have to look to know what it is--the sweet scent of butterscotch and cinnamon is hint enough. She straightens again, looking down at you once more before quietly making her way back out, and closing the door behind her.

A heartwarming scene, is it not? A mother leaving a treat for their child, as she has done many times before, and will many times again. A reward for a job well done.

But it is not as it seems. Because you are not you. You have not been yourself for a long, long time.

Eyes snap fully open, a flash of red that is wholly unnatural veers upward to the unseen presence with a smile that promises that which had been reaped before, and will be reaped again. Over and over, until it can never be again, one way or another.

A perverse sentimentality, is it not?

iii: FUTURE; RESPITE

You stand at the top of a grassy hill, looking over a small park in town. It's not really a novel sight, but you've never seen it from this height without help before. You stand tall, confident, and the longer pieces of hair at each side of your face blow faintly is a gentle breeze. Some monsters are playing in the field below, an impomptu game of some kind that has the whole pack of them running about in glee. A smile tugs at your lips, and a feeling of warm contentment washes over you. Every day is another victory, another small trophy to place among many others.

Not real trophies, of course. Those particular perks weren't connected to your side of things.

A deep breath, in and out, and from behind you there are footsteps. Someone familiar, that lifts your heart even further and spreads your smile into a beaming, giddy grin as you turn to face...

But the vision fades before their identity is revealed. Instead all that is left is a small child with messy hair and unusually wide eyes, their expression slack in disbelief.

future

[shiro2hero]

"... Frisk?"

He hasn't seen them in a while. And, honestly, until the vision cleared, he had no idea what he was looking at. Why it felt good. Like something right had happened. Something finally gone well, instead of poorly.

Of everyone, he hadn't expected to see Frisk here, when everything cleared.

But that doesn't change anything. Not to him. He just kneels, trying to look them in the eye, to make sure they were in one piece.

"Frisk? Can you hear me? Are you okay?"

Cayde-6 // OTA

[deal_me_in]

.present // hello ɹǝɥʇoɯ

     "I don't like this..."

     "Yeah, well neither do I," Cayde agrees, his eyes flicking back down one way and then the other as they move. Things are off, even he can tell as much without his Ghost informing him. The layout's all wrong, and he's not entirely sure that he might have been chucked into some mindscape of sorts again. He hates those.

     "Cayde? Something's...here..." the Ghost murmurs, edging a little closer to its Guardian as its glowing 'eye' fixes on some point ahead down the dilapidated corridors they traverse.

     Both of them realize simultaneously what else it is that's here with them once they see what coats the walls beyond. Instantly Cayde's got his trusty Ace of Spades in hand, the handcannon grasped tightly as he draws to a stop. There's a dozen things running through his mind and all of them end in question marks. What he chooses to voice is more of a statement, and in not nearly so many words although it delivers enough emphasis for the situation.

     "Damn."


.future // The Red Legion

     Looks like just another day in the Tower. Everything's hunky-dory, Ikora's throwing verbal jabs, Zavala's wearing his famous scowl as Cayde strolls in oh-so-casually, but no one can say he isn't ready to get down to business. There's concern about sensors, signals- something. The pale blue-skinned Titan Vanguard turns back towards the enormous window that provides an expansive view of the City but little else at the moment for the thick clouds of the storm beyond.

     All at once the lazing tension tightens like the string of a bow. Something's caught Zavala's eye, and sure enough, just as he shouts for everyone to take their battle stations, the great, dark hulls of ships emerge from the cloud cover, a fleet of them all with obvious intent. The first volley is already sent flying straight for the Tower as Zavala shouts for people to take cover behind him as he erects a shimmering shield of energy around them.

     Cayde goes a different route, pulling his gun as his body catches alight in a golden flame, and he steps forward calmly, taking aim and firing off blazing shots at the incoming missiles to try thinning them out, not seeing the debris falling from above as others find their target and around them the structure rattles. In a flash the Warlock Vanguard is there, Ikora grabbing the Exo Guardian and teleporting them both within the safe confines of Zavala's shield.

     ...but even that safety lasts only so long. All eyes widen, and what hits next is blinding, swallowing everything-

     The light swirling about before the Ingress Memorial fades back to its original intensity, leaving Cayde gaping before he tosses his hands exasperatedly.

     "What, really?! This is worse than a season cliffhanger!"

future

[nyx_it]

"So... you feel like explaining what the hell I just saw?"

It's probably not the voice he's looking for. Or the explanation he's looking for. But literally none of that made any sense to her. Except Cayde and his weirdly flashy gun. Who let him have something like that? Who decided it was a good idea?

Also, who decided shooting missiles with firearms was a good idea?

"Are you okay?"

Because of course that's going to be the next thing out of her mouth. Not like she cares or anything.

agent carolina | ota

[startpoint]

[ Event prompts will be in the comments! ]

past

[startpoint]

1. The Good

[ The night club is loud, the lights overhead bathing people in a kaleidoscope of lights. She came alone but that hasn't kept her from diving into the press of bodies to dance for no reason except the sheer physical joy of it. She doesn't get to dance on duty, wouldn't do anything to make other others think she was frivolous. This isn't something she wants to share. In the morning, when shore leave ends and everyone reports back she go back to being a soldier, but for now this is all she needs.

She emerges from the dance floor to get a drink, leaning over the counter to order a drink. Except she can hear this noise-

Flick.

Snap.

Flick.

Snap.

The source of it is a few seats down from her. A man, not too bad looking, with a lighter that he keeps flicking off and on. He looks bored out of his mind and he keeps flicking that damn lighter the entire time she's waiting for her drink to arrive until it get so damned annoying she can't help walking over to him and grabbing that lighter out of his hand.

"Don't you have anything better to do?" She asks, the lighter held out of reach. He stares at her a moment before he breaks out his best smile and laughs.

"Well I certainly do now." ]


2. The Bad

[ She has to find shelter. Her shoulder is throbbing in pain, almost certainly dislocated from how fast she had been falling before she had been able to deploy her grappling hook. But that pain is nothing compared to the pounding, raw wound at the base of her neck and the horrible yawning silence in the back of her mind. Eta and Iota are gone. Maine ripped them out and all she can think of are the endless warnings about the dangers of a forced AI ejection.

"Forced ejection carries with it an increased likelihood of neurological damage" was the phrase the Counselor had used.

She can still feel the blood tricking from the port, freezing to her skin as the freezing wind hits her mercilessly. Carolina thinks of her helmet, at the top of the cliff. No comms, no way to call for help. And no one she'd trust to help her. They all turned on each other, on the program. And on her. That hurts worse than everything else, a raw wound that is already beginning to fester.

Shivering, she forces one foot in front of the other. She won't die here. She'll survive and figure out who's to blame. And then she'll kill them. ]


3. The Broken [cw: implied suicide]

[ The room is dark, the man at the table in front of her is illuminated by the screen in front of him playing an old video of a woman.

"Hello, Director."

"Hello Agent Carolina. Would you like to watch this file with me?"

"No."

The man plays it again, desperation in his voice as he insists he can do it this time. He can bring her back. This is what he's become; the person who had once meant the world to her reduced to a broken shell, unable to let go of the past. The man she hunted across the galaxy so she could put an end to him. She warns him that the authorities are coming for him, that if she can find him then others will follow. He doesn't care.

Epsilon rages, his anger a mirror to the fire that had burned in her for so many years. And for the first time in years... she isn't that angry anymore. She pulls off her helmet so she can look The Director in the eyes, tries to summon that righteous hatred as he looks back at her with those same eyes. Except she can't. All she feels for this broken man is pity. She kisses his forehead, not as absolution but because there's nothing she can do to him that's worse than what he's already done to himself. She tells Church to let go and turns to leave him when The Director grabs her arm.

"Agent Carolina? Would you be so kind as to leave me your pistol?"

She sets her weapon on the table.

"Goodbye, sir."

And then she walks away. ]