1. Home
  2. Morose

Morose Member

✨Krakoan Prince✨

Avatar of Morose

Status

Recent Statuses

7 yrs ago
My power grows exponentially each day as we come nearer to Halloween.
7 likes

Bio


Pronouns: They/he

Rp's Currently Gming:
Completed Projects:

Most Recent Posts

In Avengers Academy: X of Swords ⚔️ → 5 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


In Avengers Academy: X of Swords ⚔️ → 5 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


It was a few days past Christmas, and April stared at her phone, her finger hovering over a contact. Her time at CAGE had been somewhat of a blur, the memories hazy from the changes in her medication. But with the Contest of Champions over, she finally had the time and space for self reflection. She’d flipped out on Vicky back then. She didn’t want any antagonism hovering over her head when she returned to school after break, and she didn’t want to put her friends in a position where they’d feel like they had to pick sides.

So she took a breath and decided to follow her father’s advice.



Victoria lifted her face out of the books she was tunnel visioning on when her phone buzzed. She did not expect the name that showed up on the screen. Curiosity won over apprehension in the end and she read over the text.

Not wanting this particular conversation to simmer out lest it would make things worse, she dialed back immediately before she even made up her mind how to say what she wanted to say. ”...hey, April-” the rest of her words froze halfway up. She wanted to say that the apology was hers to give, but at the same time felt like it would be hijacking the contact April initiated. Her mind finally resolved to continue with something neutral. ”-Christmas went well, thank you. How about yours?”

She hadn’t anticipated a reply back so quickly. April had expected she’d get to stew in anxiety over how Vicky would respond - or if she would respond at all - for hours, days even maybe. Not everyone was as chronically attached to their cellphone as she was. The time she had spent with an old flip phone at the start of the school year, following her phone’s tragic accident in the flooded bathroom, had been a nightmare. So when her phone started to ring, she almost threw it across the room, so startled as she saw Vicky’s contact ID.

She hit accept on the call, and placed it on speaker phone, and set the phone down on the bed. She wanted to be able to pace during this call if she needed to - just to keep her body moving, help her process any of the feelings that came up. “Um, it was good, yeah - it was really good, we had a nice time, Danni was super sweet and cut my hair for me, our Appa made cinnamon rolls and - yeah, it was, it was good!”

April bit her lip, her heart practically ready to burst from nerves. “Listen, like I said in my text… I’m really sorry about how things went down at C.A.G.E. I was in a really bad place mentally and I lashed out at you to feel better. We don’t have to agree on things, but I shouldn’t have treated you like that. So… I’m sorry.”

”Is Danni ever not sweet?” Vicky answered, her tone carrying a hint of fondness, before sobering up. ”Hey. You don’t have anything to apologize for. I kind of deserved all that. I saw something that I either don’t understand or like on a system and I made you a lightning rod for airing it out. You didn’t deserve that, so… I'm sorry, too.”

At first, April had believed that. She’d told herself that she hadn’t started the conflict with Vicky, that she hadn’t asked for any of it. It had taken her a while to realize that it didn’t matter if she had been the one to throw the first stone - that she had still participated in it and escalated it. She struggled when it came to treating those she felt had wronged her with empathy, more than either of her brothers did. She didn’t know if Vicky’s apology made her feel any better, if it fundamentally changed things between them, but she was tired of the fighting. She was tired of feeling like her relationship with Vicky was a problem that needed to be managed every time they’d hang out in a group setting. She still didn’t understand why she’d been singled out, why she had to be the lightning rod that caught her wrath. A month ago, she would have asked.

But now, she just wanted it to be over. “He’s always sweet,” April admitted. “Even when he’s upset, it’s always from a place of caring. He doesn’t - he doesn’t get angry the same way I do.”

She was silent for a moment. “Thanks. I appreciate it. Um. You cool with starting over?” she then asked. “Not that we ever really started to begin with - I dated your best friend for a few months and I don’t think we ever really said a word to each other until… yeah. So. I’m April. It’s nice to meet you. Again.”

”I’m-” Tenth of a second pause. If Victoria was honest with herself, she didn’t see the point of making acquaintances with everybody. Maintaining a larger social circle was taxing, even. She was content never speaking to Zarina either, before she dipped. But perhaps, in this case, she should make an effort, if only to make it easier on the DDs, so Danni wouldn’t have to look over his shoulder again before acknowledging Vicky’s existence. ”-Yeah, okay. I’m Victoria. Guess I’ll be seeing you around?”

April couldn’t really tell over the phone whether Vicky was just humoring her or not. She tried not to fixate on it too much - tried not to care about the opinion someone else held about her. The phone call had been short and not as terse as she’d expected - honestly, she hadn’t really been sure how Vicky would react at all. She’d sent her a Christmas present, though, so maybe that meant something? But she didn’t know. She didn’t understand the other girl now anymore than she had before. She tried not to overthink the last line - there was nothing meant by it, there was no sinister motive, no hinting at some crisis to happen… They were just kids deciding not to fight anymore. She took a deep breath and nodded. “Um, yeah, sure. We go to the same school and you’re friends with my best friends and brothers so… would be hard not to. That’s part of - part of why I wanted to end this stupid fight between us. So um. Yeah. That’s… that’s all I wanted to say. And um - thank you for the gift. I didn’t expect it.”
In Camp Lava Lake → 5 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Nancy & Em


Nancy, of course, was not searching for path and plants - well, she was and she wasn’t. She was keeping an eye out in general for how to navigate around camp, yes, but she was more interested in seeing things they weren’t supposed to find. She doubted any body parts or weapons from previous grisly murders were left behind, of course. Maybe there was some residual nasty energy though - the feeling of being watched that she just couldn’t shake - a strange carving into a tree, an ominous bit of graffiti. Just something to make her heart twinge a bit with adrenaline, with fear.

“So,” she said to Em, moving a bit of a tree branch away from her face as she traversed the path. “What are you in for? Smoke the wrong plant at the wrong time?”

Em laughed, ”Not quite. I got caught with my dorm room still.” Em had the look of the cat who caught the canary. She was proud. ”You?” She continued down the path, marking a couple things in her notebook, but was nodding. Em didn’t seem upset about whatever plant they were writing down. Em considered asking something else, but decided against it. She didn’t know Nancy well enough yet.

She raised an eyebrow, laughing slightly at the candidness of Em’s response. “Anything interesting?” She didn’t drink alcohol herself - it didn’t really interest her. But if Em made something a little more palpable than hooch before, maybe she could replicate that here. It’d be something the others would appreciate at least. As for what she herself had done… Nancy didn’t see any reason to hide it, there was no shame in it. “My brother and I were trespassing - making a music video for our band. It’s pretty rad, you’ll have to check it out some time.”

”I like to think I make some good stuff. I’m the one most of the other students get it from too. Marco likes it. If you want, I have a couple bottles with me, you can try it.” As far as Emily was concerned Marco liking it was all she needed. Everyone one else could hate it, as long as Marco liked it. He didn’t lie if he didn’t like something she made either. He was always honest.

”Ooh, rad indeed. I do want to check that out.” Em considered something for a moment. ”Can you make sure the others don’t pressure Marco about what he did? He is innocent, and is taking it hard.”

Nancy’s blood went cold for a second. She didn’t know Marco very well, didn’t know Em, but she immediately caught the vibe - immediately understood what Em was saying without saying. Her body shook with anger for a moment at the injustice of it all. “That’s completely fucked,” she muttered, before nodding. “I’ll do what I can - I can get my brother to listen to me, but his new beau… I dunno. Between you and me, I think he wishes I wasn’t here. It’s not really romantic to have your boyfriend’s sick sister hovering. I’ll try to squash any questions that I hear.”

Em’s smile was soft, ”Thank you. That means a lot. I don’t want to punch anyone.” Her smile turned into a bright grin, one promising violence to anyone who hurt Marco.

”So my guess was right, those two are an item.” Em shifted the conversation. ”What about you, got anyone waiting for you to return from war?”

“That makes one of us, I’d love to punch someone,” she said with a crooked smile. She chafed slightly, though, as Em turned the conversation to her. She understood the impulse. Of the six of them here, four of them were already coupled up. It was something she’d been hearing more and more often in her life, probing questions of when she’d find the right guy, when she’d move out and get married and have kids, the whole shebang. There’d been a point in her life when she’d indulged those sorts of questions, thinking that when she was older, she’d start to want that… but it had never happened.

Nancy shrugged. “I’m not… really wired that way,” she offered. “No offense, but the whole thing seems real fucking grody, y’know? Letting someone else’s tongue in your mouth? Yuck. Gag me with a spoon.”

Em raised an eyebrow and assessed Nancy at the comment about wanting to punch someone. She hadn’t expected that. Nancy didn’t seem like the type. Em was just very protective of Marco, and was willing to take the damage of punching assholes if it meant making sure people didn’t mess with him.

She considered what Nancy said about kissing. Em was very fond of it. She found it satisfying. Em was quiet for a moment as she thought over a different perspective. Her gut reaction was to laugh it off. But she had spent her whole life making sure people understood their opinion was not the only one that mattered. Slowly she nodded.

”That’s alright. You don’t have to like it. I don’t like math and everyone says I should learn it. I am going to use exactly as much math as I need to do the things I enjoy. Anything else can fuck right off.”

“Ugh, I know. Math is terrible,” Nancy agreed. “I’ve almost flunked it, like, three times now. It’s like the numbers just start spinning when I look at the page.” She was happy, though, to hear that Em didn’t push - there were so many people who had told her she just needed to meet the right person, or that girls weren’t supposed to really feel those things anyway.

During their hike Em had been taking some notes. She paused. ”Damn alright, this area is off limits unless we can do some plant clearing. This part of the path is covered in poison ivy. I'll mark off the trail.”

She waved Nancy to follow her back the way they had come. ”Hmm, I don't have that issue, that sounds rough. I think I’d go mad. Math is already hard enough without it jumping off the page.”

Nancy had been more than happy to let Em take the lead here, on navigating and notetaking. She was horrible when it came to maps. She’d led Zeke down the wrong road at least a dozen times, if not more. So as Em waved for her to follow, she readily obliged. “My brain’s wired a little weird,” she offered with a shrug. “Gotta say, kinda disappointed there was nothing too grisly or grody out here… besides the poison ivy. Dobbs was acting like we’d find some cultists or something chopped up.”

”Dobbs is an ass. He was just trying to scare us. He even said himself he doesn’t really believe it. However, note that he won’t stay here after dark. So he believes it more than he’ll say.” Em found another trail and marked her note book.

”My theory about him is, that he’s lived in the shadow of this place long enough that the superstition of it all has seeped into his subconscious. He will pretend he doesn’t believe it, while acting like it is important. I wonder which building has the mass grave under it.” Em paused and looked out over the cabins arrayed around the grounds. This was a good spot she decided and marked it too. She wished she had a camera. ”Think anyone brought a camera? I didn’t think to. Dang.”

“Or maybe he’s seen something enough to get him spooked, but not enough to abandon a paycheck,” she countered. It was easy to be a skeptic in daylight. At night it was harder. “Oh, ugh. I did. It’s with my bags though. Pretty sure Demi did too.” She then scrunched up her face for a moment, thinking. “I brought my tarot cards, if we wanna ask about where the bodies are - or were, I guess.”

”We should come up here when the lights good and get some cool shots later then.” Em looked at Nancy and grinned. ”Oh I am so down for that.” The bell rung from the main cabin.

”That's breakfast. Let's head back.”
In Avengers Academy: X of Swords ⚔️ → 5 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


It was early Christmas morning in the Kingston-Gray house, and April couldn’t sleep. She was jittery and restless, as if she’d drank her weight in energy drinks and iced coffees. She kept on looking at her phone, watching the minutes slowly tick on by - waiting for it to be acceptable to go and begin the day. It felt like agony, and no activity she attempted could distract her from what awaited - no amount of doomscrolling, or crocheting, or TV, or games - none of it could take away the maddening adrenaline of anticipation. Not for gifts or holiday fun - she was incredibly excited for those, of course, but not as much as she was for this. It was finally time. She made up her mind. She’d found a dozen reference images, and had sent them to her brother.

It was time to cut her hair.

The minute her phone’s clock read six, she threw the blankets off and flung herself out of bed, clad in sleep shorts and a Harry Simmons t-shirt. She rushed out of her room, before doubling back and grabbing a pair of scissors, and then making her way one door over, and knocked on it incessantly.

“Danni, Danni, Danni, Danni, Danni, Danni, Danni!!!” She didn’t wait for him to answer, instead opening the door, and jumping onto his bed. “I need your help with something really really really important! It’s going to be a surprise for everyone!”

She held out the scissors to him. “Can you give me a boy’s haircut?”

Danni knew he was just about perfect. Sure, could his fire control use a little more refining? Sure. But at the end of the day, he was the perfect child, friend, sibling, dancer, cook, beauty guru- the list was endless. However, perfect took energy and Danni enjoyed getting that energy from sleep. The warmth of three or four blankets, a pile of pillows all comfortably tucked around him, soothing music playing soft rain on glass through the evening, and a purring dragon settled neatly on his chest while his face mask worked wonders on his skin and a sleep mask kept unwanted light from disturbing him the perfect way to wake refreshed and ready for anything the day may throw at him. Truly, who could be grumpy, upset, or frustrated when warmth and heat soaked into all of their bones and the cutest little pet gave the cutest little yawn and the cutest little tongue blep every morning? Home was a safe place to sleep – everyone knew he needed his later morning start.

Which was why, when rapid fire knocking and a sudden bounce on his bed startled Amelie awake, the resulting scramble by dragon and boy was violent. Amelie let out a puff of smoke in April’s face and tripped in her hurry to stand, claws digging into Danni’s blankets with a nasty tearing sound as she toppled. Danni screeched and struggled, surprise tightening his blankets as he thrashed, and the scent of burnt cloth filled the room as the center of another blanket smoldered. Danni yanked an arm out of his cocoon and finally shoved his sleep mask halfway up his head, peering both sleepily and irritably at his sibling. He looked at the offered scissors, eye wandering over to the clock, blinking sleeps out of his eyes as it focused, and whipped his head around so fast his neck cracked.

“It is… 6AM.” Danni croaked, disbelief at April’s betrayal shining like tears. “Rillieeeee, why do you ‘ate me?” Amelia, flopped halfway onto Danni’s stomach and got a wheeze out of him for her trouble. She eyed April and huffed in agreement.

April was not deterred. She knew that Danni liked to sleep in a little longer, but she had waited as long as she possibly could. If she hadn’t come to ask this now, she would have exploded - and that definitely would have ruined Christmas! She scooched on over as Danni and Amelie thrashed, blankets smoldering and smoke filling the air, and once she could see Danni’s eyes, she moved back on in. “I don’t hate you, I love you!” she corrected, before reaching out to take one of Danni’s hands. “What I hate is looking like a girl so I really really really need you to fix it. Pleeeeeeease? For meeeeeee? Danniiiiiiiiiiiii? I’ll owe you forever if you do iiiiiiit.”

Danni pouted. Everyone knew he was a pushover when the fam needed help and he let out a pathetic whimper, mirror quickly by Amelie as she too realized there would be no more sleep. “Fiiiiiiiine.” Danni groaned and batted April away, sleep leadened limbs untangling the mangled mess of blankets. He’d ask Pa to fix them when he woke up anyways. Danni shivered as a rush of cold air flooded into cocoon and it took a significant, a momentous, an enormous effort of will not to cuddle back into his bed. He kicked a pillow off the bed and shimmied out of the little nest he’d made, groaning as he stretched.

“Why do ya ‘ave t’ose scissors? I ‘ave t’at kit t’e ‘rents got me last year, remember?” Danni yawned through his question, picking up Amelie as she clawed at his thigh and Danni huffed with the effort. She’d started putting on weight over the break – not just because gingersnaps were apparently her favorite cookie, but she’d grown quite a bit over the past few months. She let out a sleepy grumble and curled up against Danni’s neck. He placed a kiss on her head.

“Okay, okay. Where we doin’-“ Danni yawned again. “T’is? Do we ‘ave time for coffee? I don’t t’ink ya want your ‘air cut wit’out coffee in my tummy.”

“Oh,” April had completely forgotten that Danni had actual supplies for this. She had been too excited when the idea solidified in her mind to do much more than grab an implement that would do the job. She had absolutely no idea at all how hard it was to cut hair. She would have done it herself, but she didn’t think she would have been able to cut the hair at the back of her head very well - and she knew Danni had been interested in this sort of thing at one point. She could have asked Pa, but she wanted to surprise everyone. “Uhhh…. We could do it in the bathroom? Do you have… one of those hair vacuum things to clean up with? Pops and Appa would lose their minds if we just left the hair on the floor. Or I guess we could just use a broom?”

At the prospect of having to wait for coffee, she pouted, her lip curling. “Fiiiine fine we can have coffee and then hair?”

Danni nodded and shuffled out of his room, gesturing in some vague direction of the upstairs bathroom. “Brin’ t’e chair ya wanna sit in. I’ll drink some of t’e cold- “ Another yawn interrupted his sentence and he didn’t bother picking in back up. Amilie snuffled, drifting in and out of sleep because Danni was moving, and Danni rested his head on hers for a moment. It was quiet in the house – Dee would be walking up soon, if he wasn’t already, and Pops was probably already out on a run. Papa was definitely still snoring and Appa would be getting up to make breakfast soon. Danni shivered as cold drifted up off the snow enchanted onto the stairway railing and he made an agreeable noise as Amelie curled into him to avoid it.

“Gunna ‘ave ta move or suffer in a sec. Gotta get t’e cold brew and t’at mean’s a whole lotta cold. Whatcha… Ope, okay.” Amelie puffed out an irritable huff of smoke and Danni got the point. He blew a stream of candle light across her back and it flickered against the dark hours of the house. Amelie hummed appreciatively and settled back down, eyes flickering closed. Danni hoped it would be enough because he was not awake enough for those claws in his shoulders this morning. He stopped in front of the kitchen, prayed to whoever was listening (and yes, he knew he could trim the claws more often, but dragons did not like personal care and a dragon was a dragon, no matter the size!), and gently opened the fridge. Danni was not prepared. Much like himself, Amelie was cold adverse and the second the fridge opened, she was off like a shot. It took everything in Danni not to scream bloody murder and Amalie clambered up his shoulder, leapt off, hit the ground hard, and scrambled back upstairs hissing and grumbling back into his bed. She didn’t even look back to see where Danni lay, thrown off balance by the sudden movement, and he stared at the ceiling for a long moment.

He was too tired for this.

Back of his head throbbing and choking back tears, he popped open the fridge and fished out the pitcher of ice coffee. He considered the cabinet for a moment. It was too far away and he really didn’t want to move, so he instead drank straight from the pitcher. The coffee hit his tongue and he sighed contently as he gulped down mouthful after mouthful. Everything was better after coffee in his entirely correct opinion. Even the heartbeat in the back of his head felt better. Kinda. Danni considered calling Pops but he really didn’t need a lecture on dragon safety early in the morning. Instead, he shoved the pitcher half empty back into the fridge, grabbed a plastic bag, and filled it with some ice so he could at least numb out the pain for a bit. Far more awake than he was earlier, his shirt’s shoulder torn to shreds, Danni made his way back upstairs, his usual bounce back in his step as the caffeine (or at least the thought of it) hit his system.

Upstairs, April was becoming increasingly aware of how little she had thought through this plan. On some level, she’d expected Danni to already have a chair in mind. She definitely didn’t. So when she went back to her room and saw her gaming chair, she almost grabbed it to drag to the bathroom - the only thing stopping her being the realization, as it was already halfway to the door, that it had too high of a back for this. So she needed another chair.

Maybe one of the chairs from the kitchen?

She left her room again, about to go bounding down the staircase into the hallway, only to hear a modern tragedy. A symphony of thuds and hissing and tearing fabric and shed tears. With each noise, April winced, praying desperately that would be the end of it - but it kept on continuing. Her excitement about the haircut gave way to remorse, shame, concern, and dread. She’d known Danni would be sleepy… she didn’t know he would be a danger to himself.

Her face was bright pink as she stood frozen in the hallway. “Danni… You okay? … You can go back to bed if you want to?”

Danni laughed softly and poked April on the nose. “Naaaah, t’e coffee’s been drank, t’e dragon is awake, and its time ta cut some ‘air. Just gotta change my shirt, tbh. Gunna be distractin’ wit; all t’is. Grab t’e chair! Appa’s gunna make breakfast soon and I want first dibs!” Danni a Christmas song as he headed into his room, dug out another sleep shirt and pants, and changed. Danni didn’t bother closing the door as he did and he giggled at the dragon shaped bundle under his blankets. “Aw, my little baby all curled up. I’m jealous; I ‘ave ta brave t’e cold and dark all by my lonesome, what am I gunna do?” Danni laughed as Amelie popped her head out, gave him an unamused look, and licked her snout. He pressed another kiss to her head.

“Go back to bed, sleepyhead. I’ll wake ya for breakfast.” Amelie purred in contentment and did just that, but not before Danni could snag a photo on his phone. He bit his lip for a second as he positioned a little cartoon Christmas hat on her head and set it as his background, fired it off to everyone in the family chat, and beelined it back to the bathroom before stopping, whirling around, digging out the barber kit he was gifted (that he definitely used for longer than a week and anyone who says otherwise is a liar) and then beelined it for the bathroom.

In the meantime, April had hurried down the stairs, making a mental note that she owed her brother a thousand favors, and snatched up one of the chairs from the dining room. She then sprinted back up the stairs, worrying more about speed than noise - she didn’t care if Pops came back from the run and heard her moving around, but if he got wind of what they were doing and the surprise was ruined? Christmas would be a disaster and that was absolutely not allowed! She didn’t get many chances for a shocking haircut and she didn’t want to let this one slip through her fingers. She nearly slammed into Danni as she made it to the bathroom with the chair, before fixing him with a euphoric grin.

“I’ve told you you’re the best, right?” she asked, before squealing slightly. “Ahhh I’m so excited!!! Should I sit in the chair now or is there something we need to do first or…?”

“Chair, please, and t’en let’s look t’rough whatcha sent me.” Danni instructed as he laid out the stuff from the kit. Danni propped up his phone and with a few taps, Christmas music blared out of the speakers and he was swiping through the reference pics. “Daaaaaamn, Rillie. You really goin’ in ta t’at 80’s rocker vibe, huh? I love it!” Danni shimmied along with the music as he played with April’s hair. Buzzing down along the side, partition and scissors along the top, should be easy enough! Although the kit didn’t come with them, there were enough people in this house who needed them that with a pull of a drawer (and another and another and another because Danni could have sworn he stashed some around here), he produced a few hair clips and he started pinning the hair he didn’t want to buzz off out of the way.

“Should get some fun stuff for your ears now t’at everyone’ll see t’em easier. Oh, maybe some ear cuffs if ya don’t want piercin’s!” [/color] Danni commented. Even as he prepped April’s hair, he didn’t stop dancing and picked up the buzzer, clipped on a short guard, and sheared off everything along the sides. It was almost hypnotic, watching as hair fell off pass after pass. Danni got why people cut hair – it was kinda fun, changing how people looked! He could imagine it was annoying if people made bad choices, but this would suit Rillie well! It wasn't long until he was done with steps 1 and 2 and he put the buzzer on the counter and just ran his fingers tips along fine hairs. Everything was even, everything was clean shaven.

“‘ow we feelin’ the cut so far? Still wantin’ ta go wit’ t'is style? T'is is t'e last stop!”

Every time April had had her hair cut before, she’d never really known what she wanted to do with it. And every time she’d looked in the mirror when it was done, this sense of unease and disappointment would fill her. It was to the extent that April had assumed that everyone hated getting haircuts because it was impossible to like the outcome. (And of course, the itchy feeling afterwards didn’t help). It hadn’t mattered before if she went to a hairdresser or if Papa had taken the scissors to it - it hadn’t mattered if it was styled into braids or curls or pinned up or let down, it had always just been… blah.

But as Danni paused in the cut, and asked her how she was feeling… For the first time in her life, she didn’t have to lie. She blinked back the tears that were forming in her eyes as she stared in the mirror and saw herself looking back - not a stranger, but her. Really her. “I-it’s so so good!!” April screeched. And then nodded frantically. By no means did she want Danni to stop here. Even the ticklish sensation of her now dramatically shorter hair being touched didn’t bother her. She reached a hand up to feel it, and it was trembling - not from her medication, but just from sheer joy. “I never - I - I didn’t think anyone was supposed to like - to look at the mirror and see - see me. It’s fucking in-in-incredible,” she choked out.

“Rillie, you gotta ‘old it in if you want t’is ‘aircut. If you cry, I cry, and we end up on the floor again and t’en t’e ‘air doesn’t get done and it’s breakfast time and-“ Danni took a short step back, waving the tears out of his eyes. He was a reflexive crier, sue him. Once he felt a little more in control, Danni set about to portioning their hair again. Using scissors would be more difficult since they still wanted the length but considering how smoothly Danni handled it so far, he was brimming with confidence. He did a quick check of the reference photos again, questioned the mullet decision, and then decided it was fine – Rillie could pull it off with the right product. “Oookay, we’ll cut the larger sections off dry, add a little moisture, trim up, dry you out, and then style! Sounds good, yeah?” Danni didn’t wait for a response, instead starting to cut larger sections of hair off. His noise wrinkled as it hit his sock, but he powered through it – it wasn’t like Danni was going to be seen in this for Christmas anyways.

April shut and reopened her eyes firmly several times, attempting to stop the near flow of tears. “Sorry, I’m trying!!” She was a crier through and through - an instinct she had spent much of her life trying to deny, trying to suppress. It had gotten harder to hold back the tears since her time in CAGE, since she was forced to face the reality of the black stormcloud inside her mind. But those tears had been born of pain and insecurities, fears of failure and disappointment, and anguish each time she looked in the mirror, seeing someone else in the reflection. She had convinced herself it was better to hide and suppress how she felt instead of being honest - to manage her burdens alone instead of allowing her loved ones to help - that if she let them see who she really was, they would leave her in disgust.

The tears now weren’t from that pain, though - or rather, they were, yet in a fundamentally different way. The water pooling in her eyes was from joy and relief - from a rapidly swelling happiness that threatened to send her floating away. Somehow, she managed to keep them at bay. “Sounds amazing!” April agreed, resisting the urge to nod enthusiastically - she knew to keep her head as still as possible. “You’re doing such a good job, I can’t wait to see it!!! And everyone is going to be so surprised when we show them!!”

The larger cuts came out as close to perfect as Danni could make happen in their bathroom at 6:15 in the morning. He turned April’s head left and right, just to confirm, and pushed her head over the sink. “I don’t ‘ave a spray bottle so uh… just gunna try ta get t’is just damp and not a touch more.” Danni carefully flipped the faucet and, guarding the hair from the direct stream, took handfuls and shook it gently across her hair. After a few times, Danni pulled April back and worked the water through their hair so it was relatively even and damp. “’onestly, worked way better t’an I expected so let’s keep t’is success train goin’!” Danni cheered, grabbing his comb and scissor and singing along with Jingle Bell Rock.

April had giggled a little bit about Danni’s frets over the water. If it had been too wet, she could have fixed that in a heartbeat. She probably could have dampened it for him, too, but he had already pushed her head into position over the sink and she wasn’t about to argue with him. He was in his element here.

It came out… fine. Everything was kinda even, nothing was incredibly janky, and Danni wasn't certain how it would be when it dried but he put down the scissors. “So, uh, t'ere it is! Tada!”

April looked in the mirror.

Really looked at herself. It wasn’t someone else, it was her. It was her face, her eyes, her hair. She didn’t look pretty or beautiful. She looked handsome. She grinned widely, taking it all in for another moment, not wanting to look away - as if somehow, the long hair would come back the second she did, and it would all have been a dream.

She wished she’d been born a boy.

“Danni, it’s AMAZING!!!” April screeched, getting up out of the chair and giving him the absolute biggest hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you thank you thank you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” She couldn’t help herself, jumping up and down even as she embraced him. “We gotta show the ‘rents!!! And Dori!!!! It looks so good - professional even!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
In Avengers Academy: X of Swords ⚔️ → 5 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


Earlier that day, Percy had bade his mothers farewell, as the cold gates of the California Asylum for the Genetically Enhanced closed around him. He had felt the last pieces of his powers ebb away, an aching void left behind in their place. There would be no teleporting to escape, no ease of communication with every language at his fingertips - no borrowing the astral from Dorian, no panic attacks that mimicked the behavior of a Poltergeist. He was just like everyone else in this place; incomplete.

The first few hours consisted of orientation to the program - a unique approach to rehab, primarily after school outpatient, with just a few days of inpatient at the start. If all went well, he would be released before the holidays had ended, and be able to spend a few nights of Hannukah with his loved ones. The medical examination had proceeded relatively quickly, as while he was theoretically supposed to spend the next few days detoxing, James Kingston had already purged his system of any lingering toxins. The last thing on his schedule, before he was due to eat lunch and have an hour to himself, was to meet with his therapist.

Unfortunately for him, they had already met.

Percy knocked thrice on the door to Dr. Whitehall’s office, and waited nervously. The clothing standards in the asylum meant that most of what he normally would wear was unacceptable - so instead, he had on a pair of loose fitting sweat pants, a simple t-shirt, and a rather oversized light blue Kirby sweatshirt.

Dr. Whitehall had been a bit surprised to hear that a former client of her’s had been admitted to CAGE. She was a bit more surprised to hear that it was Percy and that part of his treatment plan had been rehab. While she was thankful organizations like the ones she worked for offered substance use aid for minors, it was still surprising to hear of a youth who used substances as a means of coping.

She read the literature, of course. Adolescents were using drugs or alcohol far more than in past years due to ease of access. Marijuana was a major one given its legality and plentiful avenues of obtaining it, but it was also just as likely to see one use harder substances. Alcohol was also freely accessible given that the youth’s parents more often than not had cabinets stocked with the stuff.

Dr. Whitehall finished her notes when she heard the knock. She stood up and maneuvered herself over to her sitting area. Two comfortable armchairs and a couch were situated in the middle and a coffee table with various things on it like magazines, books, and some fidget toys. ”Come in,” she stated warmly. Once Percy walked in she gave him a warm smile. ”Welcome Percy, please take a seat where you like. Can I get you something to drink?”

“Isn’t that why I’m here?” Percy said a bit sharply. He entered the office and noted that it was somewhat different from the last time he’d been there. Whitehall had redecorated. He took one of the armchair seats, and shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

Dr. Whitehall noted the sarcastic response and let it slide. If it had been another client she may have called them out on it. Defensiveness disguised as humor. She sat down on the other armchair. ”All right, why don’t you tell me why you’re here?”

“My family believes I’m an alcoholic,” he said succinctly. He didn’t go into the details about how he had been caught hungover by his boyfriend’s father, and he had told his mothers during the week they were competing in the Contest of Champions. He didn’t say why he drank, or why he didn’t believe he qualified as an alcoholic…. Or at least, he desperately hoped that he didn’t. He hoped that his mame was right - that he wasn’t quite there yet. He hadn’t meant to come in defensive and abrasive, but it had happened all the same. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to go home.

”Well, we don’t often admit people here based on beliefs. Typically, there is evidence of something going on. The quicker we admit that, the quicker treatment will go, and the sooner you will be out of here. So, why does your family believe you are an alcoholic?”

Percy raised an eyebrow. “You don’t often?” But he shifted in his seat uncomfortably. She was right, though. He wanted to leave. So he needed them to decide that his treatment was complete, which should be… well, he could handle it. He wasn’t an alcoholic yet. This was no different than going to the doctor for something preventative. He had done harder things during his time at Margaret Carter, and he would do harder things still. This was just a blip, just a bump in the road.

“My boyfriend’s father caught me hungover. He told my mothers… and they decided to send me here. But I’m not - I’m not an alcoholic. Not yet. I have it under control. I can… I can stop.”

Dr. Whitehall made some notes on the tablet in front of her. ”Ah, I see. You have complete control of your consumption of alcohol despite being well below the legal age limit of it. Tell me Percy, how often do you drink and, when you do, how much do you consume?”

He glared slightly at the comment. He did, in fact, have complete control. He was smart enough to be able to use it as a tool. There was no danger in becoming addicted. His risk was low, and he could stop whenever he wanted to do so. But… he winced internally as he realized where he had started - just a shot or two - and where he was now… “Once a month or so,” he estimated. “…A third of a bottle of bourbon.”

”And what is your goal when drinking? Do you do so to get drunk or do you use it as a way to cope with what you are feeling, like stress or anger?” Dr. Whitehall needed little help to ascertain how Percy was feeling. He knew, deep down, this was a problem, but his strong emotional denial was overpowering it. He also felt nervous, most likely because he was in a facility that would, in fact, call him out on his bullshit.

Percy paused for a moment. He didn’t really see the difference between those two options. He would get wasted in order to manage feelings that threatened to overwhelm him. It allowed him to dull his emotions, to shut them off for a while, and escape. “It’s a tool for when I’m overwhelmed,” he said, sidestepping the two options. “It… it dampens things down.”

Dr. Whitehall nodded. ”That makes sense. Alcohol is a downer, which means it dampens things like emotions. But it also means it dampens other things like our ability to reason and make informed decisions. It doesn’t solve anything, it is merely a bandage and not an effective one.”

“I want to revisit how your moms found out. You mentioned you were caught hungover. What prompted you to drink then?”

He pointedly looked away from her. It had been a week or so since the incident. A week or so since he had been so consumed with nerves and anxiety over meeting Dorian’s family, whether or not they would approve of him, whether or not he would be acceptable, that he had been unable to sleep. The fear had kept him wide awake and moving, a sea of emotions he had threatened to drown underneath the waves of. It had been easier to drink, easier to dull things out so he could let his mind slip from that space, to refocus onto gentler things.

“My ability to reason was fine,” Percy grumbled. “I was meeting my boyfriend’s family the next day, and I was… I was nervous that they wouldn’t approve of me. I couldn’t sleep. So I drank. Nothing bad happened. I didn’t get hurt. No one else got hurt. I don’t drive a car, so I didn’t need to worry about getting into accidents. I just stayed in my room. It was perfectly safe.”

”I notice you got defensive almost immediately, as if you expected me to judge you for that decision. Despite appearances, I’ll grant you, this is a judgment-free zone. It is understandable to be nervous when meeting a partner’s parents. A lot is riding on that. You want them to like you, but you want to be sure they like who you really are and not some image of someone they expect for their child. I imagine that was a lot of pressure.”

“Have you ever had a panic attack before Percy?”

He frowned. Had he ever had a panic attack? “Can you define it?”

”It looks different for everyone, but some common signs include feeling a tightness in your chest, difficulty catching your breath, an increased heartbeat which could lead to sweating or headaches or shakiness. People find it difficult to control the worry they are feeling. They may feel cold or hot. It typically doesn’t last long but I know some people say it feels like they are having a heart attack. Similar symptoms.”

Oh.

He had definitely had a panic attack before. He had had one during the last fight of the Contest of Champions, when Dorian had merged with Billy and Danni to become some sort of cosmic deity. He had had one later that same day, when a figure from his past had suddenly appeared, and given him a hug. There were others that came to mind too, ones that were less public. He had had one the night after Arcade attacked them all, in the quiet of his room. He had had many in middle school, usually spiking after a particularly vicious bout of bullying.

He nodded to Dr. Whitehall.

”It’s very common for people who have panic attacks to get worried about having another one so they often look for quick solutions or fixes to it. I am not suggesting that is what you are doing, but a common one is using substances. The thing is with those quick solutions is that it might be good at first, but it isn’t permanent. It’s like with medication. Our bodies grow adjusted and then it becomes less effective.”

“While there is no cure for panic attacks, there are ways to minimize them, to use different coping mechanisms in the moment to help mitigate the symptoms. That is, if you want. Having panic attacks is scary, but it is a natural way our bodies react to stress. It doesn’t make you weak or a failure. It makes you human.”

“Technically I’m not human, I’m a mutant,” he mumbled. He didn’t know why he felt the urge to be such a contrarian, to criticize every little detail that he could. He knew that Dr. Whitehall meant well by him, and knew that she had helped a lot of people he cared about before. It should have been simple to just cooperate with her - but being honest with her felt suffocating, felt like the walls in the room were closing in around him. Lashing out, even just a little, helped him to feel a little more in control - a little more like he could leave whenever he wanted, that he wasn’t being held here. That he didn’t have a problem - that it wasn’t too late. “But I don’t drink all the time. So I don’t need to escalate it,” he argued, lying to himself. It was easier to pretend it had never changed, that he was still the master of his own mind.

”I’m a mutant too. And oddly enough we share a lot of similarities with the average human being, such as panic attacks. Drinking doesn’t always look like how it does on tv or in movies. You know, the person at the bar every night getting drunk and stumbling off or the ones in the parking lots screaming at every person. More often than not those who have drinking problems tend to look like every other person on the street. Some hide it better than others. Some make excuses for it. Some even convince themselves they need to do it or that it isn’t as bad as it seems. And maybe it isn’t. But it gets bad. And it continues to spiral until that person is at the edge and either stumbles forward and gets hurt or is able to pull themselves back.”

“But the only way to work on it is to admit there’s a problem. Otherwise there’s no amount of talk therapy or medication or what have you that will do any good.”

He was silent for a moment, thinking. He knew his mothers believed he had a problem, his boyfriend’s father believed he had one, and his boyfriend, too. The pained look in their eyes as the subject was ventured had crushed him. Even if he didn’t believe there was anything wrong, they did. And he never wanted them to look at him that way again. He didn’t want to make his mothers cry, he didn’t want to break Dorian’s heart.

But… could he really be an alcoholic? He was too young for that - too smart, too careful. He… wouldn’t he know if he was addicted? He fidgeted in the chair again, remembering what the ice caves in Jotunheim had shown him, when Leah had been separated from him and Dorian. The vision hadn’t been one he wanted to take in. It sent a shiver down his spine just to recall it. He had seen himself, angry and alone - lashing out at the people he cared about, becoming angry and violent - the increasing need, the bottle whose bottom would never be drained. It consumed him, bleeding his soul, aging his body prematurely. And when his life came to an end, there was no one there to mourn him - he’d died in an alley, his fingers still clutching the bottle. He shut his eyes for a moment, taking a steadying breath.

“Wouldn’t I know?” he asked, his voice very quiet, very small. “If I’m addicted?”

Dr. Whitehall took a moment. ”You might think so, but addicts don’t see themselves as addicts. If they did we would have a lot of people in rehab or treatment. Addiction is unlike other mental health diagnoses because it relies more so on the person going through it to admit they have a problem versus any doctor or therapist telling them. If someone is depressed, they may not know and go seek out help and are then diagnosed with it. An addict may be told they have an addiction, but it is up to them to determine if that is correct or not. And though there is empirical evidence of addiction running in families, we are also noticing a large trend of it coming up in people with no history of it. Likely due to ease of access as well as stress.”

He nodded slightly. And then Percy frowned again. There was a contradiction there he wasn’t fully comfortable with - that addicts didn’t see themselves as addicts, but needed to affirm that they did indeed have an addiction. The idea caused his stomach to twist up into knots. His thoughts flickered back to the conversation he’d had with his mom, his mame, back in New Orleans - how his mame’s voice shook as she asked him what was happening, as she confessed to him that she had failed him once again, and how much it hurt that she could not reach him. He shut his eyes once more, and kept them closed. But all he could see was the heartbreak on her face.

“So… if I am an alcoholic… what am I supposed to do?” his voice shook.

Dr. Whitehall paused a moment. The first step was always admitting there was a problem. Even tentatively. ”If you were an alcoholic, I would recommend starting to find ways to cope with high emotional moments that alcohol was the go-to, with the understanding that quitting cold turkey never works. Gradually we would wean you off alcohol. I could also gather a lit of places that offer AA services or AA-adjacent if you wanted to find support there, though I recognize that’a hefty step. But there are groups that allow for family and loved ones to join so if you wanted I could find ones where your mothers or even your boyfriend could come with, if you wanted.”

“But I’m underage - isn’t that illegal?” Percy asked, surprised. The legality of the situation hadn’t stopped him from drinking before, but he hadn’t expected the therapist at CAGE to tell him he could still drink. He doubted his mothers or boyfriend would be thrilled about that idea. He had come here anticipating that he’d be told he could never consume alcohol again, that he would spend the rest of his life as the designated driver - or teleporter - at parties and holidays.

The idea of being able to bring his mothers and boyfriends to Alcoholics Anonymous meetings was also surprising - but intriguing too. He didn’t know if Dorian would want to come with him to those meetings. He hadn’t taken the news he was going to rehab very well. Percy tensed at the memory - how crushed and disappointed he’d been. His interest in bringing Dorian to an AA meeting was selfish. It would make it easier for him. But he was afraid it would make it harder for Dorian.

His mother Dominika would go if he asked, he knew as much. And yet, he also was aware that he wouldn’t find much comfort in her presence. He loved his mother dearly, but she approached the world as problems to be solved. He didn’t need her trying to fix him at an AA meeting. So that left his mame, Naomi. She would want to go, even if it broke her heart. She would set herself on fire to keep Percy warm. He wanted her there. He did. He wanted to be able to hide behind her, just as he had when he was small.

But it wasn’t fair to her, just like it wasn’t fair to Dominika or to Dorian. He couldn’t - he wouldn’t ask that of them.

“I don’t know if I can ask them to go with me to an AA meeting,” he said quietly, looking down. “I already hurt them too much.”

”Let me be clear, I am not advocating for you to continue drinking and I think we are already beyond concern for legality. The fact you got help before potentially being arrested is a small blessing. That is why I encourage finding ways to manage your emotions using other methods, but addiction is not a one-size-fits-all-solution methodology. It works different for everyone.”

“And I think you may be underestimating your loved ones. They may be hurt, sure, but I am willing to bet their love for you outshines any potential harm that may have occurred. But it is your choice.”

Percy’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Hadn’t she just said the plan would be to wean him off of alcohol? A small bit of frustration bubbled up within him. He wanted to protest that he never would have been arrested but… all of the alcohol he consumed had been stolen. And while his powers had only achieved consistency now due to the intense training for the contest, they had never failed him before when it came to swiping a bottle. The realization made him feel nauseous. Alcohol had been enough motivation to give him fine control when other things had failed. He felt the sudden urge to scream.

He bit the inside of his cheek, and then tried to take a steadying breath. Maybe Dr. Whitehall was right. Naomi had gone on sabbatical from Columbia just to be here for him, and Dominika was spending every waking hour in the lab, researching quantum entanglement. Dorian had even been writing letters for him, filled with flowery language on wax sealed parchment. And of course, he’d accompanied Leah and him on the impromptu trip to Asgard and Jotunheim.

He scrunched up his face, as his heart began to pound. “Okay,” he mumbled. He took another breath. He felt the familiar energy swirling up inside him, but there was no power to direct it to - no teleport that would let him run away and reject this reality. If mutant powers shaped personalities, his had shaped his avoidance. “So I am… an… alcoholic.”

Dr. Whitehall set her tablet down on the end table next to her. ”I am very proud of you Percy. Admitting it is always the first step. If you want we can get into what next steps would work for you or we can take time and process things, give you the space to be where you need to be to move forward. Afterwards we can discuss next steps and the time frame so we can get you on a good treatment plan and out of here as quickly as possible.”

Percy was quiet for a moment. It had been harder than he’d realized to say that - he felt so fragile all of the sudden, so vulnerable. As if a crack had started to form underneath the pressure, and one good blow would be all it took to force him to come apart. He didn’t know what he wanted to do. He felt like all of his nerves were shot and fried, like he was about to collapse.

He extended his silence for a while. Just breathing and avoiding eye contact with the doctor. It might have been seconds, minutes - he didn’t really know - before he spoke again.

“I don’t know how I move forward from here,” he admitted, and his voice cracked. “I don’t… I don’t know…” He felt so very small.

Dr. Whitehall moved a bit closer, not enough to invade Percy’s personal space, but enough to provide support in case it was needed. ”Percy, I want you to take five deep breaths for me. After that I want you to do another five deep breaths. Then the first step towards getting better has begun and the only way to go is forward. You have help, you have support should you need it. And if you stumble, then we pick ourselves back up and we keep going.”

Percy scooted slightly over, to maintain the distance between them. But he did as the doctor instructed. He breathed in. He breathed out. He breathed in. He breathed out. He breathed in… and he crumpled, his chin wobbling as tears began to flow, tears that he couldn’t stop, that he couldn’t handle.

Dr. Whitehall pulled a tissue box closer to them and allowed Percy to let it out. The fact he was so young and dealing with this was an emotional gut punch, but it still gave her some hope, especially knowing his family and friends were behind him in his support, that he would pull through, even if the journey itself would be ongoing.



The next morning, Percy was due back in Dr. Whitehall’s office. He’d had the unfortunate pleasure of having gotten to know one of his fellow patients, a deranged twink named August. So in some respects, he was glad to be here in Maeve’s office. At least the danger of being licked was greatly reduced. His eyes were a little red and puffy. He’d spent more time the previous day crying than he would have liked to admit.

Dr. Whitehall finished typing up some progress notes in time for the next session with Percy. It was a rough go at first, but he got there in the end. Deep down she figured he knew it was a problem, but it can still be scary to admit it. No one likes to admit weakness, even ones that can be understandable.

The room was the same as before as she waited for him to arrive. Hopefully this next session they could get into some of the root causes for why the addiction even started.

He knocked on the door thrice, before slowly heading inside. His eyes swept around the room, noting that its decor had not changed since he’d been here last. He remembered what Dr. Whitehall had told him before, how she changed the room’s environment to suit her patient. He looked much the same as the day before too, still wrapped up in his boyfriend’s gaming hoodie like a security blanket.

He didn’t know if Dr. Whitehall wanted to speak first or not, as he took the same seat he had in the previous session.

”Hello Percy, welcome back. A lot happened last session so I’ll leave it up to you if you want to process anything we discussed or anything you felt or if you want to move on to something else. Also, if you have questions about what this treatment process will look like I am happy to answer. First things first, though, how are you feeling today?”

Percy nodded slightly, taking in the information from Dr. Whitehall. He had quickly realized a significant amount of his time in rehab was spent going over logistics - what treatment would look like, when it would happen, who was appropriate to reach out to, and so forth. He suspected that was the primary reason they had for holding him there for a few days of in-patient - just to speed run through the bureaucracy.

As for how he was feeling… the word that came to mind was itchy. He could still feel the remnants of August’s tongue on him, as well as every accidental bump and brush from patients and staff. Their voices were too loud, their stares too long, and the insistence some of them had on making eye contact was excruciating. It didn’t help either his difficulties in absorbing himself in a book, given the limited languages he had to draw on - or the pins and needles feeling of being exposed to power dampeners for this long. He was lucky he would only be here for a short period of time. He didn’t want to know what would happen if he was subjected to them for years.

His automatic answer would have been to inform the doctor that he was fine.

But he had gotten into this mess by lying to others - by lying to himself.

“Not great,” he admitted, focusing on Dr. Whitehall’s ear rather than her face - a trick he’d learned to make people think he was maintaining eye contact. “The power dampeners make my body feel numb, but in a sharp way, almost. And I find the constant touches and chatter here at the asylum overwhelming, like nails on a chalkboard.”

Dr. Whitehall was not surprised by the power dampeners causing irritation. For those not used to such things, it could feel like a part of you was being actively suppressed. There was a reason for them, though. ”The dampeners do have that effect, I apologize. They are a necessary evil here. If you want I can see about prescribing something to help. Nothing major, just some medicine to help mitigate their impact on you. Up to you, of course.”

“When you say touches and chatter, what do you mean exactly? Is someone touching you that shouldn’t be? The staff or some of the patients? The staff should be respecting personal boundaries if that is the case, but we can only do so much about the other patents unless we are told. Have you had this feeling before outside of CAGE?”

He didn’t want to take any medicine from here. He’d seen enough of his fellow patients to want to steer clear of it all. If he couldn’t have his powers, he at least wanted to keep his wits. As for Dr. Whitehall’s question about who was touching him… his thoughts flashed to August. The licking, placing his head in his lap, pressing up against him, slapping his crotch. He could have told her right now and ratted him out, but the way the other boy had seemed almost… scared? He’d told Percy he needed help. He was also fairly certain he wasn’t supposed to have brought in erotic books to CAGE anyway, so he stayed silent. Mutually assured destruction.

“They’re just accidental brushes,” he lied. Some of them had been, yes. The head, not so much. “It’s no one’s fault.” He wasn’t a snitch.

The other question was easier to answer. “Yes. My entire life.” It hadn’t been as extreme the entire time, of course. He hadn’t always had to take a deep breath before hugging his mothers. He hadn’t always felt like he’d been shot when someone gave him a clap on the back. That had come later - that had come with Chase.

Dr. Whitehall noted the emotions coming off of Percy. He wasn’t being honest with her, but there was probably an underlying reason for it. Worry, concern, fear. She made a note to have staff keep an eye out more on who interacts with Percy moving forward in terms of the other patients. She had a feeling she knew who it was, but left it at that. ”Can you give me a sense of what it feels like when you are physically touched. What emotions are drawn up? Any physical manifestations? You mentioned feeling itchy. Is it an actual itch or just an internal feeling of it?”

Percy frowned. It was another question where he really didn’t see the difference between the two - an actual itch or an internal itch. He felt itchy either way. He didn’t know how to decouple them. “It depends. Sometimes it’s like I’m being set on fire - like all of my nerves are screaming. Sometimes it’s like an electric shock. Sometimes it’s just an itch, one that builds until I’m ready to jump out of my skin to avoid it. Sometimes it feels like being struck, even if the touch was light. The light touches are the most painful ones.”

”It sounds like allodynia, which is more medical. However, from what it sounds like it sounds like stressful things maybe increase it or make it more prevalent. In which case, touch sensitivity makes sense too. Especially if you are relaying that it feels painful or like burning. The next steps then would be to help mitigate such things for the mental side. Lower stress so touch doesn’t become as concerning, but also lifestyle changes if that matters like wearing gloves. The other side would require going to see a special neurologist to help with the medical side. I can make some recommendations for you and your family.”

“And I would encourage you to be fully honest with the staff here, Percy. If someone is bothering you, whether intentional or not, it won’t be fixed by staying silent. We don’t punish people harshly here, but if another patient is touching you and you do not want them to, then we can see about separating you and them. We don’t want to withhold you from interacting with others if it's helpful, but when it stops helping, that’s when we need to step in.”

Allodynia. He’d never heard that term before. Irritation flashed through him again - he ought to have been able to pick apart its meaning. There were root words in it, he knew, but he had become so accustomed to his powers over language that he hadn’t thought about them in a while. The word rattled around in his head, and his fingers clenched. He tried to force the irritation aside, and instead focus on what Dr. Whitehall had suggested. Lower stress and gloves. Alcohol had been his means to lower stress. And while gloves were nice, he knew he’d be constantly taking them off for Dorian.

“No one is bothering me,” he reiterated. “… What does allodynia mean?”

”Well, truthfully, I don’t know. I’ll admit I am not well-versed in neurological disorders, but I am sure we can have someone find out for you, if you think it would be helpful.”

Dr. Whitehall marked down to go speak to August after this. She didn’t need confirmation to know he was the most likely culprit. He wasn’t in trouble, but if Percy was unwilling to mention anything, even stuff that wasn’t pushing physical boundaries, it meant August was extending himself too much. He was doing better, somewhat. A gentle reminder to ask permission first and when people said no, they meant no.

”And no, alcohol does not count as a stress minimizer since that is how we got here. You need better ways to manage it in the moment.”

He frowned. Dr. Whitehall suspected he had allodynia but couldn’t tell him what that meant? He ran through her words in his head again, trying to see if he had just misunderstood her. “If you think I might have that, I would like to know what it is,” he clarified.

Percy tensed as the doctor suddenly brought the conversation back to his alcohol consumption. He hadn’t been about to suggest it as a way to minimize stress - even if that had been how he used it in the past. The comment stung. He clenched his jaw slightly. He didn’t know what to say to that - nothing kind, at least.

[color=998dd5]”Then I will seek out a specialist in that field and they can come talk to you. Apart from that is there anything that comes to the top of your mind on how to make you feel more comfortable here regarding that sensitivity? “[/colr]

He blinked slightly. He was just going to have to let it go, then. He forced himself to consider her next question. Besides alcohol, the newest strategy that had presented itself had been Dorian wrapping him up in a telekinetic barrier. But his boyfriend couldn’t always be there. “You mentioned strategies to reduce stress. What did you have in mind?”

”It depends on what you are most comfortable with. I know of some mindfulness techniques that can help that involve deep breathing and centering yourself, but not everyone enjoys doing that. We could do some grounding. If you are fine with it, we can even do some body reset exercises. Those are little things you do, like rubbing the middle part of your hand between your thump and pointer finger or the bridge under your nose that reset your body. That would depend on you being okay at your own touch.”.

His own touch had never bothered him. He didn’t want to imagine what his life would be like if even that started to feel too much - if his own skin made him nauseous, ready to curl into a ball and cry. The thought of it filled him with dread. He hadn’t always been like this. The notion of an even harder life… He did his best to set it aside. Breathing and centering - it sounded like meditation then. He was never very good at keeping his mind still, his thoughts tending to race, working themselves up into a frenzy. The body reset might be more achievable. “Do you need to quiet your mind for centering? I’m not very good at that,” he admitted. “How does the body reset work?” He didn’t understand how rubbing the middle part of his hand would be soothing - or the bridge under his nose.

But he couldn’t rely on alcohol. He’d promised his mothers and Dorian that he would get better. So he had to try these strategies, even if he didn’t see the point in them.

”A quiet mind would help, but that’s what mindfulness is for. The practice of it is supposed to help you learn to turn your brain off for a bit. It doesn’t mean you won’t have thoughts or reactions, but it is more accepting of them and moving on anyway. As for the body reset, it’s part of the body’s regulation. Part of it stems from areas like acupuncture and others its neurological. There’s points on our body that connect. One of the things I sometimes encourage clients is the use of senses to reset the mind. Like taking a hot shower or holding some ice or sucking on a sour piece of candy. Those can all help reset the mind when you feel anxious as it gets your mind to think about something else.”

Percy couldn’t help but feel skeptical. He had always seen acupuncture as part of a spa treatment, the sort of thing the idle rich would spend their money on at the same time that they had their eyes covered in cucumbers. He had never really thought of it as an actual treatment method, or about how it would operate in the body. But he had seen feats of magic and alien technology before him, so he couldn’t dismiss it entirely. Maybe Dr. Whitehall was right and there were points on their bodies that connected, that there was energy that moved and pulsed. So the use of senses, then. He didn’t really like to suck on sour candy. But there were other things he enjoyed sucking on.

“I see,” he was willing to give it a try, even if he didn’t feel enthused at the prospect of mindfulness. “If mindfulness doesn’t work for your clients, what else do you try?”

”There’s other options depending on what interests you. Journaling can help relieve stress by allowing you to vent emotions, but not everyone enjoys writing. There’s music with some interventions to help relieve tension. We can explore schools of theory within psychology to find what suits best. I often use Cognitive Behavioral therapy which states that there is a cycle between thought, behavior, and emotion and that breaking the cycle can help ease behaviors we don’t want. We can also explore some Dialectical Behavioral Therapy also. I’ll be honest, a lot of therapy is trial and error because every person is different. What works for one won’t necessarily work for the other. That’s why it’s important in the work we do that you inform me if what we do is helpful or not. It won't hurt my feelings if we try something and you don’t like it. This is about what’s best for you.”

Percy did, in fact, enjoy writing. It was his preferred medium for communication. He had been non-verbal in his early childhood, and found that it was easier to express himself with a pen and paper than with his voice. He regularly wrote letters to his mothers, and the margins of his favorite books were covered in cramped, scrawling notes. He’d never specifically done journaling, however. Music was also interesting. He hadn’t played his piano as much lately as he would have liked to, but he always found it calming to lose himself in the notes. He didn’t know what dialectical behavioral therapy meant. Cognitive behavioral therapy seemed too abstract from the description for him to have a deep opinion.

“I am interested in journaling - I really like to write,” he offered. “I also enjoy playing piano. Those seem… those seem more achievable to me than rubbing my thumb on the back of my hand, and I do not know what dialectical behavioral therapy is.” But the first two options felt possible. He could journal until his hand gave out, and he had a keyboard at school due to the impracticality of having a piano in his dorm room. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t be assigned a new roommate too, so he could play whenever he pleased.

”How about this: we start with some journaling prompts and some music interventions and next session I can go over the types of therapy there are and if one sounds more preferable, we can explore it together.”

He nodded. What sort of journaling prompts was she going to give him - list ten reasons why you drink? Describe a time in your life you felt broken and sad? As much as he had just said that he was interested in journaling, his stomach still churned at the thought of it. It was so much easier to keep using the strategy he had been using - even as it threatened to consume him. “What are the prompts?” Would she be reading his journal entries? Would she grade them the way his mame graded his essays before he could even hand them in at school?

Dr. Whitehall stood up and walked over to the bookshelf and picked up one of the books there. It was a book about a man’s journey through addiction, one that started when he was 8 years old. It walked through the struggles of engaging in drinking so young, the impact it had on him, the toll on his friends and family, and the perseverance of struggling everyday with it and learning to overcome it. ”This is a memoir about addiction told from someone who had it when he was very young. I happen to really like it because it’s equal parts dramatic and hilarious, he uses a lot of humor throughout. But it’s insightful. For your journal prompts I would love it if you can read the first two chapters, but you can read more if you want. Then I want you to write about how you feel about his experiences. Then I want you to write some thoughts on what you think his friends and family are going through. After, if you’d like, you can write some thoughts about the similarities and differences between the two of you. If you like the book you can borrow it and finish it. If not, we’ll move on, but I happen to think you’ll get some enjoyment from it.”

Percy was visibly surprised. His assignment for therapy was to read a book and journal about his thoughts on it? He already did that for fun. There was a reason he owned multiples of all of his favorites, his annotations had made some of them practically unreadable - and he had quickly filled up at least five notebooks just this semester alone at Margaret Carter with further thoughts and musings. So his immediate reaction was that this assignment was easy. Therapy wasn’t going to be challenging at all if it was like this! If he’d known this was the assignment, he wouldn’t have been so terrified to come here, so insistent that he didn’t need it. He could get through all of those tasks in an hour, maybe a little more if the book was really engaging, really stimulating.

He took the book from her, studying the cover as the rest of the assignment really sank in. The purpose wasn’t just to read a book and write about what he’d read. The prompts were reflective, deeply personal - a style of analysis that he did not often partake in. Sure, he’d made notes about his feelings on love and romance and how they were reflected in his favorite heroes, but never about his pain - never about the things that drove him to drink - never about how they might affect others in his life. He swallowed slightly, as he turned the book over. Maybe this task actually wouldn’t be so easy.

But he had to try. He had to try to get better.

For them. For everyone who loved him and cared about him.

He nodded, before looking up at Dr. Whitehall. “I think I might, too.”
In Avengers Academy: X of Swords ⚔️ → 5 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


Percy felt so much better than he had the day before.

He had spent the night snuggling with his boyfriend, watching Pride and Prejudice as they drifted to sleep. All of the worries and anxieties, the overstimulation and the noise, all of it had left his system. They had won the Contest of Champions, there was no more school until the new year, and his mothers were both in town. They’d asked to have breakfast with him in the morning, suggesting that they meet at a diner Dorian’s father James had recommended. He was looking forward to having a strong cup of coffee, and some eggs and potatoes. Even the stress of knowing his old bully, Chase, was going to be attending the same school was distant, a problem he could deal with another day. For right now, things were good. Almost perfect, really.

He didn’t notice the way his mothers had quickly insisted on a table instead of a booth, or that neither of them were wearing their wedding rings. He was just focused on reading through the menu, deciding what sounded good. The specials looked intriguing.

Dominika shot a glance over at her wife, before clearing her throat slightly as she looked at her own menu. “How did you sleep last night?”

“He was with his motek, how could it not be perfect.” Naomi reached over and pinched Percy's cheek. Naomi pushed her glasses up as she looked over the menu, lips pursed as she eyed it. “Goodness, this New Orleans fare seems so greasy, so simple. Where are the schmears? I wouldn't expect them to have a decent bagel but my Oytzerl deserves a proper latke after winning his championship. I ought to have brought some from home. Now Oytzerl, why have I not met your motek yet? Your letters skirt around this Dorian, but I did not expect to be the secret parent. I only want to show him your baby pictures. You were so cute, always poking around in my skirt at the temple. To see you standing on a world stage so everyone can see the man I knew you would become.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. I gave Dorian one of his baby photos already,” she was frowning ever so slightly. She knew what Naomi was trying to do. She wasn’t going to let her win.

Percy’s face flushed at his mother’s affections - and her questions about his boyfriend. Dominika had already met Dorian, and it had gone about as well as could be expected, given that the meeting was to discuss how they’d become entangled on a quantum level. He shifted slightly in his seat, pointedly looking down at the menu. His mother wasn’t entirely wrong, either - he did miss proper bagels and latkes. “Do you want to meet him, Mame?” he asked. “I think you would like him. He’s very…studious,” he landed on. Dorian was studious - when it came to superheroes. Not so much when it came to reading and writing and academics, the sort of things his mame cared deeply about.

Naomi didn't offer Dominika a response, but her jaw tensed as she realized the opportunity Dominika took. “He's studious? That is a lovely surprise! I know the youth of the day are all about “bad boys”. I should have known that my Oytzerl wouldn't have been taken by such trends. Does he have an opinion on Hades and Persephone? How does he feel about the nature of the conflict between Demeter and Hades? And is he Jewish or are you taking after your mame?” Naomi asked, flagging down a waiter. “Make sure you get milk and orange juice. You're a growing boy and you can't be skipping out on essentials. Actually, don't worry. I'll order them for you. What else would you like? We'll have coffee after the meal, I think.”

“Coffee after the meal?” He raised an eyebrow. Almost every family gathering he could remember started with coffee. He had been drinking coffee since he was five years old - maybe even as long as he could really remember. He did want coffee now. He could feel the pinpricks of exhaustion in his eyes. He was usually on his second cup by this time of day. “And erm, yes. He does. He has a pretty strong opinion on them,” Percy made a mental note to educate Dorian about Hades and Persephone as soon as was physically possible, just in case his mame somehow got her hands on him. “He thinks Persephone went with him willingly and it was her choice.”

He then fidgeted his hands slightly, twirling one of the beads on the Dorian bracelet. “He’s Genoshan,” he offered, trying to sidestep the question of religion. “Genoshan diaspora, him and his siblings.”

“His parents are nice people,” Dominika said. “I met three of his fathers a long time ago - you remember the stories I told you about the Scarlet Witch’s world. I think I will get drinks with his father James soon.”

“Genoshan, did you say. How fascinating. It was a shame. Effectively a new civilization cut off from the study of its development by their infighting. Sad.” Naomi sighed, her smile a little more forced than it was a moment ago as her retort to Dominika was cut off by the waiter's arrival. “My son will have this meal with the seasonal fruit, an extra piece of toast, and over medium eggs with a glass of milk and orange juice. I'll have the same actually and mayn ketzel… actually, I think we'll just have three of those. Thank you.” Naomi handed her menu to him and waved him away.

“It's interesting, tayere. I remember a James from your stories and… Are you sure you didn't misplace your glasses? I know it's confusing sometimes without them.” Naomi asked, all innocent concern. “Well mayn Oytzerl, I'm glad you've found yourself someone to keep you grounded. I know with all the changes over the last few years, it's been tough and you've been so strong through it. You cannot understand how proud we are of you, right mayn ketzel?”

Dominika frowned sharply, clenching her fists under the table. Each tayere grated on her nerves - and the way that her wife had ensured she had gotten in the last word… It was absolutely infuriating. But she held her tongue. “Incredibly proud. It’s not often that a freshman wins the Contest of Champions. If you want to be a superhero, Percy, the world is your oyster.”

Percy’s eyes narrowed slightly. Dominika never ate the continental breakfast - she preferred breakfast tacos. And the way the conversation had taken a sudden shift… He wasn’t great at reading people, but he knew his mothers. This was beginning to feel like somewhat of a trap - like he was about to be assigned lines to do as a punishment for something. His anxiety raised for a moment, as he considered what it was about. Probably the entanglement, if he had to guess. “Am I in trouble?”

“Keynmol nisht, likht fun meyn hartsn. Du bist perfekt in yedn veg.” Naomi reached out, cupping Percy's cheek in one hand and taking his hand with her other. “But you remember how it breaks my heart when I can't help you, when it feels like I'm on the edge and can't quite reach in. And now, I hear I have failed you again and my heart hurts, meyn oytzerl. They told me you are drinking again and Percy, I don't know why.” Naomi heard her voice crack with emotions and she cursed inwardly at herself. Percy needed her stable right now but she'd cried herself to sleep when Dominika had called her, too devastated to even bicker.

Percy bit his lip, and looked down at their hands. His heart sank. Breakfast had been a trap - just not for what he had been expecting. He didn’t know who had told his mothers that. He hadn’t told anyone - the most he’d done was mention to Dorian once that he had bourbon in the room, but he… And then he winced, remembering when he had met James - how James’ powers had activated, healing him of the hangover.

“Welcome to the…family. I'm James. If you're ever hurting, don't hesitate to let me know. Even if you can't figure it out, I can.”

He swallowed thickly as those words came back to him. Dorian’s father then. He’d ratted him out. Anger flared up inside of him first. His privacy had been violated. It wasn’t any of James’ business. He clenched his jaw. But the anger was soon replaced by shame - seeing the way his mame was barely holding it together, the crack in her voice - and knowing that it was all his fault. His mom was harder to read, the ruby red glasses a shield - but he knew that she was probably dying on the inside, too. He felt nauseous and ill - he felt the energy beginning to build up in his body. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be having this conversation. He wanted to be absolutely anywhere else. He would have preferred to hug Chase a thousand times to this.

He would have lied if he thought he could have gotten away with it. But his mame didn’t need superpowers to read him like a book. “It’s nothing bad, I promise,” he said quietly. “Just a little here and there. It’s…”

Percy’s voice died. He didn’t know how to finish that sentence.

“I thought we talked about this, Percy,” Dominika said, her voice a bit sterner than she meant for it to be. She had crumpled in front of James, had done her best to hold it together when she called Naomi - and now, face to face with her son, she felt almost hollow, empty, defeated. She couldn’t fix the entanglement. And she didn’t know if she could fix this, either. It was her job as a parent to protect him and she’d failed on multiple occasions. “You said you understood - that it was a mistake and that it was dangerous - that drinking won’t solve your problems.”

Naomi shot a withering look across the table at Dominika. Percy didn't need their anger right now; he needed their support and their love and their understanding. “We just want to understand, Oytzerl. You're seeing a therapist the school said, your team seems so close, you don't…” Naomi ran the interactions with his teammates on the field back through her head. She hadn't thought of it in the moment; the world stage was no place for personal business to come to light and Percy, despite some of the sharper comments she would like to discuss with her son that he made out there, composed himself with perfect professionalism with his teammates and that made sense to her. But now, putting the pieces together…

“Mayn Oytzerl, zey mash deyne freynt, ya?”

Dominika’s face pinched with concern. She didn’t think Naomi was doing this to isolate her from the conversation - she knew her wife switched into Yiddish to give Percy a sense of privacy, particularly when they were in public spaces. But she wasn’t thrilled to find herself on the outside of this conversation - even though she did agree that Naomi was the one more equipped to handle things. Whenever Dominika tried to work with these more delicate, emotional matters, she seemed to have all the grace of a sledgehammer. And much like her son, she had little to no idea where Naomi was going with this conversation. But she held her tongue. For now.

Percy pulled his hand away from his mame, somewhat nervously rubbing his thumbs against each other. Were any of them his friends? Dorian was, yes, but he was his boyfriend - it felt almost like cheating to say yes to that. Andy had defended him yesterday against Chase, and he had gotten along with Sabine early on when the team first formed, but… If he were to be honest with himself, he wasn’t really friends with any of them. He shook his head slightly at Naomi’s question. “Zey zenen nisht shlekht tsu mir,” he mumbled. “Endi hat zikh nekhtn far mir aoyfgeshtelt. ikh meyn aber az di andere zargn zikh nar vegn mir als a farlengerung fun Doryan.”

Naomi inhaled sharply, but nodded. “Sorry, Domi. I asked him if he… If his team was his friends. Percy doesn't think they care about him past his relationship, but that an Andy stood up for him.” Naomi explained. So Percy still felt excluded, even at a superhero school. Naomi would absolutely have words with Dominika after this; Naomi hadn't been sold on separating him from others on his intellectual level and it seems she'd been correct. “Oh, Percy. I'm so sorry that's what you're feeling and I am so sorry we couldn't see it. We thought a new environment for you would… would solve the challenges you were facing. We didn't think about the support you'd need. Will you tell us what else is making you drink again, Oytzerl? I heard you when you said it's just a little here and there, but I just want to understand what is even making it that often.”

“Are you being bullied again?” Dominika asked. It had been the problem last time - one she thought they’d solved by getting him away from those boys. And she had been so sure he was happier at Margaret Carter - he had a boyfriend, he was on the team that won the Contest of Champions. Yes, he had gotten into trouble with the Framework, but she was hardly one to talk when it came to skirting the rules. She was about to suggest that they could move him to a new school again - maybe the Future Foundation in New York, he’d be able to live at home with Naomi potentially - when she recalled James’ advice. Even if Percy didn’t think those kids were his friends, she didn’t want to separate him from them. “We can talk with your counselor, switch your class schedule for the new semester.”

Percy shook his head. He wasn’t being bullied again - not yet, at least. His jaw twitched slightly at the thought that Chase would be at his school again. “My school is fine,” he said, still looking down at his hands. He didn’t want to risk that they’d try to take him away from Dorian. It might have been silly, but he genuinely couldn’t imagine life without him anymore. And he didn’t want to, either. “It’s just… it’s just when I feel overwhelmed,” he explained softly. “If one too many people bump into me in the hallway, or things start feeling too loud… It helps me quiet it all. I… I did it this time because I was scared Dorian’s parents wouldn’t like me.”

Naomi ought to be given a Nobel peace prize the way she restrained herself from flipping the table on Dominika. But she'd agreed on a united front because Percy needed both his mothers. Naomi just wished one of them wasn't the human embodiment of ChatGPT. Their son needed to be heard, not solved. “Oytzerl, it's okay to have those feelings. You came from a bad place and you're still recovering so don't feel bad that you feel this way. It is entirely understandable and even if we didn't, you'd still be valid for those emotions. Is there anyone you've told about any of these feelings?”

It wasn’t bullying, then. A different cause from last time. Dominika clenched her jaw, studying her son. She didn’t want this for him - this wasn’t how his life was supposed to go. His biggest challenge was supposed to be deciding what he wanted to wear in the morning, not dealing with what sounded like an assault on her senses. And she couldn’t help but continue to problem solve - to wonder if maybe they ought to invest in some noise canceling headphones for him, ones he could wear around school to help with the noise level. Maybe she could look at the routes to classes and help him identify one that had the least amount of cross traffic. There had to be a strategy here, an approach… something she could do to help make this right.

“Have you talked with the therapist about this?”

He shook his head again. He hadn’t talked about any of this with Dr. Whitehall. He’d only seen her once, and the biggest takeaway he recalled from the session was her suggestion that he looked to his boyfriend for cues to navigate social situations. He hadn’t really talked to Dorian about these feelings either. It felt like something he was supposed to keep hidden - something to be ashamed about.

“Okay. I don't know why you haven't spoken to the therapist the school has for you, Oytzerl, but we're going to be a little more involved this time. I understand these feelings can be scary and big, but you can't let the things in your head tell you to keep them inside. It's hurting you, Percy. You're 14. 14. You should be worried about acne and dates and remembering to do your homework, not chasing relief at the bottom of a bottle.” Naomi struggled to keep her composure, but she wasn't certain how long she could if she kept going. She took a deep breath and sat up a little straighter. “Oytzerl-” Naomi fixed the water with a glare that could curdle milk as he tried to deliver food and he quickly turned away.

“Percy-look at me when I say this-you are more important than anything in this world to us. And it hurts that you felt like you had to hide your fears and struggles from us. Nothing matters more than you. Will you please tell me why you couldn't tell us why you felt this way?”

He had to force himself to move his eyes away from his hands, to look his mame in the eye as she requested. His heart nearly broke from the guilt. He didn’t know how to explain it to her, and he wished that he did. He tried to reach for the words that he needed, but they kept on slipping between his fingers like sand.

“You can tell us anything, okay?” Dominika prompted as gentle as she could. “We won’t be upset with you, Percy.”

Percy swallowed. He wished his mame had allowed the waiter to drop off the food. He could have used the time to stall. He lowered his gaze again - it was easier to talk to the table. “I… I didn’t want to burden you,” he finally said. “I thought I could handle it on my own.”

“You are never, ever a burden Percy.” Naomi reassured quickly. She left her hand out on the table in case Percy wanted it. She knew he didn't handle touch well and this was a lot for him. “When I carried you and everything in me ached, the only thing I cared about was meeting you. When you fussed and needed our attention at all hours of the day, the only thing I cared about was seeing that pretty smile and hearing that silly laugh. When you threw a tantrum the first day we left you at day care, I had to pull the car over and cry because all I wanted to do was go back and pick you up. Every last minute project, every scraped knee, every little thing you may have thought was an inconvenience, I was happy because at least I had you. And even now, knowing this is happening and this is the decision you made, I can only be glad we found out because at least it means we have a chance to keep our baby with us.”

Naomi grabbed a napkin and dried her eyes, dabbing away the tears tracks on her cheeks. “I'm not an expert on this and neither is you mom, but I need you to know what we're going to be there for you every step of the way, okay? You're not okay right now, mayn Oytzerl, and that's alright, but we're going to help you better this time.”

His chin was wobbling now, and each breath was shaky. He could feel his heart beating faster, and for a fleeting moment, he felt like a small child again - like he had skinned his knee on the playground and all he wanted was to cry on his mothers. It broke him to hear all of this, to see his mame in so much pain. He knew his mom was hurting too. Hurt he could have spared both of them if he’d made another choice.

He took another shuddering breath. “ikh veys nisht vos iz mit mir. ikh bin... ikh bin dershrokn. ikh veys nisht vi es aoyftsuhern.”

Dominika’s knuckles were white underneath the table from all of the stress, all of the tension. And as much as she couldn’t stand Naomi these days, she couldn’t help but remember for a split second why she’d fallen in love with her. She was able to understand people and emotions in a way Dominika struggled to - able to hear them out without a compulsive need to solve anything. And she could see the results now - could see the way Percy was listening, rather than arguing and fighting back. “We love you, kiddo. More than you’ll ever know. And we’re never going to stop loving you.”

“There is nothing wrong with you, Percy. You got hurt and now your brain is trying to protect you. That's all. It just doesn't care that it's hurting you in the process. And it's okay to be scared. Everyone gets scared. And when you're scared and frightened, you have to reach out to get help. That's what we're here for.” Naomi, overwhelmed and trying to stay focused on Percy, hated herself for needing it but reached a hand across the table, palm up in invitation to Dominikia. “Will you let us help you, mayn neshumele?”

Dominika was surprised for a moment - she and her wife hadn’t touched each other in a long time - but she understood. She had the same impulse to wrap Percy up in a tight hug, the sort of hug she used to be able to get him, before the touch aversion grew worse. She took one of her hands out from underneath the table, small crescent moon indents on her palm from where her own nails had dug in, and she gripped Naomi’s hand. She rubbed the back of it gently, just the way she used to.

Percy couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. They weren’t wails like they had been in the astral plane with Dorian - but the pain wasn’t any less. He nodded, absolutely terrified of what it would mean - of what his mothers had in mind for helping him. “bite makh mikh nisht farlozn doryan.”

Naomi squeezed Domikina's hand, the familiar glide on the back of her hand more comforting that she'd care to admit. At Percy's plea, Naomi smiled. That at least she could do. “Don't worry. We- Your mom has already spoken with a few people who had people important to them go through this and that was the first thing they recommended, not to take you away from your support system. Your motek will still be there for you to be sweet on, Oytzerl.” Naomi teased. She'd stalled for long enough and she glanced at Dominika, a moment of hesitation in her face, before her steely determination came back full force.

“You're going to rehab, Percy. Next Monday. ”

“It’s near your school, the program is really highly rated. You’ll be there for a few days inpatient to detox, and then you’ll go for outpatient a few hours after class each day,” Dominika elaborated. “They even have a shuttle that will take you there.”

Percy was silent for a moment, his death knell having rung. They were sending him to rehab. It felt surreal. As scared and terrified as he was, as much as he didn’t understand his own feelings… rehab was for people who had serious problems. Did he…? He took a peek up at his moms, and his body trembled again. Maybe he did. He remembered the way during the contest he had wished for a drink when he was panicking - the same way he had wished for one after running into Chase.

“O… okay,” he sniffled, before nodding again. He wasn’t thrilled by the idea. But he also knew it wasn’t an argument he could win. “I’m… I’m really sorry, Mame, Mom. I… I thought I had it under control but… I… “ He shook again, his voice breaking, “am I an alcoholic, Mame?”

Naomi's heart broke and she looked up for a moment. She prayed quietly for strength. Every prayer she'd said for him at night, at the temple… She'd need every ounce of it to get through the rest of this without hating herself. “I don't… I don't think you're there just yet, Oytzerl, but I think… I think you're too close for comfort and that's okay! We're getting you the help you need and we're going to make sure you have more support even afterwards okay?” The world didn't deserve their son. She wished for the days where he was small and nervous, where her skirts were enough to shield him from the demons that drove him to drink now. But there wasn't a skirt large enough that would keep him from this and she drew in a shuddering breath. “I'm taking a sabbatical and moving so I can be there with you as well. I love you so much, Oytzerl, and we're going to get you what you need, okay?” Naomi waved at the server, who skittishly slid food onto the table and vanished.

Percy had lost his appetite as the food arrived. He dried his tears on his sleeve, still sniffling slightly. He did a double take as his mom said she was going to take a sabbatical, that she was moving back to California. She’d been in New York since he’d changed schools. “But… what about Columbia? And your research?” he mumbled.

Dominika’s jaw had dropped too. She knew how much her wife hated California - there hadn’t been a week where Naomi hadn’t complained about the academic scene, or even about how the bagels didn’t taste right without New York water. She’d never taken a day off work in her life, and here she was, announcing a sabbatical? She’d been prepared to be the boots on the ground so to speak.

“You're more important, Oytzerl. Columbia, and my research, will still be there when I return. I want to make sure you will be too.” Naomi replied quietly, halfheartedly taking a bite of food. “I know you're feeling a lot, but that's no reason not to eat. Eat your hash browns at least. You'll feel better with a little bit of food in your stomach and potatoes, even with this much grease, have a myriad of nutrients in them. Good for a growing boy.”

Percy hesitated for a moment. He knew she was right - and that he needed to eat. He’d burned so many calories training and competing in the contest, and he was underweight already as it was. He slowly took a bite of the hash browns, before glancing at Naomi to see if she approved of how much he’d taken.

And then slowly, carefully - moving almost like a spooked, wild animal - he slid his hand across the table to his mothers.


In Avengers Academy: X of Swords ⚔️ → 5 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


A French Quarter staple, the Clover Grill offered a look back into earlier days where soda was a nickel, a burger was a dime, and everything came with a healthy side of racism. The narrow, rickety building boasted threadbare seating along a counter sticky with decades of spills and gum and 60s plastic McDonald’s chairs crammed beneath wobbly tables with spiderweb cracks all over. Despite its dilapidated and dated appearance, it did offer some of the best southern cooking on bourbon street. Everything heavy, fatty, and fried, it was exactly what someone needed after a long night of drinking and debauchery or after a long night (and afternoon) of dealing with family drama.

Or preparing to deal with someone else’s family drama.

James sent the text late last night. Casper had finally succumbed, although fitfully, to sleep and James intended just to grab a drink, check in with Max and Ben, and slip back into bed with his husband but when he’d gotten caught up on the evening’s events, James remembered he still had a problem to handle. Percy’s alcoholism wasn’t something that could be ignored, even if the events of the evening demanded it be delayed, and James would rather have it dealt with than looming over him all through the Contest of Champions. It was an open invitation to join him for breakfast to discuss Percy away from the kids somewhere comfortable and Clover’s biscuits and gravy were a delicious way to drown bad news.

So James waited, a steaming cup of black coffee at the back corner table next to a defunct jukebox, and chatted softly with the waitress.

Dominika looked like death. Her silver roots were growing in, her hair hastily pulled back into a sloppy bun. The lenses of her ruby quartz glasses were visibly smudged, and the majority of her black nail polish had chipped off. She was dressed in a I <3 New Orleans t-shirt that she’d clearly acquired from a gift shop, having not brought with her a change of clothing, focusing mostly on the many tasks at hand and forgetting the little things - like taking care of herself. She slid into the seat across from James.

“So. You wanted to talk.” She glanced briefly down at the menu, before returning her attention to James. The last time she’d seen him had been under… unusual circumstances. “Is this about the entanglement or something else?”

“Max caught me up on the entanglement stuff and honestly, it is so wildly beyond my expertise I can't even begin to help with that.” James laughed softly, taking a sip of the scalding coffee. The last time they'd been face to face they'd been enemies, not in their right minds but enemies none the less, and now they were sitting in a run down diner about to talk about their kids, parenthood, and all the trials and tribulations in between. “You're the expert on that and none of us want the entanglement to worsen so I trust your judgment as the parent of Dorian's boyfriend. But in the meantime, do you want anything? Coffee, biscuits and gravy, or something else? Danni made breakfast for the house this morning, but please feel free to eat.”

Her expression tightened into a grimace. There was something else, then. If it hadn’t been for Max’s mention that it was a dry house, she would’ve ordered an Irish coffee before hearing whatever news it was James wished to discuss. She didn’t know if the house was dry because of him, however. And she was aware that drinking this early wouldn’t inspire confidence, even on Bourbon street. ”Coffee would be great,” she said. She hadn’t had much of an appetite the past few days for anything else. She paused for a moment. ”I’m not good at being patient, James. I also do not like surprises. So please. Tell me what it is you have to say about my son.”

James nodded at her insistence, but paused as the waitress bustled by with all the southern hospitality in the world. One more coffee, and James topped off to boot, and he took one more sip to stall the conversation he'd called for. “Percy is drinking and it doesn't seem like the first time. When I shook his hand, I noticed the hangover. I spent just a few extra seconds to confirm, but it seems like he's used to handling his alcohol. I'm not his parent so I didn't approach him, especially with everything else going on, but I am concerned about his health and the influence it'll have on his social circle.” James laid everything out directly as requested. Dominika was clearly going through a lot; Percy's sister being disqualified for drug use and now discovering Percy's own substance abuse. He sipped at his coffee again and gave her a moment to disgest.

Dominika was speechless. How could she have been so blind? Her job as a mother was to protect him and clearly she’d failed. Why was this all happening? She’d tried to do her best for him - tried to let him know how much he was loved, that he could always come to her and Naomi for support. She tried to be everything her own parents never were.

She took a shaky breath, trying to steady herself, but she was too overwhelmed. Tears fell as her shoulders slumped. ”I… thank you for telling me,” she said, her voice trembling. ”Fuck… I thought he was past this…”

James reached out and loosely rested his hand on her arm. It had been a long time since he'd deliberately slowed down his ability and he sunk into the feeling of connection. Dominika's uneven breathing, pounding heartbeat, and tenseness seeped into him with a fury and James soothed it with even breaths and a steady mind, bringing her back from an edge. He kept them connected, in sync with every breath. “You and Percy will get through this. I understand it's overwhelming, but just remember you can still be a good parent and Percy can still feel whatever it is driving him to drink. You clearly have a lot on your plate right now so just breath with me for a moment.”

James couldn't imagine how he'd feel if he faced anything like this with Danni and Dorian. The Kingston-Gray parents had absolutely smothered their kids with affection and did everything they could to give the pair as carefree a life as they could. They'd fought and survived to make a better day and they may have failed so many times before but at least for them, James felt like they'd succeeded. But to consider pouring every bit of love, sweat, and tears into their children only for them to still feel… James's heart hurt for Dominika.

The touch from James was unexpected - nice, grounding, but unexpected. The divorce had ended contact with Naomi, and Percy was not particularly big on touch as well. Dominika couldn’t remember the last time someone had reached out to her like this. It probably saved the French Quarter from a bit of structural damage too - it hadn’t happened in years, but her powers made a major incident always just one lapse of control away. It was somewhat fitting that she’d settled in California - Earthquakes weren’t as much of a surprise there.

”Mm, I am not a good parent. A good parent wouldn’t be about to tell their kid they are getting divorced,” she admitted. ”A good parent wouldn’t have their child abusing alcohol and not know it. A good parent wouldn’t have let their child get entangled on a quantum level with their first boyfriend, without having even given him the talk yet. So no, I am not a good parent… I am just the one he has,” she sighed, pinching her eyes closed. She didn’t want to cry again. She also didn’t know why she was offloading all of this onto James - not that she really had anyone to talk to in her life. ”I’m sorry, I shouldn’t trouble you with all of this.”

“You've got a lot going on and you clearly need someone to vent to. I'm here and happy to listen.” James reassured her. “And hey, I've got plenty of experience in this. Casper, my husband, did every drug under the sun to escape his powers. He's been sober for years now, but it was… rough even with three of us helping him through it. If you need help with the conversation or resources, I'm here to help. At the end of the day, I want both our kids safe if they're going to be together.”

He was certainly one of the last people she’d expected to offer to listen to her. But she was not in a position to refuse. And the stability he was offering her, that feeling of connection, it was sorely needed. The weight of the world was on her shoulders, but he was helping her to bear it, just for a moment - to escape her fate as Atlas for just one meal. “I know he’d done this before… Some boys at school had bullied him, saying vile things, shoving him into lockers… But we had talked about it. I thought he’d understood. He’s smart… and he’s been so much happier, he’s made friends, he has a boyfriend I just… I don’t know where to start. Do I send him to a facility? Do I bring him home and pull him from school? I don’t even know where home will be anymore, I’m losing the house, Naomi is in New York… A broken home doesn’t seem ideal for recovery…”

“I don't think changing his life drastically like that is going to help. The first thing you need to do is find a professional. I can give you the number of who Casper went to and maybe they can help you find some help in California near the school? Or with therapy set up for the kids, maybe the school can help you explore those options.” James suggested quickly. “Just, for the time being, we definitely don't want to take him away from what support network he’s managed to establish and it sounds like our kids are that. There are outpatient options that you can explore so that he can get the help he needs without staying at rehab.”

Dominika nodded, her mind running through the options. She’d have to discuss them with Naomi - and with Percy. The thought of neither conversation filled her with joy. Just this meeting in the diner with James and she already felt a thousand times more support from him than she had from her wife in years. And Percy, he was too smart for his own good - if he didn’t want to be at rehab, it would be difficult to stop him from leaving. He’d rather burn himself alive than admit he needed help. He was too much like her. It terrified her. She held her head in her hands for a moment, wanting nothing more than to crumble, to let the world fall away around her.

But she couldn’t fold. She had to be strong. She was his mother. Even if her own world was ablaze, she had to do what she could for him. She had to be there for him before it was too late. “Okay. Outpatient options. Casper’s contact. The school’s resources,” she affirmed, committing those to memory. “If you are serious about your offer of aid, I am in no position to refuse. I would appreciate your expertise.”

She looked down at her coffee. She didn’t want to make eye contact - even as her shades concealed her own.

“And perhaps a friend, if our history does not deter you.”

“Don't worry, Dominika. We'll be there with you.” James promised, wrapping his hands around his own mug and taking a sip. He blinked in surprise at her second question. The Dominika he knew would rather pull her teeth out one by one than ask for help, let alone a friend. Still, it was her child and a good parent should be willing to put their own comfort aside for their child…

“You don't even have to ask. Considering how close our kids are, I'd think it'd be stranger than not. Welcome to the family, Dominikia.”

Dominika burst into tears.

She hadn’t really had family before - her parents had been near strangers to her, her wife had been wooden and distant, all she’d had were her children. To have someone so freely accept her as family, someone who she had once fought tooth and nail… It broke down every wall she’d put up, every wall she’d unknowingly taught Percy to put up. And she couldn’t stop it, she couldn’t keep the ugly rush of tears, as she just nodded - trying to say thank you, but the words failed her. A nod was the best she could do.

James reached out again, a hand placed gently back on her arm, and he gave her the space to cry - it was clear she'd needed it for a long time.
In Avengers Academy: X of Swords ⚔️ → 5 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
@Achronum@Blizz@Forsythe@Kirah@PatientBean@Trainerblue192
The Tale of Ser Nemo


Now - the Starlight Citadel


Will you promise me something, Dorian?

Live.

No matter what may happen.

Battered, broken, and defeated, Ser Nemo did not strain against the iron chains suspending him in his cell. His arms and legs were shackled, his neck collared, and his clothing left in wet, bloodied tatters. On his lips was the familiar golden stain of Blightswill, the poisonous liquid trailing down to his chin. The marks of lashes had kissed his scar-marked skin, and his fingers were more akin to bloodied stumps, the nailbeds having long since been peeled away. He did not hold his head high, instead allowing it to slump, his shoulders hunched, and his eyes closed. Would that he had more tears to shed.

But Ser Nemo was alive and his heart, while shattered, remained beating.

“You ought to have been more careful, lover.”

Darius FleshShaper, second husband of Ser Nemo, stepped out of shadow. With a wave of his hand, a mortal attendant opened the iron cell door, permitting the fae to enter. He still looked exactly as he had the day he and Nemo first met, the day they had fought to save all of Otherworld. His dark skin and rich, purple hair did not know the passage of time. He was youthful, and forever would be - even as Nemo found himself caught in twilight.

“I told you that the White Witch was watching. Do you not remember? The night of that silly little dance?”

Ser Nemo did not raise his head. He did not open his eyes. He did not need to travel through time to know what would happen next - to know his beloved husband’s intentions. For thirty years, they had been wed. For thirty years, he had loved no other. And he would love no other ever again. His lady was not forgiving, and in her mercy, she left none unchanged. This was how it must happen. This is how it always would happen. A circle could never truly end.

“No?” Darius chastised. “Perhaps you are having difficulty remembering. I am told this happens even to witchbreed mortals, that as your life begins to dim, so does your essence. However, as your loving husband, I have vowed to help you in all things, and so, I will aid you here.”

He made no perceptible movement, nothing more than the tensing of muscles in his already weary body - but not even that could be hidden from his beloved’s watchful eyes. Ser Nemo knew the fae too well to be surprised. He knew that the torture had been nothing more than a game, a preamble to this. There was no need to demand answers, to promise an ease in suffering for cooperation. His lady held them all in chains - his were merely visible. And yet, it was one thing to choose this path, knowing its end, and another to experience it, to live through it.

He did not need to see to know who stood a few paces behind his lover - to know that the Sevalithi had been summoned.

It was what he would have done himself, after all.

“Tell me that you are grateful, lover.”

He would not, even as he felt the sear of the lash - as his husband left yet another mark upon his skin, the flesh tearing as fresh blood began to flow.

“I said - tell me that you are grateful, lover,” Darius hissed.

Another lash, another kiss. Darius gripped his hair, yanking his head back - and with his other hand, he peeled Ser Nemo’s eyes open, forcing him to look - forcing him to obey, to submit.

“Another tactic, then,” his eye twitched. “Perhaps I shall go pay your witchbreed friends a visit. Perhaps this time, Dorian Gray meets his end by my blade, and not his own. How does that sound, Percy Novikov?”

The name was a crueller touch than any instrument, any weapon - so enchanted by the magic of the fae, its application was like a flame, consuming him from the inside out. Someone was screaming in utter agony, a bloodcurdling cry that left Ser Nemo - that left Percy dazed and disoriented. He did not even recognize it as his own.

“I… I am grateful.”

Darius grinned, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Oh, you are too kind, Percy. Now! I believe you two are already acquainted. I wanted you to have the very best. Finley, love, would you come in here? My poor darling cannot seem to remember some events of import, and he is so eager and desperate to please. Will you not help him?”

He did not need Finley’s help to remember. He did not need her to ride his blood for it all to come back - for his mind to drift to where this had all started, so many years ago…

Then - the Ruins of Genosha


Sacrificing yourself isn’t heroic. It’s not beautiful.

At best, you will devastate them; at worst, you’ll become a liability.

He had long since run out of tears to shed.

It was sunny. The leaves moved gently with the breeze, filling the air with a soft, patient rustle. The native fauna of the island went about their daily business, snakes slithering through the undergrowth, birds chirping out calls to summon their brethren, predators stalking their prey. The waves lapped at the shore, renewing the sand, erasing the footprints of those who had come before - of the two inhabitants of the once great mutant nation of Genosha. The temperature was not harsh, the glare of the sun not punishing - there was no tropical storm to ruin the lovely scene, no oncoming danger, just peace, silence, and tranquility.

He dug his hands into the ground, dirt filling in underneath his fingernails as he scooped a portion together and tossed it aside. He could have used a tool - could have made this process faster. He could have abandoned these efforts, as before long, there would be no one to know - no one to tell what had happened here. But he did not know what he would do when this task was done, did not know who he would become. The familiar words offered him no comfort, even as he whispered them, over and over again - begging for any respite from this pain, but clinging to it all the same. It was all he had left.

“Baruch dayan ha'emet,” he murmured.

His hands shook, as he plunged them into the funeral ground once more - as he excavated a final resting place for his beloved. The corpse was not yet cold. He knew the traditions, knew the rites. He needed to be buried. It was the last thing that could be done for him, the last chance he had to do right by his other half. He had failed him. He hadn’t been enough. He had not been worth living for.

“Baruch dayan ha'emet.”

The grave was dug on the same slope as the others. They had carved their names into stone together - had stolen their ashes, bringing them here. Leah, April, Sabine, Danni, Vicky, Marlena, Andy, Millie, Chase, Ben, Gideon. They were all here. He shut his eyes for a moment, remembering that night - remembering the dizzying lights, the music, the joy - and how quickly it had become a smoking crater, how quickly he and his beloved had become the last ones alive, the survivors of a massacre not by skill or fate, but by luck.

He choked back a pained cry, as he rose to his feet - choked back a scream, choked back his anger, his grief. Mechanically, he stumbled forwards to where he had left him - to the small blanket the two of them shared, now serving as his shroud. He knelt, his heart breaking as he felt the heat lingering in his beloved, as he lifted him from the ground, his arms falling limply to his side - as he held him for the last time.

“Baruch dayan ha'emet.”

He had failed him. He had not been strong enough to fix this - his powers had not been enough. He had not been enough. And now, even if he were to go back - even if he were to regain an hour, to regain two, it would not change his beloved’s fate. This had not been the act of a monster, of an invader - there was no villain here to thwart, no foe to best. His love had chosen this - had chosen that this life was not enough, that it was better to slip away and become a memory.

Percy lowered Dorian into his grave.

“Baruch dayan ha'emet,” he prayed, as he removed his coat. He held the sleeve of it with both hands, knowing what was to be done - that he was to rip it and accept the end, accept that Dorian was dead and gone. Severing its threads would represent severing the cord between them.

But he could not do it.

He was not strong enough.

He staggered to his knees, leaning forward as he rested his forehead against the soil, and he screamed.

He screamed until he thought his throat would bleed, screamed until he became deaf to his own voice, screamed until he found that he did, in fact, still have tears to shed.

“Why did you leave me?!” he cried.

His chest shuddered, as he struggled to breathe - as he struggled to find a way to continue living, when all the world was dark.

“Why was I not enough for you?” he sobbed.

He punched the ground - punched the dirt.

“What could I have done?” he begged, he pleaded.

He forced himself to his feet, forced himself to look in the open grave - forced himself to see those eyes, forever closed.

“Why couldn’t you have lived?”

“I would do anything for you. I would carve the sun out of the sky and present it to you if you asked. I would leave a trail of blood across this entire world just to satisfy you. I would have killed the Emperor myself, no matter the cost. I would have died for you, Dorian. Why couldn’t you have lived for me? Why?!”

He took another agonizing breath.

“I love you,” his voice broke. “I love you more than anything.”

His knuckles were white, his hands shaking from the tension.

His eyes fell on the graves.

“I will fix this. I will bring you people worth living for,” he vowed, even though he didn’t know how - even though he knew that the White Witch would be on his heels, that any change he tried to make to the past would just as soon be undone. He would find a way. He would give Dorian a life worth living for.

Even if it meant that he would not be in it.

Later - the Margaret Carter Institute


He had not touched a bottle in nearly sixty years.

He remembered the taste as if it had been yesterday.

It scorched his throat as it went down, a fiery coating that clung to his lips with an intensity that matched the gnawing pit in his stomach. His limbs and joints still ached from the way he had concealed himself, compacting into a corner of the training room, a simple glamor cloak perfecting the illusion. He had watched the entire time, had been present as Arcade gleefully attempted to murder his friends - as Andy’s body had been dragged away - had gagged himself with his own clothing to stop the screams, the cries. His angle had allowed him to look at the monitors, to see the games his old friends struggled through - a front row seat to tragedy.

Reliving it all, being present but powerless to change it, powerless to act unless he was prepared to whisk them all away, to teach them to hide from the White Witch and her minions - the Captain, the priestesses, the TVA. It wasn’t their best chance - that had yet to come. But if his meddling had altered things enough… if Arcade was one bit quicker on his code, Andy one second slower to revive…

So he had watched.

He had seen them through.

He had placed the alert with the Avengers, summoning them the moment he could - the moment the tables had turned on Arcade.

And then he had left, the space around him rippling and distorting as he vanished - as he felt the Scarlet Witch’s eyes pause on where he had hid.

He flickered, reappearing first at a liquor store, and then finally in a park he hadn’t been to since he was a boy - since he had been Percy Novikov.

It had been his safe space, then. A place where he could let his imagination run wild, where heroes fought valiantly against legendary creatures and were blessed by the gods for their efforts. He’d played with wooden swords and foam shields, skinned his knees more times than he could count, and jumped off the swings without fear. Anything had been possible.

He sank to his knees, the damp wood chips smushing beneath him. It had taken every ounce of self control left to him to not intervene, to not stop Arcade before he could lay a hand on any of them. He had none left to stop himself from resorting to his own worst instincts, from swallowing the poison in hopes it would quiet the storm within him. It wasn’t enough, though. It was never enough.

Drinking would not rid him of the White Witch’s gaze - would not help him to save these children, just these children. It did not numb his pain either, only serving to feed it as he sobbed, as he cursed his patron, cursed the world and every person in it. None of this was fair. None of it had been right. They were children. Just children. Inconsequential in the greater scheme, just a blip in the timeline, a rounding error in a spreadsheet. But they deserved to live - all of them deserved whatever chance he could give them, whatever he could create for them.

He would do whatever it took, pay any price, battle any foe - all for them, so that they could live.

He would burn his life to make a sunrise he will never see.



In Avengers Academy: X of Swords ⚔️ → 5 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Percy
Lashing out in anger was the easy part.

He could make another person the target of his wrath, channel every negative emotion he had into them, all while avoiding reckoning with the ones he held of himself. It was readily applied, easily suited to any situation. His jacket was burned and his body possessed on the first day of school? Yell, scream and accuse the culprits of being bullies, of knowingly and willingly going out of their way to make him miserable - set aside that it had been an accident with good intentions - and do not grapple with the knowledge that while others look for heroes, he searches for monsters. A cute boy in his room confessing how he feels? Misinterpret it, let the jealousy curdle and choose to wallow in it. His tormenter from middle school appears, offering a hug and professing his desire to make amends, even offering a portion of his side of the story? Threaten him, smother the painful memories in rage, do whatever it takes to have the last word.

The hard part was what came after.

It was only ever a temporary fix. The pain always won out, always came through. The urge to curl into a ball and cry that first night of school, to message his mothers that this wasn’t going to work out, that he wanted to come home and maybe try online courses instead - that no matter where he went, he was different in a way that was punishable. The panic that had crept in after the boy had left his room, as his mind tried to devour itself with possibilities and what-ifs - if he was just Icarus in that moment, flying too close to the sun, and his fall was past due.

He’d been lying when he said he didn’t think about him.

The energy surged within him, and he tried to suppress it, to stay present in this moment on the dance floor - to choose to be happy as his team celebrated, instead of consumed with anger, bitterness, and regret. He’d been so happy just minutes ago - why couldn’t he get back to that feeling? Try as he might, he couldn’t stop it though - couldn’t stop as he dematerialized, reappearing on the opposite end of the courtyard at the same height, elevated above the ground. But there was no anti-gravity field here to catch him, and he fell the ten feet, landing on his ankle with a sharp crack.

He hissed as the new wave of pain hit him, instinctively cradling his ankle with his hands, as he tried not to scream - tried not to cry - and only managed to be successful on the former.

James was out of his chair at the sound. It took him half a second to figure out where the signature sound of broken bone was and he frowned as Percy cradled his ankle defensively, tears coming down. James jogged around the dance floor of floating teenagers and knelt down next to Percy. “Hey, hey it's okay, I've got you. May I see?” James spoke softly.

Percy froze, every muscle in his body tensing as James came and knelt down next to him. He wanted to tell him to leave him alone, to go away and that he was fine but… he didn’t need to have taken combat first aide classes at AA to know that it was broken. He bit his lip, before nodding slightly, letting go his his ankle and yelping in pain.

James clicked his tongue as the sight. Definitely a break, but easily repaired. “Okay. We're going to get you all fixed up, okay? I'm going to start.” James reached out, one hand on the foot and another stabilizing the ankle, and let his power flow in, the bone mending. “There, quick and easy. Feeling any pain?”

He gasped as James gripped his foot and ankle, flinching from the contact - but then all of that faded away. He could feel James’ heart synchronize to his own, each beat a little pulsing wave of calm. It wasn’t just the pain from the ankle that was eased off, but the emotional turmoil, too. “What… did you do to me?” he asked, more relaxed than he’d been in ages with someone else touching him (besides, perhaps, his boyfriend).

“We sync up when I heal - you use my healing factor. I can keep physical symptoms of stress under control and it typically helps calm people down.” James explained. “It helps that most associate it with pain relief.”

Percy was quiet for a moment. It’d been more effective at dampening down the feelings than anything he’d ever tried before. He slowly got back up to his feet, testing his ankle - it was like nothing had ever happened. No wonder Danni and Dorian went about life without fear, when any injury could be healed. “Erm… thanks,” he mumbled, a little embarrassed at how much better he felt. Did James know that too, when he touched someone? Was that how touch was supposed to feel?

“Anytime, Percy. I'm always available to help.” James smiled softly and gave him a wave before jogging back to the adults.

He took a breath, feeling far steadier than he had a moment ago. He wasn’t going to let Chase O’Brien ruin this night. Not this time. He forced a smile onto his face, as he returned to the dance floor he had fled, and returned to Dorian. “Я тебя люблю.” He spent the rest of the evening feeling like he was floating.

April



April giggled and laughed, letting herself be swept up in the moment - and into Marlena’s arms. The environment was intoxicating, everyone was enjoying the moment, dancing and twirling around in the safety of the anti-gravity field and the varying telekinetic powers. It was more intense than any high she’d ever tried with Chi Mai, an exhilarating rush of euphoria and endorphins. And her body was more than happy to oblige her joy, as she didn’t miss a step, moving along with the music and with Marlena.

As her joy came to a crescendo, she leaned in, urged by impulse, and placed a kiss on Marlena’s cheek. “This is so fun!!! You’re so good at dancing!!” Maybe Marlena would want to hang out at the Valentine’s Day Dance at school - April didn’t have a date to it currently, although she’d been planning on going with friends, maybe even asking Danni to be a platonic date to it. It was so nice, having dates to the dance being the only thing to worry about on the horizon - to not have this looming stress, all of the anguish and the tears. The future looked bright and she couldn’t wait to see it.

She spent the rest of the night dancing with her friends, and by the time she crawled into bed at the Kingston-Gray house, her limbs were still vibrating with the residual beats of the music.
In Avengers Academy: X of Swords ⚔️ → 5 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
@Achronum@Blizz@Forsythe@Kirah@PatientBean@Trainerblue192

Lore changes effective next update:

  • April Flynn is now April Kingston-Gray, adopted after a natural disaster at age 8 by Max Gray and James Kingston.
  • Percy Novikov is now the son and only child of Dominika Novikova and Naomi Levy. Dominika never married a SHIELD agent from the Secret Warriors team.
  • Casper Kingston and Ben Gray are now foster brothers, having been in the same home as teenagers. This home was abusive, as the parents wanted powerful mutant children to exploit. Ben’s biological parents are now immigrants to the United States, and Casper’s biological father is now unknown. Casper has no biological siblings.
  • Sunshine’s backstory has been simplified to restore the original con artist father concept. She is not the child of Jack Theriot.
  • Matt Moss did not get married to a fellow SHIELD agent.
  • Bonnie Chase and Niah Bautista are married and have been a couple since the end of the Secret Warriors team of SHIELD.
  • Avery Spellman was never romantically interested in Carolina Reed.

© 2007-2026
BBCode Cheatsheet