#actionpost.

[horrortamer-archive]

> SHE DID THIS TO YOU ON PURPOSE. THAT BITCH.

[horrortamer-archive]

>Scar: Give an ultimatum.

You’ve had it.

You never talked much about your relationship with The Felt. It was all based on an agreement with Doc Scratch. You were to make sure that the timeline followed canon from your point of view while The Handmaid worked in the finer details. You kept things on track politically and on a global scale while she did things interpersonally like watching Redglare finish her very early schooling, monitoring The Dolorosa’s early years, and making sure Mindfang didn’t cause too much fuss. But honestly? She hates her job, you hate your job, but all thoughts of rebellion have left her head. She has been in her position for much longer than you can imagine. But you? You’re tired of your bullshit. 

You have been following a young inexperienced self centered empress who in her short time on the throne has already lead a genocide and a puppet with a god complex who wants to watch the planet suffer just so some fucked up unloving god can deliver a teenager detonated apocalypse. You have been under their rule for one sweep now and you’re so fucking tired and angry.

However, you have spoken enough about your anger. You’ve been loud enough that one of them started paying attention to you. It’s early morning and you’re standing on your balcony overlooking the ocean in your pajamas with only a cardigan protecting you from the harsh autumnal cold. Next to you stands Crowbar, a leprechaun you have been working close with over the past sweep. He is Scratch’s right hand man, the third in charge of the Felt, and one of his jobs was to watch over the progress on Alternia. His current objective? Keep you calm and obedient. And you knew this. Beyond all his smiles and PR work, he was just here to make sure you didn’t deviate from canon. If you did, there was a threat that Scratch would start the apocalypse early by initiating the Vast Glub. So, of course, you just shut up and listened to what he had to say for now.

“So what part of this is it?” He asked, looking up at you. “The whole fixed fate thing? Is the beast drivin’ you crazy? Is it the creepy clown grindin’ your gears?” Crowbar looks to you, silently waiting and anticipating for an answer. When you remain silent, there is a sigh before he speaks again. “C’mon. Just tell me how to fix it. I know you’re upset, but I’m on your side, bud.”

You glare down at him, violet eyes near glowing in the new darkness that covered the sky and sea. “I want out.” You state bluntly which triggers a confused look to morph onto his face. “I demand one of two options. One, I am allowed to escape the timeline without the Vast Glub. I can be free and live the life I want with my partners and children and The Felt can continue their operation without me. Two, remove Peixies from the throne and Makara from his seat and leave the planet to develop on it’s own. Allow someone more capable to take their places. All your business is doing is killing us. I will not settle for any less.”

Crowbar’s big buggy eyes stared up at you absolute flabbergasted. You could not tell what part of that statement amazed him so. Maybe he was just running it through his head that you wanted to uproot their whole operation. There were a few more beats of silence before he could say anything. “So… You’re given a life of luxury, more riches than no one but the empress and heiress can top, and a big comfortable house and a ship of fine hardworking people… and you want to throw it all away?” He chuckles at the idea before looking back at you for approval, hoping that you would waver.

Your face stayed blank as you moved your eyes to look at the sea. “You’re trying to keep a prisoner happy in their cell. I’ve earned none of this. Your people have pushed the chosen one narrative on me, and let me tell you, it’s not good writing.”

“So, I gotta just be honest with you. I can’t really…” He paused, looking away from you, almost embarrassed. “...doooo any of that? You’re asking a bit too much of me.”

“Oh, no, I’m not asking anything from you.” You raised one hand from your hip and aimed your middle finger at the green moon. “I’m demanding it from him.” You lowered your hand back down to your side. “He has until the end of my vacation, when I get back on my ship. I will not waver.”

Crowbar let out a sigh of frustration, like he knew he was going to get his ass beaten once he got back to the mansion. “Being a politician really made you rigid, huh?”

“I am no politician. I’m a person. The bullshit your boss has put me through is what has made me rigid. We are done here.” Without a moment of hesitation, you turn and walk back into your bedroom to rest in bed with C. Once you’re inside and have locked the balcony doors, Crowbar disappears to wherever he’s meant to be.

Deep down you know none of it will go through. You know that you must be ready for war.

[horrortamer-archive]

==> Scar: Fear no longer.

TW: Mentions of past abuse, graphic depictions of death, murder, and misgendering. Please do not read if these subjects upset you.

One of your biggest fears while you were sailing was meeting Aranea Serket again. You had heard rumors that she had served her own jail time and was waiting execution when you left. Since then, you heard she had escaped the city and taken to the seas under the title Marquise Mindfang. You hadn’t run into her in the past 20 sweeps and you took this as a blessing.

You and your crew docked at the next port to search for more crew and pick up supplies. This port town was not exactly a place you would normally stop as a royal, but as a defect you must get used to scum and villainy. After all, you are now among them. It’s dirtier, more run down. Your iconic ship pulling into port did draw eyes, after all, near everyone on the planet has been alerted of your disappearance. You pulled up a hood on your cloak to walk freely in. You would have your first mate by your side if anything were to go wrong.

For hours, you two had passed through bars and perused the streets looking for new crew to hire. The primary goal was to find a free helmsman who already has ports installed and offer them standard crew pay. Not shockingly there are very few in the world, so you will be investing in a gasoline generator later if the venture still proves to me unsuccessful. 

While sitting in one of the bars to scout, your first mate left you alone to grab a drink as a reward to himself. But you refuse to be off your guard. While he was away, you heard a female voice loudly shout nearby. “Oh my moons and stars! Njorde?” The way the woman said your voice made your spine stiffen up and your heart race in fear. Your brain wants you to run. Run far away. Then she comes into your vision past the blind spot the hood created.

Aranea Serket. It’s like she never changed. She was growing out her hair and her face had definitely aged. Her multiple pupils were boring holes into your face as she looked at you with joy and shock. Like you were some kind of animal to admire. Fear and pain were very visible on your face.

“Oh my, Njorde, you have… grown.~” There was a bit of a flirty chuckle as she moved to fit across from you, uninvited. “It’s been so long. I’m happy to see you haven’t stopped being handsome. I’m shocked you can grow a beard. I mean, I have been shocked. I’m shocked you’re ALIVE first of all. You’re made of some really tough stuff. Maybe some of my luck rubbed off on you.” The sound that she let out sounded like a cackle. Disgust gripped your stomach and squeezed it tight. Her voice. Her face. It made you nauseous.

But you smile. You force a smile on to your face. It’s fake, but she doesn’t give a shit. You know how her pan used to work and you doubt it ever changed. She thinks you still love her. The world and the moons and the stars revolve around her. “It is nice to see you again, Aranea.” you lie.

“Ooooooooh!~ Someone pupated well. You became a handsome man with a voice to match.” And that made you want to throw up. Of course you’re not publicly out in your timeline. Why would she know you weren’t a man? You can give her that, but you know, even if she knew your gender, she would have still said that.

You stand up and she marvels at how tall you’ve grown. Oh you can see there is lust in her eyes. You have seen that look long before. It’s the same look she gave you when you were both arrested every single time. It made your heart sink and your stomach rise. And yet you continue to smile. “Why don’t we go outside and catch up? Someplace we can be alone. I don’t think everyone in the bar needs to hear of our dirty adventures.”

Aranea liked that. She really liked that. When she stood up next to you, you had to keep yourself from laughing. She was only about 7 feet tall, and you know she will insist that she is 8. You walked behind her. You made sure she wouldn’t leave your sight. She started babbling as she led you someplace. You weren’t listening to her and whatever big lies she was trying to feed you. Once a while she would ask you a question. How did you escape prison? How did you become orphaner? Is it true that you’re defecting? Why did you choose this port to go missing in? Are you done sailing? Would you like to join her crew? Every time, you refused to answer. “Get us alone and I’ll tell you.” you insist. And she believes it. She honestly believes it. You almost feel bad.

After about fifteen minutes of walking, you’re in an ally together. This was obviously a sketchy place in town. A place that a tourist couldn’t leave with their wallet or possibly die in. And she trusts you here.

“So?” she asks “To start off, how did you escape prison?? I need to know! I already told you I escaped. Fess up!” She seemed so genuinely excited.

The woman who put you in prison. The woman who tormented you for almost ten sweeps. The woman who almost killed you because she no longer found you useful. The same bitch who stabbed you and gave you scars for failing jobs and then turned around as you wept on the floor and papped you and kissed your face and told you she loved you. She did genuinely think she was a good moirail.

She does genuinely want to control you again.

You take a deep breath and sigh it out. “I didn’t. I was released by order of the empire.”

She laughed in your face. Like she could never imagine it. “THE EMPIRE? What would the empire want with YOU? Just be honest! You fucked your way out, right? Did you fuck the royal orph--”

Before she could finish her sentence, your big fist decked her in the face. She fell to the ground with a scream. She stopped out of shock before she started yelling at you. You couldn’t hear her. You were fueled with a rage you have not felt in a long time. You got on top of her on the floor. Your left hand squeezed her neck just enough where she could breath but she couldn’t speak. You could see that she was trying to reach for her sword, but before she could, you placed another blow to her face. Then another. Then another. You’re sure you’ve broken her nose at least. But you won’t stop until her skull is shattered and her jaw is broken and her brain is bleeding and she stops breathing. You won’t stop until she pays for the hell she put you through. You won’t stop until she’s fucking dead.

You think you’ve lost yourself. You don’t know how much time has passed. You look down at what you’ve done and… you’re not disgusted. Actually, you’re full of joy. You wipe your bloody hands off on her clothing and flip her face down onto the cobblestone ground.

You text your first mate. You need to leave immediately. From where you’re from, you’re supposed to eat someone who loses a battle like this but you’re not willing to eat something so dirty.

You’ve finally killed your abuser.

Now you have absolutely nothing to fear.

[horrortamer-archive]

==> Scar: Read the letter.

You got a reply. Your answer came in the form of a letter; a much less intimidating way than you were expecting. You were ready for the puppet himself to come down and scold you and then you would fight him and accidentally end the world. So this was a lot better.

The envelope was excessively fancy. It was a stiff dark green paper that he must use all the damn time. This fucker loves green. There was no addresses on it, just your full legal adult title which you are simply growing tired of reading. Once you opened the envelope and pulled out the black paper inside, you stared down at the white letters placed there by a typewriter.

“Dear Royal Orphaner Admiral Cronus Dualscar Ampora,

I hope this letter finds you well as your vacation comes to a close. After Mister Seven had told me the news I was a bit confused and astounded. Even I could never see such demands coming! I have taken some time to sit and deliberate on the choices you have given me and I have come up with an answer for you. In the best interest of the timeline, I am afraid I have to ask you to rethink your stance. You must come to realize there are a lot more people involved in this operation than you can comprehend. Asking us to just “leave you alone” is nearly impossible. I know you of all people would like Alternia to keep her shape and population, therefore we must continue our operation to keep life on her safe. As for your second suggestion, I could agree to separating you from The Felt but not from your planet and this timeline completely. You are vital to making sure everything runs smoothly. I am sorry to hear that you, your matesprit and children are unhappy but you must understand that you are required to stay on your own Alternia until you are dismissed. I hope that we can come to an agreement that will keep everyone safe and happy.

-Doc Scratch”

Needless to say, you’re fucking pissed. You knew this would happen. The puppet would do a polite song and dance that in it’s simplest form meant go fuck yourself. Your claws ripped the black paper in half, throwing it to the ground. He knew the shitstorm was coming, but he thinks he has you wrapped around his finger. Soon he will find out that you’re going to rewrite this story.

This war will be the death of the author.

[horrortamer-archive]

=> Scar: Be drunk and down.

[TW: Intoxication, self hatred, abuse mentions, mild nsfw mentions, self harm mention]

You’ve excused yourself. You had to use the bathroom. Standing there was more comfortable than laying on the hard wooden floor. You had one bottle of wine. Just one. Usually you don’t get this tipsy this fast.

You fully know what wine does to you. Oh lord, the fuckin horndog in you was roaring. But you wanted that thrill of flirting with people you’ll never see again. You knew your boyfriend was fine with it. There would be little to no guilt. But how? You’re stuck on a ship. You reached out and attempted to court and romance a couple of people who you mingled with randomly online. You sought companion ship in those you were attracted to and yet too scared to flirt with and yet...

No one reciprocated. You would understand if it was just them being uncomfortable. You know when to lay off at any state of intoxication but... Doubt came in. It found itself in your bones and resonating in your skull. 

What is wrong with you? No, seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you? Are you some kind of creep? Just because all you’re good for is sex? You don’t have to push that on people. You’re fucking useless at reading between the lines.

You look at yourself in the mirror. You look hollow. You’re an intruder in your own body. You grab the edges of the sink so you can resist the urge of scratching at yourself like you’re trying to escape. You don’t deserve this face. Even with all these scars, somehow people still love you. Until now. What’s so repulsive about you now?

You should’ve just stuck to your fascination with old dying men. They have nothing left to live for. You miss how he worshiped you and your young body. How you were his good boy. Even on your worst days, he never stopped loving you. Maybe once your mother killed him you got ugly. Unloveable. Do people love you out of pity? If you’re only good for sex yet unfuckable why don’t you just... Just...

Then you threw up in the sink.

[horrortamer-archive]

==> Scar: Look at it

When you saw the image of Lula and Justin, the impact was immediate. It felt like a hand took your heart and squeezed it so hard it exploded. That intense pain and dread then coated your body from the shoulders down. You couldn’t stop looking at it. You feel like she had cheated on you, but you weren’t dating anymore, so why did it feel like this? Once you could tear your eyes away, you went to your favorite group chat immediately. The only place full of people you could trust.

You met your matesprit, C, in your hive. He gently took your large hand and you both walked silently into the woods. He could feel how upset you were from how tight you were holding his hand and the blank expression on your face. That was enough to let him know that you were about to lose it. When you two stopped at the largest tree C knew of, you stared at it.You stared at the lines of it’s bark and followed them up to the greens at the top which towered over even you. Your claws grazed along the bark like you were thinking about just walking away.

Then the image flashed in your head. Just for a second.

You clenched your fist tight and delivered your first blow, then a second, then a third, and on and on. You weren’t mad at them. No, you pictured the tree as yourself. Tall, strong, beautiful, but evidently weak when hit over and over again. You wanted to take it down. You wanted to rip it to shreds. How dare this fool feel? Doesn't this thing know that emotions will be it’s downfall? That if it confides all of it’s secrets and trauma into one thing, that thing will take it down? This tree has lived and prospered for so many sweeps, and yet it will be ripped in half from you. It will be ripped from the world that it depends on and die slowly on the forest floor. If only it could fight back, it could have a chance. If it could fight back, it could live another day. But you are going to kill and destroy something so beautiful and old and strong because you have lost your sense of control otherwise. Because you have lost control of your own mind which instead tries you bury you in the dank wet ground of this forest for which this tree will decay into instead. 

Because you’re a fucking loser who can’t get over a girl that you foolishly told things you had never told anyone before.

Once you come back down to the world, you see the tree fallen; disconnected from where you placed so many blows. Then you look around and see your boyfriend hiding behind another tree to avoid anything else that would fall in the process. Then, your own hands. Your knuckles were bleeding that privileged dark violet, your claws covered in it too. Your palms had deep wounds in them from where your claws had sheathed themselves into your hands.

Dread took over your body again, and you felt yourself beginning to cry.

You want to go home.

[horrortamer-archive]

==> You almost miss being called flower boy...