brutally soft.

( A GIRL LIKE A LOADED GUN, THE SCENT OF VANILLA AND HONEY, LONELINESS SO BIG IT'LL SWALLOW YOU WHOLE ) ▸ welcome to latverion, KAREN PAGE. it’s time to be gracious, for in this vast multiverse, you have been saved by emperor doom. according to records you are 35 and use SHE/HER pronouns. emperor doom expects you’ll enjoy your career as JOURNALIST, or else. excellent. we look forward to your contribution.

while jake didn’t show much in terms of an outward reaction, he noted the way she surveyed the vehicle and her surroundings. smart, cautious. not a bad thing, but one of the little things he found interesting. it was just a sign of someone that knew enough about the world works to not just trust anyone too easily. he gave a quick nod in return, before introducing himself. “jake lockley.” sometimes a name could ease nerves, though it didn’t make much difference to him.

he set the meter before beginning to drive in the direction of the killiseum. “not a problem.” he reassured, though finding it an interesting place to choose. “got a favorite fighter?” he questioned under the the aire of curiosity, before stifling a quiet laugh. “just tell me it’s not that moon guy.” a personal joke at marc’s expense, though no one else would even know it.

||     YOU GET USED TO TAXIS,   to public transport,   in a place like new york.   where karen had come from,   it was pretty much unheard of  —  it was just you,   and your car,   in little rural towns,   on mostly - empty streets.   new york had been an adjustment,   loud and booming and intense.   latverion is,   to it’s credit,   a little quieter.   something to do with less people, surely,   but karen doesn’t mind it.   sometimes,   it feels like a mix of both of her homes. 

she’s trying to acclimate.   this is home,   now.

Latverion was weird, full of faces he knew, but people he didn’t. It was a relief whenever someone he took for an old friend turned out to really be an old friend, same universe and all. He could pretend, at least for a little while, that nothing had changed at all, that they were still home where they should be. Johnny stared at Karen’s wilting salad and made a face in sympathy. 

“Hey, I guess it never hurts to keep the press on side.” He pushed the pizza box towards her and grinned.  

“There’s your next article. Hotshot Hero Saves the Day for Down-On-Her-Luck Journalist,” he teased. “Something like, infamously handsome and rugged bad boy Johnny Storm comes to the rescue, sacrificing his own pizza needs for those of others. Good, huh? You can copy that, I won’t mind.” 

||     NORMALCY WAS A DELICACY  —  unafforded,   here,   where the world was now shifted.   alice through the looking glass,   in a way,   and karen finds it both funny and deeply unsettling.   she’s been acclimating,   though.   certainly easier with some friends around.   her smile widens a little at johnny’s chatter,   the ease here.   lately,   she’s been a little more stressed out than usual  —

there’s a lot going on.   there are rock trolls.   her and ben have been doing the best they could,   gathering information and observing the mines,   but still.   hectic.   this was a nice reprieve. 

“yes, of course, m—“ he cuts himself off. “karen.” the name still sounds very awkward to his ears, but he supposes he needs to get over it because… she’s right, they’re going to fight some rock trolls. this should be fun and not dangerous at all. he watches as karen slides over the little notebook. with particular care, he takes it and starts flipping through—his back hunched over, as if to prevent anyone from reading the contents. “you’ve got nerves of steel writing those opposing pieces, k-karen. i wouldn’t take it upon victor to strip us off our first amendment once he sees them trickling in.” he shakes his head. “but someone needs to knock him down a couple of pegs.” ben observes what karen has written down and exhales loudly. he taps on the book. “this doesn’t sound good. what else is he hiding from everyone? do you think the roxxon workers would want to speak with us about this? seems reckless for us to just run in without a plan.”

🧬 — “ honestly ? ” he paused, using the time to gauge her reaction. read whatever may grace her face. “ no clue. i just work here, ” he said, purposefully sounding carefree and playful. “ oh ! of course. ” ben acted apologetic, as if he had been caught assuming something he no longer felt the need to. silly me, his grin said. that wasn’t entirely the case. he couldn’t care less for the secrets of the department— or doom’s, for that matter— but he had his own he would rather keep tucked away. neat and clean. nothing a little snooping could uncover, surely, but he was an ever paranoid clone. a healthy amount, if such a thing exists. “ anything i can answer for you ?  it’s no bother. my brother, he was something of a journalist. not very good but.. left me with a soft spot. ”

the voice that broke the hysteria of her own caused val to immediately calm down. she needed to for gorm’s sake - and for her own. slowly, she looked over towards the newly arrived individual and gave her a small nod. “i was his king and i let him down. something happened, someone did this - i’ll need to tell thor.” she whispered, barely hearing karen’s words of concern for her safety before turning to face the other. 

“thank you,“ she added, especially grateful for the kindness and warmth that seemed to come from her - “let’s… yes, let’s go before those doom bots show up. we don’t need them.“ she felt the bile in her throat as she took a last glance at gorm before allowing karen to lead her away. “i’m val.“

||    there are so many things karen doesn’t know.     for a while,   she was able to pretend that hell’s kitchen was her home.   her new one,   the place she was making a name for herself.   she’d begun to learn the ins and outs,   get the names of everyone important,   build a little spot,   there.   but here  ?  karen doesn’t know anything.

she’s trying,   though.   surely it counts for something.

if someone doesn’t tell him that the karen opposite him is not his karen, he wouldn’t even know the difference. she moves just like her, speaks just like her, feels just like her. it’s getting harder and harder to separate the two. he almost wanted to reach out and tell her to stop—stop reminding him of his friend. almost. almost. almost. instead, he manages, “it definitely is a hell-hole. they don’t call it hell’s kitchen for nothing.” a poor attempt at a joke. he could almost hear foggy in the back of his mind as he admonishes him for his shitty joke. oh, god. foggy, what happened to him? “my home? it’s also hell’s kitchen. it’s overcrowded, smells like shit, the pollution… it’s bad, but everyone was there. it was—” home. the word on the tip of his tongue, yet he can’t say it, afraid that his voice would waver. he clears his throat, “do you have that coffee shop opposite of nelson and murdock? the one with the weak coffee but really good bagels?”

||     reconnection feels strange when the person  you are reconnecting with isn’t really even your person.   it doesn’t make sense to karen,   this matt  —  for all intents and purposes,   he is the matt she knew.   the one who helped save her from union allied.   the one who kept her alive,   the one who befriended her,   cared for her,   when few else in hell’s kitchen did.   it isn’t fair to this matt,   but karen’s an excellent pretender,   and she’s freaked out and lonely here in  —  in this fucked up little new york.   sue her for wanting some familiarity.   (  or don’t.   matt always managed to win.  )

She was relieved to see that the stranger she’d come upon was a young woman, of the non threatening (at least appearance-wise) variety. “Did I….” She repeated the words, trying to follow. “Oh…no I’m out here studying the chemical make up of the environment. Curiosity, you know how it is….” Jane laughed, cocking her head from side to side, attempting to brush of her nerdy tendencies. 

At closer inspection, the woman had a sadness in her eyes. Jane, being the empathetic being that she was, couldn’t NOT want to hep. “Did you?” She wasn’t talking about any kind of object, though. 

||      there is a strangeness to feeling seen.     karen doesn’t like it,   has never liked it,   that kind of vulnerability,   the way it puts you in a place where you don’t quite know how to get out of.   she thinks she can understand why the cornered animal snaps,   but karen’s never really been much of a snapper. 

difficult situations excluded,   of course.

the woman here seems kind  —  not a threat,   either.   not like this.   karen just feels looked at,   and it startles her.    “  did i  —  ”   humor is an easier thing to have.   karen has always fallen back on her wit.    “  i mean,   i’m maybe a little lost.   i haven’t been so far out here yet,   and  —  i guess i’m still getting used to  ...  you know.   here.   sometimes i kind of feel like the only one still adjusting.  ”

@softlybrutal​

Emma’s eyes watched the other as she made her way through Genosha. Emma, protective of mutants anyway, had made her deal with the devil. She would stand by Doom as a supporter, financially anyway, and that gave her some sort of leverage for the mutant community. The rest? They could grovel under his iron boot for all she cared. Though she supposed she was trying to be better. Seeing the woman ask question, her eyes narrowed as Emma approached the other directly. “And what would a human journalist want from us?” Direct and to the point.

||    karen knows when she is not wanted.    she doesn’t blame it,   of course  —  hell,   most of the time,   karen thinks she’d hate reporters if she wasn’t one.   those story - hungry journalists,   she knows what it’s like  —  once upon a time,   she was framed for murder. being painted the villain felt like being kicked while down.   karen’s known low lows,   has spent years repenting for the loss of her bother,   but there was something sinister to a cruel reporter.   she doesn’t scorn ms. frost her distrust.   “  a minute.   of time,   from  —  from anyone,   really.   i’m writing a piece on resilience,   and i’d love as many perspectives,   from  —  from as many different people as i could get.   that’s all.  ” 

in a cosy diner somewhere in midtown, ben grimm awaits for his guest.

“ms. page,” ben extends his hand out, a friendly offer of a handshake. “can’t believe victor decreed you come to the savage mountain. just goes to show he’s not the brightest is he?” and the irony of someone like ben fighting rock trolls—victor and his sense of humour. “thanks so much for gathering the information. it would be helpful as we face the rock trolls. i’m convinced there is a connection between the roxxon mines and the trolls, please tell me i’m right.” meanwhile, ben gives a little wave to a waitress. he passes the menu to the journalist. “order anything you want. it’s on me.”

for @softlybrutal​​

with   :   @softlybrutal​ location   :  xavier institute

nothing  quite  so  predictable  as  finding  a  journalist  where  she  shouldn’t  be.  their  meeting  isn’t  for  another  twenty  minutes,  scott’s  not  sure  on  how  caught  wandering  would’ve  measured  up  against  being  tardy.  no  one  ever  said  she  couldn’t,  but  this  room  is  only  one  of  many  with  a  notable  caution  sign  stamped  over  the  door.  the  whole  school  feels  like  the  exact  sort  of  place  that  comes  with  one  built  in,  students  with  varying  grasps  on  their  abilities  filling  the  halls  and  classrooms.  the  door  is  a  quiet  open  and  shut,  unnoticed  in  favor  of  rapt  attention  to  the  controls.  he  won’t  take  it  personally,  it  is  an  impressive  set  up.  

❛   i  think  you  might  have  confused  the  danger  room  for  my  office.   ❜  where  she  was  supposed  to  find  him,  where  he  probably  would  be  right  now  if  they  didn’t  keep  strict  note  of  who  came  in  and  out  of  the  building.  scott  knows  how  he  comes  off,  but  he  tries  for  light.  he’d  gotten  so  much  better  at  being  welcoming  before  everything  went  sideways.  ❛   honest  mistake,  i’m  sure.   ❜

||    there was a hunger to journalism not many could have.    many journalists out there, sure, but if ben had taught her anything, it was that a sick sense of need was necessary to be a good journalist. to get stories out, to get the truth out, to put your name to an article and stand by it even if no one else did. it was good journalist advice, maybe, but horrible advice to staying alive. 

he’s dead now, if it matters. she thinks it does.

||    familiar faces were welcomed.   karen has spent the last few months just  —  looking. researching, finding, seeking  —  she was lucky, maybe, to have had her history in digging, because she was able to find names. not everyone, surely, but  —  enough that this twisted sort of new york city could make a little bit of sense. 

it was all she wanted, really.  just a way to grasp everything here. 

it’s not easy. doom is  —  honestly, she’s afraid to think about him for too long because she’s half convinced he’d be able to hear. instead, karen focuses on the sad looking salad in front of her. and then, her eyes fall to old friend. karen fights off a smile.