#c23task

Nineteen years! An absolutely astonishing amount of time. Already over twenty, if you include the time we’ve known each other. It feels important to, even if it’d make anniversaries that much more complicated. But those first five years were what set the most important stage for this grand romance we’ve been so lucky to carry out since.

I think there are a lot of couples out there who could turn to the other and say: ‘You. You saved my life.’ … but we, dramatic as we are, had to take that to a literal level, didn’t we? I already know the look you’ll make, the cute way your nose will wrinkle when you get to this part. ‘This again?’ you always say, and, yes. This again.

You saved my life, Cyra. You saved my life by being your honest, truest version of yourself that up until that point, you’d been understandably hesitant to show me. I never blamed you for it, and you know this, but just like most of the other silly things I say in these letters, it bears repeating every year. You were protecting yourself from the harshness of a world that doesn’t understand what you're capable of, or maybe spends too much time inventing what it thinks you’re capable of.

I know better. I have always known better. You have changed both who I am and how I view the world, and I am so much the better for it. The world hasn’t seen what I have; how gentle, how careful you are with our daughters. The lengths you’ve gone to with Jackie to break the vicious cycle your family tried to impose on you. The world hasn’t seen the little things, either: the way you straighten the papers in my office with a graceful flick of your wrist. The way your hair shuffles in a light breeze whenever you get particularly heated about something — and I do love to see you get heated about things.

I can’t say it doesn’t matter to me what you are and what you can do, because it’s an indelible part of who you are. And I love what you are and what you can do. I know living with what you have hasn’t always been easy, and as much as we both try to put on a brave face, we know it won’t be easy for Jackie, either. It hasn’t been, but that is the simple fact of raising an exceptionally gifted child alongside my extraordinarily gifted wife. I know too that neither of you would ever want to give up what you have, which makes my place in this clear: I am and always will be here to support you. Both of you. No matter what happens, no matter what we all face, we face it together.

There’s been so much upset over the past year that it’s hard to keep track, but one thing you should never have to question is my support. I give it wholeheartedly, with everything I have and everything I am — your much more ordinary husband, gifted only in how lucky he can say he is to have such an incredible wife and two perfect daughters.

My coffee is getting cold and I think you might finally be waking up soon, so I will end this letter as I have all the others:

I love you. I will always love you. In this life and every one that comes after, I am yours.

—Santiago.

The lights that hit the walls made the already vast space appear almost infinite, the dizziness that made his head hostage was only a result of the golden, bubbly liquid inside of a very tall and thin crystal glass or perhaps the reason for the spinning room was only the result of hours spent standing up eyeing the rotating bodies on the center of the room as if caught in a trance. Either way, Matthias decides to put the glass down on top of one of the moving trays brought to him by one of the staff, barely registering the time when another body decided to join him close to one of the solid walls that not only served the purpose of supporting the whole building, but also now also served to support the weight of two more tired bodies.

“Seeing you is like seeing a ghost, Matthias Goetsch, especially dressed in white” the harmonic tones bring him back to years ago and just as he turns his head, he feels his stomach drop and even though he quickly manages to compose himself, it does not seem to be quick enough to escape her attentive glowing eyes. They used to be brown and carried all the warmth in the world, something that was destroyed on the last day that they had seen each other. Matthias had been nothing but a coward on that day (in fact, it was hard to tell when he was not being one), a vessel devoid of any soul as he refused to help her, no matter the tears that fell down her face, choosing to ignore all of her pleas and sobs. “Or maybe, you just look like you’ve seen a ghost, but I promise that I am all flesh and bones” with a bit of something else too, he added in his mind. Her words were not the only thing that dripped with poison and the scars on his back began to ache, reminding him of a time when she marked him with her claws for all eternity, how scared she looked once she realized what she had done. It had not been on purpose and Matthias knew that, he had not felt scared then, only in pain, but maybe he should feel scared tonight.

“It’s good to see you, Crystal, I knew you would be alright” part of it was true, after she had left his house on that horrendous day that had changed both of their lives, with nothing but a broken heart and a bag full of cash, Matthias had known that she was stronger than him, that she would be alright no matter what, he convinced himself that she didn’t need him and soon she would realize that. It seemed like she finally had, “and I see you found some good company” he looked across the room, there stood a man, looking at Matthias as if he was wishing to crack his skull against the wall, it reminded him a bit of the anger that he had witnessed in Ciaran’s eyes just a few moments before.

“I did and he is nothing like you” it was supposed to hurt, but it didn’t, because Matthias already knew that that was true. He wouldn’t be surprised if mutants won this war, they were in fact far more powerful than others like himself, it was a reality that he had accepted since he had discovered that she was a mutant, but that didn’t mean he was happy about it. He would meet his end when it was due, but that was not today, he was wearing a white suit and he refused to bleed all over it.

“No,” he paused, took a look at the man and then looked at the woman that he once thought he loved, “he’s a lot more like you”.

She laughed and Matthias wondered if he had ever heard anything as cruel as that. “You know I could easily kill you at this moment, don’t you?” the question was a simple one, the answer easy to give, but maybe she expected more than just a simple answer, maybe she wished for an apologize, maybe revenge. “Yes, do you want to?” he asked back and with no hesitation she answered, “yes, I do”.

The silence that took over the space in between them was filled with laughter from the other guests and the clinking of glasses, occasionally the loud singing voice of someone who was either brave enough to sing in front of everyone or too drunk to care about the opinion of who might hear, it was nothing like the skilled voice of his friend, even if drunk he was sure that Victor could steal the show. Matthias figured that she would leave, but instead she spoke again, “did you ever want to?” she shrugged like what she was asking was no big deal and looked ahead “kill me, I mean”

“No” and it was true, even though, he would have preferred if the answer he had just given her was a different one. It would all be so easy if he was just like his father, hated everyone for the sake of it, never once giving a second thought to other’s feelings or rights, he wanted to be selfish and cruel and he wanted to have absolutely no guilt on his conscious, but that just wasn't him, not anymore. Unfortunately, that sentiment was not enough to clear his past and to wipe his hands clean.

“I should just rip your heart right out of your chest, maybe then you’ll feel something”

For a moment Matthias eyes locked in the movement of some long dark and silky hair, he swore he could still smell the faint scent of honey and he had the impulse to say, you can’t take what was never yours, but he kept quiet, there was enough pain for the both of them to last them lifetime, no need to add even more suffering. “I hope you know I will never forgive you” and just like that she left and the only thing that Matthias could do in return was nod. That was only fair, he would never forgive himself either.

FAVORITE AND LEAST FAVORITE ALIAS;

“They’re all equally foolish,” Matthias responds with a sigh, almost looking unbearably bored with the question, “but not all are bile-inducing, I heard one of those omegas is called BACKLASH, I could see myself liking that one if I was still an easily-impressed child”.

so, what can your mutant do with their abilities?

He is the personification of a person's fears. When standing in front of someone and choosing to use his Bogeyman abilities, he will turn into a representation of that person's biggest fear. Like boggarts from Harry Potter vibes. When alone, or making an effort not to channel into someone's fears, his neutral Bogeyman form, and what he considers to be his true authentic self, is this guy: (faceclaim is the pale man, from pan's labyrinth)

…and what can’t they do (at least, not yet)?

He cannot assume the abilities of the creature he turns into, he has only his own (human-grade) strength, stealth, agility, etc. But as far as visuals and sound, he becomes the thing. For example, if someone's biggest fear is a werewolf, Rômulo will turn into a werewolf; he will look and sound exactly as the person expects in their worst nightmares, so say he has fur, is three times larger than himself, and he can howl. He even has the sharp teeth and can attempt to bite them, perhaps, but he does not have super strength or a bite that would be as strong as a werewolf's. This also means that if someone's biggest fear was another mutant, Magneto for example, Rômulo would be able to turn into Magneto visually, and even mimic his voice and mannerisms, but he would not have the ability to mess with metal.

what’s one thing they hope to learn or are currently trying to learn with their abilities?

He hopes he can learn to channel's someone's fear from further away. At the moment he can only do it if he's standing a few feet apart from the person, at most, but he thinks it'd be useful if he could tap into people's nightmarish visions from afar.

what is the most powerful thing your mutant can do with their abilities? do you think they would actually do it?

I think the worst he could do would be either giving someone a heart attack on the spot (which he wouldn't have much control of), or terrorising someone to the point of a severe trauma response. And I think he would, given the right amount of anger to tick him off. I don't think he has enough of a moral compass to point him the other way.

what are your mutant’s weaknesses?

Most people can be scared by something, even if that thing is just their old mother yelling profanities at them, but if the person is emotionally well resolved or their fears more abstract in nature, Rômulo cannot take on a new form, and will only be able to present his Bogeyman (pale man) self to that person. Which, can still be pretty gruesome, but probably inflicts more disgust than genuine fear. He also doesn't have a full grip on his human form, after growing up with an auntie that adored his Bogeyman form. It takes a fair amount of concentration to stay in human form, and if that concentration slips, he becomes his Bogeyman self, which can be an issue on day to day life. And he is also still susceptible to any human weaknesses he might have, so he could visually become Wolverine to scare someone off, but he'd still die from a bullet to the chest.

do they use their abilities in their day-to-day life? in what ways?

He'll bring it out if he feels the need to freak someone out, like terrorising some poor junkies who aren't paying him right. But in his day-to-day he mostly keeps it hidden, specially when he's bartending.

as a mutant, do they have any goals? dreams?

To be accepted, loved, adored for his mutant self. His goals are pretty self-centred for now, and he's leaning onto the brotherhood's cause to get somewhere.

how do they feel about the last 30+ years of mutant history? notably, the presidential address of 1983 and the essex house?

Who would you join? Xavier’s or the Brotherhood?

The choice is given, and so she follows along its merry way. Strands of fate loop around her, in this small room behind her office, a ritualistic sanctum for her to conduct her most powerful spells. Her power is a turning of the wheel, the spokes that make the world and those worlds beyond turn on itself; it’s a fragile thing, reality warping, but she knows how to thread the needle enough to get the desired effect. It’s a thing that comes with the arrow’s march of time, and trial and error.

Mostly trial and error.

She grounds herself first, golden thread over a bowl of water. Then the rest. Light goes out, and fire burns in her eyes as she peers into the void, into the unseen futures, into what may come to pass before her. January does not like to hedge her bets against the unknown. A knife point to her finger, and the drop of blood falls for hours, for seconds, for a millenium and a moment.

The thread of fate alights, burning golden flame on the bowl of water. Time moves, stretches, as it encircles the room, the snake chasing itself, a column of circular flame going up into eternity. Darkness greets light, the howling of possibility reflecting into the mirrors around her.

Her eyes burn golden flame. Helios’ oracular flame courses through her veins, the light of divinity trying to burn through mortal flesh. Burning into the thread of fate, burning into infinity. Here she is, and here she will learn. Infinity is a long time. Perhaps she can wait.

In a version of her, in a version that is happier, her hair is put down in front of children, soft and smiling. There is something behind her eyes; a little bit of want. The blood on her hands flow, a river of blood to keep children safe. The dagger behind her back, the horror beneath her vision. She has committed atrocity after atrocity for mutantkind, and she is seen as nothing but a weapon, a liability, a reminder of war long past. Charles whispers in her head, and the others stare at her walk. What is she, except a weapon, except a knife?

Again, she tries, the horror of it all. Once again, she dives. Drowning in flame, into the eddies of the future. Seeing is a curse. Infinity is long, and it’ll be longer once she’s done with it. Another drop of blood spilled on the altar, and she returns to a mirrored world. There is more here, another thought, another future she longs to see.

Heels clack across the marble floor, her empire expanding outwards. The sense of dread is paralleled with security. There is a future for her here, but at what end. The mundanity of death, the way she crushes it all with her well-worn heels. Fear trails her like scent, and yet it horrifies her, as if all that she does hasn’t been horrific to begin with. I am never done, I am a knife here as well. Beneath the eyes of mutantdom, of humanity, the pin upon which the balancing act plays. A respected general of atrocities, an engineer of horror. She wins. She loses. What else will she even ask for?

No answers, only possibilities. Only visions. Mirrors shatter, some more than others. She’ll have to replace them then, and the thought of it exhausts her.

Vermouth. Absinthe. Bourbon. Anything to numb the side-effects, to think about it. This crusade against Essex needs a caliber of finesse that she knows both sides have; forgiveness was never in the cards for her, but maybe it would have been time to start. Jess’ horror, her revulsion. Last words slung with Brandt & Goetsch as she exits the building, barely letting herself let it stand. There is too much wrong with the world that she will allow. Perhaps it is her lot in life, the willing knife, the monster in the cage, to be used in ways that she expects. No finesse, no love lost between the sanctimony of better people and better days.

Her windows are bulletproof, and she keeps a knife under her pillow. Weakness is an old flame, coming home to roost between her brows. She cannot will this away, not really. Her appointments for the next week will have to be postponed, it seems, and while New York is as much a den of sharks, it is also her home now and shall be treated as such. Points are made and letters are sent. Allegiances will have to come into play sooner or later, and it is with a heavy heart that CIRCE—no, she’ll have to think of a better codename, ALLIES HERSELF WITH THE BROTHERHOOD. For now.

It feels like a glove she’s worn well, shoes that are pretty, with knifepoint heels that stick to the back of those who would oppose her. Charles is soft, admirable, but his feelings cannot be consulted on matters that could finally bring mutantkind the respect it deserves.

The day comes when homo sapiens will be supplanted, the genetic destiny owed to homo superior will come into play. The loom of fate has spoken; if she will be a weapon, she is to be wielded by those who would use her well. Even as the longing gaze of humanity is trained on her, she blinds herself. Perhaps it is for the best. Perhaps caring is weak.

A longing heart carries itself within her still, and she dreams. Perhaps—they could do it. They could care for us. Flashes of a dead woman, a long-dead girl, a sad, long-dead girl tracking tears into her heart. God, please. Let them be safe, let them be safe. What well wishes are left to ghosts? You don’t fuck with me, Jan. Not like this. Have you heard from your aunt lately? What well wishes are left to corpses? I’ll give you a headstart, Archie. Then, you’d better pray to any god you can find. You’ll wish you died.

The answer? Funerals. They’re so droll. I wish I could never attend any.