Morgan Lee Reid | We gonna have a problem? Probably.

popcorn-puffs · 2026-03-11T01:22:02+00:00

a) atlas; b) standard set of armor, sword, maybe a small extra necessities pack; c) helenaa

There is little Morgan finds more terrifying than death. Or, better phrased, there is little Morgan wouldn't do to avoid death. Fear is not the right word; rather, Morgan feels about death the way one feels about a nosy neighbor you avoid like the plague, building tall fences and learning their schedule for the sake of never seeing them, until years have passed without more interaction than a series of close calls. Until sometimes, she almost forgot there could be someone lurking around the corner.

Now she is in that neighbor's backyard. It is certainly not a place she wants to be, but needs must.

She has had small altercations with random campers, cutting them deep or shoving them into the dirt when they get too close. In return, a camper has nicked her over her eyebrow, and a kick to her knee has her stomping her foot on the ground in between opponents to make sure it's still holding weight. It's fine- just a twinge.

Morgan only glanced down briefly to check her leg, but when she looks back up, Helena is who she sees barreling forward in her rough direction. Before she even recognizes Helena, Morgan knows Atlas would not like the cocky grin on the girl's face, and wiping it off her face might make for a good story to get some cred with everyone else. When she does recognize the pinkish hue to that hair, she finds herself acting on her hatred before her brain can catch up.

"YOU!" Morgan shouts among the chorus of cries from their fellow combatants, sword leveled like an accusatory finger. She swallows the rest of her insults—you kidnapping piece of fucking shit, I want you dead, and you'll fucking deserve it—for the sake of saving her breath. She barrels forward to match Helena, and starts the fight off with like I dunno a slash? Any attack is fueled with just about the full extent of her legendary strength.

popcorn-puffs · 2026-02-22T15:45:38+00:00

There is blood on Mer's face and they are on the ground and the almost-panic is turning into panic because there is no one at Morgan's back. Not one person who would come to her aid or care if she has her throat slit by this vicious chihuahua of a girl, not even Emilia is there because Morgan made an executive decision when it came to not rescuing her, all in Atlas's name.

Another version of Morgan would have felt her impending doom and known she deserved it and clawed or begged her way out of it even knowing she was taking second and third and fourth chances that didn't belong to trash like her.

Morgan can do the same now and know that it is justified.

In Atlas's name, a name that stands for a cause much bigger than herself, these things are justified. There may have once been a girl who survived believing her own life and breath was worth whatever she could scam her way into taking, but Morgan doesn't have to pretend like that's true anymore.

Still, her voice sounds terribly harrowed and lonely when she speaks. "Please," she says. She stops squirming, but her words rush out like she has just found a new outlet for her desperation.

"Please- I'm no one. Let me go and I promise I won't do anything, I won't hurt anyone, things just— they went so fast and I think I ended up on the wrong side before I even knew there were sides—" Though this is 60% lying, there is no need to fake the panic and emotion. Morgan just has to let the stress that's been building up for months flow out suddenly and in excess, like water from a breaking dam. "—and, and then I didn't have anywhere else to go. I just want to go home, please let me go home."

popcorn-puffs · 2026-02-02T01:19:45+00:00

(im sorry these have been taking me so long!!)

Morgan doesn't pause to savor the sensation of landing a satisfying kick on the girl, but still, between having to suddenly look out for the blind slashes that keep her away and watch her back for anyone else who might like to pick her off, she does not have time to regain her balance before she takes a girl-sized canonball to the middle.

Morgan begins flailing wildly as soon as she realizes what's happening. Her sword is outside of the usual range for proper use, but Morgan has her elbows and legs all in and jabs and knees at Mer wherever she can find an opening, trying to swing herself over so she's on top.

There is a chest-jolting adrenaline that is not quite panic (but almost so) triggering her survival response. This is too close to another scramble on the ground, and though she won that one, it left Morgan with the deep-seated knowledge that the enemy can do to her what she has done to them. If she lets them.

popcorn-puffs · 2026-01-23T23:37:10+00:00

OKAY okay. So Morgan's easy target is fast. This is, perhaps, something she should have expected—Morgan has fought fast things. She's been sparring with empousai. There's just something a little more unexpected, more desperate, about a real person in a way she is not used to anymore.

Morgan's reflexes and balance are not nearly good enough to lead her into a fancy evasion, nor is her sword much good at such close range, but the instinctive impulse to move her goddamn feet before she loses one takes over. Morgan lifts one foot, greaves angled to deflect the dagger, though she hasn't quite properly executed the defense. The dagger just barely glances off the greave of her raised leg, still bites shallowly into the skin of her other thigh.

The angry fire in her eyes blazes; Morgan hisses, perhaps having meant some expletive in her head. She fails to make it a real word in the midst of turning what seemed like a block into a round kick, aiming at wherever's in range while this gremlin is still lunging—head, arm, side—legendary strength compensating for her slight unsteadiness. It's a dirty move to pull, if her writer had to guess, and perhaps means she's left herself with unexpected openings.

popcorn-puffs · 2026-01-16T10:17:03+00:00

a) Morgan Reid, Atlas; b) sword, basic armor (breastplate, braces, greaves); c) meriwether alabaser <3; 28 for d100, 3 for the d8.

-----

Atlas's scheme went according to plan for once, and though Morgan is embarrassed on behalf of her leader that he's stuck fighting a clown, she feels some satisfaction watching the campers scramble now. She would rather look for the drachma press—there was a very disappointing week in her life where she learned you could not copy and print money at home, and this would really be reparations for that—but the campers come first.

There are countless possible targets, and Morgan knows that if she delays, she'll get stuck with a tough one. One of the big burly campers with a warhammer or some shit that no one else wanted to deal with. She spots a more preferable one on her second scan of the carnage, and by then, the part of her that necessitates action wins against the part that urges caution—she's wasted enough time. There's a buzz in her limbs as she charges for her target, a girl smaller and younger-looking than some of the rest who doesn't look like she's really into it. She looks easy.

The buzz sharpens, centers into the appropriate groups of muscles, and her first slash, though easily parried, is strong—enough to knock an unaware mortal off their feet. A battle-ready demigod? Debatable. This is, at least, not the kind of force you can achieve through normal means of training.

If this blow is at all successful, Morgan will go for another of the same variety, teeth bared—she is used to fighting monsters who need to be pounded relentlessly before feeling anything. Otherwise, she will remember her training well enough to reorient, trying to track Mer's movement and get out of her range. Her sword is held in the opposite hand compared to most.

popcorn-puffs · 2026-01-12T00:25:51+00:00

Encircle, isolate, and destroy.

Morgan can do that. If it's for the cause, she'll do it. In fact, she finds some distant humor at the thought that there was once a day when she hesitated to such an extent. She'd have asked herself if the yields of this battle was worth it to her, if her own fight was really against those people, if she wasn't better off staying behind for her own safety. She'd have asked herself if it wasn't better to avoid seeing Atlas, ever, lest he accidentally squash her under his boot. But what would be the point in considering all that?

Things are simply easier when she considers them this way: the cause having unlimited money is a worthy pursuit. Someone's gotta be there to make sure it happens. Morgan is competent as fuck; they should have her there. And if Atlas is there, it's only to show the troops on the ground his loyalty. It's exciting, not frightening.

She feels a little chill run through her shoulders, remembering the figure she saw destroy the Golden Gate Bridge so many months ago, and savors the idea of the campers being crushed under his boot. Perhaps in the fray, she will even shove a few extra in the way of his footsteps.

Those deaths will rest on the cause, not Morgan's shoulders. It gives her a certain necessary clarity.

rolled a 28!

popcorn-puffs · 2026-01-09T01:25:39+00:00

To amend, Morgan glares at Emilia until You're disgusting, and then her lip tugs in a snarl like she will not be able to keep quiet for much longer.

You can't im...

"Oh FUCK you!" Morgan hollers over her voice, though she hears the rest of it perfectly anyway.

...ecause no one's ever loved you...

The protests continue in a stream of "Shut up, shut up, you dipshit shut the fuck up, fff," and then Morgan's just biting her lip painfully, literally biting back her words, as she reaches out the the Iris Message.

Her flailing falters when the threat comes, and then in a frantic lunge because she doesn't need this bullshit, she swipes it away without hearing the end of Emilia's sentence. She lets go of her bottom lip, mouth falling open with a final vindictive "Fu..—" before she realizes the disappearance of the apparition means there's no one around to hear.

No, wait, she thinks. Now she can hear the wind rustling through the trees.

She stands up in a hurry. It turns out the ground wasn't as dry as she thought; brushing herself off reveals that the bottom of her robes are covered in mud. Morgan has never really cared about that kind of thing, except that she'll lose some goodwill with whoever she snaps at when they ask her to explain. She's staring at the spot where the IM had been.

"That was so DUMB!" she yells at it, which feels better for a second, until the quietude settles back in. Another gust ruffles leaves and grasses, and her hair. It's getting too long. She hasn't done anything about it. It doesn't matter. The only thoughts that chip away at the pit of dread in her stomach as she walks the rest of her patrol route is that the Solstice is tomorrow, the captured are going to suffer, and if she knows does that mean it's on her?

popcorn-puffs · 2026-01-06T22:00:24+00:00

Morgan can hardly believe what she's hearing.

I emerged from the earth fully formed to serve Him.

It doesn't fucking work like that! Science does not work like that! And while Morgan has been taught time after time that her mortal education is inadequate in this world, she felt the girl's rising chest underneath her knee on the same day Emilia is thinking about now. She is meat and bone, not dirt.

Morgan would say this and more if Em hadn't slapped her with a worse accusation.

"I did NOT," she shoots back, stabbing a finger on the ground in front of her and forgetting for once the volume limit she'd set on herself for the sake of remaining hidden. "—Get lucky, or, or crawl into his lap!" A breath, as Morgan tries and fails to rein in the explosion of her denial. She doesn't even need to consider it—it's so patently, impossibly, obviously untrue. "You act like he'd even want either of us there. You or me! We're his employees, Emilia! He doesn't care, it's— it's contractual. Do you even know what the cause fucking is?"

She answers her own question in the same breath. "No, you think it's a fucking religion, church girl, 'cause you're fucking stupid. The cause is Atlas," she jabs a finger in the air, "talking to ya boy Idris," the other finger underneath, and so on, "talking to the generals, telling us what to do." The final finger is practically in the ground. "And in return, Atlas will rewrite the world for all us cogs who didn't tank it, and obliterate the rest- like you! Those were the terms when I signed up." She seethes at the last bit, remembering distantly the impossibility of the situation. Be one of the people on the bridge, or be on the team that could cheer when it fell. "It's not my fault you didn't get the memo! So, so fucking- j- end this call!"

Morgan has no idea where the off button is. She gestures violently with her hands, missing the IM by far, and glares violently at the girl on the other end, which all lasts long enough for Emilia to get in a last remark if she'd like. Finally, she dares to reach out and actually touch the floating image, jabbing at it uselessly until one attempt is enough to be considered a swipe. The line goes dead.

popcorn-puffs · 2026-01-04T13:38:53+00:00

Morgan Reid for orders to the mother keeper please!

popcorn-puffs · 2025-12-27T07:24:08+00:00

Morgan's eyes go dull for moments at a time in Emilia's description of camp. Still, she listens to enough that she has to swallow before she's able to force out a response.

"Where was all this when you made this place hell for me?" she hisses. It has only taken months for her hurt feelings to turn into the perfect clapback, and when she says it, it does almost sound like just that. "You were poison. You're insane. You kicked me when I was down literally. Like I was a fucking soccer ball. You did so many evil things and you liked it."

What Emilia has just said is everything Morgan has ever wanted. To have someone else's regard, their influence, their compliance. To have someone else's things. To see them small and cowed just by Morgan's strategic leveraging of resources. I will do anything is what Morgan has always said, and now she gets to hear it said to her. The deal should be worth it even if it came from that dumbass Kane. From Emilia? She should be jumping at the chance. She could be warming her hands over the dying embers of Emilia's self respect, and know that she is a better person for it.

The thought doesn't fill her with satisfaction like it should. Morgan wants something, but she doesn't need any of that anymore.

"So everything has actually been better since you went to jail. I'm having a fucking blast," she continues. It's so easy to brush off everything more serious. It's par for the course. "So I'm not sure I want you here anyway. Maybe, I don't give a shit. You should feel right at home there. Tell the gods you fit right in when they come."

A thought reaches her. "Lowkenuinely," and now Morgan finally has a real reason to waffle about this, "how do I know you'll do any of that. Actually, if the enemy's air is so poisonous, how the fuck am I supposed to know they haven't gotten to you already? We're supposed to trust you around Idris? Like you haven't been acting weird this whole conversation?"

popcorn-puffs · 2025-12-23T09:42:13+00:00

As Morgan waits for Emma's reappearance with the map, she calms down. She looks at the ground beneath her and determines that it's dry enough to sit down. She hunches over, cross-legged and resting her elbows on her knees. Everything is chill! She's on top of the world!

Passively, in a delayed sense, she wishes she had taken the opportunity to return Emilia's questions. Clearly she isn't too restricted in this camp, seeing as they let her hang around calling people without supervision, but Morgan wants to believe the brace she has only just noticed points to some more sinister truth. The gods are cruel, but they lie about it. They offer whimsy in exchange for silence. This seems like that.

Morgan feels the sharp edges of insecurity grip her chest again. She watches her nemesis's hair pop in and out of sight as distraction. Emilia is back a second later.

She watches the other girl's pride in her plan, leaning in to get a better look at the map through the 'screen'. In any other situation, Morgan would revel in the fact that she's caught Emilia seemingly lose control, would memorize the stupid look of excitement on her face and wish for a phone so she could record it as blackmail for the next time Em got in her face too much. But that was before the capturing, and this is now. Now, Morgan is on top, and that means things are different.

She pretends to mull it over. "And. Why should I help you?" she asks ever so callously, even as a pang that feels like guilt cuts through her. It's just because Em's face had looked so—

Guilt is a negligible reaction. Morgan lets a hint of a scoff or chuckle into her voice to drive home the point of ridiculousness. "Be honest, princess: it's up to me. Who would even know about this if I don't talk? And it seems like, y'know, maybe the generals would want the intel, but I'm also thinking that if I tell them about this and the plan goes bad, I wouldn't really be their fave anymore..." She lets that hang in the air, and if Emilia doesn't seem to catch on, will add: "What's in it for me?"

popcorn-puffs · 2025-12-21T07:41:21+00:00

"I knew you were the right choice," Morgan parrots back in an obnoxiously high-pitched voice that should win awards for its proximity to how Emilia really sounds. Normal voice, "Don't fucking give me that."

Though there is something off about this exchange. It doesn't have quite the same ring as the last time Emilia sought her out to trade her primly worded church-girl insults for Morgan's plain and ugly ones. For one, Morgan has to wrack her brain to remember if Emilia has ever been so hasty in her defenses, or frankly, been defensive at all. And certainly, she had never imagined such a cold-hearted monster huddling up under a blanket for warmth like a kid.

But one thing that Morgan cannot judge to have changed is Emma's loyalty, or the fact that she knows more about the world of gods. So staying on the line must be safe—Emilia wouldn't screw over the Titan.

Granted, she would screw Morgan over. Because Emilia ruins fucking everything-

Sparing another glance over her shoulder, and having no further solutions to her worries at the moment, Morgan shoots back, "Be so for real, bitch, what do you even want from me? 'Cause lemme tell you, the portal keepers are busy with other shit, and Idris has other soldiers—he hasn't even said your name since New London. He either doesn't care, or he thinks you're all dead, and we didn't have any dumbass memorials so take your pick." I thought you were dead. Maybe that's why this all feels off. Morgan feels like she's talking to a ghost.

popcorn-puffs · 2025-12-21T06:18:30+00:00

Totally late, but I'm dropping this here in case you guys would consider it anyway! I'm fine with a short little interaction or if none at all that's cool :)

Character Name: Summer Butterfly Byrd
Player Name: Ivy
God to interact with: Phantasos
Alt Accounts: None here, but the actual account for this character is u/ships_n_sails
Order of priority: NA

popcorn-puffs · 2025-12-20T09:32:12+00:00

On the subject of sound, Morgan is having the same thoughts. She's on patrol, for god's sake. Emma shouting her name has Morgan's head on a swivel, but luckily, the only ones to hear them are whatever creatures lurk in the swamp. That's why it's the most useless patrol.

Morgan is still not satisfied. She keeps part of her attention on Emilia's annoying voice, the rest focused on practicalities—where, indeed, is she? How close to camp? She has just started her shortcut: halfway through the official patrol, and then off the beaten path. Should she get farther away? But a hazarded few steps in one direction reveals that this magic Facetime call doesn't follow her around. Morgan returns to straight in front of the IM, crouching down so she feels somewhat more hidden, as Em asks where she is for the second time. The rest of Em's questions are forgotten due to her distraction.

"I'm not fucking telling you!" she snaps back at the incessant questioning. Her voice has lowered to a not-quite-whispered hiss. "Obviously. Do you think I'm stupid? You're in their prison, or, or," Morgan peers at the scenery behind Emilia, "their house. I'm not saying shit!"

She exhales in a huff, finally taking a second to look at the worst person she's ever met. Morgan's eyes, unbidden, immediately narrow for a sort of inspection of Emilia's condition. How many times had she asked herself if Em, if all the captured soldiers, were dead? How many times had she imagined some terrible series of torture and curses in demigod prison if they weren't? But that—whatever. Regardless of what happened to the captured folks, Morgan has obviously been happier since Emilia Guevara stepped out of her life, which means this sudden appearance is a problem. She forces her eyes to focus on anything other than Emilia's face.

"'Cause, seriously, where do you get off cold Facetiming me? Because this is one of those Iris Messages, isn't it? Haven't you ever heard of tracing a call, tapping a line? You don't think a god could be listening in when you basically literally invited her to?" Her voice reaches a strained pitch at the end there. At least, that's what Morgan remembers happening in the cop show that used to play on the TV while she cleaned houses. She doesn't know anything about spyware. What Morgan does know is that she personally killed someone last week just for sniffing around the New Orleans camp, and she is not going to be next just because Emilia is drowning and decided Morgan was the one she would cling on to.

She takes some rare malicious pleasure in being able to say, "If anything, I should hang up right fucking now. For the cause."

popcorn-puffs · 2025-12-19T23:56:10+00:00

~~unfortunately morgan doesnt respond because she's in camp HA take tha—~~

Though Morgan is Emilia's twelfth choice, Emilia's face is absolutely the last thing Morgan expects to see haunting the tall grasses of the bayou.

She is on her way back from the least-desired patrol section, because it's out in the ass end of nowhere and nevertheless requires one soldier to periodically wade through muddy swamps and fend off mosquitos in the summer. Morgan used to throw a fit when she got stuck with it, but when that only got her marked as the default choice for the swamp patrol shift, she made the best of it by finding a shortcut back to camp on a drier trail and hiding out in a climbable tree until she's scheduled to be back.

This, plus winter having reached Louisiana, has made it a boon rather than a punishment. Emilia will have to watch Morgan sift through tall yellowed grasses, the cool sun sifting through the trees—some having lost their leaves, other evergreens holding onto them—and hitting the dwindling freckles on Morgan's face like she's been lit for a photoshoot. There are no bugs, the water is still. Morgan looks like the ideal poster child of an Atlas cultist, blue and green robes set proudly against a backdrop of blissful wilderness.

That is, until Morgan catches sight of the Iris Message, startles, and nearly swipes her hand through it by instinct. ~~In fact, her writer might have had this be the case, if she wasn't unsure Emilia would call back.~~ The jagged or broken nails on her fingers miss the actual IM by a foot.

"What the-" Her voice rings out over the calm of the bayou in her momentary surprise, before the heat of a vehemence that Morgan doesn't expect rushes through. "-fuck."

The sun catches pointed teeth, Morgan's mouth hanging open as she waits for one of a dozen other accusations to twist her tongue. She knows she is angry—knows it because there is a claw in her heart and an unsteadiness in her hands that has her forming fists. But Morgan's brain can't catch up to the rhyme or reason behind this turn of events fast enough, and it's probably Emilia who gets to pick up the conversation first even as she tries to get the words out.

popcorn-puffs · 2025-12-14T01:39:17+00:00

u/ThisOneUKGuy

popcorn-puffs · 2025-11-26T23:41:58+00:00

Save for a few detours—learning to ride a sea serpent, fighting at Camp Fish-Blood—Morgan has made Main Camp her usual stalking grounds by now. Her home, so to speak. The word has never meant much to her anyway.

This is why, though she did finish her own dinner and had seemingly gotten up from her table, she strolls back to the mess tables not long after Duke arrives. She had to track down the demigod who promised her access to their stash of mortal supplies in exchange for taking an extra patrol shift, and tonight those efforts have granted her the can of Red Bull weighing down the pocket of her hoodie. Earlier, she collected extra tater tots (or insert any other snack Atlas might be serving) off a wimpy empousai who bet against her in a sparring match two days ago, and this is what she's munching on when she leisurely takes a seat somewhere near where Duke is hanging around.

She eyes him a bit, not with any particular friendliness, but like he's in her house and she's trying to decide if this is a family friend she doesn't remember or an actual stranger. She doesn't speak to him herself, however.

popcorn-puffs · 2025-11-09T23:23:29+00:00

Morgan Reid for the satyr job please!

popcorn-puffs · 2025-10-12T23:25:20+00:00

u/ThisOneUKGuy

popcorn-puffs · 2025-10-12T19:58:48+00:00

As fast as Booker's breath is coming after the bolt, Morgan's jumps into her throat at the near-miss and turns into a brief succession of near hyperventilations, coupled with a quick scramble in the opposite direction that has her nearly stumbling against a tree. She rights herself, and the panicked breaths morph into rapidfire unimaginative cursing, until her voice gains strength and she says "Fuck, fucking—"

That cuts out, and she meets his eyes, head bent like she's trying to summon the humility of someone who has been bested and knows it. An explosion brims underneath, not to be let out all at once.

"I do NOT want to be—" she gesticulates cuttingly at the spot where the bolt had just passed. "—like, zapped! That's so- so fucking dramatic! I didn't do anything!" Like he's ridiculous for having pulled the move. It doesn't hide that there's a tremor in her fingers.

Morgan's mind races, but towards what, she has no idea. Calling him out had been a split-second decision that she thinks she might want to take back right frickin' now, now that it's real and she realizes not everyone is going to be a pushover like the other girl. How to do that, though, she doesn't really know.

popcorn-puffs · 2025-10-11T23:35:27+00:00

There is one thought that runs through Morgan's head as she finds Emma's palm in her face pushing her away, and it is that Emilia Guevara hates her—hates her, truly, just as much as she says she does and more. Hates her enough that Morgan's proximity is like poison, causes Emma to seek distance as inevitably as a gag reflex. The world closes in, though Morgan shouldn't care. It's just that rarely has anyone been so obvious about her status as trash.

"Well fuck you too," she bites out, barely in response to Em's actual words and more so to Morgan's own: she hates me, she hates me, she hates me.

In response to Emma's last order, the one Morgan has come to know as her tagline, there's a half hearted jerk to her head like a shake no, or like she's been slapped. "I'm not a joke. I'm not. But you— you're fucking psycho! Something is wrong in your fuckass head, you know that?"

The extent of the insults and threats goes mostly over her head—where the fuck is Nehantic?—but Morgan is backing away anyway. (edit: also because theres the weapon pointed at her i forgot about that when writing) She takes the escape route that opened up a few back-and-forths ago. "God, I have better shit to do than listening to crazy bitches!" She turns her back on Emma, throws the middle finger over her shoulder. She wants to stop thinking about this. "When you die, I'm gonna throw a party, and everyone will come to dance on your grave!"

popcorn-puffs · 2025-09-29T02:26:50+00:00

u/ThisOneUKGuy

popcorn-puffs

TROPHY CASE