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Below are 20 journal entries, after skipping by the 20 most recent ones recorded in
Marvel: My Way's InsaneJournal:
| Thursday, March 20th, 2014 | |
| 6:25 pm [bluecrawler] |
The Talk (for Creed) Creed had given him twenty minutes, fifteen of which were left when Kurt reappeared in the community showers. Either he had gotten there before Creed or had just missed him; whichever way, he was alone when he stood in the spray of the steaming shower. After he had cleaned the rather eventful day off himself with scalding hot water, he teleported to his room and put on jeans and pullover before he made his way to the washing room where he knew there were spare clothes Creed could take. That, too, was empty. Finally, he turned his steps to the room that Creed had occupied since he staid in the Institute and gently knocked on the door with the knuckles of his two thick fingers. His thoughts were going in circles (and his tail likewise twisted itself into coils, something Kurt was unaware of), curiosity, mistrust and more faith than he perhaps should put in the mutant chasing each other like a cat after its tail. However, he had already decided that he'd let this go on for now, until Creed proved himself truly mad or dangerous to anyone in the house and... it would be a lie to say that he wasn't looking forward to what Creed had indicated. However, the door stayed shut. After a few long moments, Kurt turned to go. |
| Thursday, January 23rd, 2014 | |
| 6:17 pm [silvertonguegod] |
Sleepless [open tag] Loki slept for some time beside Thor's large form before he snapped awake, tense and silently snarling. The pulsing heartbeat of Midgardian magic surrounded him, somehow comforting in its alien song and he felt himself relax slightly. Then he heard the familiar sound of Thor's breath beside him. He glanced over his shoulder at the sleeping blonde, his eyes narrowing slightly. The likeness between this man and the Thor of his memory was shocking, hauntingly so. He quickly shoved aside roiling resentments and anger, acutely reminded that the sins of the Thor he knew were not to be piled upon this relative stranger. Vengeful and full of resentment he might be, but he was hardly one to cast judgement upon others. His body reminded him, not for the first time, that he required sustenance and he finally was in a position to take time to see to that need. He managed to slide out of the bed, thankful that Thor slept heavily and that he was able to get out of the thunderer's grasp without disturbing his injuries. Once free of the bed he leaned to where he'd lain his shirt, pulling it on with less difficulty than before. It had only been a few hours yet his magic had done much to heal his battered ribs. Once dressed he padded silently on bare feet down the hall. He had no idea where he was going, but he was certain that if he wandered enough he'd either find someone that could tell him where food was stored or he'd find said area on his own. He much preferred the latter situation to the former, but what choices had he? |
| Sunday, January 19th, 2014 | |
| 5:57 pm [bluecrawler] |
Pre-Emptive Measures (for Creed) All things considered, it was a miracle that things had gone relatively without incident for this long. Even now, no one was sliced up and bleeding, so that was positivce. As he had been leading a small group of superhuman teenagers into the Danger Room, he had overheard a couple of them talking about a frightening little incident last night, though. Not doubt there had been a bit of exaggeration going on for their classmates, judging just from the tone alone, but it had sounded like Sabretooth was on edge or bored (both equally worrying) or why else would he have concerned himself with a few kids out past curfew? Kurt could probably have tracked Creed through the house, but, as he was still trying to figure out the Parental Control on the TV to make it unturnonable past ten pm (at least until some tech wizard mutant kid came along), Blink appeared in the common room. Kurt had spent a bit of time with her after the LAMBDA situation. He was the only other teleporter by profession here and though she already bested him in how effective her teleports were, he had spent longer using them in combat and could teach her a trick or two. And then there was the simple fact that no one played a game of tennis quite like two teleporters. All pity and tolerance for those not fortunate enough to bamf their way through life aside, but it just wasn't a great match if the ball didn't at least cross a dimension or two on its way over the court. "Fräulein Blink, how are you this fine evening?" Like a gargoyle, Kurt was perching, squatting bent-over with his toes holding onto the backrest of the couch, remote and TV manual in his hands. "You wouldn't have happened to have seen your father around, would you?" |
| Saturday, January 18th, 2014 | |
| 8:27 am [silvertonguegod] |
The Fall of a Trickster [open tag] The stars were shining in Salem Center. Yet in the deeper recesses of the night a disturbance pounded its way into the peacefulness of a small piece of nearby woods. In the midst of the trees there was a column of light, a scorching of earth, immediately followed by silence save for soft crackling and harsh breathing. A man was crouched in the center of the blast zone, one arm curled around his midsection and his head bowed as he forced air into his lungs. His hair was shoulder length and black, wavy though it hung in damp tendrils into his face. When he opened his eyes they were sharp green and full of fury as his lips, stained with blood, curled into a snarl. He raised his head and bellowed toward the heavens, as if raging at the stars themselves “ODIN! YOU ARE NOT YET RID OF ME!” He forced himself to his feet, stumbling and catching his balance on a tree. He paused, tasting the magic in the air and reaching for any sort of anchor he could use to rejuvenate himself. He frowned. Midgard, he sensed, given the trace amount of any magical essence, and therefore useless in healing himself. He needed time. He needed shelter. He needed to bring his magic back to full strength. To find his way back to Asgard. He looked around, finding that not only had he been dropped onto Midgard, but a hitherto unknown part of that primitive world. Of course he drops me here…where the locals are sure to seek my death once I am discovered. He shook his head and pushed the hair out of his eyes, taking mental inventory of himself. Several broken bones. Bruises and cuts. Magic nearly totally depleted. He had survived though, as he always did, and now only had the arduous task of finding his way back to Odin. His eyes narrowed at thought of the man “Almost killed you, old man…once I find you it is only a matter of time…” He grumbled to himself, then looked about for a moment before walking unsteadily towards the what lights he could see in the distance. He would disguise himself once he was able, gain his strength, draw what energy he could from this dilapidated planet, and with it he would find a way back to Asgard to complete his final act of vengeance. |
| Wednesday, January 1st, 2014 | |
| 11:04 pm [domcurious] |
Make It A Full Set Dom already felt the heat on his skin, singeing his beard and hair, licking at his skin – a shadow of what would come, but then, he didn’t think he’d survive longer than a few seconds, so it would probably not get worse than one flash of destructive heat. In his head, pictures were tumbling over each other as he let the truck barrel at full speed through the tunnel. His children playing in the snow, Maria as a young girl in her parents’ garden, Carlos and Marcus leaning over the car with the Santiago boys’ father and Dom, the eager little brother, happy to help, the sun dancing on the paint of the machine. At the last second, he saw the greyish, white skin of a locust and a deep-voiced single word resonating through his core that tore a lopsided, pained grim from Dom as the tank filled his vision... Boom. Then the world vanished. Dom woke up much later in a foreign place. Of course, this was way past his knowledge at this point, but the switch had happened a moment after impact, a split second before the explosion. While Dom might not be privy to that information, he could certainly notice his body was properly rattled – he felt more like a sack of bones than a properly constructed human being. It then dawned on him that he felt, then, pain, to be precise. He was pretty sure dead people didn’t have that questionable privilege. How the fuck would anyone survive that sort of crash, though? Grunting, he got to his feet, pulling glas shards out of his cheek and the arm he must’ve instinctively lifted to protect his face. His left wrist felt sprained or broken and his head hammered like a drum, but his skin didn’t seem burned in the slightest. Dom wasn’t dead and a flicker of instinctive animal happiness ignited at the thought. It was more than he’d thought himself capable of anymore. Unfortunately, what was probably a severe concussion did not agree with Dom getting to his feet so quickly. He took a few steps and had time to wonder where he was, why he didn’t see anything on fire and again why he wasn’t on fire before he toppled over again, bedded quite softly in a pile of shrubs. As he opened his eyes, the sun was coming up and urgency was clawing at him, his soldier’s instincts stronger even than the haze of thrumming pain in his head. He pawed at his earpiece, hoping it was still set to the right frequency. “Marcus, Cole... Sam, Anya... anyone,” he rasped. “Anyone there? This is Dom.” Grasping at a tree trunk, he pulled himself up, blinking into the distance. He was on the outskirts of a forest, a deceptvely intact villa a few hundred paces away. “My position is – hell, I don’t... really know.” |
| 6:29 am [cooltrain] |
Some More Delta Squad Is In Your House Cole was glad to be alive, but who had ever wanted to be the last man standing? He wasn’t, of course. Not the last human, thank fuck, though for a while even that outcome wouldn’t have been a big shock. No, just the last of Delta Squad. But there were others and that made it easier to keep going. Necessary. Nobody should say the Cole Train let his team down, right? Still, as he sifted through the rabble that their last explosive battle with the locust queen had left, he couldn’t bring himself to feel victorious. They had started out looking for survivors, but all they found was corpses. Eventually, they resigned themselves to collecting dogtags, remains of armour, weapons, shit, just something to bury. Since E-Day, they hadn’t had the time for that. If someone fell, you were scrambling to replace, not honour them. That was no way to stay human, though. Cole rubbed at the large cut from his cheekbone to his throat that Anya had sown shut for him. His own blood had leaked from various spots and he was pretty sure he was still wearing some of Bernie’s on his armour, too. He tried not to think about it or her chocked-off scream as the bullets pierced her head. He was glad to have his back turned to Carmine and Anya, his massive body blocking any accidental gaze in his direction, when he leaned over a fallen column to see Sam, half her torso blown off. Not that the two hadn’t seen plenty of death, but your friend’s open chest cavity – that shit wasn’t going to give anyone peace at night, was it? Sam’s face looked calm. Yeah, better leave it at showing them that. Although... an uncharacterstically bitter smile tugged at his lips. Hell, but he wished he’d had as much for his squadmates. Dom’s death was confirmed, but Baird and Marcus, well, he wasn’t going to kid himself that they were still out there and leave it at that and still think about it at night. Losing Baird had been a blow that even Cole couldn’t pretend to shake off. Maybe not many people understood what he saw in him as a friend – Baird was recognised to be a great tech guy, but not exactly someone to have at a dinner party –, but that really didn’t fucking matter, did it? Wasn’t them who had to stick it out with him. After fourteen years of friendship, he felt lost knowing he’d never hear Baird’s voice deliver remarks as sharp as his tools anymore, wouldn’t watch him ponder some piece of tech like others would a good book and wouldn’t ever glance over at him again, watching him roll his eyes in Cole’s direction about some samey big boss’s speech delivered to the troops. Cole hadn’t known Marcus and Dom that long, on the other hand, but after all the shit they’d been through together, who would start counting weeks? They’d been friends, brothers in arms, too, some of the bravest men he’d ever known. And they were all gone. Still, dwelling on this didn’t help anybody. Carefully, he tugged off her tags and wrapped Sam up to the neck in the cushion cover of an overturned piece of furniture that laid close. Had a print with little roses on it, too. Damn, she’d have punched him for that. “Sorry about that,” he said, talking to ghosts now. He wiped his hands on the rest of rose-printed cover in his hands and let it drop, preparing to lift her corpse and hoping it wouldn’t break in the middle like an old doll. Suddenly, he felt nauseous. The heat, maybe, or seeing a fellow fighter gutted like a fish. Should be used to both by now, though. However, the dizziness intensified with a noise like static in his earpiece and Cole found himself falling to one knee. He blinked back black butterflies at the edge of his vision for a second, but was enveloped by the darkness the next. When he opened his eyes again, he smelled damp earth, grass and air that wasn’t filled with smoke, dust and decay. It was an immediate thought – strange, wrong. He cursed, grabbing for the lancer that was thankfully still strapped to his back and fought to sit up. The sky over him was the friendly soft blue of a summer evening, coloured pink at the edges. Birds chirped in a nearby tree full of lush green leaves. The grass was studded with orange flowers. Cole stared and held the lancer like a shield for a moment. He didn’t think he’d been this terrified since a giant fucking locust worm had swallowed Delta Squad. Actually – that had been better. That, at least, he’d been able to explain to himself. - Kurt had been sitting in said lush tree as the unconscious Gear struggled to his feet. For a second, he watched him, perfectly blending into the shadows as he did, quiet as a mouse. Then, with a slight rustle, he disappeared to land in the tech guys’ workshop, where he knew there was always someone tinkering. “Meine Herren, don’t call me cowardly, but I think I need some help for a meet and greet. There’s a guy on our lawn who’s around two metres tall and built like three fridges strapped together, caked in blood.” He raised a brow. “And I’m fairly sure his gun has a chainsaw strapped to it, but I couldn’t possibly have seen that right, ja?” |
| Monday, September 30th, 2013 | |
| 5:33 pm [ferociousferal] |
Can The Hunter Be Humble? [Creed x Thor] …Fuck today! That was the anthem that rang in his mind as he followed the Asgardian’s trail. Fuckin’ squeamish Cajun… Fuckin’ bratty ass math nerd, thinkin’ he’s some punk kid in juvie… If my balls get any bluer, I’d a’ thought I swapped sac’s with ol’ Hank… As luck would have it, when Creed came to the base of the stairs, he saw and heard a trio of teenagers sneaking towards the kitchen. Normally, the feral couldn’t have cared about enforcing the rules of curfue, but the yearning to yell at someone was far too great to control. So he ferociously roared at them with such might that one of the poor young mutants – a young boy with octopus like traits – soiled himself with ink all three leapt from shock. “HEY, YA’ LITTLE COCK RAGS! GET THE FUCK BACK TO BED!” The feral scowled as he watched the teenagers scurry before he stormed up the stairs. …Fuck! Still pissed… Feelin' better, though. Good. Need a clear head for where yer’ goin’… He stopped, sniffed, and resumed his pursuit. The blonde turned down the hall and eventually stood in front of a large oak door. Quietly, he placed his ear on the door, and purred when he heard the faint sounds of controlled breathing. Sleepin’ like a baby… Not for long. Creed leaned against the door frame with one arm and knocked to stir the slumbering god by kicking the base of the door with the toe of his boot. He was certainly cautious enough not to put a hole in it, but if the deity didn’t get up fast enough, eventually one would appear. “…Wakey wakey…” |
| Thursday, July 25th, 2013 | |
| 9:51 pm [amnotananimal] |
Good Deeds The cabin's main living room had smooth wood floors; before the fireplace stood a rug made out of the pelt of what must have been the largest wolf that lived. The plush fur was kept meticulously clean... surprisin', given what happens on it the Canadian thought to himself with a bit of a smirk. But he wasn't here for that. Sure, it was a potential optional extra, but right now he just remembered the look on the face of the soldier, remembered the smell of the frustration and desperation, remembered the anger and pain. He knew all too well what that was like. Ta be fightin' fer yer next scrap o'meat, with death tha price fer any wrong move. Ta be livin' like an animal or worse... He removed a bottle from the refrigerator and flipped the top off with an opener. The bottle contained a pricey, stronger-than-usual European lager. Several more bottles remained chilled on the appliance's shelves. He wants ta rush straight back inta tha warzone. He deserves at least some sorta break he thought. He knew how much it meant to have Heather and Mac talk to him back when he first recovered. He knew how much it helped to have Jean and Hank and Ororo to talk to when he first arrived at Xaviers. He took a swig of his lager and hoped Fenix didn't discover the playroom by accident. He had closed the door but if Marcus saw, it would result in some awkward questions. But that was an unlikely event. The seconds ticked by as he swallowed more of his liquor and waited for the large soldier to arrive. [For Sergeantfenix] |
| Wednesday, July 17th, 2013 | |
| 4:32 pm [sergeantfenix] |
Washing The Past Away Marcus followed Baird’s directions to the letter: out the door, turn to the right, down the hall, second door to the left. It made it easier to know which door to enter, as the first door he encountered had the words ‘Women’s Locker Room’ etched in the center. What kind of place is this where the tech guys need locker rooms? They can’t just show up to work in their lab coats? There’s got to be more to this place than Baird’s told me, since there’s a guy who can stop metal by looking at it calling the shots! The grunt gripped the handle to the men’s locker room, opened the door and slowly stepped inside. He made it three feet before the halogen bulbs in the ceiling automatically turned on and gave light to the wide, open space. Marcus was taken aback; it was a locker room, but it was so… clean. Almost sterile, as if it never saw any use. The thud from his boots echoed off the walls with every step. Eventually, his stood in front of shelves holding stacks of terry cloth towels as white as the floor tiles, and next to them were rows upon rows of folded clothes and shoes in black and navy blue – both of which were arranged by size and in plentiful amount. Curiously, Marcus reached for a shirt, unfolded it and lifted his eye brows when he read the small print stenciled within the circular, citrus colored insignia embroidered on the right side of the chest. “ ‘X-Men’? So it’s a team of some kind? Or a company? Wonder what the ‘X’ stands for…” As he poorly tried to re-fold the garment and find one in his size, a thought struck him: “Some of these shirt sizes are big even on me; there are guys here who can actually wear these?! Keep your guard up, Fenix...They might not be as nice to see a stranger’s face like the guy in the red getup was.” Once he grabbed a towel, clothes and a pair of shoes that fit him, Marcus searched for the showers. They were easy to spot, seeing as he noticed the glint of sterling silver shower heads in the back corner of the room earlier. However, as Marcus walked towards them and passed through rows of chrome colored, body length lockers along with pine wood benches, he caught a glimpse of himself in a wide, full body mirror. He stared at his reflection as he slowly stripped off what little bits of armor he had on, and peeled all of the dirty rags of clothing off of his body until nothing but his C.O.G. tags remained around his neck. Scars as gnarly and hideous as the one on his face covered Marcus’ skin like graffiti and spoke volumes of the years of combat he’d manage to survive through. Save Dom’s combat knife - which he stacked atop his greaves, gauntlets and boots - the only other traces of Sera the sergeant had on him was the sour stink of Locust blood and his own sweat that he didn’t have the luxury to wash off until now. Once I get in the water, all of its gone… If I can’t get back…and if they can’t win…a world that only one other person here knows about won’t exist anymore… And yet, Marcus slowly shuffled his feet towards the open showers. He let himself stand beneath the closest one, and turned the handle until the perfectly tempered hot water sprayed over him. He’d forgotten how long it’d been since he had the luxury of allowing such a valued survival resource rain by the gallon. Ever since E-Day, he didn’t dare to waste water like this. But damn….it sure did feel good. |
| Wednesday, July 10th, 2013 | |
| 11:10 am [sergeantfenix] |
More of Delta Team Arrives Sergeant Marcus Fenix was many things to many people: A war hero, a traitor, a leader to be admired, a foe, and a friend… But many forgot that the soldier was still human. This apocalyptic war hardened the people of Sera to new precedents; still, people can only withstand so much mental anguish. After the mission to Mercy, the soldiers and survivors who watched Marcus felt the man seen as fearless and courageous would finally falter and crumble. His team took shelter with refugees in the city of Char after promising to the cocky and zealous leader Griffin they’d do work to warrant their stay the next morning. Once they made it to their beds, Marcus sluggishly took off the top half of his gear and set it alongside his guns and ammunition, leaving only metal dog tags and plated gloves to cover his wide, dingy tee clad upper body, and a combat knife strapped to his thigh should the worst happen while he slept. It was only with the aid of a drug induced cocktail that Marcus managed to nod off, and to his dismay, no element in the drugs could stop the horrible memory of what happened at Mercy… “Dom?! Dom, where are ya’ going?!” Marcus shouted through his communication link to his best friend, whom he watched leap into a fuel truck and speed off along a tunneled street. Marcus, Anya, Jace, and Dizzy were both blinded by the glare of the sunset and surrounded by Lambent stalks and swarms of corrupted Locusts and humans, both equally bent on destroying them as they stood their ground atop a dilapidated building. “I’m pullin’ th’ plug on ‘em, Marcus! Jump when you see me coming! Jump! Do it!” Dom screamed in his ear. The others on his team heard the message loud and clear, and when the roar of the vehicle’s engine echoed from the tunnel walls, all of them crawled down the sides of the building or hopped to the ground, using the explosive fuel canisters nearby as a staircase. Marcus was the only one who stood still to stare at his best friend driving straight towards him. Despite the threat of impending death, the sergeant lowered his rifle and began pleading in the most somber way he knew how. “…Never thought it’d end like this, huh?” Dom said with finite excitement as he slammed his foot on the accelerator. “Dom, don’t! Don’t do this! You don’t have ta’ fucking do this! Dom!? DOM! NO!” The collision from the fuel truck caused a blast greater than even the noble Santiago pictured. The blast was more than forceful to knock Marcus off of the building he stood upon. The sergeant’s body rolled backwards before the flames consumed him along with his friend. The hand of God had to have been upon him; save several cuts and bruises, none of his bones were broken from the tumble he took. On his belly, Marcus looked up at the charred lambent corpses that couldn’t escape the explosion. Foolishly, he tried to crawl to the fire, confident that if he moved a little faster, he could reach Dom and save him! Had it not been for the firm grip of Anya, and her consoling words, Marcus would have died that day too. The shock of the dream caused the sergeant to wake up in a cold sweat; he sat up with Dom’s combat knife in hand – the only thing he had left to remember his former friend by – ready to strike at any lambent or desperate refugee that might have been hovering over him. Except…there were no Lambent or refugees near. And he wasn’t in a filthy, ruined room. Instead of a dirty mattress beneath him, there was clean, cotton colored tiles that left his shoulder blades cool, like he’d been laying on the floor for hours. Slowly, Marcus stood upright and looked around. It’s gotta be th’ meds… Gotta be the meds… None of his gear was in sight. None of his team was in sight. There were no windows that showed the ruin that Sera was in. This…space… was a wide corridor, modern in design, with lighting strips along the floor and ceiling. It was pristine, sterile, and modern, much like the hospitals in Jacinto were. If this were another facet of his dream, there was no cause for Marcus to stand still. Gripping the handle so that the combat knife he held pointed downward, the soldier took cautious steps forward, unknowing what he’d find… |
| Monday, May 6th, 2013 | |
| 8:48 pm [coolaccountant] |
Diary Of A Coke Fiend Bobby cast his mind back to a particular memory from college. He lay back on his bed in the dorm room. Beside him was the monolithic shirtless simian form of Hank McCoy; the newly-blue face bore a grin. "We miss you, Robert. But I am grateful college has been so fulfilling to you, my friend." "Thanks, Hank," Bobby replied as his fingers moved through the scientist's new pelt. "Jeez buddy, don't see why you think people would scream. I'd think you're more in danger of public groping than causing mass terror..." Hank chuckled. "That would be enough to justify the image inducer, nevertheless." He reached for the box of Krispy Kremes that sat on the bedside table and rested it between himself and his best friend. He lifted one donut out of the box and took a polite bite from the side. "Thank you for inviting me over. I hope it won't be too long between our get-togethers, in the future." "It's a great opportunity," Bobby responded casually. "Sure, Seattle, coffee's all overpriced, but right now a freelance accountant can make more there then anywhere on the East coast. And Lorna, she's got some contacts in the colleges there, so she could land a research job." Dr McCoy smiled fondly, even wistfully. "I will miss you, Robert. But I know you are merely a telephone call away." Bobby grinned back, "or Magneto threatens to blow up the Space Needle. Don't worry blue," he said, "I didn't leave my best bud behind just because I left Xaviers'. This won't be any different..." he reached towards the box and retrieved a chocolate-iced cream-filled donut. Before he took his first bite, he shot a very defiant grin at Hank. "You know me, the only thing I regret is not snorting lines off the cue-ball's desk before I left." They both laughed. As Robert Drake, CPA, walked down the corridor to Xavier's office, that same defiant grin was plastered unrepentantly across his face. Once, walking down this corridor was the path to being given yet another detention, but now his stride was that of an unreprentant insurrectionist. Unfinished business. Part one, leave the latest batch of financials on the desk. Part two, stick it to Chuckles. He quietly opened the door to the cavernous office - the site of so many verbal flayings - and softly snickered when he realized no one was in there. He walked towards the desk and opened his briefcase; he picked up the manila folder and left it atop the "in" pile. Then he circled around the heavy wood furniture and removed three items from his pinstriped coat's breast pocket; my Amex, a hundred-dollar bill, and the star of the show... being a small ziplock baggie containing a very familiar, very-slightly-granular white powder. Bobby poured out a small pile of the cocaine and began using his Amex to shape it into two lines of identical length. He used his finger to clean the residue off his card and then rub the residue on his gums. The mutant took a moment to look at the dual lines sitting on the polished mahogany surface of the Professor's desk. Then he rolled up the hundred dollar bill, slid it into his left nostril, leaned over and snorted the first line. He stood up, quite proudly, and then let out a quiet chuckle as he imagined the mortified look that would be on Charles Xavier's face if he were to have seen this. See, Prof? You can't stop me any more! The accountant then shifted the rolled-up note to the right nostril and leaned down again. |
| Sunday, January 27th, 2013 | |
| 11:16 pm [aceoheartscajun] |
He's Back! And He's Horny... The hunger raced through his body and brain like a cocktail of absinthe and bourbon, setting his bloodstream alight with need. With desire. With lust. It had been far too long; abou' a for'nigh'... he thought to himself as he slid the elegant purple silk shirt over his lithe, muscular, broad-shouldered torso. The lights in his bedroom remained low as Gambit sprayed himself in a fine mist of cologne; Attitude by Giorgio Armani. His demonic red-on-black eyes smoldered as he looked in the mirror and growled; "Would you fuck me? I'd fuck me. I'd fuck me hard..." Oui, I would... He slid a pack of cards into the pocket of his black pinstriped trousers and picked up his collapsible staff (jus' in case...) before striding out of his room with a dangerous, hungry leer. The predator was ravenous... Current Mood:  hornyCurrent Music: "A View To A Kill" - Duran Duran |
| Sunday, January 20th, 2013 | |
| 11:32 am [flagonmyhead] |
A Homesick Message (anyone welcome) "...and that's about the size of it. I'm doing OK here, but while we can get messages through, we can't go home. Not that there's much to go back home to, besides you." Steve Rogers looks apologetically at the goateed man in the dimensional window. The other man's expression is cocky and nonchalant as ever, a smirk twisting the corner of his lips. "You're not missing much, Capsicle, believe me." "Tony...we've been over this." Steve tries to keep the bitterness from creeping into his voice. "Bucky's Captain America now. I'm not. Not anymore." "Says you. You'll always be the original model to me. Which is actually kind of amazing of me to admit, considering how much I like 'new and improved' as a rule..." "Tony..." "Sorry, just telling it like it is. Anyway, don't worry about us. The team's getting by, and I'm trying my best to buy us out from under SHIELD's thumb, make the team totally self-sufficient." He grins nastily. "If that fails, Vision and I can always just virus the Helicarrier out of the sky somewhere over the North Atlantic..." "Don't you dare!" Steve says, his mouth open in shock. "Director Hill may be a horrible woman, but she and her people don't deserve to die just because they...!" "Sure they do," his lover replies blithely, his grin unbroken. "But don't worry. I was kidding; I know how much you don't like the whole 'mass murder' thing, so they're safe from that. I may still hit their comm systems and spy-eyes so that anyone who tries to access them ends up in a never-ending game of Galaga, though. The irony's just too good to pass up." Steve chuckles despite himself. "That, I like." He puts a hand up to the dimension screen, which Steve places his hand over in turn. "I miss you." "I miss you too, Glory Boy," Tony says, in an uncharacteristic display of sincerity. "Not having you here, well...it's almost been an enforced celibacy period." "Tony, we talked about that," Steve says. "You know I'd want you to be taken care of if I can't be there...it's why we kept the relationship open in the first place." "I know, I know...but seriously Steve, I'm having a hard time going off with some other piece of man-candy...or woman-candy for that matter...knowing you're over there, dimensions away, while I can't do a thing for you." "Would it help," the super-soldier responds with a blush, "if I told you that I have?" Tony blinks in surprise. Steve waits for the hurt, the resentment, that he's sure would come. After all, he's supposed to be the old-fashioned one while Tony is the "sexual progressive" (though he'd refer to himself as a manslut, no matter how much Steve insists that he not). Instead, the inventor's eyes light up with...curiosity? "Well, hot damn. The Capsicle's embracing his inner manslut after all. So who's the lucky fella?" he asks, smirking. "...Thor." Steve mumbles, and Tony's eyes go wide. "He's not our Thor, not really...he's more open, warmer, friendlier...he heard my sob story, and now he wants me to be his Shield-Brother." Tony chuckles. "Shield-Brother huh? Well, I've heard weirder euphemisms." His face softens, and his smile becomes genuine. "You know, that does help. I'm glad you've found a buddy. It's a load off my mind." "I still love you, Tony," Steve says, his heart in his eyes and a lump in his throat. "And I love you right back," replies the philanthropist. "But that hasn't stopped me from slutting it up, and it shouldn't stop you either. So go have fun. Be your awesome self in that new dimension. I'll sleep easier knowing you're OK." "Just as long as you stop sleeping alone just because I'm not there," Steve replies, and Tony seems to mull it over. "Well, Clint has been giving me some extra-long looks lately..." Steve laughs aloud, and it feels good. Then static clouds Tony's face for a while, and the bearded man's fingers fly over the keyboard. "CRAP! Crap crap crap...Steve, I can't hold the connection! The window's closing on my end!" "It's OK, Tony!" Steve says, as clearly as he can. "You'll find it again! I know you will!" "Los...resolution! Audio...termittent! Steve, I...'t know whe...'ll be able to talk again!" The image dissolves into the prismatic static that is the aperture's default state when not focused on a specific dimension, and Steve pounds his fist against the window in frustration. "Get...ssage back...when I can!" I love y..." Then, hissing, and silence. Steve presses his palms against the surface, as if he could somehow will his lover back onto the screen. "...I love you too, Tony." Then he reaches down, and hits the OFF switch, feeling the emptiness of the tech lab fill him up. Current Mood:  lonely |
| Thursday, January 10th, 2013 | |
| 6:20 pm [ferociousferal] |
He's Back.... [Meant for Thor, but all are welcome to include themselves] 3:00 P.M. Classes taught by the faculty of superheroes just released, and the flock of mutant students quickly retreated to various sections of the house to relax themselves after yet another hard day of expanding their minds and strengthening their bodies. A ragtag bunch of youngsters rallied to the den; all day long they couldn’t wait to get their hands (or in some of their cases, paws) on the new first person shooter video game. With no homework or chores to do, nothing would stop them from saving a digital world from an alien horde invasion. Of the eight mutants there, four of them held controllers in their hands while the others watched. Despite this being an age where hundreds of people could play a single game at the exact same time, these kids made it appoint to huddle around one console and collectively bond with one another. One of the students inserted the game disc, started it, and they all talked amongst themselves as it loaded onto the huge 72 inch television. Suddenly – just inches in front of the flat screen – a circle of pink and ivory light illuminated. It grew larger than the television itself. As the light pulsated, the dark form of two human silhouettes took shape: one was that of a short, small, petite female. The other was of a man a foot taller, triple her weight, with wide shoulders and shaggy hair that fell atop them like that of a lion’s mane. “What the hell kinda game is this?!” asked one of the girls nearby “…I don’t think this is a game…” said a timid boy. That boy was right. What stood before he and his friends was no video game construct or rampant Danger Room hologram. It was Victor Creed and Clarice Ferguson-Creed. Or as the rest of the mutant world knew them: Sabertooth and Blink. Victor sniffed the air and looked towards his daughter. “…I thought you said he’d be here...” The small girl looked upwards at her adoptive father and shook her head. “He should be; all of the classes are over, so…” Victor didn’t let her finish. He immediately turned his head towards the nearby girls – the one who spoke up earlier. “Where’s your crippled leader? Or your colorblind leader? Either of ‘em will do…” he growled. Clarice waved her hand. “Sorry if we startled any of you, but it’s really important that we find—“ “S-S-Stay back!” Panic driven to protect his friends from these alleged ‘invaders’, the mutant boy dropped his controller, scrambled to his feet, and shot an energy blast at the predatory male. Blink – thanks to Victor’s training – was quick on her feet. She opened a portal directly in front of her father and a second one over the boy’s head, effectively redirecting the blast through them so that he inadvertently shot himself on the top of his head. The concussive bolt made the poor boy’s knees rattle, and he dropped to the floor with a laughable thud. None of his peers found this funny, and before Blink could get another word in, all of them screamed and nearly tripped over themselves to flee the den and find help. Clarice sighed. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to make them run away…” “Don’t be. They always run when I’m around. Besides, it’s good ta’ see you getting quicker on the draw with those portals. Good girl…” Victor said as he ruffled his daughter’s hair and bore a proud grin. “C’mon; if we can’t find Wheels or the Wuss, we gotta find the next person on the totem pole and tell ‘em about what happened.” And so, the father and daughter duo walked out of the den and into the grand hallways of Xavier’s mansion, amidst a wave of frightened and fleeing students, in search for any of the ranking X-Men. |
| Sunday, November 11th, 2012 | |
| 9:53 am [flagonmyhead] |
Broke The elevator is nicer, and bigger, than most apartments he's lived in. Shouldn't be surprised. According to Scott, this guy's the best accountant in the city. Never thought I'd need one, but since I don't have access to Avengers funds anymore, it's time I built a life for myself with what I'm due. He's even borrowed a deep blue suit from Scott...the fit is pretty good, aside from a tightness across the chest and shoulders. They didn't use to call him 'Slim' for nothing, apparently...I wonder why he looked at me so long while I was changing, though? The doors slide open, and Steve walks into a posh, if metallic, office complex. The female receptionist gives him a dazzling smile and asks how she can help him. "Er...hello, ma'am. My name is Steve Rogers..." Her eyes widen and he swallows, watching the flush of excitement creep into her face, "...I have a 12:30 appointment with a Mr. Robert Drake?" "I'll page him right away, Mr. Rogers!" she chirps, almost jumping on his words. With an awkward smile, his face twelve shades of red, Steve sinks his sizable frame into a nearby chair. Please, please, please let him not be too long...I can already see her planning out an entire imaginary courtship in her head. Current Mood: optimistic |
| Sunday, July 1st, 2012 | |
| 1:53 am [exiledthunder] |
Yet More Shirtless Viking MAAAAANLYNESS The energy bubbled restlessly under Thor's skin. After he awoke and took a long, steamy shower, the Asgardian took the stairs down to the gymnasium. Inside the gym, he wore only tracksuit pants, socks and sneakers. His torso remained completely unconcealed. Every single tendon, ligament and muscle heaved and bulged with each weight he lifted. Child's play he thought, his skin still devoid of any sweat. Perhaps I should ask if there are larger challenges he thought. Perhaps I'll ask after breakfast he then pondered. |
| Tuesday, June 19th, 2012 | |
| 8:25 pm [dragoonpilotcid] |
Any Landing You Can Walk Away From...(aka Here, Have A Cid) The small red plane flying over the Xavier Institute would be a fairly commonplace sight...if it were not spiralling towards Earth in an uncontrolled descent, its pilot spewing a hateful string of curse words. "Shit! SHIT! SHIIIIIIIIIIIT!!!!" Cid Highwind, retired pilot for the ShinRa, Inc. Air Force and would-be astronaut for the ShinRa Space Program, jerks the throttle back, forth, and from side to side, but nothing seems to be helping...his beloved plane has been hit with more turbulence than she can handle, and has decided that the ground would be a really nice place to be now. Like, right now. Some fuckin' crack mechanic...some fuckin' engineer I turned out to be. Serve me right ta get splatted all over the ground fer not takin' some rough air inta account... But there's a part of him...a most of him actually...that refuses to give up. That would rather learn from his mistakes and try again. With a supreme effort, and an accompanying curse, Cid pulls back on the throttle hard enough to bed the yoke out of shape. And even more amazingly, it listens to him...just at the last second, the ship skids across the back lawn of an expansive estate ground and plunges nose-first into a lake. Ejecting just before the cockpit sinks below water level, Cid lands roughly on his ass in front of a paved walkway, bruised and shaken, but none the worse for wear. "Well, that's just spec-fucking-tacular. A bunch'a turbulence in the middle of a crystal-goddamn-clear sky, an' now I'm stuck out in someone's backyard in the ass-end a'nowhere, with no wings an' no way t'call fer help. Great." After a few more minutes of embittered vitriol, the pilot lets out a final, exasperated breath and stomps towards the door. Guess I better get on the horn t'someone. Better at least try an' ask nice. Current Mood:  aggravated |
| Sunday, February 26th, 2012 | |
| 7:54 pm [brilliant_blue] |
A Night On The Town (for Leonardo) Hank is dressed in his finest black tuxedo...the one he wore for Scott and Jean's wedding. I sincerely hope he approves of this...high fashion has changed noticeably in the last four hundred years. In his hand are two theater tickets. In his pocket is a business card for a fine Bohemian cafe he knows, with a weekly poetry night. And the gallery of fine arts is hosting a Van Gogh exhibit. I'm most eager to see how he feels about the artists that have come after him. He knocks on the door of his friend, and hopeful evening companion. "Ser Leonardo? It's Henry...I wonder if I might beg a moment of your time." Current Mood: hopeful |
| 3:03 am [coolaccountant] |
Hard-Copy Files Are Never A Good Idea The manila folder sat on the coffee table. Several corners of several pages poke out the side, as if the file were just hastily ripped from the archives and plonked down on the surface. But the white label on the folder's tab was still clearly visible. The black letters printed on the white rectangle read: "KIRBY GLEN INCIDENT" The accountant wasn't even in the room. But the folder was. Somehow... [OOC: For savagewhore] |
| Tuesday, February 21st, 2012 | |
| 1:15 am [exiledthunder] |
Okay, I brought my Thor in, happy now?!? The white hot rage that boiled through his veins was quickly obliterated by the feeling of falling. "Father!! How could you?!? He's just as much your son as I!!!" Stars swirled around him as the gravity pulled him down through the firmament. Galaxies spun like pinwheels as his body tumbled. "How DARE you defy your King!!" Air began rushing past him and howling like a wolf in his ears. "You knew how they treated him! And you were even worse!" Raindrops smashed into his skin; each impact felt like a small laceration. "Silence, Thor! You'd prize a bond of water over one of blood?!?" A sudden impact smashed into his consciousness. "That someone who used sorcery to win his greatest battles would degrade another for honing the same talents?!? You're a monster, father! And a hypocrite! Do you hear me, father?!?" "I CAST YOU OUT! I TAKE FROM YOU YOUR POWER, YOUR ARMOR, YOUR RANK, AND BANISH YOU!!" He lay there, face down in the lawn. Rain fell on his broad, naked back as lightning crackled overhead. He reached out then and felt it; the familiar reassuring shape. Mjolnir? Did he not take you? But he didn't get up just then. How... how could you still be with me? Oh Loki... oh Loki you didn't..." A chuckle began to well up from his throat. Thank the Norns for your foresight, brother! The chuckle stopped when he realized what would happen when Odin found out about this. And then he felt bile begin to creep up from his stomach. |