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Below are the 14 most recent journal entries recorded in
Meta Community for Dudes Who Are Pups of Jack's InsaneJournal:
| Monday, June 1st, 2009 | |
| 9:23 pm [jackissuperfly] |
Who: Molly and Ahsoka When: Three years (or so) into the future. What: Makeouts! And relationships. Warnings: Terrible, terrible writing. ( Sufferin' Sappho! ) |
| Friday, March 27th, 2009 | |
| 4:28 pm [jackissuperfly] |
Powers for M-Day 2: Genetic Boogaloo ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} gothamboy - Dick Grayson (Nightwing)-ability to breathe in space gotspeed - Owen Mercer (Outsiders)-ability to feel whatever a person he's touching is feeling (tactile sympathy) imperiusrex - Namor-return of undersea life-based abilities kidsupes - Jonathan Kent (DC Alternate Universe)-(talk to Krys) lewdgreendude - Gar Logan (Teen Titans)-shapeshifting into individuals longbowliberal - Ollie Queen (Green Arrow)-chocolate-flavored semen raisingwayne - Alfred Pennyworth (Batman)-ability to make a soufflé that is at no risk of falling redhero - Jason Todd (DC Alternate Universe)-ability to speak to animals sleepylilbadass - Molly Hayes (Runaways)-psychic influence/mind control (NB: permanent) slingingweb - Peter Parker (Ultimate Spider-Man)-organic webbing (NB: permanent) teenwonder - Dick Grayson/Robin (DC Animated Universe)-psychic abilities the_w_in_mwpp - Peter Pettigrew (Harry Potter series)-vibrating penis jediheir - Anakin Solo-telepathic communication thewookiee - Chewbacca-ability to know instantly on what setting to place a toaster in order to obtain optimal toast bamjeldrnicd - Brother (Final Fantasy X/-2)-psychic choreography skills kokirihero - Link (The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time/Majora's Mask)-infinite magic wilderthanever - Zelos Wilder (Tales of Symphonia)-internalization of Cruxis Crystal-based abilities morningbringer - Lucifer-ability to be in one place at a time/lack of omnipresence |
| Thursday, March 26th, 2009 | |
| 1:10 pm [sleepylilbadass] |
Things I Like About Ahsoka: -She's nice -She's fun -She's pretty -She doesn't say mean things for me being a mutant -She got Jamie to let me stay -She let me have the top bunk Things I Don't Like About Ahsoka -You keep wanting to make us older because of that thing you wrote. |
| Tuesday, March 10th, 2009 | |
| 6:36 pm [redhero] |
I don't want to make a horrifically tragic post about Cassandra! Fuck you! |
| Monday, January 19th, 2009 | |
| 5:31 pm [jackissuperfly] |
Sound off, children. What are we doing? |
| Wednesday, November 26th, 2008 | |
| 3:38 pm [avengingson] |
The Amazing Origin Story of Padma the Submariner! Padma had the type of childhood injuries one associates with a much more confident youngster. At home, she was always very shy and polite, taking care of a spoiled little brother with little complaint. When she got a few minutes to herself, however, she found new and creative ways to end up in the hospital. At four, she jumped off the roof of the house, confident that she would end up in the air rather than on the ground. She suffered a broken wrist. When she was seven, she came very close to drowning in a friend's wading pool, as if she'd been unaware that one had to come up to the surface to breathe. She caught pneumonia and spent a week in bed. At nine, she'd decided that she could move all the furniture in the living room on her own, and apparently it was only the fact that her brother had started crying for her that she'd avoided being crushed by the television. Despite this, she had only two scars on her body: a mark on each ankle, nearly identical, where some birth defect had been removed. Her youth had been spent doing her best not to ask questions. She didn't ask why her brother was allowed to go places she wasn't. She didn't ask why she had to be so modest about her body when other girls could bare as much skin as they liked. She didn't ask why she couldn't major in Political Science in college. She didn't ask why she couldn't even go to the college she wanted: Stanford promised a full ride, but she couldn't leave home. Columbia was probably just as good, right? She definitely didn't ask what her parents expected her to do about their subtle hints of marriage when she had no illusions about which gender she'd prefer. Padma lived a life of second choices. And one day, when she came home from school and her parents told her that she would be married to the Fuhr's youngest boy--"You remember him, you saw him when you helped your father at work last summer,"--that wasn't her first choice, either. She would probably even be allowed to finish school, maybe even medical school. But, of course, why bother, since she was going to be a wife? The day before her wedding, she went to bed early. When she woke up, nothing had changed, but she felt like it should have. There was something in the back of her mind, distracting her even from thinking about her wedding. Her mother and her aunts fussed around her, styling her hair and making last minute decisions about her clothes with little input from her. "No time for a shower, you overslept!" "You can't have a glass of water now, wait until your hair is done!" "We have to leave, drink when we get there!" The wedding was to take place in the garden of the Fuhr's house outside New York City. Her brother was driving her and her mother, as her father had driven ahead. It was hard to focus on much. The feeling in the back of her mind had gotten stronger and more insistent, like a voice screaming at her in a language she didn't understand. Padma pressed her forehead against the window and watched the familiar buildings pass for what felt like the last time. She tuned out the noise around her: her brother's questionable taste in music, her mother's constant chattering, the soft hum of tires on pavement became white noise. She snapped out of her reverie when a new noise pierced through her distracted fog; it had begun to rain. In fact, it had begun to storm, the kind of quick summer storm that descended on the city with no warning but a smell on the wind. "Stop the car." Her voice was soft but firm, but she hadn't even been aware that the words were going to come out of her mouth until they already had. Louder, she repeated, "Stop the car, Kumar." Kumar looked at his mother, who shook her head. She tried to calm her daughter a bit. "We'll be there in a few minutes, Padma--" "Don't look at her, look at me. Stop the car!" It was mostly shock that got Kumar to pull over. Padma had never so much as raised her voice before, no matter how impatient she got with him. She shook off her mother's hand and fumbled with her seat belt: it was very important that she get out into the rain. Finally she escaped the tangled seat belt and got the door open, only to fall into a mud puddle. She didn't care enough to let it be anything other than a brief distraction. Padma climbed to her feet and ran into the rain, letting it soak her from head to toe. And suddenly, the feeling in the back of her mind filled her, and she knew who she was. She knew why she'd never been afraid of heights or the sea. She knew why, even at her most shy, she'd always smiled at blonde women. And now, she knew exactly what to do about this wedding. Padma looked up at the sky and gave it a grateful smile. Then she drew in a deep breath and shouted, "IMPERIUS REX!" A few minutes later, Padma returned to the car. Neither her brother nor her mother had figured out how to react to Padma's sudden personality change, but they seemed relieved to see her come back with a smile on her face. Kumar's smile faded a bit when she took his keys out of his hand and motioned to the back seat. It wasn't long before the shock wore off enough for Padma's mother to start talking about how she had ruined all their hard work and that she could only hope that Mrs. Fuhr would have something for her to wear. "I don't think it's going to be an issue, Mom," she said, not taking her eyes off the road. The rain stopped no more than a minute before they arrived. The wedding party hadn't assembled completely yet by the time they got there, but Padma didn't care. The groom was there, her father was there, and she didn't need anyone else. Her mother tried to steer her away, towards the house. It would have been easier to change the tide than to stop Padma. She shrugged off her mother and stood in the center of the few guests that had already shown up. Sanjay Fuhr was a nice boy. If she had been straight and interested in an arranged marriage, he probably would have been one of the better choices. Of course, he could have been a boar with a face like a dog's rear end for all her father cared. It was business. That made it easier. "Excuse me, everyone!" Padma's guests looked more surprised than Sanjay's guests, mostly because many of them had never heard her voice loud enough to be heard this clearly. "What are you doing?" hissed her father. He tried to storm over to her, but it's difficult to storm properly when you're being held back with one arm by a 120-pound girl. "Excuse me! This wedding has been canceled. Repeat, there will be no marriage today! Anyone wishing to see two strangers joined against their will, well, I'm sure someone has a daughter for Mr. Fuhr to set his son up with. He's probably taking applications." To Sanjay, she added, "It's not me, it's you. You're not a woman." "You--!" her father began, but Padma had already built up a lot of steam, and eighteen years of unheard complaints were coming out with the full force of the Avenging Son. "And you! You knew full well who I was. Who I am. It was just another thing we didn't talk about. I was interested in politics? Push me into medicine, it'll get me married off quicker. I wanted to go to Orlando with my friends? Better get me a job at your office, I don't want to get too distracted from family life. Besides, I might learn bad habits. I like girls? Marry me off!" By this point, her voice had gotten loud enough to attract the neighbors. Of course, for all they knew, this was how Hindu weddings went. "But in your defense, the office wasn't that bad. I know I didn't want to do it at first, but I want to thank you for that opportunity. I spent most of it fucking your secretary. Every late night, every lunch meeting, every hour-long trip to the office supply store, my legs were wrapped around her head!" Her mother screamed, and Padma felt the first twinge of regret she'd had during her entire tirade. The guilt faded when she saw the look on her father's face. He was so angry that he had seemed to swell up, which just made Padma want to yell some more. She held back, but only just. "I'm done." She gave him a little shove, just enough to give her enough space to walk away. He tumbled to the ground. He was shouting in Hindi that she had shamed him and that he had no daughter, but by this point, she was already walking away. Kumar had had the good sense to wait by the car, but he had obviously gotten an earful. "I'm borrowing your car," she told him. "You're not coming back, are you?" "No." She gave him a sad little smile. "Never thought you'd have to be the good one, did you?" "What are you going to do?" She sighed. "I didn't want to be a doctor until they started telling me that I couldn't. Now it's all I want to be." She snatched the keys out of his hand again and kissed his cheek. "See you around, little brother." She hopped into the car and paused. "Be a good boy for Mom, okay?" With that, she drove off. |
| Sunday, October 26th, 2008 | |
| 8:17 pm [morningbringer] |
Had my coup attempt been successful, and I were God, Lilith and Eve would be together by now. With tongues. |
| Saturday, August 9th, 2008 | |
| 2:46 am [teenwonder] |
It was probably worth noting that the underground Fight Club had been established long before the movie came out; indeed, it didn't even deserve the capital letters, especially since no one called it by that name save newbies, who were few and far between. Put Brad Pitt and Edward Norton in a room and have them fight and it's suddenly romantic. Newbies didn't usually last long when they realized that all the bare knuckle fighting actually hurt, and most of these men weren't much to look at. One of them, however, was an exception. He was certainly new, but it was hard for anyone to look at him and think newbie. It was something in the way he carried himself. Not muscular, not tattooed, not even wiry and mean. He was just calm and casually confident, like a predator that wasn't hungry staring down prey it didn't feel like hunting. Yet. There was no leader, as such, but the man who came closest to the concept approached the new kid. "You new?" "Yeah." The kid's voice was colder than the man would have thought, but it made sense; why else would a kid be in here? "You know the rules?" "No shirts, no shoes, no problem." The words would have made him laugh in any other tone, but the man felt vaguely uneasy about the kid's thorough confidence. "No, kid. New guy fights, and you have to stop when the other guy says stop or can't stand." "Hn." The man stared for a moment before saying, "You're up against the winner. Probably going to be Lars. He's the big guy." "Who's after him?" asked the kid, eying the potential competition. The man raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment on the new kid's potentially fatal confidence. "The guy who takes winner in your match is Dave. He used to be a boxer before he got chucked out for slugging a ref." "After him?" "Paul." "And then?" "Um. Why don't you just worry about the ones you got now, kid?" The kid shrugged and turned to watch the fight, unimpressed. A few minutes later, Lars' opponent raised his hands in surrender. Then he stepped off the makeshift ring. The de facto leader nudged the new kid. "You're up." The kid walked up to Lars and offered his hand. Lars took it and did his best to crush it. "Do you need to do the needless macho posturing?" asked the kid, who, to his credit, didn't flinch. "You're in an underground fighting organization." "Hn. Kid, you're going to go home crying to your mama." "The name's Grayson. Learn it. You'll be screaming it in your nightmares." Grayson was at least a foot and a half shorter than Lars and easily half his weight. Lars wasn't impressed. He released Grayson's hand and said, "Ooh, tough guy. Tell you what, I'll go easy on you. How 'bout you get the first--" Grayson leapt forward and planted both feet in Lars' face. Then he quickly regained his balance to stand on the man's shoulders before kicking him in both temples at the same time. Lars went down like a falling log. Grayson jumped nimbly down as the other man collapsed, apparently having not yet broken a sweat. "Who did you say was up next?" he asked the more organized man in the group. Two men were dragging the unconscious and heretofore undefeated Lars off. "Like to see you try that again," said Dave, who was quick to stand up. "You come looking for an after school sport, punk?" "Hm. Sure. Why not." Again, Grayson held out his hand, but Dave didn't even acknowledge it. Instead he swung with enough force to knock the toupée off a man thirty feet away. Grayson just ducked. Dave swung again, again missing the younger fighter. Again and again and again, Dave growing more frustrated and sloppy each time. "Stop moving and let me hit you!" he shouted, intensely aware of how stupid he seemed. "I can do one," said Grayson. He stopped moving. When Dave took his opportunity, Grayson grabbed his arm and followed its movement, throwing Dave off balance. He went into the air over Grayson's shoulder. Some of the other members with very good eyes saw Dave take blows to three very sensitive nerve clusters in the space of two seconds. With Dave on the floor, Grayson pulled his arm back. Dave raised his arms and shouted, "Stop!" With an annoyed sigh, Grayson complied. He offered Dave his hand, but the older man smacked it away. The kid turned to the crowd. "Who was ne--" Dave was up and running, not caring in the slightest about gaining a reputation for cheating. He put all the force he could muster into one attack to Grayson's blind spot--and Grayson stepped back, took Dave's arm, and broke it over his knee with an audible snap. Dave's scream drowned out Grayson's next question, but the meaning was clear: who was next? "Uh... I think it was--" Paul had been edging towards the door, but now that all eyes were on him, he blushed. Three hundred pounds of muscle with a person attached shuffled, embarrassed, towards the ring. Grayson held out his hand again, and Paul had the decency to take it. Paul, who had once hit a man so hard that he hit the wall opposite and left a dent. Paul, who had once punched a speeding car on a dare, head on. "Ready?" asked Grayson. Paul nodded and took the first swing. He usually did. It rarely took more than one. Grayson jumped onto his outstretched arm and jumped to a further height from there. He brought his fist down on top of the man's--"STOP!" --hair. Grayson slid to the floor while Paul's eyes widened, unsure he'd just heard his own voice say what he thought it had. "Next?" said Grayson, unconcerned. There were no volunteers, and the organizer didn't feel uncharitably enough towards Tony to remind him that he was on the list. "Next!" Grayson demanded, his patience waning. No one stepped up. No one even looked up; suddenly the floor was very interesting. "NEXT!" Grayson shouted. A few men towards the back jumped. "Ten thousand dollars to the man who can take me down. Any takers?" There were a few mutters, but it was clear within a few minutes that Grayson was on his own. "Fifty thousand!" Nothing. "A hundred thousand dollars, you cowards!" The message was clear: fighting was one thing, but getting their asses kicked by some ninja kid with aggression problems wasn't their job. The kid's fists were clenched, and he was clearly holding something back, but no one was quick to make eye contact with him. With a shout, he slammed his fist into the wall. "Fine," he growled. With that one word, a word that filled most of the men with shame, the kid left. Once he was on his way out, the pressure of his anger got to him. His voice rose as he walked out the door so that they could hear him even outside. "COWARD! YOU CAN'T LOOK AT US? YOU LEAVE WITHOUT A WORD? YOU BASTARD! YOU THINK YOU NEED TO DIE? COME BACK HERE!" There was a loud bang, as of someone very strong punching a dumpster and having the dumpster lose. "YOU CAN'T FUCKING LOOK US IN THE EYE? GO TO HELL!" Eventually the noise died down, and a few of the men were unashamed enough to resume fighting. It might be worth noting that among a certain class of pugilist, the Grey Son would become something of an urban myth in a few years. Some told the story of some unbeatable ghost looking for a lost father figure among the many fighters of the world. Others whispered of a man possessed to be untouchable as he sought to earn the respect of someone long dead. Still others swore that they had seen him that night, that they had heard his anguish, and knew that he wanted nothing more than to be defeated so that he could join his father in Heaven or Hell. Whichever story was told, the feeling was obvious; every man who told the story hoped that he would find what he was looking for. |
| Friday, July 18th, 2008 | |
| 12:20 am [imperiusrex] |
LET IT BE KNOWN THAT ALL THE INDIGNITIES I SUFFER WILL BE RETURNED TWENTY FOLD ON ALL RESPONSIBLE! Your plot be damned! I am the Prince of Atlantis, I will suffer no insult from any mere mortal mud-walking air-swilling surface dweller! |
| Tuesday, July 15th, 2008 | |
| 4:54 pm [imperiusrex] |
I do not carry a watch. Very little surface technology still functions at the depths I regularly travel. Be that as it may, I believe that it is currently Naked Time. |
| Sunday, June 22nd, 2008 | |
| 3:52 pm [jackissuperfly] |
All right, kids. Sound off. Who's gonna be what? |
| Saturday, March 8th, 2008 | |
| 2:26 pm [the_w_in_mwpp] |
Now here's a question for everyone. Should I spend the rest of my life in the closet? The... being here closet? On the one hand, I don't want to be murdered. On the other hand, having about three people to talk to is lonely. But it's not as if people are going to be queuing up to chat with me to begin with. |
| Thursday, February 21st, 2008 | |
| 1:42 pm [jediheir] |
Poor Rahnie. Exes getting all up in her grill. Maybe I can do something. Send out a low-level Force suggestion that boys best step off. Step off. (My mun is so white). I could announce to all the world (or at least those parts of it unoccupied by Jaina) that I love my girlfriend, Rahne Sinclair, who is awesome. I could bond with her boy! One dead guy to another. "Hey, I'm Anakin, I work at X-Factor, I too died a horrible death, and I'm regularly making out with your one true love. Sucks to be you!" Yeah. No. Suggestions? Hook a Jedi up here. Every last one of you bastards has had to deal with a love triangle at some point. |
| Wednesday, January 23rd, 2008 | |
| 9:01 am [lewdgreendude] |
So Krys is a bitch, huh? I mean, I always suspected, given how much evil she does, but then she turned Rose into a sociopath, opened old wounds on me, opened NEW ones on everyone else... I need a refresher in not emo. Ah, here's the right icon. |