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Below are the 8 most recent journal entries recorded in
Twisted Marvel's InsaneJournal:
| Sunday, January 11th, 2015 | |
| 11:04 am [ferociousferal] |
Down The Dark Halls The corridors were devoid of light, save the periodic flares of red that glowed from boiling adamantium bones. Creed followed behind the bird; silent steps ruined by sharp hisses from each self-inflicted scalding. He couldn’t help but let his mind drift to Odin, Clarice, Loki, both his indigo and sapphire muses, and everyone else that seemed responsible to put him in such a predicament. “…Wait… Hey!” The halls grew wider and the bird – just as dark as the shadows – became more difficult to follow. Dangerous observation for someone nocturnal. “STOP!” shouted the naked killer, swiping claws across what he presumed to be a stone wall. “I ain’t takin’ one more step till ya’ gimmie answers…an’ they better be some damn good ones.” The feral snarled. “How come you ain’t dead, Bird? Why'd you bust me outta there? An’ where are were s’posed ta’ be goin’---?" A lingering thought of pulling out Odin’s femurs singed Creed’s entire skeleton “GNGGHGNNMNNGFFFUCK! WHY CAN’T I THINK ABOUT ODIN WITHOUT FEELIN’ LIKE I'M BURNIN' TA’ DEATH?!” |
| Saturday, September 6th, 2014 | |
| 7:24 pm [stalwartsentry] |
Back on Asgard... “KURT?! KURT! GET MY LITTLE GIRL! GO!” Those were the last words Victor Creed shouted –half of them muffled by the magnificent sound of magic forces at work – before his view of the world changed. When the brilliance of white and amber light dissipated, the heavy man adorned in golden armor stepped down from his body. The blonde gasped from relief, grimaced from the embarrassment and shamed of being bested so quickly, and then growled out of rage. Creed glared at the ethereal spheres hovering at opposite ends of his body, as well as the chains spewing out of the light that kept him shackled. After several failed attempts to force the steel to give from his superhuman strength, the feral anchored his attention onto Heimdall, who by now had taken several paces away from Victor and dismissively kept his back towards him. Heimdall didn’t say a word to animate the spheres again. They pulsated and released some of the tension in the chains that kept the naked feral bound and tethered to the floor. It took Creed seconds to figure out there was enough slack for him to stand upright without much difficulty. As he stood tall – but not taller than the Watcher – that’s when Creed took a moment to study where he was: they both were inside of a beautifully decorated, spacious room fit for the highest nobility, with ample windows along the walls that allowed the generous light of the moon to shine through. Racks of weapons and large bookcases filled with untold knowledge covered portions of the walls that the windows did not. Sparsely furnished, save the king sized bed in the center. And just past the gigantic guardian, Creed saw the only set of double doors in the room. He turned to try and walk towards one of the windows, but didn’t make a full stride before the chains yanked him still. “…Where am I…?” Creed snarled. “In a place none would consider looking for you”, replied Heimdall as he slowly turned to face his captive. How interesting that he would bring a prisoner to his own chambers instead of the dungeons where they belonged… “What for?” Heimdall didn’t answer, and merely blinked his eyes. “I asked ya’ a question! Ya’ speak when yer’ fuckin’ spoken to!” The Watcher continued to coldly gaze towards Creed, unfazed by the feral’s bravado and fast-rising fury. “Listen up good; ya’ better put me back where ya’ found me, an’ I mean right now! My little girl was hollerin’ out fer’ me---“ Heimdall narrowed his nebula-colored eyes. “Concern yourself with her no longer.” “Th’ fuck you just say?! “ “Forget you’ve ever known the Midgardian you call ‘Clarice’, for it is highly unlikely you will ever see her again.” And that’s when Creed lost it. “WHAT DID YOU DO WITH MY DAUGHTER?! WAS SHE SCREAMIN’ CAUSE OF SOMETHIN YOU DID?!” he roared as he thrashed against his chains. Every muscle in his naked body strained and swelled with conviction he’d be free if he pulled just a bit harder… “IF YOU EVEN THINK ABOUT TOUCHIN’ HER---“ Creed lengthened his claws and reached to cut one of the chains away. Heimdall wasn’t surprised to see the adamantium claws fail to carve apart the magical metal. Nor was he surprised to hear the soldier’s sudden shriek of agony afterwards as Creed’s body began to violently spasm and shake. The feral couldn’t explain why he was in sudden turmoil, but Heimdall could. “What binds you – and your ‘daughter’ – are the irons that kept a creature you cannot possibly conceive to be real both docile and subservient.” Heimdall informed. “That pain you feel is a vicious harmony of the Allfather’s wrath, and another father’s lamentation that has cultivated into this over centuries of the most vile of imprisonment.” Creed could barely understand the Watcher’s words. In his fit of resistance, Creed thought his innards were boiling. He tried to grab and pry the links apart with his impressive strength, only to feel his skin tingle as though lightning struck him over and over, even though no bolts actually blasted him. Creed even went so far as to try and chop off his own arm at this shoulder – forgetting the rest of his bones were coated with the same metal that his claws were – and wound up deeply slicing into dense muscles, adding more to the misery his body woefully endured. But he somehow had the grim suspicion Clarice was going through a fraction of this pain, and it made Creed try even harder to get free, no matter the cost. Heimdall sighed as he watched the savage struggle to saw himself apart. With a small gesture of his armored hands, he manipulated the chains that held Creed as if he were a puppeteer: his legs were brought together and straightened while each arm was extended outward. Had there been a wooden cross behind him, Creed would have appeared to be crucified. “You would maim yourself…just to act upon a fevered dream you believe will lead to escape?” Creed’s shoulder rapidly repaired itself. Mutant blood dribbled from the closing wound and onto the tiled floor. “….I’m gonna kill you…” whispered Creed. Heimdall smiled as he shook his head and turned towards the doors to leave. “...No, you won't!” “I’M GONNA FUCKIN’ END YOU! YOU HEAR ME?! YER’ DEAD! YER’ FUCKIN DEAD, YA’ GOD DAMNED SON OF A BITCH! I’MMA PULL OUT EVERY BONE IN YER BODY, YANK OUT YER HEART, AND MAKE YOU WATCH IT BEAT FER’ TH’ LAST TIME! I’MMA CUT OFF YER LEGS AND POUND WHAT’S LEFT OF YA’ INTO PULP! GYAAAHHH!! WAIT TILL I GET MY CLAWS IN YOU!" Sabretooth – crazed over the safety of his child – shouted every gory threat he could think of, even after Heimdall left him alone in his chambers to suffer. The Watcher wondered how long it would take Creed to realize pain from the chains would cease the instant he stopped being hostile to any Asgardian. Sleipnir struggled constantly for nearly a year before he figured it out. Will this mortal try to do the same, or will his body give out first? Hopefully you will not kill yourself too soon, Victor Creed. I need you alive and blind with rage in order for this to work. Heimdall ventured down the opulent halls of the Asgard palace, leaving Victor to his screams and his sadistic shouts of revenge, and kept him suspended in place in the center of his chambers. It was only until he reached the doors to the throne room that he addressed the guards that manned them, if only as a courtesy to protocol. “I know the hour is late, but I request an immediate audience with the Allfather. He will want to see me, I assure you." |
| 6:52 pm [wolfenboomer] |
A New Challenger Arises. Godhood is not something a mortal could ever be ready for. Godhood, the very concept carries with it such implications of power and limitless might that it pulls to the darkest recesses of the very soul whispering to that animal side of the psyche all things possible. It is in that moment that a path is carved to be destroyer or protector. Today was a day that such choice was made. A choice that forever altered the world of a simple man. The day started as all others did the harpy screaming of his cell phone. Pulling him mind from the Stygian abyss that was slumber into the painfully aware world of the wakeful. A groan as arm snaked from under covers, flailing around on the night table with all the ability of a newborn baby. Finally brain settled his shit enough for touch on demonic noise maker to be gripped and lifted to one opened eye. A quick touch and swipe of finger silenced the apoloclyptic siren as a long and heavy sight filled the air. "Time to rise and make the donuts...." Called a gruff male voice as you average every day joe rose from solitary slumber and readied for the job ahead of him. Thirty minutes later he was dressed, showered, and shaved, making his way in a battered, twenty year old truck that ran these days on hopes and dreams it seemed. He was a roughneck by trade and the oil business had treated him well. Well enough to require his time nearly all day every day. It left little time for himself, but what little he did get would find him at local charities donating either time or money to see those in need given what he could. The radio was jamming to some local rock station as he sang and drummed along on his steering wheel. Suddenly there was a ear splitting roar as something fell streaking like the fist of a angry god from the heavens. The objects path lead it to earth, landing with a near explosion right before the truck hustling down the dirt road. What happened next was all a blur, but when it was over the truck was nose first in a crater with its front end crumpled around something. A door squeaked in protest as he kicked it open muttering enough curses to make a sailor blush, dropping out of the ruined cab with a heavy thud of workboots to the earth. "What in the seven actual fucks was that? Awe man look at my truck. My boss is going to be pissed." Called out to express his irritation. Still whatever he hit had to be large, and as such might be worth a penny to some space junk collector. That in mind he moved over in front of the shattered vehicle to see what must be a tail, or handle of something. "What the hell is it." Mused the tall and stocky male as hand reached out to grasp the exposed end. As contact of grip to item was made, a crack of lighting and roar of thunder not heard in centuries burst to life. The bolt of heavens fury slamming to earth right onto that exposed and gripped handle. It was then that memories and thoughts not the mans own, hell not mortal, assaulted his mind as head tilted back and he roared in pain. Visions of actions so debase and vile they would have destroyed a lesser man. Yet his flesh did not burn away and his bones turn to ash as explosion sounded, shockwave throwing both man and object back to wall of the impact crater. Blue eyes fluttering shut as the sheer magnitude of the moment sunk in. Mjolnir had chosen another, one of strength of mind and spirit. One untainted by unthinking and butchery. This was to be the reincarnation of Thor on this plane to wield the hammer as it should be. The blast of released and consumed power not only effecting the physical world, but that of the magical world would sense its reach as well. |
| Friday, September 5th, 2014 | |
| 2:44 pm [swirlingscarlet] |
On the Other Side of Everything.... [for pinkportals] The portal that dragged Clarice Ferguson-Creed forcefully from her room snapped shut as the chains around her wrists immediately unsnapped and sank into the floor, melting away like water from her body. She was in a fragrant garden, housed within a glass dome structure that reached its peak high above her and was supported by elaborate columns of stone and metal. She could see birds flying overhead though beyond that there were only stars and the deep emptiness of a night sky despite the bright and warm atmosphere of the garden itself. How it was possible to have a window to the stars while gardening in the sun was a bit of a mystery. She could hear humming somewhere in the garden and as she looked around to gain her bearings a woman waded through the foliage, holding a basket of herbs and flowers. She wore a red button-up blouse and blue jeans while a wide-brimmed scarlet hat shaded her face and held back the mane of dark reddish-brown hair that tumbled down her back. She was a classic beauty, with olive toned skin and blue eyes that swept upward like a cat’s. She lifted her head slightly, her eyebrows arching up toward her hairline at sight of Clarice while her full lips parted in an “O” of surprise. “Oh!” The woman then exclaimed her expression shifting into a brilliant smile. “You’ve finally made it! I’m so glad.” She stepped further through the grass and knelt down beside Clarice, frowning as she reached to brush at the tears on Clarice’s face. “Oh, no worries, hon. It’ll be alright.” She said in a soft soothing voice. “My sisters and I will keep you safe and everything will be fixed in no time. You’ll see.” |
| Friday, August 22nd, 2014 | |
| 1:03 pm [windandrain] |
Never a Quiet Moment Should she add the bug robots? It would be a surprise she hadn't prepared the students for, but how often had the X-Men been confronted with something they hadn't planned on out on the battlefield? No, it would do them good to fight against something unexpected. While she was glad most of them hadn't had to live through a raid of real sentinels, fighting them in the Danger Room again and again, in every gruesome reinvented form Ororo and the other X-Men could remember, was making some of the older students a little cocky. That wasn't good - a healthy self-image would not help them once the first robot stuck his metal arm through the roof, stirring them from deep sleep and presenting an entirely different, uncontrolled menace than the danger room ever could. Just as Ororo prepared the addition to her training program, she was herself reminded that the unexpected was never far away at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. There was a banging at the door and two young voices calling her name. Ororo saved the progress she had made and let the machine shut down as she hurried over, opening the door. "What is the matter?" "Ms Munroe, there's a horse right outside." As the words came out of his mouth, the student seemed to realise how strange they sounded combined with his honestly panicked tone. "I mean, a really giant thing..." "It's some sort of demon horse!" The girl claimed. "It has eight legs." "Is there any sign of a rider?" "It doesn't look like it'd really need one to make trouble," the girl said. Ororo frowned slightly. "Stay inside," she commanded. "I will see what decided to visit us." With these words, she opened a window in the hallways and gracefully jumped out, staying airborne to have the advantage of a greater overview and a better opportunity for attack, if she needed it. |
| Thursday, August 21st, 2014 | |
| 8:34 pm [ferociousferal] |
Back In The Thunder God's Chambers... As the alien sight of a massive eight-legged horse grabbed the attention of so many of the students – and surely one or two of the faculty – Victor Creed continued to slumber in the bed reserved for another blonde; one of divine and thunderous might. After his time with Loki had passed, the marvel of his healing factor unthawed frozen organs and soothed the blisters and burns the frost left on his skin. Thanks to the trickster’s “thoughtfulness”, Creed slept naked – his clothes magically melted into nothingness – and all of his expansive, hairy physique sprawled across the king sized mattress, more content than a king could ever be. This was a rare moment for Victor where the dreams he encountered in his sleep were entirely that of joy – the drool dribbling out the corner of his mouth was an embarrassing giveaway to how comfortable he was. In this lucid state, Victor lived happily with two blue skinned lovers at his side, and his pretty pink petunia that called him “Papa”. These magical creatures became his family; the three escorted him across the galaxy, exploring new worlds while periodically pummeling the many that challenged their combined might. It was bliss. A beautiful, dangerous< bliss…. These dreams were what kept Creed from opening his eyes when rays of light rained in the room. He snored and subconsciously eased his shoulders into the mattress as the shape of a man contorted it. It went away as quick as it arrived, and Heimdall said not a word as he stood at the opposite end of the room. For now, the Watcher stayed true to his title and merely observed. However, in his hands – and the blade pointed to the floor – was his iconic broadsword. His posture was both relaxed and ready, and silently, Heimdall stared at Creed with the same vigilance that he watched the rest of the universe with. |
| Monday, July 21st, 2014 | |
| 6:32 pm [silvertonguegod] |
Making Preparations Loki waited a few moments as he watched Creed slip into heavy sleep. He paused there, reaching over to touch the feral's dog-tags, idly examining the bits of metal. It was amusing how such little things seemed to mean so much to Victor Creed. As ever, mortals were mired in a sentimentality that Loki rarely allowed himself. He frowned, mentally gathering himself. Mortals had taken him off his guard, weakened his resolve. He would not allow himself to be weakened by sentiment for his mortal allies. To allow sentiment would create feelings of which enemies such as Heimdall and Odin would readily take advantage. Heimdall would come soon, and he still was unable to shield himself from the Watcher's gaze. Odin's magic continued to pervert his own like venom seeping through his bones, corrupting the very core of his being. He'd been able to perform some magics in the last few hours since recovering but still found himself desperately hindered. He could not shapeshift. He could not open a portal unless it was following one of Clarice's recent doors or if it was to a close location. He knew if he entered into true battle with another mage it would take greater efforts than ever to triumph. All he had now were his words and his mind...and Creed's trust. It was a fragile thing, but something he must handle with care to achieve satisfactory results. After he was sure that Creed was well and truly unconscious he laid the dog-tags back to rest on the feral's muscled torso that was already growing healthy tissue where there had once been blackened necropsy. Satisfied that his ally would recover with no further help from him, Loki stood and went toward Thor's closet, remembering the array of garments the thunder-god housed there. He found nothing worthy to wear while facing off with Asgard's sentinel and his frown darkened as he turned away from the closet, unsatisfied. Returning to the bathroom, Loki leaned down to retrieve the ruined length of leather that had once been a pair of trousers. He frowned, then used what little magic remained embedded in the leather to transfigure its shape and texture. The garment dissolved into mist, swirling in front of him and with another flick of magic and a clear image in his mind he altered it to his liking once again. He chose a familiar Midgardian garment that slid to cover his flesh in folds of black fabric. Now clothed in a crisp black three-piece suit, embellished with a green scarf that draped across the back of his neck somewhat lazily and gold cuff-links that glittered at his wrists, he felt a bit more like himself. The boots, like the trousers, were easily transfigured into sumptuous Italian leather Oxfords that completed the ensemble. It wasn't armor, but it would suffice. He didn't need to armor his body now...it was his willpower that needed strength. For this battle Loki's armor need not be of metal and leather. He turned to the tub, waving his hand to dissipate the ice crystals still floating there, melting them down into steam that wafted behind the mage in a gentle cloud as he exited the bathroom. The tub itself seemed undamaged in the blizzard following Loki's Jotunn form and the water that had flooded the area was slowly evaporating away so that the area was no longer a disaster. He was dressed and Creed was resting. Loki felt his work in cleaning up his own mess complete. True, he was sure that Thor would not thank him for the presence of a naked Victor Creed in his bed, but he'd approach that issue when the need arose. He stepped toward the door into the hallway, closing his eyes and feeling for the unique aura that was Clarice within their "palace." When he found her he didn't open a portal within her room, he chose to walk the halls. He used the short walk to cement plans and solidify his own resolve. Clarice, like her father, needed to be treated carefully...as the flood so evidenced. If she suspected that he had ill intentions toward her family the result would be messy and difficult to repair. As he considered all possible avenues and conversations he would have in the near future he paid little attention to the mortals he passed as he glided toward the warm presence of Clarice in his mind, stopping only when he reached her door. He took a deep steadying breath then raised a hand to knock upon the door. He knew that all he needed to do here was check on the girl and ready himself for Heimdall's arrival...somehow he thought it wouldn't be nearly so simple. He'd learned long ago that nothing in the life of a god was simple. ((OOC: for pinkportals = Clarice)) |
| 4:17 pm [silvertonguegod] |
[OOC] The Story So Far.... Loki arrives on Earth after a violent exchange in Asgard. He's been injured and is magically drained...and is furious with Odin above all things. Thor finds the injured Trickster and offers to help, an offer that Loki seems to make the dark-haired mage skeptical and confused. He decides to play along with Thor's game, trying to discern why Thor is acting so strangely. The conversation drops clues that reality is somewhat askew. "I will make good on this. I only wish to keep you alive after you've gutted your target so that you might have dinner with your daughter and continue your life. Your goal at the end of all of this bullshit is the same as mine." He added, the words leaving his mouth like venom. His hands curled into fists at his sides, his anger making him clench one hand so tight that the knuckles popped. "All I want at the end of this is to be with my children and live my fucking life. Surely you understand that! I will unleash you upon Asgard's royal family...have no worry about that. It has been my sole desire since I met you." With that Loki walks away, infuriated that Creed speaks of impatience while Loki has waited <i>centuries</i> for even a hope of a normal life. Realizing that Loki's anger is justified Creed catches up with his Asgardian ally and apologizes. Not for his words but that he forgot Loki is in a similar situation to himself, a father. It is gruff and short, but genuine. He tells Loki that the hunger for the Hunt is like a fever and makes it harder for him to think straight but that the spoils of this Hunt make it possible for him to gather some patience. Loki is reminded of his son Fenrir and the wolf's need to hunt even when food was abundant. He knows that for some predators the hunt was not merely for food...it was for power. He accepts the apology and sheds some of the anger by agreeing that "the waiting gnaws at one's sanity with every passing day." |