#//weLP

[long-live-evie]

*Jones did have a point, Evie thought, several points. Her head was still reeling, trying to rationalize all the feelings she had just been trying to figure out. A mistake, she concluded. It had all been a misunderstanding. She hadn't been romantically interested in him, she'd been traumatized and got confused by his kindness in her lowest point. Yes, that must be the explanation...*

We'll beat them... together.

*She smiled at him, sadly but genuinely.*

You're a hero to everyone here, Jones. Everyone... including me... owes you their lives. I just hope... maybe someday you'll be able to allow yourself to rest. You don't owe your existence to the universe.

*She reached across the table and took his hand in hers, softly squeezing it.*

Thank you for telling me all this, Jones... I'm... honestly amazed that you trusted me with that. You're... a truly incredible man. It's an honor to work with you.

*She peeked over his shoulder. The guards had not rotated through that one hallway all this time.*

Unfortunately... I think that's our opening.

*She didn't allow the nagging voice in her head to tell her she was wrong about her feelings.*

*Jones knocks on Evie's door, in a smart polo shirt and dark jeans. He kept the pouched belt and the shield, though. Loopers accessorize, right?*

Are you ready for our mission? I just heard fireworks go off, and if that's not Peely throwing a massively oversized party I don't know what it would be.

*Evie answered, wearing a tiny, short black dress that hugged her figure, a red belt, and blue hoop earrings. Her makeup was bold, smokey eyes and blood-red lipstick. Her black heels had red and blue beads embroidered around the soles.

Her eyes trailed over Jones' ensemble, and she bit her lip as her heart skipped.*

Well, looks like the Captain hasn't forgotten how to make a girl look good on his arm. Guess you haven't lost your touch, eh, "Agent"?

Good thing DJ's birthday provided the perfect cover. Peely must be having a blast. Let's get this done.

[fellowhonest]

SIGHS as he starts to sew tinny costumes with a pulsing bump on his head

[flamesignite]

//Now I HAVE to make cos!roy icons. No debating it. LOL

[springingfromnothing]

[originemesis]

@bored2deathiswear xxx

The fizzles of heat administered along the shivering slope of his back as the threads of flesh began to knit back together is mutely noted, though it does little to stifle the self smothered sounds of seething helplessness from escaping the balled up former visage of a celestial army's cornerstone. Light vibrations from the muzzle on his soul's ampage output sounds in pitiful putters beneath the beckon of claws both careful in mending as they were destroying. A twinge of blackened pain like an endless pit in his stomach earned a shudder as the skin seemed to reach out for a reunion with the sawed off ends of the wings that slid over as if to fasten back only for the bruising blow of a firm stomp to reverberate throughout his shoulders as the flesh slowly formed rough and ruined over their connective points.

He'd reach out with a twitching talon towards the nearest one, tip barely brushing the end of a primary feather as if it were the same touch of that brought about his creation. The subsequent throb of the sealed skin doesn't dissuade his reach - merely intensifies it with a grimace and grappling and reaching. Hadn't he been through this before to know better? To reach after the fading image of his first 'wife' and a supposed 'friend' as they disappeared into the shadows beyond the garden gate? All while he lay with a broken branch beneath him and a broken rib inside of him, pleading for them to wait-

[Don't do this- you can't...!

Reverberations of pain in his side coinciding with the severing of frail, feathered bone from flared shoulders.]

But they didn't wait. And neither did his captor carrying his wings out of the room when he reached out as if a few handfuls of grabbed air and a closed and shaking fist would be enough to convince him to put him back together the way he was. Even if that was exactly what the other had done despite the uncomfortable reality of shouldering humanity broken on the floor.

He'd remain there- healed yet crippled into the compliance of just another inanimate object or piece of furniture in the room for three days without so much as a sneeze. When he finally has the wherewithall to shift, it's cautiously as if he anticipates the sharp heel of that boot to just be there pinning him like a skewered butterfly to the spot. A whole day is spent testing the limits of what he thinks is his allowance of space before still more follow with him inching ever closer to the window. Always on the floor because each time he thought to stand, his balance without the familiar flutter of his stolen appendages quickly wobbles out from under him.

It's only after a week and a half that he manages to sink his talons into a wall and use it to walk along the edges of the room, stopping on occasion to inspect what he manages to come across on the way to the only natural light source in the enclosure. He loiters around a guitar propped on the plaster, carved of blackened wood and set with strings likely fashioned from the tendons of some hell beast. He'd bring it to his final roosting spot near the window, finding it's form distasteful and its infernal tuning no where near as capable as his axe, but it's not like he has that at his disposal now. Doesn't even have the route between his soul and the string's reverberations to project past a simple acoustic endeavor. Still...it's enough. Music was a lot of things among angels- it was the means of translating the inner indecipherable workings of the soul. Likely why his gritty riffs hardly earned him a place in any choir up top since only the Exorcists seemed to share the same melody making capabilities that complimented his the most. Birds of a feather and all that shit . Of course, music was also a way to express the length of neverending joys. But for him in that moment in the window, it was more of a way to soothe frazzled nerves that not even flesh mending magic could stich back together.

"-the sun don't wait for someone like me, who's got more wants than needs..." Through the night he'd warble periodically while playing around with the infernal instrument's knobs until finally at the beak of hell's red dawn, he'd gotten it as close to a divine emittance than it could physically go, which was meager enough to lightly graze the shallow heat of his soul on every sixteenth strum or so. "So I'll sit still...as seasons move on. Though I hate to watch'em-" A faint echo of heaven in hell- translated through lips of the dusty, red Earth. "-leave. I hate to watch'em...leave."

Several months in captivity, and he's still refusing the hot meals that appear in the room. It's not like angels need to eat, but he'd clearly not missed any meals in heaven regardless. He'd been through enough famines outside of the garden to know when stuffing his face was a need both indulgent as it was therapeutic to frazzled nerves gathered throughout the work day. Still, he sat by the window with his helmet planted against the glass and a talon boredly curling around a noodle from the plate of spaghetti set beside him from the night prior. Cold already...likely with meatballs made of his ground up wings if he had to guess what that absolute psychopath would serve him.

Still twirling idly as he sendes the other enter the room after...well it's not like he knows how long he's been there. But from the subtly gaunt appearance of his jaw beneath the mask, it wouldn't be hard to imagine just how long he'd been snubbing meals. Oh well- at least they're no longer splattered against the wall like a projectile shot of paintballs. A self serving sigh is the response the suggestion receives without him ever even turning around to assess what the other meant. Chin propped on his other hand, he rests his eyes as the light disappears from his cracked face briefly before slits of yellow study the sprig of fallen-camelia tapping the window pane.

"...yeah, because it was soooooo 'good' for me the first time." Though a painful gurgle in his stomach seems to disagree with him. More man presenting than his wings allowed, it seemed to have awakened that frantic post Eden hunger in his psyche. No one would be able to tell from the faintly gaunt edges of his jaw he hid under his helmet, but there was no hiding the brewing storm in his mid section, even as he offered a growl of frustration of his own to stifle it before returning his attention to the noodle he kept winding around his talon up to the knuckle.

"...frankly, I'd rather fuck one these steaming piles of shit you call a meal." Crash. The plate smashes as he finally knocks it off the window's ledge with the neutered energy of a cat incapable of seeing any god with it upon a tabletop - except for itself of course.

[starlaslight]

Oh, no.. She may have a crush on someone now.

[hiislegacy]

[Continued from Here]

So, Cloud had just been trying it out, having read somewhere about how having confidence is key to a relationship... or whatever... He had felt like going bold, this time, and even though they were doing something as mundane as cleaning up the place, it just seemed like the best time to act this way.

Clearly, it was the right call, since he's never seen Zack being the one to get a little red over anything he's said, before. It had him momentarily stunned, before he took a step closer and folded his arms across his chest, having set aside a broom just beforehand. "How's 'bout you pay attention, for once. On your knees. Now."

@mezzomorendo

[safrina-shards]

@teamphobia Papa your friend called you a Gayass what does that mean?

[slientsounds-achive]

//so um, muse is high and I want to interact with peeps soooo....like this post and I'll send you an ask or something...

[awbarnes-no]

NAUGHTY OR NICE LIST!!!!

stolen from: @luposcainus tagging: @marvelmyriad , @penniesxdimes , @redstarsandnightmares , @the-innumerable-heroes , @vvolfstare , @walkitoffrogers , @msmvrel , and you!

[sanguine-salvation]

What kind of complex do you have?

Savior Complex

.... oh man. Go take a nap, buddy. they're not your responsibility

[silveredfeathers]

bird type is real 2047

I should not tell you about MissingNo.

[flamesignite]

jinx is back.

" meow "

He's going to blink at the familiar cat. Time to act natural since he's starting to be suspicious of the cat for specific reasons. "Hey there. What are you up to, tonight?"

[dutybcrne]

@strdstd replied to your post:

{...They pretty- And all I can think of is Yingxing in an equally tinged with blood suit, having fought the Treasure Hoarders with them. cx}

The guests when LumiXIng roll up late to the wedding venue bc some Treasure Hoarders just HAD to start smth-

[broadswordandpistol]

“You said you disarmed it!”

"Look, that wasn't a lie on purpose, that was a lie on accident!" Deep breath, Alvin. What would Lloyd do in this circumstance? Lloyd knew how to disarm bombs.

"I'm gonna tell you what I see," he said, trying to maintain hold of the rising wave of terror in his gut. "This thing says we have five minutes." It had been thirty, thirty seconds ago.

"There's a white wire that goes to a cylinder-shaped thing, and a black wire that goes to a cube-shaped thing. And a mess of orange wires that look like they go to the timer, and they all go into a long skinny case at the bottom of the big box."

[milehighmechanic]

@araedi moved from here

The only outward sign that Thor is processing the tale Tony tells is the constant worrying of his thumb against the hem of the hoodie he’s taken to wearing of late. In the absence of a cloak or cape, the simple, casual garment has become as much a piece of armour as anything else he wears. Somehow what already sounded to be a terrible situation transpires into worse. It explains so much, from furtive glances to Rhodey's suit, and again Thor cannot help but wish he had not wasted time on a fools errand when he could have… Could have what? Earth’s politics were not for Asgardians to meddle in, and how could he possibly have mediated the fights when he’s grown so fond of everyone? All he could have managed was to put a rather dramatic halt to the proceedings and, all told, that would likely have proven even more destructive. Irrespective of the political and moral implications of the sanctions, Tony’s response to personal revelations is something Thor can hardly condemn: if ever there was a man to act on passion and impulse, it was Thor. He would be hypocrite to judge Tony for it, though it aches in his chest to hear the repressed fury in his delivery. Thor blinks. This was never about him. Similarly, neither is his judgement of any use here. He’ll mull this over the coming days and weeks, but he doesn’t want immediate gut instinct to influence how he replies. That has so often been the cause for the fracturing of his own relationships: here and now he has the clarity to wait. “In the scope of things? Of course it doesn’t,” Thor replies, “but what do any of us matter? As we’ve discovered, each single one of us is powerless in the face of certain forces in this universe. All we have is our own sense of importance.” He leans forward a little. “It sounds to me as though this all does still matter to you. And I suspect that if we are to get back on our feet and do something about all that’s happened, we’d better face our fate with nothing left unsaid.” And then he asks what he's certain Tony already knows he's going to. "So, how stands everything between you and Steven now, from your perspective?"

“I don't know if I can forgive him,” Tony admits, defensive, eyes hard in a way that expects judgement for his sins. Holding grudges isn’t pretty, it’s not morally superior, it’s not CLEVER. But to describe this as a mere grudge feels like an understatement. It doesn't capture the enormity of what this betrayal has meant to Tony.

“I told him this was coming. I told him. That we needed the team together, no matter what. That we needed----- we needed-----” He’s getting worked up. and the object of his anger isn’t even here, just Thor. Tony breathes deep, finds his hands are trembling.

Thor's managed something nobody else has since Siberia----- unlocking the anger that Tony has been shoving down and shoving down in his chest. A pressure cooker ( a time bomb ) a volcano simmering and finally, finally erupting.

"I mean, what's there to forgive?" he says, voice loud and could be mistaken for blase, if you missed the undercurrent of anger. "He just betrayed my trust. Lied to me. Ignored every single fucking warning I gave him-----"

In spite of what it sounds like, Tony's not blaming all THIS on Steve. He's not convinced that it would have made a difference even if the team had all been together, in sync, a perfectly oiled machine. Thanos, he thinks, was still more than a match for them. But it would have been nice to try.

"I thought I'd forgiven him, y'know? I really thought I had. But----" He laughs. "Who was I fooling?"