Elemental Artisan
Gabriel Summers: Mutant. Energy Manipulator. Multiverse. 21+ Writer. LGTB Friendly.
Rules and everything you need to know.
starters

Janaina Medeiros
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
No title available
occasionally subtle
RMH
Game of Thrones Daily
sheepfilms

@theartofmadeline
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
Today's Document

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ellievsbear

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Jules of Nature
Sweet Seals For You, Always
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
almost home
styofa doing anything
🪼

seen from United States
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seen from United States
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seen from United States
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seen from Nepal

seen from Malaysia
@elementalartisan
Elemental Artisan
Gabriel Summers: Mutant. Energy Manipulator. Multiverse. 21+ Writer. LGTB Friendly.
Rules and everything you need to know.
starters
first meeting sentence starters.
send one to have our muses meet for the first time.
“Sorry, were you just talking to me?”
“I think you dropped this.”
“You look lost. Need some help?”
“I don’t usually talk to strangers, but…”
“You’re sitting in my spot.”
“Whoa! Careful!”
“We’ve never met, right? You seem familiar.”
“Is that seat taken?”
“Sorry, I think I just spilled something on you.”
“You’re blocking the doorway.”
“Were you just staring at me?”
“Excuse me, do you know the time?”
“Wait — are you the person I’m supposed to meet?”
“I’ve been sent to find you.”
“Please don’t be alarmed, but I think we have the same bag.”
“Do you work here?”
“I’m fairly certain that’s mine.”
“You’ve got something on your face.”
“Sorry, I thought you were someone else.”
“Do you know the way to ___?”
“You’re hurt. Do you need help?”
“That’s a fine ___ (cloak/hat/book/etc.). Where did you get it?”
“This might sound strange, but can I hide behind you for a moment?”
“You look like you could use a friend.”
“I think your dog just stole my lunch.”
“Hey, you dropped your coin purse.”
“I think we’re stuck in here together.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to overhear, but…”
“Are you the new neighbor?”
“First time in town?”
“I’m not sure if this belongs to you, but…”
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I’ve been hearing a lot about you.”
“Do you mind if I join you?”
“I think you’re in the wrong place.”
“You seem… out of place.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but are you following me?”
“That was a close call.”
“Not to alarm you, but someone’s watching you.”
“Mind if I walk with you?”
“You look like you’re in trouble.”
“Was that your doing back there?”
“You don’t look like you’re from around here.”
“That was impressive. How’d you manage it?”
“I’m guessing you’re not here by accident.”
“Do I want to know what just happened?”
“You might want to keep your voice down.”
“Is it always this strange around here?”
“I have a feeling we’re about to become acquainted whether we like it or not.”
“Looks like we’re in this together now.”
Alex doesn't bother to hide his amused smile behind his coffee cup as he pads around the kitchen island within the Summers household. Having Gabriel around meant he was never bored, and despite their truly heinous beginnings it felt good to begin forming an actual bond with his long lost brother. Gone were the days of galactic warfare and strife, embraced and replaced by new beginnings and forgiveness.
Who was he to not forgive Gabriel? He was his brother, his family, and if there was one thing Alex wasn't it was a hypocrite. Why shouldn't he attempt to give him grace when he himself, and so many of their kind made as many horrific mistakes? Hell, and most of them didn't even have untold trauma from the Shi'ar to blame for their bad choices.
"No harm or danger, and I have no intentions of stopping you from inhaling your meal, but next time you should let me cook. Might not look it, Gabe, but I can fry up a decent breakfast."
Gabriel paused with a fork halfway to his mouth, the easy warmth in Alex's voice cutting through the old static in his head like a clear signal. He set the plate aside, a real grin tugging at his lips—not the sharp emperor's smirk, but something softer, earned. "Deal, Alex. Next time you sling the hash, I'll play critic and keep the galaxy from imploding in the meantime." He meant it, that small promise, because Alex showing up like this, no shields up, made him want to meet him there, one careful step past the wreckage.
Joe Manganiello
She looks at him, seemingly seeing right through it. Observations of body language, of the tension in his body… like an animal used to cruel hands being offered something different… how strange, she thought to herself, how so many careers acted like this
“Yes… none of us meet “formally”… we only meet the versions of ourselves we’ve been casted in.” She hums to herself, tunelessly, before continuing, “there are many like you… but only two of us in District 3. My former mentor, the Capitol’s favorite genius… and me, his broken protégé, the only tribute he ever brought home since his own games…” she then meets his eyes, the lucidity suddenly in the grey eyes is unsettling… and so is the smile that crosses her expression, “and yet… one of us was assigned to the Capitol to design and code a light-show for a head peacekeeper’s birthday… and the other is here because for all their control, even the capitol knows that one wrong line of code and the entire weapon store…” her voice trails off… and she mimics an explosion with her hands. She then, even more unsettlingly, laughs to herself, a joyless sound… before eyes blink… and suddenly, she looks the same as before. A frail, thin woman drowning in a technician’s uniform, staring at him with too wide blue-grey eyes.
Gabriel felt a chill crawl up his spine that had nothing to do with the drafty room. He’d spent his life around killers who bragged about their body counts, but listening to this slip of a woman casually talk about detonating the Capitol’s heart made his pulse hammer against his ribs. She wasn't just "Nuts." She was a bomb that had learned how to breathe.
He leaned in closer, his shadow swallowing her whole as he scanned the room to make sure no Peacekeepers were within earshot. For a second, the struggle to be "decent" vanished, replaced by a raw, recognition of a kindred spirit. "Careful, Wiress," he rasped, his voice barely a vibration in the air. "That kind of talk gets people turned into Avoxes." He looked at her frail frame, then back at those wide, vacant eyes, and realized he wasn't sure if he was warning her or thanking her for the thought.
She blinked, before forcing words back into her mouth… a tuneless hum at first, and then a real noise. Its formless, like her lips refuse to move to form words…. Her grey-blue eyes look over him…
She remembered, of course she did. The “madwoman of District three” really wasn’t who they’d made her out to be… and besides, they’d gathered almost all the information on the other victors before they departed for the districts they were assigned to work in… though it didn’t make her feel any less exposed…
But then she speaks again, “Meant to… ask how you’ve been. I don’t believe we’ve formally met… other than a victory tour… or passing in the capitol.”
Gabriel went still. It was a simple question—the kind people asked every day to fill the silence—but coming from her, it felt like a trapdoor opening beneath his feet. No one actually cared how he was; they cared if he was winning, if he was loyal, or if he was about to break something. To have this ghost of a woman look through the "God" and ask about the man felt more invasive than a Peacekeeper’s interrogation.
"I've been better," he said, the lie dying in his throat before it could even form. He looked down at his boots, then back at her, his expression tightening as he fought the urge to revert to a snarl. "I don't do 'formally,' Wiress. And the Capitol... well, the Capitol doesn't exactly leave much of a man left to meet." He shifted uncomfortably, his large hands knotting into fists at his sides before he consciously forced them to relax. He was trying, but he felt like a wolf trying to learn how to sit at a dinner table.
“Picking the gym up with your mind while still doing pull up I bet too” Looking around at the crowd he grinned seeing how impressed a lot of them looked. Looking up at the bar above him he jumped up to hold it and pulled himself up to sit on it looking down at Gabriel. “The whole menu? Is that each?”
He enjoyed having a friend who understood and appreciated the pain of having a crazy metabolic rate. He was sure they could do a tour of the countries eating challenges and make a fortune beating them with ease.
“Where did you pick?”
Gabriel let out a loud, appreciative bark of laughter, leaning back against the metal supports with a relaxed posture that ignored the laws of physics. "Each? Kid, you’re thinking small; I was planning on us being the reason they have to update their inventory by noon," he quipped, watching Peter settle onto the high bar with a smirk of approval. He tapped his phone screen, pulling up a photo of a high-end, all-you-can-eat bistro near the Upper East Side that clearly hadn't prepared for two hungry powerhouses. "It’s this place called The Gilded Egg—it’s fancy enough that the plates are small, which means we get to order fifty of them just to see the chef’s face turn pale."
She seems… oddly unbothered by that. She blinks, slowly. She never found people intimidating… besides, threats and pain were the easiest to deal with, at least her own experience. A punch she could see coming was easier than being beat senseless in an endless void.
“Vulcan.” Wiress finally says, as if her mouth was testing the way it sounded, “Vulcan, yes. I have meant to…” her voice trails off as if she’d suddenly forgotten how to speak… or maybe in her mind she’s still speaking. But it’s back to that unsettling stare. Her thin hands twitch, almost like articulating a conversation she’s having in her own head.
Gabriel watched the frantic, Morse-code twitch of her fingers and felt a familiar, jagged spark of irritation. Every instinct he possessed told him to shut this down—to sneer and walk away before someone saw him entertaining a "lunatic." In the Capitol, kindness was a bloodied trail that led straight to your own throat, and he had survived this long by being as cold and unyielding as the granite of his home district.
Yet, he didn't leave. He saw the way her hollow cheeks caught the light and remembered the way his mother’s face had looked at the end—frail, forgotten, and discarded by a world that only valued the strong. He swallowed the urge to snap at her and instead took a small, deliberate step back to give her air. "Take your time," he muttered, his voice sounding rusty even to his own ears. It was a clumsy, heavy-handed attempt at patience, but for a man who lived by the sword, it was the closest thing to a mercy he had left.
Clint walked a few steps and then suddenly stopped and put a hand on the collar on his neck. "Dulled." He muttered quietly to himself. At first Clint hadn't noticed it because his vision was still crystal clear but now he realized that his ability to see things that no one else noticed was dulled.
Clint could see the invisible fence around them though not as clearly as he should. He only could see it as some kind of shimmer. "What is this place? And why am I here?"
Gabriel let out a dry, rasping chuckle, the sound vibrating deep in his chest as he watched the archer fumble at the metal band. He shifted his weight, his eyes tracing the line of Clint's back with a cynical, almost playful appreciation for the man's confusion. "Your eyes are the first thing they prune" he said, his voice smooth and dripping with a dark, honeyed malice. "Can’t have the livestock looking for the exits when they’re supposed to be looking at the cameras." He pushed off the wall, stalking a single step closer with a slow, deliberate grace that made his own lack of clothing feel like a threat rather than a vulnerability. "You're here because you’ve got a pretty face and a body that’ll last a thousand rounds before it breaks," he added, his smirk widening as he glanced toward the shimmering fence. "This is the Imperial playpen, and you just got recruited for the starting lineup."
Send "Slap!" to slap my muses ass.
Send "Outch!" for the oposite.
She seems… oddly unbothered by that. She blinks, slowly. She never found people intimidating… besides, threats and pain were the easiest to deal with, at least her own experience. A punch she could see coming was easier than being beat senseless in an endless void.
“Vulcan.” Wiress finally says, as if her mouth was testing the way it sounded, “Vulcan, yes. I have meant to…” her voice trails off as if she’d suddenly forgotten how to speak… or maybe in her mind she’s still speaking. But it’s back to that unsettling stare. Her thin hands twitch, almost like articulating a conversation she’s having in her own head.
Gabriel watched her hands flutter. It annoyed him—the erratic movement, the unfinished sentence hanging in the air like smoke. A year ago, he would have scoffed and walked away, leaving her to mutter at the walls. But the silence stretched, and he found he didn't want to leave. She wasn't scared. That was the thing. Everyone was scared of him, or pretending not to be. She just looked... busy. Inside her own head.
He let out a breath, a sharp exhale through his nose that was the only sign of his impatience. He didn't loom over her this time. He shifted his weight, making himself slightly less of a wall, slightly more of a person.
"Meant to what?" he asked. The words came out gruff, stripped of the polished charm he used for the cameras, but there was no bite in them. He waited, actually waited, watching her twitching fingers as if they were tapping out a code he was supposed to know. "Finish the sentence, Wiress. I'm listening."
@elementalartisan
Meeting another hero in New York had been great and he felt like he’d made a real friend with Gabriel. He’d missed having someone to understand when he was angry over a missed opportunity to stop a villain or even just someone to call and talk to. It also helped a lot to have someone who could match his strength levels when they trained together.
Heading into the park he grinned seeing Gabriel at the gym doing one armed pull ups on the bars while reading his phone. Walking over to him he grinned looking up at him.
“Hey that’s just showing off you know. You’ve got the whole park staring”
Gabriel dropped from the bar with a lazy, gravity-defying grace, his golden eyes bright with genuine amusement as he shoved the phone into his track pants. He flashed Peter a grin that was all charm and no pretense, clapping the younger hero on the shoulder with a warmth that felt remarkably grounding. "Please, Pete, showing off would be lifting the entire jungle gym with my mind," he laughed, the sound easy and unburdened as he gestured vaguely to the staring crowd. "This was just me multi-tasking while I found us a brunch spot that doesn't care if we order the entire menu."
Pale blue eyes stared. Intensely. Without even a thought to breaking focus. She hardly looked like a victor, a thin woman with hollow cheeks, seemingly drowning in a technician’s uniform that looked the same as nearly everyone else in the room… except for the patch. District 3’s insignia resting on each upper arm, sitting there as a reminder that she was an out of district worker.
Those eyes stared at him, almost unsettling… her head tilted without a word. Curious? Hard to tell really. Among the victors, most would find her unsettling. Many more resigned her to the standing nickname of “Nuts” and would dismiss the behavior as simply a continued sign that she’d lost it years ago…
But for some reason, Wiress seemed fixated on him.
Vulcan held her stare as if it was a challenge someone had finally been brave enough to offer. He did not blink, did not shift, and the noise of the room seemed to dull around the thin woman in the District 3 patch. She looked like she might snap in half, but her eyes didn’t flinch, and that made him wary in a way he hated.
He took one slow step closer, letting his shadow fall over her uniform. “If you’re going to look at me,” he said, voice low and flat, “you’d better have a reason.” His jaw tightened, not with anger—something colder. He waited, perfectly still, as if any movement would give her the advantage.
"Human?" That word let Clint know two things. First, he probably wasn't on earth anymore and secondly that other guy thought he was something better. Great. Just great. This was going to be a long day.
"Never heard of Shi'ar Whatever. And I can't do that. Disappointing people is my superpower." He said and then looked around trying to find a way out or just a weak spot or something.
Gabriel didn’t bother to stop him. He didn’t even shift his stance from where he leaned against the rear wall, arms crossed over his broad, bare chest. He just tracked the archer with a dark, predatory amusement, watching the way the human’s muscles bunched and shifted as he prowled toward the perimeter. Go ahead, Gabriel thought, a cruel smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Test the fence. He knew the exact radius of their confinement, knew the invisible tripwire that hummed silently just a few feet from the energy shield.
Clint moved with the confidence of someone who was used to breaking locks and outsmarting guards, completely oblivious to the fact that his leash was already pulled taut. Gabriel let out a low, rough breath through his nose, his eyes fixing on the back of Clint’s neck where the metal band sat innocent and dormant. "You're about to learn your second lesson," he murmured, barely loud enough to be heard, waiting for the inevitable spark that would cut the strings on the loudmouth puppet.
"I don't feel judged. But if you keep staring, you gotta have to buy me dinner." Clint teased with a smirk on his lips. The archer didn't feel embarrassed about being seen naked. Clint was good looking and had a nice build and trained body so there was no reason to be ashamed. The only reason Clint would complain about being in his birth suit was when it was cold. But here it was warm as summer. So the only question left was "Where the fuck are we?"
Gabriel’s lip curled, a flicker of genuine heat mixing with the annoyance in his gaze as he swept his eyes over the archer’s unnaturally perfect physique—the Shi’ar didn’t just want prisoners, they wanted stallions, and he could smell the gene-mods rolling off the human: enhanced stamina, rapid healing, everything a demanding alien mistress would break her toys without. "Don't flatter yourself, human," Gabriel growled, leaning back against the cold wall with a casual, predatory grace that betrayed how much he was actually enjoying the view, despite the indignity of it all. The collar hummed angrily against his throat, a constant reminder that his own god-tier power was leashed solely so he could serve a different purpose, a thought that sent a shameful, heavy pulse straight to his groin. "They built you for endurance, not conversation," he muttered, his voice dropping to a rough, knowing octave. "As for where we are? Welcome to the Shi'ar Imperial Palace... try not to disappoint the locals."
@prplhawk
comes from here
Gabriel stood in the oppressive silence of the cell, his massive, corded frame casting a heavy shadow against the cold Shi'ar alloy. He looked the newcomer over with a forced, twitching patience that didn't suit his volatile nature, his jaw set tight and his dark eyes burning with a restrained, cosmic fire. It was a bizarre standoff, made all the more grating by the fact that he was every bit as exposed and vulnerable as the human standing before him. The Shi'ar inhibitor collar bit into the thick muscles of his neck, a humiliating ring of tech that choked off his god-like connection to the energy around them and labeled him a caged beast. Beneath the grandeur of the Imperial Palace, they were nothing more than two stripped-down pieces of meat. Breaking the tension, Gabriel gestured loosely toward his own bare chest and powerful, uncovered thighs with a sharp, humorless smirk. "I'm not judging you," he rasped, his voice echoing with a jagged edge. "As you can see, I’m in my birthday suit, too."