#comic-verse

[itbe-jess]

This is me.

[realitys-vast-majority]

Comic-Verse Characters

(This is just so I have a list of all the main focused characters in the comic stories. More characters will be added as time goes on.)

B.E.I.M

Darphilse Cenquera

Jack Berceta

Semeron Cenquera

Vempora Geal

Drake Ryder “Joker X”

Jessica Furia

Leagion

Aftermath

Kameidon II “Okami”

Frank Black

Emos

Marron Sead: 

Cadence Ryder “Ace”

Troy Danvers “Duo”

Jasmine Rhodes “Noire”

Professor Frederick

Veronika Black

Aqua

Surge

Blaze

Shade

18

Theo Walker

Ken Arcanum

Hitori Hogosha

Magatsu Gonez

Dillon McCoy

Cassandra: Fire Realm Leader

Jae: Earth Realm Leader

William: Water Realm Leader

Kaige: Electric Realm Leader

Tina: Forest Realm Leader

Osulx

Kameidon

Marrin

Leana Cenquera

Ethan Ryder

Rai Takima

Sei

Vera

Exile

Arbetronus

Vincent

Andre “Dre” Cienza

Scarlet Senland

Crex

Darphilist Aeriquera

Chris Rhys

Sally Newsome

Wrath

Sloth

Pride Vempora

Greed

Lust

Envy

Estaria Fine

D.A.R.P.H: Darkness Android Replica Processing Hardware

Frederick Jr

Kole Baker

Anti

Q

Ares

Nike

Tsukuyomi

Loki

Clone Uprising

Jared

Teal

Jill

Zero

Drax

Zack

Millie

Tion

Erenza

Valory

Doctor Wunder

Solé

Nina

D.A.R.P.H Alpha

Ultima City Stories

Seth Aabelle

Rose Vala

Kia Gaillard

Lea

Rebeca Diaz

James Quinn

Miguel Matos

Damian V.

Mayor Nina Aabelle

Jane Black

[poppycola]

Does anyone know if there's like a store or something where I can buy the Riddler's cane? I need it because he's bae

[hjartathrymja-blog-blog]

"Back to bed."

Medical RP starters

“Nay, my Lady. I am a scion of Asgard, son of Odin. I have-” Thor grunted as he moved to stand from the edge of his bed, where he had sat before Sif entered. “I have duties to perform. A realm to protect. Wouldst thou sit idly by if Asgard required your blade?”

[badlydressedwritings]

Hyper-Real: Henchmen off the clock

Jesus this fucking thing. I've honestly restarted this, finished it and started over, roughly seven times, totally hating how it went most of those times. I really just finished this for the sake of getting it done; and my personal policy of leaving no story unfinished even if I end it with the line "Then they all died so I never have to write about them ever again." But yes without further ado, another story with more weirdos.

We have a problem,” a reedy man announces as he leans over his ornate walking stick, “money is going missing,” his fingers run along the grooves of his cane, probing the marble eyes of his goat headed cane. The other people in the room, a pale young woman and a large dark individual swap a small look. “You’re the accountant, Jennings,” the girl said, her voice deep despite her youthful appearance, as she looked over at the man slumping over his cane, “we kind of have you here to keep track of the money.” Jennings’ mouth twitched up at one corner before he was able to strangle all the glee out of his expression. “Yes, I suppose you do,” his thumb worried at the space between the goat’s horns, “and sufficed to say I’ve let you down,” he look aside a weary sigh escaping him, “I suppose you should kill me for gross incompetence.” He smiled sweetly and leaned forward, resting his chin atop the head of his cane, “Once between the eyes please, I won’t cause a fuss,” he said with a quick shrug. “Fat chance,” the larger man said, scratching at an old wound on his throat, “you’ve known money has been going missing for a while now,” he groaned, mopping at his forehead. “Am I that transparent Frank?” Jennings inquired with a cheery tone, Frank only rolled one massive shoulder. “No matter, I suppose I don’t need to tell you two who’s behind this, do I?” The other two people in the room only smiled. “Needless to say I’m content when this places pisses money, I love it honestly, adds some extra challenge to my day, balancing books.” “I sense a but,” the girl said as she rose from her seat, “honestly, this is such a pain, Doc would slag him if he knew,” she said matter of factly as she paced the room. “Yes, he would,” Jennings said with a small smirk, “but let’s be honest Jessika, as much as we’re loathe to admit it, Dave is better to us alive than dead,” Jessika snorted once at that, a bizarre look on her face. Jennings attempted a new approach, he’d forgotten for a second Jessika had a slightly skewed view on the worth of human life, “Frank you’ve known the man five years, surely you don’t want to see him dead.” Frank looked to Jessika and blew out a quick breath. She snapped around to face him, her long braided ponytail snapping around she turned, a look of utter revulsion on her face. “Seriously, are you seriously going to tell me he’s worth it?” She asked, her Russian accent peaking as she got more frustrated. “Oh gods save us, you Americans and your bros before hos.” “If you’re quite done, I know where you can find Dave.” --- David Davidson, or Dave to everyone who knew him, had a spectacular problem. In truth Dave has a lot of problems but gambling was chief amongst them. He’d bet on anything from the golf to the weather, Dave would quite honestly bet on anything and everything. Though if you were to ask him what he liked to gamble on the most, his favourite sport to gamble on, it’d be the fight ring at the Crooked Cadaver.  The Cadaver is a place that caters to villains and villains alone, if you’re not evil you’re not getting in, that’s how it works. It’s not that villains hate heroes, quite the opposite, it’s just we all want a little private time to unwind don’t we? The Crooked Cadaver is perfect for getting away from your hero for a while, get a couple of drinks, watch some illegal fights, shoot a game of pool, y’know people stuff. The Crooked Cadaver bar happily offers all of these things and protection from those spandex wearing capeys.  The chain of bad-guy only establishments was set up in the early 1500’s by some fellow called Gustav Germain and they’ve continued strong to this day. Hidden from sight underground, though there are a few floating bars somewhere up in the clouds for the ultra deluxe villain with more money than common sense, and tucked away in the dark corners of the Earth is where you’ll find the Crooked Cadaver. The only way in is to either be a member- Which you can easily become with a monthly subscription fee, first time subscribers can also look forward to a fashionable Crooked Cadaver Jacket only available through the Cadaver’s store.- or be invited by a member. The place is unusually cheery for a room filled with self professed mad men and killers. But when you’ll find that when you start working the Hyper-Real, that is IF you start working there, 99% of heroes and villains can be counted on to chill when it’s quitting time. Now this sounds horrendous, I know, but it’s a fact that heroism and villainy run on strict schedules.  The dayshift heroes, that’s your bright and shiny individuals, paragons and truth, not to mention those who draw power from sunlight of course. Then you got your nitty gritty night-shifters who prowl the rooftops and growl soliloquies about dead parents and revenge on this sinful Earth. Villains are the same, the more colourful ones prance around during the day and the edgy deranged ones flounce about at night. That’s just how it works, unless big events are going down- but that’s a topic for another time. So sometimes, like everyone else in existence, they just want to go a place where everybody knows their name…though everyone knows Dave’s name…because he’s in dept to a lot of them. As I said Dave has a gambling problem, but at the same time he has a much direr problem. He gets off on danger. I mean that in an almost literal sense. The worse a situation is for him, the better he feels. As such Dave has purposefully been building up his debt to some horrifying people for the last couple of years in order to pull off tonight. “Davey,” he hates being called Davey, “it’s not that we displeased you don’t have our money, no we’re used to that, it’s that you had the money then you went and put the money on a fight.” The man talking to Dave has some kind of theme, there’s a period in a villains life where they might decide to be insect themed, thankfully most of them break from these bizarre fad fascinations. This fellow was not one of them. Shark King, big surprise what his theme is, was a lawyer until an accidental murder led to some very dubious decisions. Deciding to plead insanity, on the grounds of thinking he was a comic book character, rather than face time in the big house. He was moved to some cushy asylum somewhere with lovely padded walls and the screams of the deranged to rock you asleep at night. Apparently some enterprising villains were tired of being used as an excuse for madness and abducted dear sweet King Shark in the night and brainwashed him into believing he was a villain. From there he got a number of invasive surgeries and here we are. King  leaned over the table, his pure black doll like eyes pouring over Dave. “Doing things like that can upset someone you’re in debt to Davey,” he had this unfortunate habit of slobbering as he spoke, all the teeth spilling from his mouth have made the man quite hard to understand, and as such the surface of the hardwood table was slowly begging to overflow with thick, ropey strands of drool. “Kingy,” he hated being called Kingy, “man you gotta relax, all this sitting still is bad for your health, walk with me,” Dave said pleasantly, hopping to his feet as a thick splat of saliva slopped onto his shoes. King rose, his back hunched from the massive fin jutting from his spine. “King, I respect you, you’re a business man first and a villain second. Much like myself, though nowhere near your level,” The shark gave a strange mix of a purr and snarl, he knew he was being buttered up but damn if he didn’t agree with the kid. “Shpare me, Davey, get to your pitch before I pay someone to kill you,” he said without malice, killing people was the villain’s bread and butter. Nobody held a grudge when you said you were going to kill them. God help you if you tried and failed though, that’s premium grudge material right there. The duo were making their way through the crowd, men in capes slumped on the bar regretting their life’s choices, women in outfits that were very clearly painted on, bouncers who were part crab, on their way to the edge of the Cadaver’s prime method of fleecing it’s customers of their money. Near the boozy norm of the bar, the tables, the chairs, the stools etc, there was a massive ring surrounded by a large steel cage that reached up to the roof of the establishment.  This was the fight ring; anyone and everyone who came to the establishment could enter the ring and or pay for someone to enter the ring. At that point bets are made and a fight happens, standard stuff. But this being a hangout for villains anything can end up in that ring from robots to zombies made of knives. Currently the ring was occupied by large hellish machine that looked like the bastard child of a scorpion and a large tank. A giant steel monstrosity pacing back and forth on massive metallic legs each as thick as a support beam. Its body a luminous green shade with scars and dings in the metal work from previous bouts and battles long won. It had a singular eye, for lack of an altogether better term, which whirred around on its front. The eye was locked behind a face plate, a thick sheet of plastic glass wedged between two massive slabs of steel. At the forefront of the metallic beast were two long pincer arms, one arm a standard vice like clamp and the other a giant pair of shears that could easily rend anything between them into mince.  The rear end of the contraption had a length of cable as thick as a tree trunk topped off with a large multi-barrelled weapon. The tail weaved back and forth with a languid grace. “Look you’ve seen the death scorpion thing right? Who hasn’t?” Dave pointed at the machine in the ring as it traipsed around minding its own thoroughly deadly business. “I got a guy here,” Dave aimed King at a man standing by the ring in a pair of black trunks, “him, and he is gonna beat the shit outta that thing.” “Him,” King asked, the droll pooling along the bottom most row of his many jagged teeth, “the boxer guy.” The boxer guy was a wiry mass of muscle. He hopped back and forth on the balls of his feet, jabbing furiously at the air, as he eyed the large machine in the ring. “You think he can take that thing?” Dave nodded like his head was on a spring, “Yah huh, so confident am I that my boy can take your robot, that I’ve put all the money I owed you on him to win.” Dave’s eyes were a glitter with joy as he watched the shark-man snap wildly at the air as he tried to form words. “Yew,” the teeth snapped together a few inches in front of Dave’s smiling face, “yew, yew,” the teeth continued to smack and clatter with sounds like fine china being thrown against the wall by a particularly angry seven year old who was just told he wasn’t getting desert. “I, I, I...” Dave said helpfully clamping his hands over the extended maw of the other man, he took a deep breath in and looked meaningfully at King Shark. He took another slow breath and the other man did the same, albeit looking thoroughly confused. Dave stared into the creatures eyes to see his reflection within, his hair was a touch askew. He let go of King and, his hands slick with drool, ran a hand through his own jet black hair and slicked down the offending follicles. “Better?” He asked. “Much,” the shark groaned getting a strange look from Dave who made a quick clicking noise. “Oh no I was talking about my hair, I couldn’t care less about you having a hissy fit,” the creature wheeled on him, staring up at the man, a harsh bark erupting from his fanged mouth. “Settle down,” Dave said quietly, ignoring the fresh coating of spittle on his face, “you start any shit in here outside of that ring then you get kicked out. Remember Germain’s rule: “No killing in his club.” King growled out a little longer, teeth clenched tight, black doll like eyes zipping around in his head to look at the various people watching them. He looked back at the black haired man towering over him, a queer little smile dancing across his face, a smirk that told him to try it. There was not one iota of fear in the man’s dull blue eyes as he looked down at him. King gnashed once more out of habit and stalked off, “Fine, your boy loses, me and you are going to have a little chat after hours,” with that the hunchbacked freak wandered off. “Can’t wait, buddy!” Dave called after him with a quick wave before hopping across to the man in boxing shorts. “So, Jackson, think you can take it?” Jackson, a man with the kind of face that screams I get hit a lot, rolled his shoulders as he took in the machine in the centre of the ring, patrolling around the edges staring out at everyone. “If I don’t the fish guy will kill us,” he looked over at Dave, his expression and tone flat, “right?” Dave nodded with a wide smile on his face. “I hate you so much it makes dick hard.” “Not the first time I’ve heard that,” Dave said slowly before stuffing his hands in his pockets, “so come on, get in there, kill the scorpion robot, win me like a billion dollars so I’m not in debt, I’ll give you what’s left over after I pay people off. Sound like a plan?” Dave nodded once. “Sounds like a plan to me.” Jackson just stared back, after almost ten years of knowing Dave; he’d learned to just let the man talk.  Jackson nodded and ran his left hand over his shaved down hair, shorn down to a tiny smattering of microscopic hairs in places. “Yeah, yeah, just make sure I get paid for this.” “Will do, now get in there, some of my debtors are forming a lynch mob,” he said jovially as he pushed the man toward the ring. Jackson grumbled something as he walked up a small gangplank into the ring. Jackson pulled open the small makeshift door made in the side of the cage. He traipsed into the ring, taking up residence in one corner where he began to go through a small routine of jabs and stretches. The machine in the ring looked at him, its tail rocking back and forth lazily as it did so, before clamouring its way to its corner…or, I suppose, the area of the corner as the machine could hardly fit into such a small space. Screens around the bar went blank for a second before suddenly displaying the ring. One side of the screen displayed Jackson and the other the large robot. Odds appeared around the screen in a dizzying array and people started to make bets. If you join the Crooked Cadaver bar chain you must submit your finances to them. Germain always claimed it was gauche to be seen spending money when in the company of other villains, as such all the purchases made in the Crooked Cadaver are run strictly from credit. AS such when one makes a bet in the Cadaver you need only swipe your membership card through the slides attached to the screen and make your selections. Everyone made a bet, some paltry, some outrageous, some that would upset the national debt of certain countries come the result. Dave made his way to a table, swiped his card through the machine, put all the money he had on Jackson and sat back. His bank was now officially empty. Well…not HIS bank but his boss knew he was good for it. Besides if Jackson lost he’d be dead before his boss knew about it. Dave suddenly decided he should have ordered a drink before throwing away all his money, nerves had hit him all at once and made him quite decidedly thirsty. “Thank god we found you,” Dave turned at the familiar voice of Jessika, who sounded quite hurtfully sarcastic, a small nervous smile on his face. Jessika and Frank stood behind him, Jessika with her arms folded and a bored expression on her face and Frank looking as stony as ever. “Guys, sit down, best parts just coming,” he indicated the other chairs around the table with a point and leaned against his forearms, preparing to ignore the incoming lecture.  Frank sat down with a quick grunt and inclined his head to Dave, it’s how he’d said “hello” for the past five years, before giving the man a quick slap on the back, it was how he’d say “how you doing, idiot?” for five years. Jessika looked over at the ring and her face fell, she collapsed into the chair. “You didn’t bet on the robot did you?” She said quietly, an edge to her voice, as she glowered at Dave. He tried to escape her gaze, but he found himself being drawn into eyes like dark leather. He slapped a hand over his eyes. “None of your mind control shit, Jess, come on,” he pleaded his voice going high, he turned to Frank, “tell her not to do her brain hoodoo on me,” he simpered and Frank just stared at the woman across from him and shook his head. She clicked her tongue against the roof and glowered at the giant across from her. “You must stop spoiling him, he’ll never get better if you always have his back like this,” Jessika leaned back in the chair and exhaled through her nose, “again you didn’t bet on the big robot did you?” she asked, much calmer, and without abusing her powers. “No,” Dave put up his hands, “and before you crack me in half let me explain,” Jessika nodded at him to proceed, “I’ve fixed the fight.” Jessika looked at the wiry man and the massive machine across from him. “Clearly,” she said with a thin smile, “that robot looks ready to take a dive,” she groaned while looking over to Frank. “Do we need to buy him a leash?” Frank only chuckled at that and Dave looked off to the side. “I had a dream where you said that once, ended with you and me in this big Jacuzzi,” he saw the cold hard look he was being given by both Frank and Jessika, “right, save that for another time.” He said helpfully. “Or never,” Frank mumbled as he swiped his own membership card into the small screen. He looked briefly at the odds and threw a small sum of money into the bet, in favour of Jackson. “So, how’d you fix it?” Frank asked as he ordered himself a drink via the screen. “Well that’s an interesting story,” Dave said happily as he too tapped on the screen for a drink, if Frank cared at all he didn’t show it, “it’s a bit of a complicated one as well. BUT needless to say my boy Jackson can’t lose.” Jessika looked down her nose at the man before sighing from the corner of her mouth. “You’d better hope he can’t lose I’d hate to see Doc’s reaction to finding out you burned through all of his money.” Jessika muttered snippily causing Dave to groan. He turned to her with a wintery look and nodded towards the ring. “He’ll win, I guarantee it,” he leaned across the table to her, “do you want to make this interesting?” he inquired with a rich trill to his voice. Jessika coughed out a quick laugh and nodded sloppily. “Of course, yes, I will, you got into this problem by making horrendous bets, it is only right I encourage your madness with another bet,” she said loudly, drawing several glances from around the room, “what did you have in mind, David?” “If I win I think we should go on a date,” he said chipper. “No.” “Kiss on the cheek?” “I’d sooner bite your head off.” “Hold hands?” “No.” “I can say we banged?” “I will kill you.” “You never give me shit about making bets again?” “I can manage that; if you lose I also won’t give you shit about making bets again,” she favoured him with a grim smile, “because you will be dead.”  With that a claxon sounded and the screens claimed that all bets were final, they hopped you have good fortune and then lapsed into an advert on some new cloning factory that happened to be partially financed by Germain. The cage began to rattle as the small gaps in the metal glittered blue for a brief second before returning to normal. High energy shielding used to coat the entirety of the arena, even the areas the cage covered, the only reason they worked with a cage at all was because it seemed to rile up some animalistic part of the human brain. The shielding was designed by Franklin Pierce, fourth generation head of Pierce Enterprises private security firm. The Pierce family has been into security for about as long as there have been thieves, at least that is they’re dubious claim, and have never had any of their products breached by a single thief, again a dubious claim, but if you were to put a professional thief in the same room as a Pierce made safe they’d sooner surrender to the authorities than attempt to break into one. There are horror stories about safes lined with blades, laser corridors with reoccurring batteries allowing them to power themselves independently for a year even if the rest of the country is in a black out. Needless to say if you want security you go to Pierce. As such even when the scorpion machine’s gun started to spin itself to life nobody in the room flinched. Jackson, dressed only in his black trunks, knocked his head from side to side as he tried to think about the best way to tackle this. He imagined getting in close would save him from the gun, but that puts him in range of the claws and the bladed forelegs. He worked out a basic plan of attack and surprising just about everyone in the room he adopted a runner’s stance. He braced his heel up against the corner guard and rested his gloveless hands against the mat. He had a feeling that if he messed this next part up, he’d be dead, he rather liked living. The gong for the match to start sounded and all at once he snapped forward. The spot he was in previously was shredded by a hail of bullets, the red hot shells ejecting and bounding off the shield of the arena. Jackson pumped his legs, making himself as small as possible, leaning forward into a tear drop shape as he ran at full kilter toward the machine, the spitting sound of the gun echoing around him. As he neared the machine it reared back, the blades on one claw snapping together like a set of hedge shears with a thunderous din, before shooting forward toward Jackson. Its many legs giving it speed belaying its large size, clamouring forward like an overly eager dog going for its favourite ball. Jackson looked up at the machine’s claws, peeking up from his peek-a-boo boxing guard, as they snapped toward him. He leapt forward into a roll as the clamping claw flew towards him with an uncanny speed; he was able to curl under the vice as it snapped shut just behind him. Its massive claw raked backwards against the mat as it trailed just behind him, the flat of the clamp smacking against his heels as he rolled causing him to wince in pain. Jackson made it back to his feet with a shake, his feet feeling like hell after the smack. His speed didn’t suffer though his feet pleaded with him to stop. But he’d rather be in pain now for a couple of hours than never be able to feel anything again, which he was certain would happen if this thing ever got it’s claws on him. He took a quick leap forward to the underside of the machine, he grinned as he looked up at the steel chassis above him. The scorpion rattled back and forth trying to get at the man under it, limbs lacking the articulation to reach down and grab him, dancing back and forth across the ring, attempting to fake him out by going left and then right. But Jackson stuck to the thing like glue, he’d always been a wizard with footwork, watch the legs and not the body if you want to follow a boxer…he was just happy to see that the same principle worked for giant robot scorpions. He looked at the six legs around him; picking out his targets for what he figured was a horribly stupid move.  The leg to his left rose to make another futile attempt at a feint and he went to work. He threw a left at the leg, smacking the joint of the leg. As soon as the leg returned to the mat it buckled at once, sliding out from under it causing the machine to tip to one side. Jackson stepped to the other side throwing a left at the foremost leg, which buckled inward at Jackson’s feet as it tried to stabilise itself, he took a step forward to dodge the guillotine like blade and smacked the next leg with another quick left, it too buckled and he shot out from under the machine and delivered a punch to the final leg on that side. The machine buckled and fell onto the bladed legs beneath it, digging harshly into the chassis; radial fluid spurted from massive rips in the hulking machine as it tried to lift itself up on its two remaining legs. The thing’s tail began to rattle up again hoping to keep its abuser back with a peppering of fire or, hopefully, just shred the nuisance. Jackson heard the tell tale rattle of the weapon starting up and made his move. He leapt against the cage and rebounded off the shield, just as the gun barked into life and landed atop the scorpion. He steadied himself as the machine buckled on to its jagged legs; it rocked and rolled as it tried to remove the man standing on its back. Jackson’s arms snapped out and wrapped around one of the grooved segments of the tail. His arms bulged with muscle and his nerves stood out on his skin as he screamed in frustration. He used all his weight to force the gun toward the machine’s body. The gun continued to fire, unable to halt its momentum, into the back of the scorpion. Whole sections of its outer shell snapped off and smacked against the shield wall. The steel screamed out as the machine squirmed, bullets peppering its insides and its lower legs eviscerating it’s innards with every movement. After six seconds of sustained fire the machine stop rocking back and forth, the little red eye at the front of the machine went off and the gun stopped firing. It was safe to say it was dead. Jackson hopped down off the machine and landed in a thick pool of scrap metal and oily discharge. He held up his hands to a small smattering of applause, these people had no taste. Jessika looked to Dave with a look of confusion. Dave only smiled as he stared at his winnings, some odd ten figure number which slowly began to lower, him paying off his debtors with ease, before it stopped. “There we go,” Dave said with a quick clap, he took a sip from his drink and smiled a sly vulpine grin over at Jessika. “Now Doc can have his money back, Jennings can stop mommying me behind my back and I get out of this with a cool couple million.” “Okay,” Jessika said, blowing a thin strand of her chestnut brown hair from her face, “I want to know how you rigged this.” Frank made a sound that could have been a chuckle and Jessika snarled at the large man. “Down girl,” Dave said about to put his hand on her shoulder but stopping as soon as he thought better of it, “it’s no big secret so let me tell you how I did it.” He pointed at Jackson who was exiting the ring and being provided with a small towel for his feet by one of the buildings staff. “I met Jackson six years ago in Boston, he was a small scale fighter, welter weight, but he had some potential. I did a bit of digging turns out he was a bio-engineering student at some university. I supplanted him some money via anonymous donations to get him through University.” Dave took a small sip from his drink, “Jackson was a resident of the…what’s it called, Frank?” “Hyper-Real.” “Thanks, buddy, apparently he was gonna work up at some robotics factory on cloned limbs, that kinda thing, replacements and the like. He also has a major passion of electronics and boxing. So I met up with him, had false I.D. set up so I could meet him on campus as a fellow student, and invited him to some small scale fight club like events around the country. After watching him win a few rounds I paid for him to get an opponent a few grades above his weight class, a partial cyborg. He lost…hard.” Dave knocked his head toward Jackson, “I suggested it’s a shame that those robot dick-weeds have a leg up in these kind of things and that set him to work on his left arm. You see his bio-engineering work dealt in, as I said, surrogate clone limbs. Now these limbs could be altered in subtle ways, like say, adding a small scale EMP generator to them or increasing the muscle density of an arm by eighty fold.” He said with a shrug. “From then on every time I find some robot or cyborg champion in one of these clubs I build up a huge amount of debt to the local flavour and then BEG they let me try my last hopeful. Then I over-bet with money they don’t know I have, quadruple my profits, pay them off, pay Jackson half and boom,” Dave took a throaty pull from his drink, “ahh and that, my Russian lovely, is that.” “So you custom built, so to speak, an anti-robot fighter for the specific occasion that this would happen?” Dave nodded vigorously causing Jessika to stare at him. “I sometimes you are forget you are a monster David, what with you being a lazy idiot most of the time.” Dave held a hand over his heart and mimed a pained expression. “Oh, you wound me; I’m almost tempted not to treat my two fellow henchmen to a night on the town.” Jessika and Frank shared a small look. “You wanna bet?” Jessika said with a queasy smile, Dave could only beam at her as Jackson sat down, launching into demands for his share of the money, asking what they thought of his fight and begging for a drink. A few tables away a man wrapped from head to toe in bandages stared at his compatriot, a large wall of a man. “Well what did you think about that, Nathan?” Nathan, picked at his teeth with one viciously pointed nail, and shrugged. “He’s alright,” the tanned man said with a empty voice, “I mean I think he has a secret weapon, favoured his left side a lot like it might weigh more, maybe he has a hidden blade in there or it’s one of those cyborg limbs, I dunno.” “You wouldn’t fight him then?” The man in bandages asked. Nathan barked with laughter and gave his friend a hard slap on the back with a hand the size of a ham. “I’ll fight anyone, he’s just not interesting to me,” the man said solemnly, “I was looking forward to having a go with the big scorpion though, shame it’s gone,” the other man gave him a quick pat on the back. “I’m sure you’ll find someone or something to fight soon,” you could hear the smile on his face, “hell if you’re that desperate for a spat I’ll fight you.” He said holding up his hands like a boxer. The large man looked down at his companion, wrapped in bandages underneath a fancy French made suit, with his little gloved hands raised up to fight. He could only laugh as he threw one thick arm around his friends shoulder. “Nah, nah you’re alright bud, you’re alright.” He grinned down at his friend, who went by far too many names to remember but insisted on being called Hermes in public if he was to be called anything at all. “Did see someone though, Hermes, least I think I did.” “Oh,” Hermes looked around the room for anyone he knew, “who is that dear chap?” “Her,” he pointed to Jessika, “I remember her,” Hermes peered at her from behind his shadowed spectacles and shrugged, “I met her in Russia, ninety nine. I cut her head off just after she threw me off a skyscraper, thankfully I was able to scale down the walls with my powers, but I distinctly remember decapitating her as I fell.” “Well looks like you did it wrong,” Hermes said casually. “Yeah, looks like, god I was so young back then, for all I know I missed,” his nails raked along the table top shredding the wood like it was a damp tissue, “hmm it’s getting me riled up just thinking about it. I can still smell the fire in the air, taste the sweat on my brow and hear the whistling of the wind as I tumbled.” His expression dissolved into ecstasy as he went to battlefields past. “Well…I suppose you should let her off tonight,” the large man’s golden pupil cracked open as he was torn from his reminiscing, “her friend has just won a great a deal of money. Let her have a night off and tomorrow, if you want, you can hunt her down and tear her face off.” “Nah, can’t, taking the little one fishing the morrow.” Nathan said with a small smile, “I’ll try and pencil it in though. See if she’s the kid of the chick I ripped apart that night,” he smiled a wide smile, a thick slab of white and golden teeth glittering from his mouth, “oh maybe she’s sworn to avenge her maw, oh that would be just thrilling.” “Down, Nathan, I hardly want you getting us kicked out of here for fighting with customers.”

[peterparker-spiderman-blog]

stabilisedforthemoment is stuck in your webs

"... O-oh god ..."

[watsonmycompass]

I'm thinking about getting into comic-verse.

Marvel being my chosen poison. I think I'd quite like to start with Spiderman too, seeing as he's my favourite hero (adapted to film). Can anyone tell me how it works? Is it like, issue #1 in ascending chronological order or what, more sporadic?

[nooowestayandgetcaught]

No one suspects the sock drawer. /KonxBart. Established relationship. Smut-centric. Pre-reboot. Oneshot.