#thxdesperado

[livingcontrivance]

@thxdesperado  | starters

“Shall we try this again, oui?” Combat boot lifting to sit upon the stranger’s chest, Fantomex knew well the value of the judicious application of force to stop before he could break a rib. At least he had finally caught the gunslinger, making the surprising amount of effort he’d put into their fight worth it. It had occurred to him that the man’s moves were vaguely familiar, as though he had seen others imitating that style before. But that was impossible, right? At least that’s what he thought so.

Not expecting to receive an answer so quickly, the thief bends the leg he uses to pin the other down with whilst draping an arm over it, gun dangling loosely between his fingers as a silent threat; that being any movements warranted getting shot at. Pleased with himself as he appeared to be, insofar as a masked man could give an impression of contentment, ‘Mex’s proud ego wasn’t the only thing about him that should out; a sound, just on the edge of human hearing was noticeable. It happened to be the thief’s breathing, turned laborious from the skirmish they were embroiled in a short time ago.

It turns out that the man had quite the aim after all, not that there had been much talking. 

How they met went like thus; at home in one of his various apartments, Fantomex had pried open the front door, thinking he was about to receive a mailman or other visitor when weapons were brought in front of his face that meant he found himself staring down the wrong ends of a pair of guns. And now it seemed that he hadn’t dodged enough shots after all. 

“ᴡʜᴏ sᴇɴᴛ ʏᴏᴜ?” His words were charged, packed with a forcefulness that suggested it was more a command than a question, as he wavered on the temptation to employ his misdirection. He could make the stranger talk, present him with an image of his own death, brought about by the other’s hand. But such would’ve been all too boring for his tastes-- asking first felt like the better option to go with.

[akihiro-daken]

❝ I figured all your classes were stuff like Slaughter 101 and Beheading for Beginners. ❞

Daken narrowed his eyes at the newcomer, but laughed it off for the benefit of the others in the room. We will speak later, his eyes seemed to promise.

“Don’t let the tattoo fool you. There’s an empty spot over there.” He pointed to the farthest left in the front row. Four rows of three. Twelve students, or rather eleven as the newcomer seemed to not be here for lessons. Aged 8 to 65. All of them younger than him. He could do this; it seemed a good way to create something. It was new.

It was terrifying.

“Alright, everyone, let’s see how well you remember last week.” He walked the rows, correcting hand position and attempting encouragement. Eleven terrible renditions of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.

But better than last week. Slightly. Marginally. It was enough. 

He came up to the twelfth. “Don’t bother anyone in class, and we’ll talk after.”

[mylipsarevenom]

{ Starter for @thxdesperado​ }

Belle Reve was different from Arkham in the worst ways.

The personification of bound and chained, Ivy had learned early on that escaping from the prison was a long haul mission. No detail could be ignored and at any second the situation could change. The plan could be scraped. And it had been, many times. More than Ivy was willing to admit. 

Still, Belle Reve had something Arkham didn’t. The ability to stretch out one’s legs and possibly die in a forced suicide mission. The closest Arkham came to such a thing was the experimental therapy from trigger happy psychologists. This was much more fun, in a way.

Taking in the view of the city, Ivy reveled in belonging to the outside world for at least a few hours more. Perhaps the mission would last longer, if they were lucky. He held no love for his cell. No sunlight. No plants. Not even a succulent. It was torture.

The mission was relatively simple. Acquire the target alive and unharmed. Cause no disturbances. If they rebelled, take them out quietly. The full extent of the target’s powers were still unknown to them, but even some supers couldn’t be immune to poison or proper aim. Which explained the ‘friend’ by Ivy’s side.

Truthfully, the hybrid didn’t know much about the man other than his name. They were kept very separate from one another. Well, Ivy was separated from everyone but that tended not to bother him.

Edward Lawton. Nighthawk. 

It was an interesting title, but didn’t hold much information. Ivy hummed lightly, leaning more over the railing as they waited for their target to exit the shop they’d gone in. Then they could make their move and track them down into a safer area. Ivy’s hands were itching to release the venom gathered under his skin.

“...So, what’s your thing? Besides being under Waller's thumb.”

[fryordie]

“Was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I’m not the same, the next question is… Who in the world am I?”

Rather than rush to facilitate the other with an appropriate answer, Thor instead decides to take his time, hands kept busy with the task of stoking a fire whose warmth he knew well that neither of them required -- not whilst there was a streak of the divine buried in the core of their beings, at least. 

And that was what had become a point of contention with this....development. A mortal embraced by a godhood he neither asked for nor desired-- something new borne from the remains of what he believed to be his full might. Siphoned away-- and not for the first time -- by a fickle magical hammer with deluded notions of worthiness. He’d almost say he felt robbed, cheated, had it not dawned on him what terrible twists laid in store for the both of them following this outcome.

Or what would rise to fill the gaps left in his being from having a portion of his power be kept sequestered away in a mallet that no longer lifted at his touch.

“Were it true that we awake each day remaining the same, we’d be prone to leading a rather boring existence.” Blue gaze fixated on the glowing coals, he prods the fire with a poker, trying to distract himself from taking any action that he’d later regret. “As for who you are, you have a name, do you not? Gunnar, which is interpreted, in the lexicon of this land, as a fighter or an attacker -- a brave and bold warrior. I imagine this is sufficient information to hold onto, during this--” Thor made a vague gesture with his hand, struggling to find the correct words to use. “--existential crisis that you appear to be experiencing.”

( @thxdesperado )

[fryordie]

@thxdesperado

His initial reaction sees him reach for the axe, taking comfort in the shred of security it provides due to its godslaying potential. Hands affixed firmly to Jarnbjorn’s handle, determined to not let it slip from his grasp again (for he had already paid a hefty price for doing so before), Odinson treats the other not as a client relieved to see their dispatched hired help return, but as an enemy he should defend himself against.

“You are not the same Edward that left here yesterday,” he states bluntly, basing his observation off of several clues. For one, this impostor’s gait was notably altered, looping along in lengthy, carefree strides with arms swinging nonchalantly by their sides. Far removed from the seemingly capable mercenary he had dispatched on a stealth mission to collect relics. He would’ve done so himself were it not for the fact that he wasn’t convinced he’d be capable of reaching the relics without attracting attention -- including whatever iteration of the Avengers existed these days. The exact opposite of what this disgraced god of the aesir wished to accomplish.

He had yet to suspect that the reason for the man’s changed behaviour could be attributed to the alien entity he now carried with him as a passenger. Short of allies as he was, Odinson refused to trust anyone who could completely change overnight, a feeling that stemmed from the paranoia that started to lay claim to his mind the longer he stayed unworthy.

“Tell me what became of the man I hired, or I will not hesitate to bury mine axe in your skull.” 

[fryordie]

-“Aren’t you tired yet? Haven’t you had enough?”

[villain or hero meme] | @thxdesperado

Keen to argue that claim, that he was, in fact, sufficiently energised and willing enough to continue persisting, the Odinson made an attempt to smirk, but the effort was brittle and soon collapsed into a frown. “Does it appear that I am content?” He says, testily, unspoken thoughts touching upon the finer points of his quest to defy exhaustion, such as his motivations for doing so in the first place.

Had he been asked to explain, he supposed it was due to the allure of conflict, welcoming of argumentative inclinations now that he had fallen from grace. That wasn’t to say he hadn’t grown weary in mind as well as body, reaching the limits that even someone of divine lineage might still possess when going without rest. He wasn’t inexhaustible, a fact that causes him aggravation the more attention it receives.

“I will stop when I deem it necessary to do so.” Which, he hopes, wasn’t for a long time yet-- though he had begun to question his own limits, the seed from which such feelings of doubt orginated from planted in his mind by the other’s questions. “Until such a time, you may keep your concerns, however genuine they may be, to yourself.”

[tiredbeingtired]

☯ ⊗ ۞

Accepting || In Depth Headcanon Prompts

@thxdesperado​

☯ : Do they believe for every darkness there is a lightness? If not, why?

No. Werner’s never been one to think of the world or good and evil in terms of equivalence. As for why to him it’s not realistic. He would say that his own life is an example of that. A majority of event in his life have been negative; he lost his home to war, his birthright, he later lost his country, his people, and his culture. Werner doesn’t think the idea of there being a darkness for every lightness is realistic. Life is unstable and he just might know that better than anyone else.

⊗ : What is something that causes them to question themselves?

Sometimes he questions his status as a villain. At times he feels disjointed from it. With his upbringing and status he believes he’s better than the ruffians he works with, but at the same time his current position in life is also apt for him.

His sexuality also another topic that causes him to question himself because he hasn’t really explored or had the opportunity to question it. Werner is very much a man who stifles his emotions except for anger, pride, and his general haughty attitude. He doesn’t openly say he cares about the people he cares about or expresses has an interest in someone rather he pushes his emotions down and simply gets on with his day. Honestly I think one think that contributes to this is that he is very much focused upon his work and somewhat lacks a social life. He doesn’t have many if any people he could truly call a friend. There are people he respects, but does he know them and do they know him well enough? I rather doubt it. Werner has colleagues not friends.

He does have Ed, Corey, and Owen, but that really is a parental fondness whether he realizes or admits it.

۞: Are there any inner demons they can never seem to get rid of? What are they?

The destruction of Vlatava and his status as one of the survivors is certainly one. While he has mourned his country I think he also feels some guilt over his own survival and that he and his actions were apart of the cause.  While there is nothing he can do about it now the thought still lingers over him.

[lcbotomy]

♡

Select from the following for my muse to respond to…

♡: Waking up next to your muse after a night of drunk sex

“Shhhhit, man.”

“Ohhh lookit you. Looks like I got breakfast in bed~”